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eldritchsapphic69 · 2 days ago

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Honestly Jane being a vampire fits her perfectly!!! ��😍😍😍

❥ 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦.(𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰)🩸

vamp!Jane Murdstone and named!fem!reader (Written for an art piece I did, which you can find here.)

Summary: Lady Jane is in need of blood again. Her hunger knows no bounds. You, her maid, give her exactly what she wants, and in return, she gives you what you've been quietly fantasising about.

Content Warnings: Biting kink, blood mention, fingering (r & Jane receiving), orgasm denial, degrading with occasional praise, mentions of church and religion (brief). Reader is named, but no descriptions are used.

word count: 3.2k

Your lady’s bloodlust was relentless.

Oftentimes, she would call upon you in the dead of night to satiate her thirst for crimson. The metallic, savoury taste that would make your nose scrunch in discomfort, but rip a satisfied moan from her vocal cords as it coated her tongue…

…to your dismay, tonight was no different. For whom the bell tolls, you suppose.

Lady Jane called for you earlier that day to ensure you were aware she needed your presence tonight for unsaid reasons, though you became accustomed to not being told and knowing the outcome of your lady’s plans. You couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that Miss Murdstone wanted more from you tonight, and it made your skin crawl, thinking about the many things she could possibly need—your blood, obviously… but what else?

Jane was not the kindest to you either. She was a very snappy woman with a short temper and long legs. You could only assume what she was like beneath those thick fabrics and extravagant accessories, like her oversized bows that she would allow only you to tie. Nobody correctly tied her bows, nobody but you, and Jane valued that. She valued it as much as she valued your blood. You were the only one she would drink from until you assumed she would get bored with how you tasted and kill you, eventually. Was that not how all vampires worked, you thought?

No, perhaps not. A part of you hoped not.

You peer outside for a moment, taking note of the dim light of the sky, the sun setting. You knew you were going to meet your lady at dusk in her bedchambers, but you couldn’t stop thinking about other possible outcomes. One thing you knew, tonight would either end in a short and content feeding session or the end of you.

Either way, you did not see yourself enjoying whatever was in store for you tonight, even if you would never admit out loud just how wet it made you to be held in Jane Murdstone’s lap as her fangs sank into your tender flesh—one of her cold hands holding you close by the waist and the other supporting your head as she laps at the bite wound on your neck like a starved beast, blood trickling down your body. Or how the taste of your blood drew out borderline vulgar moans from her chest… How she would praise you for being a good girl, her good girl, taking her so well, all of her, fangs and all. Oh, gods, Jane, please…

You rip yourself away from those thoughts, like Jane would rip away a satisfying orgasm from you, lightly shaking your head. No maid of Miss Murdstone’s should think such sinful thoughts, especially on the day of the sabbath, despite church service being long over and stars beginning to freckle the sky.

Right, Lady Jane, you remembered then. You had foolishly allowed your mind to wander for far too long. Quickly, you finish your last chore of the evening, which was to sweep and tidy up the kitchen.

Miss Murdstone’s home was extravagant. Jane preferred to reside in the basement's downstairs chamber since no windows brought in more unwanted light, like the rest of the house did. You did her an extra kindness and snuffed the candle torches that lined the upstairs walls as you swept, the darkness of the upstairs now creeping up on you. Jane liked the darkness. You did not.

You scurry back to the kitchen in a nervous heap and quickly light a match, grabbing the oil lamp that was conveniently placed on the countertop nearest the stove, and use the match’s flame to set it ablaze. Light, finally, how wonderful. Less wonderful now that you needed to tread down those godforsaken stairs, cautiously to keep yourself from tripping on the steepness of the steps. And then you heard it, halfway down the steps, the soft sound of your lady humming to herself in her chambers. Your blood ran cold.

When you reach the basement, you did not bother knocking, knowing she would criticise you for it; “You know you’re always welcome when I call for you,” Jane would say with a tsk. You peer through the cracked door and gaze inside, greeted by her stunning beauty, sitting elegantly at her vanity while she removes the pins from her hair. Even dressed in her nightrobe, Jane was a vision, her black hair cascading down her shoulders in waves as calm as the salty shores of Suffolk. Her beauty was a harsh contrast to the unkindness she so often chose to show.

