Castle Mroczna

Barely thinking, Samson turned around and ran the opposite way, towards the dining hall, his mad footsteps filling the air as they echoed off the stone floor.

He collided with the double doors at the end of the dining hall, the doors rattling violently as he tried to open them, fumbling with the knobs.

With dismay, he realised they were locked.

"Fuck!" he cursed, and doubled back, knowing he was heading towards where the smoke had attacked him and his fellows... and as he got to the doors leading into the dining hall, he stopped dead, his blood chilling when he saw a figure walking towards him through the lounge area.

If his fear wasn't ruling him at that moment, he might've realised it was the figure figure from the painting, clad in a white dress with a face shrouded by a black hat and veil.

"There you are, intruz," said the figure, a deep, matronly voice with a dangerous, amused edge, a bit of an accent to it similar to neighbouring nations.

For a moment Samson was frozen, unable to act, unable to think, too terrified to devise a plan.

Then he snapped himself out of his stupor and ran for the kitchen, a wicked laugh following him and the echoes of heavy heeled footsteps filling his ears as he pounded across the stone, throwing open the few doors to the kitchen with no caution or grace.

He almost slid past the kitchen itself, running around the central table with the pigs head that no longer seemed so frightening.

He fumbled with the door again, trying to work out the latches. It wasn't like the doors in the dining hall, these seemed simpler. But he had no tools, he'd abandoned them.

Outside he could see the snow starting to fall harder, but he didn't care.

Breathing hard, he looked for something he could use to smash the door handles open with, the window panes made with a diamond lattice frame, so breaking through them would have taken too long and he didn't think he could open them wide enough to fit.

There was an iron stoker for one of the stoves, so he grabbed that and tried jamming it between the doors, hoping to pry them open.

He was suddenly spun around, and he found himself looking up the towering figure of white from before, so much larger than him, their hat almost brushing the wooden slat ceiling.

From this angle, he could just make out a mouth beneath the veil, red lips twisting into a smirk.

"A vandal too... tsk tsk tsk," they said. It sounded like a woman, her voice deep and rich.

A gloved hand suddenly reached out and grasped Samson by the neck, lifting him up.

He choked a little and clawed at the hand holding him; she wasn't squeezing particularly tight, but her grip was unyielding, and being held up by one's neck and head was both uncomfortable and frightening, his legs kicking wildly.

She held him aloft, his head almost bumping one of the wooden support beams exposed in the ceiling. He was just slightly higher than her now, allowing her to look directly at him.

He could still only really make out those wickedly grinning lips, blood-red in colour, but the skin around her mouth seemed unnaturally pale.

In a moment, he realised he was still holding the stoker, and in a last ditch attempt to free himself, he swung it at the impossibly tall woman's head.

She was faster than him, catching his wrist in a gloved hand, stopping his stroke dead, a somewhat painful shock going up his arms. Then she used her fingers and thumb, strong themselves, to force open Samson's grip and drop the stoker to the ground with a clang.

"That wasn't very polite, wasn't it?" she chastised. Her voice was sensual, but wicked, the low chuckle that followed chilling Samson to the bones.

He couldn't really speak back with the hand to his neck, barely able to move his jaw.

She let go of his wrist, leaving him to try and support himself with both arms clinging to her arm, Samson unsure there was anything else he could do in this situation. Fear ruled him, and he could think of no plan.

With her free hand, she flipped up her veil, the edge curling over the short brim of her hat and exposing her face fully.

She was an older woman, but one with a mature beauty, the kind that could enrapture younger men. Her skin was so pale, it seemed like white makeup, whilst deep maroon-red eyes bore into his with a timeless intensity. Her smile was broad, what he saw of her teeth clean and white, contrasting with those glossy, blood-red lips, whilst he spied carefully tended curls of brown hair beneath that hat, just visible across her brow.

Her nose twitched as if scenting him, and her smile broadened just a little bit more, and just as wickedly.

"But... you are young and... fresh. I can forgive such bad manners~" she stated, using the back of her free hand to brush his cheek with a soft touch.

Samson could only let out a meek, terrified whimper.

