Posted by Barbanne on January 06, 2004 at 22:16:09:
Annetta moaned and rolled onto her back.
Her breathing was ragged with passion and her breasts heaved. Her body ran with sweat and it drenched the sheets on which she lay.
She was completely nude.
One sixty five centimetes tall, she was not a big girl, but her small body was beautifully compact and erotically feminine. She was darkly pretty in a sharp faced way and her head was crowned with a mass of curly, black hair which reached down to her shoulders. Her skin was powdery white and her breasts were well formed and thrust out with a nineteen year old's insousiance. Their white softness was topped by her large brown nipples, much bigger than one would expect. Her flat, lean tummy rippled with the exertion of her efforts and her thick, curly bush filled the crevice between her inner thighs, where her hips flared out forming her superbly rounded ass and then her muscular flanks and long, shapely legs.
She took Rinaldo in her outstretched arms and drew him toward her. Rinaldo, twenty six and newly married was enchanted by the gypsy witch in his arms. He crushed her bruised lips with his mouth, tasting the soft sweetness of her breath. His painfully full erection sought out her groin and her small hand caressed his cock with her long finger nails before guiding him into the hot, swollen sheath of her womanhood. He began pumping his hips and Annetta moved with him. Her hips rising and falling, sliding her tight, wet, pussy along his glistening shaft. Faster and faster they moved in unison. Rinaldo felt his orgasm starting in his extremities and moving toward his loins at a tingling speed. His cock grew with erotic passion and he felt his balls tingle and build and then he could hold back no longer and with a cry of purest pleasure his sperm snaked its way down his penis and erupted inside Annetta.
She screamed and bit him on the lip. And then her scream faded to a long drawn out moan of utter fulfilment and she dragged him down onto her. She nibbled at him and held him to her, arms encircling him and crushing him down.
"Leave it inside me my darling." She said.
Hmmmmmmnnnnnnnn." he moaned.
"I want it inside me. I want your cock forever inside me. I shall walk around like this with your great cock forever buried in my pussy."
He laughed.
She tossed her curls and bit him again. He yelped. "You don't believe me?" she whispered. "Don't believe that I have entrapped your manhood and will never let you free?"
He laughed again and they kissed, pressing their bodies together, flattening her breasts to her chest, squashing them against his chest.
The door burst open and light from the living room fire speared into the darkened bedroom. A tall blonde girl stood there, her hands clutching at her breasts.
"Rinaldo. RINALDO! YOU BASTARD!!!!"
She rushed at him. Stooping she picked up the clothes that Annetta had shed in haste earlier.
".......and who is this bitch!!!!!!!!! This bitch who ensnares my husband. Gypsy bitch!!! Gypsy witch................get out of my house."
She flung the clothes at Annetta who had jumped from the bed and was cowering, unsuccessfully trying to hide her nakedness. She grabbed at her clothes and gathered underwear and shoes.
"Rinaldo.............Rinaldo, how could you?"
The blonde was berating and beating Rinaldo even as he sat on the rumpled bed clothes where he had spent his passion with Annetta.
"Erika, Erika." He said.
The blonde had dissolved in a torrent of tears, and had fallen against the naked Rinaldo.
"Rinaldo."
"Erika."
Annetta clutched her clothes and ran from the house.
Rinaldo had Erika's shirt half off and she was clawing at his bare back.
"Erika my love."
"Rinaldo how can you do this to me?"
"Erika, I love only you."
They fell onto the bed.
Annetta dressed quickly as the grunts and moans from the bedroom attested to the reconciliation between man and wife.
Opening the front door she slipped out into the cold, dark, Carpathian night.
The wind caught at Annetta's clothing and chilled her through her light blouse. It scuttled around her ankles and whirled under her skirt. She shivered and hugged her arms around herself. She set out for the camp of the Gypsies a kilometre or so through the forest from Rinaldo's farm. She had only gone a few hundred metres when light rain started. It slanted down out of the dark night sky, growing ever steadier and heavier, catching her and wetting her clothes through. She shivered and began running. The cold rain and the wind tore at her soaked clothing, freezing her through and through. She paused under a large, spreading oak tree where she had protection from the elements. She cursed herself for a fool. Going to Rinaldo's, hot for his cock between her legs. She cursed his wife for coming home then. She cursed Rinaldo for his weakness in not protecting her from his wife's fury. She shivered and cursed at the rain and wind. She wondered how far she had to go. One kilometre, less? She set out again huddling her arms around her and keeping to the side of the road, staying under the tree canopy. Her hair was wet and hung in strings around her face. Her clothes were wet through. She felt the clamminess of her underthings stuck to her body. She was totally miserable and hated herself for getting stuck this way.
