CHILD BRIDES OF DRACULA

Feature Writer: Vladmir
Feature Title: Child Brides of Dracula
Contact Email: mazeppa1968@hotmail.co.uk
Uploaded: 26.10.2012
Story Codes: Mg, pedo, 1st, oral, mc, vamp, hist ]
Author’s Notes:  This is an inspired subject, and it’s always been waiting to be written IMO. I often think the whole vampire thing is a metaphor for pedophilia – lusting after the young, eternal youth etc, feeding off the innocence and lifeblood of young beauty. Deep down, a pedophile wants to be a child again, or at least possess one body and soul. It’s about sex and spiritualism at the same time. Pedophiles are modern-day vampires, and the temptations are obvious!! Keep up the holy work.

 

Child Brides of Dracula – CHAPTER ONE

No one heard the boy scream. At least, no one human. The storm obscured sight as well as sound. Clouds black as ink and heavy rain hid the crime. Winds and thunder muffled any noise. Not that many souls remained aboard ship to hear or to see.

Over the past three weeks, one by one the crew had died. No bodies, but none doubted the crewmen’s passing. Within forty-eight hours of Demeter leaving port, the first had vanished. Days later, the second. After that, as the numbers of men aboard dwindled, the terror of the survivors swelled. Three days past, the Mate had gone missing.

Mere miles from England, only the captain and the cabin boy remained breathing. Soon, only the captain.

The boy took nearly half an hour to die. Dracula drank long and deep, but even so swallowing what flowed within the lad’s veins took time. Not that he felt in any hurry. Not any longer. For more than a century Dracula had kept himself alive very nearly by willpower alone. Too few the unwary peasant or traveler in his native land. Too many the holy places to which farmers and their families might flee after sunset. In order to survive, the great vampire had needed to let himself wither. Allow his physical form to age, becoming in the end a grotesque husk as his hunger went quiescent. Until his plans could bear fruit. Years and years and years arranging every detail. When rising from the box containing his native earth in the ship’s hold, two days after leaving Varna, Dracula at last could allow the thirst free reign-and so began his physical regeneration.

When the boy’s barely breathed, his heart straining to beat the few dregs of blood still remaining, Dracula tossed him overboard as easily as any child might throw a doll.

He looked at his hands and arms. Darkness posed no problem to his eyes. The flesh sagged no longer. Skin looked more like living marble instead of desiccated parchment. Muscles flexed under smooth skin. He touched his face, running fingers along the chin and cheek and brow. It took moments to realize the truth. For days Dracula’s limbs had been growing stronger, fuller, more as they had been when he’d died, a warrior entering middle age. But no more. Feasting upon the blood of this entire ship’s company restored more than his ordinary appearance. No, he was even younger! No longer an insectile ancient, nor even a weathered man in his prime. Dracula recognized himself as he was when barely twenty!

In the darkness and fury of the storm, the king of Vampires laughed!

xxxxx

The four girls in the tower room knew their actions broke The Rules. All four knew their bedtime had been hours past. Each knew the tower room to be out of bounds. So their father had declared. Just as he declared storms no fit entertainment for young ladies. Lord Godalming believed in very strict rules for children, for girls especially, and had made his commands clear beyond doubt.

So naturally all four gathered here during the wildest storm any had ever seen!

Bianca acted as ringleader. Although not the oldest (cousin Emily, at twelve, beat her by a year), Bianca remained essentially in control of her two siblings. Nine-year-old Alice followed her lead almost automatically. Ten-year-old Susan needed little persuading. Emily-Bianca remained unsure of her, but in the end their cousin tip-toed with the others across the second floor hallway and up the stairs.

None of them knew much about the tower room, save that it was the highest point in the manor. In a previous age this turreted spot might have been the lookout point for the castle upon whose foundation the manor had been reared. A painting of said castle, roughly circular with many a rounded tower, hung in the grand foyer. All four, even Emily, knew that painting well. Lord Godalming liked pointing it out.

Large windows let them see as far as Carfax Abbey, the abandoned estate two miles down the coast, or well out to sea where ships sailed to and from nearby Whitby. On her first visit, two months past, Emily had asked what the tower had been for. Even Bianca had to finally admit she didn’t know.

“What does that matter?” she said in a voice a little deeper than one expected in an eleven-year-old girl. “Who cares? They use it as storage now.”

True enough. Mostly old furniture. Chairs, tables, sofas stained or damaged or merely out of fashion filled the room. Each girl by now had their favorite. They sat next to the window and watched the storm.

Alice squealed at an especially bright flash of lightning followed by a roll of thunder like cannon fire. She alone of the three looked like their late grandmother-pale golden curls framing a face with large blue eyes. Susan, less vocal but still trembling as she watched the storm, had straight hair roughly halfway between their mother’s red and their father’s brown. Call it auburn. Eyes of hazel. A round, pretty face dotted with freckles. Bianca’s curls were the color of their father’s hair, but her eyes had the same hazel as Susan and their mother. Her more oval face almost pressed against the glass, smiling hugely at the sight of jagged lightning shooting across the sky. Each flash, each crash of thunder seemed to her like a fireworks display.

Cousin Emily, with straight chestnut hair and big brown eyes, leaned forward as well. Resting her elbows on the inner sill and her face in her hands, she gazed into the storm without seeming to react. She barely reacted when Alice squealed.

“Shhhh” insisted Susan to her younger sister. “You might wake someone up!”

“No she’s not,” declared Bianca. “As long as she doesn’t make too much noise. The thunder’ll drown her out.” Then another cacophony of lightning lit up the sky! Bianca grinned and let out a sigh of pleasure.

“There’s a ship,” said Emily.

“What?” Susan blinked, then peered out into the night.

“No there isn’t!” Bianca didn’t bother to look.

“I saw its silhouette a few seconds ago,” said Emily. “There,” she pointed through the glass, “just ahead of us.”

All four girls strained to look into the night, but had to wait until more lightning to catch a glimpse of the ship. One whole minute passed. Then-there! A crooked spear of light flickered across the sky and they all saw it, a ship tossed upon the waves, her sails shredded in the wind!

xxxxx

Dracula knew when the Captain died. He heard the old man’s heart stop beating. Gave out over the strain no doubt. But he’d escaped feeding the vampire, having wrapped a rosary around his neck even before lashing himself to the wheel. No matter. Dracula’s thirst had finally been appeased. For now.

The schooner had nearly served its purpose. With supernatural vision Dracula gazed upon the English coast which would now be his home. His hunting grounds. A land of plenty but little superstition. Where wealth equaled power and eccentricity very nearly the ordinary state of affairs. He recognized this part of the coast from hours of study at maps. Whitby lay north of here. More importantly, his power over the winds had brought the ship within easy distance of Carfax Abbey. His new estate. If not quite a castle, it would easily do. Agents hired through intermediaries had purchased the place years ago. Since then shipments of valuables to that manor had continued in a steady if covert stream. Most especially, box after box of Dracula’s own native earth. Hundreds of such. By now nearly a ton must lie waiting for him there, along with gold and jewels and a variety of different clothes. Aboard ship, Dracula traveled with no more than he needed. He stood naked-and young again-upon the deck of the schooner and enjoyed the caress of this storm he controlled.

North, Whitby. Soon he would sent this schooner there, driven by winds to sink or beach itself. West, his new stronghold of Carfax Abbey. Slightly to the south would be Rings, so-called for the once-mighty defensive rings of its keep in ancient days. Dracula’s soon-to-be neighbors. The Holmwoods, Lords Godalming for a paltry two hundred years. Beyond that, a small village but with a railway connecting this area to all the major cities of England. A railway that would carry boxes of earth to several dozen secondary havens. York. Bath. Edinburgh. Glasgow. Bristol. London itself, largest city in the world, teeming with the life for which Dracula hungered.

He changed his shape, assuming the form of a vast dark bat with burning red eyes. No natural winged creature could safely travel in this tempest. But who would call a vampire natural? Besides, these winds remained at his command.

The bat flew towards shore, leaving the empty ship behind.

First, he decided to investigate Rings. Caution, partially. Also curiosity. But in truth he also hoped for more. Dracula was young again. He felt again the stirrings of youth. His bloodlust at last sated, now other lusts rose…

xxxxx

“Maybe it won’t crash?” Susan didn’t sound as if she believed it.

Bianca shook her head. “I think that ship is doomed.”

“That’s so sad,” Alice sighed. She had a light voice, gentle and even timid.

“Well, maybe it isn’t,” said Susan again, this time sounding even less sure.

Emily said nothing, but her expression seemed to agree with Susan. But she also remained staring out into the night, scanning for glimpses of the ship. “I think,” she said after a minute or two, “it is headed north.”

At this Susan insisted on getting beside Emily, straining for any sight. “If it doesn’t crash on the coast, then maybe they’ll all be all right after all.”

“In that case they’ll just capsize,” said Bianca. She dismissed the whole idea, finding the novelty of the ship old now.

“I doubt it’ll be in sight for much longer,” Emily said.

Susan didn’t quite pout. But she did sigh a little wistfully.

Alice in turn sighed. “I’m tired.”

“So am I for that matter,” agreed Bianca. She headed for the small staircase leading down to the rest of the manor. Alice gave a tiny jump out of her chair and followed. “Lets go back to sleep.”

