“Arlecchino, shut her up!”
The boy did not move immediately but looked at her questioningly for a moment before plucking up the courage to speak.
“How shall I do that Mistress?”
Halting her frenzied fucking, the Baroness pointed at his pulsating weapon.
“With that you fool. With that stuck in her mouth she will not be so vocal. Now, get round the other side of the chest and ram your cock between her teeth and down to her tonsils. And make it fast or you could find yourself changing places with the slut.”
Arlecchino did make it fast, not just because his mistress had ordered it; but as she well knew, because he could not wait to feel a wet tongue lapping the length of his shaft and sucking cheeks drawing it from frustration to fulfilment. With the silencing cock firmly in place, the Baroness resumed her fucking with a vengeance; resulting in a uniquely effective ramming synchronicity of the two different but equally potent sex pistols.
Now able to concentrate on gaining maximum satisfaction for herself, the Baroness renewed her assault upon Esmeralda’s anus and although not paying him too much attention, saw that Arlecchino was not holding back in his ravaging of her mouth. Ever up and onwards, the Baroness and her boy slave drove themselves towards nirvana; the ultimate sensation. Esmeralda writhed and shook under their combined storming onslaught, the completely inconsiderate vehemence of the assault cancelling out her suffering and transmuting it into the intensely animated eruption of sexual satisfaction that time and again is the result of unasked-for violation of a person’s most intimate bodily openings.
As if in a rehearsed finale, the Baroness and her boy slave both reached the peak of orgasm at the very same moment, shuddering and shaking in frenzied fulfilment. Esmeralda’s arse had proved the gateway to paradise for the Baroness and although a mouth is not quite the equal of a vagina, for Arlecchino it was obviously a very acceptable substitute.
As for gypsy girl herself, she had been transported to a sexual wonderland. The combined sensations of Arlecchino’s cock filling her mouth with deliciously swallowable spunk and the Baroness’ uncontrollably hammering rubber cock stimulating her clitoris through her anal septum, had transmuted her agony into delight. Suddenly fired up, she climaxed in a shuddering, thrashing and completely unexpected outcome to the dastardly treatment that she had endured as she joined her two abusers and completed a trio of shared mind-shattering, debilitating orgasms.
Thoroughly sated, the Baroness slowly withdrew the giant dildo from her slave’s anus at the same time that Arlecchino pulled his dripping cock from her mouth. The Baroness gave herself a little time. Then it was back to reality. She took Arlecchino’s place in front of her panting, spunk-covered and nailed-down slave gatherer.
“And now to other matters. I told you that I had seen you fucking the local yokels, didn’t I? Perhaps you did not believe me; maybe you thought that I had found out some other way, gossip perhaps. But I assure you, it is perfectly true; I saw you . . I saw you in there!”
The Baroness pointed to the mirror. The mirror hiding in the gloom. The unbelievable magic mirror that Esmeralda did not know existed.
“My mirror is deep and dark. It has journeyed with me through the mists of time and it shows me everything that it thinks I should know; including what you did to Arlecchino in the temple.”
Esmeralda’s flushed face paled to the same deathly pallor that the Baroness’ victims did not normally display until after they had played their part in the Ceremony. Knowing that Esmeralda had no defence, the Baroness was merciless.
“So regrettably he is of no further use to me now . . And neither are you!”
The Castle
IT WAS ABOUT EIGHT in the evening, with the warmth of the day still lingering when the policewoman turned up at the hunting lodge to conduct Mistress Madonna and Julian up to the castle. Except that she was not the policewoman any longer. In this guise she was now definitely Anna, the Baroness’ confidante and trusted servant and looking at her, Mistress Madonna found herself completely taken aback by the almost awesome change in her appearance. Gone was the uniform and in its place she was wearing a very tight-fitting thigh-length black satin corset dress. A dress that accentuated her previously disguised but now obviously impressive breasts and cinched her waist into tiny super model dimensions. Clinging provocatively to her well-rounded hips and backside, it emphasised to the full the mouth-watering appeal of her firmly-fleshed thighs. Not only that but as an added bonus to the overtly sexual nature of her appearance, it allowed the merest suggestion of the outline of her pubic mound to show as it pushed against the softness of the material.
Her hair was too, was not the same. No longer short but now impressively long and a glossy midnight-black it hung straight, without the slightest kink, almost to her shoulders. Dark and sombre, her makeup, relieved only by the vivid scarlet of her lips, transformed her into a vague likeness of Mistress Madonna herself. But it was not only her appearance that was different. Although she had not lacked an authoritative character previously, now everything about her had changed or intensified, in fact she was formidable; a fact that Mistress Madonna quietly admitted to herself.
But however impressive Anna now looked, there was no chance that she would overshadow Mistress Madonna. Formidable as Anna now was, Mistress Madonna outshone her in every way. She had prepared herself well for her meeting with the Baroness. As always her hair and make-up were immaculate, but her dress was what other envious women might have described as ‘to die for’. An exclusive creation, it had set Julian back by an amount that the majority of men would not even consider shelling out for a luxury car. Supported only by her magnificent breasts, it was tailored from black silk of a much sought after but seldom obtained quality. A silk of uniquely beautiful weave that had been lovingly hand-crafted using the carefully-preserved and justly famous silk looms that had been in use in Lyons since the seventeenth century.
