It is the year 1890 and Dracula and his sex-crazed entourage, having made the English village of Birney too hot to hold them, have decamped for safety to Dracula’s ancestral castle in Transylvania, home to the Draculas since time immemorial.
Accompanying him are his beautiful pregnant wife Anna, their baby daughter Lucrezia and Anna’s faithful maidservant Valeria, all the nude handmaidens and chief amongst their number, the gorgeous Glamara. Igor, the Count’s loyal Gate-keeper, and Dracula’s wickedly bewitching Cousin Carmilla, who is now the Count’s captive, are also present.
Given that the crumbling castle in darkest Transylvania is already occupied by the Count’s mother, his siblings and all of their servants, as you can imagine it looks certain to be quite the crush. Buckle your seatbelts, dear readers and fellow vampire enthusiasts. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride…
This book, as all the ‘ANNA’ books are, is dedicated 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 lieth…
FANGS AND FOREPLAY: THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 4- PART 41.
AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©
‘I’m afraid you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage, my dear lady,’ Dracula said suavely, raising his hands to run them backwards through his dark hair and smooth it down. He was aware that, at this precise moment in time, he looked quite the rake, with his white shirt-front unbuttoned to expose the dark hairs on his chest and his trousers undone and unbelted. It was not like him to be caught in flagrante delicto, as it were. Not often, anyway.
Danielle’s blood dripped from the corners of his mouth and had stained his shirt-front and his hands. Danielle herself lay on her bed, perfectly still and white-faced, her eyes wide open but unseeing. The sheets beneath her head and upper body were soaked with the blood that had flowed from the wound on her neck, the wound caused by the bite of Dracula.
The woman pointing the gun at him, a petite blonde with her hair in a long bedtime ponytail down her back, shuddered at the sight of all the blood. Dracula assessed her shrewdly as he buttoned and belted his trousers, leaving his shirt-front open. Women usually appreciated the sight of a nice manly chest, and he doubted that this one would be any different.
She stood facing him resolutely, just inside the door to Danielle’s- and formerly Marianne’s- bedroom in Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education And Refinement Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks.
She held the gun with hands that Dracula noted shook a little, implying to him that she was a little nervous and not a natural with a firearm. The revolver looked ancient; probably a family heirloom or something, and if it hadn’t been oiled or used in years, well, then, it wouldn’t do him much harm.
And had she even thought to load the damned thing before she came haring along willy-nilly to Danielle’s bedchamber, with the devil alone knows what aim in mind? Well, he thought, they’d soon find out, wouldn’t they?
‘I am Miss Atalanta Pomeroy, the art mistress here at Miss Peabody’s,’ she said, her voice trembling, although she was clearly trying very hard to control her nerves. ‘Who the devil are you?’
‘Count Dracula, at your service,’ he replied, sweeping her a deep, theatrical bow. ‘I am indeed honoured to make the acquaintance of such a lovely lady, albeit in such… ah, ahem… strained circumstances.’
His flattery, for the moment at least, was lost on her. ‘What have you done to Danielle?’ Her eyes were wide with horror and mistrust.
‘Oh, nothing at all that Old Father Time wouldn’t have achieved over time anyway, only my way is much less dreary and soul-destroying. We all end up as worm-food in the end. Most of us, anyway. By the way, my dear, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you?’
He smiled charmingly, and she hesitated for only a moment before assenting, training the revolver on him as he rummaged about in the inside pocket of his discarded jacket for his cigarette case. He lit a cigarette casually, after offering Miss Pomeroy one and being refused, and said, observing her closely through smoke-narrowed eyes: ‘How long have you been a markswoman, Miss Pomeroy?’
‘I… I haven’t, I mean, I’m not,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘This… this belonged to my grandfather. I’ve… I’ve never really used it before.
Dracula smiled smugly. He literally couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wrong about anything. ‘Ah, family heirloom, eh? I have quite an interest in firearms myself, you know. Mind if I cast my eye over it? As an interested party, I mean?’
He held out his hand for the gun and she was on the verge of handing it over when she recollected herself with a shiver.
‘You devil!’ she said. ‘Stop trying to control me! You killed Danielle and you drank her blood, and you must have killed Marianne too. Where have you hidden her body? And… and what are you? What kind of fiend murders young women and drinks their blood?’
‘A thirsty one?’ suggested Dracula politely, crushing his cigarette end beneath the heel of his boot. He was acutely conscious of the time. It would soon be morning and, unless he was tucked up in his coffin in the dank, desolate basements of Castle Dracula by the time that happened, he risked running the chance of being fried to a crisp by the sun like his idiot cousin Bertram from Yugoslavia.
