Slaves to the Bloodline

by Falconer Bridges

  They too were fucked just as often, but in addition were drained of their blood with much greater frequency.

  And also, occasionally if the Baroness found herself in need, the Mother Superior would allow one of her bewitched conquests to remain a virgin and once ensnared in her trap, she would then hand him or her over for use in the Ceremony. But a spare virgin was not a commodity that she was able to offer on this occasion, which had been a source of great worry when she had been informed of Arlecchino’s downfall at the hands of Esmeralda. Fortunately for the Mother Superior, having solved the problem for herself, the Baroness felt no ill will against her, as staring pointedly at the bared sexes of the two servants of Satan, she again confirmed.

  “Abbot, you have with you your own chosen device of pleasure?”

  Yes he had.

  “So, what is to be your delight?”

  Dropping a hand and reaching out behind the altar, the Abbot produced a wickedly-spiked wooden paddle and held it up. The Baroness hesitated; but only for a moment.

  “You are sure that this is what you want?”

  Oh yes, the Abbot was sure.

  “Well in that case I will waste no time. Prepare yourself.”

  Firmly gripped in her palm, the Baroness raised the devilish weapon of correction high. She hesitated for a moment, as though she herself was not sure that she should carry on with such a barbaric thrashing. The thought obviously did not last long as barely seconds later, at the receiving end of a heftily-delivered strike, the Abbot convulsed in agony as she laid her every effort onto delivering the strike.

  Biting his lip, the Abbot made no sound but nonetheless he writhed in agony as wonder of wonders, his wrinkled cock made an appearance between his shuddering thighs. The spikes bit into his flabby flesh again and again, every strike precipitating another inch or so of elongating dick to make its appearance. His back, his sagging buttocks, in fact almost every inch of his debauched body found itself the target of her unrelenting assault. His face contorting and his corrupt flesh rippling in great waves as the merciless strikes fell, he was nevertheless revelling in the agony she was inflicting upon him.

  “Lord Satan, hear my plea. Make my cock magnificent.”

  His prayer was not left unanswered. When the Baroness ceased her pitiless thrashing, he was sporting a cock of staggering proportions and rock hard solidity.

  “Now Mother Superior, what is your desire?”

  “Mistress, now that you’ve driven it to such a huge size, I want the Abbot’s cock stuck up me. Right now! I had wanted to thrash him myself, and perhaps have you join us in a threesome and fuck ourselves silly: but now I can’t wait . . . he’s got the biggest prick in creation; and I want it buried deep in my cunt this very instant!”

  Actually, the Mother Superior was well wide of the target. The Baroness and Mistress Madonna could both attest to the fact that, that particular accolade belonged to the Marquis. But if that was all the Mother Superior wanted, then the Baroness could set them to it and generate the thrashing mass orgy that was a vital accompaniment to the Ceremony.

  “If that is all you wish, then so be it. Let us waste no further time. Start fucking.”

  The Mother Superior wasted not a second. Flinging herself upon the Abbot, she forced him to the floor and squatted over his prostrate form; her head facing his feet and her vagina hovering over his mouth.

  “Your cock is truly as magnificent as you desired and my cunt is widening and flowing like a river at the thought of it stuffing and plundering me to ecstasy; but first I want to taste it, to suck it and savour the flavour of your spunk on my tongue. And I want to feel your tongue doing the same to my sex.”

  That the Abbot was willing and eager to obey the Mother Superior’s wishes was only too apparent. As she bent forwards to take his pulsing weapon into her mouth, he reached up and grabbing her thighs pulled her savagely down onto his face. Her backside rolling over his head, she writhed in pleasure as his tongue drove straight into her sopping sex. While his pursed tongue feverishly stabbed and lapped at her vagina, she used both hands to wank his cock upwards as her lips and sucking tongue plunged downwards over his bell end. With each successive plunge more and more of his shaft disappeared into her mouth until she was forced to take away her hands to allow its whole length to be rammed down her throat.

