ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA… PART 32. AN EROTIC TALE BY SANDRA HARRIS. © STRICTLY FOR OVER-EIGHTEENS ONLY.
After his encounter in his private dressing-room with Valeria, chief amongst his handmaidens, Count Dracula went straight to the master bedroom. Lady Anna Carfax eagerly awaited him there. She was naked, as Dracula had decreed she should always be, and her blonde, milky-skinned beauty almost took his breath away.
“Where have you been?” she cried, running towards him and grabbing hold of the folds of his black, satin-lined cape. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.” She had to tilt her head back almost as far as it would go in order to look up into his face, because of his superior height of six feet five inches. Her huge blue eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
Count Dracula saw that she had placed the whip with which he would shortly beat her in readiness for him on the bed. His face gave nothing away as he removed her clinging hands from his garment and said:
“I had business to attend to.”
“But I need… I need…” began Anna tearfully.
“What do you need?” mocked Dracula, turning to the huge four-poster bed and picking up the whip. He cut the air with it a couple of times, making Anna flinch.
“You know,” whispered Anna, flushing deeply.
“Say it,” commanded the Count.
“I need… to be… to be punished,” Anna said in barely audible tones. “I need to be… to be punished by you.”
“Then get into position,” he ordered curtly. Anna obediently bent herself over the edge of the bed, presenting her soft white buttocks to him for chastisement. She no longer cared that when she was in this position, Dracula had an unimpeded view of the cleft between her buttocks that led downwards towards her womanly parts.
All she cared about was feeling the sting of the whip on her unprotected nether regions. That was what Dracula had done to her. He had taught her to crave the pain he inflicted so cruelly. The first cut made her scream and thrash her legs about wildly.
“Be still!” snapped the Count, bringing the whip down savagely once more across her bottom. A second welt immediately criss-crossed the first. Anna screamed and thrashed about again but Dracula ignored her suffering and continued the punishment. Some ten or twelve times more, he brought the whip whistling through the air to land with a crack on Anna’s upturned backside.
When he was finished, he threw the whip aside and swiftly disrobed. Once the last of his garments had been discarded, he positioned himself behind the sobbing woman and inserted his swollen member between the pink, pretty lips of her sex.
Anna’s sobs quickly turned to moans and soft little cries. She called out his name repeatedly and drummed her small fists on the counterpane of the big bed. Afterwards, as they lay together between the cool linen sheets, Anna said petulantly:
“Why do you spend so much time away from me? Where do you go and what is it that you do there? And why can’t I go with you?” Count Dracula’s face hardened and became cold.
“I have business to attend to elsewhere,” he said abruptly, repeating his statement of earlier. “Do not question me, or I assure you that you will have cause to regret it. A mere whipping will be the least of what you will receive.”
“Then may I go out alone?” Anna persisted. “I’m tired of being permitted to drink only the blood that Valeria and your handmaidens bring me. I want to drink fresh blood. I want to drink the blood of a live victim, one that I have sought out for myself. I can do that only if you will permit me to leave the castle. I promise that I shall return as soon as I have found what I need.” Dracula rose from the bed and dressed as quickly as he had disrobed.
“It is absolutely out of the question,” he snapped, his face thunderous. “You are not ready for the activities of which you speak. I doubt you ever will be. You are a weak and feeble woman, of limited intelligence and logic. You will remain in the castle, under my protection and jurisdiction, for as long as it pleases me. Speak of the subject again at your own peril.”
He turned and left the room, slamming the door so loudly that the reverberations were heard in the farthest reaches of the castle and Valeria and the handmaidens looked up from their various occupations in surprise and trepidation. Anna kneeled up on the bed and stared after his departing form. When the door had slammed behind him, she hissed and extended her fangs.
“I will have fresh blood,” she said out loud to the empty bedchamber. “I will. I’ll find a way, somehow. And you, Count Dracula, will not always be able to stop me.”
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 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.
She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would 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: