FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 20. BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

INTRODUCTION TO BOOK 5.

The year is 1891, and Count Dracula and his sex-and-spanking-crazed harem of beautiful handmaidens are still camped out in Dracula’s ancestral castle in Transylvania. Dracula’s brother Vladimir’s head currently adorns a spike on the castle battlements. His brother Nikolai’s head, while for the moment still attached to his shoulders, is filled with resentment for Dracula and a continuing desire to depose him as head of the family.

Dracula’s beautiful wife Anna and his demanding mistress –– and cousin –– Carmilla are each jockeying for position as his Number One squeeze, and he has two newly-acquired sons he doesn’t have a clue what to do with.

Meanwhile, the genteel young ladies of the nearby Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education And Refinement Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks are all still waiting impatiently for Dracula to fly through their bedroom windows at midnight, to endow upon them the sexual awakening of a lifetime and an introduction into Dracula’s twilight world of pleasure deliciously commingled with pain.

Add to this his domineering mother, his four sex-mad sisters, his temperamental nude handmaidens and a cartload or two of angry villagers, and you might just have an idea of why, for this year at least, Dracula’s dance-card is fully filled out…

This book, as all the ‘ANNA’ books are, is based on characters created by fellow Irish authors Bram Stoker and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, and is dedicated with much love to the late Sir Christopher Lee, whose performances in the HAMMER ‘Dracula’ films inspired every word of it. May he rest in peace… until he rises once more from the crypt in which he rests…

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 20.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Dracula unlocked the heavy wooden door to one of his private tower rooms and stepped inside, excitement building up inside him as he contemplated the seduction that lay ahead. The bedchamber’s sole resident was seated at the dressing-table, brushing her long blonde hair and admiring her reflection in the mirror. She turned when she sensed him behind her and said, her voice trembling: ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Count Dracula. Where have you been?’

‘Well, well, Mrs. Vanessa Wintergreen, I trust I find you well?’ he said, ignoring her question. If he didn’t answer to his wife Anna or his mistress Carmilla, then he certainly didn’t answer to his latest floozy, who after all might not even last very long. His whores often didn’t. Accidents and other unfortunate incidents kept befalling them.

Why, one of his very favourite conquests, a Lady Victoria Strauss, had been beheaded in his English stronghold of Birney Castle by a member of his own household. He had never found out exactly who the culprit had been, though he had his suspicions. Oh well. Easy come, easy go. The world was full of beautiful women, and fortunately there was plenty of Count Dracula to go around.

‘Come here, wench,’ he added. ‘Let me look at you. I too have been eagerly awaiting this opportunity of renewing our short acquaintance.’

She came and stood in front of him. He looked her over approvingly from his vastly superior height of six foot five. What a prime piece of female flesh he had in his possession now, by Jove! The former lawfully wedded wife of the oh-so-English businessman Edward Wintergreen, late of Windsor Grove, Chelsea, had scrubbed up quite nicely, quite nicely indeed.

She was trim of waist and full of bust, a combination Dracula always admired in a woman. Said bust was white as the breast of a dove and big stiff nipples showed brazenly through the pale shift she wore to cover her nakedness. Not that she’d be wearing it for long. He reached over and casually ripped the garment from her luscious body.

He gasped at the sight of her bare breasts, even lovelier in the flesh than they had been in his imagination. Her belly was softly rounded and her pubic thatch thick and a somewhat darker blonde than the hair on her head.

She was not a virgin, sadly; Edward Wintergreen had deflowered her on their wedding night some months previously. Dracula loved a virgin. So tight of pussy, so juicy, so… virginal. However, Vanessa Wintergreen was comely enough to have attracted his attention even without the presence of an intact hymen.

‘Has Brunhilde been adequately seeing to your, ah, needs, my dear?’

She had the grace to blush. Brunhilde, a tall, statuesque handmaiden from Bavaria with knee-length blonde plaits of hair, had been assigned by Dracula to assist Vanessa during the period of her ‘turning,’ her ‘turning’ from a human female to a vampire one.

It had taken several days, rather unpleasant days during which the sudden thirst for blood had taken her over completely. Dracula kept well out of the way when one of his handmaidens was going through her ‘turning.’

It was as tiresome as those monthly inconveniences from which women of childbearing age routinely suffered, inconveniences which made them ill-tempered and frowsy-looking for the duration. A man was much better off out of it, all things considered.

He would not make love to a new handmaiden himself until she was fully ‘turned,’ but he encouraged his other handmaidens to pleasure the newcomer themselves and in turn be pleasured by her, and all the while he immensely enjoyed the show by means of various peepholes he had had embedded in the bedchamber walls.

When the process of ‘turning’ was completed and the messy bits were dispensed with, then came Dracula’s time to shine… with a cock that would put a horse to shame. He was hugely looking forward to making love to Vanessa again. He had not touched her since the night he had vampirised her personally.

Thanks to her ‘turning,’ all thoughts of her former life as the wife of the rather staid businessman Edward Wintergreen would be banished from her pretty blonde head forever (though it was not unusual for flashbacks to occur), and she would return Dracula’s savage passion with equal ardour. First things first, though.

‘Turn around,’ he said. ‘I want to see your hindquarters.’

He was not disappointed. Her pale bare buttocks were round and full and infinitely spankable. One thing he could not abide in a female was a tendency towards a flat behind. Women were made to be spanked, and caned and whipped and birched and subjected to all manner of delightful thrashings on the backside, to which end a sturdy pair of fleshy haunches was preferable. In a flash, he pushed Vanessa face-down over the edge of the four-poster bed and administered a flurry of light teasing spanks to her upturned derrière.

She squealed in protest- though not too seriously- and squirmed about a bit but, overall, seemed to enjoy the process, just as he’d expected. And the fact of her backside’s now being a rather fetching shade of pink charmed him no end as well. Just wait until he had a chance to use his belt or a whip on her quivering female flesh! He would make those pale globes dance and bounce to his tune all right.

