Alicia pulled on a heavy gray sweater. It was thick and long, hanging halfway down her thighs. On this rainy evening it was the perfect comfort clothing.

She curled up on the couch with her favorite book and a cup of tea. She devoured the words, falling into the world of Dracula eagerly. When she reached the first description of Count Dracula, she slowed savoring the words; “His face was a strong – a very strong – aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead” but it was the description of his mouth as “rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth” that made her shiver in a response wholly different than Jonathan Harker’s shudder.

She found the description of his hands, “coarse with thick fingers,” left her curious about how this cruel, inhuman man’s touch would feel. She expected there would be none of the movie romance and softness that celluloid lovers gave the character.

Alicia bit her lip, and shifted on the couch feeling the warmth between her thighs. She slipped a book mark between the pages, and stood intending to refill her tea. The room seemed to darken for a moment, and she briefly wondered if the power had gone out.

But then, her eyes adjusted to the smoky light of fire and candles. The floor, formerly plush carpet, was hard and cold under her feet, and her bare legs prickled in the chill. She heard a gruff voice speaking, and looked up…and saw him

This wasn’t Bela Lugosi or Frank Langella or Gary Oldman. This was the hard angled face of the Romanian Count whom Stoker had described. His expression was severe, and yes, she thought, deliciously sadistic.

His dark eyes captured her, and she felt pinned to the spot. He spoke again and slowly the words made sense. She was certain he must be speaking Romanian, but even though she couldn’t understand the exact words, she felt she could understand the thought and intention behind them. There was certainly no communication barrier as his eyes raked over her, and she felt a flush ascend from her chest to her face as she sensed his approval.

She’d get looks at home, wearing only the oversized sweater, but in the 15th century, she couldn’t imagine how her lack of attire was being translated. Slowly she realized that she was in the man’s bedroom, as a massive wooden four post bed, with heavy curtains dominated the space. He was wearing a heavy robe, trimmed with some sort of fur, and his mahogany hair fell in heavy curls over this shoulder.

Gradually, the words he spoke became words she understood clearly.

“Why you are here?”

The words penetrated her stupor, and she fumbled for an answer. Her hands tightened on the book she still held. “I… I don’t know” she replied her voice barely a whisper.

He narrowed his eyes at her, moving toward her far more quickly than she expected. Then he stood before her, not as tall as she expected. But he radiated a hard cruelty that turned her knees to water. She swayed on her feet, and his hands grasped her arms, digging painfully into her flesh, and the book fell, forgotten, to the floor between them.

Alicia whimpered, once again feeling the heat between her legs. She found her voice, and no longer whispering said, “I am here for you.”

A wicked smile twisted his lips, and she saw the gleam of his sharp teeth. He leaned forward, and kissed her, grinding his lips into hers, while his fingers continued to bruise her flesh.

Alicia moaned, low in her throat.

He pushed her away, staring at her. He released her arms, and she remained standing. Alicia craved cruelty; she was an experienced masochist, who realized that her response had surprised one of history’s greatest sadists. “You relish this pain?” he asked.

Alicia nodded. “Yes, my lord.” Once again her voice was confident.

His cold smile returned, and she noticed his robe edging apart as his cock twitched out of the opening. He grabbed the neck of her sweater and tore it down the middle. Alicia, while stunned at the display of his strength, let the shreds of the garment fall to the floor. Standing naked in front of Count Dracula, the cold room made her flesh prickle. His cold flesh produced a wholly different response.

He wrapped a hand in her hair and jerked her toward the bed. The pain made her eyes tear, but she knew after the sweater, that he was holding back. Yes, she thought, he had decided to enjoy her. She complied with his unspoken wish, scurrying to the bed.

He shoved her over, leaving her bent over the mattress. Her face and breasts pressed into the fur blankets strewn over the bed.She felt a flash of disappointment that this wasn’t his coffin.But her disappointment was ameliorated when his hands caressed her back. Those coarse fingers and long, talon-like nails teased her flesh.

Alicia whimpered again, and felt the spill of his hair as he leaned over her. “What are you?” His cold lips whispered in her ear.