Leaving her neck and shoulders completely bare, it fell downwards in ruffles from her cleavage to sweep the ground and was split at the front almost up to her knickerless crotch; when she moved revealing a flash of black ruched suspenders, creamy thighs and lace-banded stocking tops. Her spiky-heeled shoes were a revelation. Crafted especially for her, Julian had purchased them from her favourite Chelsea emporium. Vastly expensive and of black brocade with designs fashioned from cultured black pearls, they were truly wonderful creations; not really made for walking at all but intended as jewellery for the feet. Nevertheless, Mistress Madonna did intend walking in them. All the way up to the castle.
Anna’s jealous, but hungry eyes swept over her. A moment of tension-filled silence followed before Anna addressed herself to the matter in hand.
“Madame, we should be going. Where is your slave?”
Ah yes, Julian. What was he messing about at?
“Julian! Get in here this instant!”
Hurrying to obey his mistress’ command, he stumbled to the door, still trying to knot his tie into a perfect bow. In his formal evening attire, he really did look very presentable indeed and Mistress Madonna actually felt a sense of pride in him. Anna however took one look at him and blanched visibly.
“No, no. He won’t do at all. You madame, are the guest of honour and you look perfect, exquisite and very appealing if I may say so: but him! He’s nothing but a slave and should appear as such. The Baroness Elizabeth wishes you to bring him exactly as you had him in the forest earlier; stark naked and crawling on his hands and knees. You’re to forget the cannon ball though, the Baroness says that if he has to drag that behind him it will take far too long to get up to the castle.”
Like the tumulus, the hunting lodge had been sited in a flat clearing in the midst of the abundant trees. To the south, the path that Mistress Madonna had followed earlier led down to bay through a dense forest of pines. Similarly an even steeper trail wormed its way upwar
ds and northwards to the castle, which was perched right on the very edge of the cliff top. But this path led through a forest in which ancient oaks fought with pines for precedence; acorns as well as pine cones littering its floor. Without taking a long detour to the formal entrance to the estate, the shortest way up to the castle was along yet another narrow thorny-bramble and fern-bordered path that wound through an intimidating forest. Not without a little apprehension, tugging a now naked Julian behind her on a collar and lead, Mistress Madonna followed as Anna led the way into its depths.
Suddenly Mistress Madonna stopped dead in her tracks. A sudden confusing thought had hit her. How on earth did the Baroness know that earlier that day she had driven Julian through the forest naked and on his hands and knees? She was given no time to ponder the question as Anna realised that her charges were no longer close behind her.
“Is there a problem?”
Mistress Madonna was about to voice her question but after a moment or two’s hesitation, thought better of it.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just snagged my dress on a bramble, that’s all.”
“Alright, but do try and keep up. We don’t want to be caught in the forest when the sun goes down.”
Mistress Madonna could not know that Anna’s concern was not for herself but for Julian, her now incalculably precious cargo. Her existence would be worth nothing if she allowed any harm to befall him.
As the sun neared the end of its journey westward, the crimson-tinged evening sky was swiftly metamorphosing from a pleasing duck-egg blue to a more threatening and darkly deeper hue. The first few pale stars of evening twinkled faintly as they awaited the full descent of the night, when they would shine in their true sparkling brilliance.
But the forest did not wait for night to fall. After progressing only a few more yards they were completely hemmed in by trees that formed a canopy high above them, the darkness being almost complete. Affected even more than she had been earlier in the day in the pine forest, Mistress Madonna shivered as the gloomy eeriness of the surroundings seemed to press in on her, now and again stumbling into one of the many standing stones that stood guarding the path. Flickering blue flames danced along the floor of the forest, Anna instructing the others to remain on the path as she occasionally halted their progress and headed off into the undergrowth to examine one of them.
What was she doing? Mistress Madonna had to know.
“Anna. What are those flames?”
She had thought that they were probably methane gas produced by rotting foliage or at least something of that nature. The answer she received was unexpected to say the least.
“Do you know what today is?”
“Yes, it’s April the twenty third.”
“Yes it is, but you’re English, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Mistress Madonna gave it some thought, but had to admit defeat.
“No, I’m afraid it does not.”
“Shame on you. Today is Saint George’s Eve and even I know that he is the patron saint of England. But he is much more than that, all over Europe there are legends associated with him and in the Baroness’ home country it is believed that on this day, and this day only, blue flames rise from the ground where anything of value has been lost or buried. So I’m taking a look.”
“Surely you don’t believe in fairy tales like that?”
“Why not? I believe in many things. For instance did you know that also it is said that when the clock strikes midnight on this day all the evil in the world is let loose to do as it will until the sun rises on Saint George’s Day itself?”
“Very interesting I’m sure, but do you think we could get out of this damned forest?”
Mistress Madonna had suddenly lost interest in Anna’s beliefs because just as she had the previous night, she was certain that she could hear the howling of wolves all around them and she would feel a lot happier when they reached open ground.
