Connecticut Vampire in Queen Mary's Court

by Hall, Ian

  “Strogoi?”

  “A term for modern vampires in my time; I think it’s Romanian in origin.”

  She gave me a questioning look. “And what about me, Sir Richard? Do I also have a bath for tonight? Or will you only be pleasuring sweet Cora?”

  I swept her into my arms. “I think, dear forest princess, that you’ll find there’s enough of me for you both.”

  And there I left her, as I waltzed away, spinning down the corridor towards the kitchen. “Make a good stew tonight, Sylvie, we dine in splendor. I will return presently with some herbs for your concoction. I had a couple of shops to visit before the night’s escapades. Herbs for the stew, the finest alcohol I could find, and fragrant oils from the best shops London could offer.

  With the large dining table set elaborately for three, our new silverware caught every candle in the room, reflecting them in a myriad of directions. I sat at the head of the table, waiting patiently for the star of the evening to arrive.

  Cora looked absolutely fantastic, but not in the way I’d expected; Abigail had obviously organized a simple look, a kind of wenchy-farmgirl idea, but the result looked nonetheless spectacular. I know for a fact my dick jumped in my pants. Abigail looked similarly attired, and as they sat at the table, I gave her a curious look.

  She returned my gaze with a smile. “No point wasting an hour getting out of clothes; we all know we’re going to bed.”

  I lifted my glass, the very best sherry I could lay my hands on that day. “I agree,” and waved it at the delicious Cora. “Here’s to the end of your last day.”

  “Richard, you make it sound like an execution,” Abigail chided. “My child, this is the last day of your present life. You will wake tomorrow in a new way.”

  “It all sounds very intriguing.” Cora sipped gently from her glass.

  Sylvie had used my spices to their best, giving a bit of heat to the stew. Large tasty carrots and parsnips lifted the stew from the norm, and we ate heartily. Pudding? Hot syrup over a raisin cake; thick, cloying, and very sensual.

  After she’d served the dessert, I dismissed Sylvie, telling her to remain in the servant’s quarters all night.

  I turned back to the table. “Come here, my dear,” I said, and the girl rose gently from her chair. “Open your mouth.”

  I placed the spoonful of cake inside, but told her not to eat it.

  Slowly I gathered her in my arms, my kiss smashing roughly against her, my tongue delightfully mixing cake and sugar inside her mouth. She moaned against me, and I felt her body tremble. With a look over her shoulder at the waiting Abigail, I reluctantly broke our embrace.

  “Your turn,” I said, turning Cora by the shoulders and pushing her down the table. Abigail didn’t use a spoon, instead cupping a portion in her fingers which she then shoved into Cora’s open mouth. Soon she fingered between the girl’s lips like she’d probably often done between her legs. Such a sensuous sight.

  Covered in saliva and crumbs from the cake, Abigail withdrew her fingers slowly, allowing Cora to suck as she did so. Then she wiped them on the front of Cora’s dress, making sure she hit both nipples. Nice touch.

  “Richard’s turn.”

  Well, to say Cora walked the twelve feet seductively would have been the world’s understatement. I wanted to fuck her brains out already, and even I knew we hadn’t even really started yet.

  As she loomed closer, I stood and undid the buttons on my jeans, taking out my already swelling penis. I leant to my plate, and stuck it in the gooey mess, then stepped back.

  Without taking her eyes off mine for a second, she dropped to her knees, and deliberately swallowed it. Only when her face nestled against the black fabric, did she close her mouth.

  Abigail’s brows lifted high at my eagerness to bed this minx, but I just shrugged, letting Cora’s mouth bring me to full erection. I simply couldn’t believe the amount of work her tongue performed, caressing over me, running along my length.

  Abigail eventually walked to us and pulled her head from me. I’m actually glad she did; I would never have had the willpower to do it. “My turn,” she said, lifting Cora by the waist onto the table. “Lie back and lift your skirts for me.”

  I had been expecting this kind of thing to be done in the bedroom, but the girl’s own sexuality seemed to be driving the procedure rather than us.

