Drowning Ophelia (Immoral Dracula) (2 page)

 
Ophelia watched how her ivory hands played silkily against Nina's black yoga pants. The pants fit tightly on Nina's body, making a perfect triangular outline between her thighs. In the center of the inviting triangle, one line traced upward. Ophelia imagined her finger tracing that line; she bit her lip. “Everyone’s awake now…” Nina suggested, lifting Ophelia’s dress so that Ophelia was exposed.
 

Nina pulled Ophelia’s hand closer so that Ophelia was touching the smooth of Nina's cotton covered lips. Ophelia could feel the rounded lips, feel the wetness of Nina escaping through the cotton. She could feel the cool air against the wetness of her own slit. All that separated Ophelia from Nina was a piece of flimsy cloth. Ophelia caught her breath.
 

Someone coughed. Ophelia pulled her hand back and adjusted her dress so that nothing was visible. Nina shrugged playfully. “Well, the driver is pulling in somewhere. For the night.” Nina winked and turned away, looking out her window.
 

Ophelia shrunk in to her seat. When she was asleep she dreamed that she was in some resplendent manor. There were silver and crystal candelabras with long, twisty and tapering arms lighting each room with warm, red sensual light. Magnificent crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They sparkled as with the light of thousands of stars. The carpets were plush purples and reds. The floors were dark woods and marble. She entered with a group and the man of the place saw her and immediately took her up a long and curving staircase with deep, wooden railings. They entered a bedroom with plush white and gold carpeting. It was two levels, upper and lower. On the lower level there was a great, wide window hidden behind red velvet curtains.
 
On the upper level was a lavish king sized bed. Red silk comforting and white egyptian cotton sheets draped the bed.

The man threw her down on the bed. She didn’t stutter or pause, but she pulled him toward her. He tore off her clothes and she felt comfortable. She tore off his clothes. He bit at her chest and she bit his neck so that red blood came pouring down on to her naked body. A red veil covered their eyes and sweet copper filled their mouths. They were fading away. In to passion, in to afterlife, and in to each other. Who was this man that knew her completely? Who was she now? She needed to—

She was so close, throbbing, wanting. Her fingers were under her white dress. She could feel herself. Allover and inside, she wanted… something.

Ophelia opened her eyes. She was on the bus and Nina was watching her. She pulled her hand out; it was covered in her juices. She placed it deftly on her lap. Her dress was now almost dry. Nina smiled and turned back toward the window. The bus was pulling in somewhere, a manor.
 

Someone asked the question for Ophelia. The bus hadn’t stopped at an inn, or a bus station, or even a seedy rest stop, but at what appeared to be a manor. They had driven past a block of cold statues, unlively fountains, and rain grey gardens. The manor was massive. At least twenty windows, big and small; pear shaped roofs, steeples, and an enormous, two door, wooden entrance.

 
All the passengers were standing on a cobblestone driveway.
 
In the center of the driveway was a fountain consisting of a grande circular basin and a mask of two stone lovers. Though it was also turned off for the rain, the two stone lovers were no less wet. The rain splashed the cobblestone like a wet veil. Ophelia kicked a loose piece of gravel. She had just gotten dry. “Where the hell are we?”

“That’s a good question.” Nina moved close to Ophelia. “A voluhn’ter,” Like some apparition, the bus driver appeared out of the grey mist. “Helps out bus drivers in sitch’ations. It’s okay. Call the company.”

“Yeah like anyone is going to take the time to do that,” Nina muttered under breath.
 

Someone shuffled to the front. “I will do just that!”
 

In front of them, the two door wooden entryway opened. The passengers stared at it uncertainly. Ophelia shuffled her feet. The rain beat against the pavement with a droll, stimulating slap.

She imagined being the pavement, the rain beating her in to grey submission. She would slowly fade in to mist and no one would remember Ophelia or no one would remember having forgotten. Her eyes glazed over, her heart pounded. She could feel her body lurching on to the pavement, the rain beating her skin, the mist taking her.

“Well I’m not going to wait out here in the middle of Hurricane Sandy for my extremities to shrivel up.” An older, gruff looking man shoved his way toward the door and in to Ophelia’s thoughts.