"Nevertheless, punishment for your trespass is demanded. And penance owed~"

Then her free hand wrapped around his back, pulling him closer to her body for support, and though it let her slide her other gloved hand around the back of his head, taking the pressure off his neck, it was too close for his comfort, his face inches from hers now, able to feel her breath against his neck. He could also feel her bust against him, though in his state, that awkwardness was the least of his concerns.

"So... allow me to have a taste first~" she said, the grip on the back of his head tightening and allowing her to tilt his head slightly upwards and to the side.

She leaned in close, hat just pushing against him and being tilted back as she scented his neck, letting out a savouring sigh against his skin.

Then she bit down, what felt like four sharp fangs sinking deep into his flesh as her lips sealed to his skin.

Samson let out a cry of pain. It hurt.

At least, it did at first. But when she started to sip, Samson then realising she was drinking his blood, he felt... strange.

The pain began to fade. Her mouth covered quite a large portion of his neck, and it began to warm. Even tingle. He could feel her tongue rolling slowly between her impaled fangs, lapping softly and wetly against his skin. Her lips seemed to make minute suckling caresses against his neck. With every small sip, she tugged on his neck, eliciting some small amount of pain that somehow complemented the burgeoning stimulation he was feeling.

His body felt weakened, a few spasms making him feel like a dying insect caught in a spider's web after it had delivered its deadly bite.

But he didn't feel like dying otherwise.

The warmth was spreading, alongside the lethargy in his muscles. He was slack in her grip... and getting aroused.

With incredulity, he could feel himself getting erect in his pants, his penis straining against the fabric as this vampire slowly sipped on his blood like a rare blend of wine.

With him getting slack, she loosened her grip just a little, now that he wasn't going to be in any position to fight back.

The stimulation was becoming pleasurable, his cock throbbing and starting to bead precum. It was alien and frightening alongside euphoric; being bitten by this... this... monster, shouldn't have felt this good.

But it did, and it both scared and aroused Samson.

His head began swimming with bizarre feelings, and he found it hard to focus on his surroundings.

Then, she let go of his neck with a soft gasp and a luxurious sigh, licking her lips, savouring the taste of his blood upon them.

Samson felt some clarity return to him, and some of the lethargy leave him... but the arousal was still firmly there, his cock throbbing needily against her body.

And she noticed.

"My, how vulgar~" she mocked, a low taunting chuckle invading Samson's ears.

"Please..." he whined coarsely, feeling drained. "Let me go..."

"After breaking into my home? Attempting to steal from me? Vandalising my property? Attempting to strike me? No, intruz... I think not," she said.

There was a cruel edge to her voice, but she didn't sound angry. More amused. It had him worried, but fear was a hard emotion for Samson to muster in full strength at that moment, her bite having severely messed with his head, as terror and arousal mixed in a heady concoction.

Then he found himself being lifted up further, and he would have banged his head on the ceiling had she not found something to sit on, though to either side of his head were wooden support beams, a reminder that injury was not far off.

Belatedly though, he realised that his crotch was now aligned with her face... and he could feel her lips against the bulge in his pants.

It made him squirm in a strange mixture of fright, confusion and awkwardness.

But she seemed amused by his vain attempts to escape, and made promiscuous kissing motions against the tent.

It made him shiver.

"Let us see what you have here~" she crooned, using one of her gloved hands to tug down his pants.

Samson panicked, but he felt too weak -- and her grip around his waist and rump was too strong -- and had too little space to struggle.

His cock then slapped down against her lips, Samson feeling them twist into a grin.

"Crass and eager~" she remarked, giving his precum-stained glans a teasing peck with her lips, making him groan.

He felt one of her hands reach around to stroke around his base, touching his pubic hair.

"And I thought young men liked to be clear down here," she commented in mock disappointment. "But... I can live with this~"

She kissed his helmet again, the tip of her tongue gently curling at a droplet of pre that beaded from his tip.

Then she wrapped her lips around his glans and gently suckled.

He couldn't help the moan that followed, too weak from the bite, and also too aroused.

