Welcome to
The Countess
Welcome to a world where powerful female vampires rule from the shadows, naked male servers kneel in devoted submission, and blood-soaked magic fuels immortal power.
The Grimoire
The bell to The Grimoire is out-of-tune. Its clanking jangle dulls the heavenly tone of a well-pressed piece of metal. It falls flat as you close the door behind you, barring the cold darkness of wintry London from the shop’s bright but stuffy interior. Heavy oak timbers line its low ceiling; combined with thick walls, they bear the lumbering weight of the floor above. The place is one of chaotic order. Magazines and journals, piled one atop another, create precariously stacked columns at the end of aisles of bookshelves packed with arcane literature. Titles convey a sense of unfettered otherness: Rude Earth Monuments, Witches of the Wild Woods, Sisters of the Key. There are mysteries here, keys that may answer questions; doors into worlds obscured from mundane society.
‘How many do you need, Amy?’ a woman asks from deeper within the labyrinth of tome-stacked shelves. Her English tone is light and gentle. Her words nicely rounded.
‘I’ve provided you with eight, Sophie,’ a well-spoken English woman responds. Her speech conveys a sense of mature self-belief.
‘It’s our busy night,’ Sophie says. ‘And Mike’s not here, so I’m sure I’ll give them all out.’
‘Thank you, Sophie. I’ll see you at The Countess.’
The approaching sound of heels on carpet draws your attention to the departing customer. Amy is a small lady with an air of class and authority. You notice a key glimmering from beneath her elegant fur coat.
‘What a world I can unlock for you…’ The woman’s smile is bracketed with a duet of long, sharp fangs. You watch her leave and consider momentarily to follow her. The clanking jangle sounds more harmonious as she departs into the darkness.
You venture deeper into the store’s forbidden secrets and turn an aisle where you’re greeted by a full-sized cardboard cut-out of a powerful-looking female vampire. Her imposing presence as much a seduction of invited pleasure as of underlying danger.
‘Vampires!’ a twenty-something woman says, appearing behind you with an armful of magazines. Her dreadlocks are multi-coloured and held back in a beautiful pink bow. Her crop top is tight to her chest. The sett of her pleated tartan mini-skirt dominated by glorious red. Fishnets and purple Dr Martens round out her outfit. ‘You like them too?’ Her green eyes sparkle with secretive amusement.
‘Like them?’ you reply.
‘Vampires.’
‘I’m just browsing.’
‘Well,’ she says, setting her stack of magazines on the nearest pile of unevenly stacked tomes. The topmost book ‘Vampire’s Key’ offers an enticing image of an attractive female vampire staring back at you. ‘It looks like fate or clairvoyance or luck has brought you here. My name is Sophie and I have something for you. Something very special. Something that very few people will ever experience. It’s an invitation.’
‘An invitation?’
Sophie winks. ‘Come this way.’ She leads you back to the till, slips around the counter and picks up a small flyer.
‘The Countess.’
Prompted by your frown, Sophie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. She leans closer. Her long, thin face is flawless. ‘Miss Amy—the beautiful woman that just left—has invited a select number of visitors to The Countess, tonight. This is for you and only you. No one else. The rules are on the back. And, before you ask, there are no exceptions. The rules are final.’
You flip the invite over and digest the instructions. Women are given drinks for free. Men’s are double the price to compensate. Women wear club clothes. Men wear nothing. No bargains. No exceptions. Accept or entry is declined.
Sophie’s tongue pokes out between her teeth. ‘Are you interested? It might change your world.’
‘Er… thank you.’
‘I have a good feeling about you,’ Sophie says. ‘You’ll be met by a sister at Covent Garden station at midnight. Listen to her. Do as she says. Follow her instructions. Now, what can I help you with?’
Lady Persia
‘Let’s get the practicalities out of the way,’ the sister says, drawing everyone into a room at the entrance to the busy underground station. The key necklace sets her apart from the late-night commuters. She is beautiful and Black. Taller than Sophie, with a strikingly sensual build and a long flowing sleeveless dress. A double slit unveils powerful brown legs. She does a quick head count. ‘Eight. Good. Show me your invites.’
Everyone holds up their invitation while the sister checks the group.
‘Sophie managed to issue them all. Good girl. To the ladies of the group, I am Persia,’ she continues. ‘To the men, you address me as Lady Persia or Miss. Also, for the men, from now on, you address all of the women in the group as Miss, unless the lady prefers to use an alternative title: Mistress, Goddess, Queen, Princess… Does everyone understand?’
