ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. BOOK 2- PART 30. AN EROTIC HORROR TALE BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©
As before, the mist rolled under the door of Victoria’s bedchamber, wreathing the room so thickly that it was a full moment or two before it cleared. When it did, Count Dracula was visible at the foot of the bed. Victoria, who had fully intended to stay awake until the hour of his coming, opened her eyes suddenly and sat bolt upright in the bed.
“Why, you’re here,” she said in wonder. “I fell asleep. I am sure that I did not mean to. Oh, the strange dreams I had!” The Count approached the bed, his eyes that were as dark as the night itself narrowing as they took in every pleasing detail of Victoria’s sleep-tousled appearance.
Her long, light-brown hair tumbled down fetchingly over her shoulders, which were bare in the pretty pale-pink nightgown she wore. Her soft round breasts heaved beneath the flimsy material and her huge, light-green eyes were wide with surprise and delight. Dracula sat on the bed beside her and took both of her hands in his.
“How enchantingly beautiful you look tonight, my dear Victoria,” he said, a hint of mockery in his voice that went unnoticed by the young woman in the bed. He immediately pulled down the front of her nightgown to bare her bosom, making her gasp. Her breasts were snowy-white and as soft as the breast of a dove. Her nipples stiffened in the cool night air. She moaned when Dracula took her breasts in both his hands and fondled them.
“Oh, I’ve been so looking forward to your coming!” she breathed. “If you hadn’t come, I’m sure I don’t know what I would have done! I most certainly would have died without you.”
“We can’t have that,” murmured Dracula, his mouth against her neck. “I have big plans for you, my pretty Victoria. Big plans, which I have no intention of allowing anyone to upset.” His hands strayed from her breasts to the hem of her nightgown. He tugged it upwards around Victoria’s waist, baring her white thighs and then slipping a hand between them.
“Oh, my darling Count!” cried Victoria as the by-now familiar feelings of arousal began to build up in the secret place of hers that no man barring the Count had ever touched before. “Will you take me away forever with you tonight as you have promised me you would? To your castle? To be your wife? Your Countess?”
“You may depend upon it,” replied the Count. His long clever fingers expertly manipulated the tiny, sensitive nub buried deep between Victoria’s thighs until she begged him to release her from the awful agony of anticipation. He pressed her face against his chest so that her cries of bliss would be muffled and go unheard by the rest of the household. For a long time afterwards, she clung to him tightly with her eyes closed, drenching his immaculate linen with her tears of gratitude and sexual fulfilment.
When she opened her eyes, the Count’s dark eyes glowed red in the gloom and two razor-sharp fangs on either side of his mouth gleamed as white as snow. With a wolfish smile, he bent his head slowly to the marks on her exposed neck where he had drunk from her on his previous visits to her bedchamber in the dead of night. Now, as before, she lay back against her pillows, gazing up at him in adoration.
A sudden noise, like a cough, from inside the water-closet made him leap to his feet, an expression of the most profound alertness on his handsome face. Two strides was all it took him to cross the darkened room. He pulled open the door to the water-closet to reveal a young woman hidden there. Crouched on the floor with a guttering candle in her hand, she was looking up at him with a mixture of terror and fascination on her countenance. Her features were by no means displeasing to the Count.
“Well now,” he said musingly, “and who have we here…?” Reaching down, he yanked her roughly to her feet by the sleeve of her gown. He relieved her of her candle and snuffed it out between his finger and thumb before tossing it carelessly to one side.
He dragged a protesting Lady Portia Delancey-Tate across the bedchamber and flung her down onto the bed on top of a shocked Victoria. Victoria, who was still under Dracula’s spell, had completely forgotten the presence of her friend in the water-closet and the plan which the two of them had concocted between them earlier. Count Dracula towered over the two trembling, awe-struck females, his eyes glowing red and his fangs still very much in evidence.
“Well now,” he repeated thoughfully, “you two young ladies have presented me with an exceedingly interesting situation. An exceedingly interesting situation indeed…”
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:
ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA: AN EROTIC HORROR NOVELLA.