The Making Of Vampire Slaves

The South of France

1751

Viviane threw herself back onto the brocade coverlet and pulled the curtains around the bed. "Why are we forced to stay in this...this hovel, sister?"

Annaliese, looking mildly bored, glanced around the palatial room, taking in the silk wallpaper and gold-leafed molding at the ceiling. "It is beneath us, sister. Hopefully Papa will return soon."

"And who is this relative we are visiting?" Viviane groaned, plucking at the red velvet ribbons in her ebony hair, and kicking the slippers from her feet.

"Our cousin, Gerald de Valmont, Marquis of Reniue. Or Papa's cousin. Or Maman's. Who knows? Who cares?" Annaliese replied as she pulled the crinolines from beneath her skirt, throwing them carelessly into a corner. Suddenly, she sat up and grinned wickedly. "Our cousin has left us alone too long, sister. Shall we find him?" She slipped the netting from her long hair, the mirror image of her twin sister, and her hair fell in black waves to almost her knees.

Viviane jumped up and ripped off her own petticoats, letting her hair down as well. "Let's. He will not know what to make of us, my sister." Grasping hands, the two girls ran from the room into the cold hallway which led to the Library, giggling, having no idea what they were in for.

Marquis de Valmont was occupied.

Rather, his cock was occupied, buried in the mouth and throat of Lady Remington, Emma to her friends, and Snookums to her husband, Alfred, Lord Remington. She was in a complete disarray, her corset loosened, spilling her overly large breasts out the top, the nipples dusky and hard. Her pantalets were ripped open, her quim shiny in the candlelight, and one of the candelabra beeswax candles, fat and slick, had found its way into her dripping cunt.

"Swallow me, Emma. Surely you can do better than that!" The Marquis lazily remarked, his mind not on the events of the moment. He absentmindedly grabbed the back of Lady Remington's head and thrust his cock in just a bit further, not hearing the gagging and groaning coming from her. Her hands grasped at the candle, pushing it deeper in her frantically. "My God, Emma, exactly how deep is your cunt?" he laughed, noticing the end of the candle getting sucked into her sloppy folds.

Just then, the door to the Library blew open, banging into the plaster wall, the two Constantine sisters skipping in like children.

"Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my God..." Viviane screeched like a broken record, grapping onto the back of Annaliese's gown. Her eyes were glued to the sight of her cousin, sitting calmly in a high-backed leather chair, staring back at them with a slight wry smile, as that...that woman was growing bluish in the face, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she passed out from not being able to breathe. As she fell in an ungraceful heap on the floor, the candle slid from her quim, its job obviously done.

"Cousins, how good of you to join me!" The Marquis laughed, his cock still hard and stiff, shiny from the saliva of his forgotten conquest.

"You...I...sorry to have interrupted, sir." Annaliese stammered, attempting to back out of the room, but Viviane had a death grip on her gown and would not move. Suddenly, she felt the cotton skirt rip down the seam in the back, and a great hunk of it tore away into Viviane's hands, not that the girl even realized it.

De Valmont got up slowly, not taking the time to fix himself back into his pants, and moved along the wall to shut the door behind Annaliese. "Surely you have not troubled me, my dears. Do come in." He grabbed them both by the arms and dragged them further into the dim recesses of the room. "Don't mind Lady Remington. She just was not up to the task. I was growing tired of her anyway, and needed to replace her. Aren't I a lucky man you two are both here?" He grinned savagely, dropping the girls on the floor in front of the blazing fire place. "Now don't be rude and go anywhere."

Turning, he grasped a bellpull beside the mantle of the fireplace, and distantly a deep bell rang, echoing through the mansion. He grabbed both girls around the head, covering their mouths before they could scream. A moment, a mere second, later, the door to the Library opened quietly, and Wentworth, the English butler, strode in. "Sir?" he drawled, his eyes staring slightly above de Valmont's head.

"Remove that." He waved in the general direction of Lady Remington, still in a lifeless heap.

Wentworth swallowed, but showed no other sign of discomfort, as if his Master were not standing there in a state of dishabille, holding his two cousins hostage as they mindlessly struggled against him, to no avail, with the unconscious wife of a visiting diplomat lying on the floor. Wentworth knew the cost of disobeying. Bending over, he picked up the poor woman, his black morning coat straining at the buttons, and turned and left the room without a sound.

"Now, what shall we do with you two moppets?" de Valmont whispered to the frantic girls. "I do believe I can think of something."