Persia’s words convey a sense of something special. Something momentous that you don’t quite understand. You answer in unison with the others.
‘Ladies, please consider if you would prefer a title other than, ‘Miss’. Think about it between here and our destination. Roll the titles over in your mind. You will be drawn instinctively to one or two. Try them out. Hearing them spoken by a compliant server is often all that is required to know if a title fits you.’
‘I like Mistress,’ a lady says.
Persia smiles. ‘Good, and your name is Mistress…?’
‘Jasmine. Mistress Jasmine.’
‘Very well, Mistress Jasmine. Gentlemen, please take note. Ladies, by all means simply use first names with one another. Come. We have a party to attend!’
You feel two parts excited to one—secret—part anxious. The group move swiftly behind Persia who returns to the entrance of the station. Her stride is long and purposeful. Her legs a display of strength, her iconic key bobbing between her large breasts.
You pass quickly through the turnstiles and descend the escalators to the subterranean platform.
‘They think we’re actresses, cosplayers, goths and emos,’ Persia explains as Londoners and tourists give her a second glance. ‘Some believe we’re dominatrices, which of course, in a way we are…’ She draws puzzled smiles from some of the group. ‘With a difference.’
Persia unlocks a door and leads everyone inside. A new tunnel illumined by bland white lights is quiet and warm. The busy sounds of London are muffled here. The brakes of screaming trains muted as they screech to a halt.
Lady Persia’s heeled clicks mark her sharp pace at the front of the group. ‘I should warn you,’ she says as she veers off into a smaller tunnel and along a stuffy, twisted avenue of tiles. ‘The stakes are out tonight. Hunting us, as usual.’
‘Stakes?’ one of the men asks.
‘Stakes, Lady Persia,’ Persia corrects. ‘Or, Stakes, Miss.’
He winces. ‘Sorry, Miss.’
Persia grins at the women of the group. Her fangs look uncannily realistic. ‘Stakes are tossers,’ she continues. ‘Men dedicated to eradicating the Sisters. They’re also called the Brothers of Lazarus. One day we will destroy them all, for now, there are too many humans still invested in the tired old patriarchal way of life. The natural order, as they assert, is the way of female submission—the Way of Eve. But we women know that the true natural order places us on top—the Way of Lilith. Without exception we are queens.’
‘And male vampires, Miss?’
Persia looks back at the ladies. ‘Men always ask that question. They wonder if they’ll be turned. The answer is no. They were gone, a long time ago.’
‘Do you have supernatural powers? Superior strength?’ the woman beside you asks.
‘Yes, but the stakes possess weapons—compensation for their inferiority complex—and all sorts of apotropaics—vampire hunting herbs and weapons, magical protection supplied by the magicians that work with them,’ Persia explains. ‘And before you ask, no werewolves don’t exist—at least, despite some overly hairy men, I’ve never seen one. We do have our own magics though.’ Her smile warms her attractive face. ‘You’ll most likely experience some of our magic at The Countess.’
She pauses at a closed door and knocks twice. A large man with a long pony-tail and dressed in a grey suit opens the door. ‘Good evening, Lady Persia.’
‘Evening, Dominic,’ Persia says. ‘Eight with invitations. A nice mix tonight.’
‘Good evening,’ Dominic says to everyone, receiving a greeting in return.
‘Here we pause for a moment,’ Persia says. Dominic locks the door as soon as everyone is inside.
Persia places her hands on her hips. Her legs astride like a drill-sergeant on a parade ground. Exposed thighs—smooth and strong. ‘Gentlemen, remove your clothes.’
Some of the men appear anxious. Others strip eagerly.
‘Ladies, this is one of those butterflies in the tummy moments,’ Persia narrates. ‘Can you feel the change in the air—that sexual tension, empowering for us women but disorientating for the men? Do not be embarrassed, finally the wheels are turning. Watch. Enjoy. Enjoy. Enjoy.’
Encouraged by the sister’s words, the women gather together, blatantly studying the men as clothes are removed and firm, handsome bodies unveiled.
‘You each have a locker, and although these keys will remain here, this key…’ she lifts the key from her necklace, ‘always remains around your mistress’ neck.’ She releases it with another smile. ‘Remember your number,’ she adds as the men’s clothes and shoes are safely secured.
Amused female gazes compare physiques and sizes as they drink in the display of naked male flesh.
‘Good, let us continue,’ Persia says and leads the way again, leaving Dominic to return to his seat and his book.
The tunnel is wider and cooler, Persia’s pace more leisurely.
