The Salvatore Saga, Part Four: My new Life

I finally managed to wriggle free from the grip of those damn tasers, my body still tingling with irritation. As I looked around, frustration consumed me. Here I was, trying to enjoy a well-deserved retirement, when a group of mercenaries attacked me in the park and dragged me into some kind of enormous space, enclosed by rows of cages.

The air was heavy with the scent of desperation and fear. Most of the cages held women, some with multiple occupants, others with just one. Many of these women appeared to be pregnant or had recently given birth, cradling infants in their arms. But not me. I refused to contribute to the breeding cycle. I possessed dangerous powers and abilities, and if I were to reproduce, my offspring would likely inherit my white-hot rage, making them potential monsters. No, I was not fit to be a mother.

I adjusted my position, trying to find some semblance of comfort. In this cruel world, I had become what one might call an ice queen. A 200-year-old virgin, untouched by pleasure and scarred by a violent past. My body, a mere 156 cm in height or five feet two inches, was thin and pale, bearing the marks of past battles on my torso and limbs. My plain features lacked any trace of makeup, and though I appeared young, my eyes held the weight of centuries. 

For 140 years, I had existed as an escaped experiment. Kidnapped, tortured, and subjected to relentless experimentation, my evolution triggered a transformation that made me a vampire-shifter hybrid. A triple-alpha, a being of chaos, and more. I was aware that my appearance may not be captivating, but it was a testament to my strength and resilience.

I appeared innocent on the outside, but in reality, I exuded an aura of cynicism and weariness. I was a battle-hardened creature, long shattered and unable to remember what it felt like to be whole. Perhaps I had been broken from the very beginning. The experiment that birthed me was designed to create a soulless killing machine, easily shattered and controlled. However, I escaped before they could brainwash me, yet they imprinted within me a white-hot rage that now coursed through my genes.

My memory had been manipulated and enhanced to the point where every recollection was vivid and tangible. The memories held all the sensations of pain, agony, and helplessness. I had grown strong, no longer a victim. But it was my very memories that had shattered me.

I surveyed my surroundings, my eyes peeled for any clues about this confined space. My cage was relatively small, measuring three meters by three meters. It stood separate from the others, each adorned with a plaque providing information about its occupants. I had no idea what mine said. Next to me, several tall and curvy females occupied their own cages, their fear palpable as they whispered in hushed tones. I caught a whiff of the air, focusing on their scent, and was surprised to discover that they were hybrids like me. I remained silent, unwilling to engage with them. It was time to play possum.

I wore a thick woolen shirt and loose velvet pants, my tight bra concealing my small breasts. I aimed to appear too young to be bred, uninteresting, and inconspicuous. Being an unwilling siphon, I constantly absorbed energies and potential magic swirling around me, stored within the tanks of my mind. But I couldn't utilize them to their full extent. I sensed a spell placed on this cage, preventing me from changing my shape, but I allowed my siphoning to remain open, absorbing the spell's energy away.

Placing my hand on the bar, I felt the cold steel beneath my fingertips, runes etched into its surface. My siphoning abilities worked best when I made contact, allowing for a potential escape when the opportunity presented itself. Until then, I would huddle in the deepest shadows of the cage, my oversized shirt enveloping my body as I pulled my legs close. My expression remained neutral, though I knew I could feign fear if necessary. I was actually unable to feel fear. It was one quirk of mine. I was a wonderful actress. Faking being scared. It wasn't easy for me, as I tended to overact, but I knew how to play the victim when the need arose.

As I scanned the guards, my eyes were met with a sea of faces. There were countless females confined in rows of cages, easily exceeding a thousand in number. The rows stretched endlessly, the sheer quantity overwhelming me. Though I felt a pang of sympathy, I knew I couldn't save them all if I managed to escape. Perhaps, if I discovered the location of this place, I could provide a clue to my former organization. However, my primary focus was my own escape; I had no intentions of helping anyone else.

Suddenly, I heard voices and footsteps echoing through the air. Heavy boots thudded against the cold concrete floor, indicating several individuals. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and see the group that approached. There were approximately 14 men, possibly more, moving from cage to cage. They would halt in front of each one, and then one man would read from his tablet, presenting test results or something of the sort. He would give a report, and the man whom I assumed was the boss would occasionally comment or snap at his second-in-command.