Emily said nothing but she too followed Bianca. Only one of them remained at the window.

“Susan, are you coming?”

“Not yet! I still want to see the ship!”

Bianca rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs, Alice immediately beside her. Emily took a last look at Susan, still leaning against the window sill and staring out into the night. But still, she said nothing. Left Susan alone in the Tower Room.

xxxxx

Dracula, in his bat-form clutching the outside wall of the tower, heard all this. Peering down, he saw the little girl named Susan staring yet into the night. She looked delicious. With his youth restored, the one-time Voivode felt his patience struggle with desire and in this instance lose the battle. He would make of this comely child his first conquest in England, his first chosen bride. In other words, he would slake his lust upon her tender body, making of her an eager odalisque. True, this girl was but a child, but Dracula had been but a child himself when he began bedding serving girls this age. Younger, even. Besides, her youth inflamed him. And the demonic part of him longed for innocence.

Hidden by the dark and by the roar of winds, he easily scrambled around the window and below. The tiniest of balconies, not enough even for a child to stand there, jutted out from this window. Dracula reached up with the hooked point of one wing, then another, pulled himself so he could look at Susan face to face.

When his head reached a certain height, of course she saw his eyes. Red. Glowing. And naturally enough, she looked towards them.

Back in Transylvania children her age knew better. Their parents taught them to avoid gazing into any light they did not already know. For fear of precisely what happened now.

With his mind, Dracula used his gaze to set a geas upon the girl child. Two seconds after looking into those red eyes, she could no longer turn away. Realizing this, she gasped in surprise and fear-but not as much fear as a peasant in Transylvania would feel. Unlike them, she had no idea what this might mean. And the fascination of those eyes grew, until she stopped trying to look away. Ceased thinking about how strange this was, or whether she might be in any danger. Less than ten seconds after those red eyes and the mind behind them ensnared her own, Susan Holmwood loved looking into them. Never dreamt of looking away. They seemed like the most precious, and utterly beautiful stars. More, they seemed to speak to her. Like rubies singing to her in the voice of an Angel. A handsome, lonely Angel who loved only her.

Invite me to enter. Open the window and invite me inside.

Eyes unblinking, Susan did as commanded. She wanted to, longed to meet the Angel with those ruby eyes. The window’s latch lay well within her reach. She pushed it back, then pulled slightly. As the window opened, wind flew into the room, tossing her hair and pressing her nightgown against her skin. She blinked in the face of the wind. But she remembered what to do.

“Come in,” she said.

Dracula pulled himself up and shifted his form while moving forward. As he crossed the threshold of the window sill, he assumed a fully human shape. Tall, strong, skin like alabaster and hair a surprisingly light brown reaching his shoulders. Almond shaped eyes of red gazed upon Susan, and a mouth with a very thin upper lip but a very full lower one smiled. “You have done well, Susan” he whispered. He hardly had any accent at all.

Upon hearing her name, Susan gave a glorious smile. Her expression went beyond fascination or even happiness. Apart from sculpture, the male body remained a mystery to her. Yet the color of this man resembled the same polished white stone. The muscles that rippled under his skin thrilled her. So too did the member, not at all like what she’d seen in pictures and carvings of cherubs or the like. His was erect, longer, thicker, emerging from a mass or brown curls that became down as they reached higher on his body.

When he picked her up she felt a greater thrill than she’d ever known!

Dracula swept the delicious-looking girl into his arms and strode to a nearby sofa. She felt yet the entrancement of his gaze, but that would decay with time. He wanted her bound to him, flesh and soul. He meant to own her.

Once she lay upon the sofa, still gazing up at him with wonder, Dracula began undoing the buttons of her nightgown. This fact seemed to startle her, but she put up no protest. To her mind, anything this Angel desired should never be denied. She felt pleasure, even pride, as he unfastened the last button. Each side of the nightgown he then moved aside, first one then the other. She lay before him, exposed. Almost naked.

Perfect, thought Dracula. She is perfect. Her tender flesh, soft and unmarked. A few freckles sprinkled like pepper across her upper chest. A barely perceptible swelling which might one day become breasts, each with a penny-sized pink nipple in their center. Her deep breathing brought attention to those nipples. Just as a slight movement of her legs caught Dracula’s attention to her womanhood. Hairless. Unsullied.

With one hand he traced his fingers up the inside of the child’s thigh. She shivered in response. Then, sensing some idea of what he wanted-but only in the vaguest way-she relaxed her legs. Allowed them to part.

Now his fingers could reach that tiny cleft between her thighs, reach it and stroke the length of it.

“Oh!” No one of course had ever done such a thing with Susan. That this Angel wished to do so surprise her-but she found in it the beginnings of pleasure.

And as he stroked more, with greater insistence, that pleasure grew.

Soon, little Susan found herself starting to squirm as the unfamiliar but delightful sensations gre. Her breathing grew harder, and her gaze at the Angel still more worshipful. When he leaned down to brush his lips against hers, Susan whimpered in joy.

Then, he did something else. He placed his mouth upon her throat. And then…

Needles! Piercing her skin! Or something like that, because the pain was real, so terribly real, and in two spots as if his teeth were somehow longer there, longer and razor sharp! She couldn’t help but cry out!

But…somehow, she wanted it.

The stroking between her legs sent flutters Susan had never imagined through her body. Now, the bite into her throat gave even more, far more, a pleasure that drowned out that earlier joy, just as it almost swept aside the pain. Weirdly, she still felt the pain. The very great pain, of torn tender flesh. Part of Susan even felt a shiver of horror as she felt the Angel’s mouth and tongue lap at the blood seeping from her. And he swallowed it! He was drinking her blood! Yet she also felt an overwhelming sense of rightness, glory even. No less than her blood, her pain was a gift-and she took fierce joy in the power of that gift. Nothing before made her feel more intensely and wonderfully alive.

I’m smiling, she thought to herself. I am happy. Let him drink from me. Let his mouth devour me. I want this.

Dracula might have drained her, save his blood lust had already been fed. He barely took more than a mouthful of blood from the girl. Just enough to taste her, and to bind her to him. As he lifted his head away from the two tiny wounds in her throat, the vampire enjoyed her sounds of disappointment. But he had a further bond to create. One impossible to sever.

He continued stroking the now-moist slit under her fingers, and from the look on her face she clearly liked it. Good. Now he lifted a finger of his other hand and touched it against his fang. One crimson drop appeared on his finger’s tip.

“Open your mouth, Susan.”

She did as told. Lips open, tongue slightly out. Eyes wide with pleasure and puzzlement.

Dracula placed his finger into her mouth. Allowed first one then another drop of his blood to fall upon her tongue. Down her throat. Without knowing why, she closed those lips around his finger and began to suck.

That’s right Susan, drink of me, as I have drunk from you.

And she did. Even as she writhed under the rhythm of Dracula’s finger stroking one part of her, Susan eagerly used her tongue and lips to draw what little blood she could out of another. Then, her hips began to move on their own. She could not help it! Her body reacted as if the Angel were scratching some sort of sould-deep itch. It had become a need now, and his touch fulfilled it, especially now his fingers were moving faster. Oh! This was wildness! Thrilling! So much! More than she dreamed! As her little body trembled with its first orgasm, Susan let out a moan! Her mouth opened to make this and other sounds. To her disappointment, the Master’s finger then went away. She wanted it back! But for the moment nothing mattered except the waves of sensation spreading from her cunny out even to her finger tips!

One guttural sound after another emerged from her lips – that was when Dracula put something back into her mouth.

Susan’s eyes shot open as she felt something larger than any finger placed upon her lips. It was the Angel’s organ, the one so much longer and more erect than those in the pieces of art she’d seen. He expertly aimed his member past her lips and onto her tongue. Somehow she knew what to do, and began suckling upon it. Much as she had his finger. And his sigh of pleasure was a reward.

At first, all she could do was kiss and suck the very tip, the bulbous but pointed head. Susan licked it, noting how it responded by pulsing. Her two small hands reached up and held either side of the Angel’s member. That made it easier to suck. A tiny part of her mind felt shock, tried to pull away from this act, one of which she’d never dreamed and which seemed disgusting. But that voice never grew to more than a whisper, no matter how that part of her tried to scream. Most of Susan welcomed this. Loved it. The sensation of the Angel’s flesh within her mouth thrilled her, as did the taste of the liquid she drew from its tip. Metallic. Salty. Yet more, a hint of musk. She wanted more! And set about milking the Angel’s member for more-using her tongue and lips to draw as much as she could, using her hands to stroke it. She didn’t know how it was the knowledge of what to do came to her, but she used it. Her speed increased. As did the fervor with which she sucked, and how deeply she sought to bring it deeper and deeper into her mouth.

Dracula reveled. In order to survive he’d had to destroy his harem back in Transylvania, and so for decades he’d not enjoyed these kinds of pleasures. Now he looked down at a pretty child, barely ten years of age, whose mouth eagerly held his manhood and sucked upon it, making him feel dizzy with delight.

Of course he knew the truth. The bond between them allowed her to feel his desires and respond in kind. Just as he himself sensed her own pleasure at serving him, her hunger for his touch-especially since his left fingers continued to caress the tender folds of skin between her thighs. She almost whined in joy, muffled by the organ still in her mouth.

