The Dracula of Dravenmoore Pt. 02

Chapter 4: The Transformation's Dawn

Morning breaks over Dravenmoore with a gray dawn. King Theodoric Moore leads the envoy to Alaric's chamber. The heavy oak door creaks open, revealing Alaric sprawled across a bed of fur and linen, sheets tangled around his lean frame. Dim light filters through the arched window. The envoy returns to his room. An eagle swoops in, talons clutching parchment sealed with the news of the Orrken royals' demise, the message scrawled in haste. The envoy's eyes narrow, doubting the Dravenmoore royals, but the impossible timing, which no raven or rider could span the distance so fast, prompts the envoy to leave urgently without Alaric.

Lysandra and Theodoric rouse Alaric, their voices sharp. "Why didn't you escape, my son?" He yawns, eyes heavy with sated exhaustion. "I resolved it, Father. No need to live under fear." They both thought that it was a frightened child's talk.

Later, Alaric shuffles to the dining hall, his faded green robe dragging across the floor. The hall buzzes with vassals and servants, the air thick with roasting meat and yeast, ripe peaches bursting with nectar, and dark wines. Alaric's been eating nonstop, his hunger with no end drawing glances from serving girls. For two days, he devours, heads straight to sleep, a primal hunger igniting his frame. Each bite, his dick stirring beneath the table, tenting his robe as his body reacted since his voyeurism at Urgok's orgy. Every night, furs cradling him as his muscles swell, contours hardening into raw splendor, his dick thickening with each breath, a transformation woven in the dark.

The rumors of Alaric's transformation and unusual behavior reach Lysandra's ears. She goes to his chamber on the third night. A single candle casts a golden glow over Alaric, sprawled beneath the furs, his frail form gone. Now with broad shoulders rolling with muscle and a chiseled chest heaving, she's relieved her timid boy has finally recovered. Her eyes shift as she places the candle she brought on the table. A snake-like figure beneath Alaric's sheets--she slowly takes a peek inside, revealing a massive dick tenting the sheet, thick and veined, precum beading at the tip, darkening the linen. Her breath catches.

She whispers, "My sweet son, what a marvel you've become," her voice sultry as she slides the sheet down, revealing his sculpted pecs, her fingers grazing his hot skin. She lingers at his dick, brushing it with a featherlight touch. It twitches, hot and alive, a beast pulsing under her fingers. She thought to herself, "Gods, this cock, such power." Gripping it fully, her hand wrapping around its girth, marveling at its thickness, veins throbbing against her palm, precum slicking her skin as she strokes slow, her own tits tingling, her pussy dripping beneath her gown. She imagines him waking, flipping her onto the bed, fucking her raw with that monstrous dick, her screams echoing as he fills her, but she pulls back, flushed and trembling, departing with a moaning voice, "Rest well, my sweet prince."

Theodoric finds Alaric the next day, marveling at his transformation. "The gods have blessed you, son. Their favor shines upon you," he says, his broad shoulder and firm muscle unyielding beneath his grip. "Come hunt with me, let's train you." They ride out to the forest, a tangle of oaks and brambles, where they train and hunt throughout the day. By a crackling fire that night, flames casting a golden glow, they both prepare meat they hunted. Theodoric, gazing into the embers, confesses, "You know your uncle, son. His hand, I planned it; I sent a knight to cut Roderic's hand, fearing his strength would eclipse mine to claim the throne. That's why you have grown as weak. I thought it was his curse that weakened my firstborn. I bore that guilt. Now I'm relieved."

"One day you might dominate this kingdom, son," Theodoric continues. Alaric nods. They both go to sleep in the tents while the knights guard. That night, Alaric dreams of the scene he witnessed in Urgok's chamber, his father's words resonating, "One day you might dominate this kingdom, son," as he pictures Lysandra moaning under him, "Alaric, my king." Alaric wakes up frustrated with his sinful thoughts and stays up the whole night.