In the ever-gathering darkness, Mistress Madonna’s first view of the castle filled her with shocked surprise. As far as she could make out, much of the outer wall, ramparts and the structure of the castle itself lay in ruins, although a fully functioning drawbridge was lowered over a deeply-filled moat. Ripples and vague shapes in the murky water hinted at the presence of some not altogether wholesome creatures lurking in its depths. A dauntingly solid iron-bound portcullis barred their entrance into the courtyard and with Anna hanging onto a rusted heavy iron chain, Mistress Madonna could hear the muffled distant dissonant tolling of an obviously cracked bell.
Although the evening was not cold Mistress Madonna shivered involuntarily. There was something evil and forbidding about the ancient fortress and she was fast beginning to wish that she had not accepted the Baroness’ invitation.
‘Damn The Colonel’, she thought, ‘just what has he let me in for?’
Tightening her grip on Julian’s lead, she pulled him closer to her, for once genuinely welcoming his presence. Endless minutes seemed to pass and looking around, against the darkening skyline she could see the silhouette of the castle keep. Projecting from its tower was a long pole with what appeared to be an entire circle of lightning conductors fixed to its top.
“You must get some pretty frightening storms around here to need that amount of protection.”
“Yes we do. Sometimes the night sky is just one whole blaze of electricity, and it all seems to come our way.”
Anna’s matter of fact answer and nonchalant demeanour diminished Mistress Madonna’s fears greatly, making her feel rather foolish in fact. She began to feel her normal steely-strong self returning, the tension within her lightening further as she began to think that for some reason or other they were not going to be allowed admittance to the castle. That tension returned with a vengeance when she heard footsteps approaching and in the gloom behind the portcullis saw a nearing flicker of light. With much creaking and clanking of heavy chains the portcullis began to rise until when it was fully open, in the dim light of the single candle that he was carrying, she saw a very tall, skeletal man of great age and deathly pallor. Dressed from head to toe in black, completely bald, with large ears, black-ringed eyes, ivory parchment-like skin drawn tightly over his cheek bones and protruding fangs, she recognised him immediately. It just could not be - but it was: Nosferatu . . Dracula!
It was a nightmare. Completely unbelievable. But now everything made sense. The bat fluttering outside her window, the wolves, the blue flames in the forest, St. George’s Eve - they were all part of the Dracula legend as told by Bram Stoker. And they were not fiction; they were fact!
Her surroundings swam before her eyes, her vision blurred, her knees buckled and the world began to fade away. Her world. But behind Dracula a new unearthly world shimmered into view. It was still the courtyard, but although it was no longer so murkily dark and deserted, it was still full of dense shadows and appeared even more sinister. Showers of sparks erupted skywards from flaming braziers that illuminated the faces of a passive thronged assembly; an assembly that consisted entirely of silent and fully robed monks and nuns. No words were spoken but a subdued wave of animation passed through their ranks, as driven by the whip lashes of sinewy female guards, a seemingly never-ending line of shackled girls trooped into the courtyard.
The girls were virgins. Every single one of them. How she recognised that fact, Mistress Madonna had no idea; she just knew. Screeching, wailing and weeping tears of dread, the host of virgins cowered in long chained-together lines as they took their places in front of the silent children of God. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she tried to dismiss them from her sight. But that had no effect, for through her closed eyelids, the visions actually intensified. Try as she could, Mistress Madonna could not rid herself of the ungodly sight before her. She fought a battle with her mind. The vision was real. Or perhaps it was not. It did not matter. To her, it desperately and
most certainly was.
She had no idea exactly how many unfortunate girls there were but there she thought that there must have been at least a hundred. One hundred helpless virgins who had been gathered together for some awful, hideous purpose. A purpose that for some indefinable reason she and Julian were a part of.
The skeletally emaciated but gleeful Dracula pranced on matchstick legs, pointing a long talon-like finger towards the rapidly filling square. There was an evil eloquence to his words.
“You do know, don’t you? That against God’s command, in the Garden of Eden, Eve tricked Adam into fucking her. As punishment for that act of disobedience He decided not to create any more children, decreeing that from then on, women must bear their offspring themselves. Since then women have been punished and fucked by men, that is His will. To fuck is to live. To dedicate your life to fucking is the ultimate act of dedication to any god. Gods need you to procreate in order to deliver the souls of ever more innocents into their waiting hands.
“And I am as great as any God. Greater in fact. Like them I am eternal. I shall never die. But it is not souls that I need to sustain me, it is something else. Blood! But there is nothing I enjoy more than fucking; sinking my shaft deep into the soaking vagina of a buxom unused woman. And so to serve me, my disciples deliver to me sacrificial innocent flesh; the flesh of virgins that I can stoke into flames with my shaft of steel before I drain them of their pulsing red blood.”
Dracula’s words washed over Mistress Madonna. She was in a haze; her mind was numb.
“Come with me into the courtyard, my audience is now assembled and you can join them.”
In a daze she followed in his footsteps.
“Oh, those poor girls.”
Slaves to the Bloodline Page 13
