My Carpathian Princess Ch. 02byjeffrey214©
I awoke, I don't know how much later, on the sofa in Ms. Stratford's office. The sun was setting and she was standing in front of the wall of glass, watching the yellow disc falling behind the buildings across the river. She was picturesque, standing in her heels and smart business suit that showed her curves nicely while maintaining and air of formality. I watched her standing motionless for a moment, almost as though she was not breathing.
I looked down at my body, flat on the sofa, and again noticed that I was wearing the shorts and shirt of white material. It was thin and gauzy, and as the horizontal rays of the sun hit me, I could see the sheerness of the outfit. It was strangely comfortable, and the room was warm, so the thin fabric's lack of insulation didn't bother me.
Then I remembered how I came to find myself on the couch in her office, dressed as I was. I felt very embarrassed, remembering the 'interview' with its intimate questions and my truthful and revealing answers. How I had walked all the way through the den of females to the clinic with a raging erection. How I had undressed in the clinic cubical, and then laid on the table masturbating to produce a semen sample. And then I woke up on the sofa and Ms. Stratford had comforted me and...oh my...nursed me to sleep at her breast.
I wondered what parts of those memories were true, and which memory was the result of strange dreams brought on by blood loss. Nurse Peters had filled 5 very large tubes, and I had no idea how much blood she had taken. And the semen sample! How humiliating that was!
I sat up, blushing in my shame, thinking that Ms. Stratford could be very angry at me. She must have noticed because she turned and began to walk toward me across the wide expanse of carpet. Again I marveled at her, walking like a trained dancer or model, so graceful and perfect with every movement, and her cleavage jiggling so enchantingly with each step. I just couldn't take my eyes off of her, she was so fascinating.
I'd always been attracted to women older than my 19 years, but I'd never really considered a woman who was obviously in her late forties. Ms. Stratford was clearly gorgeous, but in an amazing mature way that, for me, simply added to her attractiveness.
She came to a stop just in front of me and held out her hands to help me up. I took them and stood, finding that there was very little space between the sofa and her body, such that I couldn't help but bump her out-thrust breasts as I did so. "Sorry," I muttered in embarrassment.
'Ah, my sweet, don't be..." she said as she took me in her arms. In her heels, it was natural for me to rest my head on her shoulder with my face nestled in her neck. I could feel the rise and fall of her ample bosom against my chest, and I could smell her perfume mixed with her own scent. She felt and smelled so wonderful!
With one hand she held me around my shoulders and with her other hand she caressed the back of my head. My arms had naturally fallen around her waist, wrapping at the small of her back on the upper portion of her skirt. We just held each other for a moment and she began to whisper softly in my ear.
"My Jeffrey," she purred, pausing a long time as thought it was a statement of fact and not a prelude to more words. Then she said, "Are you feeling better, dear?"
As she asked the question, I felt the tug in my lower abdomen again, but it was warm and comforting, rather than a strong pull, like I had experienced before. Now that I thought of it, I did feel very good; energized in fact. I whispered into her neck, "I feel very...good, Ms. Stratford."
"Jeffrey..." she said with a mock corrective tone, "you must call me Veronica from now on." Then her voice became the purr again; "We've shared...intimate things...you know, and so we can be more...intimate...with our names."
Each time she said the word 'intimate', it felt like a warm invisible hand was caressing me between my legs, and my penis pulsed in response. My knees were a little weak for a moment, and then it passed. Recovering from the sensation, I whispered, "Uh, ok, Veronica."
"Good boy," she said stepping out of the embrace and again taking my hand in hers, "Let's get you something to eat, I'm sure a boy your age must be ravenous."
"Yes, Ma'am," I said, and then quickly added, "Veronica."
I saw her grin to herself, as she led me across her enormous office to where the bar was. She bent over and started rooting around in the refrigerator, tossing packaged sandwiches, yogurt, and cookies onto the bar. From my perspective the view was outstanding as she bent entirely at the waist, giving me an amazing view of her tight skirt encasing her shapely ass and the slit in the back of her skirt rode up the lace tops of her black patterned stockings. Oh boy, I thought, keep yourself under control!
She turned to look over her shoulder and caught me staring at her ass, and she was just a little slow straightening back up, and her face was beaming. "Jeffrey," she purred, "What were you staring at?"