“I’ve got eyes on the back of my head, girl. Enter,” Jane’s voice was sudden and clipped. You must have peered too long.

You caught her gaze in her mirror, pretty blue eyes with the slightest hint of yellow gold. You often thought about her eyes, especially when she would pay you a visit in the garden while you worked on the rose bushes. If the sun hit her eyes just right, she would squint, yes, but you got the best view of those eyes of hers—light blue with golden accents, like the glass window panes of the church building that depicted dances of angels. Miss Murdstone was no angel.

“I’m sorry, m’lady. Please forgive my staring.” You quickly pass the threshold of her doorway and close it behind you, locking it with a soft click. It was one of her expectations during your nightly visits.

“Worry not, girl,” Jane said, “come help me with my hair.”

You’re quick to obey your mistress. Setting the lamp on her vanity table, you grab the brush from her hand and run it through Jane’s locs that are black as night. The silence that follows while you brush through her hair allows you the time to admire her beautiful features—from her porcelain skin that’s covered in soft freckles, to the paleness of her eyelashes and crooked tip of her nose. You brush from root to end, slowly, calculating, silently adoring. Jane’s little smirk, her pink lips—so soft against your neck as she whispers words of praise meant for your ears only. Her hands, large and strong in appearance, are gentle and tender around you, and so cold.

“Your eyes wander…” Jane interrupts your quiet stare, and your gaze meets hers without question. “Come.”

You turn to let her pass, returning her brush to the vanity before snuffing out her candle torches, then follow her silently as she crawls into bed. Jane pats a hand against her thigh. “Sit.”

You knew then what she wanted.

Warily, your legs involuntarily follow her command—one moment standing, and the next, straddling the vampiress. In that moment, you wonder how the church would feel knowing their most pious woman was a cruel mistress with a taste for women’s blood behind lowered curtains. You silently question her true devotion to the church, yet you weren’t any better either, with your equally sinful infatuation towards Lady Jane Murdstone.

Jane moves your hair to the side. She’s in love with the colour, fascinated by your features. One could say she was infatuated with you just the same, but she would not let you know that. Jane would not ruin her favourite game.

Like clockwork, slender fingers snake around your body, skillfully unbuttoning your uniform. She absolutely loves the way your body shivers from her touch. One could not be certain whether it was from her cold touch or simply her.

“Wait,” you whisper, “please, my lady.” Though you were enjoying her treatment, you had forgotten to bring the lantern over. You did not wish to be bitten in the dark.

Jane let you go and was patient with you, despite her impatient hunger demanding that you stay. Her blue-yellow eyes never move away from your movements, her hands craving your body against them, to caress and hold and squeeze to her liking. She felt like you were taking an eternity to get the damned lantern. “I’m impatient, Marie. You can move faster than that, you’ve proved it countless times.”

“I cannot see in the dark like you, Miss Murdstone…” you huff, stumbling in the dark. A sudden yelp tore from your lips as you bonk your toe against one of Jane’s chairs, and you wince at the sudden pain. Jane snickers and motions for you to come back to her, letting you place the lantern closer. She barely gave you a second to recuperate before pulling you back onto her lap.

And again, your body shivers as Jane carries on with the removal of your clothes. You love how she looks at you, how her eyes gaze over your body with what you’d dare deem the look of love and hunger. Your curves, every stretch mark and blemish, she seemed to adore. Her affection was short-lived as she pulled you closer to her, the same routine becoming more ritualistic.

Her lips against your neck, her hands holding your waist, softly squeezing your hips to distract you, to keep your mind off thick fangs piercing into your flesh like butter. Oh, gods, the faint sting, the dull throb, from both your neck and the heat between your thighs. Jane’s gentleness, her soft groans and murmurs as she drank from you, and those damned whispers of praise always somehow manage to arouse you…

“Good girl,” she cooed. “I love the way you taste… only you.”

