“You’re sure about this?” His voice is warm, like melted chocolate, and it wraps itself around your head as he circles you, a single finger flipping your hair where it rests on your shoulder.
You nod, teeth pressed into your bottom lip in anticipation and excitement. Your eyes meet his as he circles around to your front. They’re impossibly dark, irises nearly indistinguishable from his pupils.You tilt your chin up defiantly and give another nod, releasing your lip to say, “Positive.”
The corners of Dracula’s lips lift, exposing the points of his teeth just barely. “Is that confirmation…or your type?”
His massive hand slides up your clavicle and rests there. You can feel the calluses on his palms, worn from years of sword fighting and battle, even now. His thumb presses against the hollow of your throat, his pointed nail pressing, but not piercing. You swallow hard and his smile grows.
“Before we get started,” He practically purrs, leaning forward, towering over you as he breathes gently against your neck. “Do you have any questions?”
“W-will it hurt?” You ask, goose pimples rising on your arms. He moves his head to peer into your eyes and now you can see that his are really just a very dark brown. The whites of them have gone red, however, and that makes this all very real.
“Do you want it to hurt?” He asks with a blink. He knew about kinks, of course. Mixing pain and pleasure to create overwhelming sensations that free the body and mind. If that’s what you wanted, he would give it to you.
“To be honest,” You lick your lips, noticing the way his eyes follow your tongue, “You could rip my heart out and eat it in front of me.”
Dracula takes a few moments to process what you’ve just said and then he laughs, breathy and short, “Your generation is very nihilistic.” He tilts his head and gives you a smirk that makes your knees go weak. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time,” You repeat in a whisper and tilt your head as well, to the left and back, exposing the smooth expanse of skin, ripe for the taking.
You hear the monster in him snarl before he’s on you and drinking his fill.
You white out. It feels like the best orgasm you’ve ever had, and it doesn’t stop. Euphoria meant nothing to you until now.
You’re lounging against what feels like thirty pillows on the largest bed you’ve ever seen. The sheets are a silken red and a sheer canopy hides you from the rest of the world. Your legs are spread and your hands bunch in the soft, dark strands of the man between them.
He lays before you, on his stomach, your calves resting carefully over his broad shoulders. He’s dressed simply, in a wrinkled white button-down, dark trousers, and black suspenders, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled to his elbows. His hands press gentle dents in your thighs where he holds them apart and his tongue works circles against your most sensitive area.
Your back arches as he moves his tongue inside and then out again. Your hands tighten in his hair and he chuckles darkly against your center. Looking up at you with those dark eyes and just a strand of inky hair falling against his forehead, he closes his lips around your bud and sucks the life from you.
“Dracula…” You breathe out, shoulders lifting from the hot rush of pleasure. “Dracula.”
He only pulls back to lick at you again, paying special attention to your clit. He starts with long stripes and then tiny circles, driving you mad.
Using his hair, you pull his face against yourself, squirming against his chin. His fingers press deeper against your thighs and you can feel just the point of his nails in your skin.
“Ahhh…ahh god, fuck,” You whine. “Ahh please.”
Once again, his tongue is inside you. It feels inches long and impossibly slippery. He fucks it in and out of you before using it, once again, against your clit where he licks and then sucks in a steady rhythm.
The pressure builds as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you, watching as you toss your head and squirm against his pillows. You’re getting closer and closer, though all of it feels incredible.
“Dra-” You gasp as the edge rushes forward, almost blinding. You cry out his name as you fall over the edge, tumbling into an abyss where everything is hot and white and the most you’ve ever felt. “Dra-Dra…oh god oh god. Dracula!” He works you through it, pressing his face fully against you as you ride out your high against it.
Dracula licks his lips as he pulls back from your throat, the red of his eyes fading to a soft pink, and then back to white as he holds you up against his body. Everything about you is wonderful. Your taste, your smell, the way you writhed against him in your fever dream; he can’t wait to experience the real thing.
He’s harder than he’s been in a century.
You lift your head, eyelids heavy as you smile at him. “Is that all?” You ask. “Have you had your fill?”
“Of blood? Yes.” Dracula sighs, tilting his head almost in pity as he gazes at you with a smile. You see it then. He’s a predator. A shark in a man’s skin. Fucking…Jaws. He’s the hottest thing in the fucking world.
