Darker Passions: Dracula Read online

  THE DARKER PASSIONS: DRACULA

  By Nancy Kilpatrick

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  © 2012 / Nancy Kilpatrick

  Cover Design By: David Dodd

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  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Nancy Kilpatrick is a writer and editor. She has published 18 novels, 1 non-fiction book, over 200 short stories, 5 collections of stories, and has edited 12 anthologies.

  She writes dark fantasy, horror, mysteries and erotic horror, under her own name, her nom de plume Amarantha Knight, and her newest pen name Desiree Knight (Amarantha's younger sister!)

  Nancy has been a Bram Stoker finalist three times, a finalist for the Aurora Award five times and, in addition to winning several short fiction contests, won the Arthur Ellis Award for best mystery.

  She lives with her calico cat Fedex in lovely Montreal. As with previous dwellings, this one features Gothic decor, which suits the sensibilities of both residents.

  When Nancy is not writing, she travels planet earth—the Great Curio Cabinet—in search of cemeteries, ossuaries, catacombs, mummies and Danse Macabre artwork.

  Book List

  Eternal City

  The Vampire Stories of Nancy Kilpatrick

  The Power of the Blood World:

  Child of the Night

  Near Death

  Reborn

  Bloodlover

  The Darker Passions Series (writing as Amarantha Knight):

  Dracula

  Frankenstein

  Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

  The Picture of Dorian Gray

  The Fall of the House of Usher

  Carmilla

  The Pit and the Pendulum

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  Acknowledgements

  For all my dear and charming friends. And to Bram Stoker, without whose Victorian prose the glorious underbelly would not shine through nearly as brightly.

  A.K.

  "['Dracula' is] a kind of an incestuous necrophillic, oral-anal-sadistic all-in wrestling match [set in] a sort of homicidal lunatic's brothel in a crypt." Psychiatrist Maurice Richardson's assessment of Bram Stoker's classic.

  Part 1 - Magda

  Chapter One

  During the months he came for her, night after night, her window exposed to whipping winds from the mountains, the heavy velvet curtain chained aside so that the moon could guide him to her bed, Magda never resented him. Vlad Tepes was a nobleman of the boyer class, stern, a natural ruler. He demanded much, frightening her and thrilling her at the same time. His harsh discipline taught her to submit; she learned to anticipate his desires and to please him. Each night he pierced her, with his teeth and with his fleshy sword. He drained her youthful blood slowly, erotically, through wounds inflicted in her throat and from the crimson patterns he painted across her bare bottom. When she weakened and could only find her strength in his eyes, she still did not hate him, although the word love, as she had known it, no longer lingered in her mind.

  Death was like a much-needed sleep her exhausted mind and body embraced. When Magda awoke, his too-handsome face oriented her. Sharp features etched with fierceness and pride burned open her memory. That pale face still held her firmly in its power. They were bound, inexplicably. She understood his commands and obeyed without question. He sensed her every move, as if he tracked her nightly drifts down the mountainside to the village where her gypsy mother had given her birth. Yet this was not so. Since she altered, their physical contact had dissipated. That should have freed her of obsessive feelings, but it did not. Jealousy gnawed away slowly; fungus dining on doomed flesh. More than ever she wanted to possess him, to be possessed by him, to have him all to herself.

  He assured her the others meant nothing to him. When he brought the first over, Magda was shocked. By the second she realized she had become part of a harem, as if they were all Turks, whose religion encouraged such pagan bonding.

  The three females lived an uneasy truce. In fact, the other two were natural allies. Both dark haired and eyed, one delicately slim, one fleshy, even in this state. They could have been sisters, and may have been, once. Now these peasant girls clung together like second and third siblings, eternal rivals with the eldest. The onus falls on the first born to mete out strict discipline to guard the rights of privilege, Magda thought. They were two and she one; and although it did not come easily to any of the three, over time she warmed to her role, and the sisters learned to yield.

  Chapter Two

  Magda often reflected on how two centuries had crawled by, and yet there seemed less time. Existence without sunshine became a bane. Ennui set in. The countryside changed and food was no longer plentiful. The hungers Vlad had bequeathed controlled her and therefore left Magda on the edge of being out of control. Tense. Angry. Eager to lash out, particularly at him.

  For a long time now he had seemed obsessed with plans for the future, and with others, leaving her to spend nights alone, or with the rough peasant boys stinking of fruit brandy and strong tobacco, or with the sisters. Silently she blamed him for her state, and resented his preoccupations. And then he invited the Englishman to their home.

  "I am Dracula," she heard him say seductively. "Welcome to my house," adding words like "enter freely" and "of your own will."

  "Is he now part of the household?" she demanded later, hissing the words at him.