He felt her broad tongue swirl around his glans with a deliberately slow pace; she was much larger than him, so her lips and tongue easily shadowed his penis, but her seal was tight and her tongue... it felt good brushing against his sensitive tip.

There was a tug on his hips, and he was pulled further into her waiting mouth. It felt lukewarm, but what it lacked in heat, she made up for in skill and moisture, her lips able to maintain a tight seal around his penis, whilst her tongue subjected his manhood to a luxurious licking, tasting his pre and lathering his cock in a layer of saliva. She began to move her head, sliding her lips back and forth upon his length, never once breaking that firm, erotic seal.

From his glans to halfway down his cock, she slowly and gently moved; it was easy for her, given she was about a third his size taller than he and proportional atop of that, making her simply bigger in every regard compared to him.

Samson couldn't help moaning as he bowed over her head, hands having difficulty finding places to grab onto for support; one held onto her head involuntarily, whilst the other pressed against one of the crossbeams in the ceiling.

Even though she didn't feel particularly warm, his arousal and the heat from her bite was offsetting that, and her plush lips and masterful tongue only made him more aroused.

She murmured, and he felt the thrumming go through her lips and tongue straight into his cock, tantalising it with subtle vibrations. It made him groan weakly, letting out a pant.

She started to take him deeper, moving his hips with her hands, one reaching down from behind and through his legs to gently grasp his balls in a gloved hold, feeling just a little bit warmer than her mouth. She fondled them, massaged them, teasing him just that bit more. He whimpered and curled his toes in his shoes.

He was still mostly dressed over all, but he could feel the chill of the room, getting colder as it began to snow outside, across his rump... but it was still a distant sensation, too aroused to focus on it over the slow fellatio he was receiving from the giant woman.

He couldn't quite believe it even now, that she was sucking him off... but he was still terrified.

Afraid of orgasm, cumming in her mouth, and what she'd do after. He was a plaything to her right now, helpless meat for her to suck on.

Soon, she was moving his hips enough that he felt her lips push through his pubic hair to press against his crotch, his whole length buried in her mouth, sliding across that broad tongue of hers, the muscle loosely wrapping around his girth, curling from side to side, undulating to push against his glans, rubbing that kink in her muscle about his tip whilst wiggling the end of her tongue against the sides of his shaft.

Hilted in her mouth, he barely reached her throat, but it was enough for the muscles at the top of her gullet to ripple directly against his helm whenever she murmured in appreciation. Feeling her flesh thrum against his most sensitive point was pure torture, and it further degraded any resistance he was putting up.

Her other hand was splayed against one of his glutes, and her fingers sunk into his cheek possessively, slowly, domineeringly massaging and kneading his flesh whilst her other hand continued its fondling of his scrotum.

There was a pressure building in his loins, and it was getting closer to bursting. His cock throbbed in her mouth, and he couldn't drown out the sounds of her fellatio, quiet slicking sounds emanating from his crotch, alongside the occasional louder smack and slurp, along with her sounds of appreciation.

A fugue was slowly descending upon Samson, the stimulation and gentle pleasure too much to bear. Her bite had thoroughly addled him, and her fellatio was too skilful to resist. He occasionally bucked into her mouth, more like a full-bodied twitch than a genuine thrust.

It only made her loose low, taunting chuckles around his member as she picked up speed, slurping quietly and sliding his length from root to tip past her lips, her tongue feeling like it was lashing his cock in slow motion.

Samson's eyes were half-lidded now, and he could feel the climax coming, a surge of heat and lust he couldn't contain. She was going to draw it out of him, a humiliation for being caught trespassing where he shouldn't.

His moans seemed to excite her from the appreciative, teasing sounds she made, muffled as they were with his cock constantly pumped in and out of her mouth.

Even without the unnatural euphoria she'd inflicted on him with her bite, her fellatio would have broken him in nearly as quickly.

Eventually, his resistance waned, and with a long, defeated moan, he twitched and jerked his hips into her mouth, and let his cock throb in ejaculation, loosing small ropes into her mouth, a pittance compared to her size, but she held him to the root inside of her, and prolonged his climax with the gulping of her throat, drinking his seed down as though it were too precious to spill.

