BySandra Harris, writer at


“I’ve missed you so much,” Anna breathed as Dracula pulled her midnight-blue velvet gown over her head, ruffling her long hair and leaving her fully naked. She returned his kisses with a feverish intensity that made the Count quirk an eyebrow in sardonic amusement.

“My little Anna is hungry for love,” he observed as he manoeuvred her so that she was leaning forward over the moss-covered stone chair with her hands resting flat on the arms. He positioned himself swiftly behind her and within seconds had inserted his stiff male member deep inside her. Anna made low animal noises as the Count repeatedly pulled his member almost all the way out of her and then slammed it back into her again with such force that she would certainly have lost her grip on the chair had the Count not been holding her.

“I love you, Master, fill me with your seed, I beg of you!” she cried, her long hair falling forward over her face and her huge, pregnancy-swollen breasts almost grazing the seat of the stone chair as the Count serviced her savagely from behind. His hands groped her teats and big round buttocks, making her squirm and moan with a wild pleasure. How she missed him, how she missed this, when he was away from her!

Bats circled lazily overhead as Anna and her Count coupled urgently, an owl hooted somewhere in the grounds of Birney Castle and the moon disappeared behind a cloud, leaving the tangled, overgrown garden and the old castle itself in temporary darkness.

“Your wish is my command, Countess,” grunted Dracula before emptying himself into her with a triumphant shout. Afterwards, he undressed and they both lay together on the grass, holding and stroking and exploring each other and murmuring words of tenderness and endearment in each other’s ears. “I should absent myself more frequently,” remarked the Count with a short laugh, “if this is the reception I receive.”

“No, you must not absent yourself more frequently!” Anna replied fiercely, clinging to his naked body all the tighter. “I miss you so much when you are gone. I cannot be without you! Ever!”

“Do I not order Valeria to see to your nightly whipping when I am obliged to absent myself?” the Count said, quirking his eyebrow in amusement once more.

“No-one beats me as hard as you do,” Anna whispered shyly, lowering her eyes.

“It bodes well for you that you enjoy that,” said Dracula, pulling her more closely against his bare, sweat-soaked chest, “for I fear that you are in dire need of the strictest discipline this night for leaving the castle unescorted, against my continued express wishes. You and your handmaiden both,” he added, “who even now is watching us anxiously from an upstairs window. Valeria is as responsible as you, if not more so. I left my pregnant bride in her tender loving care, after all.”

“Please don’t punish Valeria,” pleaded Anna. “It was all my fault. I just wanted to wander about the gardens in the cool night air for a little while. I swore to Valeria that I would take full responsibility and that she would not incur your wrath for my disobedience. If you must punish someone, then punish me, please!”

She stroked his strong, determined jaw, on which a dark growth of prickly stubble was already making its presence felt. The Count, who was immaculate in his personal habits, shaved each evening upon waking but such was the force of his masculinity that he was stubbly again within the hour. Anna loved the feel of those prickles against the soft bare skin of her breasts and belly when he kissed and caressed her there. She loved the way they stung and burned her skin. Now, Dracula made a show of himself stroking the prickly skin of his chin and said sardonically:

“What an excellent idea, my dear Countess. What an utterly splendid idea, in fact. I believe that I shall punish you most severely for deliberately disobeying my explicit instructions. But Valeria will join you in your suffering, Anna,” he added darkly. “Make no mistake about that.”

He leaped to his feet athletically and dressed himself, while Anna lay on the grass at his feet and watched him with her huge, china-blue eyes that were wide with excitement but also trepidation. Then he pulled Anna to her feet by her hair and, picking her up as if she weighed no more than a rag-doll, began to stride towards the castle with a naked, squirming Anna in his arms.

“My dress-” began Anna, looking over his shoulder to where her midnight-blue velvet gown lay discarded on the grass.

“You won’t be needing it,” replied the Count, ignoring her protests and raising one booted foot to kick open the small side-door to the castle that led directly upstairs to the bedchambers. “Not for what I have in mind…”


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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