Slaves to the Bloodline

by Falconer Bridges

  Mistress Madonna’s words slipped from her lips in a horrified whisper. Even so, they were not unheard by Dracula.

  “Do not concern yourself with them, those virgins are not mine. They are intended for use in a special ceremony that the Baroness has planned and are merely assembled to witness what fate could have befallen them if they had been delivered to me and not her. If you will look over there, you will see my flock entering now.”

  And so they were. A parade of naked pale-faced neophytes was being led into the expectant but sombrely charged atmosphere of the courtyard by the Mother Superior. Halting them in front of Dracula, she crossed herself before hurrying away.

  Dracula wasted not a single second. Delving between his legs, he released his rampant erect pylon of a penis and clamping the skeletal talons of his right hand around the neck of the first unfortunate girl in the line, he lifted her from her feet and high into the air with just one arm. Widening her legs with his left hand, he dropped her down straight onto his vile cock and moving the hand to support her backside, her legs now wrapped around his waist, bounced her up and down over its full, pulsing length.

  Shrieking as the cock from hell brutalised her virgin vagina, her yells of terror and pain converted into moans of lust as he stoked her towards her very first orgasm. Her first and last orgasm; for as she shuddered and squealed at its explosive impact, he sank his razor-sharp canines deep into her jugular, simultaneously emptying her of blood and filling her with spunk. Throwing her to the ground, crimson trails trickling down his chin, he moved on to the next screaming girl. And then the next; until he had fucked and drained every one of them. From now on they would be zombies, destined to inhabit the same twilight world as himself. But there would be no more sex for them, only a continual hunt for blood in the castle catacombs. And for them that blood would be that of rats and other vile creatures that scurried about in the decay and darkness of the underground caverns.

  Mistress Madonna’s head spun. Her faculties deserted her and she felt herself descending into oblivion. The next thing she knew she was being supported in Julian’s strong arms.

  “Mistress. Mistress, what’s wrong?”

  Julian’s frenzied concern cut through the mist of her mind and pulling herself together she struggled to free herself from his grasp. Even in her befuddled state she did not fail to note that he had managed to cup both her breasts as he prevented her from falling. He would pay very dearly for that later. If there ever was a later.

  The diabolical black-clad creature hurried forward, he too being very concerned by her fainting spell. Suddenly all her fears melted away. It must have been a combined trick of the light and her over-vivid imagination, after all he had been standing in shadow. Now up close, she could see that he was not the abominable apparition that she had taken him for but a perfectly presentable, if not exactly handsome, elderly man.

  “Madame, I am Vladimir. Please allow me to help you, the Baroness will be most concerned that you are not well. What was it? It seemed as if you were seeing something awful that was not visible to the rest of us.”

  She knew that she possessed second sight but she had seen nothing as dreadful as this before. Perhaps her imagination and the forbidding atmosphere of the castle had caused her to hallucinate. In any case she had better pull herself together; and fast! Regaining her poise in double quick time, she shrugged off the fainting episode and giving Julian the dirtiest of looks, finally wrung her breasts from his tight grasp.

  “No, no. I’m sorry I alarmed you but I’m perfectly alright now, it was nothing. And I’d be pleased if no one mentioned this to the Baroness.”

  “If that is what madame wishes, so be it. Follow me if you will, and please take care, it is rather dark inside the castle; there is no electric light, you see. Well, not all of the time.”

  Not all of the time? They either had it or they did not. The hunting lodge had nothing but candles and oil lamps that was true but even if there was no direct supply she would have thought that the castle would at least have had a generator installed. Before she could question him Vladimir turned on his heel and briskly set off for the castle entrance, with her trailing in his footsteps as he conducted the party into the interior of the castle and guided them towards the great hall.

  “I am very sorry madame, but the Baroness has asked me to greet you and to advise you that regretfully she is not able to receive you as yet. She has some household matters to attend to, checking the wine cellar or something of that nature, I believe.”

