Count desire

Count Konrad found his niece Margaret in the castle library.

The air in Falkenstein caste library was heavy with the scent of old parchment and dust. Dark wooden bookcases stretched along every wall like silent sentinels, crammed with countless volumes. A worn leather sofa and a sturdy oak table sat invitingly against one wall; promising cozy hours spent in reading. A single candlestick stood upon the table, its three flickering candles casting a warm glow over the scene.
Margareth sit reading a thick tome with indecipherable script bound in cracked leather. She, at the tender age of the age when girls were first allowed to learn to read the Psalter, possessed a youthful charm that belied her noble lineage. Her wide, blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, framed by unruly auburn curls that escaped their braid. A delicate dusting of freckles adorned her freckled nose, evidence of countless days spent playing beneath the warm sunlit sky of Konrad's sprawling estate. Her adolescent breasts were like two peaches wait for person who wants to taste them. Despite her youth, a hint of elegance lingered in her movements, a vestige of courtly manners instilled in her by her doting uncle, the Count.
Konrad entered room like a thunderstorm, disrupting the quiet with the scrape of polished boots on worn stone. He has solid frame – harsh cheekbones sharpened by age; a jaw set tight enough to shatter teeth. His dark, unruly hair, streaked with silver at the temples, tumbled over his brow. A faint scar slashed diagonally across one cheekbone against the dark skin, eyes, the color of storm clouds, burned with an intelligence. Each movement spoke of power honed by years of command – both on the battlefield and within the castle walls. His black doublet stretched across broad torso that rolled with concealed muscle beneath its silken sheen.
He settled heavily onto the armchair next to hers, its leather sighing under his weight. “What are you reading, my sweet?” His voice was rough as worn velvet, laced with a purr she usually found soothing.
Margareth hesitated, twisting the book's fragile spine in her grasp. "A history of the Falkensteins," she offered. The script was mostly unfamiliar runes and Gothic script she couldn't decipher, making it more appropriate for decoration than reading.
He nodded, smiling her answer. “Always so serious,” he murmured, leaning closer until the warmth radiating from his body – the heat of a forge where iron met fire – touched her arm.
Konrad’s gaze lingered on her face, then drifted down to her dress's shallow neckline, catching the delicate curve of her collarbone, tracing its path over the swell of her breast beneath the fine fabric. His eyes glinted as he took a slow breath, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip. "You are lovely tonight, Margareth," he murmured, his voice husky. He leaned closer still, brushing past the delicate curve of her cheek with a hand rough-hewn by callouses and age, his fingers warm against her skin.
A blush bloomed in Margareth's face hotter than the dying embers in the nearby fireplace. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a bird caught in a cage. “Uncle Konrad,” she managed, clutching her book closer to her chest, “You are embarrassing me.”
He chuckled, a sound that scraped harshly against her eardrums. His hand shifted, to rest lightly on her hipbone. It sent shivers racing down her spine, gooseflesh prickling across exposed skin despite the warmth emanating from his body.
"Embarrassing?" he echoed, his voice a low purr against the delicate curve of her ear. His hand slid higher, pressing into the smooth flesh just above her hipbone, warm and possessive against her skin through the thin fabric. It made her breathe hitch, a strangled gasp escaping before she could catch it.
“This place are very suitable for games with young woman,” he continued, his lips brushing her hair as he leaned down so close their breaths mingled in the musty air of the library. "And you are… already grown into pretty woman, my sweet." He paused, savoring the warmth that bloomed beneath his touch, then let out a soft laugh that had little humor to it.
“I want you,” he whispered against her hair, voice low and gravelly. “Come closer.” His hand brushed across the delicate curve of her hipbone, sending a jolt through her small body. Margareth’s breath caught in her throat, fear constricting it like a fist. “Uncle Konrad…” she began again, voice trembling higher than the melody of the lark, “I do not understand, what are you meaning?”
He chuckled and with sudden movement caught her off balance, pulling a startled cry from her lips as she stumbled back. His hand clamped down on her upper arm with surprising strength – too much for one who should have been so gentle when tending to her scraped knee after she’d fallen climbing the apple trees in the garden that spring.
"Don't be coy, little bird," he murmured against her ear, his hot breath stirring the hairs there. His other hand snaked around her shoulders, pulling her back towards him until their bodies pressed together. She was trapped against him and the sofa, the scent of dust and leather was cover them both as she struggled against his tight embrace.
Margareth squirmed within his grasp. The book clattered from her numb fingers onto the floor between them. "Uncle Konrad," she stammered again, her voice barely a whisper against the insistent pulse pounding in her ears, “This is… uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” he murmured into the delicate down of her cheek, his harsh fingers tracing lazy lines across the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. She flinched at the unfamiliar touch. He didn’t seem to notice. "My little dove," he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing her shell-like helix with a warmth “I like to do it.”
"But Uncle Konrad…” She managed to wriggle free enough to push a trembling hand towards his arm, seeking some kind of comfort in the familiar weight of it. He ignored it. Instead, he pulled her closer, forcing his lips upon hers with a hunger that left little space for air or thought. His mouth was hot and rude against hers – demanding, possessive.
Margareth clung to the edge of the armchair as if it were a lifeline, but Konrad’s grip held her captive in a vice of warmth and power. She struggled to untangle herself from his embrace, but he only tightened his hold, pinning her between himself and sofa.
Count pulled back from hers, releasing them with a heavy grunt that tasted of something predatory – hungry, yearning, eager to claim all she was. He held his head tilted against hers, his gaze fixed on her as if seeing her anew and finding satisfaction in the sight.
“Don’t you know?” man murmured against Margareth ‘s cheek, his voice thick and husky with an emotion that sent a shiver of something like terror up her spine. Konrad’s breath warmed the skin beneath her ear as he continued. “Your beauty - it is so exciting,” he whispered, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb. He ran his fingers down to cup girl’s chin, forcing her head back slightly so he could stare into her face with a hard, feverish sight.
Margaret's struggled against him, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. "Uncle Konrad," she whispered again, the word thin and fragile as gossamer spun from moonlight. "This is not right… what happens."
He let out a bark of laughter – harsh and rough, echoing off the shelves and sending dust motes swirling in the pale light from the dwindling candles. His hand shifted suddenly, grasping the front edge of her dress just beneath her breast, pulling it upwards with an urgency. He didn’t wait for her answer to continue his exploration – he simply took what he desired as though she were a prey waiting to be possessed.
"Little one," Konrad murmured into the fragrant scent of her hair again – a fragrance like summer meadows and warm milk, something so innocent it turned his own desires even more savage. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, moving it down towards the delicate point where her jaw smoothed beneath her ear.
"You are so very young," Count grinned. “And I want all of you." His gaze drifted over girl’s face, lingering with an unnerving intensity on her throat – the delicate column leading to the swell of breasts that strained against his hand’s pressure. He saw the faint blush blooming high on her cheekbones now, felt the trembling quickening beneath his hand as he continued to pull at her dress, a slow and deliberate act designed to torment more than liberate her.
Margareth bit back a gasp, struggling futilely to gather some shred of composure. The fine fabric of her dress surrendered under Konrad’s insistent pull and slid down to rest just above her knees – revealing pale skin that had never known the harsh touch of the sun. She was left vulnerable beneath his possessive gaze, exposed like a bird stripped bare in a cage.
“Please…,” she breathed “Do not do it…” She pushed at his chest with one hand, trying to create some distance between them, but it only deepened his predatory – narrowing his eyes and tightening the vise of his embrace.
"Don't cry, little dove," man murmured into the fragrant warmth of her hair again as if soothing a startled birdlet. "It will be all right." He didn't wait for Margareth’s answer. Instead, he pushed his fingers aside the scant fabric left clinging to her waist – sliding past the fine laces that had strained so much against his touch. The weight of his hand pressed into her bare skin was sent a tremor through her like an icy breeze sweeping across open plains. She flinched at the unexpected touch and try to draw back with a soundless gasp.
"Don't resist," Count commanded, his voice low and deep – "or it will be worse.". Man let his hand slide higher up her leg then, grasping both thighs and rip the silken fabric of her panties. A wave of icy panic washed over Margareth. She tried to draw her knees up, to offer some feeble defense against the growing tide of his presence. But his grip tightened, holding her captive as he shifted closer, the musk of his skin mingling with the scents of books and old leather. The air grew thick and solid; Margareth was felt trapped, helpless against the sheer force of his masculinity that threatened to engulf her entirely.
Konrad’s hand dropped away from girl’s hair and slid down to grasp her buttocks again – but this time it wasn’t the gentle caress of exploration; he pulled girl from sofa with surprising force, flinging her on top of the reading table as if she were a puppet. She landed face down on the rough wood surface with a startled gasp that caught in her throat.
Girl's legs dangling over the edge of the table, she fought to right herself, but only succeeded in scrabbling futilely at the harsh wood with shaking fingers. Her peachy breasts were rub against the wooden surface and small but round ass snake, as one hand flailed aside blindly until it landed against the candlestick.
Konrad stands over her like a falcon, above his prey, grinned at her posture, that involuntary flinch as she tried to pull herself into some semblance of order within his rude embrace. Margareth tried to hit him, but man easily took away item in her hand. His fingers trailed across of her back before capturing her bottom with a firm grip – push it apart in a swift motion that sent another frightened sound escaping from her lips as she struggled against his weight pressing her into the table's surface.
His hand moved again - now pushing the silk of her skirt aside from the top of her thigh with a hard deliberation that terrified her. Margareth yelled and tried to push away Konrad with her legs, but he just laughed and slapped her ass loudly. Sharp pain pierced girl’s body and she whimper “Please do not spoil me…”.