"Uh...oh...um, well, your skirt was uh, well, uh..."
She turned fully to face me, "I know you were looking at me, Jeffrey. I saw you. Around me you must never be embarrassed to be a boy; it is natural, and flattering to me. I don't mind you looking at me. In fact, it pleases me very much." She smiled with her beautiful lips and eyes, and leaned closer to whisper, "And at my age, it is very flattering to have a handsome young man want to look."
Her bending over toward me allowed the swell of her ample breasts to billow forth atop her bra and my eyes couldn't hold hers without taking a quick peek. She smiled again quickly and I blushed, embarrassed that she had caught me a second time.
She turned to the offerings on the bar top and said, "What looks good to you, starving boy?" I chose the roast beef sandwich, key lime pie yogurt, some oatmeal raisin cookies, and a coke. "Excellent choices, dear," she said, putting the other items back for later.
I wolfed it all down quickly, surprised at how hungry I was. I guessed giving blood makes a guy need some sustenance! As I finished the last cookie and took the last drink of coke, I saw that she was looking at the window and watching the last bit of sunset. It was beautiful, so I just stood beside her a couple minutes and we watched the colors fade together.
She then turned to me with a more serious look on her face, and spoke in a soft voice. "Jeffrey," she said, "I think now would be a good time for us to have a little chat. I'm sure you have many questions, and now is the time I must give you the answers." She paused, looking into my eyes, and she took my hand in hers. "Come with me and trust me, Jeffrey, there are many things that I will tell you that will be hard to believe, but I will tell you the truth."
She turned and led me by the hand to her desk. She sat down in her chair and swiveled it to face me. She put her hands on my hips and pulled me close so that my feet were between hers on the floor. Somehow I was calm inside as I waited for her to speak.
But she didn't talk. Instead she looked in my eyes as I felt her hands take hold of the little draw string bow at the waist of my shorts and begin to untie it. When it was undone, her hands slipped to the sides of my hips and she took hold of the shorts and began to slowly lower them.
"It's ok, Jeffrey," she said, "Trust me."
Her voice again caused the gentle caress between my thighs and my penis began to swell. I was suddenly full of erotic feelings, images of me naked and her head between my spread legs shot across my mind. It was seductive and I couldn't resist the feelings. A sigh escaped my lips as I felt the diaphanous shorts fall to the floor and puddle at my ankles. My eyes never left hers, nor could they. And her eyes never left mine.
With her hands back on my hips, she guided me to move so that my bottom was now against her desk, and my legs were spread on either side of her knees. It felt warm and safe and natural to be in this position with her, and I didn't know why. Her eyes were like shining pools of blue/grey, as though they were luminescent, possessing their own internal power source. She just held me there with her eyes on mine and her hands gently on my hips.
Slowly, her eyes began to travel down my body, breaking the spell, and I came back to myself at least enough to follow her gaze. My penis was half erect and throbbing slightly with the beat of my heart. I noticed that my heart must have been beating fast.
Her eyes came to rest on my naked genitals, throbbing and dangling between my spread thighs. "Oh Jeffrey," she purred, "How beautiful you are..." I felt a very deep pull in my tummy, and my penis throbbed to full erection before her eyes. It felt like my genitals were being pulled from my body and she had to steady my hips to keep me from stumbling forward.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said softly, "I should be more careful. Please relax and lay back, Jeffrey."
I found myself leaning back onto her desk, for a brief moment I was cognizant of my predicament and how lewd it was for me to be laying down naked and erect on this woman's desk, but the thought passed quickly, leaving no memory.
"It's alright, dear," she said, and I believed her.
She settled me back so that I was staring at the ceiling, and then she guided my feet up and put them on her arm rests, and then her hands gently pushed my knees apart, spreading my thighs wide.
"I'm going to tell you things now, Jeffrey, so I want you to be quiet and just listen. Take deep relaxing breaths and listen to my voice. That's a good boy..."
I breathed deeply, settling into a state of total relaxation, but with my ears finely tuned to her voice as she spoke.
She told me the following.
She had been born a princess in a remote mountain region of Eastern Europe in 1114 AD. She was an adventurous young girl, always a trial to her noble mother, and routinely ignored by her father, a minor Baron with small holdings many days' ride from Prague. Veronica was always an inquisitive child and loved to explore the mountains she called home.