Now was not that time, however. Now was the time for loving, and for renewing their acquaintance. To this end, he undid his trousers and removed his already fully erect member, which he immediately inserted between the lips of her sex.

She cried out in pleasure and begged for more; she, who had been as buttoned-up and restrained as her stiff-upper-lipped English husband when first they had come to Transylvania! What a wanton little wildcat it was now, thought Dracula as he emptied the contents of his heavy man-sac into her welcoming womb with a shout of triumph.

What a slut, what a temptress, what a minx! He had done well to invite the Wintergreens to his castle for the repast that never was. Edward Wintergreen himself had proved an adequate supper for the castle dogs, and his lady wife was pleasing Dracula greatly now as his concubine.

Afterwards, as they lay in bed together, naked, sated- for now- and bathed in sweat, Dracula spoke sternly to her.

‘You will confine yourself to this suite of rooms I have had prepared for you. Under no circumstances is my wife Anna to learn of your existence here. The same goes for my… erm, my esteemed cousin, Carmilla, do you understand? I cannot answer for your safety if either of these two women find out about you. Is that clear, wench?’

‘Jealous, are they?’ said Vanessa, the lightest hint of mocking laughter in her voice. What cared she for wives and cousins? They meant less than nothing to her.

Dracula snorted. ‘You have no idea,’ he said. ‘It’s probably for the best if you steer clear of my mother Ursula as well. She has a low tolerance for what she terms my ‘whores and hussies.’

‘I’d like to see her apply such derogatory terms to me!’ replied his companion indignantly. ‘She might find herself missing her tongue afterwards.’

‘It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you. The only person you have to worry about pleasing is me.’

‘And I do please you, Master, don’t I?’ she murmured in his ear, running her fingers over his stubbly jaw as she did so. He shaved diligently every night when he rose, but such was his masculinity that the strong dark bristles began to push themselves forward again almost immediately.

‘Well, yes, my darling Vanessa,’ he admitted, ‘but the indisputable fact remains that my cock is nonetheless currently going unsucked.’ He quirked an eyebrow at her (eyebrow quirking was a skill of his for which he had won trophies and other accolades) and awaited her response.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ she said as she shimmied down the bed and took his member in her lush red mouth. It was stirring once more and eager for the fray.

‘Mmmmmm.’ Her moan of pleasure was most flattering.

Dracula lay back, his eyes closed and his hands comfortably clasped behind his head. He had a feeling that Vanessa Wintergreen would be an asset to his household. By the time she had expertly extracted the spunk from his man-sac a second time and swallowed it without a word of complaint and, what was more, with every appearance of pleasure, he was positively convinced of it.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 19. AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

INTRODUCTION TO BOOK 5.

The year is 1891, and Count Dracula and his sex-and-spanking-crazed harem of beautiful handmaidens are still camped out in Dracula’s ancestral castle in Transylvania. Dracula’s brother Vladimir’s head currently adorns a spike on the castle battlements. His brother Nikolai’s head, while for the moment still attached to his shoulders, is filled with resentment for Dracula and a continuing desire to depose him as head of the family.

Dracula’s beautiful wife Anna and his demanding mistress –– and cousin –– Carmilla are each jockeying for position as his Number One squeeze, and he has two newly-acquired sons he doesn’t have a clue what to do with.

Meanwhile, the genteel young ladies of the nearby Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education And Refinement Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks are all still waiting impatiently for Dracula to fly through their bedroom windows at midnight, to endow upon them the sexual awakening of a lifetime and an introduction into Dracula’s twilight world of pleasure deliciously commingled with pain.

Add to this his domineering mother, his four sex-mad sisters, his temperamental nude handmaidens and a cartload or two of angry villagers, and you might just have an idea of why, for this year at least, Dracula’s dance-card is fully filled out…

This book, as all the ‘ANNA’ books are, is based on characters created by fellow Irish authors Bram Stoker and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, and is dedicated with much love to the late Sir Christopher Lee, whose performances in the HAMMER ‘Dracula’ films inspired every word of it. May he rest in peace… until he rises once more from the crypt in which he rests…

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 19.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

(‘Oh Leon!’ Magdalena shook her long hair back over her bare shoulders and waggled her breasts at him. ‘You’ll drive yourself mad thinking like that. There’s no-one to come. I’m telling you, in an enormous country like England, you think someone’s going to notice two poxy posh Britishers who didn’t come back home off their holidays? No-one’s coming, Leon, I tell you. No-one’s going to come.’

‘Well, except me,’ grinned Leon, holding her tightly by the waist as his issue exploded upwards into the welcoming warmth of her pussy.

There, that was enough about the blasted Wintergreens for today, Leon decided, his head now filled with much more luxuriously sensual thoughts. Magdalena was most likely correct in her assumption that there was no-one coming for them, to ask awkward questions and poke about in awkward places, bringing trouble down on the village from Castle Dracula. That had happened before, and no-one from the village had any desire to see it happening again. Magdalena was right, as usual. There was no-one coming.)

Or was there…?

Back home in London, England, Jamison Wintergreen let out a roar of satisfaction as the strength and power of his male organ in the throes of its sexual climax lifted his companion clear off the bed. He felt his life-giving fluid drain from him and into her, and collapsed onto her nude, sweat-slicked body with the distinct feeling of a job well done.

‘Oh Jamie, Jamie, my love! My Jim-Jim, my Jimmy, my own Jamie, you are the greatest, the best, the best who ever lived!’

Jamison grinned as he heaved himself off of her and leaned over to pluck his cigarette case from the bedside table. There was no arguing with her; the woman knew quality when she saw it. He offered her a cigarette, then lit one for each of them when she accepted. Then he lay back on his pillows, smoking intently and staring at a fixed point at the ceiling.

