In appreciation of his magnificent contributions to the communication of contemporary language, especially in the area of human sexuality. His amazing combination of breezy humor and lexical craftsmanship have rung up the curtain of mystery that has so needlessly separated his colleagues from the strange society they serve.
FOREWORD
In his Cyclopedic Lexicon Of Sex-probably the most comprehensive work of its kind ever published--Dr. J. E. Schmidt defines the term Sexolepsy as "A strong sexual craving ... coming on suddenly and characterized by restlessness, change in personality, loss of insight, and a tendency to sexual violence...." (italics ours.)
Jonathan Everest has illustrated this strange craving in the development of the characters which burst forth from the pages of his latest novel.
In the story itself, Everest does not, of course, use the abstruse, polysyllabic sex terms defined by Schmidt. But we include here a paragraph of comment couched in these terms.
***
To become the willing chattel of even so comely a female as Lady Loverly, Dirk Conway must have had a latent tendency to Pageism. He experiences mild algolagnia when his mistress makes him suffer to satisfy her strange desires but this is suddenly replaced by a strong anophelorastia-the craving to hurt, ravage and defile this beautiful young woman. As the sexolepsy progresses, the hegemonic balance changes, and the chatelaine becomes the chattel. As Lady Loverly experiences a reverse sexolepsy, she finds her libido temporarily geared to respond to a latent mastilagnia in her personality, lusting for the lashing pain that brings such strange release; needing the restraint of bonds to fetter her lovely body as she goes through the oddly compelling phase of merin-tholagnia.
***
But enough of these esoteric words! Let us now revert to language we all can understand, as Jonathan Everest gives us the setting, the props, and the frighteningly believable cast of characters who people this brightly illuminated stage.
Torn by the conflicting drives of their complicated sexualities, Lady Loverly and her chattel take us on a shockingly spellbinding journey, giving a graphic representation of the peculiar weaknesses to which some human beings are subject.
-The Publishers
Prologue
The setting was luxurious, very different from the several kinds of environment Lova Lee had known in her short life. She moved across the ridiculously thick carpeting of the bedroom to look out the window. The heavy drapes were still pulled aside, and their rich brocade gleamed as the bright moonlight poured in to highlight the silken sheen of the embossed pattern.
The antique flavor of the traditionally furnished boudoir was heightened by the design of the windows themselves. The random shapes of the glass panes, formed by the artistic leading which some long-dead craftsman had laboriously shaped, made her feel as though she were living in the distant past.
A shudder traveled over her entire body, and she felt the odd coolness of the night breeze as it flooded the room, swirling the filmy gown around her and pouring through the thousands of tiny orifices in the material to bathe her unusually warm skin.
She pulled the windows shut and closed the heavy bronze latch. It would never do to expose her virgin-hot body to that cool air for very long. She had waited all this time for the completion of her womanhood, and nothing-most especially a common cold-was going to rob her of a single thrilling moment of her honeymoon.
She read again the note her brother had pressed into her hand at the airport:
"Dear Sis, I've teased you a lot about your "virgophrenia" over the years. You must admit that your obsession is in opposition to the general trend of the times, and that I may have been right in recommending-on several of those occasions when I diagnosed your irritability correctly, to your dismay-that you relent and get yourself served by one of the many studs who were always hanging around you. But I have to respect you for your ideals. Or, rather, for having the courage to stick to them in the face of the agony I know you suffered. Not many gals with your strong sexuality could have resisted the many temptations you had to confront. As you enter your honeymoon, I want to wish you all the happiness and ecstasy you truly deserve. And if your "Christening night" is not quite all you had hoped it would be, don't be disappointed. What really matters is the ultimate relationship you build together.
Whatever else he may be, this man you have chosen, above all men, I sense that he is a gentleman. Surrender yourself to him completely, and I feel that you may find at least a portion of the joy that rightfully belongs to you.
Love, Doc"
She folded the note for the third time since she had received it, then put it m the drawer of the massive hand-carved nightstand by the huge canopied bed. Then she slipped in between the sheets, and watched the ornately brocaded counterpane undulate as her feet moved down in bed beneath it. Her frothy negligee, tossed on the top of the spread at the foot, bounced airily and then lay still.
She hunkered down into the covers, smelling the laundry-fresh scent of the linens, and was surprised to discover that she was shaking uncontrollably.
I can't be that scared, she told herself. Is it just the anticipation? Get a grip on yourself, you ninny! What will Arthur think if he sees you shivering like a cornered mouse? He just might be such a gentleman that he'd give you the Christian compliment-leave you untouched on your wedding night!
The very thought of such a disaster gave her a worse fright than she had ever known. She sat up in bed, wide-eyed, feeling the tiny bumps rise from her skin all over her lovely body.
Oh, Arthur, hurry! Please don't make me wait! She placed her nervous hands on her virginal breasts, cupping them forcefully, as if trying to quiet the sensations of anticipation that seemed to throb within the ripe mounds. But her touch only stimulated them, and the treacherous little buttons at their peaks distended to full bloom.
Quickly, she withdrew the offending hands, but the tumescent berries atop the pale satin hills did not subside. They seemed to ache and pulse for attention, now that they had been aroused to full fruition.
Lova, you fool! You couldn't let well-enough alone! And you can't take a cold shower now, with Arthur due any second-you should have braved that icy needle-stream when you had the chance.
She tossed about uneasily, trying not to muss up the neatness of her marriage bed. That must be reserved as the right of her husband. Tonight, all rights were his, and all privileges, and she would revel in his mastery and domination of her as he claimed these rights and exercised these privileges.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to diminish the strength of the sensations which flowed toward her center of womanhood. Again, she realized too late the error of her move. The firm pressure of her fleshy petals, one against the other, added to her excitement.
She tried to think back to other times when she had found it necessary to quell the rising tide of her libido. Surely, after all the struggles she had had, she could hang on for just a few more minutes?
Hurry, Arthur! Please! Hurry!..
Tiny beads of perspiration were forming on her upper lip, and their complementary drops of dew already were seeping past the tight slit of her virginal crotch. She had to slow down this rising crescendo of her body's anticipation.
Even during those long months in finishing school, when all her friends-even her roommate-were indulging their moistly blossoming desires, she had managed to sublimate. It hadn't been easy, but the endless scheduling of tennis, skating, swimming, and studying had minimized her problem moments.
And those many evenings and several afternoons with Arthur, before he had succumbed to her youthful charms and her surprisingly mature intellect-how had she held up then?
Frankly, I didn't, she recalled. That awful moment at the drive-in theatre when I waited too long-let too many kisses and squeezes go by-before excusing myself to go to the rest room! Then looking back after I stepped out of his car and seeing that dark, damp spot I'd made on the lovely gray upholstery! She couldn't remember whether she had been as angry at herself for her lubricous flow as she had at poor Arthur. But her stubborn anger at his having probably the only unprotected, light-colored, fabric upholstery she had ever seen in a sports car, dissipated into nothingness when she had finally screwed up her courage to return to the car.
His acting had been magnificent, and she could have married him for his gallantry alone, when he finally addressed her after she had reseated herself.
"Sorry if I've seemed not to pay any attention to you, Lova Lee, but I've been absolutely spellbound by this plot ever since just a few moments before you left the car." Only then had he turned to look at her solicitously, as he added, "Please forgive me for allowing a stupid movie to make me inattentive to such a lovely companion."
Yes, Doc, she said to her absent medical-student brother, he is most certainly a gentleman, this wonderful man I married. If only I can hold out until he comes to claim me! His only weakness-as far as I have been able to discover-is jealousy. He's so very possessive! Oh, Arthur! Possess me! Quick!
At the wedding ceremony, she had been so busy as the center of activities and so proud of her handsome, dignified groom, that she had not had time to become anxious. Even at the airport, saying goodbye to the family, she had been thoroughly preoccupied. And on the flight across the Atlantic, heading back to Arthur's ancestral home where he insisted they spend their first marital days, she had been so interested in her first flight, and so full of questions about Rosemoor and about the nearby town of Greenheath, that her physical self had been completely buried by the blanketing demands of her intellect.
"Oh, hurry, Arthur!" she said. And just as she realized that she had spoken her need aloud, the dressing room door opened.
"I am hurrying, darling. It's taken me so long only because I followed my physician's orders to ease into this situation slowly. The poor old duffer's worried about my heart. Can you imagine any just God letting anything serious happen to a man at a time like this-just when he's claiming the most delightful creature in the world as his wife?"
The covers were thrown back, and then he was beside her. His cool flesh told her that her groom had been wiser than she-he must have stayed under the cold shower quite a while to lower the temperature of his flesh that much.
But the warmth that filled him soon changed that!
Their lips joined hungrily, and his gentle hands caressed her face, her neck, her shoulders. Then his kisses were trailing down the same path.
Her nightgown straps were slipped off her shoulders as he paid homage to the satin smoothness of their surface. Then he was kissing the upper softnesses of her aching breasts. As the first of the nipples received its wet, tonguing caress, she hummed happily into his ear. By the time he was sucking gently at the other spongy erection, her happy melody was filling the room.
Somehow, the covers had been tossed downward, and her translucent gown was being lowered rapidly from the top, then from the bottom, as his loving kisses covered every inch of her delicious flesh. His tongue built a fire in her navel, and that dimple felt as though it would never cease to quiver with delight.
Then he was moving into the blonde curls of her womanly jungle, enjoying the soft, feathery feel of their scented tendrils. He took a deep breath for the eighth time since he had started kissing her, and for the eighth time, after inhaling her fragrance, he told her how much he loved her.
"I adore you so very much, Lova Lee," he would say, then renew his demonstrative proof with a worshipful zest.
Now he parted with his tongue the door to the forest dining room, and she moved her knees outward, abducting her thighs to give her lord all the room he desired to feast on her compelling womanhood.
As he delved into the virgin flesh with his lips and tongue, her delicate musk filled his nostrils, and his pulse raced with the great need he had of her beautiful, magnetic offering. Then he was licking the inner surfaces of her outer portals, tasting the faintly salty dew as he gathered it.
He probed carefully at the delicate inner blossom of her girlflower, parting the tender butterfly of flesh and pushing with his tongue at the tightly guarded opening from whence this nectar oozed.
It was so perfectly virginal that he could only insert the tip of his searching tongue. He placed his lips over the dewy petals and sucked lustily at the untouched depths, gaining only a little more of the exciting lubricant. But it aroused his bride to cry out.
"Oh, Arthur! I love you so much! I love to have you kiss me so sweetly!" She was gasping with passion, but her emotion was very ethereal, and it reached him as though a mighty hand had clutched at his heart.
Then she was moving her torso in tune with her excited involvement. Her laughably tiny erection, as he found it in its pinkly virginal cloak, seemed to thrust out at his lips and tongue as he sought to caress it lovingly. Her moans filled the room, and he was glad he had ordered the servants to retire. The sounds must be audible even down the hall to the old niche which used to serve as a night station, and where Strothers sometimes took up a watch when his master was under the weather or had been drinking more than he should.
The lovely body arched upward, and her fountain pressed itself snugly to his lips as she shuddered herself to a mighty release. A long, quivering sigh issued from her as she fell back onto the sheet.
"Oh, darling! You're such a wonderful lover! I'm so glad I saved myself for you!"
He moved upward, kissing his way across the satin belly, past the hot dimple of her navel, over the upthrust perfections of her maidenly breasts and their soft, springy berryfruit.
Then their lips joined again, and their tongues sought hungrily to communicate in depth. His achingly rigid manhood was pressing against her belly. Now he lowered himself, letting the throbbing tip of his swollen warhead slip into the jealous confines of the snug-lipped mouth which blossomed hotly below her belly.
He reached down and guided it into position, until he felt the wet, heated petals of her inner lips embrace his engorged tool. He thrust firmly but slowly at the stubborn entrance. His bride gave a startled cry, then muffled it with a handful of sheet. He stopped.
"I'm sorry, darling," he apologized. His heart was pounding maddeningly and he panted with his effort to calm his breathing.
