FANGS AND FOREPLAY: THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA: THE TRANSYLVANIA YEARS. BOOK 4- PART 34. AN EROTIC HORROR SERIAL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

drac taste

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 34.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

A tap on his bedchamber door roused Nikolai from his half-slumber. He’d been restless earlier and had sent Zena away so that he could be alone with his thoughts (thoughts as always of revenge against Dracula for keeping him down), but instead he’d drifted into a sort of uneasy half-sleep. He scratched his head and armpits and, yawning hugely, went to open the door. His eyes widened as he beheld his visitor.

‘What do you want?’ he said ungraciously.

‘A private word,’ purred Carmilla silkily, as she entered the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

‘What do we have to talk about?’

Nikolai crossed the room and sprawled in an armchair, deliberately not offering his guest a seat. Carmilla was not shy, however, and seated herself on the chair opposite him, taking her time arranging the folds of her midnight-blue gown around her to her satisfaction. When she was finally comfortable, she said, with an air of mystery: ‘Your brother, Vladimir.’

Nikolai visibly started. ‘He’s dead,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Isn’t he?’

‘How did he die, dear Nikolai?’ Her voice was as slinky as he imagined a cat’s would be, if cats could talk.

‘He was murdered by brigands, robbers and villains on the road, on his way to meet with one of our tenants about the rent. Dracula told us so. He was the first to hear the bad news.’

‘And why on earth, Nikolai, would he be making such a journey himself when he employed agents to collect any monies for him?’

‘It’s what Dracula said he was doing,’ insisted Nikolai.

‘What would you say, Nikolai, if I told you that Vladimir was not dead but alive, very much alive, in fact, and being kept a prisoner in the dungeons of this very castle…?’

She stared at him triumphantly, waiting for his reaction. Nikolai’s face was thoughtful. A year or two earlier, Nikolai had enjoyed a sojourn in London during the so-called ‘Autumn of Terror’ of 1888, when a vicious murderer known as ‘Jack the Ripper’ had stalked the streets of Whitechapel.

This Jack the Ripper fellow (a monster, the press had hysterically dubbed him) had killed random prostitutes and left them on the blood-soaked streets with their insides out and their entrails tossed casually over their shoulders. He was a fearsome being, almost a mythical creature in the minds of the badly frightened general public who held him in such awe.

Nikolai had been greatly excited by these murders and had used them as an excuse to get in on the act himself. He had taken to the darkened, piss-soaked streets by night and murdered a goodly number of street-walkers himself in their dingy little rooms, only, after he’d strangled them, he’d bitten their necks and drained their poor, used-up bodies of every drop of their blood.

The police had been greatly confused when these strangled, bloodless corpses began turning up almost in tandem with Saucy Jack’s handiwork. Nikolai had never been happier in all his five hundred years of being a vampire.

He was utterly in his element. London was like his own personal giant sweet-shop or playground to him, and he the cheeky young rapscallion riding the carousel for as long as he liked with his cheeks bulging with bulls’ eyes and aniseed balls.

Of course, he’d come to London against the express instructions of his older brother Dracula, who was a mean-minded cur who wanted to keep the attractions of London and England all to himself.

He’d have been happy for Nikolai to stay buried in boring, stagnant old Transylvania for all eternity. But Nikolai had craved the bright lights, the crowds, the fresh meat (and blood) and the rich pickings to be found thronging virtually every street in the huge metropolis.

Dracula, then based in London but with an English country property somewhere where he spent much of his time, had bawled Nikolai out good and proper for his indiscreet and dangerous murder spree and ordered him peremptorily back to Transylvania. No second chances, no fair hearing, nothing but Nikolai’s marching orders in no uncertain terms and a flea in his ear to boot.

Nikolai, furious at being despatched back home to Mummy like a naughty schoolboy, had sought Dracula out and fiercely challenged him. There had been a violent showdown, with some three or four of Dracula’s nude handmaidens present, whores he’d been in the middle of servicing when Nikolai had disturbed him.

The two brothers had fought long and loud, and at the end of it all, Dracula had asked his brother- in a menacingly soft voice that contrasted with the shouting and lent a terrible weight to his words- if he wanted to end up like their eldest brother Vladimir, chained to a wall in the dungeon of Castle Dracula in Transylvania for two hundred years, the equivalent of twenty long, horrible earth years.

‘But… but Vlad’s dead,’ Nikolai had stammered, ashen-faced.

