FANGS AND FOREPLAY: THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 4- PART 41. AN EROTIC HORROR SERIAL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

drac_1513745c

INTRODUCTION.

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:

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

 

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FANGS AND FOREPLAY: THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 4- PART 40. AN EROTIC HORROR SERIAL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

drac melissa

INTRODUCTION.

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 40.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

‘I am here…’

The mist cleared and Dracula stood there, tall and black-clad and menacing, his dark eyes on Danielle, who sat bolt-upright in bed, terrified but fascinated at the same time. Her long hair tumbled down over the front of her pretty blue nightgown and her bosoms in its low-cut frontage swelled and heaved. A smile tugged at the corners of Dracula’s mouth. What a beauty she was!

Marianne, while she lived, had been equally pleasing to look upon. Now, of course, her broken body lay at the bottom of an old disused well in a part of school property where no-one ever went. No doubt her beauty had of necessity undergone a disagreeable transformation since her interment there, and the same fate would, of course, ultimately be Danielle’s. But for now, Danielle was a delicious confection to be unwrapped, savoured… and swallowed whole.

‘Are you real?’ Danielle whispered, her blue eyes huge with wonder and fear.

‘Do I not feel real?’ the Count replied, coming to sit beside her on her bed to take her hand in his. He put her hand on his face. ‘Does my flesh not feel like yours?’

‘Y-yes,’ she breathed, excited at his proximity, ‘but… but after you left me last time, I kept thinking I’d imagined you. I was sure that such a thing as had happened between us could not be real. And I thought about you so much that Miss Plum spanked me twice for daydreaming in needlework class. It was so embarrassing, but I was just so longing for you to come again.’

‘And here I am,’ he said, taking hold of the shoulders of her nightgown and sliding them down her body to reveal two luscious breasts with big stiff nipples. He pushed her back down against the pillows and took his time sucking on each of these nipples, while Danielle moaned and writhed in pleasure and threw her slim white arms above her head in utter abandon.

‘Will you take me with you when you leave here tonight?’ she asked him when he had lifted his head from her breasts and was undoing his trousers, preparatory to taking her virginity.

‘That depends,’ he said sternly. ‘Are you a virgin, Danielle?’

She nodded her head vigorously, then suddenly her hand flew to her mouth in dismay.

‘Does… does Marianne count?’ she asked him nervously.

The Count laughed. ‘No, my dear, Marianne doesn’t count. The aesthetic of two comely young women embracing each other carnally has always pleased me. But what matters is that you say you’ve had no cocks up here?’ Here he grabbed her soft little pussy and gave it a cruel squeeze so that she winced in pain.

She shook her head. ‘Never, sir. I swear it. I… I was saving myself for my wedding night.’

‘Congratulations. Here it is.’

Dracula penetrated her then, after first raising the blue nightgown above her hips and ordering her to spread her legs wide. She cried out with the sharp sudden pain of his entry, then pain turned gradually to pleasure as he thrust himself in and out, lazily and unhurriedly at first, then more urgently as his climax began to build.

‘Am I really to be your wife?’ she begged, wrapping her pale white legs tightly around his hips, as if she wanted to hold him to her body for ever.

‘Yes, if you like,’ he replied, squeezing her bare breasts hard and continuing to thrust rhythmically in and out of her.

He thought briefly of his wife Anna and their unborn child, of their existing baby daughter Lucrezia, of Carmilla, Darius, Glamara, all the nude handmaidens, his mother Ursula, his four sisters Samara, Schira, Salome and Sabine, his brothers Vladimir and Nikolai, Igor the hunchback and the rest of the servants. That was quite an entourage. The Count did not feel that he needed to add to it for the moment. He had enough voraciously hungry mouths to feed at home without adding another one to the list. The girls of Miss Peabody’s were strictly for pleasure.

‘Will I live with you in a castle, and wear fine dresses?’ Her eyes were like saucers now.

‘Oh, the finest,’ he said, his lethal fangs appearing on either side of his mouth.

