Earth to Earth - Part 6

By M. Greene -
published March 10, 2019
2257 words

Aboard the SS Europa…

The Atlantic Ocean between Liverpool and Halifax: 1848

The dining saloon on board the SS Europa was a long, rather narrow chamber lined with plaster pillars painted to look as though they were made of gilded marble. The paintwork and drapes were pale blue and gold. The twenty rectangular tables of solid mahogany arranged in a line from one end of the room to the other were covered with starched linen tablecloths and laid with glittering china, cutlery and glassware. Each table sat ten people and behind them, stewards in immaculate white uniforms hurried around serving food and drink to the chattering passengers.

The Captain’s Table was at the first class end of the saloon and separated from the other tables by etched glass sliding doors. This kept out much of the furious din of two hundred other passengers all talking and scraping their plates at the same time.

As Klaus took his seat, he was somewhat surprised to see that three of the other ‘special’ guests of Captain Faversham that evening were the other occupants of his train carriage the day before.

“May I introduce Mrs Harriet Dalton, the internationally renowned singer of operatic works,” the Captain said. “Mrs Dalton; His Excellency, the Landgraf of Blutbad…”

Mrs Dalton and Klaus both rose from their seats. She bobbed a curtsy and Klaus took her gloved hand and kissed it. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Madam…”

“Likewise, Sir… Please call me ‘Hattie’…” She giggled affectedly and waved towards the elderly cleric and the young man Klaus had observed during their journey from London to Liverpool. “This is my uncle, Reverend Hinks, and my son Harold…”

A series of polite risings, bowings and shaking of hands followed.

“You shared our railway compartment, Sir…” Reverend Hinks stated. His voice was as dry as his wrinkled complexion. “Had I been aware of how illustrious our travelling companion was, I would have made myself known to you immediately…” He bared his uneven yellow teeth in an unpleasant smile. “I have made quite a study of your country’s history…”

Klaus hid his momentary discomfiture behind a sipping of red wine. How much did this dried up old stick know? “You have me at a disadvantage, Sir,” he said pleasantly. “You say you have made a study of Blutbad?”

“Indeed I have, Sir…” The elderly cleric said inscrutably, before resuming the attack on his roast beef dinner without further elaboration.

Captain Faversham sensed the sudden awkwardness at his table and hastened to smooth it. “So you are planning to begin a completely new life in America, Excellency?” he asked.

Klaus inclined his head gracefully. “Indeed…”

“Do you know yet exactly where you will be settling, Sir? America is a huge country…” The Captain placed his hand over his wine glass when one of the stewards sought to refill it.

“Not yet,” Klaus said, dropping his linen napkin over the full plate of food in front of him and taking another sip of red wine. “I have heard that New York and Boston are both fine places…”

“Oh you must visit Boston!” Hattie Dalton exclaimed enthusiastically. “I have close family there, so of course, I’m totally biased, but it really is the most delightful city. So like England, and so full of clever academics…” She indicated her son. “My Harold is going up to Harvard University this coming autumn to study there as an undergraduate…”

“Which particular subject have you chosen for your degree, young man?” Klaus inquired.

Harold glanced up from his meal towards the Landgraf, blushed scarlet and immediately looked down again. “N-Natural Philosophy, Sir,” he stammered.

“A most interesting sphere of knowledge,” Klaus said politely, although he had little idea of what it entailed.

“So long as it is studied with a sense of proper awe for Almighty God,” the Reverend put in, glaring at his great-nephew before slipping another slice of beef into his thin-lipped mouth.

Klaus picked up his wine-glass again. Gazing across the table at the young student, he simply could not get the opening words of Byron’s poem ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ out of his mind:

“Not in those climes where I have late been straying,

Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed,

Not in those visions to the heart displaying

Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed,

Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed…”

Igor picked up another of the Landgraf’s riding boots and rubbed polish into the leather. Nearby, on his lower bunk bed, Otto was entertaining one of the ship’s stokers, a brawny lad of about the same age as himself…

“Yeah… Put it in me… I wanna try getting fucked…” Otto said, his voice heavy with lust.

Igor shook his head and continued polishing the black, knee-length boot. He wondered whether Klaus would want to ride in their adopted country as often as he had back in Germany. He had sold all the horses they had possessed, so they would have to buy a new mount for him once they had settled in…

“Oh… Shit… It’s so fucking big…”

“You want me to stop?”

“No… Go on… Fuck me… Oh yeah… Do it… Hmm… Harder…”

This ‘conversation’ between the two young lovers reminded Igor of the way his old Master had first taken him in that peasant cottage so many years ago. It had been a great deal less pleasant and consensual than this present congress sounded…

Kingdom of Wallachia: 1477

“Not as good as fucking a woman, but I suppose a little better than self-abuse,” Vlad Dracul remarked as he pulled out of Igor and wiped his dripping cock clean with an old rag. He walked over to the bucket of blood on the floor and gave the congealing fluid within a vigorous stir. Grabbing an earthenware cup, he scooped up some of the thick liquid and greedily drank it down.

“Succulent…” He said, smacking his lips. He eyed the naked corpse which hung upside down over the bucket. “Who would have thought that this wizened old crone had so much tasty blood inside of her?”

