(This is one of what I've come to call my "Facepalm Fuckfests," in which I have fun with characters becoming, er…intimate, with somewhat sad attempts at humor interspersed. Just trying to have some fun, that's all it is. I have some other ones on here, including "Urban Pron" (based on PS2's Urban Reign) and "Blaster and Mistress" (based on NES's Blaster Master as well as its Worlds of Power novella/novelette/whatever), in addition to a few others if you'd like to check them out as well. Again, just effing around here; not trying to write something to change the world).
(By the way, Simon here you can envision as looking either like he does from the cover of NES Castlevania 2, or as he does in Judgment (although I do mention him as being a ginger and stuff...just ignore the gingerness in this story if you hate how he looks in the Wii game). As for Carmilla, she could be the one from Judgment, OR I would say the one from Lords of Shadow 2, where she has that awesome cloak and long hair...BUT you cannot imagine her as the "nun slut" from Lords of Shadow 1, because that Carmilla is kind of meh IMO.)
(Just kidding...you can imagine her however you want, of course (though imagining Simon effing a giant flying, tearing-up-with-blood-droplets mask is kind of on the kinky side and all)).
COITALMANIA: THE CONSUMMATION OF SIMON AND CARMILLA
By Quillon42
Graciously Simon settled into a state of repose after completing his vastly storied and much maligned sequel Quest. The vaporizer of vampires didn't really wish for anyone to bother him these next few days, since he'd barged his way into the ruins of the Count's old haunt and chucked those five sacks into the air—only ever so unexpectedly to have Dracula drop in on him, cloaked and ostensibly goggled atop the forehead like some overbearing, overweight, yet transgendered and undead Amelia Earhart. All it took was just as much immolation of the humanoid horror, through the employing of the Sacred Flame, to stop the sucker atop his unholy altar and end him as soon as he reset himself.
The red sky at night had been Simon's delight thereafter, as the still-able-bodied Belmont laid the hoary headstone in place to mark the canceling out of the Count once again. It was a few mornings later now, as the whipcracking warrior attempted to recline upon an old family chaise, that
[BACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACK]
the old cantankerous invention in the corner of the estate had piped up anew. Simon looked to the ancient communication device and shrugged. Whoever thought that Grant would be so intuitive as to make a proto-telephone out of a Boomerang (which in flight made the above BACKBACKBACKBACKBACK sounds as we all know), a Fire Bomb, and gears from a Danasty-Age Stopwatch?
Si-Si raced to the device and racked up the cross-shaped Belmont-arang receiver to his ear.
"Hello?
"Oh, hi Uncle Grant. …Yeah, the phone still works pretty well, you know, although sometimes the reception's a tad rough.
"…
"…
"…Car…Carmilla? Who's that? …the Vampira mask, you say? It became a woman somehow after I dealt with it? And a fine one at that? Alright, like whatever…"
"…
"…Oh shit. Don't tell me he's still out fucking around, I mean come on. I just spent the last three weeks gathering up pieces of his ass then burning them down.
"…Last time I saw the Draccer, he looked real bad, like…like Obese Amelia Earhart bad, you know…"
"…
"He did WHAT now?!
"You said he bit that Vamp…that Carmilla chick on the neck?!
"Eww! Like, who does that?!
"…
"Shit, the reception's acting up again.
"Yeah, but anyway, you said he bit her?! He doesn't do that sort of shit! Drac like, fuckin…flashes you with his cloak, and then flings fireballs at you, and then…teleports around and…fuck, he bit her? Maybe one of his ravens bit him on the third floor and then he went rabid or something.
"But damn, man…I'd never take him for that Mike Tyson sort of shit.
"…
"…
"Uncle Grant…Uncle Grant, you're breaking up…
"…
"Uncle Grant, I'm gonna hang up in a second, and I'll visit later, okay? Peace in the European East. Out."
So after a fair furlough of loafing that morning, Simon decided that he would slough off to Ondol, where at least in this reality he originally purchased the same kind of "Morningstar" for two hundred units of cardiac currency, that he would just find lying around anywhere in the old Count's crib.
(Of course, real weapons purists were aware that the long metal lasher that Belmont brandished was not in fact a Morningstar really, but rather more of a Flail. Other virtual vistas such as that of Defender of the Crown made this more than abundantly clear, as that more accurate version of a Morningstar consisted of a much shorter chain and a much larger sphere with spikes upon it. But anyways.)