  But Vlad let it pass, something he would not have done even one hundred years ago. Then he would have nipped her impertinence on the spot. His inattention wounded her; she hated him.

  She also felt invaded. Until she was introduced to the Englishman.

  He was soft, so unlike the Wallachians. Blond curly hair. Smooth pink-tinged skin that bred fantasies of blood rushing to the surface at her command. He kissed her hand and met her eye with innocence, not with the dominance that clouded the eyes of the locals, the result of struggling against a harsh mountainous terrain. This Brit smelled fine and wore tight clothing. His finger nails were clean and trimmed. She saw the picture of his wife, Mina: a serious-eyed well-scrubbed girl who would never fulfill his dark longings, for Magda recognized the desire to surrender burning in his blue eyes. Mr. Harker was his name. Jonathan.

  Vlad spent that first evening with this young man. In the study discussing the intimacies of life in England. In the great dining hall, carefully watching him eat and drink. In the bedroom.

  And then it was evening again. Jonathan defied Vlad's warning: "You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. Did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand."

 
; The Englishman wandered the ancient halls alone, looking, no doubt, for trouble. He found it. Magda got to him first, but the others were on her heels.

  As he entered the candle-lit room in the tower, his eyes bulged. Apparatus dating from as far back as the early Middle Ages filled half the circular space. A rack, an Iron Maiden, a pillory and whipping post, a wheel and half a dozen other instruments of torture. Along the stone walls hung an assortment of hooks, chains and pulleys, interspersed with well-cared-for tools—paddles, canes and whips of every description, clips, and needles for piercing and stinging rods of several varieties. Vlad's collection spanned six hundred years and reflected many cultures.

  Jonathan looked startled then delighted when he saw the three females, dressed for the night. His cherry lips parted and a childlike look spread across his immaculate features. Instinctively, he focused on Magda; she knew her red hair, emerald eyes and full breasts captivated him; gypsy blood made her voluptuous compared to his emaciated Mina, lascivious, rather than properly veneered for polite society.

  A sly look spread across his delicate features and she did not miss the bulge forming at his crotch; he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and anticipated both the cookies and the consequences.

  The other two would have overwhelmed him, but Magda cut them with a glance.

  The fleshy one said fearfully, bitter with disappointment, "Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to begin." She recognized her place.

  "He is young and strong, there are kisses for us all," the thin one said, an insolent edge to her tone that Magda would see to later.

  "In turn," Magda informed them, feeling inexplicably generous.

  She removed a long-handled oval wooden paddle from the wall. "Come to me," she teased, opening her arms to Jonathan. He moved stiffly at first, but as his anticipation grew, his steps quickened.

  She removed his great coat and his collar and tie. The buttons on his white shirt slid easily through the buttonholes and she yanked the crisp linen down his arms, trapping them. "I have never known an Englishman," she murmured, and his cock swelled further. Magda ran a hand over the warm skin, through the scattering of silky chest hairs. She found a blue vein trailing up over his breast to the throat. She traced it with her finger tip and let her finger rest there in a proprietary way. The throb echoed throughout her body, into her genitals, then back through her stomach, which contracted with hunger and lust.

  "Mr. Harker, you've been a bad boy," she whispered.

  His body twitched, and the others giggled. He was tall and she forced his face down to her breasts, her crimson nipples swelling over the low-cut gossamer gown.

  "Do they punish bad boys in England?"

  He nodded. The sisters laughed hysterically.

  "We Transylvanians know how to punish bad boys. Severely." The vein called to her, promising warm carnal sensation. The others moved closer and stripped Jonathan of his trousers. A firm, slender body, but there was a softness to him that wanted attention. The thin sister moved a hand to his hairy crotch and the fleshy one rubbed herself against one cheek of his hairless behind. Magda slapped his exposed ass cheek six times with the paddle until it quivered. She could imagine the stinging flesh redden and that excited her.

  Jonathan's lips found one of Magda's nipples. He took it between his teeth and whipped it with his tongue, then sucked hard. Her head fell back and her hand automatically raised and lowered the paddle onto his bare ass. He moaned and writhed against the wall of flesh imprisoning him.

  The vein under Magda's finger pumped harder. His skin heated up and sweat seeped from the pores. Jonathan's hands clawed at her satin skirt, lifting it so he could caress her chilled hips, thighs, her well-rounded buttock. He slid a finger down the crack of her ass until it reached her anus and stopped. She shivered in anticipation. The thin sister guided his other hand to her own mound. He tapped both the pink hole and the pink bud quickly. The plump sister rubbed her crotch against his leg in time. Magda paddled him fast and hard and he groaned, sweat beading across his forehead.

  "Lower!" she ordered. He spread his legs wide on command until his thick cock nestled beneath her. The thin sister stroked his shaft from tip to base, guiding him towards Magda's hungry lower mouth.