  Vladimir had scarcely uttered those words however when Mistress Madonna plainly heard footsteps approaching up the stone steps behind a heavy iron-studded oak door that was the way down into the depths of the castle. With an eerie prolonged creak, the door swung slowly open and there stood the Baroness, a candelabrum holding three flickering candles clasped in one hand.

  She came as quite a shock. Mistress Madonna had been expecting either a frumpy old hag or a diamond-laden sophisticate. In her experience one or the other of those two presented the usual appearance of feminine aristocracy. The Baroness was neither. She was tall, almost as tall as Mistress Madonna herself, and as far as she could tell in the dim light, about the same age. And like Mistress Madonna, and everyone else who was actually clothed for that matter, she was dressed completely in black. Unadorned with jewellery or accessories, coal-black tresses fell to her naked shoulders. An off the shoulder lace dress revealed the firm swell of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist and the pleasing roundness of her bottom, before falling almost to her ankles.

  She was beautiful; but strangely different. Her face was pale. Very pale. Her eyes an indeterminate colour that seemed to change with the flickering of the light from the candles and her teeth were extraordinarily white and pointed. Strength and power were etched into her features and for once Mistress Madonna felt that she was encountering a woman with an authority that matched her own. Reaching out with her free hand, the Baroness grasped Mistress Madonna's and greeted her with the utmost cordiality.

  "Mistress Madonna, welcome. I’m so pleased that you were able to come, and I trust that Vladimir has looked after you to your satisfaction. He is my other special guest and he only arrived here himself this afternoon; but when he’s not at his own castle in the old country, he spends most of his time here so he knows this ruin as well as anyone. I can’t wait to get to know you, I've heard a great deal about you from The Colonel and Thierry - not to mention what Anna has told me about your escapade with your slave in the hunting lodge."

  She lowered her eyes, studying Julian intently and reaching down, she edged his collar over his neck so that it revealed the two punctures that Anna had seen and reported to her. A quickly dismissed frown clouded her face. But it was not unnoticed by Mistress Madonna. Just what had the Baroness been expecting to see? Julian’s neck was marked by the spikes of the iron collar, but it seemed as if she had been let down, having expected to find something else. The Baroness’ chiselled canines showed themselves again as she turned her eyes away from his neck.

  “I must congratulate you, for a slave he is magnificent. And a virgin too, I’m led to understand?”

  Her accent was of an indeterminate eastern European origin, her hand as cold as ice and her grip like that of steel. Giving a startled Mistress Madonna no time to reply, she carried on.

  "Don't misunderstand me, I admire your ability to keep him under your thrall while allowing no sexual favours. It shows me that I was not mistaken in inviting you here.”

  Swinging the door to the vaults shut, with Mistress Madonna and the others following, she led the way along a stone-flagged corridor. Keeping them close company, eerie shadows cast by the flickering candles danced over the walls, although Mistress Madonna could have sworn that neither the Baroness nor Vladimir cast shadows themselves. Coming to a huge pair of heavy double doors that barred their passage, the Baroness rapped on
the door with a series of knocks that gave Mistress Madonna the impression that they were some sort of coded signal and after a few moments, it duly opened to reveal the great hall.

  Flaming torches set into iron brackets on the walls and a blazing fire in the huge medieval stone fireplace provided a flickering orange-tinged luminescence that gave sufficient light to see by, but left pools of darkness in corners and recesses. As it had down in the courtyard, the scene before her faltered and shimmered in the uncertain light and she felt the anger begin to surge through her anew. Why had she not been told that the gathering was to be a fancy dress affair? And an orgy at that! She had witnessed mass sex before but this was something over and above anything else in her experience.

  The Baroness was not slow in recognising her reaction.