It was at this very moment that the Flagellator of Fishmen had happened upon a small storage space of the town, in which he had replaced one of those one-time-readable red cluebooks with a small plate of pork chop rinds. Si was famished more than anything after his lengthy lope over, and he looked forward to checking into the small hideaway, where he also in fact hid his since-deflamed 'Star, and then smash up the sidewall for some porcine pleasuring of the teeth indeed.
Utilizing certain skills he had not exhibited in his ignominious Second Quest, Simon scrabbled at the background wall for a secret compartment in which the Morningstar was left by him last time.
The vacant nature of the tiny vault had caused him to jump in reverse instinctively.
In the name of Cafebar Read…who among the Ondolians could have possibly perpetrated such an act against a hero such as himself? To have pulled his chain in this way now…for certain, someone around here would have to lose one of his three lives for this flagrant felony.
As it turned out, Simon would in another second discover the deviant who stole his strong string of steel…as the lurid lady made herself plainly visible to him now, in that very chamber.
…
Well, the woman did show herself…even if she went literally and peculiarly head first in the endeavor.
Verily, what materialized before the Genocider of Ghouls that was Simon Belmont now was indeed only a head…but it was that of the most stunning spirit he'd ever beheld. Stygian locks adorning a face of pure ivory perfection…obsidian lips and piercing azure eyes…
The heavenly head appeared upon the floor, then hovered up to eye level with Simon, making the man think vaguely of his first encounter with a certain memorable arch nemesis, up in that accursed belfry from the beyond a bit more than a year earlier.
Then, just as with that infernal incident, the head was soon joined by the jauntiest of jasper, as a crimson cloak manifested underneath the flawless female features, making a complete, indelible figure.
Wasting no time, Simon to the woman:
"The maiden…behind the mask, if I'm not mistaken."
"Indeed, Sir Belmont." Said maiden gave the man much pause, as the latter could tell the former was now rather full-figured, gone from airborne countenance to arousing countess in one inexplicable latent turning.
Warily the asswhipping adventurer noted a glimmer of ivory thigh emanating from the lower portion of the rogue's robe; his most intimate of armaments quivered at espying this.
"Should you decide to engage me again, dear lady, you will find yourself crushed and demoralized once more." Not that there were many morals to speak of, this author plagiar…er, this author posits, with the titillating temptress that was before Simon right now.
(See The Castlevania Adventure 1 Instruction Manual for the whole "crush and demoralize" thing…nevermind).
The basest baroness merely chuffed slightly at this remark. "Ahh, Simon…unlike my languid lord of darkness, see…I'm not here to just…teleport around the place now…and I'm all but just fresh out of fireballs…
"Really, you know…I just…figured I'd…
"FLASH YOU WITH MY CLOAK…"
And then the erogenous exposure that ensued upon the diabolical disrobing of that most calamitous charmer known as Carmilla…the flashbang of erupting euphoria brought on by the spectacle of such supple, phosphorescent flesh…it was enough for even the boldest Belmont to stall in his or her resolve to rout evils such as this vamp here. The sight that Simon beheld now, it was not unlike a similar shedding of fabrics by one Joan Jett in the video rendition of her opus "Do You Wanna Touch Me"…yet this was aeons more erotic, if it could be imagined.
And all it would take now, for Carmilla to claim this most audacious of undoers of the undead, would be to get him close enough, so that she could do what she wanted to do most physically to him, since she first encountered him in her original masquerade at the Laruba Mansion—she could have done it to him then, and she would most definitively do it to him now.
And here he was this instant, seemingly stymied and now kneeling before her, ripe for the reaping indeed. Carmilla decided it would be suitable sport to play with her prey first, to humiliate the hunter before taking him to the side of shades. Reaching back into the coziest orifice close to the coccyx, she went ahead and hauled out that harkening, lethal length of chain which the man himself had been heretofore seeking.
"I kept this so warm for you in here, warrior," she said, nodding towards her naked nether cheeks, "just…keistering all this time the very Star for which you were searching.
"Now I'm all set to return it to you."
[THAWACCCKKKKK]
A strident stripe of scarlet crested the chest of the beset Belmont, the whipman now writhing in abject agony. While it looked like just after one switching, Simon was staggering soundly, Carmilla was just getting started with this cruelest of calisthenics.