  I looked over Abigail’s shoulder as she licked and slurped her syrupy tongue over Cora’s glistening pussy. But it seems her old mistress couldn’t keep from delving deeper, immediately parting her pink folds and thrusting two fingers inside an already sopping crevice.

  I maintained a little bit of patience in the midst of the melee. I had no intention of making Abigail jealous by my obvious attentions of the minx on the table. Positioning myself behind her, I lifted Abigail’s skirts, flipping them over her back. With Cora and I exchanging a long meaningful gaze over the back of Abigail’s bobbing head, I plunged into Abigail’s ready sex. I ploughed the gypsy with strong, rhythmic thrusts, but in my mind I already lay upstairs on our bed, balls deep inside Cora. Her stare egged me on, encouraging me to finish inside her mistress, but I grinned, seeing her plan.

  Slowly I eased my strokes until I withdrew altogether. “To bed!” I shouted, grabbing Abigail’s black tresses, and pulling her mouth from between Cora’s thighs. With my free hand I grasped Cora, dragging her to her feet, and across the room.

  In moments we were in my bedroom, and stripping bare. Abigail got naked first, and I threw her a bottle of scented oil, which she immediately began to sprinkle on Cora.

  “Everywhere,” I said to her, watching Cora’s small breasts worked by Abigail’s glistening fingers. Once undressed, I joined the two naked ladies, sprinkling oil anywhere that moved. Then discarding the empty bottle, I leapt upon them, running my hands over their slippery skin, coating breasts, backsides in the heady lubricant. My fingers reached both of them between their legs, and fought with others to worm my way inside. I touched their anuses, again lubricating as I probed their silky smooth orifices.

  I felt hands on my penis, stroking and pulling. I bit on nipples, sucking the buds deep into my mouth. Again I set to fucking Abigail, then felt her slide from me, replaced by Cora’s tongue. The events happened so fast, it seemed impossible to focus on any one aspect.

  “Who will turn her?” Abigail asked, sitting on top of me, rutting downwards with her pelvis, taking my cock deep inside her.

  My mind took many seconds to even process the question, then Cora’s glistening backside covered my face, and I lapped around her anus. Then stretching my neck, I managed to get my tongue into her sodden pussy.

  “You do it!” I said, lifting my head for air.

  “No, you,” Abigail immediately responded. “It would be better for her to be binding to a man.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I don’t care.”

  I pushed Cora from me, and slid from under Abigail. “In that case, it’s happening now.” I pulled Cora down the bed, and climbed on top of her. “I can’t wait another moment.”

  I buried myself inside Cora’s slippery crevice, and began an eager rhythm, my oily thighs slapping noisily against her. I felt Abigail’s hand slide under Cora’s bum, and watched the girl gasp as her mistress inserted a finger deep into her anus. I felt the digit’s intrusion on the underside of my penis as I rutted deep, the three of us sharing a common moment.

  “Today you leave your human life behind!” I roared above her, plunging as deeply as I could.

  Then, as I sensed her explosion beneath me, I dived onto her neck, clamping my mouth onto her artery, sucking the life-force from her.

  She bucked like a wild thing as she orgasmed around me, and I rose, slicing my oil-covered wrist with my bloody teeth, and pushed it to Cora’s mouth, jamming it across her teeth.

  “Drink, my lovely!” I roared. Then, feeling the blood sucked from me, I came inside her; a vampire wave that her insides milked from me.

  Exha
usted, I slid from her, only to be replaced by Abigail, as she lapped our fluids, her hands furiously working between her own thighs, coming with us.

  Chapter 31

  January 1st, 1554… again

  A New Vampire Awakes

  Knowing the rebellion would begin early, we spent January teaching Cora all about her new state. There was plenty to learn, but she took to her training like a duck to water. We took turns in taking her out to feed, watching her, guiding her, so that by the beginning of February, we were ready for the culmination of our plans.

  On the very first day of February, word arrived in the streets of London that Wyatt had rebelled and taken Rochester. Before the people had time to actually take it all in, news also circulated that Queen Mary’s forces sent to disperse the rebellion under Lord Abergavenny had deserted to the Wyatt.