“Of you? I’m not even close.” He hums and then, with the strength of twenty men, lifts you like you weigh no more than a loaf of bread.
As he carries you, you watch the ceiling, feeling like absolute jello. When that becomes a bit nauseating, you focus on his face. He’s watching you, fascinated, like a child with a jar of butterflies.
You know that you’re trapped but it really is the least of your worries. You’d volunteered for this. A thing for beautiful, older men and a resounding vampire kink led you right into his arms. Had you expected this to be the real deal? Well…no. Maybe a bit of roleplay, but this was a hundred times better than anything you could have come up with. Maybe the danger hadn’t set in yet, but the fact that this was real? It made you hotter for him. It was scary.
“Where are we going?” You ask, fingers curling into his jacket. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my coffin,” he teases and then gives you a small grin that tells you he’s being smart with you.
You smile in amusement and close your eyes. “Mm good. Always wanted to be fucked in one of those. That’s proper goth.”
“Is that what you think is going to happen?” He asks, not in judgement, but in curiosity.
“That’s what I’m hoping will happen,” You tell him and you hear him chuckle again.
“Rapacious little thing.” He shakes his head. “Greedy, lustful, and insatiable you are. All of you, in this century.”
“Mmm you’re one to talk.” You sigh, “Boomer.”
“Boomer?” He asks in awe, “What are you on about? Boomer?”
You simply laugh, head hanging over his arm. You feel light, like air.
“Are you saying I’m old?” He asks, amused.
“Oh, darling, I’m ancient.” The count purrs and lays you down on a soft mattress. The room is lit softly by two lamps on either side of the large bed. It isn’t the same one from your dream, but it is just as big. Appropriately so. “523 years to be exact.” You peek an eye open and watch as he removes his shoes and then his jacket, draping it neatly over the nearest chair. “Does that bother you?”
“Mmm nah,” You hum, as he works open his belt, “I’ve always liked older men.”
“Have you, now?” He drapes his belt over the chair. “Men as old as me?”
You nod against the blankets and give him a smile. “I’ve been with older.”
He nearly snorts and then, with all the grace of an aristocrat, glides over to stand before you. He leans over and you meet him halfway, opening your mouth to him almost immediately.
Dracula kisses like he talks, smart and cavalier, and he tastes of iron. His lips, unlike his hands, are very soft, and he presses you down against the bed, one hand against the side of your cheek. He is far more tender than you would expect of a creature like him. His touch is gentle and his skin is warm from the blood he just drank.
He slots himself between your legs as his tongue curls against your own, making you moan out in appreciation. You can feel how hard he is through his trousers and he practically has to contort himself to continue rubbing it against you and kiss you at the same time.
The vampire is big. He is broad and thick and incredibly tall. He cuts an imposing figure, but now, underneath him, you just feel safe.
Your fingers curl into the fabric on his sides, feeling the way his muscles move underneath as he curls his back and grinds against you. You just fucking want him; skin-on-skin, no barriers between. He knows it, the tease.
Your hands migrate to the front of his shirt and pull it from his pants so you can slide them beneath and feel his skin. You can feel his muscles rolling underneath even better his way and his back is a large, blank canvas, on which you can paint bright red lines.
Dracula sits up, on his knees, and slides his suspenders from his shoulders. You sit up with him when he begins to unbutton his shirt, kissing every exposed inch of skin as his hands move down. His torso is delightfully furry and you press a kiss to the middle of his chest and then against his left pectoral as your hand moves to gently squeeze his member through his pants. Even through the expensive fabric, he feels huge.
He curses softly under his breath and, once the shirt is gone, you begin working at the clasp of his pants, hands shaking slightly as you work them open. You nearly fall over when you see that he is wearing nothing underneath. There’s just miles of soft skin and hair and the long, uncut thickness of his cock. He is huge, and you can barely fit your hand around his girth. His general demeanor; the dominance in his presence, it wasn’t for nothing. He certainly has nothing to compensate for.
“Is this going to fit inside me?” You ask, peering up at him from your lashes. You feel small before him. Fragile. Like Dracula could break you with his cock, which he probably could, being that he possessed the strength of several men.
He chuckles darkly and tilts his head back down, lips curled in a smile. “Have faith.”
