by Salem Roth
The Welcome
Theresa saw it first. If “it” was in fact there. A silhouetted figure in the top of one of the towers. Backlit by the intermittent lightning, it was indeed a person up there. Ian wondered if the person could see them through the blackness and rain, when lightening streaked the sky and landscape, and bathed everything in high-noon brightness for a second or two. Less than half a mile from the castle, the rain eased and Theresa saw that it was probably a woman when next Zeus threw a bolt of excitable ions to Earth. They both smelled the ozone lingering in the wake of a close strike and the fine hairs on the arms and napes stood at attention. In the darkness, the castle looked like a massive gray monolith devoid of features. Ian shook off the goose bumps forming all over his body and attributed it to the walk in lousy weather and water that seeped in here and there to run icy fingers down the spine. Theresa just stared, keeping her eyes locked on the tower when, during the next flash, the woman was gone. A quarter mile to slog through.
“D’ya think she saw us?” Theresa asked.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Hell, we don’t even know if it was a woman.”
On final approach, the drenched couple crossed a lowered draw bridge over a moat filled with something black in which it looked like there were creatures stopping just short of breaking the surface. A trick of the eye? Illusion? Theresa wrote it off as exhaustion from the day’s activities and night’s travails. Little did she know that it was only the beginning. Large double doors with a tarnished brass knocker the size of a gorilla’s head and some sort of family crest were the only break in the grayness of the courtyard they crossed to mount the entrance steps. Ian guessed the brass implement weighed at least 10 pounds as he drew it back, but did not get the chance to contemplate further. The left door opened partially on protesting, rusted hinges fashioned in a simpler time. Flickering, golden rays of light beckoned and promised warmth and shelter. The ordeal was over.
“Thank God,” Theresa breathed, and stepped inside followed by an equally relieved Ian. Upon entering the foyer she added, “Wow!” Ian just stood slack-jawed and took in the surroundings.
The foyer ceiling 40 feet above was a fresco depicting the fall of man, original sin, the serpent and the apple. There was something different about the fresco, but Ian and Theresa continued to survey the large greeting hall. The walls were hung with tapestries and oil paintings from antiquity and the polished granite floor shone as if recently buffed. Hundreds of candles blazed in a feeble attempt to provide light, but it was enough to see everything clearly. At the far side of the foyer, two mottled marble staircases arose from the floor on either side of a burgundy curtained doorway, gold brocade bordering the concealing material. Sitting to each side of the drapery was a huge Irish wolfhound, mouths agape with tongue lolling out, beady black orbs locked on the visitors. Ian and Theresa froze, mentally calculating the distance to the front door should they need to escape back into the night. Better wet and miserable than torn to pieces by a pair of 150 pound dogs. Keeping his eyes down so as not to challenge the beasts, Ian whispered under his breath, “Don’t make eye contact and don’t let them out of your sight. Take a step back, slowly T.”
Theresa, gripped by fear, hesitated, and nearly pissed herself when a low, sultry voice said: “I see you have met Romie and Vlad. How nice. You have nothing to be afraid of unless you mean me harm, and I do not believe that is your intent.”
Theresa was the first to react. “No, no, we mean you no harm Miss. Our rental car broke down a few miles back and well, we’re lost. We are so sorry to have barged in like this but we were getting desperate. And we were stupid enough to not charge our phones” Theresa added weakly, taking her inert iphone from her waterproof carry-all, and shaking it, as if it might turn back on somehow.
The woman’s accent was faint, but it sounded vaguely Spanish to Ian’s ears. The woman continued, “My name is Rosa Violente, and you are, of course, welcome to stay. I warn you though; this place may be hard to leave.”
Ian barely registered the strange end words of Rosa's statement. He was excitedly thinking that this might be a castle which provided, like Urquhart. But no, this was not on any of the stately homes and castles he’d so thoroughly researched. A niggling in his brain was quieted when he gazed at the raven haired beauty now halfway down the left set of stairs. She was tall, about 5’ 10”, slender but well toned, wearing a scarlet long-sleeved evening dress that hugged every curve and ended with a flair at the wrist. Long manicured nails matched the dress and small, firm breasts were partially visible as the neckline plunged almost to her pubis. The faintest hint of hardened nipples poked through the shimmering attire. Thick, black hair hung to the waist in a continuous wave, but the bangs were cut straight across giving Rosa an Egyptian appearance except…the eyes that appraised Ian and Theresa were a vivid emerald green. . Also, the woman’s skin was white as alabaster, almost glowing with the paleness.
The second thought that involuntarily invaded Ian’s mind was that the woman was beautiful, regal in a way. And that she possessed a raw edged quality: she was carnality personified. A song from his childhood by a group called Queen abruptly ran through his brain.
She keeps her Moet et Chandon, in a pretty cabinet
'Let them eat cake' she says just like Marie Antoinette
A built-in remedy for Kruschev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation you can't decline
Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette
Extraordinarily nice, she's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind-anytime
Ooh, recommended at any price, insatiable an appetite
Wanna’ try ?