His trousers fell away with surprising ease and then came down past his knee, revealing the taut length of thick coated dark veins cock that now rested so close to her back side. Margareth were tremble and tried to move away from him. It was a sight both alluring and exciting for Konrad – the potent evidence of what girl had already sensed what he intended to do to her.
He wasn't concerned with gentleness; not when his gaze settled upon the bald swell of her vulva, blooming open below him like a fragile white flower. The tip of his cock was impossibly thick, almost enormous against the warm tightness of girl’s slit where it now rested just above the delicate enter that was not marked any hairs.
Konrad leaned down then and thrusting down into her with a sudden forcefulness. Margareth cried out, the sound snatched away from her throat by surprise and pain as the hard cock of him entered her, rupturing her hymen and stretching apart the sensitive muscles she hadn't yet known how to control. Uncle filled her entirely; his swollen cock head pressing deep against her womb with a sharp pain through her small body - making it seem as if he were seeking to tear her apart.
His hips began to move then – rocking against her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, – anchoring him further into this fragile terrain he was claiming as his own. Margaret was pinned to the wooden table - the only support she had in this upside-down world. Every push man gave her shakes tiny girl’s body as boat on stormy waves.
He was rude with her – pushing deeper into the warmth of her pussy, ignoring the slight whimpers escaping past his lips against hers every time their bodies met. He seemed unaware – or perhaps indifferent to the small, birdlike cries that escaped her as she struggled to meet this unfamiliar force with some semblance of composure on the rugged wood table beneath her and his possession above. She wasn't just filled; she was overwhelmed, drowning in a tide of sensations that she couldn’t quite grasp – a storm of pushes and pulls, pain mixed with disgust.
Each thrust reached her womb, drawing gasps and cries from her throat and tightening his own muscles as he drove deep within her, leaving her reeling with a dizzying combination of fear and a humiliating presence inside her and then spread outwards, weaving the tight knot of terror in her stomach.
"Sweety niece, you are so tight" man murmured into the space between them each time his hips thrust again - finding her tiny cave and filling it, riding above her pussy as if she were nothing more than a vessel meant for his own pleasure. Margateth's mind spun with conflicting images: the warmth of their hearth on cold evenings, Konrad reading aloud from dusty tomes by candlelight, that gentle hand brushing back stray strands of hair as he smiled down at her – a different man entirely than the one who now held her captive.
After what seemed like an eternity – or perhaps only a heartbeat stretched out to encompass a universe of sensations - Konrad finally slowed; the rhythm of his thrusts becoming deeper, less frequent until he was moving within her with a controlled gentleness that made no sense at all in this sudden rape.
He drew back slightly then – just enough to rest against the soft flesh of her bottom as if seeking satisfaction from its tightness before pushing forward again, holding himself there for a long moment as he gathered his strength – and release. With that final grasp, Konrad finally came inside her – flooding girlish pussy with the heat of torrent his thick sperm. His cock pulsed inside her, filling her small space until liquid had nowhere left to go but outward.
Count remained in that position for a moment - still embedded within her despite the tremor that ran through his taut form - before he finally drew back and let out another long, satisfied sigh before gathering himself slowly, pulling heavy weight of his hand up off her with a final push that left her trembling against the hard wood beneath. Man pulled out his cock and thick, viscous liquid dripped to the stone floor from bald torn pink pussy.
Margareth lay there for what felt like forever – legs stretched helplessly over the edge of the table. The scent of his fluids lingered in the air around her - a potent mix of musk and recent release. She lay there while he dressed; the sounds of cloth rustling, buttons snagging on fabric echoing across the silent library before he straightened his shoulders and looked back down at her.
Konrad wore an almost predatory smile "You were good," he murmured, meeting her gaze. "Do try to rest now, I will often play with you like today" man said then, turning towards the doorway. He didn't linger; merely gave her a final look over his shoulder as if gauging something in the stillness of her prone form, then walked out of the room and left her alone upon the surface of reading table with only the faint scent of him hanging in the air like a tattered prayer cloth draped across the space she now occupied.
She lay still until the last echo of his footsteps faded into the silence of the long corridor outside - the cold stone floor beneath her legs seeming to seep deeper into her bones than ever before. She finally dared to lift her head and turn onto her side, dragging herself slowly towards the edge of the table where she could at least rest against the sofa as if that might somehow offer some semblance of support against the tremor that still rippled through her limbs.
But no matter how hard she tried – pulling the clothes across her body in a futile attempt to gather some meager comfort, the cold stone floor did little to soothe the pain and feel of humiliation blooming low within her and she didn't stir for quite a long time afterward. Only once all the last flickers of light from the dying candles had sputtered out and left her enveloped in the thick velvet darkness of the library did she finally allow herself the luxury of weeping – silent, shuddering sobs that escaped her throat.