Danielle opened her mouth to scream when she saw them but Dracula’s hand clamped down over it in time. He kept his hand there while he bit into the side of her neck. She passed out with the pain and lay there, half-naked and wholly inviting. His trousers still undone, the Count quickly divested himself of his cape and jacket and knelt down beside her, the better to drink deeply of her blood for as long as he liked.

He took his time about it (the staff and pupils were all sleeping; the school was as quiet as the grave), savouring the taste of her young, fresh blood, but he kept an eye on the time nonetheless. A vampire had an obligation to always be aware of the encroaching dawn.

A cousin of his had been caught out that way once, still drinking a young woman’s blood when the cock crowed and the yellow morning sun was fingering the drapes of the room where he’d sat up all night, thinking himself invincible. They’d found him on the floor, a seven-hundred-year-old skeleton with the flesh literally burned off him from the sun. It had been a truly horrible way to go.

Dracula had no intention of ever letting such a catastrophe befall himself. He’d drain this pretty young corpse- well, she was nearly dead- of her blood and travel the short journey (it was short as the bat flies) back to the castle in no time. He’d be in his nice, cosy coffin dreaming pleasant dreams before the dastardly sun, his sworn enemy, had climbed, yawning and scratching itself, out of its filthy fleapit of a bed.

His hand on Danielle’s exposed breast, he continued to drink her blood. Danielle’s heart tiredly made a few more token lub-dub sounds, then ceased to beat for ever. Dracula noticed, and grinned. Another job well done. The only sound in the room now was the gentle sucking noise his mouth made on her neck. He started to feel pleasantly full and even quite sleepy. This was the danger time for vampires.

They could fall asleep so easily at this time, replete from their feasting, as full and drowsy as any English businessman after his Christmas dinner, and be found by the victim’s bedside next morning, destroyed by the rays of the sun. That was what had happened to his stupid cousin Bertram from Yugoslavia. Dracula was no novice, however, to be caught out so easily. He roused himself with a shudder, and began slowly to find and don his clothing.

There was a sound by the bedroom door. His ears caught it even before the female voice cried out: ‘Stay where you are! Move so much as a muscle and I’ll blast you to Kingdom Come!’

To Dracula’s great astonishment, he was being covered- and challenged- by a woman. A woman with a revolver pointed straight at his heart…

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 4- PART 39. AN EROTIC HORROR SERIAL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

count dracula

INTRODUCTION.

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 39.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

In Miss Peabody’s Exclusive Academy For The Education Of The Daughters Of Gentlefolks, a finishing school for young ladies in the Carpathian mountains, Danielle Delargy was preparing for bed. She had felt somewhat depressingly de-energised these last few days.

Matron put it down to the shock of Danielle’s room-mate, Marianne Sharpe, simply disappearing from their bedroom a week or two ago without leaving so much as a trace. While Marianne’s disappearance seemingly into thin air had undoubtedly been a shock, Danielle was not entirely convinced that it was the source of her own present lethargy.

Poor Marianne, though. They had prepared for bed together that last night as usual, using the hip bath one after the other before the fire in their bedchamber, then Marianne had patted the talcum powder into Danielle’s bare back and buttocks and given her the gentle hand-spanking without which Danielle found it difficult to get to sleep.

It might, of course, have been more accurate to say that it was really the spanking-induced orgasm without which Danielle could not sleep. Either way, she had slept strangely soundly that night, and the first she’d known of her pretty room-mate’s disappearance was the following morning, when Miss Plum (laughingly referred to by her students as ‘the Spanking Mistress,’ so fond was she of inflicting that particular activity on the students in her care) had shaken her roughly awake by the shoulders, all the while demanding: ‘Where’s Marianne? Danielle, have you seen Marianne? Where on earth can she have got to?’

A frantic Miss Peabody, Miss Plum, her second-in-command, Miss Pearson the gym mistress, Miss Pomeroy the art mistress and all the other mistresses had searched the school and the extensive grounds and found nothing. No-one had seen or heard anything of Marianne Sharpe since bedtime the previous night.

