BySandra Harris, writer at


Dracula put his hands behind his head and yawned pleasurably. He was feeling comfortable and pleased with himself. A clandestine trip to a village two or three towns over had yielded fresh prey. Fresh, juicy prey in the form of two brunette sisters about twenty years old, making their way home through the woods after a Bible study class.

They’d had red rosy cheeks and lips and full succulent bosoms that were barely contained within the confines of their gowns. He’d licked his own lips in contemplation of their youthful charms as he’d watched them silently from behind an ancient oak tree. He’d overpowered the pair easily, ravished them beneath the groaning branches of the oak and drained them of every drop of their sweet blood.

Afterwards, he’d buried them in the darkest, mossiest part of the forest where it was likely that no-one would ever find them. Then he’d returned to the castle. He felt confident that the sudden disappearance of the two young women would not be traced to the ‘mysterious foreign gentleman’-himself- who had leased Birney Castle for an indefinite period of time. He had covered his tracks well, as he always did.

Now he lay comfortably on the bed in his own private dressing-room, naked and relaxed while Gloria and two of the nude handmaidens attended to his every need, physical and sexual. Gloria pleasured him ably with her mouth, her long glossy black hair spread out over his bare stomach and groin.

From time to time, Gloria raised her huge dark eyes to his and flashed him a sensual smile to which he did not deign to respond. Whores were there to be used, not pandered to or acknowledged more than was necessary. It amused him, though, that she tried so hard to please him.

The two nude handmaidens held his bare feet to their unclothed breasts and massaged them expertly. They took his long elegant toes into their mouths and sucked them. Dracula was feeling good. Un-Death was a good state in which to be. He clicked his fingers and gestured to indicate that Gloria should discontinue her oral ministrations, and then again to order her astride his swollen member.

“I love you, Master,” she murmured as she straddled him and began to ride him, leaning over him so that her mouth was close to his ear. “Does Master love Gloria, too…?”

“Be silent, woman,” the Count said sternly, delighting in the look of disappointment that crossed her face. “Speak when you are spoken to.” He reached up and grabbed her huge breasts in his hands, squeezing them till she squealed in pain.

Gloria had magnificent breasts. Count Dracula had always tended to favour the larger-bosomed female over her flatter-chested sister. All of his nude handmaidens had been chosen for the lushness of their figures as well as the beauty of their faces and the length and lustrousness of their hair.

“You two, up here,” he ordered the two nude handmaidens abruptly, indicating that he wanted them within reach now, one on either side of him. They hastened to obey him. It was a privilege to be allowed to couple with the Master, or even to simply be present while he coupled with another. Naturally, though, the best thing was to be allowed to couple with him personally.

They lay down on either side of him as he wished, pushing their outsized breasts into his mouth to suckle. They fondled his bare chest and sucked on his nipples and played with each others’ mammaries while Gloria rode him to an earth-shattering climax for both of them, the Count and herself.

“Oh Master, I love you sooooo much!” screamed Gloria as the contractions of her orgasm took her over. This time, Dracula did not trouble to silence her. He groaned and grunted as he pulled her down to him and bit down hard on her pretty white neck. Her expression before she swooned was one first of pain and then of utter bliss. Dracula pushed her away from him while the two nude handmaidens withdrew discreetly to the end of the bed, leaving the Count to rest.

Yes, thought Count Dracula as he felt his body begin to recover from its exertions, being Un-Dead had its problems from time to time, but not day. Today was a good day to be Un-Dead.


The following night, Count Dracula made himself available to Anna, his high-born bride and the mother-to-be of his child. After the last rays of the evening sun had died away and daytime had yielded to the inky blackness of night, he joined her in her bath, shedding his cloak and other garments to step down into the scented waters of the sunken tub.

“Can these really be Anna’s breasts…?” he said teasingly as he lifted her pregnancy-swollen bosoms and jiggled them about in the water. Anna smiled. Her breasts were heavier than they had ever been. She loved the way that the Count relished their new size and feel. It was worth the discomfort and occasional pain they caused her to see the pleasurable glint in his dark eyes as he handled them.

“And this…?” he continued in the same teasing vein, placing his hands flat on her enormous stomach. “Can this really be Anna’s belly? My slim, pretty Anna with a waist I could span with my two hands…? What has happened to my slim, pretty Anna?” He grinned down at her and she laughed as she pushed his hands away from her belly and replaced them on her breasts.

“You are the reason that I am in this condition,” she retorted. “Do not complain to me if you are unhappy with it.”

“So cutting for one so beautiful,” he murmured as he fondled and squeezed her mammaries before moving on to her wet, soapy buttocks. Anna moaned as he squeezed them even harder than he had her breasts. She loved it when he paid attention to her bottom. It reminded her of the spankings and whippings he administered to it when she begged him to, or when he thought she required discipline. The Count’s discipline meant more to her than the state of Un-Death itself.

“Will you beat me later?” she whispered against his damp bare chest.

