BySandra Harris, writer at


Detective Jonathan Waterstone swaggered up his front path with a whistle on his lips and another one in his heart. With Gwendolyn and Baby Victoria safely ensconsed at Gwennie’s sister Joan’s house for the day, he and his sister-in-law Madeleine Wickerman would finally have the place to themselves for a bit. Finally! It was getting harder and harder to find the time and space to pleasure the delightfully pretty and wanton Madeleine behind Gwennie’s back and, besides, he was growing powerfully tired of listening to Madeleine’s endless complaints on the subject.

“You promised you’d leave Gwennie for me!” she was especially fond of wailing.

“But, Madeleine sweetness,’ he would counter in as placating a tone as he could muster, “that was before she had the baby. How can I leave her now? It would be a monstrous thing indeed. You must surely see that, Maddy my dear? Besides,” he would add coaxingly, lifting up her pretty chin so that they were looking directly into each others’ eyes, “just because I must of necessity remain as Gwendolyn’s husband does not mean that you and I cannot have our fun.’ He would accompany his words with a sly wink and a tweak of her nipple or a slap on her ample rump.

Usually, the thought of the sexual naughtiness in which the pair of them would engage whenever Gwendolyn Waterstone’s back was turned was sufficient to direct Madeleine’s thoughts along happier, less controversial (for Jonathan) lines. He dreaded the day when illicit sexual relations would no longer be enough for the blonde, enormously busty Maddy and she would force his hand, force him to make a choice between his wife and his sister-in-law, a contest which Maddy could never win.

He, Jonathan, wished nothing more than to advance in his career as a police officer. A man involved in a scandalous divorce would never rise through the ranks to become a Detective Inspector, a title which Jonathan coveted more than any other. Madeleine must understand that, must be made to understand that. But not today, he thought as he inserted his key into the front door lock. Definitely not today. Today, he felt as amorous as Henry The Eighth let loose in a nunnery. Today, he was going to pull the titties off that lusty little wench and ride her fat backside around his and Gwennie’s bedroom till his lunch-hour was up and he had to go back to attempting to solve those blasted Bedchamber Abductions, as the press insisted on calling them.

“Oh, Gwendolyn sweetness!” he called out cautiously when he stood inside his front entry, hat in hand. “I’ve come home for my lunch! Where are you, dearest?” Even though the huge clumsy perambulator that they’d purchased for Victoria and which stood in the hall when not in use was nowhere to be seen, he thought it best to be prudent and check for himself that his spouse was absent. He grinned when he heard Madeleine’s voice, lighter and younger-sounding than Gwendolyn’s, call out in response from upstairs:

“I’m up here, sweetness!” Jonathan pulled off the heavy greatcoat he wore to work and dumped it carelessly, along with his hat, on a chair in the entry. Then he took the stairs two at a time, bounding excitedly into the bedroom he shared with his wife. The vision of loveliness that greeted him almost took his breath away.

Certainly, it was a major improvement on the sight of his superior officer, Geoffrey Broadhurst, sitting behind his desk scratching his portly gut and pontificating at length about The Bedchamber Abductions and how their failure to thus far apprehend the culprit or culprits was proving disastrous from the point of view of their standing with the English press. Right now, Broadhurst could take his English press and his precious Bedchamber Abductions and shove them up his fat arse. Right now, Inspector Jonathan Waterstone of the Metropolitan Police had other things on his mind.

Madeleine was stark naked, lying back on his and Gwendolyn’s bed with her white thighs spread invitingly and her lustrous golden ringlets tumbling down over her bare breasts. She curled a fat ringlet around her fingers and made her blue eyes wide as she greeted him in her breathy voice with: “Jonathan my dear, whatever took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for you for hours…!”


Jonathan stripped off his clothes and flung them on the floor with abandon. Madeleine squealed delightedly as he dived naked onto the bed and immediately took her in his arms, kissing her passionately all over her face and on her neck and breasts. She kissed him back fiercely.

“You little hussy!” he mock-growled as he pushed her back against the pillows for which poor Gwendolyn had so lovingly embroidered pretty pink covers. “You’re a hot little slut, aren’t you, lying here with your legs open and your hot little hairy slit on display for all the world to see!” Madeleine gasped with pleasure as he began to finger her roughly between her thighs.