‘Jamie, my darling,’ said Lady Chastity (a misnomer if ever there was one) Belvedere-Wilberforce after a while as she snuggled into his bare chest, ‘why the serious face? Talk to me, my dearest love, my precious lover! What are you thinking?’

‘Did no-one ever teach you never to ask a man that question?’ he said with a lazy grin.

‘I make my own rules,’ she pouted, and Jamison was inclined to believe her.

Chastity Belvedere-Wilberforce was a remarkable woman. Forty-five years of age, she still had the firm, trim figure of a much younger woman, despite having given her husband two children. Jamison put her trimness and youthful vigour down to all the sexual intercourse in which she still engaged, and precious little of it with her husband these days.

Lord Simon Belvedere-Wilberforce wore his crown of cuckold’s horns lightly enough. His own infidelities with serving wenches and other ladies of the lower classes were legendary. He and his lovely red-haired wife (only a touch of henna was necessary to ensure that her long, lustrous locks retained their gorgeously natural red colour) went to balls and parties together occasionally for the sake of appearances, vitally important in their society, but whether or not they finished the night together was an entirely different matter. One encountered such pretty serving wenches, bosomy barmaids and comely ladies of the night whilst one was gadding about town.

‘Seriously though, Jamie dear,’ she said now in her most persuasive tones, ‘you have something ponderous on your mind, do you not? Would you not share it with me, lover, that I might shoulder a little of the burden alongside you? Two heads are better than one, you know.’

‘And a very pretty head it is too,’ he replied, turning towards her to twirl a strand of her long curled locks idly round his fingers.

‘Well, then?’ she said expectantly.

‘I was just thinking about good old Eddie again,’ he said. ‘It’s just that… well, I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks now and I can’t help hoping that he and the little woman are, you know, all right.’

Jamison’s older brother, Edward Wintergreen, a furniture manufacturer, and his newly-married wife Vanessa, had been married in London several months ago. After the wedding, a quiet but tasteful affair, the pair of them had travelled to Europe for a six-month honeymoon tour of the countries there, particularly the Eastern ones. Eddie, dear Eddie, bless him, sent Jamison a letter from every town or city through which they passed. But now, it was long past the time when Jamie should have received another letter, and he was beginning to worry.

‘What on earth possessed them to travel to such far-flung, God-forsaken places anyway?’ asked Lady Chastity, idly stroking his bare arm with her beautifully manicured fingertips. ‘I mean, Europe is Germany, France, Spain and Portugal, isn’t it, and maybe Belgium in a pinch? Why the devil would anyone travel farther afield than that? It beggars belief, you know. It really does. Simon and I went to Ireland on our honeymoon. Dreadful place, even if England does own it. Worse than India, by all accounts. Peasants and poverty and mud everywhere, and no shortage of village sluts to lure Simon away from the marital bed. Dreadful place, truly dreadful.’

Jamison had heard the ‘honeymooning in Ireland’ story before, and he cut across her without a qualm. ‘It was a mad fancy of Eddie’s,’ he said. ‘He’d always wanted to visit that part of Europe, the land of ghouls and hobgoblins, ghosts and phantoms, and the honeymoon was the ideal time to do it. I only hope that one of those phantoms hasn’t caught up with him and made off with him.’

He laughed uneasily. Chastity fondled his neck and face soothingly. ‘How is the factory working out in his absence?’ she asked him.

Jamison sighed. He’d found himself spending far more time there than he’d ever thought he’d have to, simply because there was just so damn much to do. So much for thinking that the bally place ran itself, under the keen eyes of Mr. Metlock and Mr. Travers! The sooner Eddie returned home from his sojourn in the countries of witches and warlocks and freed Jamison up to return to his usual more relaxed pace of life, the better.

‘The thing is,’ he went on absent-mindedly, as if he were talking mostly to himself, ‘if he doesn’t send word soon that he and the new little missus are okay, I’ll have to go over there and get him and bring him back.’

‘No, I absolutely forbid it!’ cried Lady Chastity. ‘My darling Jamie, the very thought of you over there, all alone in that horrid place! No, I shan’t allow it, Besides, however would I manage without you?’

‘Oh, the way you managed perfectly well before I ever came along,’ said Jamie, laughing at her professions of devotion. ‘Why, the first time ever I saw your face, thou hadst a cock in thy slut’s mouth and another in thy cunny! Thou couldst bathe in the spunk that coated thy skin.’

Jamie had fond memories of the aristocratic party at a mutual friend’s house that had turned out to be little more than a naked, drug-fuelled orgy, but a naked, drug-fuelled orgy to which he was invited and at which he had enjoyed considerable success. Amongst the scalps on his belt that memorable night had been Chastity’s.

She flapped at him idly, as if to say, why, the piffling trifles men remember! Then she said: ‘Excuse me a moment, my Jamie, my love. Nature calls.’

She walked nude to the corner of the room, where the chamber-pot resided. She squatted over it in front of him with not a trace of self-consciousness, the sound of her urine splashing into the bowl, and then wiped herself on the cloth provided, before strolling unconcernedly back to the bed. Not one trace of shame did she display, the bold hussy.

Jamison, greatly excited at having witnessed something which women normally kept private from men (What a dirty girl she was! Maybe one day she would permit him to spy on her as she vacated her bowels), urged her to mount his cock, which was good and erect once more. She needed no second asking, but did what she was bid immediately.

‘You’re a dirty, dirty girl, Lady Chastity Belvedere-Wilberforce, has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Many people,’ she teased him, from her exalted position on his cock. ‘But you’re the only one here fucking me right now, so why worry about the others?’

‘Consider them forgotten,’ said Jamie. All thoughts of his dear older brother Eddie and Eddie’s wife Vanessa forgotten also, at least for now, he buckled down and concentrated on the job of pleasing her in earnest.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 8. AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

INTRODUCTION TO BOOK 5.

