Darker Passions: Dracula Read online

  He deposited me abruptly at the small window and threw open the casement. We were several stories above ground level. Cold night air blew against my shivering naked body.

  "Count Dracula, I do not know what to say," I stammered. "How to beg for forgiveness—"

  "There is no forgiveness, only revenge!" he said in a quiet voice that terrified me.

  He pinned my arms behind me with only one hand and opened his mouth. Long eye teeth appeared before my startled eyes. His face was a mask of hunger and dominance. In the semi-darkness his eyes flashed red and angry and I waited, shaking, expecting that my life would soon come to a close.

  He plunged his teeth into my throat. The sharp piercing of my jugular turned into a steady burning pain, as if the teeth were made of smouldering tinder. I was hardly able to move under his strong grasp but my hips managed to squirm against him. His body was a rock of masculinity. I felt his enormous cock through his clothing, hard and insistent against mine, and a thrill passed through me. My own member stiffened. His lips pulled at the skin of my throat and I had the sensation of something vital leaving my body. Still, I longed to give him that and more, anything he wanted.

  When he had taken all that he cared to, he picked me up from behind by the waist and thrust me out the window. I believed he was throwing me out, to hurtle to my death on the rocky ground so far below. But he only hung me part way, so that my chest and arms swung freely in the night and my ass and legs dangled inside the room, unable to reach the floor. I gripped the large stones that formed the castle wall in terror for my life.

  Immediately I struggled to push myself up and back inside, but he tied something to my waist that held me fast where I was and all my attempts to push back met with resistance. My feet could not gain purchase and I had no way of hoisting myself into the room. I was at his mercy.

  Without, the night was windy, great gusts forcing the stark tree branches to cut the air. Wolves off in the distance howled. A full moon hung suspended in the dark sky and grey clouds lashed its surface rapidly. My upper body quickly chilled. My lower body rapidly burned.

  A switch struck my ass and I jumped. My cry was swallowed by the wind. Quickly another slash of the willow. Another. I knew from our brief acquaintance that the Count was not a man who went part way. He lashed me mercilessly, with a strength that shocked me. Nothing had prepared me for continuous and harsh punishment.

  I howled into the night, drawing the wolves to the courtyard below. Three of them looked up, their red eyes glinting in the moonlight; they wailed in what I imagined to be sympathy at the relentless torture I endured.

  The Count said not a word. I had known he was a man of few words and suspected him more inclined to action. Whatever energy would have been wasted with threats and explanations was channeled into his powerful arm as it wielded the birches to shear my bottom.

  As he struck, my legs climbed the castle's interior wall, struggling to escape. This, I now realize, resulted in offering a more prominent target for the green branches to flog.

  I know not how long he switched me. He changed tools several times, presumably as he wore them out on my hide. I had not experienced such pain for such duration and know I took it badly. The moon actually moved half across the sky before he had finished, or so I imagined.

  I lay limp, my bottom a mass of raw flesh, overcooked, my upper torso and limbs near frozen. The opposing sensations caused me to quiver and shake. I felt shame at my tears and yet they gushed from my eyes. The pulsing produced by the flagellation stiffen my cock. Because of the angle at which I lay, the wall pressed it down, rather than allowing it to furl upward.

  Two large hands spread my hot ass cheeks until the crack between them felt as if it would split. This pressed my cock down hard. I tensed, not having a clue as to what would come next. It was as though a physician examined my asshole, poking, prodding, inserting a finger in, then removing same, making assessments. What could be his intention? I wondered. I'd heard of men using other men as women, but that was in Turkey, although I suddenly realized to my horror that we were near the Turkish border and that the Count, himself, had told me he'd taken early education in that land.

  "I have no more time for you this night, Mr. Harker," Count Dracula said, as though we'd been discussing British customs the way we had on the previous evening. The implication in his tone was that our intimate discussion would be continued at some future time. He continued, "You understand, I must see to Magda and her comfort or lack thereof."