‘Why do you insist on the men being naked?’ a lady asks. She is well-presented in a tight mini-dress and smells of flowers.
‘My dear, why not?’ Persia responds.
‘What’s the point, I mean?’
‘It reduces their arrogance. Is it not pleasurable for us to enjoy their bodies? For centuries they have stripped us, exposed us, forced us to dance and perform for them. They still do. Now it is our turn, only we are kinder, more understanding.’ She looks back at the group. ‘I prefer men like this, though at my house they are usually wrapped behind a tight, short apron.’ Her eyes twinkle with delight. ‘Only the front, of course.’
‘I should tell you a little more, before the doors to The Countess open for you all. You will see many servers in chastity. You gentlemen, as guests, will not be required to wear a chastity cage, tonight. If you return however…’
‘A chastity cage, Lady Persia?’ a man asks. His beard is neatly groomed. Tattoos crown the curve of his shoulders and sleeve his arms. A healthy-sized penis sits snug above his hairless balls.
‘You’ll see.’
‘I know what it is,’ another female guest says.
‘Please do tell, my dear.’
‘It’s a hard sheath formed to hold the penis and prevent erections. It is padlocked in place. That’s what your key is for. At least, I assume that’s why you have a key.’
Persia beams a smile. ‘My dear, you are correct on all counts.’ She lifts her necklace, her key dangling before her plump cleavage. ‘I hold a lot of keys, but, well, who needs to carry all that metal when I have these beauties…’ she cups her breasts, ‘…to carry as well?’
‘Don’t you like erections?’ the well-dressed lady asks.
‘Oh, my dear, I do, we all do, we enjoy them very much. A hard man is good to find, and even better to feed upon, but the cage ensures he does not waste his energy.’ She makes a wanker sign. ‘We all know how many men have a compulsion to touch themselves. We teach them to meditate not masturbate. Meditation generates energy and pushes that desire to relieve themselves elsewhere. It infuses their blood with power, and when perfected…’ she makes a chef’s kiss, ‘it matures like fine wine.’
Another door leads into a stairwell. ‘Down and then along and then we’re there,’ Persia instructs, holding the door open.
‘Gentlemen,’ she continues. ‘You saw the rules, but I must remind you that you are not permitted to touch any lady unless she grants permission. Ladies, you are permitted to touch, but bear in mind that some servers belong to sisters, so please pay attention to interactions. Best not to touch, or ask if you are uncertain. The servers with red cages are house servers—The Countess staff. You can touch them. You men, because you have accepted our invitation, expect to be touched.’
A naked man reaches the door first. He waits for Lady Persia.
The Countess
‘Welcome to The Countess,’ Persia says as the man opens the door.
You take a step inside and immediately pause to drink in the sight before you. To your left, a pretty, frizzy-haired DJ is rousing dancers with hypnotic songs. The music urges you to join the heaving bodies. Immaculately dressed women grind against the bare flesh of their male counterparts.
‘They’re not locked,’ the well-dressed woman notes.
‘No, not always,’ Persia replies.
Fragrances wash over you in enticing waves. Dreamy after-shaves meld with dark and seductive perfumes. The dancers’ faces are flushed red with desire. Their arms locked around one another. Hands exploring clothed and unclothed flesh.
‘This way,’ Persia says and promptly heads to the bar. ‘Let’s quench our thirst.’
Blood red light saturates naked men carrying trays of drinks to and from tables of clothed women. As Persia advised, they wear the red sheath of house servers.
‘We have a few clans in tonight,’ Persia explains. ‘Damu from Africa. Jiangshi—they don’t like to be called that, they prefer the Sisters of the Eternal Night—from Asia. Vampiras Latinas, from North America. They’re feisty and don’t take any shit from anyone—just like my sisters—the Sisters of Annis. There’s also the Sisters of Kachinas—they’re not present. Their matriarch is a—’
‘Matriarch?’ the well-dressed woman asks.
‘Matriarchs are like great-grandmothers,’ Persia says, weaving her way past the dance floor and out to the bar. ‘Clan mothers,’ she points to herself, ‘are older—we’re like mothers and grandmothers. Sisters are younger still, and newborns are recently turned.’
‘The Sisters of Arabia are also here,’ Persia looks around. ‘Somewhere. I don’t see any at the moment. They come from North Africa and the Middle East. They are ancient and have a strong and secret history of being hidden in plain sight. The hijab isn’t necessarily as repressive as many think.’
‘Hiding in plain sight. I like that,’ Amy says, walking up to Persia.
Persia gives the smaller vampire a kiss on the cheek. ‘Amy, good evening.’