‘Is he indeed…?’ Dracula had sneered, then he’d clammed up and said not another word on the subject.

Nikolai had returned to Transylvania after that, there being no help for it as Dracula’s word was law and, besides, Nikolai was more than a little afraid of what Dracula had said about Vladimir’s real fate.

Nikolai had searched the castle dungeons himself when he arrived home and had been more than a little relieved to find no trace of his brother. He’d thought about it the odd time over the months that had followed, however, and now here was that sultry, purple-eyed witch Carmilla suggesting to him the exact same thing.

‘How do you know?’ he said, glowering with suspicion all over his face.

‘I’ve seen him,’ Carmilla said smugly, helping herself to one of Nikolai’s expensive French cigarettes from a side-table beside her.

‘You’ve seen him?’ Nikolai whispered. ‘Is he… is he… alive?’

Carmilla nodded, then coolly blew three perfect smoke rings in the shape of tiny coffins into the air. She was the only person Nikolai had ever known who could do that, besides Count Dracula himself. He’d tried it himself a hundred times and failed dismally every time.

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ he said harshly, his voice raspy with emotion.

‘Because I need your help,’ she purred, her cat-like eyes glowing in the half-light of the chamber, taking in every inch of his face and body. ‘A great wrong has been done to your eldest brother. We’re going to get Vladimir out of those dreadful dungeons and back where he rightfully belongs… at the head of the Dracula family. With me by his side as his wife, naturally.’

‘O-ho, so that’s your game, is it, you poisonous wench? Why should I help you to advance yourself, tell me that?’

‘Because you hate Dracula even more than I do.’

Her words hung in the air between them like an unexploded bomb. Eventually, Nikolai said in a hoarse whisper: ‘What do you want me to do then, you insufferable wench?’

Carmilla smiled and lifted her hands to the back of her neck, undoing the clasp of her gown. Then she lowered the front of the midnight-blue dress to her waist, exposing to Nikolai’s hungry gaze two of the most magnificent breasts he’d ever seen in all his five hundred years.

Full, round and white with big, pinky-brown nipples, they had the luscious, over-ripe quality to be found in the older woman rather than the pert perkiness of youth, but Nikolai, who loved all breasts on all women, was utterly enchanted with them. He looked at her questioningly.

‘First, you will fuck me,’ she said softly.

‘And afterwards?’ he breathed, his heart beating like a jackhammer.

‘Afterwards, my dear Nikolai, we talk business…’

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 33. AN EROTIC HORROR SERIAL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

DracPrince

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 33.

AN EROTIC HORROR NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Anna hurried along the damp, mould-shrouded and cobwebbed corridors of Castle Dracula in the dead of night, dishevelled and disorientated, desperately desirous of reaching her own bedchamber without being seen by other members of the family.

Glamara was the Count’s personal little spy; if she’d seen what had just transpired between Anna and Darius in the little graveyard, she’d have waited at the castle gates for the Count’s carriage to return in her haste to be the first to give him the unfavourable news.

Anna was in shock. She was in denial. She was in distress. She was in a state unlike any other she’d ever experienced before, but then she’d never before been unfaithful to her lord and master, Count Dracula, the one real love of her life, the first and best and only lover she’d ever known. She could scarcely comprehend what she had done; the enormity of it was just too overwhelming.

She reached the door of her own bedchamber, the one to which the Count made his frequent nocturnal visitations, though in truth they were never frequent enough, and flung it open with a crash. Valeria was inside the room, tidying away some clothes of Anna’s into a cupboard. She whirled round, startled, at the tumultuous entrance of her mistress.

‘Help me off with this dress!’ urged Anna, tears spilling down her face and blotting her carefully applied dark eye make-up. ‘Get it off me! I want it burned!’

Hurriedly, Valeria began to grapple with the hooks and eyes at the back of the purple gown, then, once it was removed from Anna’s protesting body, she opened the bedroom door and threw it into the corridor outside, simply for lack of anything else to do with it. She turned back to her mistress, to find that Anna had flung herself down on the bed, stark naked underneath the discarded gown, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.

‘Why, Mistress Anna,’ Valeria said, greatly alarmed, ‘I beg of you to tell me what has distressed you so? It cannot be so bad as all that, surely?’

‘Oh, Valeria, my dear, good, loyal Valeria, I can assure you that it is every bit as bad, and worse!’