For minutes Susan continued to worship the Angel with her mouth, teasing tiny droplets of fluid onto her tongue. The attention he gave down below if anything made her thirstier for it.

But suddenly, his hand left. The one below. She almost cried in frustration. Then, she was shocked to feel both the Angel’s hands on either side of her head. Holding her. Controlling her. Guiding her as she licked and suckled upon his organ, pushing in then out of her mouth faster. Faster! Still faster!

More of the liquid seemed emerging from the tip of that organ, to quench the new thirst that dominated her, when Susan cried out in frustration. He’d pulled away! Removed that wonderful part of himself from her mouth! Why? She tried to pull it back, to suck it once more into her mouth-

No use. Her Angel easily handled her as if she were a doll. Turned her around so she was on her hands and feet, like a dog. Lifted her nightgown to reveal her bare bum.

“Please,” she begged in a whisper, “let me have it. Let me finish!”

That was when she felt his member again. Not in her mouth this time. That would have been impossible in this position, with her on all fours and him behind her. No, this time she felt it against the slit which until moment ago her Angel had been caressing her Her hole. She didn’t understand. Except, she did. In a way. He was going to push that part of him into her, into that place. Susan realized this barely a moment before the tip began to push inside.

She trembled. In pain? Fear? Hope? Pleasure? All of these. The pointed knob of her Angel’s flesh rubbed against the slit. She felt wet there. Dimly she remembered becoming so as his fingers stroked her into such joy. This felt a little like that, and she hope to feel more. Then, she felt the organ work its way inside. Not easily. She had barely enough room. But now that she knew some of what the Angel wanted, Susan braced herself. She wanted to help. More, she wanted to feel what would follow.

When the tip made its way inside, she groaned. So big! So tight! It hurt, but also felt good at the same time. Just as when the Angel drank her blood, or when he put himself into her mouth, this felt like giving something to him. A precious, even glorious gift.

His hands now held her hips, holding her still. Then he pushed, a gradual but steady pressure. Susan felt her flesh open to this invasion by his organ. Slowly, reluctantly, but she felt herself open.

As her forearms trembled with the strain, she moaned aloud. The sensation reminded her of pulling off a scab. Yes it hurt, but she didn’t want it to stop. Could not want that. Only more so. A thousand times more so! Each fraction of an inch deeper, and she swore she could take no more. Until the next fraction of an inch. Her moans grew deeper, more guttural. At last her arms gave out and she might have collapsed if the Angel hadn’t been holding her.

For what seemed like hours he pushed, every moment overwhelming little Susan a little more. She gasped, and cried out. Her eyes almost bulged. Very nearly she fainted. But the truth remained-this violation thrilled as much as it pained her. Any touch by her Angel made her weep with desire. The more she understood he wanted this, the more she longed with all her heart to give it to him. So when he began moving her body back and forth, drawing himself first out of her then deeper in, she shuddered with pleasure as well as discomfort.

Susan felt herself breathing deeper with each stroke. And as every forward thrust actually felt better, the sounds coming from her mouth reflected that. What had been cries of pain became sighs of relief, then cooings of joy, finally grunts of growing hunger.

What his fingers had done before was nothing compared to this! Soon all she could think on was for more! And more! The Angel seemed to know that, as he thrust harder and deeper into little Susan’s flesh. More, he did this ever faster as well. Sensations of bitter pleasure and sweet, sweet pain rolled like waves through her body. She forgot her own name for a while. Forgot where she was. Did not care. All that mattered was what this rubbing of flesh against flesh made her feel!

The Angel cried out as his thrusts reached their climax! He impaled himself all the way into this ten-year-old child, his seed erupting inside her tiny body. She could not move as he held her with a grip like steel. In truth, all she could do was tremble-tremble and cry out much as he did. Indeed, man and child both shuddered with what looked like spasms. Susan herself went limp, gasping with pleasure but otherwise looking rather like a doll held listless in Dracula’s grip.

Fully one minute passed as tremors wracked both of them, the aftershocks of orgasm. His first in decades. Her first ever. Indeed, as he slowly withdrew his manhood from the natural shaft in her body, the sensations did overwhelm Susan. She fainted.

xxxxx

Hours later, when Susan woke in her bed, she flinched at the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows. One of the maids had pulled apart the curtains. She looked around her, at the familiar details of her bedroom. All was as they had been. Wallpaper of daisies. Dolls sitting neatly upon their shelves. Wardrobe of fine oak in one corner, full-length mirror hanging on the wall nearby. Exactly as it should be. As it ever had been.

Yet none of it felt quite real.

“Good morning Miss!” That was the maid, saying what she always did. Her name was Mary.

Susan ached, but in a good way. She felt much as she did after winning a foot race with her sisters. Or after an especially satisfying ride upon a pony. More, she almost felt as if it were her birthday. Like all of these, but none of them.

And with this came an awareness of a dream. Or was it a dream? It must have been. Something about being a princess in a tower visited by a Prince who adored her. Who had kissed her and touched her. But they had gone to the Tower Room last night, hadn’t they? Yes, to watch the storm.

Rising to get dressed, Susan felt tender around her hips and between her legs. Her limbs felt worn out, tired. But she hadn’t done anything to make herself tired! Had she? Then she made her way to the mirror. By now Mary the Maid had finished her routine chores in Susan’s room and more-or-less vanished to perform other chores. Susan, all alone, approached the mirror and looked at herself. As if half remembering something, she undid the first two buttons of her nightgown. Pulled that little bit of the garment open. Tilted her head and looked upon the right side of her throat.

There! Two tiny marks. Wounds really. Like mosquito bites but larger. And they did not itch. Nor in fact did they hurt. She reached up with the fingers of her left hand and touched them.

Instantly she felt warmer. The wounds tingled slightly, and she let her fingers stroke them ever-so-gently. As she did, the tingling increased. More, she felt something very similar between her legs-like an itch but not. Deeper. Something like hunger. Whatever it was, a kind of desire.

xxxxx

Miles away, deep in the bowels of Carfax Abbey, Dracula slept with a coffin containing his native earth. He slept and dreamed, vaguely aware his newest bride did not truly remember their meeting. Not yet. When he wished, she would recall, and as time passed her memories would grow stronger as would her loyalty to him, her determination to hide the visits of her lover.

He looked forward to tonight, to seeing young Susan once more. A few sips of her blood, following by further exploration of her body, her training as a member of his new English harem.

By now he had an idea where to find the rest of his harem. Susan was after all the middle of three sisters, and they had an equally attractive young cousin living with them. All stirred the long-dormant lust of Count Dracula. Each in turn would feel his fangs, then welcome the violation of their bodies. But first, Susan.

 

 

Child Brides of Dracula – CHAPTER TWO

Five months to the day since her arrival, Emily Holmwood still felt like a visitor here at Rings. Her uncle and aunt had said she’d find the estate a new home. So far, she had not. Indeed, she continued to watch everything trying to understand this place and its inhabitants. Hence she noticed when something changed.

The breakfast ritual began promptly as ever. Lord and Lady Godalming sat at the head and foot of the table, all four girls sharing the space between them. Emily herself sat facing little Alice, the youngest. To her left too-clever Bianca, on her father’s right hand, with Susan opposite.

Susan, she seemed different today. Not looking at anyone. Her fingers straying to her neck for some reason. And that odd smile, as if she had a secret.

“Extraordinary,” Lord Godalming pronounced as he lowered the newspaper. “This ship beached itself at Whitby in the early hours last night. Schooner out of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Name of Demeter.”

“Was an awfully terrible storm last night,” said his still-beautiful wife, her copper locks in an attractive bun, curls framing either side of her face.

Bianca listened to every word her father said. So too did Alice, just as Emily did herself.

“Yes, but turns out the crew had gone missing.”

“Missing?”

“Just so. Should have been close to a dozen, but all they found was the Captain. Lashed himself to the wheel, where he’d died poor chap. Probably left port with a skeleton crew and lost them in the storm. Wretched bad luck all round from the looks of things.”

“Papa?” said Bianca, “What was the ship carrying? Does the paper say?” She smiled showing every tooth, a huge smile designed to seem like the most delightful and dutiful of children. As usual it worked.

Lord Godalming checked the article. “Crates of geological samples, it says. Rocks, most likely. Imagine losing your life transporting boxes of stone!” He shook his head. Still a handsome man, Lord Godalming. Tall, still relatively slender, with the most fashionable of thin mustaches. He dressed impeccably and carried it off. Emily found that impressive.

But what Emily noticed most of all was how his middle daughter ignored him. Susan, at least as her cousin saw it, actually was what Bianca pretended to be-a loyal, docile daughter who adored her father. She spent most breakfasts with all her attention aimed squarely towards him. Not this morning. Instead, she nibbled at her food, her thoughts clearly thousands of miles distant. No reaction to the story of the ship she’d found so fascinating last night, nor to Bianca’s question.

“Did I tell you, dear,” said Lady Godalming, “we have a new neighbor?”

“Hmm?”

“Seems someone has purchased Carfax Abbey?”

That got her husband’s attention. “Carfax? The place has stood abandoned for years! Since my grandfather’s time as I recall. Yes, I’m sure of it.”

His wife shrugged very prettily. “No doubt the new owner has quite a task ahead of him. But someone did indeed buy the whole property.”