Meanwhile, Cedric, 21, lies sleepless in his canopied bed, his dick throbbing. He imagines the moment he witnessed in the bath, Lysandra's bath haunting him, as he recalls her tits glistening, her lips brushing his, her pussy a wet promise. His dick aches, rigid and thick, demanding release, and he slips barefoot through secret tunnels only known to the royal family that stretch to all rooms and places, their damp walls cool as they wind through the castle's heart. He finds a peephole by the king's chamber and presses his eye to it, his breath hitching as the scene unfolds.

Lysandra's on all fours atop a bed of pelts and hides, her golden hair wildly loose with sweat, her massive tits swaying, nipples grazing the furs, her ass high and glistening with sweat, her pussy dripping as his father fucks her from behind. His thrusts deep and relentless, his hands yanking her hair, arching her back as she moans, a wild wail echoing off the stone. Her juices soak the furs, her pussy clenching tight as she cums, her scream piercing, "Yes, harder, take me!" He spanks her ass red, the slaps echoing in Cedric's ears. His own heart beats loudly. "You crave this, don't you, my queen? Say it!" She gasps, "Yes, your strength consumes me, so much fiercer, filling my pussy. Yess, fill me!" Cedric's dick throbs painfully, precum leaking as he strokes himself through his shift, imagining himself pounding her.

His voice is a low growl, "What if your sons saw you now, Lysandra, sprawled and panting, fucked raw like this? Cedric and Alaric, would you let them watch as you bend over this bed, my vigor stretching you wide?" She moans, her tits bouncing with each thrust, "Oh gods, yes, I'd let them watch while you claim me, drowning my holes with your seed!" He chuckles, "Show me how you moan in front of them." Lysandra moans loudly, piercing Cedric through the hidden tunnel, "Yes, ruin me." She cries out, "Fuck me senseless, your cock owns me!" Cedric's hand moves faster, his balls tightening, the taboo words fueling his lust, the view of his mother's pussy stretched, her screams a song, her body a feast.

His father's hands shift, gripping her hips harder, his thrusts brutal. "I'm better than Theodoric. His limp dick can't reach where I reach, can it? Tell me I fuck you like a king should!" Lysandra wails, "Yes, Roderic, you're the man compared to him, your cock's a weapon, filling me, breaking me. Ufff, fuck me harder!" Cedric freezes, his dick pulsing as shock slams him. It's Roderic, his uncle, his slit-only hand spanking her, his dick plunging deep as he cums, seed flooding her, dripping down her thighs to stain the furs, her pussy pulsing as she cums again, her screams shaking the chamber, "Roderic, yes, fill me, own me!" Cedric stumbles back through the tunnels, bare feet slapping stone, his breath ragged as he reaches his room, slamming the door. He rips off his shift, stroking his dick hard and fast, precum slicking his hand as he recalls what he witnessed--Lysandra beneath Roderic, her pussy clenching his cock. He groans, muffled into the pillow, his body trembling with rage and lust.

Chapter 5: The Training Room's Duel and Tangled Lust

Lysandra seeks Cedric, 21, in the training room, a cavernous chamber of stone beneath Dravenmoore's keep. He trains alone, shirtless, his body gleaming under torchlight, muscles rippling as he swings a longsword, outlining the thick bulge of his dick, pulsing with each move, a magnet for the eye. She steps inside, her velvet gown hugging her full tits, nipples pressing through, her golden hair tumbling loose.

"Training alone, my son? Is your father yet to return from his hunt?" her voice a sultry thread weaving through the chamber, her eyes drinking his vigor, her pussy tingling as she glides closer. He pauses, wiping sweat from his brow, his presence flooding her senses like a primal wine. "Did you not know, Mother? I think last night I heard you both talking in the chamber while I crossed," he counters, thinking of Roderic's betrayal, eyes locking with hers, a storm of lust brewing. She smiles wickedly. "No, sweet boy, I don't remember any talking. I was very tired," her tongue wetting her lips, her gaze dropping to his dick's bulge, her pussy clenching as she imagines it freed, breathing the air.