The only clue, if you could call it that, was the open terrace window to Marianne and Danielle’s third-floor bedroom. The reason no-one took it seriously as a clue was that you’d have had to be a bat, an actual bat, to climb down the sheer walls of the school, especially with a kidnapped young lady in tow. Miss Peabody, though terrified of incurring bad publicity for her beloved school, the realisation of her whole life’s ambition, had been obliged to call in the local police.

The rustic constable and his sidekick had quizzed everyone in the school, especially Marianne’s room-mate Danielle, but Danielle had been feeling fuzzy-headed ever since Marianne’s last night in the school. All she could remember was their shared bathing session and no more. Beyond that, all she remembered was being shaken rather rudely awake next morning by Miss Plum.

Marianne’s parents had had to be notified, of course, an unpleasantness that couldn’t be avoided. Danielle had seen them being admitted to Miss Peabody’s study, the tall, upright, heavily-moustachioed and frowning-faced gentleman Marianne’s father, and the small, plump sobbing little woman her heartbroken mother.

‘Could she have run away, run off with some local chap?’ they’d wanted to know, and Miss Peabody, remembering her former art mistress (the one before before the reliable and sensible Miss Pomeroy) and the man who delivered the fruits and vegetables to the school twice-weekly (that wasn’t all he’d been doing twice-weekly), couldn’t discount it.

She kept her private thoughts private, however, and assured Major and Mrs. Sharpe that Marianne was much too well-behaved a young lady to do something so utterly irresponsible, selfish and outlandish. The Sharpes could at least take comfort in that, although where it left them all in terms of the investigation, Miss Peabody was sure she didn’t know.

Things were only just beginning to settle back down at the school. They were down one pupil, of course, and that pupil’s hefty fees, but to Miss Peabody’s relief, none of the parents had seen fit to withdraw their daughters from the school because of Marianne’s disappearance and, with any luck, it would stay that way.

The school could not afford to lose any more of its young ladies, however, whether from a financial point of view or reputation-wise. Marianne’s going so shockingly missing like that, without satisfactory explanation or successful resolution, had thankfully not ruined them, but the loss of another young lady just might tip things over the edge.

Now, Danielle finished brushing her hair and climbed into bed, confident that her pale blue nightgown with the ribbons and bows was her most becoming. Then, with a little shriek, she jumped up and ran across the room to the window, flinging it open wide even though the night was cold and windy. It was most important that the window to the terrace be wide open, she remembered that much, though she could not recall who had told her so.

Shivering, she scurried back into bed, watching nervously while the floor-length heavy green velvet drapes billowed in the night breeze. There was room for a dozen boogey-men to secrete themselves adequately behind those horrible long curtains, and Danielle, although she was excited, was desperately frightened too.

‘Are you there?’ she whispered, not knowing to whom she addressed it.

Of course there was no answer. If only she didn’t feel so damned fuzzy-headed all the time now! She didn’t think she’d had a single clear thought since waking up so dreadfully tired on the morning after Marianne had gone missing. Her sleep that night had been so unusually heavy, and so filled with strange dreams.

A man, a tall man (or was he a man at all? Maybe it had been a wild animal she’d seen in her dreams?) dressed in black, leaning over something on a bed, a body, a corpse, doing things to it…? It made no sense to Danielle.

Had something happened to her that night too, something so awful she’d blotted it out except for wild snatches of dreams so outrageous that no-one would believe her if she tried to speak of them to anyone? If only she could think clearly! If only her memories of what had really happened that night would come back to her!

There was a noise at the open window, and then the unmistakable flapping of heavy wings. A thick mist began to roll in through the window and curl its way towards Danielle’s bed. Her eyes widened in fright and wonder and she felt her nipples stiffen in the cool air. She’d always had big prominent nipples. Marianne loved to play with them and suck on them. Had loved, Danielle checked herself with a sob. Would Marianne ever play with them or suck on them again?

‘Are you there?’ she whispered again, and this time there was an answer.

