Darker Passions: Dracula Page 10

  One monk straddled the altar beating a golden gong. The dull sound reverberated around the hollow walls, each clang colliding with the next until I felt a continuum developing. Silently all removed their robes, all but the Leader. As if by instinct we formed a line before him, in order of height, shortest to tallest.

  The Leader opened a cupboard beneath the altar. When each man passed, he was handed a short cat-o-nine tails. As if an order had been given, the men formed a circle, surrounding the Leader and the altar. The gong still sounded, loud, strong, and resonating.

  The Leader began to chant. "One flows into all, and all are one." As he repeated the phrase, the gong kept time. A few of the men in the circle raised their cats and brought them down onto the bare back before them. Soon each man raised and lowered his whip as the gong guided our reflexes.

  I felt the whip strike me a second before I struck the man in front of me. No more than five seconds passed. I struggled to synchronize my rhythm to match the man behind me. At the next gong we were perfectly timed, leather cracking and being cracked simultaneously upon flesh.

  We moved slowly as the Leader chanted, whips flailing to the unearthly sound. My back warmed, the first such warmth it had received since Castle Dracula. The man behind me did not restrain himself and I lashed the fellow before me as liberally, not wishing to deprive him or to break the circle.

  We continued thus for over an hour. My flesh burned but my body had reached a involuntary rhythm and I felt connected to all of these brothers. My mind went blank and my thoughts stilled. Movement became spontaneous. The gong sounded, the arms raised as one, leather cracked as one sound, "One flows into all, and all are one," the Leader chanted.

  Men groaned. My cock was rock hard and a hazy glance told me that each man in the circle was likewise erect. We moved agonizingly slowly. I felt caught between the pain and the pleasure coursing through my body.

  Suddenly the gong ceased and the Leader fell silent. The company of monks stopped as one unit. We stood, a circle of burning bodies, the scent of sweat filling our nostrils. Suddenly the Leader shouted, "One flows into all, and all are one."

  The circle closed tight. Each man fell upon the back of the one in front, who bent forward. My cock tip pressed against the anus of the man before me, while the head of a cock probed my opening.

  We moved as one. I entered and was entered. My cock rammed into the hole before me and thick flesh split my rectum. We thrust in and out as if we were two men, not fifty. The gong began again, now beating faster, the pace increasing. I had never felt such joy, such ecstasy, such intolerable pain singed with pleasure. Such connection.

  The man behind thrust as hard and deep into me as I was thrusting. The beat of the gong quickened. I braced myself as my body moved of its own volition. Faster. Harder. Deeper. The sense of connection was exquisitely painful.

  The pace quickened again. I had never moved so fast. Men around me screamed in release, yet still the thrusting continued.

  The man behind me shot his juices into me, a hot stream that made me tighten even more around him. My cock quivered and pulsed, on the verge of exploding. I felt the man in front of me tremble as he released. Yet, all the cocks in the circle remained erect, working still. Suddenly sparks erupted in my balls. Lightning bolt energy soared through my cock. I felt myself like a bullet fired at high velocity into the man, the man behind still working my asshole.

  My head went light, the room spun. A weight was lifted from my shoulders as if I had died and ascended. I had not felt such release since entering Magda, and yet this was very different.

  Before long the circle collapsed onto the floor, the cold marble a relief on my hot shoulders. The mood in the room lightened. Men rolled around together, wrestling, laughing, kissing one another. Frolicking with cocks, forming couples and small groups, using the cats in a playful manner, splashing hot beeswax from the candles onto skin.

  Before me appeared the Leader. I stared up at him, his face still in shadows. I crawled beneath his robe. The darkness there felt complete. I was encased by his scent, the texture of his hairy skin, his hot rigid flesh. I took his waiting manhood into my mouth. He tasted wonderful, the familiar tangy sweetness of his member and the creamy juices that seeped from him.

