BySandra Harris, writer at


Count Dracula scowled down at Anna from his vastly superior height of six foot five. The diamond cufflinks she’d slapped out of his hands winked up at them both from the bedroom floor.

“You dare to strike me…?” he said. The ice-cold anger in his voice was terrible to hear. Anna, her temporary burst of courage dissipating, quailed and involuntarily took a step back towards the bed, away from him.

“I’m s…sorry,” she said, her full breasts heaving in the low-cut gown she wore. “It’s just… It’s just that you’ve left me alone for so long, with only Valeria and the handmaidens for company. I’ve… I’ve m…missed you. And I’ve m.missed our… our… our congress. You know,” she trailed off with an embarrassed glance towards the bed.

“Yes, I know,” said the Count, amusement at her obvious discomfiture causing the corners of his fine-cut lips to twitch. “I’ve missed you too. Now come here, you badly-behaved little wretch,” he added, mock-sternly. “I’ve half a mind to thrash you senseless for what you did just now.”

“Kiss me instead,” Anna whispered, coming to stand in front of him with her face upraised. Count Dracula looked down at her for a moment, all traces of his former anger vanishing as he drank in her beauty.

He had many beautiful women, all dependent on his goodwill, living with him in his secluded castle in the British countryside, but of all of them, Anna was the most pleasing to the eye. She looked like an angel, with her long blonde hair and blue eyes, milky-white skin and luscious figure.

He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head to kiss her long and hard on her parted lips. Anna moaned with desire and clung to him, her breasts crushed against his lean, strong body. When he eventually released her, her legs were so weak that if he hadn’t immediately caught her in his arms she would have crumpled to the floor at his feet.

“Time now for love, I think,” he murmured in her ear. Despite the extra weight she was carrying, he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a rag-doll and carried her to the bed. Depositing her none-too-gently on the coverlet, he leaned over her and tore the gown from her body from the neckline to the hem without the least difficulty. He looked down at her white swollen breasts and enormous pregnant belly with some surprise.

“Well, well, young lady,” he said, quirking an ironic eyebrow at her. “You appear to have expanded considerably since our last meeting.”

“Do you still… Do you still desire me, Master?” Anna said, her voice quavery. She held her breath while she waited for his answer. She had worried herself sick in his absence that her increased girth might have dampened his ardour.

“More than you know,” replied the Count, his breathing ragged as he disrobed swiftly and came to lie beside her on the big bed. Expertly he fondled every inch of her nude eager body, from the triangle of soft bushy hair that covered her sex to the tight hole that nestled hidden between her buttocks. Anna was driven to a frenzy of desire by his clever caresses and skilful ministrations.

“Make love to me, Master, please,” she begged, her breath coming quickly now between her moist, parted lips. “I can’t wait any longer. I’ve waited so long. Please, now!”

“Then you shall wait no more,” the Count said. Positioning Anna on her side so that her cumbersome belly should not impede his movements, he lay behind her and inserted his member without further preamble between the lips of her sex. His manhood, legendary amongst his nude handmaidens for its length and girth, filled Anna’s womanly parts until she cried out with elation.

She closed her eyes and felt him move in and out of her, in and out and in and out till her whole world had contracted to just this one act of sexual congress. This one insertion of his stiff male member into her soft, open female parts. This one act of union between the Un-dead.

After a while, Anna knew by the acceleration of his movements that he was preparing to sink his fangs into her neck even while his copious ejaculate flooded her womb. She welcomed the pain she knew his bite would bring. She welcomed everything he did to her, whether it brought her pain or pleasure.

She loved him. She loved him to death. To UN-death. If he were to ever leave her then she, Anna, formerly Lady Anna Carfax of Richmond House in London, now the bride of Dracula and the mother-to-be of his child, would be worth nothing, less than nothing. She felt the beginnings of the pain as his fangs penetrated the soft white skin of her neck. She gave herself up to it. It was the only thing worth dying for.

This story is a work of fiction and comes (almost!) entirely from the imagination of Sandra Harris. Any resemblance to any persons living or un-dead is purely coincidental.

This story is copyrighted material and any reproduction without prior permission is illegal. Sandra Harris reserves the right to be identified as the author of this story.

Sandra Harris. ©


Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn, Le Dernier Paradis at the Trinity Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal. In August 2014, she won the ONE LOVELY BLOG award for her (lovely!) horror film review blog. She is addicted to buying books and has been known to bring home rain-washed tomes she finds on the street and give them a home.

She is the proud possessor of a pair of unfeasibly large bosoms. They have given her- and the people around her- infinite pleasure over the years. She adores the horror genre in all its forms and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia. She would also be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

[email protected]


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