  Suddenly her body locked rigid and juices of love squirted over the Abbot’s chin as his frenzied tongue drove her to a spasming, thrashing climax, his cock slipping from her mouth as she howled in ecstasy. Her thrashing orgasm seemed as though it were going to last forever and saw the Abbot fighting for breath as her frantically contracting vagina sucked in his nose and her swollen labia squashed themselves over his mouth.

  As the last tremors of her spectacular climax died away, utterly drained she collapsed forwards, her hair flowing over his thighs as her head fell between his legs; his jerking prick beating a tattoo in the valley between her breasts. Gradually pulling herself together as his cock began to leak all over her tits, eventually she found enough strength to push herself up with both palms on the floor on either side of his upper legs and once more plunged her mouth over his pulsing shaft.

  The Abbot was as ready to climax as she had been and erupted into ejaculation in a matter of seconds, squirting such a huge volume of milky sperm into her diving, sucking mouth that even though she gulped it down with desperate determination she was unable to swallow it all and streams of the his sticky spunk escaped from her lips to run back down the length of his pulsing shaft.

  Cocks such as he possessed at that moment do not slacken after ejaculation and as she enthusiastically lapped it clean it was immediately apparent that he was ready for more.

  And so was she.

  Lifting her dripping sex lips from his face she turned around and squatting down once more, she re-positioned her lusting hole over his still-rampant cock. Settling down onto him with her full weight it sank in up to the hilt, his bollocks almost disappearing up into her in pursuit of his imprisoned weapon. Reaching up he gripped both her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, savagely tugging and tweaking as she began to bounce up and down. Riding him like a Grand National jockey, she pulled herself off him until the entire length of his throbbing prick was visible below her raised cunt before plunging back down to once again bury it deep inside her.

  Grunting, groaning and flicking beads of sweat from their drenched heads and bodies, they frantically drove themselves to the point of no return. Suddenly, sitting bolt upright in order sink every last centimetre of his demon shaft into her and so squeeze out every last shuddering ripple of bliss, she squealed a rapturous scream as another blistering orgasm hit her. And the Abbot was not left behind. Shock after shock hit them both as they exploded in juddering, debilitating climaxes.

  But this time they did not waste a second. They were fucking again in the blink of an eye and leaving them to their frenzied shagging, drawing herself to her full height, the Baroness turned away from them, spread her arms wide and addressed the assembled ranks of debauchees.

  “Servants of Satan, you have all served me well. Now you can serve me further. As I submerge myself into the bath of virgin blood, you must fuck yourselves into oblivion.”

  No further bidding was needed. The men went to it like rutting stags and the women as if an epidemic of nymphomania had enveloped them all. In mere minutes stiff cocks were plundering every available cunt, arse or mouth; spunk flew everywhere, spurting not only into bodily orifices but all over the humping, heaving copulating mass of bodies. Sexual hysteria seemed to have completely overwhelmed everyone; including the hideous malformed hunchback!

  “Quasimodo want fuck too.”

  Barely articulate, his snuffling harsh voice rasped Mistress Madonna’s ears as he forced her through the seething sea of fornicating flesh over to a stone tomb on the edge of the temple that
was carved with goat-headed images of the Devil. Using all of his unbelievable strength he pushed her forwards over the tomb and kicked her legs apart and forced his bell end into her tightly puckered anus. Her sphincters refused to give and he rammed into her with even greater determination until finally he smashed through her defences. Impaled by his jerking granite piston she felt as if she were being split apart but his strength was such that try as she may, she could not free herself from his grasp.

  With his huge, bulbous, deformed cock wedged firmly into her anus, Quasimodo’s heavy misshapen head rolled uncontrollably over the top of her back, saliva dripping from his lolling, drooling tongue to pool on her satin-skinned shoulders. His heavy, fetid breath rasped in her ears as he wrapped his ape’s arms around her waist, grunting incoherently with the effort of restraining her violent struggles as he battered into her. Overwhelmed with terror, her rapidly misting eyes rolling uncontrollably, Mistress Madonna desperately concentrated all of her efforts in an attempt to escape his nauseating clutches.