[THAWACCCKKKKK]
"Come on, Si…"
[THAWACCCKKKKK]
"Let's see if you can last through all the very same lashings you've been doling these days…"
[THAWACCCKKKKK] [THAWACCCKKKKK]
Her nude figure twirled and torqued as she tarried on with the torture upon Simon, the man mostly bowing down against the blows…yet a certain segment of him rising with the sight of Carmilla's pulchritudinous, pearl-hued pairs throbbing, flouncing, bouncing brazenly out at him throughout.
[THAWACCCKKKKK]
"Gonna turn you into a sixpack of burning souls in no time, fucker!"
[THAWACCCKKKKK] [THAWACCCKKKKK]
"Have that glowing red sphere fall from the middle of this chamber…"
[THAWACCCKKKKK] [THAWACCCKKKKK] [THAWACCCKKKKK]
"Drac knows that's the only ball's're gonna drop around here anytime soon…"
…
And then Simon decided he'd had it entirely with her torment.
Rolling out of the way of the next glimmer of Morningstar, Simon used his bare hand to bash against the wall, he confident that his concealed eats could heal this harridan in a hurry.
It was just as the termagant turned, in fact, and reared said Star to assault the noble soldier once more, when
[SHWEEWAWAWA]
the leg of pork was flung forward, Simon willing the volleyed vittles to bond with the babe, overpower the evil within her. Having been stunned a second at the lobbed lunch that was foisted upon her frame, Carmilla could but watch as Simon "watched" her in turn…in more ways than one.
[CLUCK; CLUCK;…CLUCK]
And then in the three to five instants that his activated, functional Stopwatch allowed (this was as opposed to decommissioned Stopwatch that helped power his peculiar telephone back home)…the man was moored between the legs of the lady, he fixing to fun with her in the same way she did with him. As he set down to set upon the lamia who would have laid into him most hellishly, however…he noticed something very strange about her, within her most intimate of areas.
Between those ambrosial legs of alabaster…there was the reddest of crystals, immaculately intact. It was the last thing Simon had expected to see. For certain he thought he would be met with the blackest box, one which did not tell three-minute-intermittent tales of horrible cursed nights nor vanquishing morning suns, but rather one which swallowed all the warriors and the weapons of the world. But apparently, the victuals replenished her virtue…
"Unbelievable…
"A…pork chop…restored your…"
Apparently the only time indeed that porking was an act to be considered purer even than the making of love.
But now with the pushing of said pristine pudendum towards the features of this fearless one, he was primed to turn Carmilla now in his own crude and concupiscent way.
Yea, he continued to crouch there, between the porcelain palisades of the jet-haired jezebel's thighs…he continued to kneel down with her red crystal, knelt down for several seconds with it, he teasing it with that tenderest lash betwixt his tonsils…all until
[WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH WHASH]
that torrid tornado of tempestuous passion came and swept the two of them up into the most sensuous of trysts.
She relented and reclined now, down upon those pallid pavestones, she undulating in that Ondolian safehouse, she allowing Sir Simon to rest upon the tainted crossroads that lay between Cookievania and Cooleyvania. Indeed, the theme music of dread that might have beset Trevor in his own dreary wayfaring decisions…it played sardonically through the mind of Simon now as he tried to choose between further pleasing of Carmilla's dugout, or progression towards perdition in the depths of her derriere.
In a flash he chose the latter, and Carmilla was more than amenable to accommodate him. It was the most ecstatic of eclipses, in fact, as ass met eyes, the Queen Medusa of her cream caboose roaming over his features, Simon orally embracing the cranny of her capacious Carpathian posterior as he took to tossing that most tenebrous of Transylvanian salads.
Then hundreds of level-besting beats later, when the seductress was so soothed in her seat…Simon slithered upward, he licking the luminescent cavity of her belly for many minutes...then mouthing at the sensual Scylla and calid Charybdis of her breasts, his face affixed between those perilous peaks as his mistress of midnight addressed him:
"My intrepid explorer…I do hope you're not planning to come at me with merely a Dagger. Hopefully you might be carrying a Knife of Silver upon your person…?"
"Ahh, my maiden…I wield nothing less than a Knife of the grandest Gold, in fact."
"Ooh…for my pleasure."
The man in turn said nothing, but continued to caress his lady's breasts with his lips. He seemed to favor the left a bit more than the right, as her haughty Highness's heart beat from there.
"You're giving Vlad a good deal of attention," Carmilla said, nodding towards her breast to the west. Then she indicated the east breast: "But Vrad is getting jealous now."