“Look how wet you are!” he added, marvelling as he always did at the way her body responded to his caresses. He was an attractive enough fellow of thirty-five, but Madeleine always managed to make him feel like a king when they were in bed together.

Whenever he’d made love to Gwendolyn, though they hadn’t done so since Victoria was conceived, she’d lain there stiffly and unresponsively and waited for him to ‘get his dirty business over with.’ The sexual act to Gwendolyn was a means to an end and nothing more, the end of course being the conception of a child. Well, Gwendolyn had her precious child now and, until she decided it was time for Baby Victoria to have a sibling, there would likely be no comfort for Jonathan in the marital bed. Not unless, he thought now with a wicked grin, he was sharing that bed with his sister-in-law and not his wife.

“Ride me, you little brazen hussy!” he commanded urgently, lying down and pulling Madeleine on top of him. He held her around her slim waist (Gwendolyn no longer had a waist, not since the baby) and lowered her down onto his fully erect and swollen male member. Madeleine moaned as she slid down Jonathan’s manhood until it was buried up to the hilt in her womanly parts. She began to ride him just the way he liked, leaning forward and thrusting her breasts into his face while she squeezed his manhood with her tight cunt, as yet unspoiled and unstretched by childbirth.

“Oh Jonathan, I love you so much!” Madeleine cried as they coupled. “Do you love me too, dearest? Oh, say you do, Jonathan, say you do, please!”

“You know I do,” replied Jonathan as he nuzzled her breasts and thrust frantically upwards. “I say, Maddy, have I ever told you that you’ve got the most marvellous titties?”

“Yes, a million times,” replied Madeleine impatiently, drawing back so that her bountiful bosoms were just out of his reach. “I don’t care about that. I want to hear you say you love me, that’s all!”

“I love you,” obliged Jonathan. “I love you to bits, only just let me grab a goodly handful of those glorious teats! For Heavens’ sake, woman, you don’t know what effect you have on me!” Madeleine allowed herself a smug smile as she bounced up and down on his manhood. He grabbed her bare backside and pulled her towards him, straining to catch a full breast in his eager mouth.

“Am I prettier than Gwendolyn?” Madeleine demanded, squealing mock-indignantly as one of his fingers slyly slid up her unsuspecting backside and wriggled back and forth inside her most private hole. He often fingered her there, and she always pretended to be taken unawares by it.

“You know you are!” replied Jonathan, although he sincerely wished that she wouldn’t bring up the subject of his wife while they were in the throes of passion. His face grew redder and his breathing faster, and a lock of his chestnut-brown hair fell down over his eyes in his excitement.

“When will you leave Gwennie for me?” she demanded then. When he hesitated, she repeated her question more shrilly, adding: “Why won’t you tell me, Jonathan? I want to know when you are leaving Gwennie for me! Tell me, Jonathan! I demand that you tell me at once! I want to know!”

“Yes, Jonathan,” came a female voice quietly from the door. “Why don’t you tell her? That is something that I am sure we would both wish to know.” Standing in the open bedroom doorway with a nasty-looking whippy stick in her hand was Jonathan’s wife, Gwendolyn Waterstone.


“Why, Gwen-Gwendolyn my d-d-dearest,” stammered Inspector Jonathan Waterstone of the Metropolitan police, sitting bolt upright in bed and dislodging the wide-eyed Madeleine unceremoniously from off his person, “I-I-I did not know that you were home.”

“That, my dearest Jonathan,” replied his wife coldly, “is because I did not wish you to know that I had purposely returned home, with the sole intention, I might add, of seeing with my own two eyes what my woman’s heart already knew to be true.”

“This- this isn’t what it looks like,” gabbled Jonathan, pulling the rumpled bedcovers ridiculously up over his bare chest. “I can assure you, dear Gwennie, that I can explain everything you see before you today.” Gwendolyn drew herself up to her full height and eyed with distaste Madeleine’s bare breasts and the moist, hairy uncovered mound between her splayed thighs.

“I very much doubt that, Jonathan,” she said.

“There’s only one explanation and you know it, sister dear,” said Madeleine, on whose face alarm had been replaced by smugness and triumph. “Jonathan loves me and he’s leaving you to be with me and we’re going to be married at the earliest possible moment. So what do you think of that then, Gwennie?” She uttered her sister’s name with the utmost scorn and sarcasm.

