When Clarice's boyfriend leaves her unexpectedly, she is saddled with overdue rent in the pricy San Francisco. She decides to rob a couple businesses to make money, unknowing that she has just stolen money from a club owned by vicious vampires. The vampire gives her a choice: pleasure us or go to jail. What will she choose? Includes dubious consent, gangbang, bdsm, biting, ...
When Clarice's boyfriend leaves her unexpectedly, she is saddled with overdue rent in the pricy San Francisco. She decides to rob a couple businesses to make money, unknowing that she has just stolen money from a club owned by vicious vampires. The vampire gives her a choice: pleasure us or go to jail. What will she choose? Includes dubious consent, gangbang, bdsm, biting, double penetration, oral, anal, menage, biting, and more...
Clarice was not a violent person. She had never been in a fight her entire life, had never hit someone, she didn’t even like raising her voice.
Her hand gripped the metal inside her sweatshirt reflexively. She was not a violent person by nature, and yet here she was contemplating her next robbery. She had eyed the electro Goth club, Deathguild, for some time now. It was a new club, and wildly popular amongst the locals. Clarice liked the vibe. Often, she would order a glass of rum and coke and sink into the leather couches, allowing the music to throb inside her. There, she felt important—mysterious. She would sip her cocktail broodingly and watch other women twist and contort themselves along with the music.
Her pinky twisted around the lock of dyed, red hair. The mask, along with the hair, was part of her get up. If she ever wanted to return to Deathguild, she would need to assume a disguise.
It’s not that I want to rob the place, she thought guiltily. I have to.
Her boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—had recently dumped her and moved out of their apartment. He had left without telling her in advance, his good-bye was an abrupt text message: I can’t do this anymore. Sry. Anyone who lived in San Francisco knew that it was impossible to do survive without roommates. Her name was the only one on the lease. If she wanted to keep her apartment, she would have to come up with an extra couple thousand dollars for rent. To do that, she could either prostitute herself or rob a couple places.
Clarice had found a BB gun in her apartment that probably belonged to her ex. It looked real enough. It was heavy, and the tip was orange. Clarice had simply painted over it with grey nail polish.
She adjusted her mardi gras mask over her face and stopped in front of the club. The low throb of dance music reverberated through the street and seemed to travel up her legs. No one would look twice at her masked face. The regulars at Deathguild would dress up in large black skirts of tulle, their faces done in heavy black eyeliner, and their heads covered with garish wigs.
The door swung open and a throng of breathless women spilled onto the street, laughing. They shook cigarettes from their carton and lit their Zippos. Clarice squeezed between them and entered the club.
She was jostled between dancing bodies as she made her way across the dance floor. Deep purple and red lights illuminated the walls and the tall, spiky letters: DEATHGUILD. Clarice noticed that the Goths had painted bite marks on their necks that actually oozed with corn syrup blood. She rolled her eyes. The vampire thing was really overdone.
Finally she was at the bar. Dozens of Goths bellied up to the bar, their crimson mouths shouting for liquid courage. Clarice squeezed in at the end and felt her heart flutter. Could she really do this? She looked at the bartender and felt a pang in her heart. It was Gideon. He was one of her favorites.
He suddenly swept on her and fixed his penetrating blue gaze on her. He brushed back his shoulder-length, black hair and smiled through his girlish lips.
“What will you be having, love?”
He spoke with a faint British accent that always made Clarice’s heart pound. She stole over her nervousness and cleared her throat. “Give me your money.” She threw the sack she clutched in her hands on the counter.
A slow smile spread across his face, “Or what?”
She slipped the gun out of her sweater and rested it on the counter, pointing it at him.
Gideon’s eyes widened slightly. “Do you know who you’re stealing from?”
Her heart hammered, but it was so dark and the music was so loud that none of the customers were paying attention. She didn’t like seeing Gideon angry, but damn it, she had to eat. “Fill it,” she growled. “Discreetly.”
The cash register bounced open with a loud ring. Gideon picked up the sack and began to stuff money inside it. All the while he fixed her a disapproving glare. It was almost as if his eyes were darkening around his pale skin. He handed the sack to her as she tapped the counter impatiently with the gun.
Clarice grabbed the sack and shoved the BB gun back in her sweatshirt. No one had noticed anything. She pushed through the throng of people gyrating on the dance floor, glancing back at the bar.