‘Won’t you confide in me, dear mistress? I will help you all I can, I swear!’

‘I know you would, Valeria, I know you would, but there is no help for this, no help at all! I have done something so dreadful that there can be no redemption for me.’

Anna howled all the harder, so much so that Valeria rushed to her and threw her arms about her mistress’s heaving, sob-wracked body. Valeria had never seen Anna in such a state. Even when the Count had to go away on one of his frequent business trips and Anna was depressed for days or even weeks at a time, she never usually cried as hard as this.

‘There, there, my pet, my darling, my angel, my love,’ cooed Valeria, stroking Anna’s tear-soaked hair back off her face. ‘Tell Valeria everything, if it will make you feel happier. Tell Valeria what it is that you think you’ve done. I am certain it is nothing so bad that we can’t put it right between us.’

‘I have just had sexual relations with Darius Karnstein!’ Anna screamed. ‘Down in the gardens just now. Now, you foolish woman, now do you see why this cannot be put right?’

Valeria recoiled as if she’d been slapped. She looked at Anna with absolute horror in her dark, lustrous eyes, looking as if she couldn’t even begin to comprehend such a monstrous act. Anna didn’t blame her. She could scarcely comprehend it herself.

An hour ago, she’d been quietly seated on the stone bench in the little overgrown graveyard on Count Dracula’s property, mourning the Count’s absence and feeling lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life, dead or Un-dead. Then Darius had come along, with his charm and his sympathy and his flattery and his admiration, and, in the face of all the considerable weapons he had in his arsenal, not least of which were his strikingly handsome face and figure, she had come undone.

He’d been so easy to talk to, and he’d seemed so perfectly to understand her predicament, that of the lonely wife who was made to stay behind and look after the children while her husband travelled gaily here, there and everywhere on his business trips without a care in the world.

‘Why, it’s positively criminal for such a beautiful woman to be left so often alone,’ he’d murmured in his smooth, silky educated tones.

He’d looked at her as if he really appreciated what he saw, and also as if he wanted very much to know what she looked like without her clothes on. Anna had felt the beginnings of a familiar heat low down in her belly, and she’d flushed and lowered her eyes and tried to move away from him on the bench but suddenly his hand was in the front of her low-cut gown, cupping and caressing one soft, white breast while his mouth was seeking out hers and finding it and possessing it…

The sexual congress had not equalled her husband the Count’s superior love-making, but it had been just what she’d needed at that time, nonetheless. He’d positioned her so that she was kneeling with her back to him on the bench, then he’d raised her gown and entered her from behind, the whole time caressing her breasts, which he’d exposed to the night air, and her swollen belly, big now with her husband’s child.

Anna was ashamed now to think how wanton she’d been, pushing her buttocks and pussy back towards him with all her energies, grunting and groaning like a rutting sow being serviced by the boar and not caring that her pendulous teats were bare and swaying wildly back and forth with the movement of their two bodies. She’d been needy and lonely and love-starved and she’d allowed these feelings to rule her, allowed them to make her behave like a whore in her husband’s absence.

Afterwards, Darius had coolly wiped himself on her purple gown and sat down on the bench, lazily smoking a cigarette, while she endeavoured to collect herself after what they’d done, though not without some difficulty. Her whole body was trembling and she’d had to ask him for help with re-fastening her gown at the back. She could not possibly return to the castle with her gown hanging about her waist and her bosoms uncovered in a most unseemly fashion.

‘Goodnight, sweet Anna, goodnight,’ he’d said then, watching in apparent amusement while she fled to the relative safety of the castle.

‘What will I do, Valeria?’ she asked her handmaiden now, her voice still stifled with sobs. ‘Whatever will I do about the Count? He’ll kill me, which I deserve, or he’ll send me away from him forever, and I couldn’t bear that, I couldn’t! He might as well kill me, because I will surely die without him! Oh, my dearest, most faithful handmaiden and loyal friend, Valeria, what on earth shall I do?’

Valeria looked at her blankly, as if she’d never seen her before, then shook her head with tears forming in her eyes.

‘I don’t know, Mistress Anna,’ she whispered, shocked. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

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- 3 EROTIC HORROR NOVELLAS BY SANDRA HARRIS FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM TODAY UNTIL FRIDAY!!!

public domain anna vampire

BOOK ONE: 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. It’s inspired by the late great Christopher Lee’s smoulderingly sexy performance as Count Dracula in the Hammer Horror films, and you’d have to be undead from the neck up to miss out on it…

ALL 3 BOOKS COMPLETELY FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM FEB. 19TH-23!!!

