ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. BOOK 2- PART 17. AN EROTIC HORROR STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©
Lady Victoria Strauss was naked now. She was naked and in the arms of the stranger, but somehow she’d never felt freer and more uninhibited in her whole life . The tall, dark-haired man with the long black cloak and the darkest, most piercing eyes she’d ever seen was sucking on each of her soft white breasts in turn. Her nipples tingled and swelled and throbbed under the movements of his firm, beautifully-shaped lips, while all the while she cradled his head between her fingers.
“What is your name?” she asked tremulously, her pulses racing with the excitement he was causing in her. The stranger raised his head from her perfect bosom. His eyes seemed to bore right through her with an intensity that made her shiver from head to toe.
“My name is Count Dracula,” he said formally, with a quaint, old-fashioned courtesy. “I am more charmed than I can say to make your acquaintance.”
“And… And I yours,” Victoria said, her green eyes wide. The Count slipped his fingers between her thighs, making her start.
“Oh please,” she gasped, recovering a semblance of her normal modesty. “You… You can’t touch me there!”
“Can’t I, Victoria?” he said, staring into her eyes until she forgot her protest and the reason for it.
“Yes… Yes, of… of course you can,” she whispered, mesmerised. “You can do anything you want to me.”
“That’s right, my pretty little Victoria,” he said, still staring into her eyes while his long, elegant fingers expertly parted the plump pink lips of her sex and began to rhythmically stroke the secret core within. “I can do anything I want to you. You are mine. You will belong to no other man, ever. And even though I will have to leave you before morning, I will return for you when the time is right. On that you can utterly depend.”
“Will you?” said Victoria, clinging to him tightly. “Do you promise?” The Count nodded.
“I always keep my word,” he said. There was no more talking then for a while, only the sound of Victoria’s soft little moans and cries as the Count brought her to a climax such as she had never experienced before, certainly not during her own awkward girlish explorations of her secret places. After her climax, she lay in the Count’s arms and shuddered with an overwhelming gratitude and happiness. When he got up to leave, she knelt up in the bed, wantonly naked, her long hair tumbling down her back, and clung to his cloak.
“Don’t leave me!” she begged, gazing up at him with eyes that were wet with tears. “I love you! Please, stay with me! I can’t bear it if you leave me. Stay here with me. We can be together for always!” Count Dracula disengaged her hands from his cloak. Bending over her from his superior height, he slapped her sharply across her bare, rounded buttocks for good measure. Victoria squealed in shock and clutched at her injured behind.
“Behave yourself!” Count Dracula said sternly. “I have already told you that I will return when it is convenient for me. You will do as you are told or I will take my whip to you and flay the soft white skin from your body. Have I made myself clear?” Victoria subsided back down onto the bed. Putting her thumb sulkily into her mouth, she nodded. The merest hint of amusement flickered in the Count’s dark eyes for just an instant.
“Don’t pout,” he said, “or, by the gods, you may get that whipping yet.” A heavy mist such as Victoria had never before witnessed rolled under the bedroom door. Before long, it was impossible to see what was in front of her. When the mist cleared, there was no sign of Count Dracula.
“Don’t go…!” Victoria whispered, reaching out a hand towards where the mist had been as if she could somehow clutch him between her fingers. “Please don’t go. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you with all my heart! With all my life!” But there was no reply. The Count was gone.
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:
1) ‘… BY A WOMAN WALKING HER DOG…’
2) A WRITER’S JOURNEY
3) ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA
4) ANOTHER FIFTY REALLY RANDOM HORROR FILM REVIEWS TO DIE FOR…
5) CANCER BALLS
6) CATCH OF THE DAY
7) FIFTY FILTHY-DIRTY SEX-POEMS YOU MUST READ BEFORE I DIE.
8) FIFTY REALLY RANDOM HORROR FILM REVIEWS TO DIE FOR…
9) THE DEVIANTS
10) VISITING DAY