“How do you know?”

“Mina told me.” Emily recalled who she meant. Lady Godalming’s oldest friend. She often came to visit the estate, sometimes with her family. “Turns out Jonathan ended up solicitor who managed things, including the delivery of all sorts of boxes-furniture and the like no doubt. And it seems now he’s hired over a dozen girls to go in and clean.”

“I should think Carfax needs more than a good cleaning! Is it quite safe?”

Lady Godalming sipped her tea. “Evidently. Jonathan had some experts check on the place. According to them, one wing will need work eventually but the main house just needs a good scrubbing as well as replacements for half the windows.”

Now her husband paused to consider this. Alice listening to all this politely, while Bianca did so intensely, smiling every single moment. Or pretending to smile. Emily knew why. Bianca liked to ride over to Carfax Abbey to do some exploring. No doubt she considered the place hers. All hers. The new owner would be an intruder. And Susan-weirdly Susan looked up briefly and gave the mildest of grins. Did she know something? If so, how? And what?

“Did Mina mention this new chap’s name?”

“Something foreign. An eccentric old nobleman looking to live somewhere more civilized than Russia or Poland or wherever.”

xxxxx

Deep inside Carfax Abbey, within the half-forgotten crypt where gentry from the age of the Stewart Kings lay in their tombs, Dracula awoke. It was day yet, but in the north part of England this meant less than elsewhere. At least as far as he cared. Clouds hid the searing sun. Shadows made this land comforting. The coffin-sized box in which he lay Dracula himself placed here the night before. Now, still wrapped in a large dark cloak, he made his way out of the crypt. No need for lamps or candles. He saw better than any cat might in this dimness.

Up, up the stairs to the chapel, long in need of re-consecration since the events almost two centuries past. Across the chapel where crosses lay hidden behind sheets and cloths. Up another set of steps to the main suite of the master bedchamber. Here, according to instructions, several specially marked boxes waited him. One already lay open from last night. It contained clothes, the simplest kind of clothes that might cover Dracula’s body but elicit no reaction. Shirts. Coats. Trousers. Boots. Long cloaks with hoods. All black. Swiftly, Dracula dressed.

Despite the heavy curtains, he sensed the feeble sunlight beyond. A source of discomfort now that he’d fed, even gorged himself. In his previous, desiccated state that light could have burned like fire. Now, it would merely hurt his eyes and weaken him. But not so much, not with the clouds that took up much of the sky here.

Almost at once, he sensed when someone entered this, his home. By sleeping here, by owning it and placing so many of his possessions here Dracula made Carfax Abbey his in some fundamental manner. When the key in the great front door turned, he knew it. The opening of that door might as well have taken place inches rather than a hundred yards distant. He knew at once a man had stepped beyond this, his threshold.

When he wished, Dracula could move with speeds to rival the most fleet of steeds or most rapid of cats. He moved down to the main hall faster than any human could manage, even if running. He stopped at the head of the grand staircase. Feet resting on the ancient carpet. Shadows surrounded him. Curtains yet shrouded the windows of this place. Yet he remained perfectly aware of every detail. He could even see the cobwebs high above on the ceiling, the spiders weaving them. Before him, below, stood a man in a gray suit and black tie. Ramrod straight. Very proper. Hat in one hand, satchel of papers in the other.

Of course.

“Mr. Harker I presume?” His voice echoed in the mostly-empty hall. The man turned in the direction of that sound as the vampire descended the stairs.

“Count Dracula?” The clipped, stereotypical English voice.

“I am Dracula,” he answered with the tiniest of bows. “Enter freely and of your own will. I bid you welcome to my house.”

Harker did a little take at this. But recovered quickly. “An honor to finally meet you, Count.”

“Likewise, my friend. Won’t you come and sit down? You no doubt have many papers for me to sign and I myself have many questions that need answered.” He gestured to what was once a study. His solicitor headed there with barely any hesitation.

xxxxx

Susan Holmwood paid attention to almost anything at all that day with difficulty. She simply did not care. Her mind and soul felt invaded, distracted, comforted beyond words by her dream of the previous night. Or had it been a dream? It must have been. Yet how could it be? That she did not recall almost any detail thrilled and frustrated her.

What she did remember should have made it a nightmare. A stranger holding her down, biting her throat. A naked man holding her body against his. The stuff of fears, yes? Except…no.

During her lessons with Miss Seward, and while having meals with her family, glimpses of that dream bubbled up in her mind. Not just images but feelings. Intense ones. Of something in her mouth that should not be there, but that she welcomed. About pain that somehow felt good. Better than good! Wonderful! She’d think of a tall handsome man with a long moustache. Just glimpses really. Flashes like lightning within her thoughts.

Word about this man came unbidden. Love. Desire. Blood. Master.

Slave.

Part of her realized the slave here was none other than herself. But, surely not! No, she was no slave! She was an Earl’s daughter!

But part of her whispered, yes you are an Earl’s daughter, yet at the same time you are a slave. His slave. His eager, willing slave.

Yes, I am. No! But…I want to be.

Then she’d shake her head and try to concentrate on Miss Seward’s lessons or the game Bianca insisted they all play, or the food placed before her on a plate. As if any of that mattered.

xxxxx

In bat-form, Dracula left his new stronghold of Carfax Abbey a few hours after the sun set. Stretching his wings, he crossed miles towards the Holmwood Estate in minutes. He had plans, ones he feared tasted of impatience but for the moment he did not care. Caution colored his every move. Impatient he may be, but hardly impetuous.

Circling the manor, he used his superior vision to spy out the various windows. Now that Susan invited him within, he could enter anywhere. Before long, he identified the bedrooms of each person within the edifice, at least all those above ground. Male servants quite obviously slept on the same level as the cellar. The top floor contained various maids, several to a room.

All of the Holmwoods themselves slept on the second floor. Susan’s bedroom window, easily identified, he ignored. For now. He would visit her soon. But first…

There. Yes, there! He saw the figure of the youngest sister. Alice. Nine years old, golden of hair, sapphire of eye. The window into her room had sheer curtains above a window seat. Dracula perched himself upon the wall outside that window and gazed within.

He caught an image of young Alice’s bare legs and the bottom curve of her behind as the nightgown slipped over them. White cotton. Lace at the trim and collar. Alice’s back faced to the window. The bright red eyes watching her remained unseen. She pulled her hair from out of the material and gave it a shake. From her movements, Dracula knew the girl now buttoned up the front of her nightgown. Before her, upon a small nightstand, lay a lamp. The only source of light in the room. For Dracula, it might as well be far brighter. Its glow shone through the nightgown, revealing Alice’s body in silhouette. Her hips barely had any curve to them, not yet. That also light revealed the gap between her legs, all the way up to her virgin girlhood, in every detail. His mouth watered. As she moved towards the bed, that gap changed, opening and closing like a winking eye.

She turned the lamp down into darkness. Pulled back the covers upon her bed. Crawled up upon that bed and inside the covers, drawing them back over her prepubescent body sheathed in cotton.

Dracula waited. He did not want to, but he did. Waited to hear her breath change its tempo, her heart to calm. Experience told him precisely when the girl had fallen into sleep. When she would no longer notice as he shifted into a human form and opened her window from the outside. Stepped inside her bed room, as silently as any serpent.

His cloaked form approached the sleeping child. She stirred in her sleep, quite naturally. No part of her sensed him. Once at the very edge of her bed, his eyes glowed brighter. His fangs extended. With one hand, he pushed back the covers which her own tiny hands had pulled up nearly an hour before. Had he done this in one swift movement, no doubt Alice would have awakened. But he remained patient. Anticipation was a pleasure like any other. He savored it. Just as he savored the movement of Alice’s tiny body as she breathed, thinking about the flesh that moved beneath that cotton gown. The short legs, the torso above them and delights that torso contained-nether lips, budding nipples, the immature roundness of each cheek. For now, however, he focused on her throat.

Fingers with centuries of skill pushed aside Alice’s golden hair. Pushed it back and up, exposing her neck. Smooth and pale and warm. It pulsed at the very point that held Dracula’s gaze. He stared, readied himself, almost by instinct as much as experience.

When he acted, it took less than a fraction of a moment.

Mouth descended upon that naked throat. Fangs sliced into flesh, releasing her blood. The heady taste of it swelled into his mouth.

At the exact same time, his hands came to rest atop her head and against one shoulder. Her body shuddered as he bit. Pressure from both hands held her in place. Not the power of a vise, but as if struggling against a wall.

But little Alice did not wake. A vampire’s bite in many might as well be a taste of opium. She trembled, yes. And in pain. But the pain shrank to nothing, lost against a pleasure she’d never known nor could she hope to resist. Even in sleep, Alice moaned. Not conscious, she yet longed for more.

Dracula drank from her in sips. Barely a mouthful in all. He felt no hurry, nor any great thirst.

The feeding took barely a minute. Before it was half over Alice trembled in her sleep, shaking with ecstasy. When his mouth left her throat, she whimpered slightly in frustration. But still, she did not wake.

Nor would she, not tonight. Dracula had done all with her he intended. For now. The two tiny wounds upon her throat would heal rapidly but not completely. He replaced the covers across her body, now breathing more deeply than before. Then the vampire returned to the window and stepped into the night, giving himself wings.

xxxxx

Susan did something she’d never done before after going to bed that night. She locked her bedroom door.

