Charity

"Hello," she said with rehearsed enthusiasm. "You've reached Faedyn Customer Support. This is Clara speaking. How may I help you today?"

Silence answered her. Not the awkward sort while someone gathered their thoughts. This silence felt deliberate.

Clara glanced at the call timer. The seconds ticked away. She resisted the urge to sigh. People who began calls like this were rarely calling about forgotten passwords. They wanted to complain. Annoyance simmered beneath her carefully professional tone.

"Hello?"

At last, someone answered.

"Hello, darling."

The voice was low and melodic, every word delivered with effortless confidence. It wasn't quite flirtatious, it felt more enchanting. Like listening to someone tell a story beside a fireplace on a winter evening. Every word designed to catch the listeners attention.

"I couldn't help but notice something."

Clara frowned.

"That interesting little part in your company's name. Faedyn."

A pause.

"'Fae.'"

The speaker lingered over the word.

"Is that not a little arrogant? To claim such familiarity with the fair folk."

Clara blinked. For a heartbeat, she simply listened. The irritation she'd felt only moments earlier drifted away, replaced by an odd uncertainty.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked," the caller repeated gently, "whether your employers understand the implication of the name they chose."

Clara opened her mouth. Closed it again. The question was absurd. Faedyn was a software company. As far as she knew, the founders had chosen the name because it sounded modern and memorable.

Hadn't they?

She frowned.

Why couldn't she remember?

Usually she could recite the company's branding history without thinking. New employees spent nearly an entire afternoon learning the official story by watching the most boring and mind-numbing orientation video ever produced.

However, now just a vague certainty that she ought to know it filled her mind.

"You seem uncertain." The observation wasn't mocking. If anything, it sounded amused.

"No," Clara replied quickly. "I just. I'm not part of the marketing department."

"Of course not." The caller laughed softly. The sound sent an inexplicable shiver across the back of Clara's neck.

It wasn't unpleasant.

Quite the opposite. It felt comforting, almost as familiar as her mother's praise.

She adjusted her headset.

"May I ask what this call is regarding?"

"Oh, certainly."

Another brief silence filled the conversation.

"I'm calling because someone is using a name that doesn't belong to them. And I need your help, darling, to claim restitution. And since you work in customer support, I'm certain that those folds between your thighs are already wet and eager," the speaker paused. Clara heard a soft hum of satisfaction before the speaker continued. "And so I need your help. To teach your company what it means to name oneself 'fae'."

Clara shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs tightly together. Heat flooded her cheeks.

"Yes, Ma'am," Clara responded.

"Good girl," the caller cooed.

The sound sent an unexpected wave of warmth through Clara. A flush of pleasure washed across her skin, and she squirmed in her seat.

"Now I want my employees to be the best. In looks and personality. And we both know that a little calling drone doesn't need much of a personality," the speaker mused. Clara heard the click of fingernails tapping against a hard surface. "So, why don't you tell me a few things about yourself."

"Yes, Ma'am," Clara said obediently, her mind still reeling from the sudden change. Her voice came out breathless, and the caller chuckled.

"Good. Start with how much of a whore you really are."

Clara bit her lip.

"I've had some experiences. In the past. When I was in college," she admitted softly.

"Darling, don't you mean, you've got lots of experience after dropping out of school?" The speaker asked.

Clara felt her blush darken. The only person she'd told about that had been her last girlfriend.

"Who told you?" She whispered. Her words carried the faint edge of fear.

The caller clicked their tongue. Clara could picture them wagging a perfectly manicured fingernail at her. A tiny, silent warning not to repeat the offense again.

"Now, now, darling." The speaker said gently, "I'm going to ask the questions, not you. So, why don't you tell me about your experiences."

Clara shifted in her chair.

"Well, I've had a few boyfriends," she began hesitantly, "And I experimented a bit with some girlfriends. I like sex, and I used to watch some porn. And I don't know, I've just tried some different things, that's all." Clara's cheeks burned, but as she spoke her arousal only grew. She found herself remembering some of those past experiences. She pressed her thighs even more tightly together and arched her back slightly.

