CAMELOT FANTASIES

Exclusive to Camelot, I give you a sample of my new story. It is an entry for the annual literotica.com Halloween story contest. I'll update when the story is published.
https://literotica.com/stories/contest.php/halloween-2015

The anticipation is starting to get the better of me. To avoid pacing, which is a guaranteed way to get on my wife’s nerves, I’m testing and retesting the traps around the house: the killer clown, the haunted kitchen, the backyard maze, and my favorite, the coffin ride to hell.
 
Satisfied with the traps, I head down to the wine cellar for a pre-game drink. I can see a sliver of light coming through the crack of the door and cast against the brick basement wall as I approach the cellar. Did I really leave the light on again? I could swear that light switch has a mind of its own. I’ve spent so much time and effort creating frightful illusions that I’m quick to scare if I find something out of place that wasn’t by my design.
 
I grab a bottle and turn off the light, making a mental note of it this time. With two full champagne flutes in hand I return to the second floor. Approaching the master bedroom, I see my wife putting on her lipstick in front of the mirror. Livia’s jet-black hair and her icy hazel eyes make her an especially intimidating accomplice. She isn’t just dressing up as a Hungarian tonight, she really is one. The hottest Eastern-European bride I could find, with a sadistic temperament that matches mine.
 
“How do I look?” she asks. She never fails to excite me with that accent of hers.
 
“You are equal parts gorgeous and dangerous. Why don’t you give me a spin?”
 
Livia cracks a smile and does a spin, as requested. She is quite a sight: a crisscrossed ribbon laces up the front of the dress, her big bosoms bulging are the bust line, and silk gloves extend to her elbows. Livia is dressed up as Elizabeth Báthory; the legendary, bloodthirsty Countess—a more than a suitable fit for her.
 
“Come test your fangs, Clive. You don’t want them falling out.”
 
Livia presents her neck to me and I take in the intoxicating scent of her perfume. I kiss her on the neck and press the plastic tips of my fangs against her skin. She moans with approval and cringes just a little, waiting for me to give her a hard bite. There will be time for that later.
 
I turn to check myself in the mirror. My costume is a classic Bela Lugosi Dracula with the tuxedo and white bow tie. I look intense and downright handsome with my hair combed back and my dark eyebrows furrowed in anger. The Count and Countess are officially ready for a carefully orchestrated night of costumed debauchery.
 
“This isn’t going to be like last year?” Livia asks.
 
“Of course not. I double checked every single detail,” I reply, defensively. “You can’t let one bad year ruin almost a decade of tradition. It was a fluke. Now, let’s toast.”
 
I lift my glass and Livia does the same.
 
“To our new slave girl.”
 
“To our new slave girl. For one week,” Livia reminds me.
 
“Yes, just a week. We’ll be bored with her after that,” I say, picking up on a hint of jealousy. Livia was only twenty when I met her and here we are ten years later, still going strong on a steady diet of sadistic, sexual thrills. She likes the young women just as much as I do, perhaps even more.