  Magda felt the vein struggling to burst the skin in search of her teeth, eager to meet their destiny. She moistened her lips and lowered them to his neck. Under the soft flesh of her mouth, the vein jumped happily.

  The head of Jonathan's cock entered her and her cunt caressed it. The points of her incisors found the vein. It throbbed against their sharpness, eager to be pierced. She worked the paddle in time to the throbbing, against his one cheek only. His body trembled under the combined strain.

  "Stand erect!" she commanded. His straightened and his cock plunged up into her, lifting her off the floor, filling her with hot flesh.

  Suddenly everything changed. The temperature plummeted. The air reeked with seething anger. A roar pierced her ears. "How dare you touch him, any of you? This man belongs to me! Back, I tell you, or you'll have to deal with me!" Vlad shouted. The others backed away immediately, but Magda held Jonathan to her, in her, refusing to let him go.

  Vlad separated them roughly. Jonathan opened his mouth but before he could speak was backhanded across the room. The sisters cringed against the wall, holding each other.

  Magda, who many times had tasted Vlad's fury, turned on him. She could not believe her boldness. "You bring him here for your own pleasure," she shrieked. "But what of us? You yourself never loved; you never love!"

  Her words stung him, that was clear. She thought she saw a look of regret cross his face, but he closed off to her. "Yes, I too can love; you can tell it from the past."

  Magda sneered. "The past! The past for you is the prison where the Turkish jailors taught you well." The sisters laughed. "Sluts!" she yelled at them. "I'll give you both a licking!"

  "So, you are now mistress supreme of my domicile. This is curious."

  "Not curious at all. You've simply been too busy to notice."

  "Well, I notice now, and from what I have witnessed tonight, your skills are wanting. Perhaps you have forgotten your lessons."

  "I have graduated from your tutelage."

  "Have you? We shall see about that."

  "Master," whined the plump sister. "Are we to have nothing tonight?"

  He tossed her a sack he held containing some kind of creature that wailed. The sisters pounced on the bag.

  Vlad turned back to Magda and pierced her with his black-ice eyes. She felt him penetrate her soul, baring her secret desires, so long held in check. Suddenly she felt nervous. What had she done? challenging him like this. She had forgotten her place. Instantly she knew she would pay for this indiscretion, and pay dearly. Excitement quivered through her, tempered by dread.

  Silently he pointed across the room. She knew what awaited her there and froze in terror. When she did not move, he yelled, "Enough!" He ripped the gown from her body then grabbed her fiery hair and dragged her to the wall.

  A colorful leather saddle, the type used in Turkey in the 16th century, had been bolted to a kind of narrow metal horse. He threw her over the saddle, ass up. Within seconds he had her limbs spread wide, wrists and ankles secured to each of the horse's legs.

  "To the cellars!" he ordered the sisters. They scurried past him and out the door, carrying the bag with them.

  Vlad picked up the stunned Jonathan in his arms and turned to Magda. "I fear I have been remiss in my duties as Master of this castle. You are in desperate need of intimate attention." An evil smile curled his well-defined lips, revealing the points of two sharp teeth. She had forgotten that smile, but instantly remembered. It made her shiver in fear and expectation. "You will, of course, wait for me here. I shall return, have no fear of that. And when I do, all that is amiss will be properly and thoroughly corrected."

  He carried Jonathan from the room, on the way out taking from the wall a
fat Moroccan dildo and a handful of willow switches. For Jonathan, she thought jealously, resenting them both.

  Chapter Three

  Magda lay unable to move, her ass exposed, the skin stretch taut. The horse had been specially designed by Vlad with three rings on each leg, leather thongs attached to every ring, the height of the rings tailored to each of his three wives. Additional straps pulled her thighs wide.

  It had been decades since Magda was positioned so. When she had first come here, before the sisters, before he took to bringing home peasants from the village who arrived after sunset and disappeared before dawn, before he brought home Englishmen, she had ridden this animal of pain often. Her undead state had not saved her from the lash that had been applied religiously to her bottom. If anything, after he changed her, he whipped her more fiercely. Sensation had intensified coupled with an increased endurance of pain. Punishments that might previously have injured her beyond repair, she had learned not only to endure but to welcome. The fact that her new state allowed her to heal completely within two days had provided increased opportunity for Vlad to exercise his predilections. At least that had been so until he became too busy for her.

  But she had always hated this horse. It not only held her fast, but exhibited her so completely: inverted, large breasts dangling before her face, limbs stretched wide apart, ass flesh primed for paddle or whip, both of her openings offered equally for his pleasure—and he had taken his pleasure with both, regularly. She could not feel more vulnerable than on this dreaded metal beast, helpless, awaiting her master's relentless punishments. And he knew that.