‘Yes, Danielle,’ said a man’s voice out of the mist, cold and deep and strong, a voice accustomed to commanding and being obeyed. ‘I am here…’

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 DEVIANTS. A NOVEL OF SEXUAL PERVERSION AND FUCKED-UP LOVE BY KINDLE AUTHOR SANDRA HARRIS.

cover max new

Max, a bored and unhappy middle-aged man, meets a younger woman, Juliet, by chance in a bookshop. Instantly attracted to each other, they begin an affair. Juliet quickly realises that Max is not like most other men sexually. Lonely, and craving the affection she has been denied throughout her life, she allows herself to become Max’s sexual plaything- and punchbag- in exchange for his love. Max takes full advantage of Juliet’s friendless state and coerces her into doing things that leave her feeling degraded and violated. Afraid of losing Max, Juliet is unable to say no to his demands and so the game continues until the situation blows up in their faces and both Max and Juliet have no choice but to face the consequences of their fucked-up love.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00PPM16YM?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

cover max new

THE DEVIANTS- A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS- IS FREE, FREE, FREE FROM AMAZON FROM 16TH UNTIL 20TH MARCH!!!

THE BLOG RE-WRITTEN
Max, a bored and unhappy middle-aged man, meets a younger woman, Juliet, by chance in a bookshop. Instantly attracted to each other, they begin an affair. Juliet quickly realises that Max is not like most other men sexually. Lonely, and craving the affection she has been denied throughout her life, she allows herself to become Max’s sexual plaything- and punchbag- in exchange for his love. Max takes full advantage of Juliet’s friendless state and coerces her into doing things that leave her feeling degraded and violated. Afraid of losing Max, Juliet is unable to say no to his demands and so the game continues until the situation blows up in their faces and both Max and Juliet have no choice but to face the consequences of their fucked-up love.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PPM16YM

EROTIC HORROR NOVEL ‘ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA’ BY SANDRA HARRIS IS COMPLETELY FREE FOR ONE MORE NIGHT ONLY!!!

pd vamp
So, you thought that the Victorians just spent their time quietly drinking tea and genteelly repressing their innermost desires, did you? Well, you were WRONG! The household of the wealthy Carfax family is a hotbed of deliciously deviant carnality and vampire sex. The beautiful Lady Anna Carfax is abducted by none other than Count Dracula himself and is treated to the sexual awakening of a lifetime, or should that be undead-time…? The rest of the Carfax family, servants definitely included, are in and out of each others’ bedchambers like rats up the proverbial drainpipe. Even Sherlock Holmes and Jack The Ripper make an appearance in this shockingly scandalous paranormal sex-and-spanking romp set in Victorian times. You’d have to be undead from the neck up to miss out on it…

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, 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:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SAUGZ6K

THE DEVIANTS. A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS.

Yes, this book has a lot of sex in it. After all, it deals with the murky, dirty, sleazy tacky world of extra-marital affairs, domestic abuse, kinky fucking, domination and submission, rape, addiction to pornography and swinging, and all in good old Catholic Ireland, too. It just wasn’t possible to write it without putting in the sex. But it’s not just a sex-book, and it’s most definitely not an erotic novel. What is it exactly, then? I can’t tell you that. You’d have to read the book yourself to fully appreciate its message. But you should read it. I’d go so far as to say that you need to read it. Enter the world of THE DEVIANTS, if only for a little while. Then, and only then, will you understand it. And love it. Best wishes, Sandra Harris.
THE BLOG RE-WRITTEN
Max, a bored and unhappy middle-aged man, meets a younger woman, Juliet, by chance in a bookshop. Instantly attracted to each other, they begin an affair. Juliet quickly realises that Max is not like most other men sexually. Lonely, and craving the affection she has been denied throughout her life, she allows herself to become Max’s sexual plaything- and punchbag- in exchange for his love. Max takes full advantage of Juliet’s friendless state and coerces her into doing things that leave her feeling degraded and violated. Afraid of losing Max, Juliet is unable to say no to his demands and so the game continues until the situation blows up in their faces and both Max and Juliet have no choice but to face the consequences of their fucked-up love.

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, 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:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PPM16YM