Dracula's Slumberous Sex Life Ch. 02

This chapter turned out a bit differently than planned...

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June 21, 2009

From the Desk of Christophe X, Count Dracula

I dreamt of her again last night, my sweet, fanged succubus, who has now been missing ten years. We shared a hot, charged interlude with several other of us fanged "creatures of the night."

Now, more than ever, I appreciate the cloak of inky night as it brings me closer to her, if only in my dreams.

On this, the tenth anniversary of her disappearance, I wanted to prepare a special tableau for her. I had recently observed, not by choice, mind you, the full extent of the depravity of King Stuart as he enslaved Bitsy, Katya's sister. I had warned him at the trial what would happen if he harmed her, but he didn't seem to listen or mind.

At a dinner held by the king, purely for my "benefit," he treated Bitsy like a whore. Bitsy, whose cold countenance could freeze colder than the Carpathian peaks in winter, burned for him, a needy slut. My business partner and assistant.

And, I should add this, it wasn't that I lusted after Bitsy when she kneeled before Stuart in supplication, her entire being focused on any crumbs of attention he would bestow. It wasn't that at all.

Bitsy and Katya are nearly identical. Katya has always tended to be the softer one, the quieter one, the submissive one. But it wasn't until I saw Bitsy in that pose that I superimposed Katya with Bitsy and myself with Stuart.

And knew how our "anniversary" dream must go.

We were childhood sweethearts, were raised as brother and sister, in fact, although I knew long before Katya that we were no blood relation. She was my first. My only. I had and still have eyes for no one else.

I cherished her beyond all bearing. Could I really debase and humiliate my only love and make her my slut, my whore?

Many nights went into making mental preparations for the night. I realized, early on in these slumbering sessions, that I could "program" them if I concentrated on certain tableaus or props leading up to them.

My computer screen saw images it had never seen before leading up to that night. Paddles, crops, whips, clamps, rope...a Master's paradise.

I visited stores and felt the items, stroked things like butt plugs and dildoes, things my still-sexually-limited brain could not comprehend.

Each night, when she would come to me and cum for me, I held my tongue to keep from telling her of the surprise I had in store for her. I guided her deeper and deeper down the path of a depravity neither of us had ever known.

The orgy of the night before took all I had not to intervene. The thought of those other hands touching her, other cocks and mouths bringing her to satisfaction, made my warrior's blood boil with jealousy.

But then, I saw her cum...and cum again...and I realized that doing so would deprive her of an orgasmic experience that I could never give her by myself.

But tonight was all her...and me. And an odd assortment of toys and bondage paraphernalia, I thought to myself wryly.

I showered and slipped into a black silk robe that slid coyly over my skin, teasing my hard cock to rocklike attention. My teeth gritting together firmly, I nonetheless refused to reach down to alleviate the pressure of my desire.

That was my newly awakened submissive wife's job as we slept this night.

Finally, I could take the torment no more. My robe parted to reveal my rampant cock, much like that of Priapus, spearing through the gloom. My balls, already engorged with the excitement of the night's festivities to come, were also rock hard beneath my rocky column.

I fell into a fitful slumber. I "awoke" to a stark contrast to the pasha's den of the evening before. No softness here. The iron bars of what appear to be a cell await Katya's arrival. I touch them, they are cold as the ice they are as hard as. I picture myself flinging her against these bars, her soft white flesh compressed with the bars.

She will shiver from the coldness of the dungeon, I muse. I shake off the part of me that would want to pamper her with warm blankets. This is no place for warm blankets, only for floggers and paddles, butt plugs and clamps.

I look at the wall to my right. The implements that I had researched, touched, and even purchased hung by hooks from the board.

A sharp intake of breath that followed on the tails of my nose catching a whiff of the aroma of Katya's arousal alerted me to her presence.

I looked at my sweet wife who I hoped to make my slave tonight. She already wore my rings (wedding and betrothal, both heirlooms), but now I wanted her to wear my collar (that I bought for her and her alone).

She appeared shocked—and a bit scared. "What is this?" Katya asked, her eyes darting around taking in all aspects of the dungeon.

"This is our anniversary celebration," I began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Our anniversary celebration?" Her gaze seemed to focus on the paddles and whips. "And you want to punish me for this particular anniversary?"

"No. And yes," I said, deliberately confusing her.

Her voice came out as a squeak. "Yes?"

"You enjoyed last night, right?" When she nodded, as if in a daze, I continued, "Well, tonight will be the same, simply more."

"More?"

I rushed to clarify. "More pleasure. More sensations. I saw someone doing stuff like this and thought of you. I think of you; just like all those years ago, I think of you and get hard. And I pictured you and me in this place and got so hard I couldn't even think."

"What happens here?" She was softening, I could tell. Trusting me, her husband and dearest love, to guide her through this. Would she soften enough to wear my collar, call me Master?

"An exploration of our deepest and darkest desires." I offered no other explanation.

She walked over to a small padded bench, perhaps the most innocuous piece of furniture in the room. Little did she know, I mused as she settled comfortably down. She had dressed with care for tonight. A silver babydoll gown showed her perfect breasts off to their perfection. My fingers itched to mark them with loving kisses of the flogger. Mark her as MINE, damn it! So that she would bear those marks in consciousness wherever she was hiding from Tracy Bathory.

