Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
Dracula meets the blacksmith's wife in the church for a clandestine rendezvous, and she is most eager to be with him. All's well that ends well, right? See what is happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
He
teased the soft skin of her neck with his tongue, tasting her, savoring the
lavender and cloves scent that had first drawn him to her. She shivered in
response. The throbbing of her jugular vein intoxicated him, filled as it was
with primal promises of what would be. So enticing... so tempting. How
provident that Avram had provided his master with sustenance before he left the
castle, as if anticipating what the vampire intended to do and forestalling a…
problem… should his desire for blood outweigh his common sense. Being mostly
satiated, he would allow himself just a mere sip of her sweetness, but not
until matters of the carnal kind had been attended to.
Memories
of her blood that he’d drawn during previous encounters distracted him
momentarily. His thoughts began to wander although his body continued to
respond to her abundant charms. His lady du jour, clearly growing impatient to have
him inside her, bunched up her skirt past her hips revealing she wore nothing underneath.
His lust for her burned even more brightly.
She gave a small moan as she spread her legs a
little wider. “My lord,” she pleaded. Her
husky voice betrayed her passion as she pushed up against him needily.
Someone was
more than a little eager for him to make his entrance, despite the fact that his
breeches were still fully buttoned and he’d made no move to undo them. His own
breathing was becoming more labored, while his manhood ached for release. And
still he continued to draw out his pleasure, knowing that would only serve to inflame
her lust for him further.
She
wrapped her legs about him and pulled him against her, so close he could feel
her wetness through the silk. “I am yours,” she whispered. “Please make me your
own forever.”
She had
no idea what those words really meant, and he was not willing to show her.
Creating more of his kind was the farthest thing from his mind at the best of
times, but most certainly not here and now. He had no need for either possible
rivals or boon companions, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his freedom by
tethering himself to a wife, not to mention she was already married to the
idiot blacksmith. Dracula’s desire to remain unencumbered by the bonds of
matrimony did not preclude him, however, from engaging in short-term sexual
relations with women… or men. He found himself attracted to people of all sexes
and did not discriminate against his lovers on the basis of gender, race, nationality,
or religion. Over the course of the many years of his life thus far, he’d
thoroughly enjoyed himself with a variety of people on his extensive travels around
the globe, making commitments to none of them. He was not foolish enough to
fall in love. Due to the nature of what he was, that would be disastrous
indeed.
Instead
of responding, he claimed her lips instead. He gently nudged them apart,
tracing their contours with his tongue. Her moan of approval vibrated inside
his mouth. When he repositioned one hand between her legs and slid two fingers
inside her, she arched her back in response.
“Yes,
yes!” she cried. “More, my lord, more. Say my name, please! Tell
me you love me as I love you!” she begged him, her voice growing in intensity
as she frantically rutted against him, her actions only serving to feed his
self-conceit.
He loved
the effect he had on his partners, loved the responses he evoked from them in
acknowledgement of his sexual prowess. Avram often accused him of having
vainglory, but Dracula’s rejoinder was that he appreciated himself for who he
was so why should he pretend otherwise?
But neither was he kind enough to accede to her wishes.
So
caught up was he in the heat of the moment and his own lust that he momentarily
became oblivious to his surroundings—always a grave mistake—until a voice
boomed out from the back of the church.
“Doina!”
Dracula
jerked his head up, instantly on the alert, all else forgotten. Damn, the
idiot blacksmith.
* * * *
The
alehouse in Bistritz had no official name but was well known by one and all.
The men of the village were often to be found there after a hard day of work
(or not, in the case of some) while the wives were usually grateful to be rid
of their presence inside the home, at least for a little while longer. For the
men, it was a place to relax without the pressures of marriage or familial
obligations. A time to discuss important happenings in the village, and
occasionally the outside world, although for the most part the villagers were
rather insular. It didn’t hurt that news traveled slowly, if at all, which gave
them less incentive to understand or know about the world they lived in. And,
of course, there were usually barmaids to be admired and flirted with, if not
more. Not surprisingly, the sale of beer and ale rose whenever pretty young
women were working.
Avram
had been coming to the alehouse for years, having grown up there, for the most
part. The villagers gave Dracula a wide berth on the rare occasions when he
chose to enter the town, but Avram was treated as one of them. He had never
done anything that would cause them to think badly of him. Not that Dracula had
ever done anything overt, and they were certainly unaware of his true nature,
but his family’s reputation was not particularly good, stretching back to the
time of the infamous Impaler. No one wanted to give the current Dracula cause
to revive his ancestor’s cruel method of torture for any reason.
to be continued
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