At the age of 16 she had discovered a cave high on a cliff and far from her father's castle. As she explored the cave by torchlight, she shooed away many bats but that was only natural for a cave in the mountains, and the bats were harmless. The Cave's opening was small, but it seemed to go on forever.
She delved deeper and deeper, and after many hours of curiosity in the labyrinth of tunnels and switchbacks, she came upon a strange site. There was the body of a man in crude armor, sitting on a large throne-like wooden chair. It was a very old body, completely dry as the wood of the chair he was on. She noticed that the body was shackled down to the chair and the chair was bolted to the floor with large metal spikes.
In the sparse firelight she saw the chains glimmer, and rubbing them she deduced that the chains were of silver, just like the crucifix she wore. She thought it odd that the burial would have been done by some long-forgotten race by chaining the corpse down to a chair. She studied the figure and its predicament for a long time, and intelligent girl that she was, she deduced a number of things.
First, that what she had thought was armor, was actually some sort of plate-metal cage surrounding the body that was staked to the chair. Second, there were two large bumps on the front of the 'armor'. That, and the long and flowing hair, though wasted by time, gave her the idea that this figure was actually a woman. This revelation was a strange thought for the 12th century, when women were the property of fathers and husbands. That this woman was so honored as to have a very special, though macabre, burial meant that she was either very important or very much feared.
She lowered the torch and discovered that the weathered and centuries-hardened nails of the corpse matched the cuts and scratches on the wooden chair arms below them. This was a shock! This poor woman had been chained here alive! What a horrible death, she had thought. She began to feel sorry for the victim of such a terrible torture, dying all alone in the cave, no one to help her, no water, and no food for days until unconsciousness had freed her.
Young Veronica looked around more and found a small chest under the chair. She pulled out the box and looked inside, and there was a delicate vellum parchment, hardened by ages, with Latin writing. Roman writing! Veronica's mother was a wise woman with the wealth to see that her only daughter was educated. Veronica was well-versed in the thoughts of Aristotle, Euclid, and Socrates. She had read well the writings of the Romans, Pliny and Caesar and Aurelius.
She could read Latin, and did so. Loosely translated, the scrawling hand on the vellum said:
TO ANY UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO READ THIS
PILATE MAGNUS, CENTURION OF THE 7TH, FIRST SPEAR
IF YOU HAVE NOT BURNT HER ALREADY, DO SO NOW.
SHE IS OF THE UNDEAD OF THE CARPATHIANS, CENTURIES OLD
DO NOT TRUST HER, SHE BETRAYED HER SISTERS TO OUR HANDS
WE BELIEVE SHE IS THE LAST OF HER KIND, BUT ONE IS NEVER SURE.
WE VOWED BY APHRODITE NOT TO KILL HER, AND SO PUT HER HERE
YOU ARE NOT BOUND BY THIS OATH. BURN HER NOW.
While Veronica was reading, she heard a scuffling sound. Looking up, she thought she saw one of the corpse's hands move against the chain. A raspy voice like the crackling of leaves said, in Latin, "Greetings sister." And the corpse coughed, spewing dust and bits of flesh.
Veronica was so surprised; she fell backward, dropping the torch, but recovered quickly and nursed the weak embers back to life. She realized she was running out of light, and quickly, so long had been her explorations this day.
In halting Latin, Veronica said, "You speak..."
The copse nodded its head.
Veronica held out the vellum, "Is this true?"
"Yesssss," the corpse whispered, "it is my shame."
The young girl approached the 'dead' body, wanting to see more closely in the dying light of the torch. She saw clear blue eyes behind the desiccated lids as they opened to look back at her. The corpse struggled a moment in futility, hoping that the centuries had changed the condition of the chains, but silver doesn't rust, and so her bonds still held.
"What are you?" asked the girl.
"Wampyrie!" spat the corpse.
"How can you be alive -- after so long?"
"Undead. Need...blood...I can make...you...immortal..." The husk of a body seemed to be rousing, sniffing the air, agitated.
Veronica stopped to think about her young life. She had been betrothed to a neighboring Duke of 40 years when she was 14. She'd met the wine-sodden, belching oaf only once, but that was enough to hate him. She'd hoped he had died of gout or plague or battle, but her father had received word in the last month that he'd soon be coming to collect his 'love'. Disgusting.