Still a bit nervous, she nonetheless kept her chin up as I approached. I knelt before her and looked deeply in her eyes. "Do you trust me with this room? Trust me to bring you pleasure and a measure of pain that turns to incandescent pleasure that we can share."

"I trust you," she said, without hesitation. But, even then, I wasn't sure that she understood what all it entailed.

"For this to work, you will refer to Me as 'Master,' and I will call you 'slave' or 'pet.'"

She nodded, as if she were rolling the words around in her mind. To hammer the point home, I added, "And you will follow my directions without balking."

Now, my wife may be known by one and all for being docile and incredibly sweet and giving. And she is. She's also as stubborn as a mule. Even now, her mouth set in a mulish line. I kissed her hard, nearly punishingly, opening her lips with my own and dominating her mouth with my tongue that pressed inexorably passed her lips. The kiss continued for several seconds, until I felt her lips soften beneath me, felt her tongue cling to mine, seeking blind assurance.

I pulled away, and she fell forward slightly, lips parted, questing.

"Stand," I commanded, a tone that she had heard me direct at others, but never at her.

She stood. "Strip, my sweet pet," my hardness now an ache above my thighs. Her eyes seemed to be locked on my cock. Had she ever seen me that hard? "Now, slave!" I ground out.

Her fingers hooked beneath the spaghetti straps of the top of the gown. She slid them down and then shimmied out of the silky material, leaving it in a soft pool at her feet, shiny despite the gloom.

I looked at her and flexed my fingers to keep from pouncing on her. Her hair was a tangled waterfall of ebony, a cloak not quite hiding her full breasts with tight pink nipples that beaded still tighter under my observation. My eyes slid further where her furred pussy lips gleamed with the incontrovertible proof of her desire...for me...and for my dominance.

"That soft stool that you think is so not a part of this, my pet, is a spanking bench." I picked up a paddle, the kindest of the lot (Yes, I had tested them), and sat down on the bench. "You see, its comfort is for my bottom, not yours, my pet." I patted my lap invitingly. My cock stood at such a sharp angle that her belly would surely be impaled.

The mulish slant to her lips was back. The recalcitrant slave. I gestured to my lap again, and she shook her head, an illustration of defiance. I put the steel behind my words. "Bend that ass over, slave, now!"

"Don't wanna," she said, putting a finger in her mouth. I was taken aback but then sputtered with laughter. My slave was being a brat on purpose.

"Now, brat," I said, grasping one of her hands and pulling her down over my lap, my cock pressing into my cock pressing in to her soft white belly.

I heard her muffled "Oof" of surprise, but I simply went on talking in a calm, soothing manner as my paddle caressed her tender butt cheeks.

"In honor of our tenth year apart, we will begin with ten cracks of the paddle. After that, you are free to evaluate the agreement. To determine if we proceed further with this delicate dance of Master and slave. Are you ready?" At her reluctant nod, I swung back and let the paddle fly.

Crack! A shrill shriek burst from my love's lips and her fingers clenched above her head to stop from reaching back to soothe her poor, reddened bum.

Smack! A second smack of the paddle landed squarely where the first hit, and Katya squealed. It was at that moment, I started to feel a telltale wetness squarely beneath her bottom. My fingers probed her sopping slit.

Wet! My sweet pet was aroused by the cracks of the paddle. I rained smacks three, four, and five on her upturned ass, right at the sit spot and listened to her moans of desire.

I took a break and fingered her slit again, coating my fingers in her juices. "My sweet pet, you might say you don't want this, but your body betrays you. Taste your juices," I directed, offering her my fingers.

She took a lick and shivered. While her concentration and focus was on my fingers, I pounded out the remaining strokes of the paddle on her tormented bottom. I didn't "pull my punches." Upon awakening the discovery within my wife, my slave, that she was a pain slut who got off on being spanked, I took the opportunity to hammer that point home.

Immediately after the fifth smack landed, I removed my fingers from her mouth and slid them in her scorchingly hot, steamy cavern of her pussy. I tapped her g-spot once, twice, and then pushed her over the edge the third time when I told her, "Cum for me, my slave wife."

Her scream echoed throughout the dungeon chamber.

I pulled her up and kissed her, tenderly, lovingly, and wiped her tears away.

She snuffled. "I still want this...Master. I want to serve you for the rest of my life."

As on our wedding day, she kissed my wedding band that she had placed there. I reached for the thin strip of black leather on the bench beside me. With a few deft strokes, I secured it around her neck. I kissed the rings I had placed on her fingers all those years ago. Then, I nuzzled and bit right below the collar at the base of her neck.

The world shimmered around us as daylight threatened to separate us. I didn't know if my collar, a tiny public collar worlds different from the much larger training collar I would bestow upon her tomorrow, would transfer back to her when she awoke. Sometimes things did; sometimes they didn't.

I looked to the stocks just to the right of the spanking bench. Tomorrow night I would introduce her to the delights of that particular apparatus.

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I didn't plan on the BDSM elements happening; as usual, my characters took my best intentions and ran away and hid them. Thanks to any readers who have waited for this story to continue. I promise more is coming. After all, Katya has to have her say about being a slave.