She grabs a wooden sword, its oak hilt worn smooth, and takes a stance, skirts swaying, tits bouncing subtly, fabric straining as she arches, eyes dancing with mischief. "Fight me. Let Mother see your training," she teases, her stance wide, thighs parting beneath the gown, air cooling her damp skin. Cedric grins, expecting an easy win, his wooden blade flashing. He lunges, but she's deft, a warrior queen, her blade clashing with his, a sharp crack echoing, her hips brushing his, her scent jasmine and musk driving him wild. They duel, a dance of lust and steel, her voice weaving a sultry tapestry: "Thrust harder, Cedric. Pierce me deep," she says, taunting both him and his desires. "My son, bring me to my knees with that vigor." She throws lusty remarks. "Let's see, son. Does yours outlast your father's faltering strength?" Her dripping thighs, aching pussy make her remarks more vulgar. "You think you can take me, boy? I've seen large, powerful swordmasters. Can you dominate above them all?" "Try pushing me against this wall till I scream your name for mercy?" Her tits bounce, nipples peaking, her breath hot on his neck. "Show me all that strength. Use your body," her pussy dripping beneath her skirts, soaking the fabric as she imagines him ripping her gown, his dick plunging into her, fucking her raw, her screams shaking the stone.

Tension builds, his dick swelling, precum soaking his breeches, balls tightening with her taunts. Visions of her bent over, pussy dripping as he fucks her, her moans echoing, flood his mind. He sidesteps, disarms her with a wrist twist, the sword clattering, and pins her to the wall, her wrists trapped above her head, their faces inches apart, breath mingling, her lips parted, her tits pressed to his chest, nipples grazing him through the velvet, sending jolts to his dick. It presses her thigh, hard and thick, pulsing with need, her moan soft as she shifts, pussy aching to take him, thighs trembling. "Oh, my Cedric," she whispers, her tongue tasting the sweat that fell across his forehead. Both are overcome with lust.

Roderic's voice cuts through, clapping slow, staff tapping. "Still sharp, Lysandra. A warrior to rival any knight." Alyssa, 42, emerges beside him, wearing her silk gown, her lithe frame accentuated, raven hair coiled, dark eyes glinting with mockery. "Such a bold boy, Cedric, pinning your mother like that," she sneers, her full lips curling. "Can't keep your hands off her, can you? All that muscle, and still so weak for her." Cedric glares, words caught in his throat, his dick still throbbing from Lysandra. Lysandra pulls free, her voice sharp. "Nothing wrong here, Alyssa. You're the one twisting it with your perverse gaze. He's my son. Your mind's the one with filth." Alyssa smirks. "Oh, I see plenty, sister-in-law. A mother panting under her boy's grip."

Melissa, 60, sweeps in, her sheer black gown barely containing her massive tits. "Now, now, we're all family. No need to fight," she says, her voice a soothing balm, her plump ass swaying as she calms them. Lysandra storms out, skirts rustling, leaving a charged silence. Roderic turns to Cedric, his tone steady. "You did nothing wrong, lad. Don't let her rattle you." Alyssa glares at Cedric, her eyes venomous, while Cedric sneaks glances at Melissa, her tits heaving tight, nipples stiff, her presence making his dick twitch. Roderic notices, his sharp eyes, but he says nothing.

Chapter 6: The Sister's Dream and the Mother's Whisper

Alaric, 22, returns to Dravenmoore after his hunt, where he lies sleepless, restless in his chamber. Elyse, 20, appears in his dream, her cream gown lifted to her hips, her pussy wet and glistening beneath soft curls. "Fuck me deep, brother. Stretch me with that beast, make me yours," her voice husky as she straddles him, pert tits bouncing free, nipples pink and stiff, her screams wild as her pussy clenches his dick, juices soaking his thighs, nails raking his chest, leaving red trails. He wakes, sweating, his dick rigid, precum pooling on his stomach, thick and glistening. Nearby, Elyse shakes him awake, her white linen shift clinging, and his Dracula-like powers show him her nipples stiff in the cool air.

"Get up, lazy brother!" she teases, unaware of his loins' secrets as she nears the bed. He stammers, "Go. I'll come," hands clenching sheets to hide his bulge. She pulls the sheet, giggling, then gasps as it slips, revealing his monstrous dick, thick, pulsing, damp with arousal, straining for release. Her pussy clenches, a flush staining her cheeks. "Alaric!" she squeaks, fleeing, her shift fluttering as she locks herself in her chamber, the oak door shut. Alone, she hikes her shift, fingers plunging into her wet pussy, curls slick as she imagines his dick fucking her, splitting her wide, releasing her waters. She gasps, pinching her nipple till it reddens, cumming hard, juices soaking her thighs, collapsing with his name on her lips, not understanding why she did this without control. Alaric groans, stroking his dick slowly through the shift, cumming in thick ropes across the sheets, his lust unquenched.