“You’re a fool if you think that, Madeleine,” said Gwendolyn Waterstone quietly. “Just look at his face,” she went on, indicating with a wave of her hand her husband’s expression. It was one of extreme sheepishness and discomfort. “He might take you to bed for an afternoon like the common little tart you are, but he’d no more leave me for you than he’d take up with one of the whores of Whitechapel. He has a child and a career in the police force and you’re nothing to do with either. Believe me, you’re living in a fools’ paradise if you think you mean anything more to him than a quick, sweaty roll in the hay.” Two bright spots of red blazed on her pale cheekbones as she stood there, erect and proud, and faced her younger sister, the woman who had wanted nothing more than to usurp her place as Jonathan’s wife.

“That’s not true,” said Madeleine, her confidence shaken by Gwendolyn’s obvious conviction. Also, her older sister was looking at her nudity with scorn and contempt, and not at all with the open jealousy that Madeleine might have expected. And was that pity in Gwendolyn’s cold grey eyes? How dared Gwendolyn pity her, the young and pretty Madeleine Wickerman? How dared she? It was intolerable, insupportable! “Jonathan does love me. I know he does!”

“Ask him, then,” said Gwendolyn, still in those same horrible, coldly contemptuous tones that were beginning to frighten Madeleine a little. “He’s right there in the bed. In our bed. His and mine. Ask him.”

“J-Jonathan?” squeaked Madeleine, looking nervously at her lover. He didn’t reply. He covered his face with his hands and began to cry, gulping, womanish sobs that made his wife and mistress both look at him with distaste.

“You have your answer,” said Gwendolyn, stepping forward and grabbing hold of Madeleine’s wrist and holding onto it tightly. “And now, sister dear,” she added in tones of savage sarcasm, “I’m going to do what our Papa should have done a long time ago. I’m going to punish you, Madeleine.” It was only then that Madeleine noticed the thin, whippy-looking stick in her sister’s hand. She paled before spluttering:

“You can’t punish me! You have no authority! Tell her, Jonathan. Tell her she can’t punish me!” Jonathan said nothing, merely watched with a new interest as Gwendolyn forced Madeleine down across the edge of the bed with her big round white rump appealingly presented for her sister’s cane.

“I’ll tell you by what authority I’m punishing you, shall I, you brazen little hussy?” shouted Gwendolyn, bringing the stick smartly down across Madeleine’s bare buttocks. “I’ve been in loco parentis ever since you came to live with Jonathan and me and you’ve rewarded me for my kindness and goodness by helping yourself to my husband ever since!”

She punctuated her words with sharp swipes of the cane across her sister’s bottom, which was rapidly turning red and sore. Maddy kicked and screamed and struggled with all her might but Gwendolyn, made stronger by constantly carrying around Baby Victoria, a surprisingly heavy child for a girl, held her easily in place with a well-placed knee in the small of her back. Madeleine was obliged, therefore, to stay in position until the humiliating and painful punishment was deemed by her sister to be concluded.

“And now, my girl,” said Gwendolyn grimly, tossing aside the cane and hauling Maddy up off the bed by her hair, “you’ll go out of this house with even less than when you came into it. No, not even the clothes on your back, by God!” she added as she hauled the protesting and screeching young woman to the door. “Go back to Papa and Mama and see if they’ll take such a dirty little slut back into their household!”

“Jonathan, please help me, she’s gone mad!” wailed Madeleine as she was dragged down the stairs and out the front door without even a moment to rub her scalding-hot, cane-striped buttocks. But Jonathan, made newly amorous by the sight of his wife administering stern, bare-bottomed discipline to his wanton sister-in-law, had a complicated situation to attend to just then in the form of a raging tumescence. He therefore ignored Maddy’s cries, which grew fainter as a coldly furious Gwendolyn pushed her out of the house and shut the door on her, but not before issuing a warning:

“Don’t ever darken my door again, sister dearest, or I promise you that it will be the last thing you ever do!” Gwendolyn stormed back inside and out of her younger sister’s life forever. Then, realising that pounding on the door and screaming to be let back in was only attracting a crowd of curious onlookers and nosey neighbours, Madeleine scampered down the front path, covering her bare breasts and privates as best as she could with her hands, and hid behind a bush, sobbing loudly.

