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ISBN: 9781907753114Author: Roxane BeaufortWord Count: 67,959Format: eBook
There were benches with holes in strategic places, a contraption that resembled stocks, a vaulting horse and a whipping post set in the middle of the floor, and racks of instruments; whips and paddles, canes and tawse, rods and birches. Iron rings had been hammered into the damp stone walls and several young women hung from them, chained by their wrists. Their loosened hair fell over their faces, and their heads were bowed. One had a gag fastened across her mouth and another was blindfolded. They were naked, apart from one who still wore a few tattered strips left when her dress was ripped off. A man in top boots and riding breeches was moving among them, his crop landing on their thighs, bellies and breasts. Their moans and sighs augmented the organ toccata.
As a student and a singer Stella is haunted by the vision of a beautiful man, Lazio, who is often in the audience when she performs, but it is not until she takes up residence in Troon Hall and visits a ruined monastery nearby that she meets him properly, and falls victim to those who made him a vampire.
A dairy that once belonged to Emma, her great-great-grandmother, tells of a trip to Venice where she and her friend Candice met the leader of the Nosferatu, Prince Dimitri. Candice fell in love with him and accepted the dark gift of eternal life. Emma was distraught, and spent years trying to contact this immortal girl who wanders in limbo, but died without succeeding and now expects her descendant, Stella, to unite them.
Dimitri's bizarre votaries seduce Stella, keeping her under restraint and subjected to their unnatural desires, but the love that links her and Lazio can be used to form a bridge between Candice and Emma. Shall Stella exchange blood with him and become a vampire, too?
A cold mist drifted in from the sea. Stella could smell it, salty and pungent and damp. The moon was full, hanging like a severed head, streaked with lines of thin black cloud. There was no shelter. The bushes were stunted and bent almost horizontal by the endless buffeting of the wind. How did she get there? Was she dreaming? She remembered going to bed in the house she shared with Kate. She had felt lonely and disgruntled, for the walls were thin and she had been unable to avoid hearing Kate shagging her latest boyfriend. Their moans and joyous exclamations and the creaking of springs had roused her to fever pitch. She had pushed open the neck of her knee-length T-shirt, smoothed the lush curves of her breasts and circled the tips of her nipples till they crimped. This was exciting and something she had not done in a while. After unsatisfactory experiences with a couple of fellow students, she had decided to give sex a miss till Mr Right turned up. Kate had laughed, said she was naïve and would never be able to stay the course. Listening to her yowling like a cat on heat, Stella thought she was probably right. Still pleasuring her breasts with one hand, she let the other glide down across her belly and lift the hem of the T-shirt. Desire made her ache as she traced the mat of curly dark hair that covered her mound. Unable to stop herself, she let her favourite finger, the middle right one, slide across the closure of her outer lips. Her clitoris hardened, perking up beneath her touch. Within seconds she was rubbing herself frantically, legs spread, abandoning thought in the irresistible desire to masturbate to orgasm. She had fallen asleep as soon as she peaked, and now there was the sensation of flying that she associated with dreams. She could see clearly, every boulder of that rugged terrain starkly defined. There was a ruin below her. She looked down on its ragged, broken towers sticking up like dragon's teeth, and into its dark maw. And then she saw him, standing there waiting for her. His face was upturned, the most beautiful face she had ever seen, framed by a tumbling mass of inky hair - those ascetic features and that melancholy expression, and eyes of so dazzling a blue that they pierced her to the core. He held out his arms and she floated down into them. She was aware of the insubstantial nature of their embrace, yet of its curious flesh-like quality. Lust swept over her, a primordial passion unlike anything she had ever known. Strange, sensual music played somewhere - and ethereal voices ululated wordlessly, accompanied by the faint, faraway howling of wolves. It made her skin crawl, but aroused her to a frenzy. She wound herself deeper into the stranger's arms. She wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, but no words would come out. He knew though, she could tell, nodding at her and smiling such a radiant smile, and such brilliant white teeth. Then he was gone and she was bereft, wondering if she had imagined him. Tears wetted her cheeks. He was so perfect a being, and she wanted him desperately. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned to see him bathed in a golden penumbra. She was naked and so was he. He was well built, with a broad chest punctuated by two wine-red discs, a flat belly, and a tangled bush of pubic hair from which sprang a large cock. The stem was thick, the luscious purple cap rising from the rolled back foreskin. It was wet and shiny, jism oozing from the little slit. She stared down at it, riven with the longing to lap at it, then she tingled all over at the feather light sensation of his fingers on her breast as he cupped it in his palm and thumbed the nipple. He was much taller than her, but she was aware of the effortless way in which his tongue flicked at her lips, entered her mouth, and savoured it. His breath was spiced with cinnamon, yet with an under-taste of iron - or blood. She was possessed of a dark, hungry need and lifted her hips and ground her pubis against the bulk of the engorged penis rising like a spear between them and pressing into her belly. He grasped her and lifted her and held her for a moment, then lowered her onto his mighty phallus. She cried out with shock, for it was like a bar of solid ice. He was gentle, letting her take him inch by slow inch, till she was fully impaled, his helm nudging her cervix, her inner muscles gripping him like a velvet glove. Though his phallus was freezing it burned with a white heat, searing her vagina, stabbing her with the most intense sensations of pain and pleasure. She locked her ankles around his waist, his hands supporting her under the buttocks, and they were no longer on top of the tower but revolving in outer space, against a backdrop of indigo nothingness spangled with a multitude of stars. His mouth was on hers, his fingers finding her rampant clit, circling and frigging it. A myriad images flashed across her vision - of deltas and cocks, semen and sexual juices - of men and women copulating - of deviants, too. Men with men and women with women, and threesomes, foursomes; any and every connotation. Lovely, bizarre, untamed women gorged on blood and spunk drawn from male partners. And there was a man; a large, powerful, awe-inspiring figure with a harsh face and green eyes with fire in their depths. Beside him, linked with him as if welded at the genitals, was a fair-haired woman of intense beauty, not wicked like the others who enjoyed cruelty for its own sake, but a sad creature. And then the visions vanished and the universe turned from indigo to pulsing crimson. She could hear the pounding of her heart as she watched the awesome spectacle of a torrent of blood pouring down like a waterfall over a precipice. She wanted to scream, but was caught up in orgasm, no gentle climb or ecstatic plateau, just a terrifyingly fierce climax that wracked her from toes to cortex and stripped her of consciousness for a second. The pressure of his enormous cock intensified and she bucked against him, embracing him with arms and thighs, straining to make him a part of her as waves of blissful agony lit up her every nerve. And he was there, too, filling her with the sudden rush of his freezing libation, his face buried against her shoulder momentarily, as his hips continued to jerk. Then suddenly, abruptly, she was alone. She lost all sense of direction, could not tell which was up and which down, tumbling into a black pit of oblivion, her last thought one of heartbreaking loss and terror.
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