Lysandra also dreams in the king's chamber, in glowing candlelight, crimson drapes drawn. Alaric stands as king, naked, his chiseled torso sweat-slick, his dick a thick beast in his breeches. He pins her, ripping her gown, baring her--tits bouncing, nipples stiff, pussy dripping as he growls, "You're mine," fucking her hard, his dick stretching her, her screams wild. "Take me, Alaric--fuck me, my king!" she cries aloud, fingers teasing her clit beneath the furs, nearing climax. Theodoric, her husband, stirs, woken by her words. "Alaric?" he mutters, suspicion growing inside him as his dick stiffens despite the sting, stroking it through his shift, cumming hard, seed soaking the linen, guilt and desire warring.

At midnight, Alaric, aroused by his new powers, hears faint moans with his hyper hearing, levitating from his chamber, following the sound to a shed near Gavyn's room. Gavyn must be ramming it in whores, Alaric thinks, aroused. He peers in, dick hardening, his gaze shocked to find Alyssa and Gavyn like dogs in heat, locked in taboo lust, her sapphire gown torn open, tits swaying every thrust, pussy dripping, sprinkling waters as Gavyn fucks her against the shed wall inside, her legs wrapped around him, moans echoing. The scene reminds Alaric of Urgok's incestuous orgy, igniting Alaric's blood. Alyssa purrs, "Fuck me harder, my son. Your cock's a fine king's, better than any man's, stretch me till I scream!" Gavyn growls, "You love this, don't you, Mother? When I'm king, I'll make you mine. I'll make you my queen. We don't need to wait till midnight. I'll fuck you day and night. I'll take that bitch Lysandra next, bend her over the throne, fuck her pussy raw while she begs, her tits bouncing for me." Alyssa moans, "Yes, and Melissa too, the old bitch. She separated me from my love, married me to a fucking cuck. Take revenge for me, son. Pin that silver-haired slut, fuck her till her fat tits shake, her pussy soaking the furs. Show them who rules!"

Gavyn shifts, flipping her onto an old bed, fucking her from behind, her ass high. "I'll dominate them all. Lysandra screaming under me, Melissa's pussy clenching my cock, both their sons watching me fuck their mommies, helpless, as I claim what's mine!" Alyssa cums, her scream piercing, pussy pulsing as juices drip. "Fuck them for me, Gavyn. Own them!" Gavyn grunts, cumming hard, seed flooding her, dripping down her thighs. Alaric, flying outside, strokes his dick through his robe, precum soaking it. He imagines himself in Gavyn's place, fucking Alyssa's tight pussy, then, in what Gavyn said, Lysandra's, her tits swaying as he pounds her, Melissa, her plump ass bouncing as he takes her, making her ride his dick, dominating them all. He flies back to his room, rips off his robe, jerking his dick hard, visions of their pussies clenching him, their screams filling his ears, cumming in thick spurts across the furs, his body shuddering, the hunger of insatiable lust, the Dracula mention beginning to form.

Chapter 7: The Stables' Primal Heat and the Uncle's Sinful past

Dravenmoore's stables stretch beneath the castle's western wing, a sprawling den of weathered timber and golden straw. Cedric, 21, stands bare-chested, covered with sweat, taming a wild mare midnight-black, its mane slashing the air like dark silk. His abs flex with each yank of the reins, sweat trickling down to his leather belt, breeches hugging his thighs showing the shape of his thick dick, a knight mastering a beast.