  “Ah, so you see it. I thought you would. No doubt you saw the monks and the nuns in the courtyard. But it is not real; that is to say it is not happening now. It is an echo, a visual manifestation of events that happened hundreds of years ago. In the middle ages this castle was taken over by monks and turned into an abbey; but under the influence of a deranged Abbot they abandoned their evangelical counsels and their vows of celibacy and poverty were forgotten. Instead of living a life of piety they indulged in sexual excess and moral outrage of all kinds. Their conduct over the years was so outrageous that it left an indelible imprint on the very fabric of the building and now very special people blessed with the gift, find their minds tuned in to that imprint. And you are one of them, as am I. We both possess the receptive mental powers that allow us to pick up the psychic vibrations that permeate every murky room, dingy cellar and cheerless, gloomy dungeon of the castle and turn them into something that we can actually see.”

  What kind of rubbish was this? Things were getting strange again. Mistress Madonna did not believe a word; but she did feel peculiarly odd and the scene was indeed surreal and unearthly, fading in and out from the utmost clarity to a misty opaqueness. Could it be true? As if reading her thoughts, the Baroness answered her question.

  “Yes my dear, unbelievable as it may seem, it is absolutely true. Look!”

  With a great crackling of sound the blazing fire suddenly flared up, casting monstrous shadows of the heaving orgiastic mass of bodies upon the walls of the hall.

  Hysterically shrieking nuns were flailing the naked buttocks and shanks of kneeling, praying monks. Seemingly penitent monks; seeking absolution, or perhaps masochistic pleasure through flagellation and pain. And if pain was the price that led to forgiveness or sexual gratification, then they were paying that price to the full. The blunt sound of thick wooden staffs being laid upon flabby slothful and licentious flesh crawled leadenly through the air. Dripping wax, lighted altar candles were being thrust deep into the upturned backsides of the repentant Brothers.

  And not only candles.

  With medieval wooden dildos buried deep into their vaginas, many of the Sisters of Mercy were actively gaining pleasure for themselves by fucking the arses of their all too willing victims. And in their in turn, the other not so repentant, fully-robed Brothers of the penitents were laughing and swigging from flagons of wine as they fondled the breasts of more submissive Sisters, lifting the hems of their habits to plunge eager fingers into their equally eager and unresisting vaginas.

  A knight in full battle armour had somehow freed his cock from its protecting steel cod-piece and grabbing a serving wench, he pushed her backwards over a barrel of ale and throwing her skirts over her head, with a total lack of concern for her needs or desires, he drove it deep into her love tunnel. Bowmen, chamber maids, pike bearers and ladies-in-waiting were joined in a communal, free for all mass obeisance to Bacchus and the other Gods of debauchery.

  Suddenly, right before Mistress Madonna’s eyes, a hooded and robed monk pulled a nun out of the gloom towards him. Gathering a fistful of her habit, he drew it up over her mons, wrenched her naked legs apart and rammed his throbbing cock deep into the hole that was promised to God alone. Grunting, panting and heaving back and forth, he slammed into her. Rocking on her feet, she thrust back against him; praying out loud for forgiveness as her vagina sucked and clamped on holy meat. Sweat poured from both their brows as they praised the Lord for introducing them to such heavenly bliss.

  The air hummed to the sound of Holy chants as more monks and nuns gave in to their lusts. Habits, scapulars and nun’s headdresses fell to the floor as the monks ripped off the garments of the Wives of God, stripping them naked and exposing their pale white bodies. Heavy tits, huge nipples and well-thatched hairy minges abounded, as what was normally concealed by coarse black cloth was now revealed. Revealed and plundered mercilessly by the jackhammer cocks of crazed monks, who, revelling in sin, were more akin to the sons of Satan than the children of God.

  Mistress Madonna stared with increasing disbelief as slowly another image merged into the scene until the monks and the cacophonic recipients of their weapons of lust faded entirely, another equally iniquitous, depraved set of figures taking their place.

  With lascivious grins on their faces and their lips curled back over pointed eye-teeth, Ladies in courtly medieval dress were being tongued, fucked and buggered by naked, but shackled boy slaves. Proud, young stiff cocks were everywhere; driving deep between peeled-back sex flaps and into dripping aristocratic vaginas and pummelling through the sphincters of eager anuses that were stretching themselves to allow their thrusting entry. And as they fucked, the boys were being lashed into greater effort by grinning female guards, relentlessly pitiless in their application of the wicked bullwhips they were wielding. Filling the chamber, womanly moans of exultation clashed with the boys’ screams of anguish and despair, the air thickening with the sooty smoke of burning torches and the overpowering musky aroma of sweat and sperm. Sperm that was being sprayed everywhere; over the furniture, the floor and the sumptuous spread of beef haunches, peacocks and sucking pigs that were weighing down the long oak tables covering its straw-spread floor.

  It was unbelievable. It was Dystopia. And suddenly the evil was a hundred times blacker. The frightening, bald Dracula, Mistress Madonna thought she had seen at the castle entrance was back. Staggering through the frenzied throng, his fangs were bared and his huge ghastly wrinkled and medievally-circumcised cock was throbbingly erect. Whether he was a child of God or the Devil she did not know, but seemingly separating himself from the other ghoulish apparitions, he lurched towards her, threatening and terrifying.

  He was coming for her!

  Involuntarily, she shrank backwards until suddenly and thankfully, he sank back into their frantic, heaving ranks. Engrossed and lost in the scenes unfolding in front of her, Mistress Madonna felt a tap on her shoulder. The spell was broken. It was the Baroness.

  “I think that’s enough for now, don’t you?”

  The figures were already fading as she raised her hand.

  “Be gone!”

  At her command Dracula and the last of the fornicators disappeared and the hazy veil cleared.

  “You see, it is as I said. Do you believe now?”

  Thoroughly shaken, Mistress Madonna could not deny the evidence of her eyes.

  “Yes. I think that I do.”

  “That is all to the good, but now we must dismiss all of that from our minds and get on with enjoying what is left of the evening. Anna will take care of your slave.”

  The Baroness’ tone brooked no argument, so somewhat reluctantly Mistress Madonna handed Julian’s leash to Anna. She was not too happy to relinquish direct control of him, watching with not a little concern as he was dragged over to the huge fireplace and his lead shortened and fastened into an iron hoop on one side of its flaming interior. And dripping hot fat into those flames as it roasted over them, skewered on a revolving spit, was the carcass of a goat.

  Mistress Madonna stiffened as a naked, struggling, oath-spitting and wickedly-striped
girl was manhandled over to the other side of the hearth by two hefty whip-wielding women guards and like Julian, similarly chained to a hoop. Suddenly, she realised with a start that it was the gypsy girl that she had been spying on in the forest earlier. The gypsy girl who had been accompanied by a pet goat! Whatever delinquency she had been guilty of since then, the tram lines, bruises and whip scars covering her body bore witness that she had been savagely punished for it. And by the look of it her pet had paid the ultimate penalty and was now destined for the dinner table.

  One after the other, Anna pushed Julian and Esmeralda down onto their knees so that their necks were straining on the leads, and cuffed their wrists behind their backs. Attaching chains to the cuffs, she linked them tightly into the same hoops to which their collars had been fixed. Their backs were very close to the fire, not close enough to actually roast them Mistress Madonna concluded, but near enough to give them an extremely uncomfortable toasting.

  Mistress Madonna was not too comfortable herself. She was not sure that she liked the way things were going. Julian was her property and if anyone were going to abuse him then it would be her. Oblivious to all this, Anna straddled Julian and inching her skirt just a fraction higher, pressed her hot shaven mound into his face.

  ”Lick me out. Now!”

  Mistress Madonna felt outrage surge up within her and jumped in to tackle Anna, but was halted by The Baroness’ very quick intervention.

  “Anna! Behave yourself. I do not believe that you have Mistress Madonna’s permission to make use of her slave! Use the gypsy scum if you must. But I think you should bear in mind that we do have a guest to entertain and also Esmeralda has a very old admirer waiting to greet her later on.”

  The Baroness’ admonishment irked Anna, that much was obvious but swinging one leg over Julian’s head she ignored Esmeralda and walked back to join the others. Taking her place in a giant high-backed chair at one end of the table, the Baroness sat a furious Mistress Madonna and a sulking Anna opposite each other in the first seats down the table.