At first she didn’t know why she’d done it. In fact, as she turned the key in the lock Susan found herself staring at her hands. But it felt right. More than right. And as she felt that rightness, her attention veered away from the door. She found her eyes straying towards the window.

Then she knew.

Her lover would be coming tonight. The Angel of her dreams, save those were not dreams but in some sense real. Details escaped her but somehow Susan knew he had come to her last night and made her his own. Flesh, blood and soul. Now the sun had gone down she felt a yearning. More than that, a need. He would touch her again. He must!

Hands trembling, she began to undress. The blouse was not as simple as it might seem, nor her skirt. She kicked off her shoes, much as she simply threw the discarded blouse and skirt to the side. More buttons as she began removing undergarments. Buttons to be undone. Laces untied. She moved faster to undress than she ever had before, but made slower progress than she wanted. For one thing, Susan could not wait! Her lover was coming and must find her ready, willing. Naked for him. For another, the trembling in her hands and fingers interfered. Infuriating! She needed to get these things off!

Finally, her tiny bloomers fell to the floor and she stepped out of them. All the remained were her stockings. Black. Barely reaching her knees. Susan stopped and glanced at the full length mirror.

Would he like her this way? Clad only in stockings? Some part of her wondered.

And then, even more memories returned. She saw herself blink in the glass, eyes growing huge. She had put his penis into her mouth! No, he had put it there. And she sucked on it. Eagerly! Had wanted to go on doing so forever! How could she have done that? Why had she? And why, now that she thought of it again, didn’t she feel disgust? She should! It was a revolting idea! Yet recalling the feel of it on her lips, moving against her tongue, made her sigh.

I want that. God forgive me. And I want to do it again!

A brush of cold air from the direction of her window got Susan’s attention. She turned. The window-something was opening it! No. Not something. Someone.

Susan recognized the cloaked figure who strode into her bedroom from the window. It seemed weirdly as if he was a shadow that took solid form while crossing the threshold. Then he turned to her. Her Angel. Her Lover and Master. In a rush, all the memories came flooding back to her-the taste of his blood, the feel of his fangs piercing her skin, his penis pushing its way first into her mouth then violating her cunny. All of it. She felt awash with humiliation at what he’d done, and how much she had welcomed it. Longed for it, even while trembling in fear at his return. But eclipsing all this was the stupendous PRESENCE of her Master’s arrival. At first she literally could not move. Could do nothing but watch, standing before him in nothing but her back knee-high stockings. Watch as he swept into her room, coming to the great chair her governess Miss Seward used for lessons. Watch as he opened his cloak to toss it aside. He also was now naked. His muscles, only a little less pale than marble, rippled as he sat down in the chair. The way he moved reminded Susan in some way of a cat. With him in it, the chair appeared to be a throne. One leg sprawled to the side. Another with the foot flat upon the rug. Between, his penis, erect. Waiting.

He gestured for her to approach.

Susan meant to scream. To run towards her door and flee. She did neither.

Instead she rushed over to her Angel and knelt eyes bright and mouth eager. What am I doing, she asked herself in a panic as she took the member in both hands. Each barely could reach all the way around. Guided the tip to her lips. Kissed it. Not once but many times, pressing her lips worship-fully to that muscle again and again.

No. I mustn’t do this! Stop! Oh God! I must stop!

She licked it. Ran her tongue along the lower length of the shaft. Once. Twice. A third time. One split second before she did it, Susan realized she what she was going to do. Place her mouth around the crown. Suckle upon it. Taste it. Feel it pulse against her lips and tongue. As she did this, a warm flush spread from between her legs outward, and up towards her throat and face.

Please, no!

As her mouth took more of her Master’s cock, sucking on it as she would a piece of candy, her hands stroked him. Milked him. Droplets of fluid began to emerge from the tip and she struggled not to eagerly swallow. But of course she did. Even sucked harder, trying to draw more. She used her tongue to lap at the tip, reaching down to shaft within her mouth and even lower. Moved her head up and down slightly.

His hands reached down, and cupped either side of her head. Guided her. Following that guidance, Susan picked up the pace and sought to bring more of his rampant cock into the warm wet cave of her mouth. She whimpered in her longing for she knew-not-what. Just as part of her-a silent, distant part-screamed and wept. When she looked up into those bright red eyes, her own hazel eyes flowed with tears. But she sucked all the harder. Part of her loathed what was happening. Most of her, though, wanted this.

Needed it.

She lost track of any time. Did she suck and lick upon the dark Angel for minutes or hours? How could she tell? Certainly she did not care. But she grew excited as his hands forced her into ever faster motion, the tip of his member slipping ever deeper. At last, to her horror and ecstasy, he grasped her head hard and pushed his cock a little further than ever before. Not all the way to her throat-not yet. But she sensed what to do. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked as hard as she possibly could! And kept sucking!

Liquid exploded from the tip! Warm, salty, splashing into her mouth as little Susan groaned with gratitude. She swallowed. Not all of it at one time, for some remained, but she refused to release. Instead she gulped down more, then more. The flesh invading her mouth pulsed once, twice, and several more times, each time spurting a tiny bit more thick viscous liquid onto her tongue.

When she let the organ out of her mouth, finally, she did so with a slurping sound. No drop was to escape her tongue. None did.

She had done it. Taken him into her mouth and made him climax in pleasure. The part of her desperate to flee or forget now dwindled. Perhaps some of her mind had fainted, leaving the fuck-toy of Dracula in sole custody of her ten-year-old body.

For several seconds, Susan continued to lick her master’s cock, stroking it with her tiny fingers. Then, Dracula shifted. She looked up at his face again. The burning eyes entranced her, quite literally. To Susan, nothing could be more beautiful. His smile of approval stirred a kind of itch between her legs.

With skill and vast strength, he reached down to easily pick up the little girl. Lifted her and settled her upon his lap. Even so, she remained a head below him in height. She yet looked up at him. Then he reached below with one hand, shifting her weight with the other. It took barely a moment for Susan to realize his intention. She moved to help him. A few moments were all he needed. Now the tip of his cock rose poised at the entrance of her cunny. Her wet, hot cunny. When he stroked the tip across those lips, Susan whimpered.

“Please…oh, please!” Susan whispered.

“Please what, my little bride?” Even low, his voice seemed like thunder shaping words.

“Take me! I beg you!”

He barely needed to move at first. The tip entered her as it had done the night before. Just the tip. For now. But Susan gasped, letting out a low moan. She moved, seeking to give him better purchase. The wetness of her lips and the moisture on his cock helped, but it still took more than one try for her to find just the right angle, the perfect way to let her weight drive this welcome intruder harder and deeper. As one entire inch made its way inside, she trembled. Her hands reached to his shoulders. But Dracula’s own hands went to the child’s hips. Unlike her, he knew precisely what to do.

He began to push her hips down.

Susan’s eyes went huge as his cock pushed up and it. Tight! She was so tight! And he was so big beside her! An animal grunt came from her as a second inch made its way. Upon the third, Susan’s eyes rolled into head. Dracula of course did not stop. Although he did not rush, neither did he slow. Steady pressure pushed this beautiful child onto his member, and he paused only to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of moving her up before piercing her deeper.

Up and down. Slowly. Down, and then up. Followed by down. A little deeper each time.

“Uhhhhhhhh!” Susan’s tiny mouth smiled. How could she not? This was now her purpose, her greatest joy. As the vampire lord violated her, she now felt nothing but happiness from the sensations of their flesh.

The movement soon grew faster as he pushed harder yet. By now Susan had started using her legs to lift herself upon Dracula, then push down again. Gasps and moans went with each thrust.

Eventually, he completely impaled her. All seven inches reached up, her cunny flat against his pelvis. For a few seconds, he waited. She herself could do nothing but breath in long, trembling breaths. And then – he wrapped one arm around her waist. The other reached up until one hand held Susan by the back of her small neck.

He began to thrust. And pulling her to him at the same time.

The high-pitched, almost inaudible sounds she made pleased him greatly. She soon emitted new sounds. Deeper ones. Grunts. And the speed with which he moved, fucking this gorgeous child, brought faster and louder noises from those tiny lips.

When she came, Susan trembled uncontrollably. Arms didn’t quite flail, but they nearly did, moving almost randomly against his upper torso. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again wider than she’d ever managed before. Susan leaned her head back, seeing nothing but just FEELING the sensations exploding all through her body!

And it didn’t stop! Dracula saw no reason to cease his pleasure simply due to her climax. Quite the opposite! He thrust harder and harder still, enjoying her helpless reaction as yet another wave of sensations from their coupling made her tremble and moan. She fell forward, her face ending up in Dracula’s chest. She gasped for breath. Yet still, he did not stop! Ramming himself into her, he enjoyed witnessing several more climaxes shudder through his child bride. By the time he finally spent himself, Susan tiny frame glistened in the dim light from sweat and her breathing was little more than hollow groans. The last thrust into her, the heat of Dracula’s seed pouring into her immature womb, all this made her climax one final time. She lost consciousness, fainting from more physical sensation than she’d ever imagined.

xxxxx

The next morning, Lady Godalming listened to the report from Miss Seward and investigated herself. Alice seemed pale and very tired, indeed. Susan, however, apparently had a kind of fever. Pale, yes, and like her sister quite exhausted. But feverish as well. Eyes too bright, yet not really paying attention to anything said to her.