Alicia shifted, placing her hands on the mattress, wanting to see him to answer. But he caught her hands, his fingers squeezing her wrists and twisting her arms behind her back. Her muscles protested, straining and aching at his treatment. She heard the whoosh of cloth and felt what must be the belt of his robe wrapped expertly around her wrists. She imagined his robe, unbound and gaping open. What type of cock would he have? Stoker hadn’t described that part of him.

His fingers reached between her thighs, rubbing roughly at her wet lips. His cold flesh, never warmed by her heat, nevertheless had her moaning and begging. Even when she felt the sharp edge of his nails against her clit, she moaned a desperate “yes.” His free hand cupped her hip and his claws bit into her flesh, and she felt the wet drip of blood sliding slowly down her legs. When his tongue touched her skin, lapping at the trails of blood, she shivered in delight.

And for a moment the only sounds in the room were the wet squelch of her cunt and the wet lapping of his tongue. He continued to rub her sex, his fingers tugging on her clit, squeezing and pinching the delicate flesh as she broke the silence, crying out as body shook with her orgasm. She released a torrent of filthy language, begging for all the things she so desperately wanted from him – begging even to be impaled.

In response he laughed a cold, rough laugh that filled the room.

She squirmed on the bed, feeling the humiliation of her actions wash over her.Her skin heated in shame, but she could hear the wet sounds of his fingers in her cunt, and she wanted more.

He unbound her arms, and the pain of the blood returning to them made her groan. Before she had a moment to wonder what he intended, he picked her up, flipping her on to her back.

Slightly stunned she lay panting on the bed. He stared down at her, his robe hanging open as she’d imagined. His cock, jutted large and swollen from the thicket of hair between his thighs.He caught her gaze. “You are a brazen woman” he hissed at her. “You watch my cock like a starving dog watches a bone.”

Once again, she felt the shame, but did not deny his comparison.

He shrugged out of the heavy robe, and his pale flesh was revealed. He was a hairy man, not just the palms that Stoker mentioned, but a heavy patch of fur that covered his chest and stretched across his taut belly to the tangle of hair around his cock. But he was right; it was his cock that her eyes couldn’t leave. He had a thick, heavy cock with a bulbous head that was as red as his lips, and she ached for it.

He climbed on the bed, fitting himself between her spread legs. Reaching up, he grabbed her wrists again, and she felt the bones grind. The tip of his cock pressed against her, and she couldn’t stop herself from tilting her hips, trying to press him inside her.

He shifted, once again laughing down at her. Again, she felt her humiliation, begging for a stranger’s cock, panting and wet for his rough touch. He held her, looking down on her with cruel, dark eyes.

Then he shoved his cock into her, and she cried out, not quite a scream but rough and loud.

He fucked her mercilessly, his pace fast and frantic. His hand held her wrist above her head, and his weight pressed her into the furs of the bed. Alicia spread her legs further, bending her knees, her feet finding purchase in the folds of the furs. She began to meet his thrusts, relishing the feel of his body slamming into hers. The rough thicket of his hair scraping her already battered clit, made her tingle and moan.

His gaze found hers, and once again she felt trapped by his dark eyes. She saw him smile when she winced and whined. His teeth gleamed white and sharp in the flickering firelight, as he lowered his head to her neck.

She felt his teeth; she felt his bite, hard and tearing. She felt him sucking on her torn flesh, and she felt herself come again. Her cunt clamped around his cold, hard cock as she cried out her orgasm, not caring if her cries roused the entire castle. This was the sadist she had dreamed of, this was the pain and humiliation she’d fantasized about for so very long. No human man had ever been able to play this game with the finesse the Count demonstrated.

His body shook as he neared his own orgasm.He broke away from her bleeding neck, his mouth red with her blood and he howled as he came.

He ground his cock deeper into her, before releasing her wrists and laying half on top of her.

Alicia tentatively moved, rolling her sore wrists, the bloom of bruises already shading her flesh with dark finger marks.Slowly she let herself stroke his hair, the rich silky curls sliding through her fingers, and tickling her chest where his head rested.

And this time he sighed contentedly. “I am going to enjoy breaking you, my strange woman.”

And Alicia echoed his contented sigh, and continued to pet his hair until she fell asleep.

Chapter 2

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