Switch III: Queen of the Damnedest by Ardie Stallard
The past few years have been a wild ride for Felicia. As a high school senior back home she’d been head cheerleader, the football team’s quarterback’s sweetheart, and the school’s Homecoming Queen. Then she broke a school rule by kissing her boyfriend in public at the Homecoming ceremony. He abandoned her for being “bad luck,” the Principal paddled her for the kiss, and she was condemned by her home town because the Associated Press and the Internet spread her story across the world and made the entire town look foolish. Self-exiled from home to Memphis, she supported herself through much of her college career as a Dominatrix. Finally, she met a man she sensed she wanted to submit to. They fell in love, married, and live happily ever after. Or do they?
In this third installment of the Switch series, Felicia finds herself in a West Memphis tattoo parlor where pints of blood are preferred to cash payments. If that’s not unsettling enough, she then discovers that her new husband’s latest job isn’t quite what it seemed. And all this before she has to help rescue three nieces from an attempted kidnapping, introduces punishment spanking to the Memphis vampire community, meets the Count of Memphis and becomes his Dominatrix, and is declared Queen of the Damned (to vampires, life should imitate art, and they adore Anne Rice novels) by him and all his subjects. They love her. Madly. And that’s truly the operative word here.
So: how are Felicia and her beloved ever gonna get out of this one? If they do, that is? You’re cordially invited to find out.
This book may be read as a stand-alone or as part of the Switch series.
Includes spanking and whipping (M/f, F/f, F/m), vampires, sex work and workers, Female Domination, male & female submission, Male Domination, female submission, ass play, cuckold and medical.
The knock—one knock only, and no more—sounded on the front door at dusk, right after supper was over. Felicia, barefoot and without hose now but still in the blouse and skirt she’d worn to work, was washing up their few dishes and Joe had gone downstairs into the cellar to store the twenty-five-pound sack of potatoes they’d bought so the vegetables wouldn’t be too cold or too warm either one. He must have bumped his head on a floor beam since she heard a loud thump and then some muffled but really intense bump-your-head language, and so she chuckled indulgently, went to answer the knock herself, turned on the porch light, peered through the front door’s curtained glass—and her jaw dropped.
“Uh, Joe?” she called out in a nervous quaver, “We’ve got some company. Come back upstairs, will you?”
“Almost got the potatoes stored. You’ve gotta do ‘em up just right so they don’t rot or the starch in ‘em doesn’t change to sugar. I’ll be there in a minute.” Then she heard another thump, and following it: “OW! DAMN LOW CEILING! Nearly knocked myself out! Gimme just a second, hon. Is it people we know?”
“I—I—w-we know a couple of ‘em,” warbled Felicia. “Hurry! And for God’s sake don’t knock yourself out! Stay conscious!” Hesitantly, she opened the door a crack, and looked up with wide, frightened eyes. The house cat apparently sized things up much more quickly than Felicia did: he scrambled and climbed to his favorite lurking spot, the very top of the bookcase, as soon as he peered through the door and caught sight of the visitors outside.
“If you intend to keep us standing in supplication at your door, would you at least please turn out the porch light? It hurts our eyes and doesn’t help our skin much, either. And if you do let us in, we’d appreciate you dimming the lamps on the inside as well,” sounded a mezzo-soprano feminine voice obviously accustomed to issuing commands and seeing them obeyed promptly. The voice was totally unaccompanied by any smile or other friendly gesture from the its tall, pale, imposing owner. The woman, at least five-eleven whether or not she had on high heels under her elegant full-length long-sleeved, yoke-top deep purple gown, shook back her long, jet-black hair and regarded Felicia disdainfully with icy pale blue eyes. Felicia estimated her unknown visitor’s weight at a hundred-seventy at least, but the lady was curvaceous, with generous breasts and hips, and she carried herself not only well but like an aristocrat. Felicia couldn’t help but think of the expression she’d learned just over the past weekend from Joe: built like a brick shithouse. She could see what he meant, now. The two young vampires flanking the first woman, themselves done up head to toe in the latest Goth-tart fashion, curtsied respectfully and smiled nervously: Elle and Anna, the tattoo artists. A black limousine idled in a parking spot on the street behind them, brake lights on.
“Your Majesty! How’s the—err, how are the tattoos healing?” asked Anna.
“Uh—a little tender still, but… they’re fine s-so far, thanks, Anna,” stammered Felicia. “And you don’t have to c-call me by-by that title. F-for some reason my-my tattooed p-part feels like it’s much s-safer than the rest of me right now…” She gazed up fearfully again at the regal-looking companion of the two tattooists.
“Well! Lady Antonia, I presume? Now crowned and proclaimed as Queen of the Damned?” demanded the lead female again. “We vampires stand on our pride. We only knock once, and if we’re not invited in, we don’t come in. What’s it going to be? If you won’t talk to me, I demand to speak with your husband, either on this porch or inside. We have issues to settle.”
“Of—of course! Wh—why, come right in! Elle, Anna, i—it’s so good to see you again! I… err, I’ve not had the pleasure of… of meeting your friend, though,” Felicia squeaked as she backed up, eyes still bucking like a deer’s in the headlights. She turned off the overhead light, switched on the nearest table lamp to its softest setting, and looked around wildly. The cat seemed to be grateful simply to fade into the background.
“Joe!” she called again, “please get the potatoes stored and get your a—I mean, come up here! We—we’ve got company! Quickly! Please!”
After the three guests entered the parlor, Felicia darted behind them to close the door and Elle and Anna both dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. It was clear that the two had heard exactly what had happened at the Blood Bank that morning, and they were eager to observe their manners to the young woman Count Oren had recognized as his Queen. Their tall, commanding companion glanced at them, frowned, sighed, and shook her head as Felicia resumed her position before them. “I brought Elle and Anna along as ladies-in-waiting because they say they know you, and can vouch for your good character,” she addressed Felicia. “But you’ll excuse me, I hope, if I forego any obeisances of my own for the moment, Lady Antonia. Or is it Queen Antonia now? Or maybe Empress? I use those terms very loosely, by the way. I think I’ll retain ‘Damned,’ though. I’m Oren’s mother. The Dowager Countess, as it were. And in case you don’t remember who Oren is, he’s both the Count of this community’s vampires, and the eighteen year-old you Dominated, whipped, and shamed this morning in front of the entire Vampire Police Department.”
“JOE! HURRY!” squeaked Felicia, her knees knocking together. “Uh… uh… yes! Yes! We need to talk, of course! I—I—I can explain! The whole thing! Could I offer you ladies a—a—a cup of tea?”
“It’s not that we wouldn’t like to taste tea, Your Majesty,” murmured Elle. “we’ve heard good things about it. But I’m ashamed to say we simply aren’t equipped to drink it.” Anna nodded in somber agreement and both girls lowered their eyes again.
“It would be very courteous, however, if you were to offer us a BITE. To drink, at least, if not eat,” added the Dowager Countess with a small dangerous-looking sneer and a tiny arch of her perfectly-shaped left eyebrow as she advanced directly in front of Felicia, looked down into her eyes, and licked her deep-red lips. Elle and Anna each drew in a sharp, nerve-filled breath.