The year is 1891, and Count Dracula and his sex-and-spanking-crazed harem of beautiful handmaidens are still camped out in Dracula’s ancestral castle in Transylvania. Dracula’s brother Vladimir’s head currently adorns a spike on the castle battlements. His brother Nikolai’s head, while for the moment still attached to his shoulders, is filled with resentment for Dracula and a continuing desire to depose him as head of the family.

Dracula’s beautiful wife Anna and his demanding mistress –– and cousin –– Carmilla are each jockeying for position as his Number One squeeze, and he has two newly-acquired sons he doesn’t have a clue what to do with.

Meanwhile, the genteel young ladies of the nearby Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education And Refinement Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks are all still waiting impatiently for Dracula to fly through their bedroom windows at midnight, to endow upon them the sexual awakening of a lifetime and an introduction into Dracula’s twilight world of pleasure deliciously commingled with pain.

Add to this his domineering mother, his four sex-mad sisters, his temperamental nude handmaidens and a cartload or two of angry villagers, and you might just have an idea of why, for this year at least, Dracula’s dance-card is fully filled out…

This book, as all the ‘ANNA’ books are, is based on characters created by fellow Irish authors Bram Stoker and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, and is dedicated with much love to the late Sir Christopher Lee, whose performances in the HAMMER ‘Dracula’ films inspired every word of it. May he rest in peace… until he rises once more from the crypt in which he rests…

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 8.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

When Vanessa opened her eyes after her swoon, it took her several moments to take in her surroundings fully. She felt so terribly woozy and light-headed, and yet so far she had not herself partaken of any strong alcohol, unlike her foolish husband Edward! The thought of Edward made her gasp and sit up straight, and it was then she noticed that she was in a bed.

It was a double bed, in a bedchamber quite unlike the room she shared with Edward at the inn. The furniture here was old, very old, but not cheap, like the furniture at the inn. Here, the four-poster bed, the huge twin wardrobes, the two dressing-tables on either side of the bed, one for the male, one for the female, and the chairs and armchairs all looked as if they had stood here for a hundred years and more. They were made of a quality and a superior wood one did not often come across nowadays.

Full-length drapes of the heaviest wine-colored velvet hung at the window, which stood open and allowed a light breeze to permeate the room. A small fire crackled brightly in the grate, and over the mantelpiece hung a huge portrait of a very imposing woman, with a magnificent bosom in a low-cut gown of midnight blue and a trickle of blood running from one corner of her red full mouth.

‘I see you’re admiring the portrait of my esteemed Cousin Elizabeth Bathory,’ said a cultivated male voice from somewhere to the left of her. ‘What an admirably single-minded young woman she was, and how many other young women she was more than prepared to sacrifice in pursuit of eternal youth and beauty! I still correspond regularly with her descendants, you know. Remind me to tell you sometime of their exploits. They make for some rather interesting listening, I can assure you. A singularly bizarre lot, the Bathorys.’

Vanessa jumped. Good heavens, she was not alone! She stared in fearful amazement at the extremely tall man she just about remembered meeting in the Great Hall before her swoon. He was undressing to the left of her, placing his dark clothing casually on a chair. His long black cloak, a fabulous piece of workmanship lined inside with red satin, was hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. The clasp looked to be made of real silver, and a heavy, ancient silver at that.

For the first time since opening her eyes, Vanessa realised that she was not wearing the beautiful bronze-coloured gown she had worn to visit the castle and meet the Count and his no doubt charming wife and family.

And indeed how could she be, since it was currently hanging on the outside of the second twin wardrobe, in tandem with the Count’s billowing black cloak! They looked quite at home together, the two garments, as if they had been accustomed to hang together thus, side-by-side in familiarity and companionship, for many a long year.

Vanessa looked down at herself and shrieked. Under the bedclothes, she was clad only in her long petticoat of white lace. Why, she was indecent, practically naked, in the presence of a strange male! Edward would be horrified, scandalised, mortified!

Her pale white breasts heaved in embarrassment over the low neckline of the petticoat, which action only served to make them more prominent and, though this mortified her further, more appealing to the watchful male eye.

‘Did… did you undress me?’ she asked the Count, her eyes downcast from shame and her tones tremulous.

‘Is that a problem for you, my dear Mrs. Wintergreen?’ he asked her quizzically, quirking one eyebrow at her in an unmistakeable gesture of amusement. ‘Surely a man has seen you naked before?’

‘Only Edward, and even then, he has never seen me without my nightgown!’

‘Well then, perhaps it is about time you learned to be properly naked in front of a man. A real man.’

He grinned, casting away his final item of clothing to stand fully and unashamedly unclothed in front of her. Vanessa’s blue eyes widened at the sight of the tall, lean strong body covered in a fine layer of black hairs, with that thing of his standing up perpendicular to his body the way Edward’s must have done too, but Edward’s thing had never looked so long, so heavy, so veined, so big! Vanessa could not, for the very life of her, have wrenched her eyes from it. It was a veritable monstrous beast of a thing, and she both feared and craved it.

‘You are not a virgin, I understand,’ he said, as he climbed into the big comfortable bed beside her, ‘but of course such things cannot be helped in the case of married woman. You are familiar with the act of sexual intercourse?’

‘I… I think so,’ breathed Vanessa, feeling a tingling in her nipples and a moistening sensation in her lady-parts at the proximity of such a paragon of maleness. The nearness of Edward had never felt like this. This feeling was electrifying, it made her feel like all her nerve endings were tenderly, exquisitely, agonizingly alive, and she never wanted the feeling to stop!

‘You think so?’ Dracula laughed superciliously. ‘I see that the actions of the esteemed Mr. Edward Wintergreen in the boudoir have made a great impression upon you, my dear. Well, we shall have to see what we can do to erase your memories of his inadequate schoolboy fumblings from your mind forever.’ He laid her back down against the pillows and began to methodically undo the tiny delicate pearl buttons on her petticoat.