Lysandra stands, her crimson velvet gown clinging like a lover's caress, damp with heat, molding to her massive tits, her nipples stiff and aroused, straining the bodice. She leans against a splintered post, hips swaying, eyes smoldering as she devours Cedric's form, her pussy pulsing, a wet ache flooding her thighs as she imagines him pinning her in the straw, his dick slamming deep, fucking her in the stables, her screams blending with the mare's snorts. "Look at him, a man taming even an untameable beast," she says, her voice with a sultry growl weaving through the air, "in a few years he will use his strength and his dick mastering the art of taming a woman with every twist, such vigor, a royal stallion in his prime." Her tongue wets her full lips, fingers trailing at her drenched thighs, her pussy clenching tight, nipples peaking harder, tits swaying as she shifts, her scent jasmine and musk caught by Cedric.

Roderic leans near Lysandra, eyes glinting with a smirk as he watches Lysandra's lust; Cedric sees his mother and uncle talking, his dick twitching as he remembers what he witnessed that night. Cedric dismounts, boots thudding, walks near them with pulsing dick that snares Lysandra's gaze, her breath hitching as she envisions it freed, plunging into her depths. "I've work to tend," her voice thick with unspent need, brushing past Roderic, her scent lingering as she sways out, stable doors creaking shut, torchlight flickering.

Cedric wipes sweat from his brow, chest heaving, turning to Roderic, voice low and edged. "Does a horse fuck a mare his brother's claimed, Uncle?" His glare pierces, hinting Roderic's betrayal with Lysandra a raw wound, fists clenching. Roderic's smirk widens, staff tapping. "You know, Cedric, some stallions left alone crave their mother's cunt, driven by primal lust, without thinking of their relationship," hinting Cedric's lust for Lysandra. His eyes lock with Cedric's, a dark mirror to their shared sin, the air crackling with taboo.

Cedric is glaring at Roderic. "I know your secret, I know what you've done. You are a traitor, Uncle." Roderic leans against a splintered post, his smirk glinting in the torchlight. "A traitor? Such strong words, Cedric. But you'd best keep that secret locked tight in your throat. You don't breathe a word of this to Theodoric."

Cedric's eyes narrow, his breath snags. "Why the hell should I protect you? You've fucked my mother, betrayed my father.... your own brother! Why does your filth mean I've got to stay quiet?" his voice rough with fury.

Roderic's smirk fades, his gaze sharpening. "Because, boy, if you spill this to Theodoric, it's not just me who'll bleed for it. He'll strip your status as heir. And Lysandra... gods, Cedric, you think he'd let her stay? She'd be exiled, maybe worse. You want that for her because you couldn't hold your tongue?"

Cedric's rage boils in his gut. "Exiled? Why would he punish her... or me? It's your betrayal, not ours! You're the one who stuck your dick where it didn't belong. I caught you... through that damn peephole, rutting her like a beast while she moaned for it. How does that drag me into your mess?" he snarls.

Roderic straightens, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. "And what were you doing at the peephole? You think everything is simple, don't you? That he will not ask you that? You're a fool, Cedric. You've got no idea how deep this runs... how it's tangled in your own blood. Theodoric's a proud man, too proud. If he learns I've been fucking Lysandra, he won't just stop at me. He'll question everything... her loyalty, your legitimacy. He'll look at you, his precious heir, and wonder whose seed really made you. And when the doubt creeps in, he won't hesitate. He'll cast you both out to save his crown, his name. You think he'd risk a bastard sitting on his throne?"

Cedric's jaw tightens, a flush creeping up his neck. "Bastard? What are you saying? I'm his son. He raised me, trained me, named me his heir. You're mad if you think your betrayal changes that," he growls, but a flicker of unease gnaws at him, his breath hitching.

Roderic steps closer, his one good hand gripping his staff. "It does change everything, Cedric, because you're my son, boy, born out of my seed in Lysandra's womb, my blood pumping in your veins, my lust burning in your bones."

Cedric freezes, his mind spinning, the stable's heat pressing in like a vise. "Yours? You're... you're my father?" his voice cracking. "What? How... how could that be... that means I'm not Theodoric's son at all. You're lying, you bastard. You've got no proof!"