Consequently Simon split his salivary resources in the hour following towards tonguing both of the vixen's V's…and then it was time to arm himself anew.
Another smattering of moments, and Simon's Bat had evolved most erotically from Phantom to Zapf. He then proceeded with his most prurient, questionable of quests with Carmilla, reversing his course from the mountains back to the abyss.
Verily, he began once more with the devilish duchess's pectoral precipices, yet probing now with an extremity of an entirely different variety. Now with visceral vigor he guided his gilded golem of Frankenstein between those titan Twin Mummy mammaries, those breasts so beast as they beat against his bundled bone, to the point at which the demonic dwarf on either side of his intimate automaton had become numbed against the pounding pressure.
Yet, just as with the harrowing hunchback buddy of the laboratory lumberer, in Simon's original castle foray, said dwarfs here were stunnable…yet indestructible as well.
Gently Carmilla cupped said pair of pygmies, as well as the creaming creature between them. Warmly she set the Giant and its two GeminIgors on either side back down to Culovania, Simon pleased to set to work once again in the ensuing, sweating seconds between them. Without hesitation he hushed his pyrite poniard into the sheath of her seat, he perspiring heavily as he pumped into her, as his Lord of Thirteen O'Clock Shadow pummeled the succubus's succulent Circles of milkiest Moon.
Then it was most definitively time for endgame between the two, Simon setting off for the final stage, he squared to set off his sleek Skelecannon against her purring Black Panther now. Assuming the requisite position thence, Carmilla crushed atop him, gathering his chrome Causeway of Chaos into the hidden treasure cache of her Wicked Ditch. Vlad and Vrad were volant as the cruel countess cantered atop the man,
[SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK]
each impact thudding down upon Simon as the man himself would when falling half a screen abruptly to the ground in his very first crusade against the soullessly corrupt, Carmilla now similarly leaping lightly then millstonily plunging down upon him
[SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK]
she gritting her teeth with gratification as she went, her heart-palpitational pair of ghostly wan $700 moneybags pulsing out at him, her alluring ashen belly rippling at him
[SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK…SNNHICCCK]
her man anxious for a beat that perhaps her erotic impacts might end up snapping it right off…then he relaxing upon recalling the incantation his forefather knew, the one that could Help Him and give him nine more such members in reserve as he then redoubled, he plunging his stake ever further into her orb…
[JARICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA RICKA]
…and then the two trouncers settled down, Simon clinging to Carmilla as she shunted her form into his own in repose, she prossessing him as wholly as he prossessed her, each prossessing the other completely and utterly in corporeality, in carnality for now and for all time to come.
…
…
…
Now it was several minutes later after the climaxing of that first coital encounter between Carmilla and Simon, the ginger-maned lion lying down with the coal-coiffed lamb, the two sharing passionate, slobbering smooches with tongues tripping across evenly-edged Stonehengey teeth with no sharp edges at all (once again, largely thanks to the intervention of that other white meat). Forsooth, cemetery refugee Camilla (as she was called then, in Belmont's second outing), she was chilled from within now, as she felt the ethereal coldness of Si-Si's lips pressing softly against her throat, not unlike the way a certain dapper lover did for his mistress in the final line of the first of the iterations of TwilighOOOOOPS...
...
(You didn't read that last line just now).
...
Anyways...after the two utilized an Unsacred Flame to light up a Laurel and inhale all the invincibility they could, Carm climbed atop the chest of her ardent paramour, her own sallow sternum's soft, smooth Silk Bags...those gigantic gleaming globes galumphing gratuitously into his features once again. After experiencing quite the mouthful, courtesy of the contessa, Simon to said siren:
"Ooh, baby…you've come such a long way from being nothing but a flying fucking mask."
Eyeing her intrepid paramour with an askance of snark, Carmilla clambered up the other's torso a tad more, her heavenly haunches pressed tightly down.
"Don't make me pull a Warakiya Steamer on you, buddy."
Simon minded his mistress now with a wry smile. "So you'd just…empty your ass onto my chest and we'd be done with it…is that it?"
Carmilla thought of whether to respond a certain way…then she sniffed and inwardly told herself, what the heck.
"Well…it's how Draccy turned me."
"What?!"
"It's true; really." She allowed a delicate, deviant lithe palm to course along in the space between the lustrous spheres of her breasts.
"Dracula, like, did a Clevela…I mean, a Warakiya Steamer on your boobs, and that's how you became a creature of the night?!"