  When I had licked and sucked and hardened him fully, he pressed me onto the floor on my stomach. He spread my legs and bent my knees, pushing my legs up until my thighs were at my hips and my knees at my waist. I felt splayed like a frog on a dissecting table. My cock under me was still hard and as he lay on top of my back his weight crushed my hips down so that my cock pressed hard against the cool stone. He penetrated me with his enormous manhood, stretching me further and impaling me deeper than the other man had. A cry burst out of me. Tears sprang from my eyes. I did not think I could bear such painful joy. He thrust in and out of me, keeping me plastered tight against the floor, my member compressed between the smooth stone and my body. My ass muscles tightened from the strain of the position he had captured me in. I felt completely controlled by him and unable to do anything about it, not that I wanted to. His insistent thrusts would not be denied. I opened fully, offering my body as a vessel to this Leader who had governed me to places I had hitherto not known existed. I longed to spread myself even wider, for him to enter deeper. I longed for him to split me asunder so that I might reform a new man.

  When he shot his fiery liquid into me, my poor cock spurted its juices at the same moment. We melded into one another.

  We lay together for the longest time, he firmly buried within me. The others left the room until finally we were alone.

  "You will remain as you are," said this man whose face I had yet to see. He withdrew from me and I felt empty and cold. And yet something of him remained; his seed began to seep from my anus and I contracted my sphincter muscle to retain him as long as possible.

  He was gone but a short time and when he return he took up a position behind me. My legs were locked into place and I knew the muscles would cramp severely when I moved them, so I stayed still, waiting.

  His hands found my testicles and lifted them. He plucked at the skin between them and my penis. Suddenly a terrible pair stabbed me there, as sharp as a knife wound. I screamed. My legs attempted to jerk together, but the Leader's strong hand rested against my bottom and pressed it down, keeping me from moving. Within seconds the pain lessened yet was still strong. Something cool, like metal, slid against that thin tender skin.

  "You are of the brotherhood now. Do not shame us."I heard the Leader walk across the floor. A door opened and closed. I was alone.

  It took me the better part of an hour to move my legs. The area between my cock and balls felt on fire. Gingerly I touched there and discovered a small metal ring had been slipped through the loose flesh from which dangled a long slender piece of metal forged to resemble a penis.

  Slowly I slid across the floor until finally I was able to climb to my knees. Leg cramps crippled me and it was all I could do to get to my small cot.

  I lay in a pool of agony. The fire under my cock. My spasming leg muscles. The lacerations across my back. All this combined with the agony of knowing that in the morning I would be leaving this place, and the Leader—the taste of him lingered in my mouth, his juices still flowed down my legs.

  It did not take much for me to imagine my life ending there and then, for what awaited me in England but living death.

  Part 4 - Dr. Steward

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Gentlemen, enter, please."

  Dr. John Steward stood aside to let Arthur Holmwood and Quincey Morris into his office. He gestured to leather chairs then took a seat on the other side of his walnut desk. He examined his friends.

  Arthur had always struck him as a handsome man, of medium height, with an aristocratic face, very well heeled. He had boxed at prep school and was still in excellent condition—his shoulders and chest muscular, his hips trim. John had met the rough-but-good-looking Quincey in a London pub only a fe
w months before. He had introduced the men to one another and both to the pleasures of Miss Lucy Westenra's boudoir. The three, with so much in common, had become friends.

  John closed the office door and the screaming from the patients in the asylum dimmed, but the sound did not disappear altogether. His guests, unaccustomed to the self-inflicted tortures of the insane, were clearly uncomfortable.

  John lifted the cut glass decanter of brandy on his desk and raised his eyebrows. Arthur shook his head but Quincey, in his forthright American way said, "Hell, don't mind if I do," and held two fingers sideways.

  After John poured Quincey's drink, he sat back in his chair, the rich scents of leather and brandy mixing with the masculine odors permeating the room. The sight of his robust friends pleased him and gave him courage. "I think you both know why I've asked you here."

  "Lucy," Arthur said.

  Quincey, who downed the liquor in one gulp, banged the glass onto the desk and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "She's acting strange, that's for sure."

  "Strange," John added, "is an understatement. Have either of you seen her this past week?"

  Both men shook their heads.

