The dawn never reached the Crimson House. Even as the city beyond stirred with life and mundane ambitions, the manor remained untouched, preserved in sacred stillness. It existed far beyond ordinary time and consequence, suspended in endless, decadent twilight. Here, where reality surrendered to hunger, only desire reigned. Cruelty flourished unabated, and power pulsed like dark currents through every worshipful cry that haunted its ancient walls. Within this temple of vice, the Matriarchs ruled unchallenged. Their appetites knew no limit, their thirst was eternal, and the very bones of the manor whispered with the echoes of surrender and ecstasy.
Lio awoke submerged in oppressive darkness. He lay tangled in silk sheets, their threads soaked in the cloying scents of sex, sweat, and subjugation. His naked body bore the exquisite aftermath of the night before. Every nerve burned, thrumming with soreness — physical evidence of his brutal, intoxicating initiation. Each ache was an intimate reminder that he no longer belonged to himself. His lips were tender from countless fervent kisses and whispered devotions, his throat raw from pleading, begging, and gasping. Even his cock stirred faintly beneath the sheets, haunted by the memory of Selene’s ruthless conquest. She had ridden him with terrifying grace, draining his essence with ritualistic precision, leaving him emptied and utterly broken beneath her.
Before his thoughts could steady, the heavy chamber doors parted with serpentine grace. The sound cut through the suffocating stillness like a blade through silk.
Vessa entered first.
She moved like the embodiment of dark elegance—regal, severe, and devastating. Her lips, stained from recent indulgence, gleamed with cruel promise. She stalked forward, pausing before Lio with calculated poise. She drank in his naked vulnerability with a predator’s hunger, her smirk curving in silent victory. Behind her, the other Matriarchs followed in succession, each arrival shifting the weight of the room further into oppressive anticipation. They said nothing. Words were unnecessary. Their presence alone suffocated. Their aura exuded centuries of domination and blissful torment.
They encircled him like living embodiments of lustful ruin. Their beauty was pitiless, their authority undisputed. Lio’s stomach twisted with dread and submission as they closed in. Their eyes gleamed like molten gold in the candlelit gloom, hungry and eager. These queens of cruelty hungered not for sustenance, but for domination. Power was their drug; tonight, he would serve as their altar and sacrifice.
“Rise.” Vessa’s voice broke the silence with wicked delight, slicing through Lio’s fragile reverie. “Tonight, you will show us your worth through obedience and endurance.”
The command shattered Lio’s hesitation. He moved instinctively, crawling free of his silken cocoon to kneel reverently before them. His head bowed low in complete submission, though his cock betrayed him — stiffening proudly under their watchful eyes. Shame and desire twisted tightly within him, bound together in a dance of exquisite torment.
Selene arrived last, as was her right. Draped in cascading crimson silk, she radiated serene cruelty and unrelenting authority. She glided to him, eyes glowing with malevolent affection. Every step spoke of inevitable conquest. She circled him, dragging her fingertip down his spine with slow, possessive grace. Lio shuddered, helpless under her touch, his breath shallow with expectation. He didn’t dare speak.
“Tonight,” Selene whispered, her voice velvet-wrapped steel, “you will cease to exist as merely a vessel. Tonight, you will become a source. A fountain of essence we will drain until you are reduced to sacred ruin.”
Her words became his chains. The chamber darkened further as the rite began. From the shadows emerged seven figures—male vampires, each marked by experience and submission. Their bodies were adorned with scars, sigils, and brands. Their eyes held madness, reverence, and memory. Collars bound their throats, silently screaming of ownership. They did not move. They only watched.
“The Feast of Seven,” Selene intoned reverently. “A sacred offering. Each Matriarch will claim you, draining you until only the memory of resistance remains. Release will come only at the whim of the final Mistress.”
Terror tangled with arousal as Lio’s heart raced. Despite his fear, his cock swelled defiantly. He belonged to them now.
Without tenderness, the rite began.
Vessa took him first. She shoved him down, straddling his face with commanding authority. Her thighs became iron shackles, her movements merciless. Lio submitted eagerly, tongue and lips working in frenzied desperation as she rode him. Vessa climaxed with violent fervor, her cries sharp and victorious as his energy drained beneath her until he sagged, gasping. She didn’t speak. Her silence screamed her satisfaction.
“Good little feeder,” she praised darkly, then passed him on without pause.
The second Matriarch was cold precision. She bound Lio’s wrists tightly above his head and mounted his lap with ruthless intent. Her hips slammed into him rhythmically as she whispered vicious degradations, biting his throat and reminding him of his inferiority. He groaned helplessly, each thrust unraveling another thread of resistance.
The third Matriarch embodied cruel sensuality. She smeared herself across his lips, denying him until he begged pathetically. Only then did she allow his tongue the privilege of worship. Her grip in his hair tightened with every desperate lick. Her laughter was melodic and heartless.
The fourth relished denial. She stroked his cock torturously slow, her teasing words melting into his core. She pushed him to the brink again and again, only to cruelly stop, reveling in his desperate cries. Lio sobbed beneath her, a creature undone.
By the fifth and sixth, Lio’s body trembled violently. His cock pulsed, unbearably hard and unsatisfied. His mind spiraled into the abyss. There were no more coherent thoughts. He existed only for them—to be used, fed upon, and surrendered. The Matriarchs did not relent. One whispered scripture as she bit into his shoulder. Another spat honeyed mockery into his mouth as she rode his trembling hips.
Each climax they stole hollowed him further. Time lost shape. His lips were raw and tender, and he murmured prayers to please. His throat burned from moans and cries. Sweat and essence matted his hair. The walls pulsed. The very floor drank him in.
Finally, Selene stepped forward. Silence fell, heavy and sacred. The Matriarchs paused, reverent.
Lio was spent beyond reason. He could barely raise his head as Selene undressed herself slowly, stripping away layers of crimson silk until she stood radiant and terrible. Her nude form glowed like temptation incarnate. She mounted him slowly, deliberately impaling herself with devastating grace.
“Look at you,” Selene murmured darkly, stroking his face. “Perfect. Broken. Empty. Mine.”
Without mercy, she began to ride him, rolling her hips with predatory control. Lio sobbed openly as his orgasm tore through him instantly, violently, and finally. Yet Selene continued, milking every shred of his essence, wringing him dry until he could do nothing but whimper against her. Her moans crescendoed with unholy triumph.
At last, when he was utterly ruined, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his temple in a mockingly tender kiss.
“You have fed the Pact,” Selene whispered ominously. “Tomorrow, your true training begins. Tonight was only the first step.”
The Matriarchs clapped softly, their eyes glinting with cruel anticipation. Their whispers wove around Lio’s broken body, promising trials darker and more intense yet to come. The Thralls watched in silence, envy and reverence glowing in their hollow eyes.
Darkness claimed him. But in that void, Lio knew.
They would taste him again. And again. And again. Forever.