"Don't stop, lover!" she said around her handful of linen. "I want you to take me; I want to be yours completely! I don't mind the hurt. It won't last. Come on, Arthur, my husband, take me!"
He gave a mighty shove, and felt the slightest give as some of her tight tissues tore slightly. But something else seemed to tear more completely. Something inside his chest. He tried to say something-to apologize for this horrid joke he suddenly knew he was forced to play on his lovely virgin bride. But only a vulgar rattle issued from his throat.
She lay there for a few seconds, wondering at the increased weight which bore down on her, and at the strange sound which her husband had made as he probed at her stubborn hymen.
He was too still. She couldn't feel him breathe, and he should be gasping from his efforts as he had been a moment before, as she still was from the dead weight on her chest and diaphragm.
Dead weight? Please God, NO!
"Arthur! Arthur, are you all right?" She struggled until she had worked herself out from under him, then got out of bed and turned on the light. She approached him slowly, fearful of what she would see.
His face was of a color somewhere between purple and blue.
"Arthur!" she screamed. "You can't! You just can't leave me! You can't leave me now! Not now!" But she knew he was gone. He would never finish the beautiful boudoir ballet he had begun.
She turned her face upward, and its soft, youthful contours were distorted into hateful lines of tension and anger. Her blue eyes were wide and full of venom.
"You up there-You God, You! Is this how You repay chastity? Did I go through agony to save myself-for this moment so You could have your big joke? I wait to give myself to the man I love, and then You pull him away while he's in the very act of making love to the woman he's united with under Your blessing?
"Well, screw You, God! You're not Love! You're filth!"
She turned and fell over the rapidly cooling body and started to sob.
CHAPTER ONE
Cecil Wethering's tall figure filled the doorway of the conference room as he entered. He closed the heavy oaken door behind him and resumed his seat at the table. For a moment, he covered his face in his hands, elbows resting on the waxed surface of the dark mahogany. Then he looked up at the face of the ancient clock which had graced the conference room wall at Wethering, Tipton & Beamish for three generations. He wondered if any of the forebears of the three contemporary partners had been forced into a task as distasteful as the one he had just finished.
"Pour us a whisky, won't you, Harold?" he requested. He watched as Harold Tipton opened the anteroom door and disappeared to procure the spirits. When the tepid Scotch-and-soda was set before him, he seized it quickly and sipped heavily at it.
"Thanks, old man," he told his younger colleague. "I hope we never have to go through anything like this again!" He took a second swallow and put down the glass, regarded Tipton's grim countenance, and wondered how much worse his own looked under the graying hair.
"It's a brutal thing to do to a lovely woman like that," Tipton said, sipping at the drink he had fixed for himself. "And what a bloody shame she let the cat out of the bag when she was having hysterics that night. With the complete report that ass of a doctor gave us, we're stuck with monitoring the poor lady's love life as if we were a bunch of bloody priests!" He sat down across from Wethering and sighed.
"Damn Beamish anyway, for not talking Sir Arthur out of this crazy clause, or at least softening it a bit!" said Wethering.
"Hell, we can't be too hard on poor old Paul, Cecil," replied Tipton. "Sir Arthur only gave him a few hours to put that new will together before he left on the boat train. With both of us on holiday, and only one clerk in the office, he must have damn well sweat blood getting it ready on time."
"I know. I'll have to apologize to Paul. It's just that this whole damned thing is so exasperating because it's the result of a number of unfortunate coincidences," groaned Wethering.
"I don't suppose," offered Tipton, "that we could ignore the doctor's report?" Wethering's negative headshake was firm, though the expression which accompanied it was painfully sad. "No, I guess I knew we couldn't," said Tipton.
"It's not as if she had to spend the rest of her life in a convent," mused Wethering, trying to bolster his own morale as much as that of his colleague. "She only has to remain chaste for a year from the date of his death, and she'll get the whole boodle."
"Cecil, if you'd been the one to hear Doctor Bentley's comments, you'd know how long that year's going to seem to Lady Launtford. He said she was in such a state that he couldn't even examine the deceased until he sedated her. And until the stuff took effect, she kept moaning for Sir Arthur to finish what he'd started, before she went out of her mind.
"Damn that kind of luck, Cecil! Why did Bentley have to confirm her physical virginity? He was there to issue a death certificate and to keep the widow from coming all apart. What the hell business was it of his to go probing around in her privies, anyhow?"
"Don't be too hard on Bentley, either, Harold," Wethering interjected. "I doubt if the most careless physician in Harley Street would have abstained from that examination. Launtford's death had occurred as he was attempting the defloration of his bride, and it was listed on the report as the contributory factor. Since Bentley was Launtford's family physician, naturally he wouldn't be less than thorough in determining the detailed cause of death.
"Besides, could you blame even an old medic like Bentley for taking a free grab at a bit of loveliness like that?"
"I bloody well feel like getting drunk," countered Tipton.
"You have old Mrs. Ainsley to see after lunch, don't you?" asked Wethering. "One can't let go, you know. Business as usual and all that."
"Fornicate old Mrs. Ainsley!" Tipton exploded.
"I'd rather not, old man, if it's all the same to you," replied the senior partner, summoning up a small grin in the midst of their shared discomfort. "She looks rather like her horses, you know."
"Can't she take care of herself, more or less?" asked Tipton. "I mean, women do masturbate, and all that." He looked over at Wethering with great concern showing in his expression.
"I should imagine that's about the only gratification the poor old woman's ever had. At least since old Ainsley was kicked in the head by his prize stud."
"Oh, turn it off, Cecil, you ass! I'm speaking of Lady Launtford," protested the younger partner.
"Yes," replied Wethering, suddenly sober again. "But I can't bear to think of the waste of it all. That delicious virgin is barely nineteen. Would to God that Sir Arthur had been trapped into a union with some Piccadilly tramp instead of that poor miserable girl!"
"Wait a bit. You wouldn't want to see almost two million pounds go to some Mawkes of a split-arse mechanic, would you?"
"No, by God! That I wouldn't," admitted Wethering. "Which reminds us that Lady Launtford does have a choice, after all. She can take the token inheritance of a few thousand pounds and go back to her family. With a dowry like that, and her magnificent natural endowments, she could have practically any man she wanted."
"True. Myself included," agreed Tipton. His eyes were dreamy as he recalled the lush figure Wethering had just ushered out to her car a few minutes past.
"I imagine Myra would have a few things to say about that," Wethering reminded him as they got up from the table.
"Myra always has a few things to say," Tipton replied wryly. "Which is another good reason for my interest in other females. I sometimes wonder if I wouldn't be better off if she broke the engagement. Can't bring myself to play the cad."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Harold, and let's get some lunch. You'll need all your energy for Mrs. Ainsley."
"I told you what you could do with Mrs. Ainsley," Tipton muttered with a groan.
"Thanks just the same, Harold, but I happen not to be queer for horses. Come on, finish your drink and I'll tell our top-heavy receptionist we're off to lunch."
CHAPTER TWO
"You may take the rest of the day off, Carman," Lady Launtford told her chauffeur. "I won't be using the car again today."
"Yes, milady. Thank you kindly." The uniformed figure closed the limousine door and moved slowly around the vehicle toward the driver's seat, trying not to be obvious as he eyed the trim figure making its way up the broad steps to the front entrance of Rosemoor.
Lova Lee Launtford saw the door open as she neared it, and old Strothers smiled at her with his sad eyes.
"Thank you, Strothers," she said, removing her black chiffon veil which she had worn with a dull black cloche in turban fashion. She let him take her black coat as soon as the door was closed, then she hurried to the broad staircase and made the tiring climb up to her rooms.
The heavy, leaded-glass windows were open, and she could smell the sweet chlorophyll of freshly mowed lawn as the gentle summer breeze poured up the side of the brownstone wall and into the room.
She threw herself across the bed, and the king size four-poster didn't even quiver with her slight weight. The emotions she had been bottling up inside all morning suddenly burst free, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed out her misery. When she was exhausted enough, she fell asleep. ... Then she was running through a freshly mowed pasture, and Arthur was running to meet her from the other side. Both were nude and laughing as he reached out and took her in his arms. They fell onto a pile of hay and he began to kiss her all over, until she couldn't stand it any longer. Then she tried to help him get his cock into her.
It was a purplish blue all over, and his balls were the same cyanotic shade. It frightened her, but she wanted that cock inside her no matter what color it was. Then he was pushing at her tight entrance, and she could feel the cunt juices flowing from her in eager anticipation.
"I'm sorry, Lady Launtford, but you'll have to wait for a year before you can do that," said Wethering, looming over them and peering down with a forbidding countenance.
"He's right, you know," said Arthur, scrambling to his feet and standing beside the solicitor. Her husband was really that same horrid color all over, she noticed suddenly. He smiled a mocking smile at her. "You wouldn't want to have a blue baby, would you, now?" he taunted.
"Damn you!" she shrieked. "Damn all of you for a bunch of blue-nosed British bastards! Don't you think a woman wants it? Needs it? Has to have it, just like a man?"
"Tch, tch, tch, tch," Arthur tongue-clicked at her. "You're a lady now, remember. A lady must not lower herself to vulgarity."
"Yes," seconded Wethering, nodding his iron-gray temples and his sadly pained face at her. "Sir Arthur has made you a lady. You are now Lady Launtford, and you have an obligation to fulfill-a responsibility. Noblesse oblige, you know."
"Fuck you!" she screamed. "I was a lady all of my nineteen years! I saved myself for that knight-that ... that ... blue knight there! That damned wedding knight with his broken lance and his broken heart! I'm sick of being a lady! I want to get screwed! I want a man! I want someone who can finish the joust with blood on his lance and my cherry on the tip of it."
"Well, we can pay you off, Lady Launtford," offered Wethering. "If only you'll give up Rosemoor and the bulk of the estate, we'll let you return to GO and collect three-thousand pounds. You may be more fortunate on the next throw of the dice."
"But you can't have Baltic and Mediterranean," said Arthur, with a satanic grin. "They're mine, because they're blue like me!"
Suddenly both of them were offering her money. Huge, wallpaper-like notes, colorfully exaggerated Monopoly money, with the Queen's likeness peering out at her with a sympathetic smile.
"Stick your pretend-money up your tight asses-both of you!" she yelled at them. "I'll hold out for a goddam year!" She was sobbing and trying to talk at the same time.
"You forgot awfully quick, Arthur!" she accused. "You kept telling me how you wanted Rosemoor to be mine. You said my beauty and the beauty of Rosemoor were made for each other. Now you're anxious to get rid of me. What happened to you, Arthur? You were nicer before you turned blue. You cared about me, then. Why did you have to turn blue, Arthur?" She sobbed at him and studied his blue face.
"You hid your cherry from me, Lova Lee," Arthur accused. "You made it too hard to find. If I could have found it in time, I would have turned a beautiful ruddy pink, and we could fuck and fuck and never stop. It's all your fault, Lova Lee! You should have made it easier for me, so I could be a healthy pink instead of this awful blue. You made me dead, Lova Lee, and now you have to suffer for it!"
She woke up screaming ... Strothers was pounding on her door. She caught her breath, realizing that she was sobbing and gasping. She rolled over and sat up.
"Are you all right, milady?" Strothers was asking her.
"Yes, Strothers, thank you. It was only a bad dream. I'll be all right, now." She held her breath until she heard the squeak of the oaken floorboard which told her he had gone off down the hall. Gone to the old upstairs maid's station in the cul-de-sac at the center of the large upstairs hall. He had placed himself there, on watch, every night since Arthur's death. At dawning, she knew, he would flip over the signal switch on the chime in the cul-de-sac, and go back down to the servants' wing on the lower floor.
The old man had served two generations of Launtfords, and seemed to get the little sleep he needed in that old chair in the cul-de-sac. The chair that matched the hall carpet and the drapes at the hall windows.
Lova Lee got off the bed and went through the dressing room into the bathroom. She rinsed her face until she thought the swelling had almost completely gone down. After she toweled her skin dry, she chanced a peek into the mirror that formed the complete end wall of the posh bathroom. Her eyes were still understandably puffy, and a bit dark, but that should clear up in a few minutes.