  What happened next I can only vaguely describe. Pain cleft me in two. An object so large I could not comprehend its nature impaled me in that same hole. It tore into me so deeply I immediately let out a wail that cracked the night.

  After that I lost consciousness until the Count came for me later and took me to the tower room where I was compelled to punish Magda, who in her turn, got revenge.

  As I hung on the rack Magda had affixed me to, that diabolical leather cock remained firmly planted. A constant reminder of the Count's power. Not only had he not removed it for two nights, but I expected I would be wearing it at least until the following evening, and I was not disappointed.

  But a peculiar thing occurred. By the time Magda had me tied to the rack, helpless under her Spanish bull whip, the Count's legacy intruding into my anus had begun to feel necessary. It was painful, no question, and yet there was a comfort to such pain, as though he were a part of me. It brought a clear picture of being held tightly in his arms while he took from my neck and then mastered me completely and silently with the birches, with no warning and no ability on my part to sway him. Never had I met anyone so powerful, so completely in control. Never had I been so absolutely mastered.

  Magda disrupted my thoughts. "Jonathan, we are but half finished, and I have a question for you. Your wife, how do you fuck her?"

  Her impertinence infuriated me yet there was nothing I could do but answer; after all, she had the whip. "My wife is a loving woman."

  "That is not an answer, but leads to a different question. Have you whipped her or been whipped by her?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. We are British. Civilized, although you in this part of the world do not know the meaning of the word."

  Magda found the ring at the end of the leather penis. She jiggled it, setting my anus to spasm. "What of your fantasies, Jonathan? Can you not see her across your knee? Can you not imagine the sting as her hand slaps your ass?" She punctuated her question by spanking first one of my ass cheeks, then the other.

  I did not confide this to Magda, but in truth, I have had such fantasies. But fantasies they can only be. Mina is not the type of woman who would ever consent to such erotic play. She is from a good family, of high moral values. Once, when we saw two hounds rutting in the streets of Kensington, she nearly fainted.

  Our lovemaking has been disappointing at best, done in the dark, under the sheets, twice weekly. Just remembering it made my erection wither. Magda, though, fixed that.

  While I had been silently reminiscing, she had been preparing for another onslaught.

  "Perhaps this will help clarify your thoughts."

  Leather snaked across my ankles one at a time. With quick precision she moved up my calves, alternating, then the backs of my thighs. These areas were totally unprepared for such treatment. The muscles in my legs cramped as the skin burned.

  She stopped short of my ass cheeks. I knew something was about to occur; she had whipped everywhere along my hind side but my buttocks. My body sang loudly, all but my ass, and it quivered in anticipation of a forced solo.

  "I saved the best for the finale," she said, reading my thoughts exactly. "Tell me, Jonathan, which do you prefer? To be the whipper or the whippee? Think carefully."

  I felt that either answer would be wrong, or perhaps both were correct. Still, I did not trust Magda. I was under no delusion that my ass flesh would escape her searing leather.

  "I am disposed to neither," I said, hoping for the best.

  "I do
not believe you. I think you are inclined one way or the other but out of training perhaps are afraid to say which."

  "Fine," I told her. "Make me the whippee, then, as you will anyway."

  She said nothing to that, as if she were considering my answer. She rubbed more of the oil that burns into the flesh of my ass. Not having been whipped before I could not say with any certainty that the oil greatly increased the pain, but I knew Magda had a reason for using it and that was my guess. Her fingers kneaded and squeezed my ass cheeks, rubbing them in all directions. The irritating sensations mingled with those of the rest of my burning flesh and my re-hardening cock.

  "You have a firm body and yet it is soft in places. You are not yet a man."

  "Woman, if only I were free," I warned her, feeling outrageous in my hopelessness, "I would take you this minute, here, on the floor, and you would know a man at last."

  Astonishingly enough, she undid my restraints. I was a free man again, although a bit worse for wear.

  "Well, was it only a hollow promise?"