  London began to panic.

  The streets of Kensington were filled with people in carriages and carts, heading north out of the city.

  Knowing my other self still lay out of town in Walterston, minding Princess Elizabeth, I probed south, over London Bridge, just to catch a glimpse of Wyatt and his army.

  To be honest, they looked more like a bunch of men out for a Sunday stroll than a major force. The ‘army’ seemed to have little organization, and certainly the leadership looked to be lacking. But they did progress north, and by the third of February, they stood at the southern end of London Bridge, which had been barricaded against any further advance.

  Watching the whole proceedings became actually quite interesting; I already knew the outcome, so with the pre-knowledge, I moved to the salient points, observing the best points of action each day.

  At London Bridge the rebels tore the barricades down, but were unable to fully cross the river, the north end of the structure being too near the guns from the parapets of the Tower.

  So the rabble moved to Richmond and crossed the Thames, just south of the Palace that I’d stayed with Prince Arthur, just fifty years before.

  With the Thames crossed, there seemed no way to halt the rebels, and to be honest, I actually began to wonder if history would be changed, but again, at the great gates of Ludgate, they were halted by a force of Londoners, unwilling to let them enter the city.

  Once again, just like I’d been told a few months before, the rebels just dispersed, and apart from the leaders and about seventy captains, they just went home.

  I retreated back to Kensington, conscious the other ‘me’ would be coming into town on the tenth, and would attend the beheading of Lady Jane Grey and her husband, Dudley.

  “If our diary is correct, after the executions, Fakenham will tell me and Steve to get out of London.”

  Abigail nodded. “Supposedly chasing the ringleaders.”

  “So we must get ourselves into position, and have the note ready for you to deliver.”

  “And we know it’s me, right?” she asked.

  “Steve seemed positive. A ‘beautiful busty gypsy’ he said to me. That’s you, babe.”

  She smiled. “So how do we do this?”

  “Easy. We wait outside Ashridge House until the other me passes, I’ll point out Steve at that point. I invite you inside, and you go to the kitchen and deliver the message. As long as you look gypsy and busty, it’s the easiest part of the plan.”

  So, trying to disguise my own handwriting, I wrote the note. I’d read it so many times, I knew it by heart.

  “The mission from Fakenham is a ruse. He wants you out of London. They conspire to behead Bessy. Wait here for instructions. Z.”

  I grinned at the Zorro reference, but wanted to write much more. I wanted to tell the other me the whole plan, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to stick to the plot, and once started, there seemed simply no point in going back. I mean, we’d actually already done it all, we just had to do it over again, for the first time. No, second time.

  You work that one out.

  So on the 12th February, as the afternoon clouds scudded above us, the three of us whizzed to Ashridge House, and found a perfect place to watch the approaches to the large-walled house.

  I reasoned that we’d gotten as close as a hundred yards before we got physically sick, and we’d pass each other no less than two hundred yards today.

  Then, just as the light began to fade, we saw two figures approaching, running towards us.

  “That’s us,” I said, feeling awkward at the words. Then, as the pair neared the main gates, they carried on running. I suddenly felt the first cramps of pain. “Oh crap,” I said, doubling over. “We enter by the side gate. I remember now.”

  “Get him out of here,” Abigail said curtly. I felt Cora’s hands grip my by the waist, and as I vomited in her arms, she rapidly dragged me maybe half a mile from the scene. It took me several minutes to recover properly.

  “I wonder what happens if me and me actually touched?”

  Cora’s worried face looked back at me. “Best that doesn’t happen.”

  Separated, we made our own way back to Sloan House, Cora’s arm linked in mine. Abigail met us at the door. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “It passed quite quickly.”

  “He was sick all over me,” Cora interrupted.

  “But you delivered the note?” I asked, conscious I hadn’t had the chance to invite her inside the Ashridge House.

  “I got it delivered. Steve is a handsome vampire.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to get my teeth into him.”