She peeled off her clothing, tossing it through the doorway into the adjoining dressing room, then seated herself on the pink bidet that matched the other fixtures in the room. She adjusted the water temperature until it was just a bit warmer than her body. Then she aimed the attached hose at her hot slit, and heaved a shuddering sigh as the warm stream played on her clitoris and the already slippery-wet opening of her vagina.
"Oh-h-h! That feels so good! But a man would feel so much better! Oh, God! How am I going to survive for a whole year? I want to be fucked so bad I can taste it!" She moaned as the stream pressured her excitement-swollen tissues, then gasped sharply as a shadow fell over her shoulder. She looked around at the intruder and caught her breath again in a choking half-sob, half-unborn scream.
"I'm just the chap who can oblige you, milady!" said the tall, dark youth who stood in the bathroom doorway.
CHAPTER THREE
Lova Lee's shocked surprise was so great that she didn't even make the first attempt to cover her nudity. She had dropped the hose and it was streaming away in the bidet, making a bubbling sound as it gurgled just below the water's surface.
"H ... H ... How did you g ... g ... get in here?" she was finally able to ask. The sheepish grin on the young man's face matched the blush that was working its way up his neck to darken his features. She couldn't help letting her gaze fall to the tight crotch of his mod-snug trousers. The swelling shaft was eloquent under the stretched fabric.
"Through your window," he confided. His eyes were consuming her naked loveliness, and he licked suddenly-dry lips with a dripping tongue as he fastened his gaze on her proud, out-thrust breasts. "I didn't expect you to be in here," he added.
"And why not, I'd like to know?" she inquired. "I live here, which reason you certainly don't have for your presence." She was fighting mixed emotions. They were all so strong that she still did not try to hide her vulnerable loveliness from his hungry eyes.
Her indignation at the intrusion of this outsider was magnified by her newly acquired status as lady of the manor, making her feel doubly required to demand an explanation for this invasion of her privacy by a person of obviously lesser social standing.
But her overextended period of lifetime chastity, especially with the erotic beginnings of the late Sir Arthur, and the agony of her protracted unfulfillment, was working mightily on her resistance. The dream she had just suffered through had not helped her any. And her pitiful attempt at hydro-masturbation had not been allowed to continue long enough to give her surcease from her misery.
The swelling in those trousers became more and more compelling as she continued to be hypnotized by its presence.
"I'm fair caught, aren't I?" said the young man, in a warm, deep, virile tone. "So you may as well know. I began looking the old place over as soon as I read the news storey about your late husband's deserting you on your nuptial night. Figured that there might be a few choice pieces of swag here, and the confusion which usually follows a death in the family often makes for easy transfer of ownership, if you see what I mean."
"You're certainly a cool one," Lova Lee countered, as her pink tongue nervously moistened her full lips. "Aren't you afraid I might scream for help and bring the servants down on you?" His grin now seemed rather perturbing to her, and his gaze continued to travel over her rapidly warming body. It was like a physical caress, the way his eyes seemed to move, slowly and appreciatively covering each tiniest area of her exposed body.
"Begging your pardon, milady," he said softly, once more wetting his lips as his eyes caressed her ripeness, "I don't wish to contradict so lovely a lady, but if I'm permitted a slight modification, I'll say that I was cool as amentholated massage when I came in that window, but right now I feel as if I'm in a bloody sauna. Pardon the language, milady, but I'm a bit fuzzy about the head from the fantastic beauty of you!"
A warm thrill ran up her back, and she felt as if she might be blushing over the entire surface of her nude body. Little ripples of nervous reflex moved beneath the skin of her belly and thighs.
"I ... I ... think you had better leave the way you came," she said, wondering if this was really her own voice betraying the agonizing need of her body. Am I that eager for the inheritance, she wondered. Or is it the taste of power that this brief stewardship of Rosemoor has given me?
Her intellect and her physique were battling within her, and the struggle was almost too much. Why doesn't he leave? I can't stand it much longer! Oh, Gad! His maleness! The way his cock swells out the front of those pants!
"Don't you understand? I'm giving you the chance to get away without being arrested for breaking in here. Go quickly, while you can!" Her blue-violet eyes were large and round as she regarded his face. He was staring at her with a strange expression, and once more licking his lips with what looked to her like a hell of a long tongue!
"I don't think I can leave," he said huskily. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and she saw the sweat reforming almost immediately on his brow. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and she could read his thoughts.
"No! You don't understand! I'm still a virgin! And if I can't manage to stay a virgin for a whole year, I lose this estate! Now, please! I beg of you! Go, before it's too late. If you rape me, you'll be taking more than my maidenhead-you'll be robbing me of my inheritance. Oh, please go!" She was moaning as she finished, and she could feel her defenses crumbling. Soon she would crawl off this miserable bidet and bite through his clothing to get at that stiffly swollen hunk of masculinity she couldn't stop staring at.
"Oh, no! I couldn't rape you. You're too beautiful and soft and sweet for that! But may I not just kiss you? Won't you let me taste the wonder that I can't believe I'm seeing? Please don't send me away, yet!" He was kneeling, now, and the movement had placed him nearer her awkward throne by the length of his muscular calves.
"I don't dare risk it," she said huskily, barely able to speak as her emotions seized her by the throat. "I have reason to believe that this house may be under surveillance by people who work for the executors of the estate-they as much as warned me of that this morning. If you were seen entering, and don't leave quickly, they may investigate." She was in absolute torment as she felt this fateful masculine gift departing before it could be utilized. Her own brow was covered with perspiration, now.
She was amazed to hear him laughing softly, and for a moment she feared he had lost his sanity. Could a woman's body drive a man to such sudden madness?
"If that's what stays your consent, milady, let your mind rest easy." His eyes were sparkling now with renewed hope, as he felt what might be his only obstacle melting in front of him.
"Dirk Conway's no amateur, milady. I spotted the watchman who has his post near the old gatehouse down there. Every car that gets near, every lorry and bicycle, he ducks into the shrubbery. But I studied the place well before I planned my route. I came over the back wall, and I promise you that no living soul knows I'm in the house."
Lova Lee wet her lips and panted heavily as she looked deep into the gray eyes which were shining at her with their message of truth and hunger and adoration. She got slowly to her feet, and turned until her gloriously golden delta of womanhood was inches from the eager face.
"Oh, I hope you're right, Dirk Conway! I can't hold out any longer. Kiss me, Dirk! For God's sake, love me with your lips and your tongue, before I lose my mind."
He scooted forward on his knees, and his hot hands seized her by the thighs. Then he was kissing her. A veritable rain of kisses poured over the heated flesh of her knees, her thighs, and-finally, just as she thought she couldn't stand another moment's waiting-the swollen lips of her pinkly gleaming slit.
He licked at the glistening feathery forest that covered her hot mound, and her knees moved farther apart, shaking and trembling with the violence of her emotion, and parting the heavy lips of her cunt just as his tongue lapped upward on its famished journey.
"I'm too weak to stand here, like this, Dirk," she told him. "Let's go into the bedroom. Quickly!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Lova Lee rushed past the kneeling Dirk Conway, but as she entered the bedroom she remembered that sounds in that room might be heard in the hall outside the door of the suite.
She whirled and ran back into the dressing room, colliding with the eager second-story man as he emerged belatedly in pursuit of her. Their collision ended in an embrace, and their mouths joined in a wet connection that stirred them into feverish activity.
As their tongues dueled, Lova Lee's Hands clutched around Dirk's waist, her fingers buried in the muscular flesh of his back, and her thumbs pressing his belly muscles in spasms. His hands were sliding down her bare back, forming downward over the exciting slopes of her buttocks, then seizing these ripe cheeks in hungry handfuls.
Their ravenous mouths separated and they gasped in air, then Dirk's lips and tongue nibbled and teased a wet trail down her chin, neck and collarbone area until he reached the maddening mound of one soft-hard breast. He nibbled at the surface with his lips, then tongued it gently until he reached the peak. The moment her virginal nipple erected, he sucked it into his mouth and worked at it as if he were starved. He started to shift to the other breast.
"Oh, no! I can't wait!" she cried, and her hands took his head and guided it downward. As his hot kisses trailed over her belly, she began to quiver, then collapsed onto the rug, pulling him down with her. He licked at her navel, probing the cute dimple with the tip of his tongue, until she moaned deeply, and forced his head farther down on her heated body.
As his face moved into soft, blonde feathers, he became highly excited, and his tongue lapped at the golden tendrils as he tried to taste the female flavor of her which he thought should be there.
But her short session at the bidet had rinsed her thoroughly, and the surface of her love mound and its golden forest were tasteless. He groaned his exasperation, hungry to get at her womanly flavor.
His hands moved from their grip on her buttocks, sliding around to slip beneath his searching mouth until his fingers found the very swollen but snugly clinging outer lips of her virgin cunt. He parted the slit hastily, and the rough action wrested a whimper from Lova Lee's panting mouth.
Dirk licked out at the inner surfaces of the thickened lips, and just at that moment the first faint scent of her female juices reached his nostrils. These heated fumes of her healthy secretions stirred him to new hungers, and he lapped greedily at her pink meat as it lay exposed to him.
Her whimpering became a steady melody as he sucked at a choice bit of flesh here, lip-nibbled at a tender succulence there, and tongued up into the fleshy cleft frequently, teasing the taut little tit of erected flesh which held her greatest sensual feelings.
Then his taste buds really reacted to the mildly acid liquor of her generously flowing fountain. The thrilling taste made him suck and swallow at her flesh until he had cleaned the outer area entirely. Unsatisfied, he thrust his tongue into the tight entrance of her uninvaded girl-cave. He was stopped by the stubborn curtain of membranous tissue which barred the way. Impatiently, he placed his lips around the hot meat of her cunt entrance and sucked hard at the virgin depths, bringing forth a sweetly rewarding swallow of her compelling lubricant.
"Oh, Dirk! You're drinking my cunt dry! Oh, lick me! Eat me! I'll make more for you! Take it all, lover! Ooh-h-h-h!" Her words were bursting out of her in tempo with her now moving hips, which tried to maneuver her heated cunt into the hungry maw which was so thoroughly feasting on her treasured flesh.
He found it difficult to keep his mouth on the center of this rapidly moving target, but then he managed to dive directly at it and fix his lips once more over the darkening pink flesh of her glory hole. He sucked deeply, and was repaid with a freshly exuded swallow of her womanly fluid.
She moaned loudly, and her back arched upward. A heavy tremor shook her whole body, and as her back relaxed into a straight line, letting her down again on the rug, she quavered out a tremolo of whimpering moans.
She lay awfully still, and as a deep sigh gusted from her throat, Dirk gave a last appreciative lick at her wet meat, then raised his head and studied her fascinatingly beautiful body as it lay in complete repose.
He licked his lips, then leaned back on his haunches, feeling the dull ache in his loins where his own juices had swollen his tissues and impacted around sensitive nerves.
Lova Lee's head came up and she leaned on her elbow, looking at him for a split-second, then crawling to her knees and facing him. Her hands reached out and fumbled excitedly at his trousers, trying to open the fly. She was too eager, and couldn't grasp the zipper in her nervous fingers. She was panting her excitement.
"Dirk, take them off! Hurry! I've got to get to that hard cock before I go crazy!"
He undid his fly, stood up quickly, and peeled off his trousers and shorts. For the first time, she noticed that he was barefoot! He had just kicked the clothing aside with his foot when she grabbed him by the thighs, just above his knees, and pulled herself to him.
His painfully rigid cock shafted out from the curly black hair of his belly, pulsing in throbbing tempo. He was not circumcised, she saw, but the strain of his erection had tugged the foreskin almost completely off the swollen redness of the crown-like head.
Her hand grasped the shaft at its base and slid the skin the rest of the way to the rear. His warhead looked magnificently and dangerously male as it throbbed pulsing just below her nose. She could smell the faintly goaty, pollen-smell of his semen, and saw that it was perhaps caused by the heavy drop which had oozed out the tiny slit at its tip.