She wondered about calling in a doctor for the child.

 

Child Brides of Dracula – CHAPTER THREE

Dr. Renfield seemed like a gentle enough old man to Alice. Bald as an egg up top, but with bushy gray eyebrows and a pointed white beard. Blue eyes that looked comical through his pinz-nez glasses.

“Now Miss Holmwood,” he said, with a smile, “tell me about your sleep? Do you dream?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.” With her mother watching from the other side of the bed, Alice knew she was to tell the truth. Usually, she did anyway. Except when it came to little things, like sneaking out of bed with her sisters to watch the storm. Very exciting that! But private.

He held her tiny wrist and looked at his fob watch. “What kind of dreams?”

“All sorts.” Such a general question she didn’t know how to answer. “I dreamed I was a princess the other night.”

“Indeed?”

“From a fairy tale,” she nodded, grinning. A modest little girl, she didn’t realize just how lovely this made her look. Although she had her father’s coloring, with golden hair and perfect complexion, Alice’s features echoed those of her mother. She (and everyone else) thought Lady Godalming extremely beautiful. Delicate nose, chin and cheeks. Eyes that looked slightly large in her face. Thin but perfectly formed lips. Given a chance, she too would grow up to be a great beauty, quite possibly woo’d as her mother had been by a slew of admirers. “I think I was Sleeping Beauty or maybe Snow White, but a handsome prince came to wake me with a kiss.”

“Ah,” said the old doctor with a chuckle, “these are favorite stories of yours?”

“No,” she said. “I like Beauty and the Beast most of all. That, and Little Red Riding Hood.”

“But do you sleep well? Do these dreams wake you?”

She shook her head.

“And yet you are so tired, Miss Alice.” He put the back of his hand upon her forehead, then did the same with each cheek. “However, no fever!”

“My prince in the dream, he isn’t like the ones in the books at all,” Alice offered. Her mother asked her to explain. “He’s got long dark hair and a long moustache. Plus his clothes are these long dark robes.”

“But is he handsome?”

“Oh yes! He’s very handsome!”

“Quite right,” her mother smiled. “Only a most handsome prince would deserve you.”

Alice smiled in return. What she didn’t share-and had no idea why-was how the kiss from her dark prince hurt yet felt wonderful at the same time. How she kept thinking about how it felt, how she hoped to feel it again tonight, how he kissed not her lips but her neck and somehow that made her entire body feel the strangest but lovely tingly feelings.

xxxxx

As Dr. Renfield and Lady Godalming spoke in the hallway, neither realized they had an eavesdropper. Bianca Holmwood, the Lord and Lady’s eldest daughter, long ago mastered the art of cracking open a door silently. She listened as they passed.

“Most likely a simple, quick infection that her body shook off relatively quickly,” said the Doctor. “The effort of doing so, however, drained her physical strength. She has very little after all, being so young.”

“If that’s true, I’m most relieved to hear it!”

“As I said, most likely. Children are prone to sudden sickness, but also to rapid recovery. Consider the diseases that remain almost harmless in the very young, while worrisome in the extreme when manifested in adults!”

“Perhaps the same can be said of Susan?”

“Quite possibly.”

They passed out of earshot, en route to Susan’s room. Bianca’s face, were anyone there to see it, looked sly. In truth, she didn’t really wish either of her sisters to suffer, not seriously anyway, but she thought taking advantage of when they were very much fair game. Let the adults fuss over them. For now. Distracted, they’d pay less attention to Bianca. Not that she objected to attention, but preferred it at a time and place of her choosing. And from whom she liked. Quietly shutting her door, she made some plans.

A note to William Harker. Easy enough to arrange. Her mother’s best friend’s son was three years older than Bianca, a gangly but actually very good-looking fourteen. Bianca actually thought him pretty. Clear, white skin. Dark, dark hair like his father and doe-like eyes almost identical to his mother. Scrumptous, in fact. Better yet, he was smitten with her, would do anything she asked, or almost. All in hopes of the kisses she let him have now and then (truthfully, she liked his kisses well enough).

Every now and then, they did more than kiss. Three times now she’d allowed his hand to touch her not-quite-budding chest through the fabric of her dress. Once, and only once, her fingers brushed against the bulge in his pants. She treasured the sound of his gasp, and look in those pretty eyes.

Surely he’d help her sneak into Carfax, get a look at this new owner!

xxxxx

When asked questions, Susan answered as non-specifically as possible. The doctor and her mum hopefully took this as signs of illness. Or tiredness. Well, she was tired. Very tired.

But she couldn’t let them know why. Part of her wanted to, longed to confess all and beg for help, for rescue from the dark angel who ravished her night after night. But only part of her. Mostly, she longed for His return. Dreamt on the sight of his body, a slender figure of living ivory with ebon hair and eyes like burning coals. Those eyes set her on fire. Whether she choose or not.

“No, I don’t remember any dreams.” Not a lie. They weren’t dreams. She knew. Susan could taste his seed in her mouth in the morning. Still felt tender from the piercing of cunny.

The doctor felt her face. “No fever,” he pronounced. “You do look a little pale, young Miss Holmwood.”

Of course. He used more than his member to violate her body. Fangs. She made herself remain still at the memory. Why she had no idea, but He had bitten her neck with those fangs and swallowed her blood. It seemed bizarre, horrible, a nightmare-but why had it felt so good? Better than good! Fantastic enough she looked forward to his next meal.

“But,” the doctor continued, “maybe a little sun as well as some good hearty broth will do much to restore her color.” He no longer spoke to her, but to Mum. Good. Susan bowed her head, let her mind wander to what would happen tonight. When He returned, to do things she did not understand but wanted more than anything.

“I’ll speak to cook.”

“Very good. Meanwhile, I think we may assume both your girls are recovering from the same malady. They each prevailed against the illness that assaulted them, and left weak by the short but intense struggle.”

“But Doctor, does this mean the other children are in danger?”

“That remains a possibility, milady.”

xxxxx

Bianca enjoyed the traditional access to the entire house granted children of the era. This meant, among other things, access to the occasional sweet or bit of gossip. But also, she found it an excellent training ground. She’d been learning to ride a pony for a little over a year and understood that skills needed practice. Just as animals needed to be trained. She thought of boys in pretty much the same way.

Boys like Tommy, all of sixteen and gangly but good-looking in a rough kind of way. His unkept hair was sandy, and his skin rough but unscarred by pimples. The butler at Rings had standards for personal cleanliness and put up with no excuses. Tommy washed regularly and thoroughly, even if in cold water. As a result, he avoided most acne. His hands remained relatively clean. More, he smelled better than one might expect. All of which made him worthy of Bianca’s attention.

As Hall Boy, he was also the lowest ranking of any male servant in the manor. When the Viscount’s daughter told him to do something, he did it.

Not that she relied on the social order alone to get her way.

“Tommy?” She waited until he was going along the hallway, en route with some package from the Butler to the Housekeeper. He turned. Of course he recognized Bianca’s voice. Stepping out of the shadows, she posed and smiled.

His reaction pleased her. She’d been experimenting with different looks. This one seemed to work quite well. Hair pulled back in a ribbon, coupled with the lowest collar she had. The blouse itself was off-white, but she wore dark blue skirt and matching coat. Her bare skin almost glowed as a result-neck and face. As an added touch, the first two buttons of her blouse remained undone. She took a deep breath. Tommy’s glance wandered to those buttons.

“Yes miss?”

“Aren’t you going to the Harker house later today?”

“Well, yes, miss-I’m delivering a cake. Your Lady mother wanted her friend Mrs. Harker to have one, she liked it so much.”

“I thought so.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Can you deliver a letter for me while you’re there?” And she smiled.

Tommy, a head and a half taller than her, had to look down. He looked down into her blouse, at least some. He couldn’t help it. Bianca noticed this and felt pleased.

“You see,” she went on, “William and I want to plan something for his sister’s birthday. It will be our surprise. Can you do this? And make sure no one sees you do it?” One hand reached out and touched him. At the hip. Bianca noticed whenever she touched a boy they got more obedient. But when she touched not hands or arms but their body, the more they seemed to react. Sure enough, Tommy went rigidly still as her tiny hand remained on his hip, waiting for an answer.

“I can do that.” He voice almost cracked. Bianca suppressed a giggle. Instead she reached into her coat pocket and took out the note, all folded and with William’s name on it. She carefully slipped the note into Tommy’s front trouser pocket. As she did so, his breathing got a little louder.

On impulse, she patted his trouser, where the letter now nestled in his pocket.

With a blinding smile, she whispered “Thank you.” Tommy wasn’t blinking, just looking at her as if he’d been hit in the head.

Quite pleased with herself, Bianca made her way back upstairs. Boys were proving a lot more fun to play with than she’d expected.

xxxxx

Alice woke that night in the middle of her dream.

Just like before, she’d been a princess in a tower, asleep because of some kind of magic. But she knew her prince would come and rescue her one day. Then, flying on strange dark wings, he came to the balcony outside her bed chamber. He entered. She knew he was there, even while yet asleep. Knew he wore a long black cloak like that of a vicar. Yet here was no priest. Rather, a man of royal blood. With magic eyes like rubies. And as he approached her bed, he let the cloak fall. Revealing that beautiful body.