  But her ordeal was as nothing compared to what was to follow. Swooping down from the overhead gloom, a loathsome giant black bat landed with scrabbling talons on the stone flags at her feet. Wrapping its wings around itself, the bat began to spin, growing rapidly taller, finally metamorphosing into the menacingly hideous form of Count Dracula. With absolutely no preamble, he pulled Mistress Madonna’s torso up from the tomb and with Quasimodo’s cock still stuck firmly up her anus, dragged her clear of the stone sarcophagus. Ripping apart her sex flaps he thrust his aristocratic but evil-drenched weapon deep into her vagina; his clawlike fingers raking her breasts as his lips parted to reveal his chiselled, pointed fangs.

  The cocks of the two hideous creatures plunged and reared inside her, battering into her cunt and arse with inhuman lust and power. The prodigiously freakish dimensions of their inhuman doomsday pistons filled and stuffed her to a point that no woman had ever been stretched before. Mortal men just did not possess the brutal magnitude and supernatural might that these two despicable horrors had at their command. Before concentrating her existence on Julian, Mistress Madonna had experienced her fair share of cocks but this onslaught was more than any human female had ever been forced to endure. Ever faster they smashed themselves into her, their pulsing weapons transmitting the vibrations of their frenzied shagging through the septum dividing her anus and vagina until she felt as though one combined giant phallus was intent on jackhammering her into the oblivion of the next world.

  Suffering unbelievably under their horrifyingly bestial abasement, her indomitable spirit still fought on and although rapidly fading into the blackness of oblivion, over the Count’s jerking shoulders, through dim eyes she saw the final struggling virgin being led up the slaughter.

  And that virgin was Julian!

  Ninety nine virgin slaves had already been drained of their blood, but the blood of one hundred sacrificial virgins was the figure legend decreed to be the volume needed for the Ceremony. Exactly one hundred; not one more or one less. Despite all her trials, Mistress Madonna suddenly realised why the Baroness had been so anxious to establish Julian’s credentials as a virgin. It had been for just such a contingency as this. Julian was the backup. The body on the benches. The substitute. And the substitute had been called into play, summoned to a final showdown from which he would never return.

  Continuously obscuring her view, the Count’s shoulders rose and fell as he reamed her with superhuman vigour. With two murderously pulsing sex cannons smashing into her, almost tearing her inside out as they pulled out and then rammed back into her once more, Mistress Madonna nevertheless fought to keep her head raised over the Count’s bony shoulder.

  What she saw jellified the last remnants of her previously iron resolve, events hurling themselves upon her wilting self with ever increasing fury. As one, Quasimodo and Dracula both redoubled their base sexual assaults upon her as she glimpsed the Marquis raising the sacrificial knife high. The scorching, scouring cocks ripping her apart, swelled in unison as both fiendish monsters orgasmed together, rivers of disgustingly repugnant spunk spouting up through a pair of bulging urethras to flood her distended but fully plugged holes.

  With the two merciless demons subjecting her to the horrors of Hades, in his icy other worldly tones, Dracula hissed into her ear.

  “And now my dear, the time has come for you join me in my own world. Soon you will walk with me forever through the land of the living dead. Bid farewell to your mortal existence and welcome eternity in the halls of Hell.”

  His despicably convulsing ejaculation finally ending, Dracula steadied Mistress Madonna’s thrashing body and sank his fangs deep into her jugular. At the very same moment the jewelled knife fell across Julian’s throat and slumping forwards, his richly crimson blood jetted into the sacrificial bath, the level finally swilling around the Baroness’ Adam’s apple before she sank beneath its surface.

  Falling through the mantle of her earthly plane as she descended into darkness, Mistress Madonna’s scream of both indescribable pain and horror rivalled that of the combined wailing barrage of a thousand howling wolves. With the horrific visions still printed indelibly in her mind, she drifted formless and inert in some otherworldly limbo until suddenly she felt a strong hand shaking her as if she were a rag doll. Pain once more coursed through her as iron fingers dug into her shoulders and a faraway voice fought to make itself heard.