As you stroke him, your mouth practically waters. He’s leaking at the tip, pre-ejaculate beading there before you smooth it out with your thumb and earn a hiss. You drag your eyes from his cock to his face, nearly frightened when you notice that he’s watching you with a hunger. Dracula’s gaze is so intense that you feel the goose pimples rise on your skin once again. Danger, they say urgently, you’re in the wolf’s den and he has you at his mercy.
Instead, you lie down and pull him with you, sliding your hands over his bare shoulders and up, into his hair as you kiss him, running your tongue gently over the points of his teeth. Your legs frame his hips and cage him in, squeezing his sides to keep him in place, even as he works to remove his pants. He takes his sweet time with your mouth, exploring every crevice and playfully working that devilish tongue against yours.
You keen when his hands move up your thighs and squeeze your hips, his lips trailing down your jaw and to your neck, hovering dangerously there above your jugular. You want him to leave bruises, to have them tattooed on your skin; this is something you never want to forget. As he grinds up against you, your hands slide down the back of his trousers to grip his ass, thick as it is. He’s leaking against your shirt and leaving streaks of his mess behind each time he rolls his hips. Dracula is so very impatient and you give him a squeeze for it which earns a deep, chest-heavy growl that leaves you absolutely soaking. It vibrates from deep within and for a moment, he sounds like the carnivore he is.
“I could tear you apart,” he breathes and then gives a breathy little laugh, teeth on display, inches from your face.
“But you won’t,” you argue, “Not yet anyway.”
“Maybe,” he purrs and then looks downward, “But these clothes have got to go.” There was the ripping of fabric and a gust of cool air told you that he’d torn right through your leggings. “I do apologize if you liked those.”
He discards the torn fabric and then, in a sudden change of attitude, gently removes the shirt from your torso and discards that as well. His lips find the swell of your breasts, peeking out above your bra, and he sucks gently, right above your heart until a purple bruise marks you as his.
Pulling back to admire his work, he gives a happy little growl and then moves up to kiss you once again. “You are perfect.” He breathes into your mouth. “You are the perfect fruit.”
You moan, hands shaking gently against his sides. Perhaps it is from the blood loss, or the dangerous situation that you’re in, but you’d choose to believe it is due to the unbridled and pure lust you feel for the monster above you.
With a flick of the nail, your bra is cut loose in the middle and slid from your arms, leaving you in your panties, just one thin piece of fabric separating you from the vampire.
The count leans on one elbow beside your head, trailing kisses across your face as his hand moves slowly up the inside of your thigh. You can feel the drag of his nails, dangerously close to piercing the skin. He teases the skin there for a moment, smoothing his palm across the goose pimples that remain in your anticipation. You see him smile as he teases you, enjoying the way you squirm and search for his hand with your hips.
“Look at you,” He purrs deeply as he pets the hypersensitive skin above the elastic, “You’re aching for it, aren’t you? I can smell it on you; thick…heavy. You want something inside and you’re squeezing around nothing. Aren’t you?” You nod and he gives a soft chuckle, breathing out, “Yes, I thought so.”
His hand moves up, away from where you want it most, to squeeze gently at your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple, down to the softness of your stomach, and then up to just barely squeeze at your throat. You tilt your head back slightly, never having felt so…worshiped. So admired. Dracula is taking his time and you are so worked up.
“Please,” You beg, gripping his wrist where it rests against your clavicle, “Please, Count. I need it.”
He doesn’t answer, but drags his hand back down, sliding a finger gently beneath and along the leg hem of your panties, his knuckle just barely brushing your sex.
“Dracula,” you whine, so needy that it makes him smile. Finally, his large hand descends beneath the fabric and a single finger brushes against your labia, just enough to make you squirm. He’s so close.
“Look at that,” he hums as the pad of his middle finger circles your clit, just once and then moves elsewhere. “Your whole world, narrowed down to this single point.”
You gasp out loud and try to grind your hips against his hand; it’s maddening.
“You are soaking for me, my dear.” He teases his fingertips along your center with just enough pressure to have you gripping the sheets.
To your great disappointment, he pulls his hand from your panties, but then he sucks and licks his middle finger, growling softly. You feel his cock twitch against your leg and while he’s distracted, licking the back of his finger and then the pad of his thumb, you scramble out of your panties and toss them away. He’s panting and you can see that he’s just as worked up as you are by the wet spot he’s created on the sheet.