‘Where… where is my husband?’ Vanessa asked him. ‘What have you done to him?’

She barely managed to get the words out. She felt like the power of speech was slipping away from her gradually, along with the ability to remember her own name and Edward’s and the reasons why they were there, in Castle Dracula in the Carpathian Mountains in the wilds of Transylvania, instead of at home in jolly old England, taking tea on the terrace of their house in Windsor Grove. On the terrace when it was fine, in the parlour when it rained or was windy or cold. How far away all that silly politeness and pointless adherence to silly old customs and traditions seemed now.

‘Do you care?’ Dracula asked her brutally as he pulled the petticoat over her head and tossed it aside. His hands immediately covered her breasts, those pale, perfect orbs he had coveted since first observing them peeping out from beneath the fur stole she had worn with the bronze-coloured gown.

Vanessa shook her head and moaned with pleasure. ‘I don’t care,’ she whimpered.

‘What about now?’ he said, as the enormous pale stalk that had stood out from his body so erect and upstanding pushed forcefully past any lingering hint of a maidenhead and penetrated straight to the very core of her being.

She shook her head and whispered: ‘I don’t care.’

‘What about now?’ he said again. The fearsome fangs she had glimpsed earlier were in evidence again now as he bit down hard on the left side of her tender neck, immediately drawing blood.

‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!’ she screamed, before falling into a dead faint with her bare arms flung out on either side of her in a grotesque parody of the Crucifixion.

Dracula, satisfied, began to feed.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE HUNGER. (1983) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE HUNGER. 1983. BASED ON THE BOOK ‘THE HUNGER’ BY WHITLEY STRIEBER. DIRECTED BY TONY SCOTT. CINEMATOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN GOLDBLATT.

STARRING CATHERINE DENEUVE, DAVID BOWIE, CLIFF DE YOUNG, SUSAN SARANDON, BETH EHLERS, DAN HEDAYA, WILLEM DAFOE AND BAUHAUS.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

(First published here in 2016.)

I took this film out of the library recently (yes, there are still those of us who do that, like cave-people who’ve never heard of Netflix…!) and the librarian laughed as he checked it out and remarked that the director really had ‘a thing for billowing curtains.’

I had to laugh too. There certainly are a lot of billowing curtains in this visually beautiful and arty erotic vampire film, along with classical music and classical statuary and paintings. The director was definitely trying to create something artistically eye-catching and in this he’s succeeded, but the film’s not without its problems or, indeed, its stern critics.

Despite its being obviously sexy and stylish, film critic Roger Ebert described the film as ‘an agonisingly bad vampire movie.’ That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose, but it’s found itself a cult following amongst the goth subculture so the news isn’t all bad.

Me personally, I love this film and think it’s one of the best non-Dracula vampire movies ever made, along with INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE and SALEM’S LOT, based on the internationally bestselling books by Anne Rice and Stephen King respectively.

Now to the plot. Miriam Blaylock, played by well-preserved French actress Catherine BELLE DE JOUR Deneuve, is one hot momma. In one way. In another, she’s a stone-cold bitch who also just so happens to be a vampire. That’s right, she’s an ageless and beautiful vampire who is hundreds, maybe thousands of years old.

She lives in Manhattan in a fantastic old house filled with the aforementioned priceless objets d’art. She doesn’t need to go out to work because she’s as rich as Croesus, although she poses as a teacher of classical music along with her handsome younger husband. By the way, did I forget to mention that this classy lassy with the bottomless bank account is married in the film to the Thin White Duke…?

Yep, her hubby John, an eighteenth-century cellist, is played by musician-actor David Bowie, who sadly passed away earlier this year and- as some people maintain!- unintentionally sparked off a chain of celebrity deaths that had us reeling and railing against the Grim Reaper till midsummer at least. It’s been a bad year for celebrity deaths.

He’s a vampire too like his missus but he’s a very tragic figure in this film. When we come in, he’s unfortunately started to age at the rate of knots, even though Miriam, that lying, manipulative bitch, had promised him eternal life and also eternal youth when they first got together back in the eighteenth century.

She may have been telling porkies about the eternal youth thing, but it seems that she was telling the brutal truth about his living forever, which is extremely bad news for her hubby John who’s now so ancient in his appearance that he makes Grampa Simpson from THE SIMPSONS look young…!

Before long, Miriam is callously locking him away in a coffin in a room at the top of the house where, incidentally, she keeps the rotting corpses of her other lovers. She’s pledged eternal love to all of them but we quickly learn that ‘eternity’ for Miriam can end in a heartbeat the minute she tires of you or you can no longer satisfy her. The corpses are doomed to lie there, awake and aware, for all eternity because she’s too goddamn selfish to let them die. That bitch. I told you guys she was cold…!

Things start to get really gruesome after poor, poor old David Bowie has been put in his ‘forever’ box in a heartbreaking scene that would make you feel very angry with Miriam on behalf of John and the other boxed lovers.

The sexually insatiable but horrifically selfish Miriam then turns her attentions to Dr. Sarah Roberts, the author of a dreary but terribly worthy tome called SLEEP AND LONGEVITY who carries out ageing experiments on monkeys, of all things.

Dr. Roberts, a gerontologist consulted by an agonised David Bowie before his incarceration in Miriam’s attic, is played by a freakishly young-looking Susan Sarandon with a painfully ‘Eighties hairstyle. Poor David Bowie thought that maybe she could slow down or even stop altogether his dreadful ageing process but it was no dice, sadly. Science hasn’t advanced that far yet, if it ever does.

Sarah can’t help being mesmerised by Miriam, who is quite simply the last word in feminine allure. The two have lesbian sex in Miriam’s gaff. (Well, what other kind could they have…?) Yes, you do see boobs; Sarah’s, but not Miriam’s…!

