The Castle of Count Shagula (Excerpt)

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The carriage pulled in to rest for the evening in the small village outside of the Borgo Pass, in the Carpathian Mountains.

It had been a long drive. We had long since moved from the great forests and grasslands and into craggy, wind-swept lands. The sunsets in this region of Europe were especially beautiful, painting the rocky climbs a deep russet hue. I had watched much of the landscape from the carriage window over the course of many days and nights, and was now feeling especially stiff.

While my driver took the time to arrange a room for the night, I wandered around to the back of the inn to relieve myself. I was glad for any chance to stretch my legs. Unfastening my trousers, I found a small wall by which I might unleash the fourth or fifth cup of tea I had drank on the length of the day’s journey when I heard a voice from behind me.

“Excuse me, sir,” the voice said. I turned around, only to see before me a heavenly figure. He held a single bale of hay slung across his broad, naked shoulders. His hair was a mess of straggled curls. As he looked at me, I felt my eyes unable to remove their gaze from his taught, muscled chest. “I do not know about in your native land,” he said, “but we have indoor plumbing here.”

I blushed, as I tended to do when confronted. “I’m sorry,” I said.

Dropping the bale of hay to one side, the youth approached me. He could be no more than twenty years old, but he still stood taller than me. God, I thought, they grow them big here in the borderlands of Romania. “Don’t be,” he said, his eyes running down over me. “You give me, how they say … a nice view to look at.”

My eyes widened, and I hurried to pull my organ back inside my trousers. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “Oh, oh, oh.”

A small frown crossed his lips. “And now the nice view is gone,” he said, as I tucked myself away. “Such a pity. Perhaps, though, I am being too forward.” He stuck his brawny hand out. “I am Raul.”

“Jonathan,” I said, grabbing his hand. I had to use both of mine to encircle his fully. I felt a rush of excitement fill me. If it were true what they say about the size of a man’s hands … I almost purred. “Jonathan Woodcock,” I said, “from England.”

“England?” said Raul, his eyebrows raising. “Such a long way to travel.”

“Yes,” I replied. “The journey has been long. Long and very hard.”

He nodded. “I know the feeling. I am also long and very hard.”

I looked down. My eyes widened. “That isn’t what I meant,” I said. “But, uhh…” I found it difficult to pull my eyes away. “What I mean is…” I bit my tongue. I didn’t know what I meant. No, if I am honest with myself, I did. Weeks of travel had left me longing, pining for my home. “I have been travelling for weeks, with only the most sparse and fleeting moments to relieve my, uhmm, anxieties.”

“Well, Mister Jonathan Woodcock, Englishman,” said Raul. “Perhaps I can relieve them for you tonight.”

I grinned. “Is this the normal way that visitors to this town are greeted?” I asked him. I stepped closer, pressed my body against his; I could feel his girth against my thigh.

He shook his head. His dirty brown locks of hair swayed as he did so. “No,” he said. “It is only with the evil machinations of the foul Count, who lives up on the hill.”

I blanched. “Count Shagula?” I asked.

A look of horror crossed Raul’s eyes. “You have heard of him?” he asked.

I nodded.

“We do not speak his name,” he said, “for to do so brings forth untold evil.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed. “Bit extreme, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said. “No, not at all. For months, he has travelled down to the village and enslaved our young men. He has chosen only the most handsome, the strongest, and the most — how do you say, I do not know the word…”

I tilted my head. “Which word?”

He pressed the palms of my hand against the bulge in his trousers. “The word for being large in the genitals,” he explained.

My mouth gaped. “Good God, man!” I exclaimed. “Is that a giant eel you have in there?”

He glanced down, a small frown crossing his lips. “You mock me, sir, for I am but the smallest of the village. In his wickedness, the evil Count Shagula has taken all my friends back to his castle on the hill!” he said. “There to serve his eager and never-ending sexual desires. Oh, can you imagine such a fate?”

“Uhm, no,” I said, my hands sliding down over the length at my fingertips, “can’t imagine it at all. You’re the smallest, you say?” I asked, my eyes growing quite wide. “Well, maybe I’ll see them when I get there.”

With a jolt, Raul pulled back. My fingers suddenly felt very lonely. “Oh, sir,” he said, “you mean to go to the castle?”

“Why, yes,” I said. “I have business there with the Count.”

“Oh, please!” said the young man. “You must not go! Great evil lurks within!”

I smiled, and leaned closer, trying to find my grip back onto his lively may-pole. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“No, sir!” he said, moving to grab my hands up in his own. He held them tightly. “It is too dangerous! The Count — his lustful ways will devour you too!”

I glanced downwards. The front of his work slacks resembled a big top at a circus, if the center pole was as tall as the Eiffel Tower. “I can manage,” I said. “I’m English, after all. You seem distressed, friend Raul. Perhaps a massage would ease your tension.”

His tight grip pulled my hands against his sublime chest. “Oh, Mister Jonathan Woodcock, you are a good man! Too good for this little village. Please, if you must go to the castle, let me first give you something nice.”

“Yes,” I spluttered and started to unfasten my trousers, “give it to me. Oh God, give it to me.”

With that, he turned and left.

I blinked. I stood there for a few moments, alone and confused. I watched the doorway through which he had left.

A few cock-softening-in-disappointment-moments later, Raul returned. My eyes lit up, but when I noticed what he was carrying, they clouded with confusion. “Here,” he said, p

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Written by Deep Desires Press
Uploaded July 1, 2020
Notes Travel with Jonathan Woodcock on a twisted journey to Castle Shagula, where the infamous vampiric count is hungry for an altogether different kind of life fluid!

This excerpt is from "The Castle of Count Shagula" by Justin MacCormack.
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