She licked out at the wet pearl as if she were a lizard snaring an insect, and caught the damp gem, bringing it back on her pink tongue-tip and sucking it greedily into her mouth. Then she lashed out again, rimming the circumference of his brutally sharp and heavy coronal ridge.
My God! she thought, If that got in my cunt it could hang up in me like the barb on a fish hook! I might never get loose! The dangerous feel that thought gave her seemed to make her hotter than ever, and she sucked and licked eagerly at the heated shaft.
"Oh! Great Caesar, Lady Launtford! You'd better stop that! I can't take much more before I let go at you!" He was groaning and gasping as she licked and sucked at him, refusing to stop when he warned her.
Then the hard muscle of his cock seemed to swell larger than ever in her mouth, and he groaned out a terrible sound as she felt a hot, thick glob of something hitting the back of her throat. She choked a split-second, then swallowed it, and suddenly she was getting a rapid series of repeated spurtings of the same stuff.
Good grief! she thought. It's not like my juice at all! It's so thick and so powerful as it comes out of that big gun of his! She kept swallowing as the hot semen squirted potently into her mouth and throat. Finally he was through, and she let the rapidly softening shaft ease out of her mouth.
As the tip dragged over her lower lip, she felt a sticky thread of the gluey fluid cling there, and she watched in fascination as the thread spun out thinner and thinner, connecting his departing cocktip from her mouth.
For the first time, she could get a taste of the stuff as she drew a breath into her open mouth. It was not at all unpleasant! Very bland-almost tasteless. But yet it had a compellingly male flavor that was just barely detectable. Suddenly, she wanted it all!
She leaned forward, licking at the dangling thread of his fluid seed with her tongue, gathering it in as she followed his movement. He was falling backward, starting to lie down on the rug in post-orgasmic weakness. Her mouth followed his fleshy needle, licking at the thread and sucking it up as she neared him.
Then she was at the source! She placed her lips around the sharp ridge of the head, and sucked deeply. She could feel a small suckling of the heavy cream detach itself from inside his fleshy tube, then it splatted against her tongue.
She sucked hard again, and a protesting groan welled out of Dirk's throat as he pulled her meal away from her.
"Milady! You've got all I have in me! Let me rest a moment, please!" He gasped and fell back from the half-sitting posture he had assumed as he protested her cannibal-like tenacity.
Lova Lee let her legs slide from under her, and her buttocks plopped softly but firmly on the heavy carpeting. She sat there, licking her lips and thinking things over quietly as she watched Dirk's breathing gradually smooth out. His heaving belly slowed until the rhythmic movement of his diaphragm seemed quite peaceful as the skin over his ribs first drew taut, outlining the bones beneath, then slacked to give his ribcage a more even, padded appearance. She licked her lips again, and her eyes narrowed.
"Dirk. Do you make your living by burglarizing people's homes?"
He sat up sharply and looked at her. His mouth was slightly open, and the mild amazement in his eyes told her that he hadn't expected such forthright questioning.
"Such as it is, milady. The season's really just beginning."
"What season?" she wanted to know. He rearranged his legs and arms more comfortably and cleared his throat.
"Those that have posh townhouses in London are just now preparing to spend the hot months in the country or at some resort on the continent. Often they overlook a few details when they put the valuables in storage, or they count on one or two servants to keep watch while they're away. But servants like to take a bit of a fling during vacation time, too, and I've made quite a few pounds just knowing where to go and when, so I could clean out someone's little treasure nest." He grinned his embarrassment as he realized that he had just described how he preyed on his hostess' peers.
Lova Lee's ringers were thoughtfully twining a strand of her long, blonde hair into a tight curl, and she had a far-away look in her violet-blue eyes.
"How much can you make in a year, doing what you do?" she asked.
"It's very difficult to say. One year a bloke can clear maybe four or five thousand pounds, or even more-especially if he's got a good connection for disposing of the swag. Another year he may not more than meet expenses of a pretty sad existence. Why do you ask?" His gray eyes pierced her with his sharpened curiosity.
"How would you like to work for me?" she asked. Her own eyes now pierced into his demandingly.
"No, thank you milady. I fear I don't have the right attitude for domestic service. Nor the training. And I can make as much in three months this summer as a domestic earns in a whole year."
"I had a different kind of service in mind, Dirk," she said. "And I'll pay you ten thousand pounds for the year-actually it would be a few weeks less, so you'd have a paid vacation-or holiday, as you people seem to prefer to call it." She waited for his reaction.
"Whom do I have to murder for you?" he asked, grinning his disbelief. When he saw that she wasn't smiling, he sobered quickly. Lady Launtford was regarding him appraisingly, as if she were about to buy a pet poodle-or a stud horse.
"I'm risking a lot on you," she told him. "I'm gambling that you have three qualities absolutely essential to the game. If I'm wrong about one of the three, you must promise to leave here the same way you came-without being seen. If I lose on either of the remaining two, I can kiss Rosemoor goodbye, and more than four million dollars along with it!"
Dirk looked at her with increased interest, letting the vague proposition roll around in his mind as he figured his chances of bargaining in the presence of so much boodle.
"I'm no guts," he said, lapsing into the familiar slang of his Cockney fellows in crime. "But I've been in the lump enough that I won't be cony-catched and carved up like some buttered bun, neither. Make it twenty-thousand quid, and I'm your gent, whatever it is you need."
"Would you mind putting that in English?" she asked.
"I don't want to be a bloody pig about the splosh-I mean, the money-but I've had some hard times, and I don't want to be swindled or duped like a country bumpkin. If you're going to come into all that swag, you oughtn't to miss twenty-thousand pounds. If I pig in with you-I mean, if I'm to share your residence, it's a whole bloomin' year off my young life."
"All right, Dirk Conway. I'll meet your price. But we'll have to have a complete understanding. First, our arrangement will be possible only if I can manage to get rid of the servants. I think I have an idea how to do it, but until that's accomplished, it's impossible for you to hide here.
"Second, I can pay you at the end of the year only if we succeed in fooling them-I mean, the executors of the estate, and their watchdogs-for the entire year.
"Another thing: To earn your money, you'll have to do exactly as I say. You may not have the right attitude now, but for that much money you should be able to change a little. And you needn't worry about training. I'll teach you all you'll need to know. You just follow my orders at all times. Agreed?"
"What are those three qualities I'm supposed to have? If I'm to gamble with you, I'll have to know."
"Fair enough. I intended to tell you anyhow. If you don't have any one of the three, now's the time for you to get out of here. The first requirement is that you are really capable of what you claimed earlier: You must be absolutely certain that you were not seen as you entered this house-or even the grounds. Can you say positively that not one soul knows you are here?"
"I don't lay on to be a bloody magician, milady, but that was no hank about my knowin' my business. First place, I looked over the grounds for three days before I planned my visit. That comer cove at the gatehouse area-he's no city bulldog. Likes to loaf too much...."
"Corner cove?" repeated Lova Lee questioningly.
"I guess you call 'em goldbrickers or lazy louts. Anyhow, it was no trick to avoid him, and he's on the job by his lonely. He only checks out the rest of the wall around the estate once each night, even then not looking too close at the ground. And I gave him no tracks to find."
"What about the servants?" she wanted to know.
"The geezer that buttles for you stays someplace out there in the hallway every night. Must sleep in his clothes. Every few minutes he shows up at one of the windows at the end of the hall. You keep him out there for a watchman while you're sleeping?"
"No. He insists on staying out there in case I need anything. He's been doing it ever since Sir Arthur died. I worried him because I cried a lot and wouldn't eat much."
"Well, I knew he'd come up to the hallway, 'cause I saw him at the windows. I was counting on you being asleep. I came in the dressing room window, because it's the kind I can open without my Betties-my jimmy-tools. And because I knew you couldn't hear me enter from out there in the bedroom."
"How do you know the chauffeur didn't see you?" she countered.
"That Boglander started blowing the froth right after he brought you back from Lunnon. He's so full of the foamy you can hear him snore from the back side of the garage down below."
"And the cook?" she had to ask.
"Old lick-fingers is a jennywine sherry prig. She's got her bottle tucked away near the kitchen window, and if you was to take a walk in the garden and get in the shrubbery, you'd see her have many a nip. Like I did several times since just before the sun went down. No, she won't be in any fix to know what's what outside that kitchen and her own room, where she is now."
"I hope you're right, Dirk. I'm counting on your having slipped in here unobserved."
"Never you worry, milady. Now what about them other qualities?"
"You have to be sharp enough to remain hidden until I get the servants out of the house, and to do what's asked of you-everything I tell you to do-and no more, for the entire year. It will take a keen mind, and you'll have to remember which side of your bread is buttered, and who it is that's going to sprinkle the sugar on it at the end of the year."
"I'll manage that, I think, milady. What's the other requirement?"
Lova Lee had started to blush again. This time she was well aware of her deepening pinkness. Her fingers toyed with the nap of the lush carpeting, and she watched it intently, thus avoiding Dirk's eyes. Rapidly, trying to hide her embarrassment and the mild shame she felt at being forced to "hire a gigolo" for her needs, she told Dirk Conway of the interrupted defloration on her wedding night, and the strange terms of her possessive husband's will.
"Coo!" said Conway. "No wonder a prig like me got to taste milady's treasures. You must have been fair crazy with need for a man. What a bloody shame!"
"Do you think you can take care of me like you just did-for a whole year-without losing control of yourself and trying to rape me with that thing?"
"It won't be the easiest job I ever had!" he replied, licking his lips as he admired her loveliness. "But the money's right, and there's no doubt I'm a lucky bloke to be able to enjoy such a beautiful body in any manner at all! To say nothing about the cooshy digs I'll have to live in."
"Could you ... do you think you're ready to ... I mean, would you like to enjoy me again ... now? Yes, I guess you would! My goodness, Dirk, but that looks just as hard as it was before!"
"You can believe it, milady! But what must I call you? Mayn't I know milady's name?"
"My name's Lova Lee, but I think I want you to keep on treating me as your employer. I rather like the 'milady bit; I'm just getting used to it!"
"May I call you Lady Loverly?" he wanted to know.
"I think I'd like that," she said, and her legs opened to him invitingly as her heels moved away from each other across the rug. He needed no urging. His mouth was soon on her thigh and moving upward.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cecil Wethering let the outer-office bell ring four times before he remembered that "Breasty Beth"-as her employers secretly referred to her-had been sent on an emergency errand, leaving the reception desk unattended.
He picked up the handset of the instrument on the conference-room table as the persistent button flashed its indicator light for the fifth time.
"Wethering, Tipton and Beamish," he said crisply, hoping that he wouldn't become embroiled in a nuisance conversation with one of their lesser clients. He nurtured an extreme distaste for such unscreened contacts with the world outside his office. But he couldn't ignore the summons. It might be one of their important clients, whose troubles-major and minor-accounted for the fat fees which swelled the partnership bank account.
"Yes, Doctor," he said, sitting up more properly in his chair. He motioned to Paul Beamish, who sat across the table, and the balding man got to his feet and reached over to pick up the monitoring earpiece which duplicated the function of the handset receiver.
"No, young Tipton is not fondling Top-heavy Tessie in the cloakroom. She's out of the office at the moment. And her name is Beth-'Breasty Beth' to the inner circle. What did you want to talk to our charming receptionist about, you old rake?"
Wethering quickly covered the transmitter with his hand as Paul Beamish started to chuckle uncontrollably. When the older, most junior partner of the law firm regained control, the senior solicitor removed his hand and spoke.
"But what reason did she give for such an unusual request? ... Doctor Bentley, privileged communications are not restricted to the medical profession. You seem to forget that, as Lady Launtford's solicitors and executors of her late husband's estate, we also are involved in her affairs in a most personal manner, especially where estate administration is concerned ... I'm afraid that's not quite sufficient, Doctor. We naturally respect your recommendations, but not without adequate reasons...."
The two solicitors let their mouths open in amazement, and their eyes were wide as their gazes met across the table while Dr. Bentley out-lined his patient's motivation.
"My God!" Wethering interjected. "The poor girl must be at her wit's end to make such an admission ... Can't you provide her with some sort of medication to sedate her libido? ... Not without undesirable side-effects, eh? ... Well, in that event, I suppose we owe it to her to honor her wishes ... No, we shan't require any length of time to effect the change ... I see. Well, if she's so eagerly awaiting your call, tell her we'll have them all out of there today. But, wait a bit! There's no need to sack the cook!"
Again the lawyers looked at each other wide-eyed as the doctor expounded over the wire. Wethering swallowed, then cleared his throat before he could reply.
"Good Lord! She must be in misery to confide a thing like that! Of course. We'll take care of it. Thank you, Doctor."
Wethering replaced the handset and sighed wearily. Beamish still stood, as if in a trance, holding the monitor earpiece as if he'd forgotten he had it in his hand.
The outer door of the suite closed loudly, and then Harold Tipton entered the conference room. He looked at the tableau for a minute, then walked over to Beamish and took the earpiece from the unresisting hand. He placed it to his ear and pretended to listen.
"She must have hung up on you. What did Myra have to say?"
"Myra?" asked Beamish, turning a blank look on the number-two partner.
"Look, old man, it had to be Myra, you know. Only my fiancee could be on the line when you do nothing but listen. She's the only person I know who gives you no chance to reply to her."
Beamish came out of his trance and grinned weakly at Tipton's humor, but Wethering still wore a thoughtful frown as he interrupted the jest.
"I only wish it had been your talkative inamorata, Harold. Sit down and we'll acquaint you with the latest Launtford development." Tipton sobered his features and slid into a chair at the table.
"Lady Launtford has told her physician that it's necessary to get rid of all the servants at Rosemoor. Since you're...."
"Get rid of all the servants?" Tipton interrupted. "She thinks they're disease carriers, or what?"
"No, Harold. Control your impetuous tendencies toward being the wit, and listen. As I started to say, since you're best acquainted with the household accounts, etcetera, you'd best handle the thing with the entire staff. So be certain that you understand these few details.
"Lady Launtford's very naturally healthy libido seems to have been magnified beyond her complete control by the shock of having her defloration interrupted before completion. The terribly cruel manner in which it was left incomplete no doubt affected her greatly. You can imagine the possibilities.
"Nevertheless, she fears that a sudden nymphomania might seize her, and she might be so affected mentally that she could make improper advances to the servants. It will be obvious just how great a phobia this has become, when I tell you that she fears she might even force her attentions on the cook!
"She insists that she can get on quite well by herself, if her instructions are followed. Now, here's the schedule: You are to advise each member of the staff, individually, that they must pack up and leave today. Give each a bank draught equal to one month's salary, and inform each that they will receive their regular salary each month for as long as they remain otherwise unemployed. If they wish to reenter Lady Launtford's service one year hence, they may make such application in writing to our office exactly fifty weeks from today.
"Strothers, the butler, is to be advised of one additional option. If he wishes, because of his lengthy tenure with the Launtfords, I suppose, and his personal fidelity to Lady Launtford since the unfortunate death of her husband, he may take up residence at the Launtford house in Mayfair for the entire year. Lady Launtford would like to retain him by means of this temporary reassignment, if he is agreeable.
"To prevent the asking of questions which we can't possibly answer, simply state that Lady Launtford intends to take a year's solitary rest while she is in mourning. You needn't be any more specific, no matter what questions are asked. Understood?"
"Of course, Cecil. But how will she get on? She has to have someone shop for her needs, and all that."
"Yes. Well, she wants us to make any necessary arrangements for semi-weekly delivery of supplies. She'll phone her shopping lists to whomever we designate. Of course, we have to continue the surveillance arrangements by the terms of the will. But tell Burton to be sure that his men all understand one thing, which takes precedence over any other orders: They are to avoid-positively-any contact with Lady Launtford. If she appears to be approaching them, they must make themselves scarce, then phone a report of such occurrence to this office, immediately. We'll give Beth orders to contact Dr. Bentley if any such report comes in. I hope we can think of a logical explanation for these instructions. We don't want half of Buckinghamshire thinking milady's a mental case who has to be avoided at all costs!"
"God!" said Tipton, as his eyes mirrored the pained pity on his partners' faces. "I'd almost rather have to deal with Mrs. Ainsley!"
"I know what you mean," Wethering replied.
"Damned shame!" added Beamish. He got up and headed for the bar in the anteroom. He found that he had to pour a third stiff tot of whisky before he got to drink any himself.
CHAPTER SIX
Dirk Conway set the last item on the table-a covered salver of kippered herring and eggs-then pulled out the high-backed old chair as Lova Lee entered the dining room to take her seat. He eased the chair toward the table as she lifted her magnificent buttocks slightly. Stepping backward, he admired the creamy pearlescence of the taut skin. Even spread over the brocaded fabric by her weight, those rounded cheeks were exciting.
He removed the cover to the sideboard, then served her breakfast. As he took up the butler's position between sideboard and table, he ogled the awesome sight of her beautifully sculptured body, perfectly postured in the antique chair as she calmly partook of her morning meal, just as if she were completely dressed for the occasion.
Even though he had been feasting his oral appetites on the wealth of womanhood contained in her exciting body for weeks, and despite the manner in which she so completely drained him of his seed every night-several times, last night-he couldn't cease his adoration of her very feminine physique.
"Sit down and join me, Dirk," she commanded. He took a plate from the warmer on the sideboard, and the extra silver he had placed there, in case she decided to invite him, and put them on the linen at her right, just around the comer of the table from where she sat. He drew up a chair from its normal place farther down the table, and seated himself at the spot when she wanted him to be on those occasions when she invited him to share her company during meals.
He served himself from the abundant supply on the salver, then took a small bite of kipper as he studied his mistress.
Godiva! That's who she bloody well reminds me of. That long, blonde hair flowing down over her naked skin, and the beauty of it seeming so damned pure and innocent. But it is! She's a virgin, which is more than Lady Godiva could claim at the time of her ride.
He tried to concentrate on his food, knowing that he needed to keep up his strength for the demands his lady placed on him. But he kept thinking about the strange relationship most of the time, maddeningly delicious in its better moments. But at other times, he almost wished he had not agreed to her terms so implicitly.
From the moment he had curled up on the dressing room carpet, that first night-the night he had sneaked in to steal a few gems and remained to enjoy the wildest treasure of his life-he had accepted her terms and her complete control.
When the servants all had gone, and they knew they were alone, she had almost burst with the pressures she had been keeping pent up inside her. She had grabbed him by the hand and led him in a-mad rush downstairs to the dining room, where they pulled the heavy drapes shut before turning on the bright lights of the glistening chandelier. Then she had turned and sat on the table, scooting herself across it, wrinkling up the tablecloth, until her feet reached the edge. Then she lay back and spread her perfectly shaped thighs, presenting a fantastic effect. It was as though a deep pink blossom formed the centerpiece of the table, and the golden fern-fronds surrounding it only accented the appetizing appearance of its moist, warm blossoming.
"Dine on me, Dirk!" she had cried out to him. And his already erecting cock had pulsed achingly as he moved to comply with her request. It had been an unbelievably exciting banquet. After he had brought her twice to her tremendous peaks, she had made him take the supine position on the table.
"Oh, God!" she moaned. "Look at that lovely stalk of asparagus! It's so thick! And it has a beautiful fruity head! I hope it's absolutely full of hollandaise sauce!"
Then she had proceeded to nibble and suck at the fleshy stalk until she had swallowed as much sauce as she could wring from it.
Even now, Dirk could almost feel the drained emptiness suffered by his loins after her greedy feasting on his cock.
Her imagination seemed limitless. Every day she found a new way for them to enjoy the delights of their seemingly matched sexualities. He vaguely realized that her child-like delight in being the genuine mistress of Rosemoor, with a devoted lackey to comply with her every wish, was complemented by his strange and surprising desire to be such a lackey-to serve her and worship her utterly.
At those moments when she was not in the same room with him, he would find himself musing, with a sort of shock, upon the way in which he had so wholeheartedly entered into this relationship.
He had always been little impressed by titles and wealth, by the nobility and pseudo-nobility which seemed to command respect-no matter how grudgingly in some cases-from most of his acquaintances. Yet, here he was, absolutely infatuated and enthralled by this magically beautiful girl.
He tried to convince himself that it was due to other reasons. After all, she wasn't really nobility. She was just an American girl-a teen-ager-who had married the unfortunate Launtford. And Sir Arthur had been knighted for his literary accomplishments, not for his distant relationship to a long-dead marquis. Or were such recognitions influenced by family trees? No matter. Whatever Launtford's lineage, Lova Lee was a product of the United States-the Martins' financial and social status had been influenced only by the fickle Fate of World War II industry. She had told him that.
No, he was bonded to her, subservient to her, not for her status as Lady Launtford. It was because she was ... what? He stole a studied look at her as he sipped his tomato juice and watched her enjoy the taste of her favorite English breakfast. Her eyes were closed as she took sensual pleasure in tasting the mouthful of kippers and egg-one of only three meals he could prepare well.
Lady Loverly! he thought. It's because she's Lady Loverly! Because she's a sort of personage I helped to create. Before I came along, she was just a widowed nymphet who didn't know quite how to get on by herself. I made her Lady Loverly. She couldn't be the way she is now without me here with her. I created her!
He thought about this Pygmalion comparison. Lova Lee had been no crude Liza Doolittle; nor had the Dirk Conway who broke into Rosemoor's second story window demonstrated any Higgins-like brilliance. What then was the magic which made him adore her? Why did he enjoy this enslavement, catering to her every whim?
"I'm finished, Dirk," she said. He came out of his reverie to see that she had pushed back her chair a little way from the table. Her final drink of tomato juice had left a crimson semicircle which painted her mouth into a Cheshire-cat smile.
He got up and came around to her side, then kneeled by her chair. She looked down and smiled affectionately at him.
"Clean me up, Dirk. Make me nice and fresh again."
He rose up and brought his mouth near hers, then licked with his warm tongue at the tomato-juice smile. When he had removed all traces of the fruit-painted grin, she opened her lips, and his tongue slipped inside.
They fenced furiously for a few seconds, licking and sucking at moving targets. Then Lova Lee pushed him away, gasping.
"I spilled some on me," she complained. He looked down to see several bright red drops scattered on and between her lovely ripe breasts. He moved to lick them thoroughly, stealing an occasional gentle nibble at the tender flesh, and ending by sucking and tonguing the deep pink sponges of her passionately erected nipples.
"Oh, Dirk!" she moaned. "Now I'm all damp someplace else!"
Back onto his knees he went, this time swinging her chair away from the table, and his mouth sought the feathery golden shrubbery of her love-parlor.
As his nostrils detected the first delicate suggestion of her female odor, he felt himself becoming excited. Her glandular perfume always affected him this way. It made him almost forget that his duty was to provide her with enjoyment. All he wanted to think of was the deliriously compelling urge it gave him to feast on her warm, moist flesh.
"Oh, Lady Loverly!" he moaned into the warm mists arising from her parted slit. "You're so damned delicious!" He lapped at the outer edges of the swollen lips, then trailed his tongue along the inner folds, gathering the dew slowly, trying to make the wonderful moment last.
Her knees flexed, and her feet moved back toward the chair. She eased her toes under his belly as he knelt before her, and brought them together to embrace his hard cock. As he drank her constantly flowing juices and titillated her firm little clitoris to keep them flowing, she pressed the sides and soles of her feet around his rigid shaft and worked at it rhythmically.
As she licked her lips avidly, moaning her passion, her hands caressed her breasts. She squeezed between her fingers the hard nipples which had not decreased in size since Dirk sucked them to full bloom.
As her shuddering climax arched her back away from the chair, her feet tensed together, grinding tightly on the captive rod between them. As he sucked the last juices of her heated cunt, his cock spewed wildly, shooting his semen onto the rug in plashing white puddles, where the green fibers absorbed some of the moisture, making a darker circle around each tiny pool.
