Romania
He walked the battlements of his Carpathian fortress, the moon casting him in monochrome shadow as he hung his great cock over a parapet and pissed down the curtain walls and into the crags below. The castle towers, armed with cannons, rose high above. The courtyard, the castle's keep, stables, a blacksmith shop, and a great hall lay within the walls. The armory, busy by day, stood silent. The castle's day workers, a gardener, the stable hands, and more had disappeared with the retreating sun. Past the ironwood doors of the great hall were tapestried walls and weighty rugs, fireplaces, candelabras, a long table of marble, and shelves of books. Corridors led to passageways, hidden chambers, escape tunnels, and a hall for Dracula's use alone. Here occurred an iron door, a bolt no mortal could throw. Stairs descended to a tunnel, opening into a cavern, an underground mausoleum where Dracula's coffin sat, empty by night, and with its occupant by day.
Deeper yet existed a grotto, shimmering under a vaulted ceiling, an expansive pool, hewed from rock, fed from a wellspring, steaming, unchecked, overspilling, disappearing into a crevasse.
Bathing within these depths was the object of Dracula's desire, Despoina, goddess of fertility, floating on her back, her immaculate face, the points of her hips and breasts breaking the surface as she floated in slow currents. She pulled herself from the pool, reaching for a robe, drying herself in preparation for a tunic of gossamer transparency, bare-shouldered with diving pleats. She proceeded to the great hall and greeted Dracula as he studied a scroll.
"The book of the dead?" she asked scathingly. "Dust laded and putrefied, the lingering valedictions of the pharaohs."
She dropped to her knees in front of him, rubbing her face on the bulge in his pants, feeling his organ stretch under the caresses of her soft cheek, unbuttoning his pants and catching his member with both hands as it sprang to her pleasure. Equal in measure to any stallion, she guided his immortal meat down her throat while her goddess's tongue flicked his nut sack.
"At worst, this bit of Egyptology is a half-truth," he said, trying to ignore the ferocity with which she sucked his cock.
She slipped his cock out of her mouth.
"Vlad of the Dragon order, Impaler, son of Dracul and this way Dracula, drive your scabbard into my twat, for I require grander perversions this night. Use your unholy weapon and slaughter my cunt. I am Hell's death-dealing bitch and will have my satisfaction."
She lay on the cold, marble table and pulled her knees up, letting loose with lurid groans of pleasure, her eyes glowing black as Dracula filled her with cock.
"Dishonored me!" she screamed, "Oh, fuck me better than the Gods themselves. "Do not toy with me, villain; drive your sword home."
"I need no instructions, you ethereal slut. Prepare for my load."
Dracula's cum flowed out of Desponia's quim and spilled over the table's edges.
"Ahhhh," moaned Desponia, "Should we take a stroll in the moonlight."
"Must I suffer the moon? "We barely finish one activity, and you call for another."
Despoina slid off the table, standing before Dracula with her icy beauty, reaching with white, sculpted arms, tugging at her tunic, letting it slip to her waist.
"What would please you, Dracula?"
"I've not fed in a month."
"I'll keep you in my clutches yet. But first, accept a different gift. Follow me."
"You've only to lead the way."
"In haste." she warned, "the sun may rise."
"It is not yet midnight!"
He followed her out of the hall and along the corridor to a little-used castle entrance.
"The moon is still brighter than expected."