Taking the opportunity, you move up the bed and lie against the pillows, watching him lounge there at the end and watch you with those dark, secretive eyes. You almost become self-conscious in your nakedness, on display for him to study like a small, helpless creature. He is beautiful, skin glowing by the soft light and shadows playing on his cheekbones. No wonder he was able to captivate his victims; what soul would not be absolutely seduced by Count Dracula?
With all the grace and dexterity of a lion, he crawls up the bed toward you, stalking his prey that does not want to run. The count pushes your legs apart and his eyes drink their fill. You repress the urge to cover yourself, goosebumps making another appearance on your skin as your face warms. With a small, throaty growl, he meets your eyes again.
Like this, it is clearly evident just how massive Dracula is, not just below the belt, but all over. He is a domineering, titan of a man and you cannot wait to be consumed by him.
“You have the opportunity now, and at any point, to refuse me.” He explains, even with his voice strained. “I will not force myself on you. I am not that kind of monster.”
You are floored by his reassurance but nod anyway, indicating that you understand. “Y-yes,” You manage, just to give him verbal consent as well. “Please, Dracula, I want this.”
He descends upon you with his lips and tongue, using them against your sex, and it is even better than your opiate dream. His tongue slides up and down your folds and then his lips suckle on your clit. Your shaking hands move into his hair and you muss it up, wanting him to look just as debauched as you feel.
He is consuming you, sucking your soul out through your clit and then lapping it up as you wail. Nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing will ever feel this good again. The man is a master with his mouth, in all ways.
After wave upon wave of ecstasy have crashed down upon you, Dracula slides up your body and kisses you with that mouth, chin still wet with your juices. He tastes of you and you can’t help but moan into his mouth at it. You are an absolute mess and he kisses you through the aftershocks, his hand petting your hair and sliding down your body.
Compared to the rest of him, his touch is very soft. He’s gentle with it, bringing you down and back into the present with his kisses and tiny love bites. Dracula has given you two intense orgasms and has barely been touched, himself. As you begin to gain a bit more clarity, you slide your hand down to wrap it around him, and he hisses like it hurts. It must, being so hard for so long. You wonder, briefly, where that blood comes from. Is it yours that is filling his erection? Did you gift him the ability to take you apart?
“You cannot conceive…” He breathes, eyelids fluttering closed with your touch, “of how much I want you.”
“Dracula,” You whisper, kissing a trail up his throat. You give him the tiniest of bites and he smiles because of it. “I’m yours.”
His eyes open and they’re soft, brows furrowed just a bit. He tilts his head just a bit and licks his lips. “My bride.”
You blink but then smooth your other hand down his cheek, sliding a thumb across his lips. “Maybe one day,” you agree.
“One day.” He repeats and then sucks gently on the pad of your thumb, his eyes closing for just a moment. He looks almost vulnerable, but you are not fooled. You know he can shred you apart, easily, and without straining a muscle.
Your core continues to ache, and you know that if you don’t get him inside you in the next few minutes, you’re going to go feral. You give him a few tugs and notice his breathing pick up and hitch as he twitches in your grasp.
With a kiss that makes your toes curl, Dracula rolls his hips forward, the head of his cock catching gently against your entrance but then sliding past it. He slides his shaft against it a few times as he kisses you slowly, one hand in your hair and the other on your side, making you whimper as he presses bruises into your skin without truly meaning to.
You tilt your hips every time he makes a forward roll, trying your hardest to get him inside you. You manage to lubricate him with your fluids and the slide of his head against your clit is driving you wild.
Unable to stand it anymore, you reach down between your stomachs and line him up with your entrance, so that the next roll pushes him inside of your body. You could have howled with how good it felt; the stretch, the glide, his skin against your inner walls. Your back arches and you cling to him, gripping desperately at his biceps and then his back as he presses soothing kisses to your shoulder.
His thrusts are shallow as he gives you a moment to adjust to his girth, teasing and short, which takes quite a bit of effort on his part. You begin to relax, panting against his ear as your legs close around his hips and then open for him once again. Your previous climaxes make the job easier, and soon, you’re begging him to move.
