ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. BOOK 2- PART 3. AN EROTIC HORROR STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©
The moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated the forest as if it were daytime, much to Rowena’s relief. The woods always frightened her, even during the day. They were just so thick and tangly and gnarly, somehow. So utterly dense. So dark.
You never knew what might be lurking behind the huge old trees. Some of them looked almost as old as time itself. Plenty of room, too, for a robber or a bandit or a highwayman or even a… a rapist to secrete himself behind them, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting, defenceless females.
Rowena took advantage of the temporary brightness to increase her pace along the woodland path. It was imperative that she make it home before her father and brother. They were drinking in Jack Walton’s Tavern on the outskirts of Birney Woods. If she reached home before they did, then there would be no need for them to know that she had spent the evening in bed with her lover, Jamie.
A smile spread slowly across Rowena’s pretty face as she thought about Jamie Randall and the way he made her feel and the things he’d done to her trembling, naked body earlier that evening. Jamie was handsome but as poor as a church mouse. He lived with his old mother in the village of Birney and he worked as a coach-driver, when he could get the work, that was.
Sometimes the lovers met in Jamie’s house and sometimes they met in Rowena’s, but only when they could be assured that they would not be interrupted. Rowena’s father and brother would beat them both to within an inch of their lives if they found out that Jamie had deflowered Rowena and, what was more, that Jamie continued to enjoy the pleasure of her company in his bed.
“You have the biggest, prettiest titties of any woman I’ve ever known, Rowena, do you know that, sweetheart?” Jamie had said to her earlier on that evening as he’d scooped her huge white breasts up and out of her low-cut gown and squeezed them hard before taking each of her nipples in his mouth in turn. Rowena, flattered, had giggled and allowed him to remove her dress altogether.
“ And the biggest, prettiest arse,” he’d continued with a mischievous grin, lowering her drawers and fondling her bare buttocks with obvious relish. Rowena had offered no resistance to the removal of her plain white undergarments and had instead lain back against the pillows with a long, shuddery sigh, one arm above her head.
“And, of course, the prettiest little cunt,” Jamie had finished in softer tones, bending his head to kiss her lingeringly on her mouth even as his fingers began to part the triangle of thick brown bushy hair that covered her sex. Rowena had moaned out loud as her lover had expertly fingered her womanly parts. When he’d mounted her and filled her moistened cunt with his swollen member, she’d screamed so loudly with pleasure that he’d had to hold his hand over her mouth to keep her cries from being heard.
The moon disappeared suddenly behind a cloud and Rowena shivered as she hurried homewards. Was it her imagination or was every sound that was perfectly normal and barely noticeable during the day greatly magnified in the darkness? The woods were so sinister by night. She wished that Jamie were here with her now, escorting her home.
She heaved a sigh of relief as the moon appeared again, then jumped as she realised that Birney Castle was now fully illuminated in the moonlight and seemed a lot closer and larger suddenly than during the day. Empty for many years, the old castle on the edge of the forest had recently been leased by a nobleman from foreign parts whom no-one from the village had yet seen.
Rowena wondered briefly about the nobleman as she made her way home through the dense, dark woods. Was he handsome? He must certainly be rich, to be able to afford to lease the castle. Was he a recluse, or even deformed? He must be, Rowena reasoned, or else why would he hide himself away the way he did?
Preoccupied by thinking about the wealthy stranger, she stumbled suddenly and fell flat on her face with a little cry. Thank goodness the night was a fine dry one or else her frock would be ruined. She began awkwardly to pull herself to her feet. She’d hurt her wrist in her fall and it was starting to throb.
As she knelt on the path nursing it for a moment, grimacing a little with the pain, a shadow fell across her. It was the shadow of a tall man clad in a long black cloak. His boots were highly polished. Even in the dark, Rowena could see that. Slowly, her heart pounding, she raised her eyes to the stranger’s face.
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. ©
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF 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: