Darker Passions: Dracula

by Kilpatrick, Nancy

  Magda's diaphanous gown had slid from her shoulders, exposing one well-developed breast that invited sucking. Quincey glanced down at his own feeble mounds and felt them lacking. Van Helsing stood before Magda, still impervious to her seductive charms. Her exposed tit jutted in his direction like a puppy wanting petting. Her hips swayed as she spoke. Van Helsing now held Magda's bullwhip in his hands and was fingering the knotted cord at the end; his eyes never left Magda's.

  "Sit again, Quin!" Lucy said. Quincey sat, letting this new name flow through his mind. Quin, was it? A wonderful name for a woman. Strong. Proud. And yet touched with a passion for submission. It occurred to him that the name suited him better than his own.

  The two women worked on his hair, piling and curling it into a style befitting a proper lady. Lucy brought out a box of face paints and touched his cheeks, lips and eyelids with colors that no doubt made him look like a street walker, but since Quincey could do nothing to stop her, he passively submitted. They hung seed pearls about his throat and imbedded tortoise shell combs in his hair. When they finished preening over him, they brought him to his feet and spun him in circles again, giggling at their creation, kissing one another's nipples and inserting fingers into their womanly slits.

  Lucy produced a peculiar wooden arrangement with one large hole and two smaller ones. It opened like a jaw. They fitted his neck into the main opening and his wrists one in front of the other into the other two, then snapped the contraption closed. Quincey stood with his arms raised in front of him, bound in a mobile stocks.

  "Come," Lucy said, pulling the stocks, "I know a man who can appreciate your charms."

  She led him across the room, past the moaning erect Arthur, until they approached Count Dracula, who immediately stood.

  "Ladies," he said bowing slightly, and turned to Quincey, his dark eyes seductive and dangerous. Quincey felt utterly mortified. He longed to hide his face and the desire he knew it revealed, but the stocks kept him exposed.

  "Miss Quin Morris, I would like to present Count Dracula, ruler absolute of this castle. Count, Miss Morris, from America."

  The Count pulled Quincey forward so that his lips could kiss one of the trapped hands. Those icy lips sent a pleasant chill up Quincey's arm.

  "Miss Morris has come to us all the way from Texas, via England, to train under a gentleman with exotic tastes. She has, however, been terribly naughty, which I hope you will attend to. If you will both excuse me," she said, and left to see about John's discomfort.

  "Miss Morris will be the recipient of my undivided attention," Dracula assured Lucy, then, to Quincey, "I shall not disappoint you, Miss Morris. And you shall not disappoint me. Come."

  Dracula securely gripped the end of the stocks and pulled Quincey around the room like a pet on a leash. Quincey, face flushed, looked demurely down. His heart pounded. His body trembled. Whatever was to come was something he had not anticipated.

  They strolled the room like a man and his dog walking a promenade, Dracula leading him as if Quincey were a prized bitch.

  A small straw bed covered with fine white muslin had been made up against one wall. Dracula sat on the edge. Immediately

  Quincey was pulled across his lap. Quincey's skirts were raised and affixed to the fabric at his waist and his silk bloomers peeled down to his knees.

  Before Quincey knew what was happening, a finger probed deep into his anus. His sphincter tensed and he groaned at the invasion, although it felt thrilling in an illicit sort of way.

  "You are still a virgin," Dracula said matter-of-factly. "Proud. A coquette. Teasing men with your scent and yet denying them access. I have breached the orifices of many virgins."

  Quincey knew his face was scarlet with shame.

  "Do you believe," Dracula continued, "such behavior in a woman like yourself should go unpunished?"

  Quincey was afraid to answer, knowing that whatever he said would make little difference to his fate. Still, the idea of playing this game intrigued him. He had always wondered what the opposite sex experienced at the hands of a strong Master and now was his chance to find out.And in fact the vulnerable position he lay in excited him. "I do not, sir," Quincey heard himself answer.

  "Then," Count Dracula continued, "as a gentleman and a disciplinarian, it is my duty to accommodate you by providing correction harsh enough to tame your passions and make them accessible."

  The hand that smacked Quincey's ass was large and heavy, jolting him. In the fraction of a second his bottom rode the air, the hand found his cheeks again and slapped them downward. The spanking was as harsh as promised. Fierce blows rained down in rapid succession and Quincey gasped helplessly; he could do nothing but submit to the rapidly increasing heat, for in the back of his mind he knew the Count capable of far worse.

  The stinging along his behind escalated rapidly. As Quincey bounced on the knee of the dominant man spanking him so severely, erotic sensations coursed through his loins. Never had he felt so out of control, so fragmented, so in need of consolidation. His flesh steamed. Tears flowed, and he released them freely, like a woman. Through the haze of righteous pain, he experienced a peculiar mix of anger and gratitude. Even if he could have stopped this agony, he would not. Deep inside he knew he had craved such handling all his life and that finally he had found someone strong enough both physically and mentally to spare him nothing. Quincey knew he was about to explore dimensions he had never before acknowledged. In the end he hoped he would have a clearer vision of who or what lay within him.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Magda writhed before the stern Professor from Amsterdam, sensual movements that would have enticed her Master, Count Dracula, but on this man seemed to have little effect. The Professor's eyes flashed danger, yet his body stayed rigid, unaffected by her invitation. He only held the whip, still fingering the flat strand of leather and twisting the knotted cord at the end as she spoke with him about the pleasures and pains she had experienced at the hands of her tyrannical Master.

  "As I told you, Professor, the flesh of our kind heals rapidly. Whippings that take normal skin a week to heal, affect me so that my flesh revives over the course of a day or so." She let the fabric slip lower, revealing her belly button with the jewel imbedded therein. It clung to her hips as she undulated before him in a dance of seduction. This man held the key to what until now Magda had been denied.

  Van Helsing listened intently, which gave her hope. She had served no Master but the Count. She both longed to feel the lash from one of such repute as well as cringed in terror at the idea. Dracula was a sexual creature, his appetites strong and his drives towards sating them unstoppable. Van Helsing had a reputation as an asexual being, one whose gratification comes from simply inflicting pain. At least until he encountered Lucy. She was the beginning of his desires. Magda would be the end of them.

  But at the moment the Professor was having none of it, or so it seemed. "What inducement is there for me to whip you? If you are content with your present Master, I see no need of this."

  "Ah, sir, but it is my present Master whom I wish to serve by debasing myself before his rival."

  "How does this benefit me?"

  Here Magda was cagey. She worded her answer carefully. "I hold the power over she whom you most desire." She watched him glance at Lucy.

  "Be blunt girl. Are you telling me that if I whip you in the manner you request, you will give Lucy to me."

  Magda smiled enigmatically.

  "And if Count Dracula does not release her?"

  "He has no choice, for I am the first wife and I may use the others in any manner I see fit. In exchange for this act, he has agreed to grant me any wish, and is honor bound to fulfill that promise."

  "And if Lucy should not desire to leave him?"

  "Lucy desires to leave him. And she obeys me. You saw her stripes when you entered and you see they have virtually healed." Magda looked coyly up through her eyelashes at the Professor. While he examined Lucy's nearly healed flesh, she sa
id, "It was not the Count who inflicted those, but the woman you see before you. Lucy has already learned to submit to me."

  The Professor seemed to consider all this. Magda had the impression that he was formulating a plan of some sort, possibly involving gaining the time to rescue Lucy from this castle and its depraved inhabitants. Or perhaps thinking this was his only possible means of escape. Possibly fantasizing about how his punishments of the fair Lucy would no longer be limited by her mortality. He would no more be limited by her frailty. And then there was the enticement of Magda's willing flesh.

  "Prepare yourself," Van Helsing suddenly said.

  "Tie me to this wall," Magda pleaded, "else I shall surely attempt escape."

  As the Professor spread her wrists and ankles and chained them securely, the brave, provocative face Magda had shown him crumbled. What she had requested, what he had agreed to, the fact that she would gain what she most desired, all this required an immense sacrifice, one she was not sure she could accomplish. Undead though she be, she felt pain like any mortal, perhaps more so because she was always given more. That, she knew, would be the case here.

  Roughly, he tore the dress now clinging only to her hips, leaving her naked and exhibited. As he gathered her long hair and threw it over her shoulders, Magda trembled. To be whipped from head to toe until sunrise! The bullwhip would torture her with no hope of pleasure in the end; she did not know if she could stand this. She had been punished far worse by the Count in the past, yet she was not the naive girl he had taken and dominated so easily, the one who had given over her very soul. Now she was a woman, centuries old, and altered from who she had been. She would gladly suffer this and more to be with her true love, but one can only suffer so much. Dracula always tempered her suffering by pleasuring her. Van Helsing, she knew, would not. He favored pain for the sake of pain.

  The Professor hung her bullwhip back onto the wall beside her. "You...you now refuse?" Her question sounded hopeful in her ears.

  He picked up his metal cane and whipped it back and forth through the air. The ear-splitting swish gave her the impression the air itself was being sectioned. The unique sound caused all heads in the room to turn, and everyone stopped what they were doing.

  Van Helsing stood behind her, pressing his clothed body against her nude one, his hands against the stones beside her head, his lips close to her ear. Magda turned her head slightly. The darkness in his eyes felt intimidating, and she panted in terror. "I will give you all that you desire," he said, "and you will return the favor. And I will see to it that your debt is indeed the greater."

  The sound of the rod froze her, but the blow immediately following scalded her. Her fangs pierced her lower lip and she could not stop the cry rushing from her mouth. Magda had felt nothing as brutal as this unnatural object. And this was only the start! But these thoughts evaporated as a vapor of pain engulfed her.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  John's body felt limp from overcooking, although his cock still stood firm and on the ready. The skin of his ass had long ago numbed, but he knew the healing would be excruciating. More than anything, he was aware of his emotional state. Over the eternity he had been locked to the hot seat, he had ascended and descended emotionally a thousand times. Now he drifted in a pleasurable state, without thought, without worry.

  Lucy removed the restraints holding him to the torture chair. As her cool skin brushed his, John took in the sensation like a parched man receiving water. At last she removed the blindfold. When his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was her face. The visage of a goddess. Of his Mistress.

  She had never appeared so enchanting. Blonde wisps framed her pale cheeks and forehead and seemed to glow like a halo. Her violet eyes reflected the depths of a bottomless ocean. She turned her full, luscious lips, so like red plums, up into a smile and moved close, pressing them against his.

  John's mouth parted in surrender to her ultimate sweetness. Her nipples, two warm red rubies, impressed themselves into his chest. Whatever she wanted, anything, he would do it for this being who held his destiny in her dainty hands.

  Lucy turned abruptly at a shocking sound, and he looked in the same direction. Magda was chained naked to the stone wall, the Professor behind her with his metal rod of punishment quite active. Magda's body convulsed.

  A quick glance around the room showed John a bizarre spectacle. The girl sucking Arthur—how many times must he have come by now?—had paused to watch the Professor. Arthur hung from the x-shaped cross, his inflamed cock poking through a hole, her hand still toying with it. His eyes floated up into his head and back down, again and again. Needles pierced through both nipples, now engorged from the agony they must have suffered. His face was pale but the expression bespoke bliss, much like the state John drifted in.

  Against the far wall a more astonishing sight. A large woman lay sobbing across Count Dracula's knee, having her bottom well spanked by the Count's bare hand. The cheeks were the rich color of pomegranate seeds, and John felt excited. Dracula paused only a moment, then resumed his task with great vigor.

  The most familiar sound drew John's attention back to the Professor and Magda. The horrible swish of metal slicing nothing then striking flesh. Magda screamed. The rod cut her shoulders again, just at the neck. Van Helsing lifted his arm immediately and swung again. This third cut looked to be on top of the last two, yet each must have been below the one before as the line of red expanded. Again and again the silver metal streaked through the air, leaving in its wake a mangled mass of flesh.

  Lucy seemed particularly excited by Magda's screeching. Her hand slid down to her crotch. On impulse, John reached up and fondled her bottom and she thrust back against him, seemingly unaware of what she was doing. His hard cock pulsed with renewed energy. Her ass looked so plump and luscious to him, a ripe peach, the fruit receptive to his squeezing. He stood shakily, gaining strength as his excitement grew.

  While the Professor painted Magda's back with rhythmic strokes, John pierced Lucy's cunt from behind. She bent forward to accommodate him and moaned, her fingers still working her little nub furiously.

  She was an oven inside, the flesh thick and gripping, hot and juicy. John grabbed her hips and thrust hard. The thing that bound his cock and balls permitted sensation but he did not think he could ejaculate, yet he didn't mind. Lucy was such a fine hostess that he intended to stay a while.

  The fleshy dark-haired girl pressed up against his back, her nipples jutting into his flesh. She slid a hand down the crack of his scorched behind until a finger entered him.

  As if an unspoken conspiracy existed, all motion and sound in the room synchronized. The now wet cane, the slap of palm against tender flesh, the cries from Arthur and the screams from Magda, all of it aligned with the dark-haired girl's thrusting and John's pumping. It felt as though the universe itself had slipped into one beat that matched the beating of his heart.

  As his valve of life increased its speed, so the sounds welling over and into him blended with the sensations riding his body. The fleshy girl inserted two more fingers, expanding him. Lucy opened more fully and yet her cunt gripped him hard in an exquisite embrace. He seemed to be digging deeper into her by the second.

  Power and energy coursed through him, through them all, he knew. And despite the restraint around his balls and cock, he exploded into Lucy like a volcano erupting molten lava.

  The cries of release cascaded around the circular chamber, echoing. They flooded through John, matching his own, and he finally, at last, understood his place in the cosmic scheme of things.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Quincey awoke with a start. He had slept, but had no idea for how long. His neck and wrists were still attached to the mobile stocks, making movement difficult and his muscles sore.

  He opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Pain splintered his ass. He moaned and the memory of the night before crashed down on him.

  The red satin dress he wore was still pinned up at the back, his blo
omers down. He had lain across the Count's lap, humiliated, dressed as a woman, spanked beyond endurance, first with the Count's hand, and later with the vampire glove Lucy had given the Count. Spanked and spanked, the tiny sharp points piercing his tender flesh every time that unstoppable hand descended, until finally he had broken apart inside and cried as he had never cried before, giving himself over mind, body and spirit to Count Dracula. And now the after effects, a bottom alive with biting pain. And inside a new place had grown overnight that he had not known existed. He felt different. Liberated.

  Arthur rested against the large wooden X, his crimson cock half erect, still protruding from the hole; fang marks evident along the vein in his shaft. John slept in the chair on which he had been seared like a steak. Professor Van Helsing sat on the floor against the wall. His face had changed. He was no longer in control of himself. Near him lay a pool of dried blood and the walls were flecked with a thousand dark red spots. An image of Magda flashed into Quincey's mind. Red on red. Hair dipping into the crimson fire leaking from her back. Her mouth open, but her voice too worn out for sound to emerge. Her body jerked helplessly as Van Helsing's wet rod split the last of her flesh. Quincey shivered. He fantasized being whipped to such an extreme, and yet the state the Professor had worked himself into shocked Quincey. The man showed weakness and Quincey no longer found him appealing.

  None of the women were in the room, nor was Count Dracula. Quincey wondered where The Count was, and with whom. Last night he had felt like a horse being trained. A wild stallion that had at last met his match. His will had been broken. And now he waited submissively for his strict Master to return. Eagerly he anticipated his next lesson.

  Through the one window in the room, he watched the light outside the opaque glass darken. And then they floated into the room like spectres, first the dark-haired women, and finally Dracula himself. Lucy and Magda were not with them.