Chapter 1

The horses pulled the carriage with an urgency which the reins transmitted from the young husband and wife. The late afternoon sun was beginning to drop behind the distant hills and they were no closer to finding those they sought than before.

"There, on that road above!" she cried.

"Yes, I see it," he answered, switching the reins even harder and turning onto the narrow neglected road which took them higher onto the mountain and to the castle which sat on its crest.

Justine Letour snuggled even closer to her husband of only a few hours. With darkness falling fast she felt a chill which, combined with her concern, made her welcome the arm Andre extended around her. Yet she somehow felt only a modicum of comfort from it. She loved Andre but, while handsome and polite, he had never seemed manly. They had met the previous year in Bucharest, but had been married in Brasov high in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania. It was in those mountains they now sought Andre's mother and Justine's father, both widowed who had been traveling together to the wedding.

The day before a somewhat mysterious note had arrived indicating the mother and father had been delayed by a broken axle on their carriage and would be unable to attend, but would join them after the honeymoon. Disappointed but unable to postpone the wedding because so many guests had traveled from such distances, they had reluctantly decided to go on with the ceremony. Yet concern over their missing parents worried both bride and groom and they decided to postpone the honeymoon until the parents could be located. They knew the route the parents were to have taken and the small village mentioned in the note where they had taken rooms at an inn. But when the newlyweds had arrived they were told by the innkeeper that the older couple had left two nights before, troubling because that would have afforded the parents sufficient time to have arrived for the ceremony. Now the young couple were worried that some additional trouble had befallen the parents, hence the urgency.

"Do you think they could have stopped here?" she asked as the carriage rounded a sharp turn throwing rocks over the edge of the steep drop off. She closed her eyes, not wishing to think about what might happen if the horses made a misstep or one of the carriage wheels slipped over the edge.

"We'll know soon enough," responded the good looking but slightly built, almost effeminate twenty-three year old as they neared the castle, an impressive and foreboding work of massive stone and thick timbers seeming to rise from the mist which obscured where stone work met earth. There was no moat, but the enormous doors were designed to prevent unwanted passage ... either in or out.

"Stay here and I'll ask about them. I'll also see if there is another inn nearby where we can spend the night," he added.

The nineteen year old bride was far too wrought with anguish and now trepidation at the intimidating aura of the structure and grounds to stay behind. The raven haired beauty had been encouraged -- pushed one might say into the marriage. Her father knew that Andre's family was of wealth and good standing and simply wanted a good match for his daughter. Justine had become quite fond of Andre but sometimes felt his sensitivity bordered on weakness. But he was of a good heart and while she feared he would not be masterful in the bedroom, she intended to make the best of it and be a faithful and loving wife.

A beautiful girl from childhood, Justine's was a face of grace and delicacy, high cheek bones accentuating her deep ebony eyes, a petite slender nose and velvety full lips provided just the air of sensuality to counterbalance the overwhelming aura of innocence which pervaded her presence. Her hair was long, straight and glistening black, though she currently wore it in a bun beneath a riding hat. Her figure, though not yet fully developed, was fetching nevertheless. Moderate sized breasts were as round as melons and filled her dress in an eye catching manner. Her waist was tiny as were her ankles and feet while her legs and thighs were shapely with the firmness of youth, her hips deliciously rounded, her skin an earthy bronze revealing her family's southern European origin. Those who met her were always taken by her beauty, charm and her delightful sense of reserve and innocence.

She accompanied her husband to the huge doors where Andre had to use both hands to raise the gargantuan cast iron knocker which resounded with a thunderous report upon the massive wooden door, the sound echoing through the valley below.

When several seconds elapsed with no response, Andre was reaching for the knocker to try a second time when the door slowly creaked open enough to reveal a stunningly beautiful young woman, perhaps only a year or two older than Justine. Although it was summer and the temperatures moderate, the raiment she wore seemed inadequate in either keeping her warm or modest. The diaphanous gossamer wisps of material floated about the sensuous body revealing momentary thinly veiled glimpses of breasts, hips, legs and the treasure between them.

"Yes?" she asked in a quiet, soft but sultry voice.