BOOK TWO: So, has the horny-as-hell Count Dracula settled down and mended his lecherous ways now that he’s a baby-daddy-to-be…? You’d better believe he hasn’t! If anything, he’s hornier than ever. Join him as he bed-hops his way around Victorian London, giving serving wenches and duchesses alike the benefit of his extraordinary- ahem!- ‘swordsmanship.’ Heaving bosoms, thrashed buttocks and stiff members abound in this wickedly saucy sex-and-spanking romp from the mistress of horror erotica herself, Sandra Harris.

ALL 3 BOOKS COMPLETELY FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM FEB. 19TH-23!!!

BOOK THREE: It’s 1889 and Count Dracula and his beautiful bride Anna Carfax have had their first child together, the fat little cherub they’ve called Lucrezia. But the randy Count is still bonking and spanking his way through Victorian England’s population of lusty, bosomy serving wenches and quite a few specimens of horny aristocratic totty too. And that’s not likely to change, even though his mysterious cousin Carmilla Karnstein, with whom he has a long and dark history, is coming to visit him from the wilds of their Transylvanian homeland… Heaving bosoms, thrashed buttocks and stiff members galore, all courtesy of Sandra Harris, the undisputed mistress of erotic horror.

ALL 3 BOOKS COMPLETELY FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM FEB. 19TH-23!!!

 

ALL 3 BOOKS COMPLETELY FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM FEB. 19TH-23!!!

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger, poet and book-and-movie reviewer. 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, womens’ 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:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

MISS LESLIE’S DOLLS. (1973) A NAUGHTY VIDEO-NASTY REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

miss leslie's dolls split screen

MISS LESLIE’S DOLLS. (1973) DIRECTED AND CO-WRITTEN BY JOSEPH G. PRIETO. STARRING SALVADOR UGARTE, TERRI JUSTON, MARCELLE BICHETTE, KITTY LEWIS AND CHARLES PITTS.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I loved this one, as fine a low-budget piece of exploitation cinema as you’ll find anywhere. It’s a cross between a video-nasty, an early slasher movie and a porno flick, with a really cool ‘Seventies music soundtrack and tons of lady-nipples, lol. It reminds me a bit of DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE, another ‘Seventies film that would also fall into the category of video-nasty. The basic premise is as follows.

A young University teacher called Alma Frost is travelling somewhere with three of her students, two beautiful young ladies called Martha and Lily and then there’s Roy, who’s driving. Their old jalopy runs out of gas in the middle of the night. In the middle of a cemetery. In the middle of a storm. They really planned that well, didn’t they? Snigger.

There’s a spooky old abandoned-looking house by the cemetery. Miss Frost thinks it might be a good idea if they sought shelter there, although personally I’d rather sleep in the car with the doors locked than try to deal with whatever dwells within the walls of that old mausoleum. Still, the folks in horror movies, they just won’t be told, will they?

The house is owned by one Miss Leslie Lamont, a queer old duck who’s only too happy to be receiving company as she lives alone in her isolated house (except for her cat, Tom) with little or no contact with the outside world. It’s a strange set-up but then we gotta live and let live, right? To each their own.

The little school party don’t seem to notice that she’s distinctly masculine-looking and built like a brick outhouse with hands and feet the size of dinner plates, but I did. I was onto that rum dame in the blue dress right from the start, lol.

She’s awfully forthcoming about her private and personal business, and so in no time at all the schoolies and their teacher have discovered the following snippets of information about her.

Her mother is dead, but when she was alive Mother owned a small doll factory. I don’t know if it’s the factory or the dolls that was/were small…! Anyway, the factory mysteriously burned down years ago, killing Maw Lamont and a young woman who worked for her.

Miss Leslie is a self-confessed student of the occult, reincarnation and all things other-worldly.  She moves and speaks slowly and deliberately while all the time stroking her pussy (cat, that is, Tom the cat!) and there’s something distinctly odd about her, even once you get past the fact that she’s built like a WWF wrestler in a very big frock. She’s both calm and placid and yet also highly sensitive and emotional as well, a lady who obviously feels things deeply.

While Miss Leslie’s off kindly organising some ham and cheese sambos for the little lost lambs, the lambs are off sticking their noses into a room of hers which she calls her ‘sanctuary.’ It contains five or six life-sized dolls that look suspiciously like dead human females and which would put you in mind immediately of Vincent Price’s HOUSE OF WAX.