Her words brought a blush to your cheeks, soft pink. Your breaths quicken. You curse yourself as your body betrayed you, and you lean into her touch, a quiet whimper dripping from your lips like the wine your lady kept hidden someplace in the kitchen. You knew where it was. You knew how it tasted.

“Eager?” Jane jests, kissing the deep tissue wounds she left, her tongue impatiently lapping the slightly viscous liquid she so craved as it flowed from your neck at the same pace your heart raced in your chest.

“Yes, Miss Murdstone, always…” You murmur. Perhaps you were lying to yourself when you assumed you would not enjoy this. Your core was dripping, soiling the knickers Jane had so ‘kindly’ left on your body. You hated her for leaving them on, but not for long. That hatred was quickly replaced again with need as Jane’s thumb put pressure on your clit. Your eyes fluttered, but you dared not moan, knowing she would stop. This is her game, and this is how it was to be played.

No, no, you certainly hated this; you were supposed to. This was disgraceful, this was blasphemous. Your lady was so cruel, the pad of her thumb stroking your swollen pearl in painfully slow circles. She left a dark purple mark above your wound, sucking and nibbling the flesh. Her lips purse into a wicked smile, feeling you tremble and your clit twitch against her.

She loves the way your hips buck and how you try so desperately to suppress every whimper and moan. You want nothing more than to cry out her name and feel her fingers fill you as you fantasise they were meant to. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that for you, and you hated that she wouldn’t as much as you loved that she would do this. So sadistically, how her thumb presses harder against you, testing you, seeing how far she could push you before you broke.

You feel a cold finger curl beneath your chin, bringing your head up to meet her eyes. “Look at me,” she said forcefully, and as if you had no control over your actions, your gaze quickly shifted to Jane’s. Gods, how you loved those eyes, the way she looked at you, how she just loved to watch you squirm.

She tuts and removes her thumb from your aching nerves. Her hand didn’t pull away, moving instead to cup your center, drawing in a breath through gritted teeth as your wetness coated her fingers. “You’ve soaked through your knickers…” Jane sounded almost repulsed, though the way she desired you was the opposite of her tone.

“Filth,” she sneered, “you always make such a mess.”

You couldn’t help but whine and frown. Jane’s favourite part of this game was to humiliate and degrade you, after praising you for being so compliant and sweet, taste-wise and mannerisms. “I’m sorry, Miss Murdstone…” You scramble for a meek apology, expecting her to keep taking from the wounds in your flesh. But she did not.

Instead, slender fingers tug longingly at the waistband of your knickers. As if the soft lace texture didn’t turn her on enough, your immediate response to help her take them off added to her desperation. The moment those came off, she pocketed them, stuffing them in the breast pocket of her robe, white and satin and parting just enough to reveal herself to you as she untied the belt, uncaring that her robe fell past her shoulders and pooled around her elbows.

“Pathetic… so soaked and drenched over nothing… You’re nothing but a whore, Marie.” Jane’s words stung, but the hurt of her words was soothed by her thumb retreating to your clit once more, this time unrestrained and so, so fast, so mind numbingly fast, fuck, Jane, please…

Your thighs tremble as Jane’s touch ruins you, finally, bringing you so close, long fingers dipping into your core, curling just right, so perfectly, filling you and pleasuring you in ways you had not thought possible. Her strong arm controlled the pace at which her fingers fucked you. Fast and deep, pulling guttural moans from your throat as she attacked a soft spot against your walls, begging her for more, begging her to cum.

“Oh, Jane! Plea- please… Gods!” Her name rolling off your tongue in such a vulgar manner left Jane’s own knickers soiled and soaked just the same. “Please let me cum, Jane-... Please, please, pleasepleaseplease—“

“Of course you can cum…” Jane waited for you to near your peak. Your legs shook and you clung desperately to Jane, gasping and crying out as your walls clenched around her fingers until it was taken from you, suddenly left empty and aching worse than before, “…when I give you permission.”

You were furious. How could she fuck you so good just to take it all away? You whimpered and whined as your hips swayed, searching for lost friction, the dull throb becoming unbearable.The ache of your poor cunt was too much to handle. You almost hated how Jane’s hands would travel so soothingly up your torso, holding your breasts, worshipping the very flesh she cradled.