(NB: A Warakiya Steamer is something completely different from one of the Wallachia variety, mind).
"That's always how it's been done." Carmilla eyed her lover with disdain at his ignorance.
"Someone told me he'd bit you on the neck."
"EWW!" She crinkled her bleached brow as her entire face blanched in turn. "Who does that sort of shit?!"
In truth, it would be the case that Uncle Grant would clear this up with Simon on the Boom/Bomb Phone later on, amidst all the device base's explosive rumblings and the mishearings it would cause all the time.
"[GRUMMA GRUMMA GRUMMA] No, Sim[GRUMMA]…not BIT her on the NEC[GRUMMA GRUMMA]…I said he SHI[GRUMMA] on her CHES[GRUMMA GRUMMA GRUMMA]…"
But really it was Simon himself who was thoroughly grossed out, at the fact that those humongous hillocks of rapturous passion, upon which he placed his own face, were evacuated upon by the archest of enemies. It was enough to make him reach over and wash his mouth out with the Invisibility Potion he brought for alcoholic refreshment. He Who Had Been Ever So Affixed Upon The Enemies-Cancelling Cross knew that the drink wasn't good for much more than such escapism, as it served to be merely an effing parlor trick in Belmont's first-level bash at the Castle.
Carmilla in any case watched her hero glug down the half-gallon of shimmering liquid, and she grinned inwardly as he passed out instants later, she smiling at the literal spirit of a ground-up ghost that she put into the liquor spirit Simon had downed.
"Oh, boy," she said to herself, as she noticed the vampire-vanquisher obliviously vanish, "What pranks I can pull on this poser now…I think I'll start by dragging him outdoors and making it look like I'm humping the ground. Always wanted to pull that stunt."
EPILOGUE ONE
The joke, as it would turn out, would be on the vicious vixen herself. After another smattering of intimate encounters with the brave Belmont, Carmilla found that despite the fact she laid out paving stones within the constitution of her own person's Mansion, one per day in fact…Simon had flung enough flasks of Unholy Water against said surfaces such that when one such floor proved false, said vial had slipped through and fallen dramatically into her stronghold's reservoir.
Consequently full with child, Carmilla fretted at first, fearing her days of haunting horrific hangouts for the sake of her own sexual satisfaction to be done and gone. However, as belief has been held throughout the ages that male gingers are (inexplicably) the greatest of lovers, the virago found fulfillment in her budding relationship with the burgundy-banged Belmont.
As such, Carmilla carried to term the babe she had conceived, she delivering the infant with her husband's help (the Diamond was bounced off the ground to initiate an incision for the most efficient of C-Sections). As implied, the two found eternal bliss in holy, passionate matrimony, and together they named their newly-arriving baby girl Similla, ever so similar to the Spanish "Semilla," which had stood for seed—and indeed, the child proved to germinate in no time into the strongest Belmont to conquer the later incarnations of Castlevania.
EPILOGUE TWO
Way over in a storeroom in Aljiba, the elder Belmont Trevor took it upon himself to haul up and head for the door a bit earlier in the morning. As it turned out now, he learned, there were still some pieces of Dracula doddering about in the land—including ever so randomly an ear, a femur, a spleen, a tiara, a boutonniere, and a certain intimate body part which this author could not dare to mention, as squeaky clean as the entirety of the above story has been.
Trevor began to set off, in any case, much to the chagrin of the caster of spells with whom he had enjoyed such a powerful, redoubtable bond. Sypha lay lazily upon the floor, she as undressed as he (Trev at present wore only the patch upon his left eye) yet she slightly covered in the smoky waistcoat she would wear in a much more generally Judgmental of times.
"Trevvy," she started from the ground, "come back here and give me a good shoulder rub." This was met by nothing from her paramour, as he primly ignored her.
This followed by
[FCHAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW]
an abrupt Lightning spell which took Trevor off his feet and backfirst to the floor. By the time he began to regain at least his knees in the middle of the Aljiban storeroom chamber, he found himself faced with his wife's brushing aggressively up against him, Madamoiselle Belnades with first her fairest belly naked against his features…then as Sypha hushed down a tad, those two enormous ovalescent sacred gifts pounding directly into his face.
"Damn it, bastard," she said vindictively, one of her aureate areolas an inch from her husband's line of vision. "Do you want to lose your right eye the same way you lost your left one?!"