Anyway, bedtime comes and the three silly-billy females have seemingly only packed see-through shorty nightdresses of the kind that used to be called ‘baby doll.’ They must all be freezing with the cold. There’s a storm on, after all. There are so many perky little nipples on show that you’d hardly know where to look. 

There’s even one scene in which Miss Leslie appears to be confiding in a pair of bare breasts with some lovely standy-uppy nipples…! I know I talk to my own boobies sometimes (in you go, girls, that’s it, easy now, like when I’m squishing them into a brassière) but this is ridiculous.

There’s a very permissive ménage-à-trois thing going on between the sex-mad Roy and the two beautiful, horny-as-feck young ladies, Martha and Lily. He’s sleeping with both of them, the dirty dog, with the full knowledge and consent of all parties. I know it was the permissive ‘Seventies, but still…!

So Roy has sex with Martha while the seemingly uptight and sexually repressed Miss Frost whips off her frumpy librarian spectacles, unpins her glorious strawberry-blonde hair and strips off her teacher clobber to commit an act of what these days would pass for rape against Lily, the student who’s not having sex with Roy at this moment in time. (But don’t worry, readers, she soon will be…!)

Still unsated after her unexpected bout of lesbian sex, Lily afterwards goes in search of Roy and Martha for a spot of heterosexual shenanigans just to mix things up. Meanwhile, Miss Leslie, who’s already rather creepily told the schoolies that Martha is the living image of a girl she once knew who’s now dead, is having a full-on earnest conversation down in the basement with what remains of her mother. Cuckoo, right…?

All we need now is for the four schoolies to suddenly decide they urgently need to wander around the house in their ridiculously skimpy nightwear in the middle of the night and the stage is set for the bloodiest high-jinks since Carrie got her first period in the Stephen King novel of the same name.

Will the college party unwittingly be the cause of Miss Leslie’s finally achieving her lifelong dream, which I can’t tell you about because it would be a definite spoiler? We’ll see, gentle reader. We’ll see…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger, poet and book-and-movie reviewer. 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, womens’ 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:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA BY SANDRA HARRIS: BOOK 2 OUT NOW!!!

ANNA 3I have brilliant news for fans of my ongoing sexy Victorian vampire serial, ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. Book 2 is out now under its new name of FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA!

Also, Book 3 will be starting here soon in serial form so I hope anyone who likes the story will hop on board once more and ride the choo-choo train back to Victorian London and the sauciest, sexiest, spankiest, whippiest shenanigans you could possibly imagine…! What’s the second book all about? Read on and find out, you naughty, naughty people…!

So, has the horny-as-hell Count Dracula settled down and mended his lecherous ways now that he’s a baby-daddy-to-be…? You’d better believe he hasn’t! If anything, he’s hornier than ever. Join him as he bed-hops his way around Victorian London, giving serving wenches and duchesses alike the benefit of his extraordinary- ahem!- ‘swordsmanship.’ Heaving bosoms, thrashed buttocks and stiff members abound in this wickedly saucy sex-and-spanking romp from the mistress of horror erotica herself, Sandra Harris.

Here’s the link!

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B019Y8KQ3E?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

And here’s my Author Page on Amazon Central, the book is also available there along with all my other books!

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

Drop me an email if you have any problems on:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

FREE SEX-POEMS FROM MONDAY 31ST AUGUST TO FRIDAY 4TH SEPTEMBER!!!

funny sex 6

FREE SEX-POEMS! GET YOUR FREE SEX-POEMS HERE! FREE BOOK OF SEX-POEMS TOTALLY FREE FROM MONDAY 31ST AUGUST TO FRIDAY 4TH SEPTEMBER! GO ON, THEY’RE COMPLETELY FREE!!!

A collection of short, rude funny sex-poems. No stone left unturned in this hilariously bitchy and wickedly honest look at sex today. No, that’s it, nothing else. Just sex. Well, maybe a few bizarre fetishes, but that’s still just sex, isn’t it…? We’ll go with sex. Let’s just say sex. This book is about sex. It’s a sex-book…!

FIFTY FILTHY-DIRTY SEX-POEMS YOU MUST READ BEFORE I DIE: ADULT POETRY BY DUBLIN WRITER SANDRA HARRIS.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OABATWO

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

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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