  "Promise?" I said, although of course I knew to what she referred.

  She pointed at my cock, still swollen with desire, then flicked the end of the whip across him several times.

  But I had had enough of her whipping. I grabbed the woman and threw her to the floor. She had lacerated my body and now I would lacerate her.

  I held her down and spread her legs apart with my knees. My cock was famished from its long night of nasty treatment and found her oven easily. I rammed into her deep. A smile spread across her face as I thrust in and out hard. Her legs wrapped around my waist, forcing me in farther. It was as though her cunt too had been starved and I the source that would feed her.

  Within second she arched her body and screamed, her cunt contracting fiercely around me. I thrust deeper, my cock on the verge of exploding.

  But the explosion came across my ass. My body jolted, lifting both myself and Magda from the floor. The whip cracked down on me again. The hand that held it was far stronger than Magda's and I knew instantly to whom it belonged.

  "You are once again occupied with my wife, Mr. Harker. If I were you, I would hasten to finish the task you have so thoughtlessly begun!"

  The leather tore into my ass again. I could do nothing but what I had been ordered to do.

  Magda lay beneath me laughing. Her cunt tightened around me, encouraging me to fulfillment, but the lash made it difficult to concentrate. I moved jerkily, my fragile rhythm broken with every crack. I did not know how to help myself. The pain from his hand was almost unbearable and yet if I broke down I felt he would beat me harder. I did not know if he would desist even if I fed my juices to his wife or if that would inspire him to greater heights of fury. All I could do was as he bid me and hope that in some way he would take this as an act of compliance and that my submission would appease him.

  The scourge carved me over and over while I struggled to convince my engorged penis to complete the assignment it had undertaken. Finally, with Magda's help, for she caught my balls in her hand and squeezed them hard, I came.

  Rich white liquid flowed out of me and into her in pulsing waves. I lay exhausted on top of her, my body singed from head to toe, my ass particularly wounded. I felt like throbbing pain personified. I could not move had I wanted to. I was completely at their mercy.

  The Count bent down and grabbed the ring at the end of the leather penis and hauled me to my feet, causing a great piercing inside me. There was a look in his eyes that I took, rightly or wrongly, for approval. I had, barely, done something right, although I was almost dead with the effort.

  "You and your leather have made him a man," the Count said to Magda.

  "No, my lord, it was your masterful guidance that affected him most."

  The Count's smile frightened me. "Time will tell if the experience lingers or if further guidance is required."

  He grabbed me flailed ass and pulled me to him. I groaned in pain. I could feel his hands sliding over wetness. Before I collapsed into a faint, I saw those teeth exposed, dagger sharp, aimed at my throat. And behind him Magda, her canines similar, her eyes focusing down, hell bent on the vein in my still erect cock.

  Chapter Twelve

  I know not how long I lay in that bed. Days, certainly. I was in a dream of sorts, waking and sleeping, delirious.

  At one point I recall the Count's face above mine, the sternness of his countenance both thrilling and terrifying. One night I heard a scraping at my window and dragged my torn body there. A large bat with red eyes fluttered against the pane. I locked the casement, then changed my mind and opened the window to look out. It must have been an hallucination because I thought I saw the count crawling down the castle wall like a rodent, but that is not possible. On another occasion noise outside my window drew me there again. I peered to the ground far below. A rustic cart was being loaded with long dark boxes by the light of the moon. Waking or sleeping brought another vision. The Count's three wives, Magda closest to my bed, their large teeth gleaming in the candlelight, eying my body as if it were meat to be consumed. "Can we have him now?" the slim girl begged. "He is not healed sufficiently," Magda told her, applying a soothing salve to my wounds. "In a night or two, when his fever passes. We do not want to use him too quickly." The rotund girl asked, "When will the Master return?" Magda looked in my eyes, hers flashing crimson. "When his business in England is finished. When his business with Mrs. Harker is finished."

  "No!" I screamed. "He must leave Mina alone. I will not have it!"

  The three witches laughed at me, and indeed I must have appeared a pathetic sight. Bruised, bleeding, feverish to the point of being incapacitated. But the idea of my precious Mina in the hands of the sadistic Count did more to heal my wounds than the herbal balms. These three only wanted me restored in order to inflict further tortures. While the idea did not repel me, my concern for Mina, that fragile flower, was a far greater incentive to strengthen myself.

  It was daylight when the fever passed. I was very weak. Still, I knew I must use the day time, for I could function while the sun shone, and they could not. I tied the bed covers together, as well as other bits of fabric, and affixed one end to the solid bedpost. The window was narrow but I managed to ease through it, half naked—only my trousers had been left in the room.

  As I glanced below, I realized I could more easily drop to my death than make it to safety. The wall was high and steep, the stones that composed it jagged. And I was exceptionally weak.

  I descend slowly, my foot slipping, the weakness in my arms causing me to slide down the makeshift rope. My hands were abrased from the slip and yet I had to continue.

  When I reach the end of my makeshift rope, I was still far from the ground. There was nothing to do but let go. I hit the dirt with a thud, landing on my side, and wondered what bones I had broken from the impact and how many.

  This exertion had nearly done me in and I was forced to rest until fear and rage revitalized me. I crawled on my hands and knees to the drawbridge and unraveled the chains to lower it. On the other side lay the dirt road they call the Borgo Pass that had brought me here what seemed like a lifetime ago. The Pass is narrow, one side hugging the mountains, the other dropping off into oblivion. I could do nothing but stagger down it, clutching the mountain side.

  The air was chilling, but the sun warmed me. Waterfalls along the mountain refreshed me. But as the sun sank in the sky, the temperature dropped and I knew that come dark, it would plummet. And darkness comes early and stays late in that part of the world.

  But luck was seemingly on my side. A cart driven by a gypsy rumbled behind me. I hailed the driver, a swarthy fellow who found me suspicious looking but stopped anyway. I clambered aboard what was really a box on wheels. Recent events had left me too fragile and my eyes closed to the rhythm of the horses clomping. I fell asleep with the memory of the Count's birches marking my hide.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I awoke it was dark. I did n
ot know where I was, but I knew I am on a vessel of some kind in the middle of a body of murky water.

  The gypsy was nowhere to be seen. Beside me I found a flask of bitter wine like the Greeks drink and a small loaf of black bread. I consumed both greedily.

  I glanced around the deck. A man, obviously the captain of the ship, was at the helm. A dark-skinned crew member sat aft smoking a pipe. Under the light of the moon, I saw him glare at me. Suddenly I heard a sound nearby. I turned. A man was being tied to a pillory by two others. A fourth man with massive arms and chest, naked, swung a long whip with nine strips of leather at the end onto the bare back of the bound man. The sailor cried out as he was lashed.

  The sight filled me with horror and excitement but I was too exhausted and weak and all I could do was lie back down on the deck and fall asleep to the cries and the slapping of the lash against flesh.

  When next I awoke, I was once more on land, and wondered if the ship was reality or a dream. I was now in another cart, not as rustic as the gypsy's. This wagon sported a cover from the sun, which beat down relentlessly. I was warmer than I have been in a long time, and covered with sweat. As we rumbled along, I could only get glimpses out the back opening of a land with gentle rolling hills, not stark and mountainous but verdant. Agricultural land. Row after row of vines made me realize this was wine-growing country. I imagined I was somewhere around the Mediterranean but had no idea how I arrived there, yet I was grateful to the divine providence which had seen fit to send me home where I might rescue Mina from the clutches of Count Dracula.

  We traveled the day—food and wine having been provided for me—and just after sunset the cart stopped. I got out, only to find the driver nowhere in sight.

  Before me stood a stone wall into which a Gothic door has been fitted. I approached and knocked. Soon it was flung open and a man wearing a long robe with a hood nearly obscuring his face answered.