  "Well, neither have I, and I am concerned. Frankly, the Lucy I know and love appears to have vanished and been replaced by a rather limp personality."

  "Perhaps," suggested Arthur, "her friend, Mrs. Harker, is responsible in some way for this shift."

  "Nope," Quincey said firmly. "Mina and Lucy go way back."

  "Mina, is it? You sound familiar. The three of you spent time together?"

  "Some. Enough for me to know she didn't bring about the kind of change in Miss Lucy we're seeing. Hell, Lucy wouldn't even see me this week, and the fancy harness I ordered from Texas just came in! She was lookin' forward to it."

  "And I've had a similar experience," John added. "When I've called for my semi-weekly sessions, she has avoided me. What strikes me as the anomaly in Miss Lucy's life is her acquaintance with one Count Dracula."

  "Who the hell is he?" Quincey wanted to know.

  "A wealthy royal from Romania, or some such place," Arthur said with obvious distaste. "Lucy told me about him, in brief, yesterday, when I visited. She had no time for me in private yet condescended to speak whilst en route. Apparently this Count has purchased property all over Whitby. He's a neighbor, she says."

  "He escorted her to the theater one evening," John said.

  "And the fireworks display on the holiday."

  Quincey scratched the back of his neck. "Either you fellows met this Count? What's he like?"

  "I've not met him," Arthur said.

  "Nor I," John contributed. "But this much I do know: apparently Lucy sees him nightly, which is why she has had no time for any of us. Hence the purpose of this meeting."

  John opened a walnut snuff box and offered it around. Quincey, who had apparently never tried snuff, said, "You only live once."

  He followed John's lead and held the snuff on his finger tip, then inhaled sharply. A happy look spread on his face and he nodded eagerly. The tobacco was obviously to his liking. Within second he pulled out a large white handkerchief and blew his nose.

  As John closed the box he said, "I've convinced Mrs. Harker to extend her visit because I believe Lucy needs someone to keep an eye on her. It is my opinion as a physician that Miss Westenra is suffering from a malady of some sort, the nature of which eludes my expertise. Consequently, I have called in an specialist."

  "And who might that be?" Arthur inquired.

  "Professor Abraham Van Helsing. He was my master at the university where I studied in Amsterdam. The doctor has both a scientific mind and an intrinsic knowledge of human nature. He is a metaphysician. If there is anyone who can discover what has annihilated our Lucy's spirit, it is Dr. Van Helsing."

  "You've made a wise move."

  "If he can revive that little heifer, he's got my vote!"

  Quincey said, helping himself to more snuff.

  "Then I have the confidence of you both?"

  The two men nodded.

  "Good. The Professor arrives on the morrow. I shall bring Lucy here to see him at once, against her will if need be." John jumped to his feet. "Lucy must be returned to us as she once was."

  "Here here!" Arthur jumped up and stretched out a hand.

  "She sure was a little spitfire," Quincey added, clutching the hand, "and I'd hate to lose her."

  John joined in. He felt they formed a triumvirate that would not be deterred in its mission to rescue their Mistress Lucy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That evening John Steward decided on an impromptu visit to the Westenra residence. The door was opened by the dour-faced Verna. He found Mina Harker in the drawing room, alone, reading a popular penny dreadful by an Irish novelist of some repute. She greeted him warmly, or as warmly as her tempered spirit permitted.

  "Dr. Steward, how nice to see you again. Would you care for tea?"

  "Thank you, but no."

  "I expect you've come to visit Lucy."

  "I have, if she's at home."

  "For the moment. She will be going out, though, shortly I believe. The Count."

  They sat on divans opposite one another. This Mina was a peculiar woman. He imagined she could be quite attractive, if only she were so inclined. Her hair was a shining chestnut yet pulled back so severely it left little softness to her face. With a jaw set so, and a forehead pinched in a tight, worried expression, she looked never far from despair. The drab clothing she wore hung loose and did not permit even a mild guess as to the shape of her body. And yet he could see something in her dull eyes, like the twinkle of a fragment of diamond deeply embedded in rock, awaiting liberation.