The sex is all very artistically-shot and stylish, and by the end of it, Miriam has co-mingled their respective bloods, in a disgustingly non-consensual act of what we’d today probably refer to as rape, and Sarah is on her way to becoming a fully-fledged vampire.

Sarah gets as sick as a dog as her body comes to terms with its new situation. I love the scene in which Miriam tells her new lover that she’ll sleep for six hours out of every twenty-four and she’ll need to ‘feed’ once a week. Just give the girl the instructive pamphlets entitled SO YOU’RE A VAMPIRE NOW or VAMPIRES 101 or VAMPIRES FOR DUMMIES or even SO YOU’VE RUINED YOUR LIFE and let her figure it all out for herself, lol. 

Sarah becomes so desperate for blood when ‘the hunger,’ as Miriam puts it, is upon her, that she kills her own scientist lover when he comes looking for her at Miriam’s place, and she joins in the gory fun when Miriam rips a young male pick-up limb from limb.

Sarah’s scientist friends are alarmed when they examine her blood medically and discover that her bloodstream has actually been invaded by a foreign, non-human blood strain, which is winning the battle for dominance over Sarah’s own normal blood.

It’s extremely frightening for Sarah (‘What have you done to me…?’), and it’s also almost impossible not to think of the way in which the AIDS virus is transmitted. This was, after all, the time when AIDS was rearing its ugly head for the first time. The passing of the vampire gene resembles the transmission of a blood infection. Christopher Lee never had this issue, lol.

In fact, when I first used to watch the devastatingly handsome and sexually dominant Christopher Lee as Dracula in the HAMMER HORROR films, I wanted nothing more than to be a vampire too.

I’d live with him in his crumbling Transylvanian castle and drink blood from a jewel-encrusted goblet brought to me nightly by my new husband’s naked, full-bosomed handmaidens. It was going to be sweet. This film put me off the idea of being a vampire for good.

All that sweating and being sick and looking as if you’re dying with the ‘flu while your body craves human blood changed my mind about it, along with the decidedly unsavoury sight of Susan Sarandon in her yucky grey sweat-socks sweating buckets through her old grey T-shirt.

I only ever wanted the glamour and the sex with Dracula, anyway, not so much the other stuff. I certainly never wanted to do my own killing, and I’d only ever be pushed about immortality if I had someone decent to share it with. But, when it comes down to it, isn’t that what Miriam wants for herself…?

So anyway, do Miriam and Sarah live happily ever after for all eternity, or is eternity just too long a time even for a vampire…? There’s a neat little twist at the end that I can’t tell you about, but I thought it was a strange ending to an already strange film. Apparently, some members of the cast were disappointed in the ending but some viewers will think it’s only right and proper.

There are some plotholes in the film, which is so painfully ‘Eighties it looks a bit dated now, but the plotholes, I suppose, are of secondary importance compared to the look of the thing. Willem Dafoe makes a brief cameo as a man who wants to use the pay-phone after Susan Sarandon’s finished with it and the violin-playing kid is really, really annoying. ‘Eighties band BAUHAUS make an appearance and the monkey experiments stuff gets quite confusing after a while. I didn’t enjoy that bit too much.

The first half-hour drags a bit and things don’t really get going until David Bowie is locked away in his coffin, but the hour or so after that is required viewing for fans of the vampire genre. Based on the novel by Whitley Strieber, there’s not one mention of the ‘v’ word in the film, however, which is interesting. Watch this if you enjoy vampire flicks. If you can overlook the flaws, it’s a real little cracker, I promise you.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PARTS 6 & 7. AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

INTRODUCTION TO BOOK 5.

The year is 1891, and Count Dracula and his sex-and-spanking-crazed harem of beautiful handmaidens are still camped out in Dracula’s ancestral castle in Transylvania. Dracula’s brother Vladimir’s head currently adorns a spike on the castle battlements. His brother Nikolai’s head, while for the moment still attached to his shoulders, is filled with resentment for Dracula and a continuing desire to depose him as head of the family.

Dracula’s beautiful wife Anna and his demanding mistress –– and cousin –– Carmilla are each jockeying for position as his Number One squeeze, and he has two newly-acquired sons he doesn’t have a clue what to do with.

Meanwhile, the genteel young ladies of the nearby Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education And Refinement Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks are all still waiting impatiently for Dracula to fly through their bedroom windows at midnight, to endow upon them the sexual awakening of a lifetime and an introduction into Dracula’s twilight world of pleasure deliciously commingled with pain.

Add to this his domineering mother, his four sex-mad sisters, his temperamental nude handmaidens and a cartload or two of angry villagers, and you might just have an idea of why, for this year at least, Dracula’s dance-card is fully filled out…

This book, as all the ‘ANNA’ books are, is based on characters created by fellow Irish authors Bram Stoker and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, and is dedicated with much love to the late Sir Christopher Lee, whose performances in the HAMMER ‘Dracula’ films inspired every word of it. May he rest in peace… until he rises once more from the crypt in which he rests…

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 6.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

The black carriage, with the crest of the House of Dracula on either door and the hunchback known to the villagers as Igor sitting silently in the driver’s seat, stood in the courtyard of Ivor’s Tavern and Hostelry, waiting to drive the Wintergreens up the hill to the castle for their eight o’clock dinner appointment.

‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ Leon the barman was saying to Edward Wintergreen now. The English gentleman was having a quick whiskey in the bar while waiting for his wife to finish dressing and join him. ‘We could fix you up with a fine dinner here, we could, some of Magdalena’s nice hot goulash, and plenty of Father’s ale to wash it down. You’d not go hungry. We’d see to that.’

‘That’s very decent of you, Leon, old chap,’ said Edward, draining his glass with a satisfied smacking together of his lips, ‘but I’m afraid the wife’s rather got her heart set on dining at the castle and meeting a real-life Transylvanian count. You know what women are like. We might as well go up there now that we’ve had this rather mysterious invitation.