So engrossed in her misery was Annetta that she didn't hear the coach until it was almost on her. The snorting of horses aroused her and she stumbled to one side as the six coal black horses, streaming water and blowing steam pulled to a stop. The coach was black and silent. The driver sat mutely on his seat wrapped in a greatcoat and wearing a broad brimmed hat. The door nearest her opened and a gloved hand beckoned her. She went over and peered in. Strange, the door on the other side was just closing. She strained to make out the interior in the gloom. She saw a very old woman dressed all in black. Lined and white faced. Another younger woman also clothed in black sat opposite. The older woman spoke.
"Where are you headed child?"
"The camp of my people. A short way up the road."
"Get in. Come with us."
"Ma'am, I don't know................."
"Don't be silly child. This is no night to be walking."
"Well......., if you don't mind."
"Of course not."
Annetta realised the old woman was looking past her, at someone, behind her, and fear spiked through her. She started to turn. Rough hands grasped her and strong fingers gripped her neck. She felt awful pressure on her throat and her brain started to reel. Crushing spatula like fingers cut off her blood supply and her brain was starved of oxygen. Her eyes rolled up and back, her lungs laboured, darkness washed over her and she collapsed unconscious in the grip of her attacker.
The Countess Bathorie looked at the beautiful, dark haired young girl who slumped, sodden and senseless in Yagor's grasp. She turned to her companion.
"Ideal wouldn't you say Yismelda?"
The white faced younger woman smiled, the moonlight glinting on her protruding teeth. The Countess nodded at Yagor and he slung Annetta's limp body over his shoulder and climbed onto the coach.
The whip cracked and the horses strained forward once more.
The castle was shrouded in mist.
It rose from a bed of swirling fog, darkly beautiful, hauntingly romantic and inexpressibly evil, as its grey stone walls silhouetted themselves against the moonlit night sky. Turrets, spires, battlements, all shrouded in gloomy white mistiness.
The coach trundled through the open gate and as it clanged shut behind them, the coach pulled to a halt in front of the steps leading to the steel banded, wooden entrance door. The doors of the coach swung wide and the Countess Bathorie and her companion Yismelda swept up the stairs in a swirl of dark cloaks and vanished inside. Yagor followed with the still insensible Annetta's inert form draped over his shoulder.
Yagor strode through the darkened halls, their dismal, damp walls lit irregularly by flickering candles in metal sconces. Annetta, rendered out for the long count by Yagor's nerve crushing neck grip, hung inanimately from his shoulder, her bare arms swinging limply around his body, her long, black curly hair streaming downward. Her backside pointed up and her legs showed, white and nude where her mid length peasant skirt had ridden up. Her feet, in buckled shoes were crossed over each other. Yagor's powerful, hairy forearm was wrapped around Annetta's thighs.
Carrying his limp burden, Yagor entered the large room that had once been the feasting hall of the castle when times had been far different. Now it was a huge gloomy cavern, ill lit and bare except for three chairs and a long wooden table clear of all ornamentation. A fire burning in a vast chimney grate provided the only illumination. Dark banners showing death as a mounted cadaver and death as an armoured skeleton hung from the walls. Yagor flopped Annetta on the table. He walked away and stood by the fire.
The Countess Bathorie and Yismelda entered, dressed in while muslin gowns, clearly nude underneath, and carrying several candles in silver girandoles. They crossed to where Annetta lay.
"Leave us now Yagor." The Countess commanded.
He walked from the room, watched by the two women. Yismelda sat on one of the chairs, placing her candle holder on the floor. The Countess placed hers on the end of the table, lighting Annetta's skin in a waxy yellow glow. She unfastened Annetta's blouse and skirt buttons and then rolled the Gypsy girl, still deeply unconscious, onto her face. She peeled the light cotton blouse back and down and off. Then she took Annetta's skirt by the waist and rolled it back, opening it and lifted it down her legs and off. Annetta lay face down on the table dressed only in lacy knickers and a bra together with her buckled shoes. The Countess unbuckled and removed her shoes, dropping them onto the skirt and blouse. She unclasped the unconscious girl's bra and removed it and added it to the pile of clothing on the floor. Finally she pulled off Annetta's panties, holding the waistband in each of her two hands and sliding the flimsy garment down very slowly and slipping it over her ankles, feet and off.