  I smiled at her candor; if she got Steve, I got Cora. And Lady Jane. Oh, that made for a wonderful picture in my head.

  “So now we wait?” Cora asked.

  I looked at the diary, written in Lady Jane’s hand. “Nothing to do until March.”

  “That’s kinda boring,” Cora said, with a twinkle in her eye.

  So with the ‘end’ approaching, we worked on our archery outdoors in the snow, and in the long corridors of the house. I drew a plan of the theatre, and we visited the site to watch plays, and after the show, we lingered to talk about our positions at the final seconds.

  I tried to remember the angles of the arrows, conscious they’d been delivered from three separate positions in the theatre.

  Looking at our master list, our next involvement would be March 20th, after the other me had been found at the Tower, witnessing Princess Elizabeth’s imprisonment.

  The day before, the three of us sat around the table. “So we know even after receiving the note from Abigail, Richard the First and Steve will linger in the morning,” I said, pushing two small brass figures near the teapot. “We overslept.”

  “And Richard the First feels sick,” Abigail replied, “So you, Richard the Second, has to be relatively close.”

  “And that’s when Abigail runs upstairs, bursts into their rooms, and hurries them both along,” Cora said, tapping the teapot with a small doll.

  I nodded, we’d been through the plan many times, and now its initial complexity seemed to have diminished, breaking each segment into small manageable parts. “So Cora, dressed as Steve, and me, dressed as Richard the First, enter the King’s Head vampire quick, then make a great show of riding away south.”

  “For days,” Cora said. Her hand touched my leg under the table.

  “And then we race back here,” I completed the plan. “What can go wrong?”

  Later the same night, Abigail set off for the King’s Head to deliver the second note.

  “Your tails are Fakenham’s. He’s allied with Renard. Leave by the back door very early tomorrow. Operate in DEEP disguise. I will lead your tails out of town. Z.”

  She would leave it with the owner, and impress the importance of it getting into the other me’s hands that evening.

  Early the next morning, we all set off southwards for the King’s Head. “Can you recall the exact time you felt sick?” Abigail asked as we neared the tavern.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I mean, it must be right now, I mean, I can’t feel ill before I arr
ive, can I?” We’d gotten about a hundred yards away, approaching from the south, when I felt the first signs of butterflies. “It’s started.” I’d only walked a few feet more when the pain hit. “Here. Go, Abigail.” And she set off.

  We stood in a doorway, Cora’s anxious expression alarming me. “No need to worry.”

  “How do we know when to go inside?” she asked.

  “When the pain lessens.”

  “Ah.” She nodded.

  Five minutes later, it did ease, and I gave my other self another minute or two to get cleanly away.

  “Now.” Vampire quick, hand in hand, we dashed along the streets, up the alley, inside the back entrance of the tavern, and up the stairs.

  Grinning like children, we donned some of the discarded clothing, and ordered our horses saddled. No more than an hour later, we rode majestically down Moorgate, Cora’s face hidden by a scarf pulled across her nose, cowboy-robber like.

  “Do you think I look good in man’s clothes?” she asked as we passed Fakenham’s men huddled behind crates in an alley. Talk about second rate.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, men’s clothes are easier to get out of, and this will be the first time I’ve had you to myself since you turned me, almost three months ago.”

  I grinned widely. “And what do you have in mind, my dear?”

  “Why, Sir Richard, I think it only right that you take me in every way you can.”

  I looked at her, only her eyes visible, but they sparkled enough at me to realize the height of her desire. She stood in the stirrups slightly, arched her back, then settled herself back on the saddle slowly, her eyes open, her mouth gasping under the tied scarf, as if she settled on my cock.

  I shook my head. “Oh boy.”

  But we had a mission to perform. We were to draw Fakenham’s tails out of London, depositing them as far away as we could. That meant two days riding outside London, maybe three. My dick had hardened in my jeans, and I had to make adjustments as I rode.

  “Having problems?” Cora asked, her eyes straight ahead.

  “No, just nudging the cock that will spear your ass tonight.” I decided to return the tension a bit.