To avoid complications she never kept the same address
In conversation she spoke just like a baroness
Met a man from China went down to Geisha Minah
(killer, killer, she's a Killer Queen)
Then again incidentally, if you're that way inclined
Perfume came naturally from Paris (naturally), but she couldn't care less
Fastidious and precise she's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, gelatine dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind-anytime
Drop of a hat she's as willing as, playful as a pussy cat
Then momentarily out of action, temporarily out of gas
To absolutely drive you wild, wild..
She's out to get you
She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, gelatine dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind-anytime
Wanna’ try? You wanna’ try…
He and Theresa were not jealous types, but if she’d known what he was thinking, there would probably be trouble. He pulled the wet. Shetland wool sweater lower to cover his burgeoning cock while water dripped and pooled on the floor at his feet. The woman’s eyes went quickly to Ian’s waist before fixing on Theresa. The young newlywed blushed and cast her eyes to the floor to hide the excitement stirring between her legs. Ms. Violente was frickin’ gorgeous and Theresa instantly wanted her with an ache she could not have readily described.
Rosa smiled knowing that what they saw was what she wanted them to see ala the “décor” and the dogs that did not exist.
Playing the gracious hostess, she continued, “You must be frozen half-to-death. Let me find you some dry robes and perhaps a bit a brandy would be in order? I insist you stay the night at least. A mechanic can be contacted tomorrow if you wish. For tonight, relax, and let be what will be.”
Instead of asking the obvious questions such as who are you, really, and why are you in a castle by yourself and what do you do here, the couple meekly acquiesced, and leaving a trail of rainwater droplets, parted the velveteen drapery to enter a large banquet room. Stuffed cushion sofas, divans, and chairs were arranged in seven intimate settings, each with a small coffee table in the middle and resting on hand-knit Per
sian carpets. On the tables, an ornate vase of purple-black orchids sat directly in the center on an ecru doily. It looked as though there were seven different living rooms in one space to facilitate different discussions or conversations between the Illuminati hundreds of years in the past. 'Why am I getting a feeling of déjà vu here’,Ian wondered.
“Because you are meant to be here, darling.”
Ian whipped his head around but no one was there except a shivering, drenched Theresa. Rosa Violente, their mysterious benefactor had disappeared to fetch brandy and dry clothes. It was in his head, then. Maybe the after effects of scotch, sunburn, and the stroll in a tempest. That had to be it! Theresa noticed his reaction and asked what was bothering him.
“Nothing, just tired. Hearing weird shit. Violente is something, huh?”
To Ian’s surprise, Theresa enthusiastically agreed.
Rosa returned balancing a silver drink tray with two large snifters and a lead crystal bottle of amber liquid on the palm of her right hand which she set down in front of her guests. Slung across her left arm were two soft tartan patterned, terrycloth robes. She set them down too and excused herself so that they could change. Watching the couple from the shadows as they undressed, the nubile bodies full of delicious sustenance and the promise of pleasure beyond comparison, Rosa fought the urge to rush in and take them both. The scent of Theresa’s cunt drove her crazy with a heat not felt for decades. The man, McMasters, was more than well endowed with a hard body to match. She could feel the heat radiating off his reddish shoulders and chest.
‘Wait’, she told herself.
Ian and Theresa pulled the luxurious robes on, and cinched the tie cords, strung through a loop on either side. Rosa smiled to herself because there were no robes. Watching the couple go through the motions of donning them was amusing. She could make them see anything she chose; the Irish wolfhounds were a prime example. Rosa almost laughed aloud when she saw the small heart riding atop Theresa’s sex. They were hers’ now, or would be soon. As Theresa extended her hands to grasp the brandy snifters, the lady of the castle returned.
“Do you need to dine?” asked Rosa.
“No, thank you,” Ian and Theresa answered in unison. “The brandy is divine,” Theresa added.
“It is Louis XVI. When I consumed alcohol, it was my favorite. I am gratified that you like it”
Ian immediately thought that this vision of beauty must be a recovering alcoholic, but did not pursue the matter as it would seem rude. He sipped some of the elixir and let the heat spread from his stomach to warm body and soul. Theresa followed suit.
“How did you come to be here all by yourself? Does the hired help go home at night?” Theresa asked.
“I enjoy solitude to a large degree and maintenance on a place such as this is minimal. No staff has worked here at Castle Vladimir for over half a century.”
Ian could feel the blush rising on his face and hoped the burn would cover it as he apologized for the intrusion. He also felt suddenly sleepy. Glancing at Theresa, he saw that her head was lolling to the side, and as his vision began to blur, he knew what had happened. They’d been drugged. ‘The brandy,’ he thought. He looked down and saw that he and Theresa were in fact naked as the day they were born. Not only that, the couch on which they sat was merely a high-backed bench. The other six settings were gone showing only dulled bare rock flooring. Theresa slumped against his shoulder. The last thing Ian saw as his eyelids fell was Rosa Violente’s green eyed, appraising gaze and smiling blood red lips. And her teeth. They seemed to be protruding weirdly. No, not protruding; extending. Like fangs or something. That…could not be…correct. His eyes closed but he remained conscious long enough to hear her words.
