Kiss
of Death
by Valentina Cilescu
Death and Lust and Vampires!
Death and Lust and Vampires!
In the forgotten and bricked-up cellars of Winterbourne Hall, the
Master's spirit feasted . . . At last, his deliverance was at hand. Hidden deep
in the English countryside, Winterbourne Hall is the finest whorehouse in the
land, where no fantasy is too wild to be acted out, no desire is too outrageous
to be satisfied - and in its splendid isolation, secrets stay safe. Andreas
Hunt is a cynical tabloid journalist. He lives a louche lifestyle, with any
number of willing women at his fingertips - but he doesn't want most women.
Most women bore him. He wants Mara, the luscious-bodied white witch, who has
seduced him thoroughly. Where Mara leads, he follows - and she leads him to
Winterbourne, where commences a sexual adventure that will soon become a
deliciously forbidden nightmare: for at Winterbourne, Andreas will meet the
Master, a real life sex vampire . . . Kiss of Death is razor sharp erotica at
its edgiest and most thrilling. The first in a captivating series.
~ * ~
Excerpt:
1: Winterbourne
It was
happening at last.
The
Master was awakening: his immortal soul was rising through seas of
consciousness, thoughts unfreezing, clarifying, memories melting the icy prison
of enforced forgetfulness.
His
spirit hovered, like a formless black shadow of unspeakable evil, above his
motionless body, trapped and impotent within the unforgiving crystal; looked
down upon the heavy lid of the sarcophagus and was filled with rage, grief and
the longing for sweet revenge.
But
his powers were still at a low ebb. There was a dim flickering where before there
had raged a sulphurous furnace of chaotic energies, the servants of his
perverse and terrifying desires.
He was
going to need time, imagination, cunning. But he was patient. He could wait.
The world would know his power once again, and this time there would be no
mistake.
There
had been long years of imprisonment, betrayal, defeat. But he was back now. The
arrogant fools had thought they could kill him: that in trying to kill his body
they could annihilate his spirit. Soon they would know that there are some
things in this world that are beyond understanding: some things that never,
ever die.
He
wondered what had provided the stimulus to his reawakening, what had struck the
spark of consciousness into his frozen heart. In his weakened state, he was still
blind. He could not even see his own face, fixed in an expression of unbearable
agony beneath the heavy stone coffin lid.
He did
not even know where he was. His memories were muddled, clouded by pain and long
slumber. A dark cellar, somewhere beneath a great stately home. That was all he
could recall. A silent and deserted place, walled up and forgotten for – how
many years? He could not tell.
But he
could feel. And already he sensed the power-source, as yet just a trickle of
feeble electricity, but soon, soon he knew, to burst forth into a great surge
of life-giving energy.
The
sexual energy on which he fed. The power-surge generated out of the chaos of
frenzied coupling. Someone, somewhere very close at hand, was preparing an orgy
and, although they did not realise it, the Master was to be their honoured
guest.
The
girl wore nothing but a thin white shift made of the thinnest, most diaphanous
cotton lawn. Her body was pale, firm, perfect: the body of a young and
beautiful girl. She could not have been more than eighteen years old at most.
‘Beautiful,’
breathed Delgado, reaching out a bronzed hand and running an incautious finger
down the girl’s cool, white arm. She shivered slightly, as though she were
cold, but she did not flinch. The girl seemed unusually docile, and her eyesale
stared almost sightlessly before her. ‘You have drugged her?’
‘Of
course,’ replied Madame LeCoeur. ‘A little injection to calm her down, a shot
of something to make her more . . . receptive. Our lovely little child will
enjoy her initiation, never fear. It was so good of Herr Königsberg to
volunteer his daughter’s . . . services . . . for our opening night. Such beauty
should not be wasted. Among us, she will learn to be a skilled whore. One day,
she will thank her father for what he has done to her tonight . . .’
Delgado
surveyed the girl and took in her charms. Tall, slim-waisted and full-hipped,
her body was enough to delight any man. The bright blonde triangle of her pubis
showed clearly through her thin dress and proved that she was a natural blonde.
Her pert breasts were cherry-tipped and hard, bearing witness to the efficacy
of Madame LeCoeur’s aphrodisiacs. Her eyes were a brilliant blue: clear and
deep as an August sky. He was pleased with her. He turned to Madame LeCoeur: ‘You
are quite certain that she is a virgin?’
‘You
would like to see, perhaps?’
Delgado
nodded. He was not easily moved by feminine beauty. A lifetime spent
masterminding white slavery and the brothels of Marrakesh had left his palate
jaded, and it took something exceptional to whet his appetite these days. He
noted with approval and some surprise that he was salivating, and his hardened
penis was bulging appreciatively inside his Savile Row trousers.
‘Lie
down on the bed, child.’
Slowly,
mechanically, like a sleepwalker, the girl obeyed. Her pale golden hair flowed
over the pillow as she lay down on the blue silk bedspread.
‘Pull up your shift.’
~ * ~
Other Modern Erotic Classics available:
The Houdini Girl by Martyn Bedford
Lie to Me by Tamara Faith Berger
The Phallus of Osiris by Valentina
Cilescu
Kiss of Death by Valentina Cilescu
The Flesh Constrained by Cleo Cordell
The Flesh Endures by Cleo Cordell
Hogg by Samuel R. Delany
The Tides of Lust by Samuel R.
Delany
Sad Sister by Florence Dugas
The Ties That Bind by Vanessa
Duriés
Dark Ride by Kent Harrington
3 by Julie Hilden
Neptune & Surf by Marilyn Jaye
Lewis
Violent Silence by Paul Mayersberg
Homme Fatale by Paul Mayersberg
The Agency by David Meltzer
Burn by Michael Perkins
Dark Matter by Michael Perkins
Evil Companions by Michael Perkins
Beautiful Losers by Remittance Girl
Meeting the Master by Elissa Wald
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