Roderic's eyes blaze, unflinching. "Proof? Look at you, Cedric. That strength, that raw edge. You are nothing like my brother, your skills overpower him, just like me before I lost my hand, your lust for woman at your age, just like me. That fire in your gut, that hunger you feel when you watch your mother, that's me in you, son... Theodoric's seed couldn't forge a stallion like you. Lysandra knew it too, every time she watched you grow, my mark on your bones. You've felt her pull, haven't you? That ache when she sways by, her tits begging to be touched? That's my lust in you, son, calling you to her. It is from my blood. If you tell Theodoric, he'll see it too... he'll see me in your face, and he'll destroy you for it. You'll lose everything... the throne, her, all of it. You yourself know this, son, that's why you're silent till now; you are my son, and I took care of you like my son till now and will do so from now on too."

Cedric's fists unclench, trembling, sweat beading on his brow. "Gods... if you're my father, why tell me now? Why not let me live the lie?" he asks.

Roderic claps his shoulder, grip firm, his smirk softening. "Because you're ready now, son. You're just like me. I stood in the same tunnel you stood, the peephole you watched me and your mother. I was the one who made that." Cedric says, "Peep... hole, you made that peephole, why?" Roderic smiles. "I told you, you are just like me, son. I lusted for my mother, Melissa, like you burn for your mother Lysandra, a tale from my youth at 21, same age as you are now."

Roderic's eyes blaze, weaving a lengthy tapestry of depravity: "I'd slink through those tunnels at night daily watching my mother Melissa fuck the king, my father, in their silk-draped chamber, her moans that broke me. Her tits very ripe, swaying melons jiggled as he pounded her, her pussy wet and gaping, glistening in candlelight as he yanked her silver hair, spanking her fat ass till it glowed red, her screams soaking the air like a whore's hymn. I'd grip my dick, stroking hard, cumming against the stone, dreaming of fucking her, her pussy clenching my shaft, her lips sucking my tongue, her thighs crushing me in the dark. I dragged your father, Theodoric, once, thinking he'd share my fantasies, but that cunning bastard, he snitched, and Father banished me, where I lost my hand, a wound that bled my pride. Years later, Dravenmoore faltering, the king ill, Theodoric eying power, they never knew Melissa sought me in secret, her gown tossed aside, her pussy dripping as she straddled me, fucking her son raw, her screams, I owned her, her tits bouncing, her ass quaking as I flooded her with cum, her body my prize in exile."

Cedric's jaw tightens, his dick rigid, precum soaking his breeches as Roderic's words paint Melissa, silver-haired legend, her pussy a grail yielding to her son, a mirror to his own lust for Lysandra. "Wha... what? You fucked your mother, my grandmother, how?" he rasps, voice thick, hand twitching to stroke himself, the stable's heat pressing in. "Every thrust," Roderic says, leaning closer, "her pussy stretched wide, juices dripping down her thighs, her moans begging for more. I'd cum so hard inside her, my cum glistened in candlelight, my dick plunging into her, fucking her till she screamed my name. You feel it too, don't you? Lysandra's cunt calling you, her tits begging to be sucked?" Cedric nods, balls aching. "Tell me more, tell me how."

Roderic chuckles, dark and knowing. "I fucked her after banishment. I've returned as king's aid, her pussy aching from neglect. She was aroused, there was no mother and son, only man and woman. I pinned her to the furs, spread her thighs, and fucked her deep, her tits bouncing slowly like a pendulum. 'Roderic, fuck your mother harder!' she screamed as my cum filled her, dripping out, marking her mine." Cedric groans, his dick pulsing. Cedric's breath hitches. "And me... your son... do I inherit this lust?" Roderic smirks. "You do, son. Lysandra's cunt is your birthright, just as Melissa's was mine. One day, you'll claim what's yours... her cunt, the throne, all of it. My blood's in you, Cedric. You're no Theodoric's pawn... you're my legacy."

"Did you hate Theodoric for your exile?" Cedric asks, voice trembling, sweat beading as he fights the urge to stroke his dick, the mare's whinny a faint echo. "No," Roderic softens, "I love my brother. He spared me, took my hand not my life, a mercy I cling to. But I still took my revenge."

Their shared fetish binds them, a bond of father and son. "How did it feel... fucking your mother?" he presses, voice raw, dick aching. Roderic's voice drops low. "Like conquering a goddess... her pussy tight and hot, her tits swaying as I thrust, her screams a song of surrender. You'll know it with Lysandra... her cunt's waiting, wet and ready." Cedric's groan escapes, his dick leaking.