‘I must confess I’m rather curious myself about the fellow. I mean, what kind of chap buries himself away in a remote little God-forsaken spot like this? No offence to yourselves, of course,’ he added hastily, remembering too late that Leon, his father Ivor and their barmaid Magdalena all lived here too, albeit down in the village and not up in the castle.

‘None taken, sir,’ replied the barman, who was distractedly cleaning the bar with a dish-rag. ‘As to the Count, well, erm, I can’t say as I’ve ever met the fellow personally. I don’t think too many folks hereabouts have met him either. He… he doesn’t go about much, you see… by day.’

‘He sounds quite mysterious indeed, I must say.’ Edward accepted Leon’s refilling of his whiskey tumbler appreciatively. ‘I’m rather looking forward to meeting him myself now, and I know Vanessa is too. She’s literally spoken of nothing else all day, would you believe it? My word, speak of the devil! Here she comes now.’

The two men looked towards the stairs as the recently married Mrs. Vanessa Wintergreen slowly ascended the stairs of the inn, carefully holding onto the banisters as she went and closely followed by Magdalena, who was carrying Mrs. Wintergreen’s fur stole and reticule.

Edward’s eyebrows shot right up at the sight of his wife in the fabulous gown of bronze-coloured satin, low in the neckline (rather outrageously low, he fancied), cinched-in at the waist and full in the skirt.

With the diamonds he’d given her on their wedding day back in England at her ears, throat and wrists (he’d advised her against bringing these on their honeymoon in Eastern Europe, preferring instead to place them in his bank for safe-keeping, but now he was glad to see them adorning her person), and her masses of blonde hair dressed in an elaborate confection of tiny pearls and glittering diamond flowers, he had truly never seen her look more ravishing.

He wanted to ravish her right now, in fact, right here in the bar, maybe on one of the sofas with Leon and Magdalena watching. He wanted to tear that gorgeous satin dress off her body and jam his stiff prick right up to the hilt in between her legs. He wanted to make her cry out with pleasure and passion, like he’d done earlier today when he’d taken her roughly, like a farmhand might take a chambermaid, on their big double bed upstairs at the inn.

He took a swig of whiskey to cover his confusion at having entertained such vulgar thoughts about his lady wife, then choked on it and had to be pounded vigorously on the back by the quick-thinking Leon, who was round the bar in a thrice.

Good heavens, what the devil had come over him? He’d never had such lustfully earthy thoughts about Vanessa before, only since coming to this queer, isolated place in the Transylvanian mountains. Red in the face from choking and mortification, Edward chanced a light, embarrassed laugh. ‘You see what you do to me, my dear?’

‘Oh Edward, my darling, you frightened me so!’

Vanessa fussed around him like a mother hen, while Leon and the sulky-faced Magdalena stood to one side and watched. Edward looked down the décolletage of his wife’s gown and was aroused anew at the sight of her full white breasts, pushed fetchingly upwards and outwards by the tightly-laced corseting all the ladies were wearing these days.

Christ, how he wanted to fuck her! He wanted to fuck her till she couldn’t see straight, stand upright or sit down properly. He wanted to fuck her in every hole she possessed, and then force her pretty lips apart and splatter them with his issue. Then, unable to believe the filthiness of his own mind, he coughed and spluttered so violently that Vanessa only fussed and fluttered all the more about him.

‘Well, I suppose we’d better be cutting along,’ Edward said when he’d somewhat recovered his composure but was still pulling at his collar, feeling it to be too tight, and anxious to be out in the fresh night air. It was suddenly much too hot and airless in the bar. ‘We can’t keep the driver waiting any longer, I suppose.’

‘There’s no rush, is there?’ said Leon, hurrying back behind the bar and refilling Edward’s whiskey glass once more. ‘Don’t worry about the driver. He’s paid to wait, he is. You take your time, Mr. Wintergreen. I’m sure you’ve time for another one, on the house this time?’

‘Well, I really shouldn’t,’ Edward said, looking at his ornate pocket-watch, a wedding gift from his mother, and missing the cross look his wife directed at him and the much crosser one directed at Leon by Magdalena. ‘But since it’s on the house…’

Edward was more than a little tipsy when the pair of honeymooners eventually left the bar. Leon accompanied them outside, involuntarily crossing himself at the sight of Igor the hunchback, dressed in a black cloak and hat, all hunched over on the driver’s seat, silent and uncommunicative as the grave.

‘Don’t go!’ said Leon, just as Edward was helping Vanessa into the carriage. ‘Stay here, we’ll play cards. My father will play and so will his regulars, we’ll have a lock-in and make a regular party of it!’

‘Leon, let them go!’ exclaimed Magdalena, pulling him away from the carriage by the shirt-sleeves. ‘They want to go, just let them go and be done with it!’

‘You know what they’re walking into, Maggie!’ he snapped back, holding onto the carriage door as it began to pull out of the courtyard. ‘Have you no heart, woman, no compassion, no feelings?’ The two were still arguing as the carriage set off at almost breakneck speed for the path that wound its way up the jagged mountainside.

‘Do you know,’ remarked Edward with an intoxicated giggle as they were jolted from side to side by the speed to which the driver urged the four jet-black horses with the black plumes bobbing to and fro on their proud heads, ‘if I didn’t know better, I could have sworn that Leon didn’t want us to leave the inn tonight and go visiting at Castle Dracula.’

‘What a rather bizarre notion, Edward dear!’ replied his wife, attempting with difficulty to retain her upright position as the carriage climbed ever higher on the mountainside. ‘Why ever should he wish to do such a strange thing?’