She rolled Annetta onto her back.
The Gypsy girl lay nude and still, her tummy rippling slightly as she breathed slowly and steadily. Her arms were by her sides, her legs out in front of her. Her mass of curly hair was spread around her face and her groin was covered in the thick bush of her pubic hair. Her small breasts pointed upward, splayed slightly by gravity and crowned with large brownish pink nipples. The candle light gave her skin a yellow, waxily unhealthy glow.
Countess Bathorie looked at the seated Yismelda.
The dim light rendered their muslin gowns almost transparent. The Countess's body, solid, full hipped, full breasted but still seductively curved and soft. Yismelda rose, her body slim and pale, the light revealing a dark triangle of hair at her crotch and large, crown sized nipples darkly apparent through the filmy material.
"Yismelda. Take her." The Countess waved her hand at the prone body of the unconscious Annetta.
Yismelda moved to the table and stood over the senseless girl looking down at her. "Yes Mistress." Yismelda stooped and with open mouth she kissed the Gypsy full on the lips. Her full, red lipped mouth moved down and kissed the Gypsy girl's exposed throat. She moved on and kissed the upthrust nipples, taking them into her mouth and sucking noisily on them. Her tongue flickered out and she licked the sweat from the body in front of her, running her tongue over ribcage, abdomen, dipping into the concave navel and down over the lower tummy and groin and the crevice where inner thigh met lower abdomen. Her tongue snaked out, back and forth, back and forth as she licked and sucked at Annetta's labia. Then she protruded her tongue and plunged it into the gaping vagina. She pressed her face against Annetta's groin as she buried her tongue deeply inside the other's sex. She raised her head and looked at the countess, her tongue drooping from her mouth, clear, slick, ejaculate drooling from it. She smiled and withdrew her tongue snapping her jaws shut and swallowing noisily. The Countess's hand was at her own groin as she looked at Yismelda stooped over the limp and helpless body of Annetta. Beads of perspiration sprang from her forehead and she licked her full lips.
"Now." She said it huskily.
Yismelda smiled again and her teeth protruded. Hollow, canine teeth. Her head came down once more on Annetta's groin and the teeth sank into the femoral artery.
Bright red arterial blood gushed from the Gypsy into Yismelda's teeth, travelling speedily along the hollow incisors as she sucked noisily.
The Countess's furious hand movements resulted in orgasm.
She came messily.
Yismelda sucked noisily and a good third of Anetta's life blood flowed into her mouth. She raised her head, her cheeks puffed, her mouth full of crimson blood. As soon as she withdrew, the puncture wounds on the smooth inner thighs of Annetta healed over, leaving no trace. The Countess came to Yismelda and they embraced, body to body, breasts crushing breasts, slit grinding against slit, all separated only by two thin layers of semi-transparent material. The Countess's open mouth sought out Yismelda's and they locked together, their pouting lips engaging like two halves of a whole. As the Countess opened wide Yismelda released the litres of blood she had sucked from Annetta and the Countess swallowed it down. Immediately her skin glowed pinkly and her face smoothed itself and she took on the appearance of a woman twenty years younger.
Countess Bathorie clawed her garment off over her head. She grasped and tugged at Yismelda's gown, stripping her nude. The two women fell to the floor of the vast room and rolled in each other's embrace, locked together, a fury of female flesh as they tore at each other and rained kisses on each other. Their hands sought out each one the other's engorged and redly swollen pussy and their fingers each titillated the tightly erect clitoris of the other sweating and hugely aroused woman. Grunting like swine they furiously masturbated each other to orgasmic fulfilment.
Annetta had regained consciousness, but she lay on her back strangely lethargic and unable to move. She rolled her head from side to side but could do no more.
Naked, dripping with perspiration, the Countess Bathorie and Yismelda rose from the floor and grunting and moaning they each took one of Annetta's arms and dragged her limp body from the table and then hauled her across the floor. She slumped in their grip and her heels scored twin tracks in the dust on the stone flagging as they pulled her to the far wall. There they jerked her upright and secured her wrists to two shackles in the wall so that her arms were held firmly, spread wide apart, and her body hung down exerting enormous strain on her wrists, shoulders and elbows. Annetta's head drooped forward her hair trailing over her breasts. Her tummy wrinkled like a washboard as she struggled to breathe. Her legs hung down, toes just touching the cold stone floor.