“Welcome to the rest of your miserable little life, Mr. McMasters. I will bestow a gift on you and your whore should you choose to accept it” He knew he had not told her his surname, but nothing seemed to really matter now. Nothing at all. ‘A gift?’
The Dungeon
Rosa’s slender form belied her physical strength as she easily hefted the inert bodies to her shoulders and carried them down curving steps to the nether regions of Castle Vladimir. She entered one of the smaller chambers, a low ceilinged room 20x20 square feet, and proceeded to the far end. A cage five feet in depth ran the length of the back wall. It was reminiscent of an old, wild west jail cell seen in oaters except for the cold stone back wall. This is where Ian and Theresa would awake within the hour. Slamming the cast iron door, Rosa drew her special chair to the front of the cell and watched them as awareness slowly returned. Theresa stirred before Ian as she had consumed much less of the laced brandy. He roused a few minutes later.
Shadows danced in the candle lit chamber. There was enough of the subdued illumination to allow some shadowed vision, once human eyes adjusted. On one wall of the enclosure, a host of torture devices hung, maintained and ready for use. Ian recognized most of them and a pit formed in his belly. He registered ornately decorated “pears of anguish’ in three sizes, a set of thumbscrews, a head crusher, and a “heretics’ fork”. Rosa did not need light to see, but she wanted them to see…everything. Ian spoke first.
“Wha, why did you drug us? Why are you doing this? Who are y…?”
Rosa Violente, Vampress supreme, ignored the questions. Instead, she reached behind to her back as she looked directly at Ian and unzipped the scarlet dress. It fell to the floor with a soft whoosh and pooled around her bare feet. She stepped nude into a brighter patch of light and arched her back in a satisfying stretch. It reminded Theresa of a large jungle cat. Ian’s last question died on his lips as he stared openly, transfixed by Rosa’s pale, yet somehow silky form. Small, perky breasts capped with erect, pink nipples graced her chest. Ian and Theresa’s gaze was drawn to Violente’s pussy as she slid a finger into her own sex and then licked her glistening finger before sliding it into her mouth. In their minds, both captors heard Rosa’s projected thoughts. ‘You would taste me?’ she asked. Mesmerized, both replied, “Yes!”
“That is acceptable, but much more will be required, demanded of you,” she said aloud.
The cage door creaked open as Rosa turned her back to let the pair see her ass. Ian thought of Angelina Jolie or one of those Kardashians’. Just the curve of the woman’s rear caused a tingling in his balls. He was instantly erect and Theresa reached over without thinking to stroke his lengthening manhood as they sat on the floor. Ian stood and made to leave the cage.
“No,” Rosa said, “crawl to me.”
Ian dropped to all fours and crawled on the hard, unforgiving surface to kneel before Rosa who was back in the chair. She could smell the blood left on the floor from Ian’s scraped knees. She looked down at the top of Ian’s head, and thought again of killing him outright, but she was strangely drawn to him as he was to her. Telepathically, she instructed Ian to open the stirrup-like structures on either side of the chair and slid her hips forward to the edge of the seat while reclining. Ian looked up and was face to pussy, only a few inches separating them. He waited obediently while he inhaled the perfume of Rosa’s sweet gash. She, too, was trimmed. Not a heart though. A quarter inch wide strip of ebony-black pubic hair arced horizontally in an inverted smile with vertical, “V” shapes on either side of the labia majora. ‘Fangs,' Ian mused. Rosa spread her long, flawless legs and placed an ankle in each stirrup, her velveteen pussy lips parting slightly to reveal her excitement.
“Satisfy me, Ian,” was all the Vampress uttered, and he intended to.
Kneeling before her, he replied, “Yes, mistress,” and reached out to stroke her torso while he applied his tongue to the exquisite nipples. Rosa moaned deep in her throat, a feral sound, when Ian unexpectedly clamped his teeth onto the sensitive flesh, a little nip, before sucking the right breast into his mouth. Ian wriggled a finger into Rosa as he kissed and tongued his way down this perfect entity eliciting another growl. He was unprepared for the ferocity with which she grabbed his blond hair and yanked his head down to mas
h it against her sex. “Lick my cunt, NOW!”
Ian flicked out his tongue and delved into Rosa’s pussy, tasting her nectar, and licking her hole thoroughly. He found her clitoris and made slow circles around it with his tongue while sucking, grazing the engorged panic button from time to time. When he finally gave the clit his full attention, he inserted his index finger into her dripping cunt and middle finger in her capricious ass.
Rosa decided she’d been correct in not killing this man. As he ministered to her, bringing her close to the edge of shattering orgasm, she allowed herself to fully experience the sensations flooding her starved body. She opened her eyes long enough to glance at Theresa who still sat on the cage floor with an expression akin to fascination. When Ian poked his slicked finger into her butt, she exploded. Writhing hips could not dislodge his tongue nor the fingers holding her to the spot. Rosa came again and again, the years of abstinence melting away as Ian dropped unconscious to the floor in front of the chair. She stayed reclined and basked in the glow reaching every part of her starved body. In his induced state of slumber, the throbbing dick grew flaccid, and Rosa decided it was time for the next game.