"Don't be shy, darling. We both know you had some hard core experiences. After all, you don't get fake, plastic tits like those delicious globes on your chest, if you are a prude vanilla girl," the caller said, their voice a seductive whisper.

Clara couldn't stop her hand from drifting upwards, brushing against the swell of her breast.

"I'm a whore," Clara breathed.

"I know," the caller purred.

The voice, the way the woman spoke, sent another shudder of arousal through her. She could almost feel those words sliding over her skin.

"I like fucked around, a lot. Sucked dicks. Let cocks pound into my snatch and ass. Sometimes I got multiple holes filled at the same time." Her hand crept higher, until she brushed her thumb over a hardened nipple.

"Oh, my good little cock-sucking whore," the woman laughed softly. "That's exactly right. Instead of smarts and a brain, you are dumb and have tits. It's so much better. Isn't it, darling?"

"Uh-huh." Clara bit back a moan. Her entire body tingled.

"Very nice," the woman purred, "But, let's see what we can do to make you a better cocksucker, alright darling?"

"Alright."

"What are you wearing right now?"

Clara's voice came out husky, her breathing quickening. She felt dizzy, almost feverish. The office around her faded, leaving only the caller's sultry voice in her ears. Her surroundings didn't seem to exist anymore.

"I'm wearing a white button up top, a pencil skirt and heels." She shifted her shoulders, feeling the clothing against her skin.

"Are you sure? That doesn't sound like my companies uniform. Faedyn Incorporated isn't known for its unappealing attire."

Clara frowned, the haze in her mind clearing slightly. The caller sounded so certain, so authoritative, as if they knew everything about her and her workplace. And yet, their words held the weight of truth, a truth she couldn't quite grasp.

"No, I suppose not," Clara agreed slowly. She glanced down at herself.

Instead of her usual, bland outfit, she saw something far more daring. A short, pleated skirt rode high on her thighs. The fabric appeared glossy, like black latex. She wore matching thigh high stockings. A white, collared shirt covered her torso. A red, satin tie completed the outfit. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a face made-up with bold, dark eyeshadow and lipstick.

Her hands trembled.

"Where did this come from?"

"Don't be ridiculous, darling." The caller's voice sharpened. "That's your work uniform. You've worn it every day. Do you think you're here for your brains? You're just a cock-sucking slut who needs a cock pounding into your pussy and asshole to fill her up. You're so much more attractive like this." The speaker's words sounded almost like an admonishment.

Clara bit her lip.

"Of course. I'm sorry. It's just," she paused. Her thoughts swam, and her mind struggled to focus on anything other than the ache between her legs. The clothes felt tight and restrictive.

"Don't apologize. Faedyn Incorporated Sluts only apologize when they aren't pleasing customers or superiors. And, darling, you are very pleasing. Pliable, submissive and slutty. Isn't that right, my bimbo whore?" The speaker asked, their words a soft caress.

"Like, totes, Mistress," Clara responded in a bubbly, bimbo voice. Her tongue ran over her glossy lips.

The speaker chuckled again, a rich, musical sound that filled her ears.

"Good girl." They cooed.

Clara squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. She felt an undeniable need building inside her.

"I'm glad to hear it," the speaker continued, their voice still soft. "And you know what that means, don't you, my bimbo whore? It means that I own you. You're mine, darling. Your tits, your pussy, your mouth," the caller's words turned into a sultry purr. "And you love it. You crave being owned. Faedyn employees are all owned by the Fae. It's in the name after all." There was no doubt or uncertainty in the speaker's voice. Their confidence was absolute.

"Uh-huh," Clara agreed eagerly, nodding. "Yes, Mistress, I'm your slut. Your bimbo. I belong to you. I love being owned, and being your property, Mistress. It's the best, most amazing feeling in the entire world!" She giggled, the sound light and carefree.