  “Madonna! Madonna, for God’s sake wake up. Come on gel, snap out of it!”

  The vision of the sharp blade of the falling dagger, together with the black diabolical awfulness of the hellish chamber began to fade as the distant voice strived to penetrate her unconscious mind. The banshee screams died on her lips as she struggled to regain awareness, her eyes rolling uncontrollably behind closed eyelids until the horrors dimmed and with a supreme effort she snapped them open. And wonder of wonders, she found that she was in her bed. What’s more, leaning over her she saw a dim vision of The Colonel.

  A concerned and agitated Colonel.

  “Good lord gel, don’t you ever do that again.”

  Do what again? She was still not fully compos mentis but the thought seared through her befuddled brain. Slowly the mist cleared from before her eyes and she saw that not only The Colonel but also that Anna and Donatien were gathered around the four-poster. Struggling to raise herself from the pillows she looked up straight into a pair of undoubtedly military but desperately caring eyes.

  “Colonel, what’s happening? Oh Colonel, I’ve never been more glad to see anyone in my whole life. There were vampires, and monsters, and all sorts of dreadful beastly things. Count Dracula and Quasimodo raped me and then Dracula bit my neck and was going to turn me into zombie . . . and the Marquis de Sade cut Julian’s throat and was draining his blood into the Baroness’ bath. It was as if I was in Hell.”

  “It’s alright gel, you had a nightmare that’s all. But you made a real Hitchcock production out of it. We could hear you up at the castle, it’s lucky that these French police persons were there to help me break into the lodge.”

  She examined them closely. They were just as they had appeared when they first knocked on the door of the lodge, a pair of perfectly ordinary French agents de police. Well, not exactly ordinary in the woman’s case. She exuded the same authoritarian aura that she had displayed then and Mistress Madonna would have wagered Julian’s fortune that she was like herself, a formidable dominatrix; and a lesbian to boot. That she would like to form a much closer personal association with the naked occupant of the four-poster was embarrassingly obvious to all present. Impishly, under the pretence that she was overly hot, Mistress Madonna threw the bedclothes to one side, revealing her magnificent, bullet-nippled breasts and her mouth-watering sex.

  Anna’s mouth did in fact water in response and a sex-hungry tongue rolled over her lips. Donatien tapped her on the shoulder, breaking the spell that
Mistress Madonna had cast upon her. She pulled herself together with no little effort.

  “Madame, I am relieved that all is well but we have other duties to attend to, so we must take our leave. No doubt we will meet again before you leave.”

  Gratefully clinging to The Colonel’s hand, Mistress Madonna watched as Anna and Donatien took their leave; then suddenly Julian leapt into her mind. Where was he? What had happened to him while all this had been going on? Throwing the covers aside she leapt from the bed and raced into the main room.

  And there he was.

  Exactly as she had left him the night before. A chained, bent, snivelling wretch with a stretched, tortured and abused cock.

  So it was true!

  Sparked by the books that she had found in the bedroom, all that she had experienced had been a dream. No, not a dream; a real killer of a nightfright. And in dreams anything can happen, there does not have to be any logic involved; which explained away the mystical armoire and its contents, the timely appearance of anything she set her mind on and all the weird otherworldly happenings. The only thing left that deserved clarification was The Colonel’s departure to fuck the whores at Le Manoir. And when the explanation came it was somewhat more than reasonable.

  “You see gel, there was a flap on. Thierry and m’self got recalled for an emergency return to the Middle East, but it was an absolutely high echelon only ‘need to know’ top secret. I couldn’t tell even you, so I invented the story about going to Le Manoir to cover up my absence. But then before we could even leave we got a message that the whole thing had turned out to be a false alarm, but I couldn’t come back here because you’d made it more than clear that I was to keep away, so I went back to the castle with Thierry.”

  Mistress Madonna could have told him that secrets of any kind, personal or national were safe with her, but she was so pleased to see him that she let it pass. Unzipping his trousers to fondle his beautiful cock she was just so relieved that everything was back to normal.