“Have you been a naughty little Anna?” he said sternly, parting her buttocks and inserting a finger up into the secret hole that nestled between them. Anna reddened, then nodded.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “I’ve… I’ve been touching myself while you were away.”

“Even though you know that I have strictly forbidden you to touch your cunt without my express permission?” the Count said, frowning now as he looked down at her from his superior height of six feet five. Anna trembled, then nodded again.

“Yes,” she replied in a small voice, her eyes lowered submissively.

“Then you will most certainly be punished,” Dracula said coldly. Anna tried her hardest to keep from smiling. The Count always thrashed her the hardest when he thought that he had a genuine grievance against her. For the sin of masturbating without permission, she would be beaten most severely. “Whose property is your cunt, Anna?” the Count was asking her now.

“Yours, Master,” Anna replied meekly. “It belongs to you.”

“You would do well to remember that,” he said, reaching down between her legs and gripping her sex hard enough to make her squirm.

“I will, Master,” she promised, ecstatic at the thought of the whipping to come.

“You little liar,” he said unexpectedly then. “If you do not think I see through your feeble ploy to win yourself extra punishment, then you clearly don’t know me at all.” He began to finger her sex, roughly but with the casual, careless expertise he’d displayed with her from the start. Anna trembled against him as her womanly parts began to respond to his caresses. She began to breathe heavily. She might have known that lying to the Master would be a pointless exercise. He would always find her out. He was the Master, after all.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, pulling his head down to her so he could hear her.

“You will be,” he promised her grimly.


Count Dracula was naked. He sat, comfortable and relaxed, against the pillows of his and Anna’s huge four-poster bed. A naked Anna, quivering with nerves and anticipation, lay draped expectantly across his thighs. Her bottom, waiting to be punished, felt like the biggest, most prominent thing in the room.

“Now, my pretty Anna,” said the Count, placing a hand casually on one of her round white bottom cheeks, “we shall see what happens to naughty little girls who tell lies, won’t we?”

“Y… Yes, Master,” she stammered, wondering why it was that she always felt equal amounts of fear and excitement in these situations, why she dreaded the Count’s discipline as much as she craved it. He raised his hand now and Anna held her breath, not releasing it until she felt the first spank cracking down across her bared backside with a ferocity that belied the Count’s almost careless demeanour. Anna cried out in pain.

“Oh no, stop, please stop, I’ve changed my mind, I beg of you, stop!” she pleaded as she always did when the reality of the sharpness of the pain began to hit home. But the Count ignored her, as he always did, and continued spanking her until her creamy-white bottom cheeks had been turned what he considered to be a fetching shade of crimson. She sobbed out loud and squirmed and struggled, face-down across his lap, but he was much too strong for her and he held her in place easily. When her bottom had been evenly- and painfully- spanked all over, the Count pushed her off his lap and said:

“That was just a little something to warm you up, my dear Anna. Now, you would be obliging me greatly if you were to get in position for something a little more… shall we say, substantial…?”

“Oh no, please, not the whip!” moaned Anna, though she was already scrambling to obey him. When she was kneeling up on the bed on all fours, her huge belly tucked safely beneath her and her long blonde hair tumbling to the counterpane, the Count took down a thick leather strap from a selection that hung on the wall behind the bed. Seemingly in no hurry, he sauntered naked around the bed until he was standing behind his bride.

“How prettily your hind-quarters blush at me!” he mocked her, looking down in satisfaction at her beautiful nude body and red punished buttocks, bent so submissively in the expectation of further punishment. Although her face was hidden by the fall of thick blonde hair, he did not need to be able to see it to know that it was flushed as brightly as her behind. He sliced the leather strap through the air a time or two, relishing the way in which Anna jumped and gasped when she heard the noise it made. The first time he brought the strap cracking down across her bottom for real, she screamed.

“Master, it hurts so much! I can’t bear it!” she told him, already weeping.

“You can and you will,” he said grimly as he continued the punishment. He brought the strap down on her bare skin some twenty or thirty times in all, and when he finally laid it down, Anna collapsed face-down on the bed, sobbing with pain and gratitude simultaneously.

“Thank you, Master,” she managed, turning her tear-stained face to his as he lifted her gently in his arms and laid her down on her side in the bed. He got into bed beside her and pulled the covers up around them both. Anna was trembling and still crying softly, but she was smiling blissfully through her tears.

Count Dracula positioned himself so that he was lying behind her, then he eased his stiff manhood between the moist, open lips of her sex from behind. A sound thrashing was usually all it took to lubricate her cunt. He moved in and out of her, murmuring endearments softly into her ear.

“You’ll never put another in my place?” she said before she lost him to his climax.

“Never,” he said firmly, speeding up his thrusting as his climax drew nearer. Before long, he was emptying his life-fluid into her receptive sex, groaning loudly as he did so.

“Do you promise?” Anna persisted, but he was too far gone to hear her.


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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