‘Dashed if I know, m’dear,’ said Edward, folding his arms and preparing to take a little whiskey-fuelled nap. ‘Dashed if I know…’

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 5- PART 7.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

A pair of huge black gates creaked ominously apart of their own accord to permit them entrance.

‘Edward, for pity’s sake, wake up!’ urged Vanessa, shaking her husband by the shoulder to no avail. ‘We’re here. We’re at the castle! Wake up!‘

In the back of the carriage, Edward snored gently and paid no heed at all to his wife’s panicked ministrations. Vanessa, mortified, continued shaking him and calling his name as the carriage drew to a halt inside the castle gates. Once they were safely inside the castle’s courtyard, the big black gates creaked closed once more, again seemingly of their own accord.

‘Sleeping it off then, is he?’ grinned the hunchback.

He had leaped down from the driver’s seat with what Vanessa assumed was surprising agility for a hunchback, and had opened the carriage door and was poking a completely insensible Edward in the chest now, an activity which seemed to afford him great amusement.

‘Stop doing that!’ said Vanessa, annoyed.

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. How could Edward humiliate her like this, by falling into a drunken stupor after consuming too many whiskies at the inn and failing to wake once they’d arrived at their destination? She’d never forgive him for this, truly, she wouldn’t! He wasn’t just letting his wife and his marriage down, but as a representative of England in this strange and foreign land, he was letting his country down too!

‘Best leave him here to sleep it off,’ decided the hunchback. ‘He’ll come to no harm here in the courtyard. No-one will interfere with him here.’ He indicated to Vanessa that she should therefore follow him into the castle by herself, but she hung back.

‘Whatever will the Count and his household think of us?’ she twittered in distress. ‘For my husband to respond so rudely to the Count’s kind invitation is the gravest of affronts to the proprieties, albeit, I can assure you, an unintentional one, so surely we will no longer be welcome here!’

‘Oh, don’t worry about the Count,’ said the hunchback with another one of his disconcerting grins. ‘He don’t bother about no proprieties. And he’ll be glad to see you, I have no doubt,‘ he added with a lascivious glance at Vanessa’s décolletage.

Vanessa immediately pulled her fur stole closer about her neckline and gave her escort her haughtiest stare, which he returned with another grin. What a forward and impudent creature this hunchback was!

If Edward were awake, the drunken fool, he would never have permitted this Igor fellow to leer so obviously and salaciously at her breasts in the low-cut bronze-coloured gown. But Edward was unconscious, passed out like a farmhand in a haystack after a couple of strong whiskies and so she, his wife, would have to fend for herself as best she could.

A nervous Vanessa followed the hunchback through the courtyard to a pair of black doors which seemed to open of their own volition at their approach. Inside the black doors was a vestibule of sorts, dark and shadowy, where Igor took her fur stole from her but not, of course, her reticule, and then he led her from there into a hall of some great size and magnificence, illuminated by the light of a thousand carefully placed candles. Vanessa gasped at the size and strangeness of the place, the like of which she’d never seen before. How foolish of Edward to be missing it!

Her astonishment on seeing the hall, however, was as nothing when she observed the man who was stepping forward to greet her. He was tall, so tall that he must surely dwarf Edward if the pair stood side-by-side, and so handsome! Vanessa had never seen such a truly handsome man in all her born days.

His dark hair, with a mere smattering of grey at the temples, was slicked back from the cruellest but most compelling face and sharpest cheekbones she’d ever laid eyes upon. His lips were full and finely-cut and his dark eyes were so penetrating that she rather fancied, there in the half-gloom of the hall, that they could see into her very soul. She could have no secrets from this man, she thought, and then she wondered how in the world she could have known such a thing on such short acquaintance.

‘My dear Mrs. Wintergreen,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it (the touch of his lips burned her skin and made her gasp, which fact was not unnoticed by her host), ‘permit me to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula, the latest incumbent of an old and noble family title, and this is my Cousin Carmilla Karnstein, who resides with my wife Anna and I.’

Out from behind him now stepped a woman of such extraordinarily sensuous beauty that even Vanessa felt drawn to her. She was tall, though not so tall, of course, as her cousin the Count, and well-built and shapely of figure. Her hair was long and honey-coloured and fell freely down her back, and her flashing eyes were the strangest purplish colour.

The woman bowed, a mocking laughter lighting up her eyes, and Vanessa bowed stiffly in return. What a handsome pair they made, the Count and his cousin Carmilla Karnstein! Vanessa wondered briefly why the Count’s wife Anna was not present herself to meet the guests from England.

‘My wife is indisposed,’ said the Count smoothly, almost as if he could read her thoughts. ‘As I understand your esteemed husband is also?’ he added with a certain delicacy for which Vanessa was grateful. ‘My dear Mrs. Wintergreen, pray do not apologise!’ he said then, interrupting her mortified apologies. ‘It is of no moment, I do assure you. My cousin Carmilla and my servant Igor will see immediately to his comfort.’

He exchanged a strangely significant look with his cousin, the meaning of which was lost on a bewildered Vanessa, and snapped his fingers at Igor, who nodded briskly. Then Igor and Carmilla left the room together, Carmilla seeming almost to glide past in the manner of a swan. What an odd pairing they made, the tall proud beauty with the strange, almond-shaped violet eyes and the hunchback loping, obediently but, alas, very obviously lop-sided, alongside her.

‘Alone at last,’ said the Count graciously, turning to his guest and bowing low.

He smiled, for the first time showing a pair of white, razor-sharp fangs on either side of his red full lips. At the sight of them, an already overcome Vanessa swooned clean away. The Count picked her up with no more difficulty than if she’d been a doll and strode quickly out of the Great Hall with her.

Some of her elaborately dressed blonde hair came loose from its confines and swooped almost to the floor. The Hall was perfectly adequate for the receiving of guests, but for what the Count had in mind for the charming and utterly English Mrs. Vanessa Wintergreen, he’d be requiring a bed…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor