Darker Passions: Dracula Read online

  "I...I...well," I stammered, "I do not know where I am. I am trying to get home to England."

  The man said nothing but stepped aside for me to pass. I entered and the heavy door was locked behind me. We walked through a garden, but the light was too dim for me to see much of it, although from the smell I gathered vegetables and legumes were growing. Another arched door appeared leading into a large whitewashed structure and we passed through that as well. Another corridor led to another door, as if we are headed toward some inner sanctum, and each Gothic door, as we entered, was locked behind.

  I confess to being nervous. This appeared to be some religious order, but of what variety I could not tell. The corridors held a dank odor and I felt the floor slope downward as though we were headed into the bowels of the earth. I followed the man who led me in silence, because he was utterly silent, even to my brief inquiries, although perhaps he and I did not speak the same tongue. Our feet padded on the stone floor and his robe rustled as he moved. I still could not see his face, shadowed as it was by the hood, but there was something ominous about all this.

  Eventually, when we had passed through seven doors, we entered a large circular chamber, with many doors leading off from it. He pointed to a worn bench in the middle of the room. I sat and watched him leave by one of the doors.

  This place was sparsely furnished, only a cupboard of sorts and a long altar, very plain. The walls were stucco and across them hung beams with hooks. Attached to the hooks were gleaming chains and leather harnesses that, from the weights hanging down, appeared to work on a pulley system. I could not ascertain their purpose, though. All this I saw by the light of a hundred large beeswax candles spread about the room in wrought iron sconces attached to the walls.

  I waited for what seems an inordinate length of time, wondering if I'd been forgotten, contemplating following the man who led me here. I stood, having determined to do just that, when suddenly a door opened opposite the one he exited by.

  Another man in a hooded robe entered, this one enormous, both tall and large. He walked with purpose and stopped in front of me. Most of the candles were behind him but as I looked up into his face I saw glimmers of serious features and a very determined-looking chin. Candle light flickered in his dark eyes and for a moment I was reminded of the Count. I felt myself shrink before him and experienced an urge to go down on my knees.

  "My name is Jonathan Harker. I am a realtor from London," I blustered, hoping to disguise my nervousness. I stretched out a hand which was left hanging in the air. "I'm on my way home to England and have arrived here, I'm not sure how."

  The opening was not taken by him and I was forced to continue. "My wife, Mina, is in England awaiting me. If I might write to her, let her know where I am, she will at once send money for my safe return."

  Of course, this made me sound like a simpleton in the hollowness of this cavernous space. This large fellow still said nothing and I added, "Excuse me, but if you can tell me where I am...?"

  Finally he spoke, in a voice deep and rich, slightly accented yet impeccable in its use of the English language. The voice had a familiar ring to it and again I was reminded of Count Dracula. "You have arrived at the door of the Pray for Mercy Sanctuary, the home of a spiritual order, which by now you have no doubt gathered. We provide food, clothing and shelter for travelers en route. Our code prohibits receiving compensation for our services, but there are other forms of payment required. You may stay as long as you are in need. There are, however, rules which must be followed if you are to remain, and followed to the letter."

  "Rules? And what might these be?"

  "All who enter here must be alleviated of the burdens which they have brought with them."

  "Now that I have escaped a bondage to which I was subjected against my will, I have no burdens."

  "I speak of a different purification, as you will soon see. Come."

  Apparently I had no choice in the matter. I suppose I could have demanded he take me back through the locked doors to the outside, but what would I have done then? Sleep in a vineyard? Eat the tart fruit? Awaken in the morning chilled by the dew and prone to more fever? I was no fool, and I followed him.

  We entered a small chamber with a rough wooden bench and nothing more. As he exited, two more of these 'brothers' as I'd come to think of them, entered carrying buckets of water.

  Without haste, they stripped me of my ragged clothing and proceeded to wash away the grime from my journey with a fragrant glycerin soap. Their ministrations felt both soothing and refreshing. One scrubbed the front of my body, the other my back. They reached the area below my waist at the same time. The brother behind rubbed his wet cloth down the crack in my ass, cleansing in particular that poor anus the Count had stretched so brutally. The one in front of me washed my cock and balls, soaping them and rinsing several times, squeezing water from his cloth so that it cascaded like a waterfall over my genitals. Between the two of them I was becoming aroused, which they were keenly aware of, and which embarrassed me greatly.

  When I was clean, they handed me a robe like the ones they wore. I slipped the heavy wood garment over my head and tied the rope belt around my waist. I had just begun to raise the hood, in the fashion of this place, when one of my bathers grabbed my hand to stop me. I slipped on the leather sandals against the cold of the marble floor and, assuming my purification complete, I followed them back into the main room.

  The room was no longer empty but crowded. The air was permeated with the scent of sweat and sandalwood incense. Men in hooded robes stood rigid and silent against the walls, watching. A row of a dozen men in robes faced the altar, their hands bound behind them. I was led to the end of this row. Immediately one of the bathers tied my wrists together with a scratchy cord.

  "Now, see here—" I began.

  "Silence!" It was the booming voice of the giant. Terror snaked through me and I clamped my mouth shut. I was turned like the others in the row to face the altar.

  One by one a pair of hands was placed on the shoulders of the men to my left and they were forced to their knees, I being the last. A second set of hands pushed us forward, and we toppled like dominoes, faces pressed to the cold stone floor, our backsides high in the air. Chains were wound around our waists and looped from one to the next, then pulled taut and affixed to bollards at each end of the row. Once more the hands moved down the row, rolling each man's robe up and affixing the roll under the rope belt so that his legs and ass were exposed.

  I found this action an outrage and yet there was an odd excitement about being bare assed before the eyes of a hundred strange men whom I knew were inspecting me.

  A glance to the left showed me the face of the man beside me. His brown eyes met mine. They were a peculiar mix of terror and exhilaration, reflecting, quite likely, my own.

  "You who are to be purged, take heed!" the giant said. "Through the anguish of the flesh, all will be released that should not dwell within you. You will be as reborn, under the power of the hand that guides mine. It is but a small sacrifice in a larger plan."

  He walked between our row of penitents and the altar. In his hand he held what appeared to be a polished stick that he brushed along each man's face so that it ran the length of the row. When he reaches me I realized the stick was in fact a handle to which were attached nine strands, each braided raw leather with small metal studs imbedded in the weave. I do not know if it was my imagination, but he seemed to linger when he reached me, running the strands over my face and back again. The man next to me seethed with jealousy.

  "Skin so fair," the giant said at last, meaning me, as I was the only truly fair-skinned man in attendance. "So unaccustomed to the rigors of the flesh." My face colored and I was grateful that none but the chap to my left saw.

  The large man, obviously the Leader of this order, walked behind us again and to the opposite end of the row. "Each of you in turn will repeat the request, 'I am in further need,' until that need has been sated. But woe to the man who di
shonors himself with lies, for his punishment shall be increased tenfold."

  I heard a sharp crack, a groan, then a shaky voice repeat, "I am in further need." Another crack, a different voice, the same statement. The cries and words that bounced off the high ceiling grew louder as the man with the whip moved down the row. The air turned dense and the pungent odor of sweat increased.

  When the cat-o-nine tails struck the fellow next to me, his eyes rolled into his head and a beatific smile spread across his features. Eagerly he repeated the request.

  Suddenly the cat spoke to me. Nine stripes landed smartly across my ass. The fine tip of each strand cut into me. My cry was loud and spontaneous. If not for the chains holding me in place, I would have fallen sideways from such a multiple stinging blow. I was struck dumb with shock. Within seconds the whip slashed me again, sending nine more burning stripes across my backside, the little metal studs adding an extra bite. I felt confused. No other man received two. What had I done? By the time I realized it was what I had not done, the cat snapped across me anew. Through the pain of fiery flesh, I yelled, "I am in further need!"

  A sound like approval came from the Leader. He returned to the start of the row and the ritual began all over again, each man in turn getting the cat, each repeating the need. The room grew hot, the tension palpable.

  By round five my bottom screamed for relief. I was beside myself. The pain felt nearly unbearable and yet I was, to my surprise, bearing it. I took the fifth and a sixth. At the tenth round I heard others drop like flies.

  Soon the number reached fifteen and only the man to my left and myself remained. The blows, of course, came faster with only two. My skin was now so lacerated that even the air currents pained me. It had become a point of honor to outlast this man. He took a sixteenth, multiplied by nine of course, and I a sixteenth. Tears that had long ago sprang to my eyes now gush, but I refused to quit.

  We both took a seventeenth and requested more. His body trembled uncontrollably and mine did likewise. I felt I would rather die than take the lash again, and yet I could not live with myself if I let this man best me.

  Expectation filled the room. Sweat poured down my face and along my sides under the scratchy wool. My head felt empty from the bearing of too much pain. I heard myself scream out, "I am in further need!" as the eighteenth cat walloped me raw.

  The face of the fellow next to me was beet red, about as red as I suspected his bottom to be. He took the nineteenth. His eyes rolled into his head but this time no words came from his mouth. He fainted.

  I received the whip again. My lower body roasted over an open fire. Scars that formed from my session with Magda and from the Count's fury had reopened and the cat gouged deep. I knew it was madness to go on, and yet I must best this man or I would feel I was nothing. "I am in further need!" I cried.

  The cat kissed me one last time. I heard the echo of my scream careen around the walls, joined by the cheers of the crowd. Our cries filled the great chamber with what must be the last sound that existed in the universe. It was, in any event, the last thing I recall hearing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How I arrived at a bed, I do not know. My lips were dry, my mouth parched. I felt chilly, and the blanket not heavy enough even over the thick robe. I lay on a narrow cot in pitch darkness on my stomach, shivering in terror, groaning in agony. My bottom was sorely wounded and would not heal quickly, of that I was certain.

  Pain forced me to question myself and my motives. To proceed as I had, had been insane. What was my reward for winning but being incapacitated? And yet even in the darkness of that abominable cell, my face split into a grin. Outlasting the one beside me was sweet. And more, proving that my English hide was not so soft—I would have given anything to have seen the face of the Leader! Twenty lashes with a cat-o-nine-tails. Twenty times nine. One hundred and eighty stripes! Had any man in history endured so? I doubted it.

  Even as I felt this pride welling, my cock lifted as if raising a flag to proclaim my triumph. The pain I suffered was worth it.

  A sound distracted me from my revelry. The door to my cell opened. I squinted at the light. Through blurred vision I saw an immense figure fill the doorway.

  I partly turned, for a better view, increasing my physical anguish.

  The Leader, and I know it was he, entered the chamber, locking the door behind him, plunging me once again into darkness. A quiver of fearful expectation rippled through me.

  He came straight to the head of the low cot. Without light I could not see him, but I smelled his rich odors—sweat from his exertions, a powerful musky, manly scent. I heard scraping—he pulled something to the head of the bed—and rustling, as if he were lifting his robe. With one strong hand, he grabbed my hair and yanked me forward until my head no longer rested on the cot. The same firm hand clutched my jaw and pressed the sides; my mouth popped open in response.

  Without warning, his cock filled my mouth. The long hard flesh forces its way to the back of my throat. I nearly gagged but controlled myself both out of pride and a desire to see what would occur next.

  The delicious scent of him, the sweet-tart taste of his firm flesh inside me brought my senses to the fore. I licked and sucked his giant member quite naturally, as if I have been doing so all my life. I let him use me as a tool for pleasure. My mouth hungered for him, sucking hard and fast, taking him down into my burning throat in a way I knew I would have enjoyed being taken. His powerful manhood thrust into me and I opened, wanting to receive all he had to give.

  His cock became aggressive. His skin heated up and the member itself swelled. A powerful volcano erupted in my mouth. Greedily I swallowed his molten juices, letting them singe their way down my throat until I felt filled with his man-potency.

  I licked him clean, that enormous cock still erect even after its great discharge. Every aspect of my being was sated and complete. His hand had spared me nothing and his cock had enjoyed me fully. I could do nothing but honor the man and feel honored that he had so chosen me to be the receptacle of his masculine power.

  That night I slept and dreamed of fire that burns but does not consume. When I awoke I was refreshed. Each movement seared me with the precious agony the Leader had inflicted and I grew weak in the knees at the memory of him within me. To be mastered so completely, to have my will bent to his...

  I made it my first order of business to heal. My second priority was to further absolve myself under his guidance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next weeks with the aid of the brothers my wounds mended. I took leisurely strolls in the garden, drank their very dry wine and ate their strong cheeses and the dense black bread they baked in stone ovens. As there was little to do, when I felt comfortable sitting, I composed a letter to Mina.

  Mina. I felt estranged from her. It was as though we were on different continents and spoke different languages. The memory of her dry, subdued demeanor caused me far greater agony than the stripes on my backside. I did not know what to say to her, only that I required funds to see me through the rest of the journey. But, in truth, I believed the journey had ended for me. How could I return to a life devoid of passion? My fragile bride with her prudish ways and moralistic attitudes bored me to tears. And yet I must return. For did not Magda infer that Count Dracula himself would be calling on Mina? I shuddered to think of what would happen to that girl under his power, although the idea of Mina undergoing some of what I had experienced at the castle at the hands of the infamous Count brought my cock up to full height.

  As my strength increased, one night I took my place along the round wall of the main chamber to watch the Leader flog six more penitents.

  Witnessing the bare bottoms quiver as they were lashed to bits almost rivaled the exquisite agony of being lashed. The Leader himself filled me with such awe and fear and longing I could hardly breathe. Twice, when the cat was raised and his sleeve fell back, I glimpsed an arm straining with well-defined muscles driven to maximum exertion. My cock as
cended and my balls tightened, remembering another of his muscles straining against my lips.

  Later, in the dark, his sweat-soaked body found me, his rod separating my lips to travel to the back of my dry throat, demanding that I receive him fully. And I did. I cried out in joy as his hot fluids washed over me and into me. I felt cleansed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I had been three weeks at the Sanctuary. My wounds had healed and by day I was set to work, scrubbing floors, tending the garden, oiling the leathers that were used for a variety of purposes. At night I entered a realm of ecstasy wherein the Leader exacted purification from his supplicants, first in the great hall, later in a private manner with me and me alone.

  I had entered a dream state; my life took on an unreal quality. At times I forget entirely that I had a life in England, a wife, a vocation.

  And then, one afternoon a parcel arrived by special courier. It was from Mina. It contained funds, which I would need for my return, and a letter. In it she advised that she was visiting her spoiled friend Lucy. Her plan had been to return to our home but events forestalled that. Lucy, it seems, underwent a mysterious personality change, all on meeting a gentleman new to the country, a certain Count Dracula.

  My heart sank. Lucy had fallen under the Count's spell. And Mina was at risk. I must leave. I had obligations. I sought out the Leader, whose face I still had not seen, and explained all this to him.

  "You must be fortified against the callous world," he said wisely. "Tonight you will participate in a ceremony to preserve the purity of purpose you have learned on your knees before me."

  After sunset, as the outer walls grew chilly and the brothers retreated to the innermost sanctum, we lighted our candles and gathered around the altar. There must have been fifty men present, including the Leader, who stood two heads above the rest.