At times, the boss would take keys from his belt, unlock a cage, and enter it. Most of the women inside were lactating, and they trembled in fear as he pressed them against the bars. He would forcefully open their shirts and nurse from their breasts, causing discomfort and distress for the majority of them. However, there was another man, carrying a heavy bag, who would intervene if a female proved too defiant. He would retrieve a syringe and hand it to the boss, who would inject it into the woman's flesh, sedating her. Once she was subdued, he would indulge in his milk meal.

But it didn't stop there. The boss engaged in even more sinister acts. It was not uncommon for him to sedate his victims, instruct a few men to undress her, open his own jeans, and thrust himself into her helpless body. He would ravage her mercilessly, eliciting pleas and cries of agony from the women as they eventually succumbed to pleasure. Sometimes, he would even drink their blood, whispering something to them before leaving them naked and used, sprawled out on a cot.

It was much later when someone finally came to clean these women, but the number of cleaners was scarce. The women remained in their drugged state, filled and utterly helpless, feeling the warmth of his release inside them. I overheard him mention that a select few individuals were feeders, kept in a separate cage. He would enter that cage, choose one, and hypnotize his victim. Baring her neck, he would drain her until death claimed her. There were several feeder cages, but they contained only humans. He spared the supernatural beings, refraining from killing them. 

As the men approached, I noticed their identical faces, their features becoming clearer as they drew nearer. At least ten of them shared the same appearance. However, what stood out were the white tufts of hair each of them had, unique to their own place. The one they called "Doc," the one carrying the bag, had a forehead completely white, while the boss had it on the right side, and the second-in-command on the left. Even though I had my distinguishing features - two stripes, one black and one golden - my hair was now long, red, and tangled, perfectly concealing my face for the disguise I needed.

As time passed, the entourage moved closer, and I made progress in unlocking the spell trapped within the cage. I couldn't help but notice the boss, equipped with a normal pistol and a tranquilizer gun on his belt. He wasn't just a fucking machine; there was a calculated coldness behind his icy gaze. On the other side of me, two women were confined in a cage. One had black hair, adorned in a lace dress, while the other was tall and curvy, though not conventionally attractive. I could sense their magic, confirming that they were a pair of black witches. I maintained my role, skillfully hidden in the shadows, unnoticed by the guards. I had already mapped out my escape route and developed a preliminary plan, but there were still many unknowns.

The entourage finally came to a halt in front of the cages, holding the two black witches.

The second-in-command spoke, "These are black witches, unwilling to breed. They claim their black magic prevents them from getting pregnant."

The boss took a step closer, his voice soft, "Black magic, my dear breeders, is no longer a problem. I can assure you of that. You will be perfect incubators for my offspring, who will feed on your powers, your black magic. I can manipulate it, purify it, and use it, just like my offspring will. You will be left as mere humans in the end."

He turned his gaze to the black-haired witch, raised his tranquilizer gun, and fired. In a matter of moments, she crumpled to the ground, her body limp and motionless. He opened the door of the cage, stepped inside, and shot the other witch as well. A few of his men quickly lifted the black-haired witch onto a cot, tearing her lace dress from her drugged body. Though still conscious, her voice took on a childlike quality. She, too, was a vampire. 

The boss's gaze lingered on her body, tracing the curves that adorned her figure. In a commanding tone, he ordered, "Restrain her, legs spread. The doctor, administers hormones and inserts a dildo to open her womb. Keep her drugged, but aware. Make her lactate. Give her a potion, so her milk is potent. We have buyers. Let's prepare her, but no blood. I want these soulless bitches to hunger for me."

A few men swiftly began preparing the woman, while the boss's eyes shifted to a tall blonde nearby.

With a sinister smile, he declared, "The same treatment for her. Let's break them with pleasure. Give them stimulants and aphrodisiacs. I want them begging for my touch. Beg me to breed them."

The men nodded in agreement as the doctor retrieved vials and various tools from his bag.

