Slaves to the Bloodline

by Falconer Bridges

  Esmeralda was one of those few women who when they climax, ejaculate copious volumes of love juices that are the equal of the semen produced by a man when he comes. The Baroness’ aide, in all her years of service had never before had her mouth swilled with such copious quantities of female come. At last there was an explanation as to why the entire male population of the village was mad for the gypsy tart.

  But it was Anna’s own predicament that was uppermost in her mind. Back through endless, uncountable years she had been the Baroness’ confidante, and until now there had never been any indication that she would not so remain. Her clash with the English insurgent now threatened her previously unassailable position. Not was it only threatened but seemingly completely destroyed.

  Not for a second had the guards released their grip on her as she had pleasured Esmeralda and they hung on to her with equal forcefulness as the Baroness issued her next statement.

  “Everything stays down when it is beaten. Any wild animal knows that. You Anna, will do the same and remain where you are until every cock, mouth or candle in the hall has partaken in full of anything and everything you have to offer.”

  And there was no lack of opportunists. Writhing and bucking beneath their assault, with hate-filled eyes Anna glared at Mistress Madonna as she looked on with a mixture of amazement and incredulity as one after another, the female guards rammed dildos into her sex or ordered her to suck their breasts and tongue their cunts. Many an old score was being settled. With the Baroness’ permission, Anna’s years of supercilious superiority were being laid waste. How could she be so hated? After all, it had been her who had led Vlad to the Baroness’ walled-up body all those centuries ago.

  It was only when the demands for her body had dwindled to nothing that she learnt that loyalty meant absolutely nothing to her determined self-centred mistress.

  “Have you all finished with her?”

  A simple question. But not one to end unaccountable years of servitude. Or so Anna thought.

  She was wrong.

  With every female guard agreeing that her appetite for Anna’s charms had been satiated to the full, the Baroness sank back into her chair.

  “Well Anna, it seems as if you and I are about to part company. Listen!”

  Her heart filling with dread, Anna’s ears picked up the ever-increasing howling of wolves suddenly welling up from outside the castle walls.

  “Ah, such sweet music they make. And you thought you heard them earlier in the forest, did you not Mistress Madonna? Well you were right and now you hear them again; the children of the night. My children!”

  The very same children that at their mere mention had so frightened Esmeralda. Except that she was not now to be their victim. With the utmost coolness, the Baroness turned to Vlad and the Marquis.

  “You know what to do!”

  Indeed they did. Advancing on her with the most terrifying evil intent, Vlad sank his thirsting canines deep into Anna’s jugular. Then with her body emptied of its vital forces, with the Marquis’ assistance he pulled aside a heavy pair of drapes, uncovering a never-repaired medieval artillery hole in the castle wall. That breach, in turn revealed black, heavy thunder clouds scudding across the face of the full moon and allowed the surging, wailing gale that was now blowing outside to blast into the room. Grabbing a seriously debilitated but still weakly struggling, screaming and cursing Anna into their arms, without ceremony they hurled her out into the black night. Seconds later, the howling of the wolves turned into the snarling, chomping and slavering appreciation of the taste of human flesh upon their tongues.

  “Goodbye Anna, the pleasure was all mine.”

  And the Baroness was right, the pleasure had indeed all been hers.

  The Candle

  WHAT WAS IT THAT a broken mirror was supposed to bring? Seven years of bad luck? Not so in her case, the Baroness knew. Her magic mirror had been destroyed by the authorities when they sentenced her to be walled up in the depths of Csejthe Castle but it had swiftly re-constituted itself then and had done so time and time again in the intervening years up until the present. And her luck had never been better.

  It was now only minutes away from midnight; the hour at which evil forces would reign until the sun rose in the morning thus setting up the necessary conditions for her Ceremony. Again lifting the ruby-studded goblet of what seemed to be red wine but was in reality the drained blood of unfortunate non-virgin slaves to her lips, the Baroness studied a struggling and still defiant Mistress Madonna.

  “Vladimir and the Marquis will enjoy the taste of your blood, of that I have no doubt as I am sure that it will prove to be of a rare quality. It is a great pity that you will now have to spend all of eternity in the company of the zombies in the catacombs; you were excellent material, but that is just the way it goes. We had so looked forward to you joining our little circle.

  “However it really would not do to consign you to the pits without testing you myself, would it? And apart from that consideration, you do have the most tempting body. Anna was no match for you, but I think that you will find me a completely different proposition.”

  And indeed she was.

  The battle was intense, furious and bloody. The Baroness possessed a real supernatural strength and matching Mistress Madonna blow for blow she prolonged the contest until even Mistress Madonna began to falter and weary. But to her, defeat was unthinkable and so she continued to fight and fight even more until the last of her strength was gone and her legs buckling under her, she sank to the floor. It had been the only tussle with either another man or woman that Mistress Madonna had ever lost.

  Striding up and down in front of her defeated adversary, with grotesque flame-lit shadows flickering on the walls behind her the Baroness eyed Mistress Madonna with contempt, every now and then stopping to address her in deprecating terms.

  “You fought well for a mortal, but there was just not enough steam in your engine, was there?”

  Her eyes bored deeply and threateningly into Mistress Madonna’s before she turned away to deliver an order to one of the guards.

  “Fetch me a flogger; that one on the bench over there, the one with five flat-bladed studded tongues.”

  The guard scurried off and in the uncertain light, the Baroness returned her attention to Mistress Madonna. The atmosphere in the hall was almost crackling with tension as every evil-filled man and woman present eagerly awaited her next move.

  “We have very little time left, but before the Ceremony takes place you are going to find out what it is like to be on the receiving end of what you are used to handing out.

  “What it is like to be the submissive half of a relationship; what it is like to be the one receiving punishment; what it is like to be ordered to suck and lick your mistress into orgasm and to obey her every instruction without question.

  “I do not know how much satisfaction I will gain from your ministrations or how quickly I will orgasm under your tongue, that we have yet to find out, but if you do not perform to my absolute satisfaction your future will be even more grisly than the one I already have in mind.”

  Julian was by now absolutely demented; the treatment being handed out to his mistress had him thrashing and screaming in his chains and yelling oaths and threats at the Baroness, and everyone else for that matter.

  “For Satan’s sake shut that imbecilic fool up!”

  Leaping to carry out the Baroness’ order, waving the guards aside, the Marquis attended to that task himself. Gathering a fat orange from the bowl of fruit on the table, he rammed it into Julian’s mouth and ripping the belt from his trousers he wrapped it around Julian’s head and buckled it tightly behind his neck. For once Mistress Madonna obviously felt pity for her devoted slave.

  “Julian, it’s alright, Mistress Madonna will get through this. Calm down. All you have to do is wait, I’ll get us bo
th out of this somehow.”

  The Baroness’ snort of derision said it all.

  “If there was anyone here who cared, they might remember those as your idiotically stupid last words. Now let us get on with it.”

  Mistress Madonna was once more strung up to the ceiling, but this time she hung by one leg, the other hanging free, so presenting unlimited access to her sex. Her wrists were cuffed and anchored by tight chains to the iron floor hoops and her long jet-black hair hung over her eyes to trail on the stone floor. Concentrating on her firm-buttocked rump the Baroness delivered a cold, merciless thrashing with the flogger, laying lash after lash on to its fleshy expanse. The five separate tongues were not only inflicting widespread fingers of searing pain that radiated through her entire body but were also leaving their own individual signature on Mistress Madonna’s mouth-watering backside. What an arse! What a cock raising and lesbian-enticing display.

  As the strikes fell upon her victim’s haunches, the sight of the rippling arse meat was obviously exciting not only the Baroness but also the Marquis. Grabbing a flexible riding crop he leapt to join in the action, mostly concentrating on thrashing Mistress Madonna’s exquisitely full and enticing breasts. Blazing, agonizing and almost incandescent tramlines striated her flesh as strike after strike fell upon her magnificently taut tits; her areolae and nugget-tipped nipples receiving extra special attention.

  “Scream madame, if you please. Come on, don’t hold it in; let me know I’m hurting you.”

  He was indeed hurting her, more than he realised but the last thing that she was ever going to do was give him the satisfaction of admitting it. In tandem with the Baroness, the Marquis was delivering a ferociously agonizing beating but legendary as his exploits were, as an involuntary tear dripped from her eye Mistress Madonna steeled herself against their combined onslaught.

  “Fuck off!”

  Hardly ladylike, but exactly in tune with her emotions.

  Mistress Madonna was made of sterner stuff than either the Baroness or the Marquis expected; she was not that easy to vanquish. The Baroness’ flat-bladed flogger found its target again and again and the Marquis’ relentlessly slashing crop cut into her succulent breast flesh with merciless intensity.

  “Foolish woman, do you not know my world? Have you no idea of what I am capable? Do you understand the indescribable pleasure that agonizing pain, and I mean truly agonising, can bring? If you don’t then you very soon will.”

  Mistress Madonna was in fact well-informed on the Marquis’ outrageously cold, pitiless and torturous propensities, having read and studied his writings; ‘One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom’ in particular. But things being as they were she thought that what he was referring to was not the usually accepted maxim that pain increases pleasure for the man or woman on the receiving end of punishment but the indescribable pleasure that he was gaining from inflicting agonizing pain on her. So she made no answer to his questions, rather than antagonize him even more it would be better to hold her silence.

  And for her part, The Baroness was obviously growing impatient with the Marquis’ interference in what should have been her enjoyment alone.

  “You can have your turn later Marquis, but for now I wish to have her to myself.”

  Waving him away, she threw down the flogger and took up a multitailed leather martinet; the tails being knotted at their ends to intensify the agony when they found their mark. Sweeping Mistress Madonna’s hair from her eyes so that she could better see, the Baroness slashed the martinet through the air.

  “You are indeed a stubborn whelp but even you cannot hold out forever so let us find out how you like this.”

  Allowing Mistress Madonna’s hair to fall back over her eyes, the Baroness stepped back and raised her arm high. Swooshing down through the thick air the leather tails struck straight between her victim’s wide-open legs. A singeing, searing tumult of agony raced from her tortured sex to her brain and this time Mistress Madonna could not help herself, her free leg jerking wildly as she screamed the scream of the damned. Her cunt was on fire.

  “Ah, not so defiant now are you, Mistress high and mighty?”

  Gathering her senses together, Mistress Madonna blinked the tears from her eyes.

  “What makes you say that, you aristocratic prat? I can take anything that you can hand out.”

  “Is that a fact? Well, we will soon find out, shall we not?”

  In reality Mistress Madonna knew that the Baroness’ words were true and she could not possibly hold out forever, but she was not going to capitulate without a fight.

  The tails of the martinet flashed down mercilessly, sometimes striking along the full length of her sex and sometimes landing higher to punish her mons before biting into the widening slit between her wavy labia. Succulent labia that always set Julian’s passions aflame and his cock throbbing and it was only too apparent that even in these circumstances it was happening again. With his mouth stuffed but his eyes wide open, he drank in the scene before him, his cock a rearing column of steel.

  And like Julian, as the lashes continued to fall on her wickedly-abused vagina, unbelievably Mistress Madonna found herself becoming aroused. No! This was not what she wanted at all. Pain really was becoming pleasure and she could not allow it to continue.

  But fight against as she did, it was of no use. Her body had a mind of its own; it wanted more of the same. Much more. Unconsciously she pushed her crotch forwards to meet the slashing martinet; her clitoris fighting its way out of its protective hood, searching for the tails, begging for the leather tips to home in on her lusting love bud.

  The Baroness was so intent on delivering a scourging thrashing that she completely missed the tell-tale signs of Mistress Madonna’s rising passions, even to the extent of not noticing the drops of love juice that flicked from the increasingly soaked leather tails as she whipped them up from her victim’s flooding vagina.

  Her clitoris erect and hardened into a fleshy Vesuvius on the verge of eruption and her nipples now throbbing and tingling with expectation, Mistress Madonna mentally blotted out her awful surroundings; leaving her mind and body free to do nothing but luxuriate in the torrent of high voltage rapture coursing through every fibre of her being. The Baroness carried on enthusiastically slashing down the tails of the martinet, still completely oblivious to Mistress Madonna’s highly aroused state and it was only when she laid a particularly vicious strike directly on to her rejoicing clitoris and Mistress Madonna exploded in a squealing, thrashing climax of monumental intensity that she realized exactly what her beating had achieved. Not the total destruction of her victim’s self-esteem and defences as she had intended but a series of joyous, noisy and intense orgasms.

  Astounded, she stepped back.

  “You bitch! You were enjoying yourself all along. How could I have been so foolish as to miss the signs? You are going to pay for this, have no doubt about it.”

  Still being hammered by the after shocks of her stupendous orgasm Mistress Madonna fought to bring herself back to reality, realising that she had no doubts whatsoever; worse would follow of that she was sure.

  The Baroness looked around once more, her eyes this time alighting on a huge candelabrum holding five very large, fat candles standing in the middle of the long table. Mistress Madonna’s heart fell as through a curtain of hair she saw the Baroness striding towards it. In the book that she had found at her bedside she had read that one of Erzebet Bathori’s favourite tortures was to plunge a burning candle into a slave’s vagina and to leave it burning with the hot wax flowing over the poor unfortunate’s sex until the flame reached the entrance to her hole. That was what was going to happen to her, she just knew it.

  Her fears were confirmed when the Baroness wrestled one of the candles from its holder and marched determinedly towards her. Her previously sopping, elating vagina dried and snapped shut in an inst
ant and in desperation she tried to kick out at her torturer with her free leg.

  “You, Vladimir, make yourself useful. Grab her leg and hold it steady.”

  His bony grip was of steel as he followed the Baroness’ instructions and straightened Mistress Madonna’s leg, pulling it out to full length. Grinning evilly, the Baroness attempted to drill the flaming candle down into Mistress Madonna’s love tunnel. She met with no success. The siege was on, this was one cunt that was not going to allow entry without a battle.

  “Marquis! I need some help here.”

  He was by her side in a flash.

  “Open that twat for me.”

  “Delighted, dear Baroness.”

  And he was too. Dipping all the fingers of both hands into the slit between them, he tugged Mistress Madonna’s sex lips apart. But the girth of the candle was such that the Baroness still had to virtually screw it into the depths of her vagina.

  But eventually it was buried deep enough to stay put and everyone moved away to watch the molten wax roll down the candle and flow over the pulped sex beneath it. The savaged state of Mistress Madonna’s labia heightened the effect of the wax, the resultant sensations of burning that she felt being greatly intensified as the wax solidified over them.

  After a few minutes, the Marquis broke the silence.

  “Baroness, if I were you I’d hurry things up a little. It’s past midnight now and you should be preparing for the Ceremony.”