"Uh..." began Andre, taken aback by the loveliness and scantily clad nature of the young woman, "we are Andre and Justine Letour. We have come in search of my mother and my wife's father who may have passed by this way."

"Come in. I shall summon the count," she said, bidding them enter and leading them down a long hallway past very old and very ornate tapestries, paintings and furniture. They were ushered into a room where a fire crackled in the fireplace, but despite the warmth it radiated, Justine felt a shiver run down her back. The young woman disappeared into the bowels of the castle. The castle itself was immaculate and obviously luxuriously well appointed and the young woman had been polite, yet the atmosphere was one of mystery, perhaps even danger.

Justine tried warming herself by the fire as Andre examined some of the paintings and tapestries.

"Well, this count is nothing if not wealthy," opined Andre picking up and examining an elaborately decorated vase.

"But why would he build such a huge castle so high in the mountains, so isolated? The nearest town is almost fifty miles."

"He must be a strange one all right. And what about that servant girl?" They both snickered a bit. "As fetching as she was, that was some dress -- or negligee or whatever she was wearing."

"Almost wearing," corrected Justine with a chuckle.

"Perhaps you might wear such a..." he began.

"Please do not be so presumptuous. I maybe your wife but you may rest assured I would never wear such scandalous attire -- at least not outside the bedroom."

Suddenly, Justine felt something sweep over her as if a wave of intense erotic heat were consuming her. Her body temperature rose, her nipples turned to granite and she realized she had wet herself, not with urine but with her own vaginal juices. She gasped, wondering if she were suddenly being struck by some strange malady. But considering its nature, she wished to keep it from Andre. She felt as if she might swoon, so seated herself, withdrew a small fan from the sleeve of her dress and tried, without success, to ameliorate the effects of the sudden onslaught.

it was as if her mind and body were being wrested from her and used as toys in some bizarre game of sensual stimulation. She felt an overwhelming desire to tear her clothes from her, bare her body and spread her shapely legs -- to be ravished by -- someone -- no, not Andre, but then who?

"Good evening," came the cultured baritone.

Justine almost wet herself again at the sound of the voice, so precise in its enunciation, so educated, so -- seductive.

They both turned to find the owner of the castle standing in the shadows of an alcove that neither had noticed. Had he just arrived or had he been standing there the entire time? Both found themselves at a loss for words. The presence of the man was simply overpowering.

"I am Count Ragonian. This castle is my ancestral home. You are welcome here."

Andre was still too stunned to answer so Justine managed to stammer, "Thank you. The castle is quite ... impressive."

"And you've seen only a small part of it. It was built almost six hundred years ago by my ancestors. There has been a Ragonian living here ever since."

Justine noted the man's age was indeterminate, she thought perhaps early forties, his features, refined, almost delicate. Hair and eyes of ebony. Both seemed to glisten with the firelight. He was not muscular but there was a strength that radiated from within which gave one the impression of size and most of all -- power.

For Andre, the man was simply overwhelming. The count's slight smile was one of confidence and assurance. The young groom was immediately sure he was in the presence of a man who got what he wanted even if he had to take it.

For Justine, the power emanating from Ragonian was sexual although she knew she nor anyone else, including Andre, was a match for the count physically or otherwise. But it was the aura of sexual irresistibility and desire which both amazed and frightened her. His eyes caught hers for but a moment, but in that fleeting glance his coal black orbs spoke volumes. He wanted her and he would have her. She wanted to avert his gaze, look away and break this mysterious spell he had cast over her, but she could not. For those few seconds she was held spellbound, unable to cast her eyes away, a momentary prisoner while his eyes undressed and ravished her.

And in those brief seconds, Justine Letour experienced the first orgasm of her young life.

Her loud gasp and audible whine gained Andre's attention while the count simply smiled.

"What is it, Dear?" asked her husband.

"I ... I don't know. It was ... It was..."

She dared not reveal the nature of her distress. And how could she? Never having experienced the ultimate pleasure she knew only that what had coursed through her body was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

"Perhaps something to drink," offered the count, snapping his fingers upon which the same young woman who had answered the door reappeared.

"Something to drink for our guests," ordered the count. "Perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Thank you," replied the young wife sill shuddering from the after spasms of the climax.