His mouth descended upon her throat to kiss her, the kiss that hurt yet felt better than anything else. She gasped and smiled in that kiss. When his arms swept her up to hold Alice’s small body closer, she felt as if every daydream she’d ever had vanished, replaced by this one.

She could not recall the next part of the dream. But as the sensations in her body grew, her eyes flickered open. Realized she was awake. And that her prince was no dream.

Her nightgown was open, every button unclasped and her bare body revealed. Her prince, the very figure of whom she dreamed, had her tiny thighs in his strong hands, holding them apart. And his face, that was where he legs met! The prince had his mouth on her little cunny, lapping and probing it with his tongue.

For Alice, this was like being tickled. Only, not. For one thing, she didn’t want this to stop! The sensations sent ripples along her entire body, not unlike a itch somewhere she could never reached at long last scratched. But more than that! Much more! So very much!

His tongue could not enter her body more than an inch or so, but Alice would have sworn it reached all the way to her center. Or some part of it did. She felt dizzy with every stroke, every scraping motion of flesh against flesh. Any thought of shame or surprise dissolved. She rode these sensations the way she’d seen Bianca ride her pony. Even her body began to rock the same way, matching what the prince was doing with his mouth. Meeting his movements. Pushing herself against his mouth. His tongue. The suction there.

At last, Alice felt herself melt. Flexing hands and feet, arching her back, gasping, it was as if her body were some kind of violin or guitar. Every string hit some new, wonderful note. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

She was in love.

Her eyes barely focused as the prince stood up now and she saw him. Saw It. His member. Longer than her hand. It had the shape of a very tall mushroom, flesh-colored. Especially the tip. And she wanted it. Wanted to give to her prince what he had given her. Full of love and gratitude-in fact those emotions blanketing every other impulse in her immature mind, lacking the willpower to even try to resist-Alice crawled out of her bed. She knelt before him.

But she proved too short. Now her mouth bared reached the base of that member, where its base reached the point where a fleshy bag hung from the torso. Alice kissed him there, at the base. Her tongue snaked out and ran along that point. Its tip played with very top of the fleshy sack, as well as the bottommost inch of his shaft. Both hands reached up to touch it. Stroke it.

He helped her. With one quick movement he sat up on her bed, weight bringing it and him (and IT) closer. Happier than she thought possible, Alice began to kiss its length. Holding it in hand, she planted open wet kisses up and down. Reached with her tongue, feeling out with it. Tracing what seemed like veins up and down.

Clear liquid seeped from the tip as she did this. Alice caught of it on her tongue, while the saliva of her mouth allowed her hands to stroke his royal member.

Now her tongue focused on that tip. Circled it. Lapped at it. Took it past her lips and into a mouth eager to commit this act of worship. Once the head actually rested on her tongue, she never wanted it to leave. Just as she longed to draw more of the clear, thicker than water liquid into her mouth.

So, she sucked.

From his groans, Alice knew this pleased him. She could not imagine he liked it better than she. Sucking harder, she tried to milk him. Tiny hands, too tiny to fully wrap around this muscle, squeezed and pulled.

To her joy, he took her head in hand and guided her movements!

Soon her world became this act, this suction created with her tiny mouth, powerful hands on either side of her head providing the ever-growing rhythm, the pointed tip of her prince’s organ slipping ever deeper into her mouth. Alice felt her cheeks pull in as she did her best to please Him. As she worked her tongue faster and faster.

And then-release! The liquid pulsed into her mouth in a hot stream! No, not the same liquid. What she tasted now was thicker, heavier. She liked it. Refused to loose any.

He held her fast in a rigid grip, her mouth filled and the tip of Him almost at the back of her throat. She nearly coughed as another pulse of the thick liquid shot out, but still she swallowed. Alice could barely see. Realized dimly her eyes were full of tears. She had trouble breathing. But she didn’t care!

With her head in a vise, she sucked as hard as she could-and her hands, still free, squeezed and pulled to draw out every drop!

Only when forced to did she open her mouth to gasp for air-but for no more than a second. She closed her mouth again and sucked some more! A trickle still pulsed against her tongue. Alice swallowed. Coughed a little. Had to take another gasping breath before again trying for the last her prince had in him.

Then, his hands relaxed. His member no longer pulsed as much nor sprayed the thick liquid into her mouth. Drops only emerged. Taking deep breaths from her nose, still she licked and eagerly swallowed. Not for what seemed like a long time did she even allow his now-soft, now-less lengthy organ to slip out of her lips.

When she looked up, and saw his smile, she felt proud.

 

Child Brides of Dracula – CHAPTER FOUR

Bianca noted with interest how the routine of the estate changed with her sisters’ illness. Susan and Alice both looked pale and weak. They got breakfast in bed. Mamma and Papa seemed worried. Which meant they weren’t paying much attention to her.

Excellent!

The first part of the day went on as normal, save for an obligatory visit with her mother first to Susan, then Alice. Bianca did as she knew they expected. Smiling. Wishing them better. But in her most secret thoughts she thought it strange. Although looking genuinely sick, her sisters looked weirdly happy. Their smiles hinted at some kind of secret. A shared secret. One she did not share. Bianca resolved to do something about that.

But first, she had a long boring set of lessons with her governess, Miss Seward. That took up the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon. Fortunately, Bianca remained clever. She did well learning. Her natural talent at deceit also helped, so that Miss Seward probably imagined the girl liked wasting time like this. By the time the clock in the teaching room chimed two o’clock, however, Bianca was free. She had plans.

Her plans involved the pony her father had purchased for his “little princess” last year. By now she was as expert a rider as any eleven-year-old could be. That she would mount her pony to go exploring the Rings Estate surprised no one. She did it at least once or twice a week after lessons. No one, not even her sisters, imagined what Bianca really did on those trips. They knew not how many times she’d made her way to the abandoned Carfax nearby, exploring its rooms and towers, pretending it her very own castle. Fairy tales nearly always included some kind of castle. An evil beautiful queen would reign from such a place. Or some huge Beast called it his domain, until tamed by Beauty (or until he tamed her-Bianca could see it happening either way). That some stranger dared to buy the place pleased her not at all.

Within an hour after going on her ride, Bianca reached the old hunting cottage at the edge of the Holmwood and Carfax properties. No one lived there. Its simple rooms only held some old furniture. The windows still held against the elements and the door could be locked. Bianca stole the key ages ago. And given it eventually to William Harker.

He waited for her inside. Bianca left her pony tied outside and stepped within the cottage making sure she put on a happy face for William. Easy enough, that. She did like him, looked forward to seeing him, not least in seeing what else she could make him do.

William Harker stood a head taller than her, although only four years her senior. To Bianca he was very pretty. Dark hair that made bangs. Eyes deep blue as the sea. Red, full lips.

“Hello!” she said to him in her best thrilled-to-be-here voice. He looked at her in that hungry way Bianca enjoyed so much. She ran over to him, the length of the tiny front room, and gave the boy a hug. Her cheek reached his upper chest. Both hands reached behind and rested atop his bottom. The little gasp he made when she did that gave her a tingling feeling. Holding him tighter, she even felt the muscle under his trousers, swollen and hard. It’s heat reached her navel through the layers of clothes between them. Slowly hand hands reached down. One against her back, the other touching the golden curls of her head. Bianca felt his muscle twitch a little against her tummy. She liked that sensation.

Then she looked up into his big blue eyes. “I need your help.”

xxxxx

Abigail made her way silently up the stairs into the tower room. Thick carpet helped, muffling each step she made. Had she been an adult, perhaps her weight might have made some of the steps creak. But being twelve, and thin, they remained silent.

It looked much as it had the week before, during the night of the big storm. Unused furniture tucked away here and there. Sofas and chairs mostly. The big window looking out at the sea and coast. She sat down and gazed outwards. Clouds dotted the sky. Waves crashed in the distance, blue topped with white foam. Sea birds did their lazy circles. North, along the coast, she saw the old estate of Carfax, a Tudor-style square of gables and towers. One of Abigail’s favorite books was Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. She imagined the manor house of the title looking very much like Carfax. Gossip among the servants claimed the new owner, a foreign nobleman, only hired a minimal staff once the place had been cleaned up and repaired. They whispered in shocked, delighted tones that this Count Dracula person chose to keep less than half a dozen girls. All young. All pretty. None with families in the area.

She found herself wondering about the Count. What was he like? Maybe he simply preferred the company of the young and felt uncomfortable around his own gender. It seemed possible.

This room remained a place of refuge for her in the big house that still didn’t feel like home. While the other girls might come here from time to time, they rarely did when Abigail used it. Nor did she mind when they did. Not usually.

Here she relaxed in quiet solitude. Susan and Alice were sick enough to still be in bed. Abigail wished them well, grateful the only symptom seemed exhaustion. Bianca had gone out on one of her riding excursions, probably to return a little before dusk. Her father’s favorite, and she knew it. She got away with quite a lot. Now, alone, Abigail let herself dream a bit.