Dirk fell back to lie on the rug, his legs parenthesizing the pattern of white stains. Lova Lee looked down at him, eyeing the limp form of the fleshy cylinder which now lay drooped over the hairy sac below it.
"It's getting very warm," she said, running her fingers through the long hair at the back of her neck. "I think I'll go up and bathe. When you finish cleaning up, come join me, and I may have you cut my hair for me."
She was out of the dining room and had started toward the huge staircase in the front of the house before Dirk recovered from the shock of her pronouncement enough to sit up and look after her. His mouth hung open in disbelief.
"Oh, no!" he whispered in horror. "I couldn't!" He scrambled to his feet and moved toward the kitchen to get a wet cloth for the carpet.
He was still in a state of semi-shock as he went about clearing the table and performing the subsequent tasks around the kitchen sink.
"Oh, no!" he kept saying to himself. "Not that golden hair! Oh, no!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
During the first week in which they shared the luxuries of their isolated existence at Rosemoor, they had discovered that one of the platitudes voiced by sun-worshippers was based on fact.
Generally speaking, neither of them was as susceptible to the other's physical charms in the nude, as they were when those same attributes were draped behind skintight clothing or ineffectively hidden by suggestively tailored or translucent material.
This discovery had led to the decision-voiced by the dominant Lady Launtford, but eagerly seconded by her cunnilingual consort, whose fleshy indicator provided the most authentic evidence in the confirmation of this natural law-that they would remain completely unclothed at all times, weather permitting.
It had caused some hairbreadth escapes from detection, until they acquired the habit of remaining hidden upstairs on those days when supplies were delivered to the huge back porch off the kitchen. It seemed that the absence of restricting garments lulled them into a naturally peaceful feeling of freedom, and twice they just missed being caught off guard by the grocery deliveryman, and once each by the dairyman and postman.
It was for this reason that Dirk stopped in the doorway of the huge bedroom when he saw Lova Lee seated at her dressing table, running a brush through her gleaming golden hair. She was wearing a diaphanous gown that accentuated her very emphatic femininity. The huge mirror reflected her entire body from the front, due to the angle at which he approached. And her beautifully postured back shone softly at him from behind the almost transparent covering. He drew in his breath sharply.
"Lady Loverly, you're so positively beautiful that it's almost painful to look at you," he said.
Her back seemed to arch a little, and her shoulders moved just enough to emphasize the out-thrust perfection of her full breasts. She tossed her head coquettishly, then brought the brush down in another sensually lingering stroke.
"Why, thank you, Dirk. You're very gallant at times." Her use of the French pronunciation somehow made Dirk feel as if he had done something a little special, although the outburst had been a sincere and extemporaneous thing.
"You don't really mean what you said downstairs, do you?" he asked. He held his breath as she continued to brush with fantastically erotic movements through the shining blonde filaments.
"I said many things downstairs," she teased. "Which one do you have reference to at the moment." She had caught his rapture in the mirror, and was increasing the deliberately dramatic quality of her performance. The way she held the brush, the angle of her head and neck, the languid motion of her shoulder as she brought her arm up from the lower end of the stroke each time, even the way she made certain that her breasts jiggled as every stroke was completed-all compounded to create an exotic atmosphere of female sensuality.
"About your hair, milady. You can't possibly be serious about cutting it!" It wasn't a question. It was a plea, stated with the same ringing tone that he might use in speaking to his executioner in a nightmare.
"But why not?" she asked. "I don't see you letting your hair grow over your ears in this hot weather. You trimmed it just yesterday afternoon." Her tone sounded accusing, and he felt a brief stab of guilt at wanting her to undergo a discomfort he was not willing to experience himself.
"That's entirely different!" he countered indignantly.
"Why must it be different?" she wanted to know. "Isn't it quite enough that women have to undergo all the fear and discomfort and pain of pregnancy and birth? Must they be asked to conform to a standard of fashion that makes them miserable, just because some men like the idea of long hair on women?"
"Why are females so illogical?" he countered, shaking his head. "They run about in miniskirts and micro-skirts in the winter, until their poor little legs turn blue, and you'd expect them to have icicles on their poor cunnies, just so they can appeal to men. But they crop their hair until they look harsh and masculine, refusing to suffer a little summer discomfort for the same reason they freeze their bloody arses in cold, wet weather."
She had ceased her brushing as she listened. Now she reached her hand over her shoulder to him. It held a pair of scissors.
"Cut it off for me, Dirk," she said, trying to make her voice sound firm and final. He made no move to take the instrument of desecration from her. "Dirk!" she commanded..
"I'd cut off my cock, first," he said, almost whispering in the presence of his horror. It was as though he'd been ordered to rape a newborn infant.
"Why are you so determined not to do as I ask?" she queried, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
"Because you have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen, Lady Loverly. For that matter, everything about you is more beautiful than it has a right to be. I just couldn't destroy any part of it!"
Her eyes lost their hard, demanding glint, and as they softened, the rest of her features seemed to become more soft and lovely, until a sad little smile formed at the comers of her mouth. She broke the seal of her lips with a wet tongue, moistening the dark ripeness of the appealing surfaces.
"If you tell me things like that often enough, Dirk, I'll postpone cutting my hair for a while."
Then he was at her feet, squeezed in, somehow, between her knees and the dressing table. His lips caressed her legs, and his hands moved up her thighs until they grasped the sweet, warm fullness of her buttocks.
"Thank God!" he said, between kisses. When he had planted a profuse crop of wet, strawberry-colored vampire marks on her thighs, he got to his feet and took her head in his hands. His fingers ran sensuously through the soft strands as he placed his mouth on hers.
They kissed hungrily for a bit, as he caressed the gossamer filaments which had been reprieved, exulting in their lightness, their delicacy, their complete femininity.
She pushed him away, and there was a perverse look in her violet-blue eyes as she regarded him. He knew that look. When it appeared, she ceased to be the gentle Lady Loverly, and became the demanding chatelaine of Rosemoor. Twice before he had seen her change like this. Once-the first time-she had made him lie on the floor at her feet. Then she had used her toes, which had fairly long nails, to tease and torture him in the most sensitive areas of his body.
He had been ready to give up his twenty-thousand pounds, just to escape those tickling, hurting nails and the pounding heels which had started to pummel him. But the trance-like gleam in her eyes had suddenly died out, and her mouth, which had been open and dripping with saliva, had closed. Then she made him take her with his mouth again, thrusting her hips at him until her pubic bone bruised his lips painfully, then shuddering to the greatest climax he had seen her achieve.
The second time, only two days ago, she had made him roll over and over on the living room rug while she lashed him with his own belt! The same kind of savage climax had ended that bout.
He watched her now, wondering what new diversion she was planning for her lackey. He also wondered why she got like this.
He wasn't given much time to ponder.
"Open that wardrobe over there," she commanded. He went to the large sliding doors she pointed at with an imperious finger, and pulled at the brass ring which was mounted in the dark walnut surface.
It slid on well-lubricated tracks, revealing a bountiful collection of expensive suits and other wearing apparel. Floor racks held several pairs of handmade shoes and slippers, snugly treed to keep them in shape. Two handsome pairs of riding boots were there-one jet black, the other deep tan.
She moved to stand beside him, then reached out and removed a hanger which held a silk shirt. She thrust it at him, and he took it from her, looking at the label. His lips formed an "O" and a low whistle paid respect to the fame of the exclusive shirt-maker.
"That should fit you perfectly. In fact, everything in this entire wardrobe should be just right for you. Try it on." Her voice had an added element, now, but he couldn't identify it. It was somehow more cold, more calculating, than it had been at any time before.
He removed the shirt from the hanger and put it on. It was a very good fit. He liked the feel of the silk caressing his skin. How many times had he dreamed of being able to indulge himself in finery like this?
She kept handing him things, and he got into them, until he was a perfect model for any product which would sell by virtue of its being used by a young English nobleman or M.P. She took his arm and led him to a full-length mirror, then stood back while he smiled as he admired himself.
"Think you look pretty good, don't you?" she asked. He met her gaze, and there was an almost venomous hardness in her eyes. He couldn't believe it was the same girl who looked at him from the mirror. He turned to see if it wasn't just the glass that caused this unwelcome interpretation of what lurked in her eyes.
As he turned, she put out her foot and tripped him. He went down, spiraling with the impetus of his turn, and landed on his buttocks and shoulders. Instantly, she was on top of him. She had pulled up her sheer gown above her crotch, then straddled him to plop down with her bare cunt right on his fly.
Caught off guard, the wind partially knocked out of his lungs, Dirk just lay there as she initiated the second phase of her surprise attack. Her long nails tore at his clothes in a frenzy. In seconds, she had ruined the shirt and tie simply by stretching and slashing the material, torn one lapel and the breast pocket of the coat, and jerked at the left trouser pocket until the seam tore.
She was cursing and crying as she attacked, and he was as demoralized by the foul language from her lovely mouth as if he had been attacked by the Ladies From Hell with bagpipes skirling at top pitch.
He felt a dampness on his genitals, and wondered how she could have generated enough lubricant in her semi-sealed vagina to soak through his trousers so quickly. He raised his head to look just as her torso was lifted from his groin.
She was urinating on him! As her cunt drew away from him, the outer lips swollen and parted to reveal inner pinkness, he could see the amber stream squirting and spraying over his trousers and the lower portion of his ravaged shirt.
"Piss on you and your expensive clothes! You can dress like a man, but you can't fuck like a man!" she was screaming. Her hands still tore at his clothes, and she now had managed to rip the tab at his waistband and force the zipper down as she pulled at the fabric. Then she had the silk of his shorts in her hand. It tore apart as she exerted unbelievable strength.
Her tension had been making her sphincter spasm, and the stream had been reduced to jerky spurts. Now she grabbed his cock, which he was surprised to note had fully erected, and held it under her crotch as she leaned over him at an angle.
Her face was flushed as she strained to drain her bladder. It was a feeble attempt. She had only enough left to squirt three tiny streams. He watched in fascination as she pressed two fingers into her wet slit, one on either side of her busy little pee-hole. He had acquired the idea, someplace, that girls couldn't aim their streams. But she was right on target. Those three small spurts wet his cock thoroughly and he felt the runoff as it ran down the hairy sac of his scrotum and into the crack of his ass.
"That's what I think of your phony cock!" she sobbed. Her left hand dropped his slippery cock and her right hand moved out of her dripping crotch, as she stood up, then stepped over him and ran into the bathroom.
He lay there for a while, stupefied by the spontaneous eruption of this female Vesuvius, trying to guess at her motivation. But he was no more successful than on the other occasions of her sadistic outbursts.
He got up and went into the bathroom, standing just inside the doorway. She was just climbing into the huge, square, sunken tub in the far comer. As she sank into the water, and reached for the soap by her shoulder, she noticed his presence. But she wouldn't look at him. She concentrated on lathering her neck and shoulders, avoiding his gaze.
"I think I should be the one bathing," he said calmly. When she did not reply, he turned on his heel and went out through the dressing room and bedroom, down the hall, and into a guest suite.
Soon he was in a tub of his own. The faint odor of her urine rising from his warm genitals was mildly exciting to him, but he was too perturbed with her behavior and attitude to derive more than a passing twinge of erotic pleasure from it.
He sat in the hot water and lathered swiftly, his mind occupied with the strange puzzle. When he heard the pipes singing with the passage of water through the plumbing system, he had a sadistic idea of his own.
He had learned her habits, and knew that she was now under the shower, taking a hot rinse. He grinned satanically and twisted on the HOT valve in the tub, opening it to full pressure.
He heard her scream as the spray on her body dropped quickly in temperature. He was glad that he had left both suite doors open. He left the valve open a few seconds, hoping she would readjust her shower controls. Then he swiftly twisted the HOT valve of his tub tight shut and simultaneously turned the COLD valve wide open.
This time her scream was louder and the tone conveyed more pain than shock. He laughed joyfully at his success, waited for a few seconds, then again reversed the temperature flow.