She wondered about a life, a noble one -- well clothed and fed surely -- but otherwise horrid in a thousand ways. She loved the freedom and fresh air of the mountains and hated the stale stench of the castle in winter, shut up against the cold and full of the wretched leavings of medieval human existence.
When shut up in her room of the castle, she'd often thought of ending her life alone in that cold stone box. But then she would dream of the mountains, the eagle and the bear, the wolf and the bat, fox and rabbit, and the world seemed alive with promise. But now Duke Vlad was coming for her. And the Dracul family was known for its' excess of drink and carousing and the duke's promiscuity was legendary.
Her father was a pig for giving her to him. Probably got a small flock of sheep for her, she thought. That's my worth in their eyes, she marveled, that I be traded like a fine cow...
She looked at the corpse, and with a commanding voice, uncommon for a virgin of her age.
"Tell me everything, and make it quick."
Veronica tore ancient cloth from the chair and from the corpse, wrapping it onto the torch to extend its life as she listened to the undead crone's rasping voice from the shadows of the cave.
The corpse knew only that there had been Wampyrie as long as anyone could remember. Perhaps it was a disease like plague, or a curse, no one knows. The only food to keep a Wampyrie alive is human blood, nothing else will do. What is known is that Wampyrie are only women, made by a bite. Men are immune, but any woman bitten will become Wampyrie. Men, therefore, are a Wampyrie's food, but if you drain them they will die. Best to take only what you need from them in their sleep.
The older the Wampyrie, the more powerful, and psychic power of the mind grows year by year until an old one knows what others are thinking. The corpse thought she was the eldest alive, perhaps the only, but she was not sure. If she bit Veronica and drank blood, Veronica would become Wampyrie, and live by the blood of humans forever. And corpse would survive and be grateful. Without blood, the corpse had little chance of lasting the remainder of the century.
Veronica thought on these things for a long time, but also worried about the torch. Finally she said, "What is your name?"
"Vashta. I am of the clan of the brother of Attila, King of the Huns. I was wife to Eschar of Scithia, but he is now long dead. Who are you, my child?"
"I am Veronica, daughter of Parek, Princess of these lands."
"And you travel in caves alone..." Vashta laughed and coughed, spitting more dust and filthier things. "Then Veronica Parek, come to my embrace," she rasped, "and live forever your own woman on the blood of men."
Veronica found herself moving forward toward the aged Wampyrie. She stopped in front of the bound corpse. "Lift your pretty wrist to my mouth, dear," said the desiccated body, "and I will make you immortal in exchange for some life-giving blood."
Veronica thought of Vlad. She thought of her brothers and cousins. She thought of her father. She even thought of her mother, and for the first time, hated her for being so weak, serving the men, when her mother's blood was far more noble than the low nobility of Parek, her husband. Her mother was the third daughter of Ivan, the King of Moldavia, whereas her father's father simply had a lot of cows.
In an instant, Veronica's wrist shot out and she held it to the corpse's mouth. Fangs were bared and the pain was sharp and immediate. In addition to the blood greedily slurped by the Wampyrie, a trickle ran down to her elbow and onto the floor.
Quickly, Veronica's head began to swim, the room grew darker, and she swooned. She came to herself shortly, seeing that the torch still had a small flame. She stood on shaky legs as she pushed the torch toward the seated figure, to see if it had all been a dream. The Wampyrie smiled up at her with red lips and a dripping chin. "Many thanks," it said in Latin, with a much more human voice.
As Veronica looked at her face, the woman now seemed perhaps as old as a grandmother. The offering of blood seemed to have quickly restored the Wampyrie from dried corpse to an old woman in poor health, though her eyes still shown with internal blue fire.
"So you will live then," said Veronica.
"And you will die in 3 days," said the Wampyrie watching Veronica's reaction of fear. "Don't worry, the first night you are dead, I will find you, because you will rise. I will not let them burn you nor bury you too deep. Fear not, with me a bargain is a done thing."
"So, now I must trust you?" said Veronica.
"You already have, and I thank you. You are not Roman, your Latin is horrible. I hold no ill will to you. Now help me from these chains and we will find our way out of here in the darkness." The corpse looked at the last dying light of the torch, as it snuffed itself out.