“We wouldn’t want that…” A voice like velvet and smoky fire interrupted the gruff man. “Come warm yourselves and your… extremities.” The passengers looked for the cause of the voice. The doorway was empty.

“Who said that?” The gruff man looked behind his shoulder, eyes darting for a cause. The empty doorway stood bleak and ominous, it seemed everyone would rather shrivel up than cross its threshold. Ophelia was the first to move, Nina followed her, and the rest were not long after. “Who said that?” The man mumbled weakly, trailing after the group.

Inside the air was toasty and delicate. It smelled of cinnamon and something else, indiscriminately sweet and spicy. The firelight clung to the foyer, swirling around the great marble room in reds, yellows, and, somehow, purples. The place was fuzzy, silent, and intoxicating.
 

Beneath a great, marble mantel Nina rested herself next to Ophelia. The spiced air pricked their skin. Ophelia rubbed her arm, pushing the sweater up, and for a moment her skin was exposed to the glowing red room. As Ophelia rubbed her arm she realized she still wore Nina’s sweater. Smiling and expressing thanks, Ophelia handed the sweater back. As she pulled it off her body the sweater caught the wet cotton of her dress. It lifted high above her legs so that for a glimpse her slit was seen.
 

 
There was a grand hearth toward the back of the room. It was marble and stone, deep set, and with a blazing fireplace. Ophelia moved from Nina as though in a dream. The fire illumined her body.
 

 
“Let’s get the salutations out of the way.”
 
There was a loud clap and the room came to attention; it seemed that the intoxicating air dissipated.
 
The same voice that beckoned the group spoke now, and it was still disembodied. “I am Casimir and I’m but a humble man saving you from a horrible, fiery death on the side of a road.” There was a mumble of indignation and suspicion as the ominous, incorporeal man continued. “Your rooms are upstairs and my cooks will make you (almost) anything. I don’t care what you do as long as you bother me as little as possible. Abigail will show you to your rooms.” As if by magic, a small woman shone in a corner, previously shrouded by shadows.
 

“Wait, that’s it? Where are you—” Someone provoked.

“As little as possible. Abigail…” The light shone again and passengers began to reluctantly mosey over to Abigail. Ophelia saw what was happening and tore herself away from the fire.

“Those logs are Rosemary Ash.” As though instantly, a sturdy hand graced the small of Ophelia’s back. A man stood behind her, his body just close enough that she could smell him; his scent was impassioning. Musky like pinewood and leather, but also a little metallic. She recognized the voice, he was the man named Casimir. “I—“ Ophelia attempted to turn and see him, but he held her intently. He whispered cooly in to her silken hair, “It means they burn long and hotly. Their scent is rare, supposedly intoxicating.”
 

She could feel his gaze upon her. The fire lit Ophelia’s face, she was warmed and relaxed. The warm glow illumined her body, she was wet again and entirely translucent. He traveled the rounded domes of her breasts to the peaks of her nipples, poking the white cotton, and turned red from the cold like fresh strawberries. He explored the fabric of her dress, clung to her soft, smooth body. The soft lines of her body were traced in linen, and the pearly undertones of her skin were illumined by the warm glow. He worshiped the linen clung to her body. It stuck to her legs and her thighs. It clung so that her soft, silky thighs were visible. In the warm glow, a triangle was visibly traced. The fire burned. “It’s said to be an aphrodisiac…”

Ophelia flushed, her eyes unmoving from the white hot center of the fireplace, and patted down her dress. Casimir pulled the back of her cotton dress so tight that her nipples popped. It became like they were the only ones in the room. Ophelia flushed harder and averted her eye line; beyond was a wooden staircase. It was deep and curving.
 

“When I fuck you,” the man whispered in to her ear, holding her firmly by the neck. Ophelia swallowed. She felt a rush of blood. “You will scream.”

Above the wooden staircase was a second floor. Casimir had pulled Ophelia along, not allowing anytime for glances. All she saw was the back of his three piece black suit. She wanted to see his face and see who was the man that made her blood rush like a spring river. When they touched it became like the world whirled around them. Either they were moving too quickly or the world was moving too slowly, it didn’t matter. All that was important was that they never let go.
 