Igor winced, partly from the burning pain in his anus, which he was sure must be bleeding copiously after the violent assault, but also out of sympathy for the old wife he and his Master had murdered. This had been her cottage and, although she possessed almost nothing of value, the elderly woman had opened the door so very willingly to offer hospitality to two weary travellers… He glanced up at the withered, pale yellow cadaver which hung suspended from a meat-hook in the ceiling, its throat cut from ear to ear, and shuddered. He had assisted his Master to do this terrible thing… In truth, he simply could not resist the Master’s commands, but surely this was a lame excuse? He had even held her arms so that the fatal blow could be struck… He was certainly damned to Hell…

“Fill our water-skins with the rest of the blood,” Vlad ordered, pointing towards the bucket. “It will taste foul tomorrow, but will keep me sated until we reach somewhere civilised…”

Igor hurried to comply with his Master’s command. It seemed like an age since that fateful battle against the Ottomans. Somehow evading capture, they had wandered on foot through interminable forests and mountains, sheltering by day and travelling by night. “Where are we going, Master? For days now we’ve been staggering around in this wilderness with little food and no horses… Why don’t we seek help from Commander Bathory? He’s your staunchest ally, Master. I’m sure he would help us…”

Vlad spat onto the hard mud floor with total contempt. “That blasted traitor? I would have won the battle if Stephen hadn’t ridden away with his Hungarian troops.” His wide moustache bristled with anger. “He said he was my blood brother forever and he betrayed me… If that fucking bastard was here now, I’d strangle him to death with my bare hands…”

“Where to then, Master?”

Vlad shrugged his shoulders. “West… We head west…” He grinned, showing his blood-drenched teeth. “I’ve converted to Rome, haven’t I? I’m a good Catholic now, so let’s go and find ourselves a nice, comfortable monastery in Italy and see what they can do for us…”

The Atlantic Ocean between Liverpool and Halifax: 1848

The aroma of cigar smoke floated past Klaus’ nostrils despite the freshness of the strong night breeze. He walked down the dark and empty promenade deck towards the exotic smell. Yes… It was him… His beautiful Childe Harold…

Harold was standing beside the rail looking out into the darkness over the rolling Atlantic waves. The sky was clear and the reflection of thousands of stars sparkled on the turbulent water.


The young man turned and, seeing who it was, smiled… Then the entrancing eyes came into clear focus and Harold’s face relaxed. His body slackened and the half-smoked cigar slipped from his fingers onto the deck and rolled overboard.

“So adorable…” Klaus breathed as he kissed the boy’s soft lips. Reaching down, he expertly pulled open his tight breeches and slid a hand inside. He was both hard and wet… Delicious… Whilst gently stroking Harold’s stiff shaft, Klaus continued to explore the sweet mouth with his tongue until he heard a faint gasp of pleasure. As hot seed spurted over his hand, Klaus stabbed his sharp teeth into the youth’s throbbing jugular vein and drank his fill. He was so very hungry and the iron-tang of the blood flooding his mouth caused his own manhood to quickly become engorged…

Through some strange telepathy, Igor appeared at his side as he fed and, kneeling in front of him, opened his own breeches and engulfed his hard cock with practiced lips. Klaus simultaneously sucked and bucked his body until a magnificent orgasm sent jet after jet of warm seed pulsing down Igor’s willing throat.

Harold slumped in Klaus’ embrace and became a dead weight.

“Help me move him over behind this bulkhead, Igor…”

Igor swallowed the last of his reward, stood up and wiped his lips. “You have drained this one very deeply, Master,” he said, rather reproachfully, looking at Harold’s pallid skin. “Much more and you would have killed him…”

“I must have left it too long since my last feeding; I was utterly famished,” Klaus admitted, as they half-lifted, half-dragged Harold over to a safer and more sheltered spot. “I think I might have got a little carried away…”

Duchy of Milan: 1478

“Naturally, Father, in return for your hospitality, I will handsomely endow this noble monastery of yours…” Vlad crooned, holding a number of gold coins in his outstretched hand for the old man to see.

The Abbot rose to his feet and embraced the fugitive former ruler of Wallachia. “My beloved son! It will be an honour and a pleasure to have you stay with us!”

Standing just a pace behind Vlad, his head submissively bowed, Igor found himself almost willing the old monk to refuse them both hospitality. Already, he knew exactly how it would be… Using his unholy power to enslave the minds of men, his evil Master would rapidly bring this entire community under his total control. Soon, the eager young novices he could see attending their spiritual leader in this audience chamber would all be dead; drained of blood like so many pigs for the slaughter. Every last one of them would be willingly sacrificed by their greedy old Abbot to feed the voracious appetite of his new God; the vampire Vlad Dracul…

The Atlantic Ocean between Liverpool and Halifax: 1848

“I have to confess, Madam, that I have not seen such a serious case of pernicious anaemia in my entire career,” the ship’s doctor announced, straightening up from the bed. “Not in an otherwise healthy young man, anyway…”

Hattie Dalton burst into tears. “Will my Harold die, Sir?”

“No, Madam. I do not think so. He is young and fit. He should survive…” The physician handed the almost hysterical woman a bottle of laudanum. “Mix two drops of this in a little lukewarm water three times a day for two days. It will assist him to sleep and thereby recover his strength…”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Hattie sniffed. “Come… I will see you out…”

Reverend Archibald Hinks watched his niece accompany the doctor through to the day-room of their first-class suite and, as soon as he was alone with the boy, carefully examined his unconscious body. Harold had been found collapsed on the promenade deck half an hour ago. He might have died of exposure in the bitter chill outside had he been discovered much later…

Archibald gently turned his great nephew’s head to the left and observed the two puncture marks on the right side of his neck. Yes… As he had suspected… The wounds were already rapidly healing in a most unnatural manner. He had read that this was always the case with the bites. The best authorities on the subject reckoned that this fast skin repair was probably facilitated by the application of unholy saliva…

Archibald smiled. After years of studying everything there was to know about these filthy undead creatures, he had never thought that he would be lucky enough to encounter an actual vampire in the flesh…

Mind control
Wanking material
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