  "Tell me, Mrs. Harker—"

  "Please, call me Mina."

  "Mina. Have you noticed any changes in Lucy of late, other than the ones we spoke of last week?"

  She tilted her head to one side and crossed her arms under her breasts, gripping her elbows. Those arms acted as a shelf, pulling the grey fabric of her blouse taut and lifting her bosom so it swelled.

  "I can only tell you that I have seen even less of Lucy than before. She sleeps all day and shamelessly gallivants with this Count Dracula all night. Apparently he takes her on wild coach rides to the opera, the botanical gardens, further into the country, and God knows where else. Twice I was awoken by the carriage returning just before dawn. I looked from my bedroom window to see Lucy helped to the door by a tall man dressed like an undertaker in somber black. Once I stepped into the hallway as she reached the top of the stairs. She looked weakened, in fact, she could hardly stand. I had the impression she was in pain, although her face glowed with health and vitality. 'Oh Mina,' she sighed when she saw me, 'I've had the most exquisite experience. The Count is like no one I've met before. All fall by the wayside in comparison'. She clutched my hand earnestly and said, 'You must meet him. You must! You will not be the same!'..."

  John interrupted. "Has a meeting been arranged?"

  "Why, I believe I shall make his acquaintance this very evening, when he arrives to call for her, which should be shortly. Ah, the bell. That must be him."

  "Good!" John stood in a determined way, which brought Mina to her feet as well. "We shall greet him together."

  He extended his arm to guide her to the hallway. She was a small woman, slimmer than Lucy and not as voluptuous, or at least he did not believe so, from what he could see.

  As she held his arm, his elbow brushed her breast. He glanced and saw her face color.

  Verna opened the door. On the other side stood one of the most powerful men John Steward had ever seen, rivaled only by

  Abraham Van Helsing himself.

  The man who entered the foyer presented an imposing figure. His strength was physical—a marvelous physique, a classically handsome face with chiseled features, if pale as marble, and the most penetrating black eyes. And yet his strength surpassed the physical and John had the impression of an iron will tha
t could not be crushed.

  "I am Dracula," he said in a deep, rich voice, bowing slightly.

  When John recovered his own voice, he put out a hand. "Dr. John Steward, Miss Westenra's personal physician, at your service, sir." The hand was ignored.

  The Count regarded him as he might appraise an item for purchase, to determine its fragility. John felt paralysed under that sharp stare. Hungry eyes stripped him naked and conducted such a severe examination that John's cock was brought up firm as if it had been stroked. Clearly, the man knew the effect he was having.

  He turned his attention to Mina and a slight smile lifted the corners of his cruel lips. He scanned her body, as if deciding how best this sofa might be reupholstered: new springs, stuffing, definitely a more elegant fabric. She stared at him with some hostility, which the Count obviously found amusing. "Mrs. Harker," he said, "I have heard much about you and feel I know you in spirit, if only from now in the flesh."

  "And I have heard of you."

  For Mina he extended a hand and reluctantly she gave him hers. He brought it to his lips in the European manner. The kiss lasted longer than was socially acceptable, further embarrassing her as she was helpless to do anything but wait until he finished. "I have been impatient to meet you. Of course, Mr. Harker was a guest at my home. He was more than kind to my wife, who was starved for company, and I am eager to repay him."

  Once her hand was free, Mina hid it behind her back. She gave the Count a fresh look filled with venom. John marvelled at her tenacity, for he himself felt the eminent danger this man emitted and, for the moment anyway, held his peace.

  "Count Dracula," Mina said, "I have not heard from my errant husband in quite some time. Perhaps you can tell me his whereabouts."

  The Count's smile broadened. His eyes glittered and for a moment flashed a hint of red like an animal's eyes in the light. They never left Mina's, which seemed to mortify her. "A woman such as yourself should not tolerate an errant mate when so many men would do your bidding. I can assure you that I left him in in the capable hands of my wife, Magda, for I had business to attend to in Whitby. Perhaps he is still enjoying her hospitality."