“I h-hate you…” You squeal as Jane’s hand wraps harshly around your throat, squeezing you just right. You loved it when she let you wear her hand like an elegant necklace.

“Oh, you don’t mean that. You know you don’t mean that,” she cooes, earning a quick whimper from you as her fingers finally took up the empty space inside you again. “If you hated me, sweet girl, you would not be so needy. You wouldn’t howl like a bitch in heat, I’m certain. Nor would you be so wet for me.”

With one hand still snug around your neck, and the other hitting that soft spot, curling again so good, so perfectly, you could barely speak. Every moan that spilt from your lips was shaky, and your body was unstable. Jane knew just how to make you shake, how to make you cum so good… only Jane could get you like this. You were certain, she reassured you of it every time she drank from you, every time she got you absolutely dripping and yet this was the only time she had kept going, the only time her digits continuously fucked you, so good, gods you were so close.

But Jane knew how to make you cry, too.

The tight clench around her fingers became a squeeze around nothing as Jane ripped her fingers again from your dripping cunt, leaving you squirming and crying — literally — for her to let you cum like the good girl you knew you could be for your mistress. You felt mocked and humiliated as Jane chuckled at the silent tears that fell from your glossy eyes.

“Oh, Marie, foolish girl. Your pleasure is in vain… You know I love to play with my food,” she tskls, parting your lips with her slick fingers — slippery with your essence — and let you taste the sin that coated them. Cruel, unrelenting Jane Murdstone.

Your tongue swirls around her fingers, eyes fluttering shut and suckling weakly. Jane decided she’d had enough of that and took her fingers away, using them to curl beneath your chin and force your eye contact. Your lady was a snake with blue eyes. That was a thought you kept to yourself.

“Please, please milady…” You whine and bite down on your bottom lip. You had forgotten how mean she could be every time her fingers ravaged your walls.

“Very good, good girl.” But instead of pleasing you, as is never the guarantee, Jane moves you, positions you so that only she would be pleased, and you’d be left with nothing. Your palm lay flush against the vampiress’ warm cunt, blocked by nothing but expensive silk. You looked to her with pleading eyes, knowing Miss Murdstone would never let you advance without permission. A faint nod granted you the consent you’d been looking for. With an eager hand, you pull the silk of her knickers aside, greeted to the sight of her – glistening and aching.

“Oh, milady…” You groan as a finger parts her slit, slick gathering on your digits. “Is this because of what I’ve given you?”

Jane bites her lip, swallowing back a groan. Instead, she scoffs, yanking your hair back, just to remind you who’s in control. “Silence yourself, you wretched girl… such a sinful whore you are, how would the church feel, finding out about your filthy needs?”

You whine as small strands are ripped, but you are not deterred. Instead, you remark, “and how would the church respond to their most pious figure bedding a woman, feeding from her neck whilst you take her fingers?”

That both struck a nerve and made her clench around your finger, almost as if to beg for another. You obey, cooing as she hisses from the gratifying stretch of an added digit. A retort dies off the tip of her forked tongue as your wrist curls, pumping your fingers deep enough to hit a spot that invites her back to arch like a cat from the bedsheets. Jane rocks her hips against your palm, meeting every thrust. You watch, mesmerised by the sight of her breasts as they sway with her movements.

You feel her walls start to quiver around you, her breath coming in soft pants as her thighs tremble. This was it, you were going to lose the game, but at least this felt like a win enough – feeling her slick drip down your palm as she came with a cry of your name.

“Very good,” she huffs, body quivering like a leaf in autumn. “You will accompany me at the same time tomorrow, sweetling. Fetch yourself tea and bring a candle to bed with you.”

Something in her tone sounded like she’d deliver a promising reward. You turn to leave without question, though Jane stops you with a soft grip to your wrist. She presses a kiss to your pulse point, soft as a whisper. Jane likes how your heart flutters against her lips. She smirks against your skin before swiping a finger between your legs, gathering the mess you’d made, licking it clean before sending you on your way.

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