Her third sound was only an angry yell, and he shut off the HOT valve, then opened his tub drain. As the water disappeared, he turned on his own shower, and quickly rinsed in warm, then cold needles. He was toweling himself briskly as Lova Lee appeared in the bathroom doorway. She was toweling, too, and there was a half-angry half-pouting expression on her face.
"The servants' baths are downstairs," she told him. There was accusation in her tone, as well as the sullenness of a woman who had been outmaneuvered.
"If I had opened valves on the lower level, the pressure difference would have been much greater and you would have been bloody well frozen and boiled," he told her, grinning devilishly.
"Dirk Conway! You did that deliberately!" She hadn't been certain before, but now she was speechless as he openly admitted it.
"Of course, milady. Your strange behavior warranted shock treatment. I was naturally concerned for your health. It seems to have been successful. You are at least able to speak, now." He pretended to be busy toweling his legs, but managed to sneak a look at her face, unobserved. She was frowning, but it seemed more an expression of perplexity than anger.
"I didn't really hurt you, you know," she ventured. "All I did was ruin clothes that didn't even cost you anything." She was pouting beautifully, and he wanted to take her in his arms, but he was restrained by his concern.
"But you did hurt me. Not physically. You hurt me worse than if you had done me physical harm. First you displayed contempt for the clothing I wore and the way I looked in it. Then, before I had a chance to enjoy my first moments of being a fancy gent, you spoiled the duds, cursed me, pissed on me, cast aspersions on my virility, and walked away without a by-your-leave. To say nothing of tripping me and knocking the wind out of me. And when I didn't even complain, but just made polite conversation, you refused to answer me. Don't you suppose that hurt?"
"Oh, Dirk! It wasn't you I wanted to hurt. Can't you see that?"
"I think perhaps I'm beginning to understand," he admitted, as the only logical explanation became quite clear to him. He dropped his towel and moved toward her.
"I think there's only one way to cure you of what seems to be eating out your insides, milady. And now is the time to find out!"
He grabbed her and bore her to the floor, inserting his body between her thighs. Then he plunged his mouth into her parted slit and licked at her freshly washed meat. In seconds, she was moaning the beginnings of her passionate involvement, and her juices had started to flow. He licked at them greedily, tonguing her most sensitive areas until she was growing wild.
Then he lifted his head and moved to trail a series of kisses up her body. After he had sucked both nipples into huge pink sponges, he scooted up and placed the head of his erected cock in her slit.
"No! Dirk! My God, no! I'll lose everything! So will you!"
"That's a chance we'll have to take," he told her, and thrust with his hips, pushing the butterfly of her inner cuntlips aside and placing the tip against the tight mouth of her virginal cave.
"No, Dirk! You mustn't! I forbid you!" she screamed.
He ignored her and pressured his pulsing warhead against her hymen. She cried out in pain as the irresistible force parted the thin curtain of flesh, tearing it aside. His thrust carried the head of his cock halfway into the virgin passage.
She was sobbing in reaction and pain, but he thrust at her again and felt the tight, clutching moistness heatedly swallow the rest of his shaft. Then he rested a moment as her second painful cry died down, and she sobbed uncontrollably. He knew it was more in sorrow at her loss of Rosemoor than in actual pain.
He began to move within her, slowly, easing his swollen cock in and out of hot, wet flesh. It grasped him as he withdrew, and retreated before its invading thrust as he pushed inward.
Soon she began to respond. Her hips gently moved under him, and then she was meeting his every thrust with a push of her own. He pressed his mouth to hers, and her sweetly ripe lips were limp and yielding with her crushed vulnerability. They quivered under his, and she choked back another sob.
As his tongue moved into her mouth, her lips tensed a little, then she was joining him with her own excited tongue. Their movements became breathtakingly frantic as they heatedly worked at each other with both ends of their bodies.
She began to utter little grunting sobs, then tore her mouth away from his to gasp in air. Her hands clutched at his back, and her nails started to dig into his flesh.
"Fuck me! Yes! Yes, for God's sake, fuck me! Oh-h-h! Make me a woman! Stay white for me, Dirk! Don't turn blue, now! Finish it, please!"
He pumped away, feeling the fleshy mouth of her torn pussy gulp at him with each stroke. She was trembling. Her whole body was one solid mass of quivering gelatin with steely springs tensing up inside.
"Oh! I think I'm going to die! Squirt your hot fuck in me, Dirk!" She whimpered and sobbed as her back arched and her hips rose. Her tightening cunt muscles seized his cock in a swallowing clutch that drew him into her depths and held him.
She jerked in a frenzy, her heels pounding at his kidneys, her hands beating at his shoulder and back muscles, and growling moans hissed out from between her clenched teeth.
"Now! Fill me full of fuck! Now! Quick!" she cried.
Her coarse demands triggered his release, and the tingling thrill of his boiling sperm spread out from his gut like a forest fire. It spurted through his rocky shaft and gushed into her virgin depths. He tightened his arms around her and seized a mouthful of the delicate flesh at her neck, sucking and biting it as he poured himself hotly out through the end of his cock, until he felt his soul had left him.
"Oh, Dirk! What have you done?" she panted into his ear. "I lost my cherry. How can I ever have Rosemoor, now?" She started to cry, and her tender form shook with her sobs, as she wailed out her terrible loss.
He tried to console and soothe her by patting and caressing her, but it seemed to have no effect. She continued to sob and gasp beneath him, until he spoke to her.
"We might find a way to save Rosemoor for you if you get my come rinsed out of you in time. But if you get a bloody baby, well not be able to fool your foxy barristers." He smacked her buttocks, and she struggled out from under him and ran from the bathroom. He heard her feet pad down the hall, and there was silence. Until she turned on the controls of the fancy bidet in the master bathroom.
Slowly he stood up and looked at himself. His cock and balls were a bloody, smeary mess, and his thighs were streaked with her virgin wine, making him look like a war casualty.
"Damned if I didn't take her maidenhead proper, now," he muttered. Then he started to take his second bath within the hour.
How am I going to save the situation, now, he wondered. I've got her hopes up, and not a damned idea in the world.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dirk wandered into the ornately outfitted master bathroom and watched his shaky young mistress playing the water stream of the bidet-accessory hose against her widely spread slit.
"It's cold!" she said, and a shiver ran over her. He saw the puckered pores on her skin and knew she shouldn't remain that chilly for too long.
"Why don't you use warm water?" he asked.
"I did. First I used cold water, because it's supposed to kill the sperm cells quicker. Then I used warm water. But I can't seem to stop bleeding, so I had to try the cold again, hoping it would stop."
"Wait a bit!" Dirk cried out. "Shut it off. Quick!" His face was beaming with the reflection of a sudden idea. She closed the valve and looked up at him expectantly.
"Where do you keep the new candles?" he asked her. She looked puzzled, but appeared to think for a moment.
"I believe I saw some in the butler's pantry, but I'm not sure my memory is dependable. It may have been in...." But Dirk was already gone. She could hear his pounding on the padded steps of the stairs.
She looked down, and saw the bright red splash-mark in the porcelain bidet. It looked out of harmony with the peachy pink of the fixture. As she watched, another bright drop landed near it, splattering a pattern that joined with the first one.
"Here, milady," said Dirk, panting. He was out of breath from the two-way trip on the long stairway, and he was peeling cellophane from a long, white candle. "Push this into your lovely cunny, and we'll bloody it up good for your Doctor Bentley."
"I couldn't do that," she protested. "You have to do that, if you want Rosemoor," he told her. "He will have the proof that you tore your own maidenhead. Nothing was said in that will about masturbation, Lady Loverly. It's a perfect out!"
"I'd be shamed to death," she said. "I couldn't tell him a thing like that!"
"You managed to tell him you were afraid you'd turn into a bloody Lesbian and attack your cook, didn't you?"
"But that was the only way I could get rid of...." She let out her breath in resigned sigh. "I see what you mean. I might as well be a goat as a sheep. Bu I don't think I've got the nerve to stick anything in there, now. It's so tender!"
"No time to be touchy, milady. It's now or never, while you're still bleeding. Once it clots, we'd have to fake it with blood from another part of your body. And I'm not sure if they can tell where the stuff came from or not. Blinking laboratory blokes get sharper all the time. Come on, I'll do it for you. Turn around on that bleedin' throne of yours and spread your pretty legs, there's a good girl."
She nervously obeyed him, sensing that there was no alternative if she wished to make a last attempt to keep Rosemoor for herself. As her abducting thighs widened her ravaged slit, he placed the blunt end of the waxen shaft against the fresh wound of her vaginal opening.
"Oh! God, that smarts!" she said, gritting her teeth as he pushed the cool wand into her passage. He watched the deep pinkness swallow the candle, and he could feel the remembered snugness his own rod had enjoyed in those depths.
"Play with your little clitty," he told her. "We have to get some of your sweet cunny juices on here to make it authentic." He placed his mouth on a breast and kissed it to peaked erection, then sucked at it greedily. He could see her hand go to her slit, and soon she was toying herself along, breathing heavily.
He goosed the candle back and forth in her tight cunt, and each move drew a little moaning gasp from her. Then she was growing excited with the multiple attentions.
"Put your cock in my mouth, Dirk!" she cried. "I'll handle the business down here!" She took the candle from his grasp, and he stood up. His cock had been standing before she gave him the invitation. Now he leaned to her, and she took him into her mouth eagerly.
He could see her hand resting on the edge of the bidet, fingers wrapped tightly around the candle. Her hips were thrusting at it, swallowing the waxen shaft, then disgorging it. He was pleased to note the bloody smears that had started to appear along the white length.
His balls ached as he recalled the thorough milking that virgin cunt had given him. He wondered if he had anything left in him. She might have to settle for a dry run. He had come to accept the strange but exciting fact that she liked to suck out his come and swallow it. It always flattered him a little.
While he was forced to be a lackey, an absolute chattel, and obey every command his chatelaine gave him, even accept the misery and discomfort and humiliation she had dished up for him on three occasions, he still maintained some pride.
He was putting up with all this for a big hunk of boodle, he kept telling himself. And besides, how many of his cronies could boast of a delicious playmate such as he had-would have for a year? A bloody virgin, too!
Well, he'd torn that, right enough. But he still had her to play with for a year, if this candle trick worked. And on top of the rest of it, she liked to take his old meat in her mouth and suck him off! That was a bit of all right!
He frowned as he remembered having heard of that tribe of natives of some bloody place, who kept cattle so they could suck out a bit of blood now and then. The frown deepened. Damned if I'm like that! She doesn't keep me just to feed off my come-juice. She thinks I'm a right enough hunk of gent, and I take bloody good care of her sweet pussy, too. His face relaxed into a smile. It was a sensuous smile, and his eyes were growing slightly glassy.
Lova Lee's eyes also were becoming fixed in an agnuopic stare, as she felt her orgasm nearing. She didn't need any more clitoral stimulation, so she moved that hand up to claw at Dirk's balls. She stroked the sac with her fingernails, and he felt himself beginning to slide loose inside.
Her hips were moving like lightning as she began to shudder to a finish. Her cheeks hollowed as she milked his cock with her lips, and she was telling him with her whimpers and grunts that she was ready for him to fill her hungry mouth.
He was panting and licking his lips with the thrill of the increasingly tingling sensation. When he burst loose, she made tiny mewling sounds between the wet, sucking noises of her busy lips and tongue. She was swallowing as fast as he could shoot his semen into her throat.
Then he stepped back, weakened, and they both watched the long sticky string that swung from the shrinking head of his cock as he held it in his hand like a wounded child.
"Bring it here, Dirk!" she cried to him. He moved toward her, and she made as if to enclose him in her mouth again.
"No!" he said, firmly. "Just lick it off. I can't stand for you to suck at it another moment!" She lapped out with her kittenish tongue and caught the pearly strand, then slurped it into her mouth. She gave the fading warrior a last lick on the head, and then Dirk was retreating again.
"Pull that thing out of you slowly," he told her. She started to remove it, grunting as it came suckingly free of her clutching depths.
"What shall I do with it?" she asked, wide-eyed. Dirk studied it a moment, then leaned down and picked up the original wrapper off the floor. He straightened it out, then placed it on a glass shelf nearby, smoothing it still more before he was satisfied.
