Being flogged by a lesbian vampire felt much as it sounded. It was painful, humiliating, and, immeasurably, not how Janine thought she ought to be living her life. Quite the opposite, in fact. Unfortunately, Life, and the Queen, disagreed. It was something both had in common with the vampire countess, Janine reflected. All three were bitches.

Then again, her thinking was somewhat biased just then. Layers of rainbow dyed hemp rope coiled tightly around Janine's naked body. Another rope, this one bright pink, stretched down from the ceiling. The countess had tied it to the knots holding Janine's hands behind her back and, using a pulley, had hoisted Janine up until only the tips of her toes touched the ground. The ropes were new. The vampire's forces had overrun the caravan carrying them only three days before. As expected, the colors had appealed to the vampire. So much, that she had replaced her dull, rusting chains with the ropes two nights after, when she had personally captured herself a new plaything.

"You are so beautiful," Theresa the vampire breathed in Janine's ear. Sweesh. Crack. "So fit." Sweesh. Crack. "Your muscles are so honed." Sweesh. Crack. "Your heartbeat so strong." Sweesh. Theresa's short skinny form appeared in front of Janine, the tips of two blond ponytails tickling the shoulders of her blue silk dress. Small hands caressed the strands of the flogger. Crack. Fang, glinting in the torch light, transformed Theresa's young beautiful face into a vision of horror. "How fun!" The vampire giggled. "Don't die quickly! Oh, you won't die quickly, will you? We'll have so much fun together! Teehee!"

In light of the situation, Janine did what she could: she shrieked, begged, sobbed, and whimpered. She was vaguely satisfied that this seemed to please Theresa. When Janine shrieked, Theresa smiled. When Janine begged, Theresa thrashed her flesh with the flogger. When Janine sobbed, Theresa cooed to her, telling her how beautiful Janine looked, how much more beautiful she would look, how long Theresa would make her suffer, and how much pleasure she brought to the vampire. And when Janine whimpered, the vampire licked the swelling streaks on her flesh, just poking the skin with her fangs.

Janine let it happen. No, even more, she provoked it, encouraged it with steely determination. She knew, if it wasn't done at her will, it would happen regardless, only then her will would be gone, and she had other ambitions.

Most disturbing of all was the timelessness of the chamber. The unchanging flickering of the torch light terrified Janine more than anything. Was the night ending? Was it past midnight? Had it barely began? How long until the sun graced the sky once again so Janine might have her one mad chance to achieve the impossible? And what if the legends were false? No one had ever seen a vampire sleep. What if Theresa remained awake if she was far enough from the sunlight? That thought added a genuine touch to her shrieks.

It's a great idea, the Queen had said. I believe in you, Janine, the Queen had said. All, of course, from the safe position of delegating the details. But naturally, when the Queen had an idea you didn't pause to have serious doubts. You waited until you were hanging immobile, at the mercy of a sadistic vampire, your death a certainty... then you had doubts. With everything hurting, Janine considered the possibility that maybe the Queen had made a minor mistake.

Eventually, however, the stories proved to be true. Not only did Theresa sleep in the day, but she liked to play with her food as she did. A short female zombie entered the chamber along with a large male zombie. With jerking movements, they undid Janine's bindings and scrubbed her body with burning soap, before splattering her with several buckets of water. They shoved handfuls of sour smelling gruel in her mouth, which Janine wearily swallowed. She refused to ponder the smell. They cleaned her face afterward and forced her to drink. At one point, Janine felt a sharp sting on her butt. She saw the female zombie's hand darting behind her and heard the male zombie yelp. The two zombies growled at each other until the male retreated. The sting had felt like a pair of teeth.

Last, they put Janine on her knees against the left wall of the chamber, tying her hands to rings about a meter off the floor and a meter apart. "I have to sleep now," Theresa told her when the zombies had left. "I'll be right over there," she pointed at the luxurious bed at the opposite end of the room. She winked. "You don't have to suffer, you know. If you put a stake through my heart while I sleep, you'll be free." She giggled before leaning forward. Janine felt heat on her neck. When Theresa drew back, she was beaming. A small raspberry tear trailed down her chin. "We'll have so much fun tomorrow, you and I," she cooed. Then, she was on the bed. "Good night," she called to Janine.

Janine waited until she was she Theresa was truly asleep, shivering and smelling the stench of her terror. Everything hurt. To anyone else, after a night with Theresa, sleep would have seemed like a kiss from the heavens. To Janine it was poison. Several times, she caught her mind slipping into oblivion. Once, she realized she was dreaming and, breathing deeply, forced back her eyelids. She couldn't sleep. The day was her opportunity.

An earnest try convinced her that she couldn't reach the ropes on her arms with her teeth. That was unfortunate. Instead, she jerked her hands up and down against the restraint. At best, the effort produced a fraction of movement. She jerked her wrists left and right, with similar results. Her skin itched and burned lightly, rubbing against the ropes. It also distracted her from her tiredness. Janine kept it up, counting the flickers of the torch light. She would jerk her wrists up and down for two hundred flickers, then left and right for two hundred more.

Soon, light itching became severe itching. It wove with the burning, incrementing it, and finally transforming into genuine pain. Janine's breaths increased and she sobbed weakly, but kept rubbing her arms.

She felt light and dizzy by the time both wrists were bleeding. The pain was gone and she drifted between moments of warmth and horrible chills. She studied the ropes and shifted her wrists, making sure the blood soaked thoroughly through the fibers, before dripping down. Every so often, she rubbed the ropes with uninjured parts of her hands. Janine waited.

Most of her flesh had turned amber before she changed the way she pressed her wrists to the ropes, not to keep the wounds open but to hold them closed. The wait for the bleeding to stop was the worst. Janine was keenly aware that her dieing of blood loss would be a major setback to the plan. Of course, Theresa might beg to differ. But Janine was fairly sure even the vampire wouldn't approve of her prisoner bleeding to death while she slept. The countess seemed somewhat particular about the details of blood loss. A high maintenance killer.