It was then that she noticed the carriage drawing to a halt outside the garden gate. It was jet black and obviously the carriage of a wealthy nobleman. Even the horses were jet black and so were the plumes on their proud, elegant heads. They stamped their feet and tossed their heads and whickered impatiently while they waited to move off. The coachman’s face was obscured by his cloak. The door to the carriage opened suddenly while Madeleine watched, wide-eyed, from behind the bushes.

Then Madeleine, as if in answer to an unspoken command which she alone could hear, scrambled to her feet and walked trance-like towards the black carriage. When she reached it, she hesitated for a moment, her hand on the door, her head cocked as if listening once more to the voice that only she could hear. Then her pretty face broke out into a beatific smile and, stark-naked, she climbed into the strange black carriage and shut the door.


“Well, well,” said Count Dracula, eyeing the nude young woman with extreme interest. “And who do we have here?” Madeleine Wickerman, who had entered the Count’s black carriage in obedience to his unspoken command, looked at him with eyes wide with fear but also desire. Never in her whole life had she seen such a handsome man.

He was so tall he seemed to dominate the inside of the carriage. He was impeccably dressed and his eyes were dark and piercing, so piercing that they almost seemed to be able to look right inside her head and read her very thoughts. Jonathan had been an attractive enough chap but this man…! This man made Jonathan look like the rag-and-bone man by comparison .

“If- If it please you, sir,” she said nervously, “I’m Madeleine Wickerman.” Dracula, who had already known of her existence but not how pleasing of form and countenance she was, replied contemptuously:

“Ah yes, the sister-in-law of the bumbling incompetent responsible for solving the case of The Bedchamber Abductions. Not only has the ineffective Detective Waterstone failed to solve the case or even uncover any leads but now it would appear that he has been found out in a tedious case of marital infidelity. You were his mistress, were you not?” he added sharply.

“I loved him!” wailed Madeleine, tears springing to her huge blue eyes. “But now Gwennie’s thrown me out of the house and I shall never see him again! He didn’t even stand up for me or for our love and he even let Gwennie punish me, sir, with a cane to my bare backside! Look, sir, if it please you, at what my sister who was meant to love me and care for me has done to my poor behind!”

She turned around and knelt up on the carriage seat, displaying her cane-striped buttocks to the Count, who regarded them thoughtfully.

“Poor sweet Madeleine,” he murmured then, reaching out a long, elegant hand to caress the twin punished rumps before him and the cleft between them. Madeleine moaned and, to her surprise, she pushed her bottom backwards against his hand, the better to feel his touch. She had had her share of lovers and admirers, but here she was now, naked in the carriage of a strange nobleman, allowing him to caress her bare hindquarters and her most intimate recesses without a shred of concern for her modesty. What had he done to her, this man, this stranger, to make her forget herself so? What wicked sorcery was this, what trickery, what vile magic…?

Count Dracula struck the roof of the carriage twice with the heavy cane he carried. Up in the driver’s seat, Igor his hunchbacked servant whipped the four black horses into a frenzy. They gallopped back towards Birney Woods and the Count’s castle as if the hounds of hell themselves were chasing them. The Count held out his arms to a frightened Madeleine.

“Come here to me, my little pretty one,” he said coaxingly, giving the nude young woman the full benefit of his piercing stare. “I will make you forget about the throbbing of your backside.”

Once Madeleine was in his lap, he fondled her breasts and buttocks and between her legs, making her gasp and moan in pleasure. He pushed her down between his own thighs, where she eagerly adjusted his perfect linen and took his manhood into her mouth.

While her luscious red lips and pretty pink tongue did their work, Dracula’s dark eyes grew red and his viciously-sharp fangs descended on either side of his mouth. When Madeleine had obligingly swallowed his issue and raised her eyes to his for his praise and appreciation, the sight of his altered appearance chilled her to her very soul and she screamed in horror. It was too late.

Dracula pulled her to him and bit down hard on her soft white neck. The pain of Gwennie’s cane repeatedly striking her bare rear was as nothing to this new and terrible pain and it was not long before Madeleine was utterly insensible to the world around her. Dracula drank long and deep of her blood and, when she was all used up and as shrivelled as a piece of fruit from which the juice had all been squeezed, he opened the carriage doors and pushed her out. The animals of the forest would take care of what remained.


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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