Dracula lifts his head to meet your eyes and you swear that you can hear a choir of angels. Everything is so much. So good. He stretches you and fills you out perfectly and the grip of your muscles around him is making his pants come out more as soft rumbles. There’s a buzz in your head, lighting up each and every one of your nerves. Dracula surrounds you - he’s on you, around you, and inside you. Every breath you take is filled with his scent; spicy, earthy, and just a bit metallic. Even the blankets against your skin feel delicious.
Your eyes try to focus on his face, but they close when he shoves his hips forward, sinking deeper inside you until you can swear he touches your fucking cervix. He’s overwhelming.
You barely register Dracula’s voice telling you to relax; that you’re doing so well, that you are so beautiful. You can hear yourself whimpering and choking out little gasps, your body white hot as he pulls back and then slides forward, bottoming out with a deep groan from both parties.
“Breathe,” You hear him say, cutting through the haziness in your mind. You hadn’t even realized that you’d been holding your breath. When his hand migrates down to that little bundle of nerves, your back curls up and you let out a harsh cry. He’s circling it with his thumb, pressing against it and he’s not letting up. He can hear your heart pounding, watch the pulse in your throat as you stretch it out. His cock twitches with the sounds you’re making and you can feel it.
The count sets a slow pace, deep though it is. You are velvet around him; tight and hot with a grip like a vice. It is the most addicting feeling he has ever had in his long, long life. He wants to ruin you; he wants to fuck you so good that no one else will ever compare. He’ll take his time with you, work you up slowly until you’re screaming his name.
Your noises get louder as Dracula picks up the pace, rolling his hips in and out. Every thrust is like a sucker punch; he’s so thick and every push and pull drags white hot against your insides. The pleasure is unrelenting, building up inside you until you’re sobbing his name, over and over. Your entire universe is narrowed down to one place and Dracula uses his fingers against it with a mind-blowing quickness.
Then, you’re coming. It hits you like a fucking train, too quick to build up and spill over you. As the angry waves of Poseidon crash over your body, you squirm away from the vampire, but he pulls you right back onto his cock, making you gasp and sob with oversensitivity as your muscles clench and squeeze around him; a grip so strong it makes the vampire let out a howling moan. Dracula is rearranging your insides, and the pace he sets isn’t even that punishing. It’s just so good.
As you come back down from your delirium, you notice that Dracula is beginning to make short, aborted little noises. He’s close and you’re right here, present, in this moment to watch the beauty of a monster coming undone.
“Yes, yes inside me,” You purr, encouraging him. He growls, seeming to like that very much. “I want you to come inside me, Dracula.”
You watch his face as it twists and contorts in its beauty and then you feel him shove himself deep, one, two, three more times before his cock twitches and he’s coming as deep inside you as he can get, your name on his lips, sighed out like a prayer. In this moment, nothing but Dracula exists. He is the only thing in the world that matters.
Dracula buries his face in your neck as he relaxes, your sweat sticking to the two of you and slicking your skin. He’s breathing hard, but so are you. As he lay on top of you, you are able to card your fingers back through his thick hair, gently stroking his scalp and enjoying the soft noises that seems to drag out of him. He remains inside of you for as long as it takes him to grow soft, and then he pulls out with a little grunt, curling up at your side instead.
One of his impossibly long legs curls over yours and he tucks a hand around your middle, pulling you close. As the count rests against your shoulder, you stroke his temple and lean in to kiss his forehead. He is surprisingly quiet, for once, but what words would suffice to sum up the earth-shattering experience the two of you had just shared?
You can feel his breath against your breast and his skin is warm; you could almost be fooled into believing him to be alive. In another life, perhaps you would be allowed to keep him. Maybe you would have spent your lives together; he would have given you many children and grown old with you.
“What are you thinking about?” You hear him rumble, almost dream-like.
You sigh and rest your palm against his cheek, avoiding his gaze when he tilts his head up to look at you. “Just that…this is so good. And I’m sorry that it’s over.” you admit. “That I’m jealous of the universe where it doesn’t have to be; of the me that gets to keep you.”
Dracula lingers on this for a moment, staring at the wall in thought. “It doesn’t have to be over.”
You peer down at him, hesitant. “It doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t ever have to be over.” He half-hums, half-whispers. His eyes are dark and full of implications, teeth sharp as they are revealed against his lips. “I can give you this, forever.”
You stare at the ceiling for a moment, and then it is decided.
You stretch your throat for him and close your eyes. Dracula growls.