At any other time, he would have found a million uses for a Miss Atalanta Pomeroy, the art mistress from Miss Peabody’s, but now time really was pressing. He needed to get out of here, and for that, he needed not to have Miss Pomeroy waving a gun in his face.
‘My God, look there, it’s Marianne!’ he shouted suddenly, pointing towards the bedroom door.
Miss Pomeroy whirled round to look where he’d pointed. He took two or three long strides towards her and whipped the gun from her hand as easily as taking the proverbial candy from a baby. She howled in dismay and threw herself at him, her small fists pounding uselessly against his shirt-front.
He held her off one-handed, and when he’d emptied the revolver of its six bullets- so it had been loaded after all, damn her eyes, they could have grazed his skin!- he dropped the bullets into his trouser pocket and handed her back her grandfather’s ancient firearm.
‘You bastard!’ she sobbed. ‘I hate you. Next time I’ll kill you.’
‘I very much doubt that, Miss Pomeroy,’ replied the Count, hurriedly pulling on his dark jacket and cape. ‘But we’ll see. In the meantime, I’m afraid my presence is required urgently elsewhere and I shall have to leave you. The end of our story is not destined to be written till another day. Oh, by the way, Miss Pomeroy,’ he added, seemingly as an afterthought, just as he was turning to go, ‘have you ever been… fucked, I mean, really, truly fucked…?’
‘Certainly not!’ replied Miss Pomeroy, suffused with blushes at the thought of Trevor Albrighton the cabbie clumsily taking her virginity in the back of his hansom cab. ‘How dare you!’
Dracula laughed, as if he could read her shameful thoughts. ‘When we meet again, Miss Pomeroy, I intend to fuck you until you no longer know your own name. Then I will drink your blood and you will drink mine, and eternal life in the shadows with me will be yours for the taking.’
She stared at him, aghast. ‘That will never happen!’ she cried.
‘We’ll see,’ said Dracula again. ‘Meanwhile, I’m afraid I cannot allow you to rouse the household and raise the alarm before I’ve had a chance to get away. Just hand me that revolver, will you?’
Puzzled, she did as she was bid. He took the revolver from her hand and tapped her smartly on the temple with it. She swooned into unconsciousness immediately, and he picked her up and laid her carefully on Marianne’s vacated bed. He bent over her briefly and kissed her, long and hard, on her parted red lips, while mentally filing her away for now under ‘unfinished business.’
‘Forgive me, my sweet little art mistress,’ he murmured, and then he was off, Danielle’s bloodless corpse slung over his shoulder as he scaled the walls of the school. He deposited the body in the old disused well into which he’d already dumped Marianne, then, in the form of a huge grey wolf, he loped across the school grounds as if the hounds of hell were after him.
When he located his carriage waiting for him on the road near the school, he leaped through the passenger window in one magnificent bound. Igor the coachman, aware that his master was cutting it fine, instantly set off at a blistering pace for the castle.
Dracula, back in human form once more, tidied himself as best he could in the back of the carriage. The sun, his old enemy, was waking up slowly now but he’d beat it back to the castle, by Christ! He wondered briefly what he was coming home to.
He’d spent several days away from home, enjoying the facilities of his gentlemen’s club, then a night or two in the vicinity of Miss Peabody’s. He had left Anna, Baby Lucrezia, Valeria, Glamara, Carmilla, Darius, his mother, four sisters, two brothers and all the nude handmaidens and other servants, all to their own devices while he’d been away.
He’d allocated spying duties to various nude handmaidens, although his chief spy, the one on which he depended the most, Igor the hunchback, had accompanied him on his trip. He’d ordered Igor to set his own whore, Desdemona, to spying in Igor’s absence, and she’d damned well better be able to report back fully on the activities of his family and harem, or he’d thrash her till she screamed for mercy and then throw her remains to the dogs.
As the castle hoved into sight, with the first light of dawn illuminating it palely from behind, Dracula stroked his stubble-darkened chin thoughtfully. What had they been up to in his brief absence, he wondered, that she-devil of a mistress of his, Carmilla, and her rakish son Darius, what seeds of mischief had they been planting while he was away? He couldn’t wait to find out.
Dear readers, this will be the last episode of FANGS AND FOREPLAY: THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA- BOOK 4 that I blog here for the moment, as for the next few days I’ll be busy writing the end of the book with a view to publishing it with KDP/Amazon before the end of August 2019. Thank you so much for reading and please don’t fret, Dracula will return…! Best wishes, Sandra Harris, A Very Disturbed Writer Indeed.
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:
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