Remaining motionless, I tried my best not to draw attention. The boss walked away, crossing his arms nonchalantly. His silk shirt clung to his body, his rolled-up sleeves revealing a careless yet alluring demeanor. Despite his attractiveness, the coldness in his eyes betrayed his predatory nature. Suppressing my own predatory instincts, I stayed still, hoping to go unnoticed. I concealed my scent, attempting to pass as human and avoid any unwanted attention.

As the men prepared the captured women, restraining them on cots with legs spread wide, I watched from my cage. The women were exposed and vulnerable, with pulsating dildos inserted into their pussies and IVs connected to their naked bodies. The men emerged from the cage and approached mine. The boss took a few steps closer, reading whatever information had been placed in front of my cage with that plaque.

"We have a shifter hybrid here," he stated, his voice low. "Lethal and fast in her shifts. Also a vampire, I can smell it. She's pretending to be weak, but she's resistant to human drugs and uncooperative. Doctor?"

The doctor grunted in response, opening his bag and retrieving a syringe. He handed it to the boss, who turned his attention to me.

Softly, he spoke, "You can pretend all you want, but playing possum won't work, baby. Let's see if we can calm you down a bit."

Chuckling, he loaded the syringe into a dart gun.

Aware of my ability to move quickly and dodge, I braced myself. However, before I could react, a man approached my cage, his arm slipping between the bars. He grabbed me, and in an instant, I felt a sharp pain that followed the soft pop of the dart gun. The damn syringe was now lodged in my thigh, its potent contents coursing through my veins. Focusing on my rage, I pushed through the pain, allowing it to clear my mind. The details of their conversation began to fade as the man released his grip and delivered a jolt from a taser. My grip on my rage weakened as I slumped onto the cot, the drugs taking hold. Desperately, I fought to stay awake.

The boss swung open the heavy cage door, its rusty hinges screeching in protest. He took a confident step inside and approached my cot, his presence looming over me. With a firm grip, he clasped my chin, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. It felt as if he was peering into the depths of my soul. A subtle scent of passionfruit wafted from him, adding a tangy sweetness to the air.

His voice, soft yet laced with danger, whispered, "Welcome. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Damon Salvatore, and you, my dear, shall be mine. My Mimi. My mate. My pet. This marks the beginning of your new life. Soon, you will be obedient, fertile, and proudly carrying our litters in your womb."

As the drugs took hold, rendering me speechless, a doctor approached and began scanning me with a peculiar device. He took my hand, pressing my finger against a machine to draw my blood.

His surprise was evident as he grunted, remarking, "She is a medical anomaly. Her DNA possesses six strands, double wombs, and she is a formidable hybrid of a feline shifter and vampire. She is as strong as hell, estimated to be around 200 years old, and remarkably, still a virgin."

Damon's predatory gaze locked onto me, his voice now a chilling whisper. "A virgin. It's been quite some time since I've had the pleasure of one."

His hands moved swiftly, gripping the hem of my thick woolen shirt and stripping it away, exposing my slender frame. Underneath, I wore a snug tee shirt and a tight bra, meant to conceal my small breasts. Damon remained silent as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of my pants and panties, effortlessly sliding them down my legs. His gaze swept over my body, noting its unique features. It was not a typical woman's physique, but rather that of a shifter, a female leader. As a shifter, I was devoid of body hair from the neck down. My form was lean, with jutting ribs, lacking curves, and possessing narrow hips and a slim waist. 

Next, he removed my tee shirt, revealing a torso marred by a multitude of scars. They told the story of my life as a leader, bearing the marks of bullets, knives, whips, lashes, and bites. The scars also bore witness to the various medical procedures I had endured.

Damon's hands, strong and searing, explored the landscape of my scars, his fascination palpable. He felt the feverish heat radiating from my skin, my body temperature reaching a scorching 40 degrees Celsius. His hands cupped my small breasts, squeezing them gently, his thumbs grazing my nipples, eliciting a response that made him chuckle. The sound was both dark and amused. 

Confusion clouded my mind, making it difficult to process the sensations coursing through my body. The drugs pulled me deeper into oblivion, and I eventually succumbed, passing out completely. All I could sense was the firm and heated touch of his hands, exploring my body, moving down to my thighs, spreading them apart. His fingers lingered tantalizingly close to my small, hairless pussy. Darkness took me with it. Leaving me utterly vulnerable, helpless, and naked state in front of a group of vampires or something.