BySandra Harris, writer at Creators.co

ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. BOOK 2- PART 15. AN EROTIC HORROR STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Down in the gatehouse of Birney Castle, Igor the gatekeeper lay sobbing bitter tears on his bed. He lay face-down out of dire necessity. Count Dracula had earlier cut his back to shreds with his cruel whip. After the unsolicited- and most unwelcome- visit from the villagers searching for that wretched missing girl, the Master had stormed down to the gatehouse and whipped Igor savagely for talking to them.

“I didn’t tell them nothing, Master, I swear I didn’t!” a frightened Igor had told the Count, cowering on his knees as Count Dracula towered over him holding the whip. “I only told them there’d been no girl over this way, none at all, that’s all I told them, I swear it, Master!”

“You utter imbecile…!” the Count had raged. “I don’t pay you to blab my private business all over the countryside. If I ever find out that you’ve given me away…!”

“I’d die afore I’d give you away, Master!” Igor had bawled, distraught. “After you took me in when I had nowhere to go and not a soul in the world to turn to in my hour of need! I’d die afore I’d say a word against you, I swear I would, Master! I love you more than my own life!”

“Silence!” Count Dracula had bellowed. “You know what I will do to you if you ever betray me, you inferior worm! I will make you beg for death. Death will seem like an unattainable luxury compared to what I will do to you.”

“Yes, Master,” Igor had moaned, crawling around on the floor at the Count’s feet. The Count had whipped him then. Now Igor lay on his bed silently, his crying abruptly stopped, all his senses alerted to the sound of tapping on the window of the gatehouse. He got up and went to the window. It was as black as pitch outside, but he knew who was there. It was Desdemona, one of Dracula’s beautiful vampire handmaidens.

“Let me in!” she hissed. “Quickly, before the Master finds me here! Open the door!” Igor, his heart pounding, did as he was bid. Desdemona looked ravishing in the dark of the night. Her long black curly hair tumbled down over the low-cut bodice of her red velvet gown. Her white rounded bosom was almost fully bared. Her lips were full and red. She always drank deeply of the blood of animals before coming to him. That way, the lust for blood would have gone from her and she was in no danger of biting him.

Count Dracula had expressly forbidden Desdemona and the other handmaidens from draining the blood of his trusted servant. He allowed Igor the pleasure of the company of selected handmaidens for the purpose of the release of pent-up sexual tension. Sexual tension which might otherwise have clouded Igor’s judgement and prevented him from properly doing his job, which was to keep Count Dracula and his household safe from outside interference.

Tonight, however, Count Dracula would doubtless have disapproved of Desdemona’s presence in the gatehouse after he’d had to chastise Igor and Igor was not in favour with him, hence Desdemona’s understandable nervousness. Igor took her by her bare white arm and pulled her inside, locking the door behind her, though of course no door would ever keep out Count Dracula if he wanted to get in.

“I’ve brought you some salve for your poor, poor hump,” Desdemona said in her exotic foreign accent. For the first time, Igor noticed that she was holding a small container in one hand. “It will ease your wounds so that you can make love to me as you always do.” In spite of his pain, Igor found himself grinning. These handmaidens were incapable of performing a completely selfless act. Everything they did was for themselves. They were not human. They were the Un-Dead.

“Take off your dress,” he said, his voice shaky. Smiling, Desdemona began to remove the red velvet dress. Igor thought that the dress was the colour of blood. It made him uneasy sometimes, the handmaidens’ blood-lust. He felt sure that they would never attack him, though. Not after the Master ordering them not to. When the stunningly beautiful Desdemona was fully naked, he picked her up in his massively strong, muscular arms and carried her into his bedroom.

TO BE CONTINUED HERE SOON…

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:

[email protected]

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

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