 
They stopped in front of two gilded doors that Casimir quickly kicked open to reveal a room. It was bigger than any room she’d ever seen, nigh bigger than any house she’d ever been in. The carpet was a rich ivory. Below was a sunken living area with a deep red rug. A great window covered the living area’s wall and magnificent, embroidered drapes covered it. In front of her was the bed. Of course larger than any she’d known, it was warmed with lavish, silken sheets. There was so much more to explore, but Casimir pulled her close.

 
His chest was sturdy like oak. He kissed her neck, lavishly embracing the cool skin. Ophelia sighed, “Let me see you.” Casimir pierced her supple skin, consuming her red blood. Ophelia moaned and gripped him closer, tugging at the silk of his hair. Casimir delicately lowered one of her sleeves so that her breast was nearly exposed, the tip of her rosy nipple just shying away. Ophelia pushed him off, flustered. She struggled to cover herself. Blood trickled from where he had embraced her.

Ophelia shook her head. It was not right. She placed her hand on the spot where he had bitten her. Blood stained her palm red. The fireplace flashed back in her head; its piercing hot center. She felt warm with him, and that was too comfortable. Where was she? What was happening and who was he? It was too sweet and too loving and—Ophelia shook her head.

Casimir drew her back in a rough embrace, holding her firm. Her petite breasts held softly in his hands, the sleeve of her dress dangling so that her nipple glimpsed out. “From the moment I saw you…” He lifted her dress that she was naked against him. Ophelia protested, “But we’ve never…” He lowered his mouth to her neck once more and she melted in his bloody embrace. “A beautiful tease….”
 

“Let me see you…” She whispered feverishly. Casimir clutched her harder, blood spilling down her lily white breasts. She writhed uncontrollably against him. Screaming, she was ravished by pleasure and in a haze. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. The sensation and the pleasure, it was astounding. She felt the blood trickling down her and then she felt nothing. The room was fading.
 

All went black.

“Ophelia! Ophelia!” Ophelia’s eyes blinked open. She jumped. A handsome man towered over her, rather his face did. His hair fell below his ears, silky and sable. His skin was melted caramel and his eyes a smoldering charcoal. His mouth was bloodied like a wolf’s. “Oh, thank god.”

“What?” Ophelia lifted herself to her elbows. The man pushed her back down. “Hey!” Ophelia’s fall was broken by plush pillows. It didn’t hurt but, still, it wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to do. The man ran a rugged hand through his sable hair nervously. “You must rest.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Why must she rest? Ophelia started to come back in to her mind. She didn’t remember much of why she was here. She could see the room she was in. Big, really big. Bigger than anything she’d ever been in. Well, maybe, it did seem familiar. Which was odd, considering she didn’t frequent lavish establishments much. The man wasn’t familiar, but something about him was. His voice, perhaps. His bloodied countenance, not so much. She felt like she should be more afraid, but she wasn’t. Oh, god.

“I’m, I’m covered in blood!” Ophelia tried to stand again. He pushed her down again. “You know, I, I don’t appreciate that very much.” The bed was comfy, though. Maybe this place was heaven. Maybe she’d finally brought up the courage to off herself after all. What a weird introduction in to the pearly gates, though. Well, she supposed they don’t give one a big welcome party when one invites oneself.
 

“You’ll be fine.” She felt fine. Who was this man? Who was this man…
 

“Oh.”
 

“You need water!” Casimir jumped off the bed.

“No, wait. I’m feeling fine, Casimir.”

“Oh. You remember…” Casimir’s brow creased. Slowly, he seated himself on the bed again.
 

“Somewhat. I don’t really remember the, the bloody accouterments.”

Casimir’s square jaw clenched tightly. “What do you remember?”

“Not much…” Ophelia bit her lower lip. “I remember this,” She reached for his hand. Ophelia’s delicate fingers closed tightly around the calloused palm. His eyes shadowed.
 

“Then you will soon remember this,” Casimir said, his voice hollow. He pulled his hand away harshly and gestured to Ophelia’s prostrate body. Ophelia stood on her elbows, catching Casimir’s eye, and said, “It was nothing I didn’t get myself in to.”
 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that….”
 

“Then what should I be sure of?” Ophelia embraced Casimir. Casimir groaned and clasped his rough hands tightly around her back, pulling her to him. He lowered his mouth over one of her strawberry nipples and sucked. Ophelia moaned. Casimir sucked harder, closing his teeth around the tip. Ophelia howled.