Amy inspects the group. ‘All eight, I see.’
‘Sophie did well,’ Persia agrees.
‘I’ll love you and leave you,’ Amy says. ‘I need to find a man to…’ She grins, winks and wanders off.
‘Do servers have ranks, Miss?’ one of the men asks.
‘Yes and no. It depends on the hide—a hide is a sister’s home. It’s a fancy name for her house, but it is more than that. It is a hidden location—’
‘Hidden in plain sight?’ another lady says.
‘Exactly, my dear,’ Persia agrees. ‘We have our own magic to cloak ourselves from those that wish to cause us harm. The Countess is thus also hidden in plain sight. Our hide is our home. We have servers—who are of course naked and in chastity—running the affairs of the house, rather like an aristocrat’s butler and domestic staff, only far more enjoyable.’
‘Now, who wants a drink?’ Persia leads you to the crowded bar and pauses at the sight of a brunette feasting on the neck of a handsome man, curled up in her arms.
The scent of blood hangs thick in the air. The man’s chest pumps hard, rising and falling in conjunction with movement of the sister’s throat.
‘Katie’s making me thirsty,’ Persia confesses and winks.
‘How often do you feed?’ another woman in the group asks.
‘My dear,’ Persia says. ‘That really does depend on the food. Wouldn’t you say, Katie?’
The brunette pulls away from the man. He seals the bite marks with his hand and stands tall as she releases him. Glossy dark blood paints Katie’s lips and she licks them slowly dry.
‘Zach’s been locked for nearly a month,’ Katie explains. ‘I’ve been looking forward to tasting him.’
‘How are his meditations?’ Persia asks.
‘They could be better.’ Her hand clasps her server’s plump balls. ‘He’s so hot though. Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Miss. You’ve taught me how to be patient. How to sit with my desire.’
Katie smiles, pulls him down and kisses him on the forehead.
Persia turns to the group, her eyes gleaming. ‘Our world is sacred. Goddess blessed. Men worship us. They love us. They commit deeply to us. They offer their key to us. We in turn love them and hold them close. We know their soul. We see the depths of their sacrifice and guide them to hold us high above them. We are sacred. Queens, Goddesses. Vampires. Sisters of the night, the Sisters of Annis.’
The key around her neck glints in the blood-red light.
‘You were destined for The Countess.’ Persia offers you her hand. ‘But is The Countess destined for you?’
A note from PG Devlim
Thank you for stepping inside The Countess and for your interest in this world.
You may notice that this introduction places you directly inside the world—this is intentional. The Sisters of Annis story is written in second person, placing you as protagonist. Vampire's Key, and the Sisters of Annis books are written in third person, following different characters as they navigate this world. Think of this as your invitation—the novels are Lilly’s story.
The Sisters of Annis have lived in my imagination for a decade—a world I created because, as a male, I was drawn as much by desire and fantasy as by an unconscious need to express something deep within myself.
I wanted this to be something special, unique in its own way, enticing and sensually seductive for the ladies, while simultaneously erotically disempowering for the gents. This freedom works both ways. It enables women to enjoy themselves without judgement and the repressive and emotive stigma of demeaning and disempowering labels. It also frees men from the wearying role of dominant, macho, alpha male.
But The Countess is not a strip club. It is something quite different. I took the obviously entertaining concept of male strippers and strip shows and went in a different, darker, more vampiric direction.
If male nudity tilts the scales in the Sisters’ favour, the addition of keyholding and male chastity adds far more weight to the empowerment vibe. It also adds a psychological safety net. The men are willing and that utter submission—perhaps the deepest submission a man can offer a woman—establishes the dynamic of this Sister/server relationship.
As I share on my author page, this world mimics my personal journey of self-discovery. Sure I’ve had my own fun in different ways over the years, and some of this feeds into this world, but the greatest impact my life has had on this writing is sadly one of trauma and the long, hard road to recovery that occurs thereafter.
My trauma sent me into the darkness. Playing roles that were never me. My recovery is my declaration of freedom from socialised guilt and self-imposed fear.
This healing journey has led—unconsciously at first—to the Sisters of Annis. Here powerful women are truly in control, desire and darkness intertwine, and the erotic and the mythological become one.
That you're here, exploring this world, means everything to me.
Thank you.
Much love
Paul
If you'd like to be among the first to receive a free revised ebook edition of Vampire's Key when it rises, along with news, exclusive content and updates from the Hide—I'd love to see you at The Countess again.
Now, what were you drinking?
The Sisters are waiting...