"And what do we say when we get owned, my darling little cumslut?"

The speaker's voice turned teasing. Clara bit her lip, feeling her arousal surge.

"Thank you, Mistress."

She could almost see the woman's smile on the other end of the phone.

"You are so welcome." The caller sounded delighted. "And what do we do when we are your Mistress's bimbo slut? We follow orders and we do as we're told. We're perfect, obedient, little cunts who just live and breathe to obey."

Clara shivered.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Such a good girl." The speaker purred. "Now, that our little company is back on track, it's time you get those holes some good use."

The line clicked, leaving Clara in silence. She stood up. Her heels clacked on the tile floor. Her bubble butt bounced in time with each step. Her tits swayed heavily.

The caller was right, of course.

Then immediately rolled her eyes.

"What am I doing?"

The question had accompanied her all evening. Unfortunately, she already knew the answer. She was investigating.

At least that was what she kept telling herself.

The heavy boots she wore clicked against the floor as she crossed her apartment and headed for the door.

Outside, evening rain had left the streets glistening beneath the city's neon lights. The colorful reflections painted the pavement in shifting reds, blues, and purples as Barbara made her way toward Club Vampyra.

The name alone made her suspicious.

It sounded less like a nightclub and more like something dreamed up by a teenager trying too hard to seem edgy.

The place had become the talk of the campus within months of opening. Every week seemed to bring new stories. Most people dismissed them as marketing.

Barbara wasn't so sure.

Because of Zina. And Rika.

The memory made her frown.

One month ago, her two friends had visited the club for the first time.

Neither of them had seemed particularly interested beforehand.

Zina had always preferred bright colors, cheerful music, and anything remotely pink. She approached life with relentless enthusiasm and enough bubbly energy to exhaust everyone around her.

Rika had been the complete opposite. The kind of shy person who treated casual conversations like academic debates.

Neither seemed likely candidates for a place called Club Vampyra.

Yet after one visit, everything changed. Not immediately. Subtly. A little more black clothing. Some new accessories like a bolted bracelet or collar. And a growing enthusiasm whenever the club came up in conversation.

Then came another visit.

And another.

And another.

Now both women dressed almost exclusively in dark colors. Zina still laughed constantly, but something about it felt different now. Malicious and mocking. Meanwhile Rika remained just as intelligent as ever, but the shy uncertainty she'd once carried had vanished completely. In its place stood a confidence bordering on arrogance.

Something had happened to her friends. She was sure of it.

The towering structure of Club Vampyra finally emerged ahead of her. Dark stone mixed with red neon. Tall windows obscured by blackened glass.

A line of patrons stretched around the building, many dressed in styles remarkably similar to her own.

Barbara slowed. For the first time all evening, uncertainty crept into her thoughts.

This was ridiculous. She should turn around. Yet even as the thought occurred, she knew she wouldn't. She needed answers. And answers waited behind those doors.

Drawing a slow breath, Barbara straightened her shoulders and approached the entrance. Above her, crimson letters glowed against the night. A faint pulse of music escaped as the doors swung open for a pair of guests.

Then the entrance was before her. The bouncers eyed her, but offered nothing more than a nod of silent acknowledgement.

Inside, the music throbbed. A steady heartbeat of sound.

She descended the stairs. Black marble floors met dark red walls. The whole place glimmered, bathed in a shifting crimson light. Earthly scents hang heavily in the air. Leather and sweat, with an unmistakable undertone of sex.

A crowd already gathered, pulsing in time with the music.

She studied them from the edge of the room, eyes lingering on their bodies. Some wore little more than leather straps across their most intimate places. Others displayed their bodies with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Yet more still had covered themselves in tattoos or piercings.

The crowd seemed to breathe with the music. An organic whole. As if a single mind controlled their every movement.

Shivers raced down her spine.

She took another breath. And stepped forward into the throng of dancers.