Chapter 8: The Maid's Fall and the First Kin

Morning light seeps through Dravenmoore's arched windows. Theodoric, 45, rises, his mind snarled with Lysandra's whisper from dream, "Take me, Alaric, my king," a barb of suspicion piercing his chest. He dons his fur-lined cloak and strides through the castle, boots echoing beneath vaulted ceilings, inspecting armory, stables, granary, his duties.

In Alaric's chamber, Margaret, 40, enters to change the sheets, a maternal figure to Alaric, her curves straining her coarse linen bodice, tits like ripe melons, nipples stiff beneath the fabric, skirts swishing around thick thighs, constrained by her tight dress. She strips the pelts, tossing them into a basket, reaching for the sheets by the hearth, her hands deft. Alaric, 22, half-asleep under tangled linen, his Dracula-like powers and allure affect Alaric's surroundings without him knowing. His hand clamps her tit, squeezing hard, fingers sinking into soft flesh, her nipple hardening as she moans, echoing off the stone. Her pussy and thighs trembling, heat flooding her core as she presses into him, lust warring with shock. They snap apart, her cheeks flaming, breath ragged, skirts tangling as she stumbles back, pussy dripping as she flees, slamming the oak door, its thud a heartbeat in the silence.

Alaric groans, ashamed, his dick throbbing beneath the sheets, a thick pulsing ridge, hand drifting to stroke it, to calm it down, his insatiable lust, guilt gnawing as his body trembles.

Jane, 38, Lysandra's maid chosen for her mirror-like beauty, somehow resembling Lysandra, tits full and heavy, hips wide, midnight hair, watches Margaret's flight, curiosity sparking as she lingers by the door.

She peeks through the crack, catching Alaric sprawled naked, his massive dick in hand, thick and veined, precum glistening as he finishes stroking. His head is flushed, balls tight, sweat gleaming on his chiseled torso--a vision that soaks her skirts instantly.

She waits till he's done, then knocks softly, entering with a sway, speaking in a sultry tone. "My lord, I'll tidy the room," she bends and shows her curves as Alaric watches, his tent raising again. She strikes a conversation. "My lord, looks like you've been having fun with many girls, haven't you?" Her bodice unbuttons slowly, exposing deep cleavage, tits swaying as she nears. Alaric blushes, kind and innocent despite his power. "No... Jane... I've seen it, but never done it." Jane smirks, closing the gap. "Does the young master want to learn?" He nods, eyes wide, dick twitching anew. She strips fully, throwing her dress, revealing lush tits, nipples stiff, and her pussy, wet and glistening beneath black curly hair, thighs slick as she straddles him.

"Fuck me, young Master," she begs, lowering onto his dick, her pussy tight and hot, stretching wide around its girth, moaning wild as he thrusts up, filling her deep, her tits bouncing, nails raking his chest, leaving red trails. "Harder, rut me like a beast!" she gasps, hips slamming down, ass slapping his thighs, her pussy dripping. Alaric's eyes blur, seeing Lysandra's face in Jane's, an illusion of his mother boosting his urge, growling, "Take it," as he fucks her harder, her screams echoing, "Yes, claim me!" His Dracula urges and powers overflow, loosening his control. He bites her neck, fangs sinking in, turning her vampire as she cums, pussy spasming, juices soaking his thighs, tits swaying as he floods her with cum, a hot torrent spilling out, staining the furs. She collapses, trembling, eyes glowing with loyalty.

Alaric, now calm, worries about what he has done. In the crypt records, notes state, "A vampire will be a slave to Dracula, losing its personality before being turned." Alaric fears what he has become. Jane wakes up startled. "What happened, Young Master? Why do my teeth have fangs, my eyes... my eyes emit a red hue?" she asks, astonishing Alaric. She is a vampire yet with free will. Alaric explains to Jane while she licks his dick clean, her tongue swirling, lapping their mingled cum. "My lord, my king," she moans, curling beside him, tits pressed to his side, pussy still dripping, a bond sealed in sin.