The Carpathian Mountains in autumn are cold and cruel. In addition to capricious weather, early nightfall often makes travel after dinnertime hazardous at best. The unsympathetic terrain, even at the somewhat more benign base of the mountains, can be deadly if one is unfamiliar with the jagged rocks and gnarled trees that seem to grasp and claw at the unwary roadway traveler. And Borgo Pass, though among the safest of these upward climbing coach trails, is no exception to this rule. Add to these harrowing conditions the fact that the surrounding mountainsides are rife with all manner of predatory beasts of sharp claw and tearing teeth, and only a fool would even consider venturing anywhere near these dangerous peaks, at any time of year.
This particular night, however, turned out to be a very unusual All Hallows Eve. The customary stormy autumn skies were calm, quiet. But this led to an even more unnerving essence for this hard, cold area. Though clouds seemed almost afraid to hover above the foreboding pass, thereby making the familiar rains a wispy memory, the floor of the harsh terrain was not bereft of moisture.
The soggy ground was home to large patches of mist, which blew to and fro at the whim of the mountain winds. The air was so silent you could almost hear the vapors moving, searching for something besides rock and vegetation to embrace in their cold, wet fingers. Only the howl of obviously excited wolves and the high-pitched chitter of sharp fanged bats broke the silence. And these skin crawling sounds echoed eerily in the damp, silent air.
The chittering bats, dozens of them, were flying on leathery wings up the pass, in the direction of Dracula's castle. The echoing of their night cries made it sound as if they numbered in the hundreds, or thousands, instead of mere dozens. The howling of the wolves was different this time, however. The sound came not from high, star-reaching cliffs nor jutting, rocky precipices. Rather, the sound came from the overgrown coach path. And the howling was accompanied by another sound, the only other sound besides lupine moans and squealing bat sounds to emanate from Borgo Pass this night.
The wooden wheels bounced and creaked on the rock-strewn road, the screaming wood of the carriage crying out its obvious pain. The speed of the careening carriage was well above any safe rate of motion, even if it hadn't been in this deadly place. Still, it's pace never slackened. It sped along at breakneck speed, narrowly missing boulders and grasping tree limbs alike. Occasionally, a wheel would fly high in the air as it failed to avoid a rock, or a spray of wood dust would explode into the still air as the side of the coach destroyed a particularly foolhardy limb.
But the demon steeds simply snorted and whinnied, pulling the hopping, rocking carriage ever forward. Their eyes blazed crimson in their black faces, their flared nostrils puffing great gusts of visible breath as they strained to carry their cargo to its final destination. But even as the steeds snorted and panted, the coach rumbled and clacked and creaked, the sound of the howling rose above all else.
The night shattering howls came not from the surrounding countryside, but from within the carriage. Inside the darkness of that quaking coach, the snorts and grunts were equally as loud and persistent as those of the demon steeds. And it needs be said that not all the rocking of the coach was from the unnecessarily quick ascent up Borgo Pass.
Lorraina's head was banging against the ornate gold door handle. She hardly felt it. Larry's eyes were blazing beastlike into hers, almost all human reasoning gone from them. Those feral eyes left hers only long enough for him to raise his head moonward - craning his neck as far back as it could go - and howl from the pit of his heaving lungs. Long, soft bristles sprouted from every pore in his naked body as he bucked and heaved on top of her.
Digging her nails deeply into his rippling back, Lorraina returned Larry's howl in spades. She snorted her lust back at him, and he fed on it. It fueled his own lust. Every half dozen or so thrusts of his huge, bestial penis, Larry would again howl at the sky. And Lorraina had begun to chime in right along with him, matching him thrust for thrust, howl for howl. By now, most of the rocking of the coach was from their animalistic fornication, and not from the treacherous terrain and overzealous steeds.
As Larry's burning seed sped from him into Lorraina's waiting portal, the two bit each other, gnawing at one another's necks and shoulders. When they kissed, they bit and sucked soft lip flesh. They clawed each other deeply, either drawing blood or raising welts each time. Larry was slamming his emptying tool into her with such force that her head broke the door handle off the rocking coach, thereby ending it's mild annoyance once and for all.
"Fuck me, you hairy beast!" Lorraina yelled, the screamed sentence leading directly into another howl.
Larry howled louder than ever, and Lorraina felt as if gallons of molten lava had just been shot by a cannon into her womb. She felt it filling her, washing over her every inner wall. It heated her from the inside out. In her mounting passion, she chewed deeply into Larry's shoulder and her deeply burrowing fingernails raked up great gobs of lupine flesh and hair.
Then her eyes closed, and her ensuing howl dwarfed Larry's. It even startled the normally oblivious steeds. Her erupting fluids raged from her like a flood. The combination of those unstoppable juices and her penis-strangling vaginal muscles nearly pushed Larry's wolf cock out of her with finality. But, snarling and clawing, Larry forced his muscle to hold its ground, to continue its plundering of Lorraina's molten core. They howled in unison, sweating, grunting and tumbling about the cabin for what seemed an eternity of orgasmic bliss, until their muscles ached and their genitals were drained.
Their sexual union ended just in time. Temporarily sated, werewolf and former servant of Dracula uncoupled, slowly and with caution, and lay on their backs in the cramped floor space between front and back benches of the carriage's dark interior. Their chests heaved and their sweat drenched the old, rickety wood of the floorboards.
Suddenly, relaxation became a luxury they couldn't afford. The insane pace of the snorting steeds slackened, and all grew quiet, except for the slow clop of hooves and gentle creaking of wooden wheels on stone. They had arrived at Dracula's castle.
As they scrambled to dress themselves, Lorraina and Larry became aware of revelry. Once again, Larry had arrived well after the other guests. The party was in full swing. Merriment abounded, the raucous sounds even penetrating beyond the cold, dark stone of the Undead Lord's gloomy home.
Disembarking from the driverless carriage, the already exhausted couple stood upon the stone entranceway before the massive oak door to the main hall. They looked about, their eyes aided by the flickering torches on either side of the portal. How familiar it was. One year ago, Larry and Lorraina had met just inside that door....he as a guest of the wily Dracula, and she as a mere servant girl, ordered by her Master to cater to the desires of Larry Talbot, affectionately known as "Wolfie" - and a host of other nicknames - by the vampire lord. Once they'd engaged in carnal activities together, they realized they were meant for each other, and the rest was history. They both must've been thinking along similar lines, because their eyes locked, they smiled, and they embraced, kissing lovingly outside that castle door in the cold, crisp moonlight.
With a painful groan of rusty hinges and a long, seemingly endless creaking of wood, the door slowly opened inward. The main hallway was dark at first, but then one by one wall torches burst into flaming life, filling the hall with flickering light that seemed somehow brighter than the sum of the half dozen or so torches should've been.