The two naked women looked at Annetta's manacled body.
"My reservoir of youth." Said the Countess.
"Where you may drink daily." Yismelda smiled at the Countess.
The Countess took Annetta's hair in her hand and yanked her head up so that she might peer into the girl's eyes. They gazed back, blank and stupefied.
"Don't die on me yet my beauty. I have plans for you."
She laughed and Yismelda joined in. Arm in arm the two women walked back to where their clothing lay in disarray. Yismelda picked up both gowns and with them trailing across the floor from her grasp, they exited the room still clinging to each other.
At the door they were met by a tall, very thin, darkly handsome man. His black eyes were fixed on the nude body of Annetta where she hung in chains.
"Igor," said the Countess, "not yet Igor."
He licked his lips with a long pink tongue. "Yes Mistress, but soon?"
"Soon Igor soon."
Tamara opened the back door to the Inn and walked into the wretchedly narrow and filthy lane. She had serviced five men today and could now go home to her child. Five wonderful citizens of the village who would never tell their wives they used this prostitute for what they could not get at home. No, these solid burghers would never get the tricks from their equally solid wives that they got from this nubile and pretty red head. Their wives stolid and well fed bodies would never excite them the way Tamara's slim, white, freckled body did. Her soft breasts and lean tummy, her flaring hips and long legs. She was not the woman you wed but she was surely the woman you'd bed.
Tamara pulled her cloak tight, wrapping it around her against the chill air of dusk. She walked down the lane toward the miserable hovel she called home. As she passed the gloomy recess of the corn store she thought she saw movement. "Some damn drunk," she thought and dismissed it from her mind. She had only gone another ten metres when the hands gripped her. She stiffened and turned to see who accosted her, when she felt the hands around her throat. Her slender, white throat. They crushed her windpipe and her breath tightened in her chest. "At last it has come." She thought. She knew being a prostitute that this day would come, she had long expected it. The hands tightened and her head spun. Darkness enveloped her mind and white flashes filled the darkness. "God protect my child," she thought, "because his mother won't.....can't." Her breathing heaved and rattled. She heard the rattling loud and fatal and her last thought was "Forgive me father for I have sinned." Tamara slumped with a final groan into her murderer's arms. Her body shuddered and went totally limp. Her tall, dark assailant slung her up and over his shoulder and walked into the gathering fog of night swallowed up by the mist and the darkness.
Igor walked into the castle entrance. The mean small door that admitted all but the Mistress of the house and her friends. He tramped down into the basement carrying his burden. He walked into his room. His room, where his women were. He crossed to the stone slab and leaning forward dumped Tamara's corpse onto the stone. He looked at her. Although mottled and blue, her face was still pretty, her closed eyes and parted lips giving her a peaceful sleeping look. The marks of his hands around her throat, where he had strangled her life out of her, were livid and purple. Slowly he began undressing her. He removed her flouncy taffeta skirt and her shoes and stockings. He slipped her ruffled blouse off and stared at her body, white, freckled, brilliant red hair, knickers and brassiere. He cut the brassiere off and fiddled with her knickers. Frustrated he ripped them open with his knife and shed them to the floor. He gathered up her discarded clothes and dumped them in the trash bin. He came back to where the pale, dead body of the prostitute lay. She stared at nothing through half closed blue eyes. Her mouth gaped open and her face was bluish from the cyanotic effects of asphyxia. Her lips were very blue and her pink lipstick failed to hide the unnatural colour. Igor thought she was very beautiful. Igor thought all dead women were very beautiful. The obvious effects of death, discolouring Tamara's face, made her extremely attractive to Igor and he felt his arousal mounting as he looked at her and knew she was his. Igor hated live women, they were so smart mouthed and fucking superior and he felt stupid and foolish in their presence. But when they were dead they were gorgeous. And they did everything he, Igor, wanted. Like this one lying here. So beautiful.
That Gypsy girl. She'd be dead soon and then the Mistress would give her to him. She looked nearly dead now and after they had feasted again she'd be so near death it would be easy for an accident to happen. Igor thought about her long curly hair, her small breasts, her secret cleft. She was very beautiful. He would especially like having her.
He turned back to the prostitute. She would take him in her mouth. Its what he wanted and she would do his every wish now that she was dead. He pulled her along the slab and dragged her head clear so that it tilted back at almost right angles to her chest. He used his fingers to open her mouth wide. He loved the way she looked, hair hanging down, mouth open wide, eyes staring at nothing. His cock was hugely tumescent and he poked it into the dead mouth and soon filled her throat with his spurting essence. It made him feel very strong. He was Igor. He was everything. She, what a hated word, she was lying helpless with her mouth full of his cum. She was nothing.
He tucked his shrinking cock back into his trousers and buttoned them. Taking Tamara by the arms he jerked her upright. Her head snapped up, cum flew out of her mouth and her head flopped onto her chest. He lifted her onto his shoulder and carried her to the doorway that led to the catacombs. With his arm firmly wrapped around her buttocks he opened the door and walked into the freezing, dank smelling caverns. He walked past the slotted openings in the thick stone walls. Janice, Esmee, Alexandra, Mimi, Juanita, Carolla, Maria, they were all here and more, their names scribbled in chalk above the openings to their crypts. He came to an empty space and slid Tamara's cold, stiffening corpse inside. He chalked Tamara on the stone above. He looked along the row. Which of his darlings would he love tonight. Candice! Yes Candice, blonde, busty, very beautiful and not long dead. He walked to where she lay and slid her softly limp corpse out and carried her back inside. He lay her on his slab. With his fingers he prised her pussy open. It stayed that way. Dead one's did. He loved that. He loved Candice. Dropping his pants he straddled her supine corpse.
In the camp of the Gypsies, Manuelo, Annetta's boyfriend, was getting worried. She had been gone all night. He knew she had been going to the house of Rinaldo. Rinaldo was always a good earner for Annetta, and Manuelo and she needed all the money she could earn. But she should have been long returned by now. Of course Annetta was a resourceful girl and she might well have spotted and taken advantage of another opportunity. Even so, she should be home now.
He turned to Simonetta, Annetta's favourite friend. Simonetta was tall and black haired. Hair like a raven's wing and coal black eyes. Chalk white skin and that black hair, those penetrating black eyes. Simonetta frightened Manuelo. He thought her a witch. But despite his fears he desired her constantly. One time Annetta had asked him to her bed and when he arrived he found Simonetta with Annetta, doing things to her. Things they then both did to him. Annetta was gorgeous and he loved her truly, but Simonetta was surely a witch! When she touched him, kissed him and took him into herself, he felt like he had never felt before, hadn't imagined he could feel. Simonetta was like all women in one. His body made music that night and Simonetta was the conductress extraordinary. Afterwards Annetta told him that as Simonetta had brought him to climax after climax so she had held her, Annetta, at a peak of orgiastic pleasure from which Simonetta would not let her descend.
Simonetta would know what to do.
He looked into Simonetta's black eyes and saw nothing there.
"Annetta has been gone for hours. I'm frantic. Why would she leave us Simonetta?"
"Not of her own accord."
"You mean something's happened to her. What?"
"What happened to the others Manuelo? Janice, Esmee, Juanita.........? What do you think happened to them?"
"They left us."
Always here Manuelo? Always when we are in the shadow of Bathorie Castle?"
"Yes of course but...............?"
"But nothing. That bitch took them. As she has taken Annetta."
"Do you think so?"
"The girl of the village, Tamara, didn't come home last night. Griselda is with her child now." Simonetta looked into the distance towards the mist shrouded mountains. "Its time Manuelo."
"Time?"
"Time to confront the Countess." She seemed to look inside her own soul. "I've always known the time would come." She whispered.
"Confront. You mean we should go to the castle?"
"Not we Manuelo..................Me."
"I'll come."
"Its pointless. No, it must be me."
"Why? Why you, Simonetta."
"It just must be."
The Castle lay quiet and somnolent in the warmth of the sun. Here in the high Carpathians the sun, even at midday, was weak and fleeting, but its appearance brought relief from the fierce cold of winter. No sunlight penetrated into the depths of the castle where Annetta hung, naked and cold and miserable, from the shackles that held her to the wall. She felt awfully weak and her mind wandered in the grip of delirium. She had no clear idea where she was but she knew she was in danger. She vaguely remembered going whoring with Rinaldo and his wife returning and being thrown out. Good thing that she had been paid in advance for her services, for the use of her body. But then! She could remember no more. She was unsure where she was, how she had gotten here, and why she was naked and manacled. She strained to recall, but she was awfully weak and her mind slipped off into a world of unreality.
She was flying.
Soaring over the peaks and valleys of the high mountain ranges and she was stark naked, but she was without fear or shame. It was how she should be. How she wanted to be. She saw a valley below and it was green and verdant and figures moved upon the greenery. She dropped down getting closer and closer and as she did she saw that the valley was peopled by young men and they were all gorgeous and beautifully bodied and they wore almost nothing, just cloth raiment that covered the suspicious bulges at their groins that hinted at manhood run wild. She alighted gently on the grass and the men stopped their games and looked at her and one, the most beautiful of them all, came over and took her in his arms and they danced on air and his cloth fell away and his cock plunged inside her and she felt no pain only sublime joy as his manhood buried itself inside her and they danced and the dance moved their hips in unison and he flooded her with his essence and wistfully he passed her on to another gorgeous man who also danced with her and entered her and seeded her. Down the line of partners she moved, each one filling her with his essence and every time she orgasmed, without pain or hurting, and it was like one endless orgasm. Then the men fell away and she sank to the grass and Simonetta was there and Simonetta gathered her up into her own arms and she came close to Annetta, face to face. And Simonetta's pale face and dark eyes were only centimetres from Annetta and she opened her mouth and Annetta opened hers and they sank into each other and the feeling of sexual release peaked and Annetta sat at the foot of a throne and Simonetta sat on it. They were on the snow covered peak of a high sharp mountain and all they nude young men were below them and Simonetta rose and the men rushed forward and they grasped Annetta by the arms and bearing her forward flung her from the peak..................................................
She was hanging in agony from a darkened wall.
Her arms screamed with pain and her body was wracked with hurting.
The Countess and Yismelda floated into the room.
Beneath black cloaks they were nude, and as they walked towards her, Annetta saw the cloaks billow and fall away and the naked bodies of the two women were revealed. Legs, arms, breasts. Female flesh, naked, lustful, erotic, unbridled. They came over to Annetta. Yismelda pushed her cloak aside and baring her naked breasts, belly and groin, she slid against Annetta's nudity. Their breasts rubbed against each other, nipples catching and bending as they dug into the flesh opposite. Springing away as Yismelda's movement caused her breasts to rub across and around Annetta's. Their two tummy's met and slid against each other, Yismelda's sweaty arousal slipping on the cold sweat of terror that Annetta exuded. Their bushy cunnies met and ground together, Yismelda forcing herself on Annetta, so that their labial lips met and brushed together and the wetness of each woman met the wetness of the other. Yismelda kissed Annetta full on her mouth. Annetta hung in agony, aroused and very excited, yet repulsed and fearful at the same time. Yismelda took Annetta's breasts in her hands and stroked them and thumbed the Gypsy girl's nipples ever so slowly and her mouth moved down, her parted, painted, wet lips grazing Annetta's cheek, her neck, her shoulder, the little hollow just beneath her collar bone and the swelling mounds of her breasts, Yismelda's open mouth covered Annetta's breast and encircled her nipple. Her fangs extruded and she sank them into the soft roundness of Annetta's breast. The sharp, hollow teeth pressed against the soft, velvety mammarian flesh of her victim's breast, pushing it down, indenting it and then breaking through to sink deep inside, into the rich webbed texture of blood vessels and meat.
She sucked enormously and blood flowed copiously out of Annetta's bosom and into Yismelda's mouth. She sucked again and blood filled her mouth. She turned and the Countess drank from her. She turned back and again sank fangs deep into Annetta. Again blood poured into her mouth. Again she fed it to the Countess. The third time she bit as deeply as she could and Annetta felt those hideous fangs sink deep into her breast and beyond, penetrating so, so, deeply, piercing her beating heart and slicing through it. Now blood poured from Annetta and Yismelda could not contain it. The Countess joined her and both women drank from the Gypsy girl.
Annetta's life blood ran out of her.
She was light headed. The fields were back. The beautiful nude men. Simonetta.
Darkness enveloped her and she knew she was dying.
She prayed to her God. Her prayers mouthed silently.
She prayed for forgiveness. She had been naughty, but not bad. Not really bad.
She prayed and swooned.
Yismelda and the Countess feasted. They cackled and bayed at the night. They sucked the blood from the living body, sucked and sucked. Sucked her dry.
Igor watched from the recess of the doorway and dribble drooled from his open mouth. His eyes were alight with lust. Lust for the dead.
The Countess became young and her hideous laughter mingled with Yismelda's panting.
Annetta sagged limp and lifeless within her bonds.
Annetta was dead.
The horribly young-old Countess and Yismelda, locked together in a sexual embrace walked from the room. As they passed through the shadowed portal the Countess whispered to the figure standing there, "Now Igor."
With a swirl of cloaks they were gone.
Igor walked into the room. He looked at the small, pale figure of the naked and dead girl hanging from the wall, clamped by the wrists. Her youthful body hung limply, legs just reaching the floor, ankles crossed, Her small breasts sagged slightly and her tummy bulged just a little from her rib cage. Her head was bowed and her black and curly hair hung down banner like. At her groin the black bush of her pubic hair clustered into the recess between her upper thighs. She was truly beautiful to Igor. After all, now she was dead! Igor crossed to the wall. He unlocked the shackles and lowered Annetta to the floor. Placing his arms under her, he scooped her up and carried her to his room. He placed her onto his stone slab, stretching her out, flat on her back. He jerked his trousers off and entered the dead girl's body, sliding his tumescent cock into her lifeless pussy. Within moments he had come to climax splattering his cum into the dead girl. He grunted his appreciation of his newest plaything, his newest corpse. He dismounted and lifting her again so that she was draped across his arms, he carried her into his catacombs. There he placed her in her own niche and chalked Annetta on the stone wall above.
Igor sat by the flickering light of the wall flares and looked at the many recesses holding the many cadavers of all the young women he had collected. Preserved almost perfectly by the freezing temperatures in this stone mortuary, they lay quietly in their individual slotted tombs. He could see only the tops of their heads. A profusion of hair. Black, blonde, brunette, red, all so very ordered and silently at rest.
Igor felt happy with his women. He knew he was drowsy but it was a drowsiness of contentment. The objects with which to assuage his most ardent passions all lay within a few steps of where he sat. His head nodded forward and he slept.
Simonetta walked toward the silent castle. She was clad in peasant dress. A white ruffled blouse, long, full skirt, simple shoes and a shawl around her shoulders. Underneath she wore brief satin underwear, her one concession to luxury.
She sensed the inhabitants were sleeping although two stayed awake. That would be the Countess and Yismelda, the nosferatu. She couldn't sense the girl Annetta. It was too late, her little friend was dead. A great rage boiled within her, just for a moment and then it became icy hatred. No use going in by the front door, she would use the back door where all of the servants entered.
She stood by the door. Summoned her powers. It opened.
She was inside.
A passage led forward. Stairs to one side led to a basement. Simonetta went to the head of the stairs. Her head was filled with the cries of the dead. Janice, Esmee, Alexandra, Juanita, Mimi, Carolla, Maria, Candice and Annetta. Their spirits cried out to her. Simonetta heard them as others would the living. She saw the light below. She summoned almighty Eblis, the power of the women. She channelled the force.
In his room, Igor slumbered, unaware that his dead playthings stirred in their frigid tombs. One by one the dead girls clambered out of their slots. Naked, dead, and bearing horrible wounds and ghastly strangling marks and unnaturally blue, they assembled and turned their sightless eyes on Igor. They shuffled towards him en bloc. He heard sounds in the depths of his sleep and jerked awake. He looked up. They were on him, sibilant hissing coming from mouths long stilled. His eyes widened and horror washed over his face. He opened his mouth to scream a warning. To scream!
They fell on him.
Clawing.
Scrabbling.
Ripping.
Rending.
Annetta ripped at his mouth, tearing a chunk of lip free and gorging on it. Candice had sunk her teeth into his left nipple. The weight of flesh, dead flesh, animated by Simonetta and Eblis, bore him down. Maria chewed off most of his penis, Juanita had ripped off a testicle. He tried to scream as his body shrieked in pain, but all he managed was a snuffling noise and then Carolla tore out his voice box with her teeth. The women chewed noisily, blood pouring from their mouths. Their nails raked Igor's flesh, ribboning it. Igor's bloody, flayed, dying body twitched and spasmed and shuddered and then relaxed as death, his beloved death, claimed him.
The dead women feasted.
Simonetta watched them. She felt saddened. A great compassion came over her.
"Eblis," she mouthed it almost silently, "let them truly rest."
Candice rose from the feasting and turned, stiffened and collapsed to the ground, her once beautiful, blonde haired body falling limply to the floor stretched out on her back. Carolla spun around and fell face down over Candice, her fullsome breasts pressed into Candice's tummy. Juanita turned away and fell backward across Carolla's legs. Mimi toppled onto Juanita her lips caressing the other woman's pussy. Maria tumbled over Mimi, sprawled over her buttocks. Alexandra, Janice and Esmee followed one after the other falling prone onto the pile, and over each other. At last, Annetta rose from her gorging and her sightless eyes rolled right back and she slowly pirouetted on her bare feet before her nude corpse fell backward on top of the piled up bodies of the other eight women, her long black curly hair streaming backward, her dead eyes wide open and her mouth agape, her breasts upthrust and splayed to either side, her legs spread wide, her vagina yawning wide.
So they lay. Heaped upon each other. Nude. Dead.
Simonetta started back up the stairs.
In the great bedroom, on an upper floor, the Countess and Yismelda lay together. The countess wore only a peignor, open down the front, Yismelda was nude. The Countess's old body, made ripe and new by Annetta's blood, craved sex and she was panting openly as Yismelda used her hands, her tongue and her own body to pleasure the Countess. They were pressed against each other along their full lengths and Yismelda's flickering tongue sought out the Countess's mouth, at the same time her fingers were buried in the Countess's swollen vagina, stroking her enormously enlarged clitoris.
Both women were grunting and groaning and their bodies were drenched in sweat despite the coolness of the evening. They were fast approaching their climax.
Yagor stepped onto the landing and watched as Simonetta slowly ascended. He was twitching a whip in his hands. He raised it when Simonetta was only three steps below him. Another Gypsy woman for the Mistress, he thought. Simonetta raised her eyes, burning like red hot coals, and Eblis was there. Yagor felt himself lifted off the floor by no visible agency. He grunted in surprise then squealed as his whip lashed itself around his neck. Like a cannon fired shot, he was propelled forward and as he flew over the balusters the whip handle caught in the railings. Yagor hurtled forward. The whip held fast. With an awful crack! his neck broke and he fell to the floor ten metres below. His dead body smashed an elaborate candelabra and cracked the stout oaken table in two.
Yismelda was all concentration as she felt the Countess beneath her beginning to buck in the frenzy of orgiastic sex.
The door opened.
A gypsy woman was there.
Yismelda's body disengaged from the Countess with an audible schlupping noise and she felt herself hanging in the air a few centimetres above an amazed Countess. She summoned her full vampiric powers but they were as nothing. The black eyed Gypsy woman stared at her and Yismelda felt the blood she had taken from so many others starting to boil and expand in her veins. She bloated and her skin turned pink. Her eyes were blood flecked, her lips red and swollen. She gazed in wonderment at the black woman. Her body raged in turmoil.
She exploded.
Blood splattered every surface of the room, drenching the Countess. Coating the walls, floor and ceiling.
The Countess rose and stared at the hypnotic eyes of this strange woman.
She felt the blood of Annetta drain from her.
She withered.
Shrank.
Wrinkled.
She was very old.
She was immensely old and immensely ugly.
She was dust...............................
Simonetta walked from the castle. As she passed the frightened servants, she told them to go. She walked outside and then away.
The women who had fearfully served the Countess and her companions, watched this strange black haired, black eyed woman leave and then they ventured out. Yagor was dead in the hallway. No longer would they feel his blows, no longer would they be summoned to his bed. They went downstairs. Igor lay mutilated and torn to death. A pile of bones beside him. No longer need the young amongst them fear for their safety. No longer would they wonder at the disappearance of one of their companions, especially the very young and the very beautiful. Finally they plucked up courage and went upstairs. Their hated Mistress's bedroom was washed in blood. Blackened putrifaction lay in her bed. The Countess and Yismelda were nowhere to be found. They realised they were free. The religious amongst them crossed themselves to ward off the sight of such evil. They gathered up their things and left. The dark and sombre castle lay evil and brooding but none went there again.
Simonetta returned to camp. She told Manuelo he need never look for Annetta ever again. Then she took sixteen year old Romaldo to her bed. He stayed all night and in the morning he emerged a grown man.
Simonetta returned to her solitude.
In time the Gypsies moved on.