A sea of flesh enveloped her. Arms. Legs. Torso. Chest. Groins grinding together. A single body moving in perfect unison with the steady pulse of the beat. The music pounded in her ears, but not as loudly as the pounding of her heart. The atmosphere swallowed her up. Consumed her.

For one moment, everything disappeared. The music. The lights. Even the feel of sweat-slick bodies sliding against her skin. For one moment she existed in perfect isolation. Just herself and her thoughts.

Then the song changed.

The pulse deepened, quickening to a primal beat that resonated within her very bones. It consumed her, drawing her deeper into the music's thrall.

Then she stepped out of the crowd. Breathing heavily and trembling.

The club had become more crowded. Dark corners overflowed with bodies, their shadows writhing in the dim lighting. On the dance floor, the crowd continued to undulate, lost in the steady rhythm of the beat.

She wiped the sweat from her face, then licked her lips and swallowed.

Water. She needed water. Something to quench the burning thirst inside her. She made her way to the bar. Unlike everything else, it seemed abandoned.

Sitting down on a stool Barbara tried to regain some equilibrium.

Only for two familiar voices to pull her away from her thoughts.

"Barbs, hi," giggled Zina.

"What are you doing here, darling," asked Rika.

Barbara blinked in confusion as she saw the pair of women before her. Her mind reeling as she took them in. Gone were any signs of their usual appearance.

Instead, both wore clothing that matched her own style. Tight black leather hugged Zina's frame while dark fishnet clung to Rika's slender curves. Heavy makeup enhanced their eyes and accentuated the shape of their features, giving them both a seductive edge.

"Zina, Rika, hi," Barbara replied.

Zina hopped up on the stool next to Barbara and leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. "So, are you here for a little bit of naughty fun?"

Rika sat on the other side. Her hand resting on Barbara's knee. "We have something for you," she said.

Barbara swallowed hard, not quite knowing what to make of her friend's new behavior. "I'm not sure if I should really be here," she admitted nervously. She felt out of her element.

Zina's hand slid across her shoulder. "It's okay," she murmured in Barbara's ear. "We can totally help."

The woman behind the bar stepped in front of the three. "Can I get you anything?" She smiled knowingly as her gaze lingered over Zina and Rika.

"Of course, darling. A Brain Melter for each of us. Top it with a nice Cherry Conditioner for our redhead here," ordered Rika as her fingers stroked up and down Barbara's exposed thigh.

"Yes, my Lady," responded the bartender as she began to make their drinks.

"So what brings you to this fine establishment, darling?," purred Zina. She slid a hand between Barbara's thighs, teasing the skin there lightly.

"I needed answers," Barbara replied hesitantly, uncertain of how to react to the attention of both of her friends. The heat from their hands and bodies pressed against hers sent a shiver of arousal coursing through her veins.

"And you shall have them, darling," promised Rika. Her fingers brushed across the cleft of Barbara's breasts. "All the answers any one could need are here."

Zina nodded, her lips brushing against the sensitive flesh just below Barbara's earlobe. The sensation made her tremble slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

The bartender returned and set down three drinks before them. They sparkled faintly beneath the red lights. Barbara's bore a shimmering cherry perched atop its surface. A single, thin straw extended from each.

She reached for the drink, eager for something to quench the thirst that burned within her. She sucked in the liquid. And moaned as flavor exploded on her tongue.

The taste filled her mouth, rich and thick like syrup. Sweet and tart all at once. And beneath the deliciousness ran something deeper. A pulsating thrum that seemed to flow directly to the center of her body, where it blossomed in an expanding wave of heat and pleasure.

She pulled away, panting, and licked her lips to savor every trace of the sensation. "What is this?" she breathed.

Rika leaned in close, her breath hot on Barbara's neck as her fingers traced gentle circles across her chest. "Truth."

"Answers," added Zina, her tongue darting out to flick against the lobe of her ear.

