BySandra Harris, writer at


Valeria stripped the clothes from Anna’s body and handed them to one of the nude handmaidens to wash and put away. Watched by Valeria, Anna carefully stepped down the three or four steps into the sunken bath. It was filled with warm, scented bubbly water. She sank into the water with a grateful sigh. It swirled around her aching limbs like balm being applied to an open wound.

Her body was big and unwieldy now and she required assistance to do certain things. On the orders of Count Dracula, she was no longer permitted to hunt for victims of her own, but had to drink the goblets of blood brought to her by Valeria and the nude handmaidens. She couldn’t wait until the child in her belly was born and out of her and she could hunt once more for the fresh blood she craved.

As she luxuriated in the scented water, having her long blonde hair and her naked body gently washed by Valeria, who’d stepped nude into the water alongside her, she wondered if her unborn child would be a boy, and if he would look like his father, Count Dracula.

She was convinced that the baby would be a boy, a boy who would grow up to be as strong and powerful and darkly handsome as his father. Anna closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the child suckling at her breast while the Count looked on. Her boy would have a strong suck, like his father. She would be proud to be his mother, proud to be the mother of Count Dracula’s child.

She stretched lazily, enjoying the feel of the water on her bare skin, and opened her eyes. She started when she saw the Count’s highly-polished black boots and the hem of his black cape next to her at the edge of the sunken bath. She raised her eyes to see Count Dracula standing over her, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Mostly unreadable, she amended, because his gaze was tinged as always with lust at the sight of her wet, naked body, heavily swollen with his child.

“I… I wasn’t expecting you,” Anna gasped. “I didn’t even know that you were in the castle. Where have you been?”

“I had business to attend to,” he said in clipped tones. He almost never told her about his various business interests or anything else that he was involved in. He’d flatly refused to tell her what had transpired between him and his younger brother Nikolai when they’d fought ferociously here at the castle.

It had been Valeria who’d informed her that the upshot of their terrible fight had been Nikolai’s immediate return to Romania in disgrace. He’d been under orders from the Count never on any account to return to England. Clearly, the subject of his badly-behaved younger brother was a sore spot with Count Dracula. Anna wished that he would be more open with her about these things but sometimes it did not seem as if that would be something that would ever happen between them. The Count was too used to keeping his own counsel.

“Well then, are you staying?” she asked him, hoping against hope that the answer would be yes.

“Leave us,” the Count said, without looking round or transferring his gaze from his bride’s body. Valeria bowed obediently and climbed, as wet and naked as her mistress, out of the bath before scurrying out of the room. The three or four nude handmaidens in attendance melted away also, knowing better than to delay in obeying a direct order from their Master. Anna’s heart began to pound more loudly in her chest and she could feel her pulses racing.

When they were alone together, the Count began to disrobe swiftly. Anna watched him with her blue eyes wide with a desire so profound it was almost painful. The Count was tall, at least six feet five in height, and lean with it. He was strong though, very strong, and muscular. Anna could not tear her gaze away from him. He was the very epitome of male strength and hard, cold male beauty.

When he was magnificently naked, his male member already erect and so impressive in girth and length that Anna gasped anew at the appearance of it, he climbed down into the bath beside her and immediately took her in his arms that were covered in a layer of fine dark hairs.

“Alone at last,” he murmured into her ear as Anna melted ecstatically against him. Her Master was here. The Master of all of them was here.


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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