Once he was done, gently panting atop of her, she pulled him out of her mouth with a wet smack, a savouring murmur leaving her lips. She kept the seal of her lips so tight it drew up all residue off his cock, a last streak of stimulation.

"The seed of life... delicious~" she purred.

Samson was tired, too tired to offer any retort, only wearily observe her let go of his balls and bring the hand to her lips, running a gloved finger across her red, velvety folds and gathering up any lingering stains. She slipped the digit between her lips, and sucked hard on it, cleaning it thoroughly. When she pulled it back, the leather glistened, and she wiped down some of the saliva upon his softening penis, giving it a light but dominant flick.

Samson groaned, feeling his legs starting to get numb.

Then he felt himself drop, the woman standing up from her seat at the same time until he found himself held with his face level with hers.

"Do not think this is the end, intruz," she warned with a wicked smile. "This is merely the start of your penance."

Then she clutched his chin in a gloved hand, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"But I think, intruz, that you will enjoy paying your penance~"

Then her hand slipped up the side of his head, index pressing to his forehead, thumb at the corner of his mouth. She fixed those deep eyes of hers upon his... he couldn't look away...

"Usnąć," she said.

A weariness overcame him, too strong to resist, and Samson's eyes closed, and he went limp in her embrace.

---

Samson wasn't sure how long he was out for, only that his slumber proved... terribly restful.

He was bleary-eyed when he finally managed to crack them open, his surroundings nought but a vague blur... already quite discomforting.

When he tried to move, and found his limbs disobeying his commands, that's when he shot awake as a surge of terror filled him.

With a fearful gasp, he tried his best to sit upright, but whatever held his limbs prevented that, Samson only able to lift his head.

He tugged on his arms and legs, struggling, only to finally see what was wrong with them and discovering they had been chained down, his wrists and ankles imprisoned in soft leather cuffs that he wasn't slipping out of.

Only then did he start to take in his surroundings.

He was in a bedroom. A lavish one, the walls painted in white with golden trim in the corners and along the panelling where the walls met the ceiling. He could see moonlight bathing him through a window behind him.

He was restrained upon a four-poster bed, a large one that could easily have accommodated several people... and long enough for that woman to comfortably sleep on.

Thinking about her made his neck twinge a little, though not overly painfully... just a reminder of her vampiric 'kiss'.

The posts of the bed were gilded in golden trim, whilst red velvet curtains were drawn open at each corner. He laid against white silk sheets, with the edges of several plush pillows just providing his head some support.

Directly ahead of him was a tall cupboard with a mirror, and next to it, a simple mannequin unladen with clothes. To the left was an ornate vanity, also painted white with golden trim, as seemed to be most everything within the room.

On the wall opposite the bed, just to the left of the mannequin was a door, with another on the wall to the right of the bed. Both doors bore the crest of House Mroczna.. He couldn't make much else out about the room behind the bed along the back wall, difficult to see from his position.

There was also yellow light coming from a lantern hanging from the centre of the ceiling, flicking with a fiery glow.

There were candle sconces as well, providing additional light for the overall fairly spacious bedroom.

None of this helped him, he couldn't free himself, and worse, he was naked.

His crotch itched a little, and he looked down, craning his neck to see over his body, to see his pubic hair had been shaven completely, barely any stubble to be seen. His face itched too, and he suspected the scratchy regrowth he had was also shaved.

He groaned in distress; she or someone or something else must have trimmed him whilst he was out cold.

Even his balls were silky smooth, and whilst he itched, he felt no stinging nicks, so whoever or whatever had done it, were incredibly precise.

He sighed out and slumped against the bed. It was quite comfortable, but chained spread eagle to it was not his idea of relaxation.

Then a pit formed in his gut as he thought about his friends.

Jasmine, Oleg, Amelie... he had no idea if they were alright.

He'd just abandoned them, but only after Jasmine had shouted for them to run.

It barely alleviated the guilt he was feeling, but what could he have done? Malevolent smoke was attacking them and he was flung over a railing onto the stairs. He didn't know what else to do but run.

Were they dead? He didn't know. He didn't know anything.