The two women pressed against her, sandwiching her in warmth and desire. She could feel the soft swell of Rika's breasts against the side of her chest, and the firmness of Zina's thigh pressed against her own.

A low, insistent ache had begun to grow between Barbara's thighs, fueled by the heat that coursed through her veins and the caress of her friends. The air felt heavy and close, thick with a musky scent she couldn't quite place.

"Eat the cherry. It will be, wonderful, darling," Rika murmured, her lips grazing the shell of Barbara's ear as her fingers continued their delicate dance across the redhead's collarbone. "Trust us."

Barbara turned to look at the other woman, her gaze flicking to Rika's dark lips before returning to the mesmerizing swirls of colors within her drink. Her body thrummed with energy and need, every nerve alight.

She hesitated, then leaned down and closed her mouth around the fruit. It was warm from her breath and firm between her teeth as she bit into it, filling her mouth with sweet nectar. The juice stuck to her tongue, the taste clung to her thoughts. She sucked greedily at the remnants of the cherry, drawing the succulent juices down her throat.

Rika's lips descended on her exposed neck, kissing and nipping gently at her tender skin, while Zina continued to lick and nibble her way across Barbara's shoulder. The two of them worked in tandem, their movements synchronized, their hands exploring and teasing her heated flesh. Barbara could do little more than lean back and surrender to their attentions.

Her mind grew foggy as she sank into a warm haze, lost in sensation and need. The club pulsed in tune with her heartbeat. Her hips moved in rhythm with the music. The atmosphere whispered into her mind. She didn't understand the language, but she understood that everything was alright.

Rika's teeth pierced her neck. Zina bit into the other side. Sharp pain drowned in pleasure. Her friends sucked eagerly.

Barbara's eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her mind lost focus. The Club Vampyra embraced her. Something warm flooded into her veins.

She could taste it in her throat, feel it in her body. Her thoughts became heavy, thick like syrup. The air grew heavy too. It pressed against her, filled her lungs. She couldn't tell whether she was inhaling or exhaling.

All while Lady Rika and Mistress Zina drank her essence. They consumed it with eager lips, swallowing the crimson fluid as it spilled down her throat.

The feeling lingered on and on. Barbara felt herself growing weaker. Yet even as she grew tired her mind never lost that strange sense of contentment.

Her entire world became that single sensation. She wanted them to drain her. Wanted to be their Cherry on top. Nothing else mattered but the pleasure she could give her Lady and her Mistress.

She didn't know how long the moment lasted, only that it seemed to go on forever. When both finally stopped, satisfied, Barbara knew what she was. She was nothing more but the loyal servant of the two magnificent beings who had claimed her.

Her mind felt sluggish and foggy as they led her upstairs, past the bar and the dancing masses. Her thoughts struggled to focus on anything besides the heat and wetness between her legs and the ache in her core. Everything blurred together until all she could think about was the throbbing pulse of the club, the heat that coursed through her veins, and the ache between her legs that demanded attention.

The world melted away, becoming nothing more than a kaleidoscope of sensation and color, blurred together in an ever-shifting mass.

Until the sharp voice of Mistress Zina woke her. "Thrall Barbara, your Lady and Mistress totally need another drink. Why don't you like go and get a cutie from the streets?"

Before Barbara could answer, her Lady interjected. "Zina, we talked about this. No more street food, darling. Barbara here was a social butterfly. I'm sure she could get us something better. Professor Layswell sounds delicious."

Mistress Zina's eyes lit up. "Oh, that sounds totally better." She looked down at her newly turned Thrall and stroked her cheek. "Be a good Cherry and get our drink here tonight. Don't disappoint your Mistress."

Barbara felt a warm glow fill her chest. Her mind still buzzed with the after-effects of her feeding, and the thought of pleasing both of these powerful creatures made her feel so happy she could burst. She stood and curtsied. "I won't, Lady Rika, Mistress Zina."

With purpose she clacked away. Ideas danced in her mind, plans how to get the busty blonde teacher here formed.