And her dreams, at least of late, focused upon the Lord and Lady of Rings. Arthur and Lucy. A big daguerreotype of their wedding portrait hung in the main parlor. To Abigail they looked splendid, and not much different that they did today. That Arthur Holmwood, Lord Godalming, was her uncle seemed hardly important. She didn’t really feel family connections as such. Rather, she felt an attraction to their faces, despite the slight weight gain and tiny sags that showed. Both retained their figures. More importantly, both had the same slightly wicked smiles, then and now.

Closing her eyes, Abigail imagined what it would be like, to walk with her hand in theirs. Down the corridors to the bed chamber they shared. She imagined them undressing her, kissing her. First on the cheeks and lips, then upon her fingers. As each garment went away, more of Abigail’s flesh received their kisses. Shoulders. The upper arms. Inside her wrists. The aching points of her nipples.

Her nipples ached now. Placing hands upon her chest, Abigail held the tiny swellings through the layers of cloth. Used her thumbs to stroke those points. Hard, so she could feel it. Imagined her thumbs were not fingers, but tongues. Their tongues. Lord Arthur and Lady Lucy. In her mind’s eyes she was naked in their bed, coddled and kissed and stroked by them. She imagined them naked as well, but had trouble quite picturing that. Lacking specifics from which to build her dreams, her mind conjured simply the feel of their skin. The taste of their lips. The love in their fingers running along her bare arms, legs, belly and back.

For half an hour, Abigail dreamed of this, until she grew bored. Not bored exactly, for in truth she felt there should be more. But what it might be she didn’t know. So at last her dream went as far as her experience and imagination allowed it. So when she left the tower room, she felt somehow hungry. Or unfulfilled. But knew not what to do about it.

xxxxx

Susan hovered just outside of sleep. Everyone left her alone, thinking to give her rest. In truth, she did rest. But also, she remembered. She had not the words for it, but her mind sought to deal with her experiences of late. Part of her realized she had changed. No longer the girl she had been, her heart knew not what to feel about the girl she was becoming.

Where was her guilt? The dark angel that came into her room at night did things to her, make her feel things she knew to be wrong. Shameful. A sin, or indeed many sins. Yet she longed for them, more than she wanted chocolate or Christmas presents or nice dresses. The feel of his organ in her mouth was disgusting. And wonderful. Most wonderful. When it pierced her between the legs, going in and out over and over it should hurt. Did hurt! But the pain felt good! Better than good. When he did it she never wanted him to stop. Or at least not until she felt herself explode, her whole body trembling and shaking with pleasure.

She shouldn’t want this.

She’d do anything to have more. Anything at all.

Last night, he’d done even more. It had hurt more than anything else. She’d loved it. Couldn’t stop hoping he’d do it again.

Her eyes had opened instantly from a deep sleep. Hours must have passed since she went to bed. She felt as if something made her wake, and she struggled with the impulse to fall back into slumber. But she didn’t. Rather, she looked excitedly towards the window. It had been opening. A mist flowed into her room, solidifying into the dark-robed figure of her Master, her Love, her Dark Angel. Yes! Another part of her wailed No! But by now that was a paltry sliver of Susan. Most of her longed for what would now happen.

As her master approached, his dark cloak dropped to the floor. She looked at his naked body, drinking it in. The sleek muscles moving under ivory skin. Raven-black hair, including the down leading to his engorged organ. It grew as he approached. Rose in excitement. Preparing to use her.

Susan had trembled, pushing her covers aside. Shaking fingers began to unbutton her nightgown. Between her legs, a wetness began to grow. Likewise her mouth watered.

By the time he’d reached her bed, Susan managed to get her nightgown completely off her body. Now naked she reached up for him, welcomed the strong arms that picked her up so easily, bared her throat to his kiss.

Fangs slid into the same wounds as before. Shivering, Susan felt her blood, her life, flow into her master’s mouth for him to devour. Yes. This was a reason to live! To be devoured by her master.

It ended all too soon.

As he withdrew, Susan sighed. In many ways this was her favorite part. Giving herself to him this way. But she felt eager to give herself even more. As he lowered her to the floor, she sank to her knees. His organ was now rampant, having reached its full size. Taking hold of it, she began licking and kissing. Soon the entire head slipped past her lips. As it did, her mouth made a sound something like when she was given candy, or slurped soup from her spoon. By now she realized precisely what to do. Her tongue caressed the head, sometimes even circling it. She traced the base of that tip with her tongue, murmuring in happiness. As it pushed deeper into her mouth, Susan’s tongue snaked out, starting to run along the underside. Her checks went hollow with the suction created.

What followed seemed leisurely. Not frantic at all. Her half closed eyes resembled those of an addict with his pipe. Unfocused. Strangely happy. But also, a slave. A willing thrall and servant, who steadily sought to bring the head of the master’s organ ever-deeper into her hot, willing mouth. She drooled with the pleasure of it, and only a tiny part of the Susan-who-had-been objected.

Just as she objected, all-but-unheard by Susan, when the master lifted the ten-year-old girl and lay her on the bed.

The Susan-who-was splayed her legs. Seeing those fiery red eyes looking at her with lust thrilled her. How she wanted this now! Could not bear to be without it!

“Please,” she whispered. “Take me.”

Master began by stroking his organ against the now-moist cleft of her cunny. Every time he slid it against Susan’s lower lips she almost whimpered. Like an itch not quite scratched, or some kind of release teased but not fulfilled. He did this time and again, letting her hunger grow. In less than two minutes, Susan squirmed in frustration, even pushing her lower parts at him, trying to catch the head of his organ with the opening she so needed it to go!

Almost in tears, she whispered again “Please!”

Then–Oh god! Susan’s muscles tensed at the size of the invader, the speed and power with which it thrust into her tightness! No mercy or hesitation! Zero time with which to get ready. Just furious impalement, all the way into her, until pelvis touched pelvis!

It was what she wanted. Had begged for. And it hurt. Even the pain felt glorious, though, as her Master pulled out to thrust yet again into her.

Yes! More! Let it hurt! She wanted it to hurt!

He developed a rhythm of penetrating her, one she matched now, thrusting back and welcoming every lancing shot of ecstasy he inflicted. The invader, the hot muscle that forced its way into her tiny opening, reminded Susan of peeling off a scab-a sweet ache impossible to stop once begun. Only more. So much more! Feelings of pain and humiliation mingled with a fever-like joy.

When he pulled away, long before either one of them approached climax, Susan felt confused. Lost. In despair she looked at her dark angel, wondering what she’d done wrong?

But his eyes, if anything burned somehow fiercer. That smile contained more, not less lust than before. He took hold of both tiny thighs with his hands and pulled her closer. Parted her legs even wider, and higher. Eager to help, Susan grabbed her own knees. Anything for her master!

Then, he pressed the head of his organ where she did expect. Susan’s eyes went huge. He was piercing her bum! Even slick with the liquid from their coupling, his cock had trouble. If anything, this hole felt tighter than the first! Susan began gasping. Her master wanted this. So she did. She must! Even as she shook with fear.

Using one hand, he aimed the head of it more squarely into her little hole. Then, slowly but inexorably, pushed.

Susan thought she might faint! Eyes rolling into her head, head itself lolling to the side, this felt like she might split in two! Mercy, she almost said. Please don’t. I don’t want this. But, she said nothing. Instead, she tried to relax and allow her master to violate a new part of her body. Even with all this pain, she wanted to please him. Enjoyed his touch. Reveled in his lust for her.

Which is why although his penetration of her little bum seemed an endless torture, she found herself welcoming it. Somehow this felt deeper, even when he’d barely gotten the head in. As it did enter, she shuddered and let out an animal moan.

Please. Stop. Go on. Pull it out. Deep, deeper. Let it end. Never stop. Stop. Never. Oh god! It feels, it feels– Please. Please! PLEASE!

Another eternity as he slowly pushed half his length into her protesting little ass, while Susan herself gave tiny gasps. When he pulled out an inch, she nearly wept. In relief? Or disappointment? Or maybe, both? Either way, he thrust again almost immediately and drove another half-inch into her!

Susan shuddered again, and yet again as he repeated the gesture, piercing her still deeper again.

But now she’d thrown back her head on the mattress. Eyes wide open, she saw nothing. Only felt as the invader claimed this new part of her body. She could not fight it. Even now the Susan-that-was faded still more. It had been a voice in her head, then a whisper trying to scream. Now it was an echo of a whisper, barely existing at all.

And she began to thrust back.

Deliciously, the Master’s organ slid in and out of her bottom, sending wave after wave of pain and pleasure. Enough to make her scream or cry. His strong hands reached up to grab her shoulders, allowing him to push harder, deeper, faster. Susan trembled as he did it. Why? Why was he doing this? Why did she love it so much?

In truth, as Susan drifted into sleep the next afternoon, her memory summoning up what had happened the night before, she dimly realized many details had faded. It had seemed like forever last night, as her Dark Angel ran his tongue along her nipples while violating her again and again. Twice more in the cunny, once while she was on her hands and feet. She’d sucked the seed from his organ at one point, eager to swallow each drop. And he’d finished by making her go on all fours once more so he could spend a cruel and sweet hour again pushing his organ as deep into her bottom as it would go. That time he’d gotten nearly all of it in. She’d wept with joy.

And as she finally fell asleep, Susan-who-was no longer made any protests.

THE END