"Lay it there," he told her. "I can't touch it now, milady. It's so warm from your hot, sweet little cunny and your hand that I'd leave a fingerprint. And we can't have any but your prints on it when you give it to the doctor-just in case."
She got up and took two waddling steps to the shelf, where she gingerly let the reddishly smeared shaft drop onto the cellophane. Their eyes met as she turned to go back to the bidet. Dirk was licking his lips.
"God, Dirk! Put your tongue away, please! I have to get some cold water on that thing before it bleeds to death!" She sat down on the peachy-pink bidet again, and as she started to cool down her bloody, heated slit, he turned away and went out into the bedroom.
When she came out, almost fifteen minutes later, he was on the bed. The cold water had dropped her entire body temperature, and she had stepped in the dressing room to don a filmy gown. When he saw her ripe beauty silhouetted through the gossamer folds against the light from the windows, his cock erected as if he hadn't had it thoroughly slapped down twice within the previous hour-and-a-half.
"Oh, Dirk, darling!" said Lova Lee, moving to the bed and admiring the male structure. "There's nothing wrong with your virility! I just worship that lovely brute!"
Darling, is it? he thought. Well, now. Maybe we're going to have a small change in command around here. Worship it, does she? Hm-m-m. Sir Dirk, ol' boy, mind your moves, now, and you just might have yourself a chattel of your own.
"Kindly worship it from a distance," he said. "The poor saint had just returned from a bloody pilgrimage, when it was attacked by a blonde vampire from outer space. Give the poor bloke a rest."
"Oh, yes, darling!" she promised. "I want it to get strong again, soon. Very strong!" She lay down beside him, kissed the tip of his shaft gently, then curled up and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
Harold Tipton lay on the couch in his office. His view through the open door of the anteroom was perfect. He could see into the reception room where the Eckbergian Beth sat, typing a complicated final document from a series of briefs.
When she was on the telephone or otherwise occupied in matters which kept her legs hidden in the kneehole of her desk, Beth presented a striking profile, due to her generous mammarian endowments. But turned as she was now, it was an even more rewarding study for Tipton.
The typewriter, when pulled out of its storage well in the heavy desk, could be used only when Beth turned to present her knees to the anteroom doorway. And with the bulk of the mechanized copyholder, which she had set up behind the typewriter to hold the briefs, looming more than a foot above the clattering machine, Beth could not see the anteroom doorway or the observer on the couch beyond.
Especially helpful in optimizing Tipton's view were the darkness of his office while his drapes were closed, and the impressively sparkling glass of the floor-to-ceiling window in the reception room. Tipton sighed as he considered the possible effect of the building soon to be erected across the street. It could seriously interfere with this efficient lighting angle.
Beth shifted her feet to relieve the monotony of her position, and the micro-miniskirt obligingly tightened as her thighs came to rest against the skirt's taut, elliptical limitations.
Thank God Cecil's not a blue-nose conservative like his father was! Tipton thought. The horrible, masculine suits old Miss Tibbs wore would certainly hide this treasure shamefully!
He licked his lips and swallowed as Beth's right knee dropped lower. Even with the fans operating, it was warm in the suite. He wondered if that air conditioning installation was going to be made this weekend.
Beth's head suddenly peeped out from behind the copyholder, and she peered into the anteroom. Not seeing Tipton in his dark office, she quickly snatched a tissue from her desk, reached down and pulled up the small amount of skirt which impeded her operation, and dabbed quickly at her crotch two or three times.
Helluva place to perspire, thought Tipton. What would she do if she had my clothes on? My balls are as damp as fresh-dug peat. He reached down and pulled at the material of his trousers in an attempt to get some air circulating around his genitals.
He didn't take his eyes off Beth's maneuvers. The wad of tissue appeared from beneath her skirt, looking dark and rumpled in her hand. She tossed it into the waste bin by her desk. Then she took a manila folder and fanned between her knees for a few seconds.
When she resumed her typing, Tipton eyed the clearly illuminated mound of her pubis. It amazed him that a girl could have the brass to go pantyless under one of those arse-coolers. The dark curls were parted, and in the wide-opened slit of her cunt he could see the moist pink meat of her inner fleshy curtain.
Not a virgin, the way those pussylips stay apart so easily, he speculated. But not used a devilish lot, either! He moistened his lips again, almost tasting the female musk of the flesh he observed, so enrapt was he with the compelling sight.
He heard the outer door close, and Beth looked up to converse with someone who apparently stood facing her desk where he couldn't see. She waved a hand toward the anteroom, and Dr. Bentley appeared in the doorway, looked around, then strode into the darkness of Tipton's office. The light was switched on, and Tipton came to his feet in a hurry.
The medic turned and looked back over his shoulder into the reception room, then faced the lawyer again. He closed the office door behind him, and sat in one of Tipton's comfortable chairs. He fingered his gray-streaked beard as he regarded the younger man.
"Lucky for you old Cyril doesn't still run this circus you boys call a law firm," he said. His grin matched the humor in his eyes. "Shame on you, Hal! Looking up that poor girl's dress. What color's her twat-hair, by the way?"
"Same shiny chestnut as her topside curls," laughed Tipton. "What brings you by here? Run out of whisky in your own office?"
"No. And thanks for the offer of a drink, just the same." The doctor opened the small bag he was holding on his lap, and took out a phallic-looking package. Something cylindrical was wrapped in one or more paper towels.
"My God! Schultz is dead!" Tipton quipped merrily.
"Nothing so humorous, I'm afraid." Bentley sighed", then put the package on Tipton's desk. "It's the dildo Lady Launtford deflowered herself with."
Tipton almost fell on the couch, recovered himself, and leaned over the desk. He unwrapped the object, then stared at the reddish-brown smears on the off-white candle. Automatically, he raised it to his nose and sniffed.
"God, but you're a horny satyr!" the medic accused.
"Swear on the Bible you didn't smell it yourself," dared Tipton.
"I had to!" the physician retorted. "It's my responsibility to confirm the authenticity of the evidence she brought me."
"And you didn't get any stiffness in any of your joints when you made this very professional examination?" Tipton asked.
"Never you bloody well mind, you pup among law-hounds," the old man replied, grinning. Then his face sobered again. He leaned forward in his chair and frowned at the lawyer.
"What bothers me is why she thought it necessary to bring the physical evidence to me," he said. "She acted innocently enough, but I have a feeling she's up to something." He sat back in his chair and heaved another sigh.
"What could she be up to?", asked Tipton. "Pinckley's men have the entire estate under surveillance. What could she do by herself there that she hasn't confessed?"
"Damme if I know! I wish someone less old and less ethical were stuck with this situation. I feel obliged to poor young Launtford to see that his widow doesn't hoodwink the executors of his estate, but I feel bloody guilty about voicing my suspicions of her, just the same. I can't help sympathizing with the girl. She's been put through a lot, and she has the better part of a year to suffer."
The office door opened, and Wethering came in, closing the portal behind him. He soon learned the reason for Dr. Bentley's visit, and when he started to bring the discolored candle toward his nose, then stopped the motion of his hand and arm in mid-flight, Tipton chuckled.
"What's the joke?" the senior solicitor asked.
"Young Tipton had the same natural urge to touch the wet paint,' after I'd told him of it," Dr. Bentley explained, smiling at the flush on Wethering's face. "But he hadn't the restraint of maturity to stop him in time. He'll verify what I've said. As a non-smoker, he probably is a better diagnostician than I am in this case."
Wethering grinned sheepishly, put the candle down on the papers, and went to Tipton's phone. He had Beth put in a call for him, and two minutes later was talking to his party.
"You're absolutely certain, then, Pinckley? ... Very well ... No, we're just making a routine check. Want to be sure your people are on their toes, and all that. Thank you, Pinckley." He put down the handset, and looked at the others, who awaited his words.
"I suggest we accept Lady Launtford's statement and evidence as definite proof of the poor girl's misery. No man could have slipped into the grounds without Pinckley's people seeing him."
"I suppose you're right," said Bentley. "Still, I wonder why she was so quick to bring me the bloody evidence, and all. If the reports of the watchdogs you've hired are to be the confusing factor in her qualifying for the inheritance, it would appear that she needn't have demeaned herself with this admission. When the subject comes up next June, she could simply say that she'd ruptured her hymen accidentally, or whatever."
"I see two very obvious reasons," Wethering replied. "In the first place, if the simple physical fact of her defloration could disqualify her, she'd bloody well not want to suffer through the entire year uselessly, before she found it out."
"What's the other reason," Tipton wanted to know.
"Even if she believed that the physical evidence couldn't disinherit her of itself, she might fear that the executors could make a point of the fact that, when probation is ended, there would be no proof that her maidenhead was intact when the domestic staff left the grounds."
"I see," said Bentley. "This way, she has managed to establish definitely that she hasn't cohabited with the staff. If she's smart enough to think of that possibility, she's a shrewd girl. I'll worry less about her, now. Even with the forensic medicine background I have, that aspect didn't occur to me."
"I'm afraid there's something we'll have to insist upon, however," said Wethering sadly, "if we're to be able to administrate the estate in good faith when her probation is ended."
"What must we insist upon?" asked Tipton. "And why?"
"We must insist upon some measure to insure beyond doubt that no man can have coitus with her-just in case someone has managed to get by our watchdogs."
"And just what measure do you envision as satisfactory insurance?" queried Bentley. "A chastity belt?"
"I'm afraid that's the only certain measure there is," Wethering replied.
"You're mad, Cecil!" said the doctor. "This is twentieth-century England, for God's sake!"
"I know," Wethering sighed in a loud whisper. "Seems terribly feudal, doesn't it? But as senior administrator, I'm going to insist on this. Sir Arthur's father was my godfather, and our firm has been trusted with Rosemoor and the other Launtford holdings for almost three generations. I can't draw the line anywhere when it comes to conscientious handling of this will. I'm sorry for poor Lady Launtford, but if she's made of good stuff, she'll see it all the way through. I hope she makes it!"
"And, as milady's physician and medical representative for the executors, I suppose I'm elected to effect these barbarian arrangements?" asked the doctor with a grim frown.
"Of course," Wethering replied. "And you'll also make arrangements for her to have it removed periodically as hygienic necessity requires."
"Good Lord!" cursed Bentley. "Don't you realize that people have to bathe these days, unlike medieval women who had to wear those bloody things?"
"Of course," Wethering said again. "And I realize that there are modern materials not available in those days. You'll see to it that the device is not too uncomfortable, and can't be damaged by soap and water. And you'll get the thing on her before the week's out!"
"That's just bloody great!" said Bentley. "And would you mind letting me see your list of Chastity Belt Outfitters-'by appointment to their travesties, the noble firm of Wethering, Tipton and Beamish'?"
"That prosthetics manufacturer in Soho should be up to it," replied the senior lawyer. "I heard you expound once about their magical command of what you called 'human engineering'-right?"
Bentley had replaced the stigmatic candle in his bag and closed it Now he went to the door and opened it, turning for a final barb before he departed.
"Serve you right, Cecil, if you'd find it impossible to have an erection for about a year!" He slammed the door shut behind him.
"Sweet Jesus!" said the horrified Tipton. "It's almost enough to drive a bloke into criminal practice."
"You already have a criminal practice," said Wethering.
"Such as?"
"Such as your practice of looking up Breasty's micro-minis whenever you get the opportunity. Isn't that taking criminal advantage or something?"
"All's fair in love and the War Between the Sexes," Tipton parodied with a grin. "Those females like to show a chap just enough to make his bloody balls ache with desire. Serves 'em right if those teasing garments can be turned against 'em the way I do."
"Just the same, Harold, if she ever catches you at it, you had better be damned well prepared to get us another girl, or Paul and I will make you sit out there and type until you do!" Wethering headed toward the anteroom door, then came back a few steps. "By the way, old man, just for the record, have you ever seen enough to tell me if she dyes her hair?"
"If she does," laughed Tipton, "she dyes it at both ends. Now get out of here, you bloody hypocrite, and leave the door open for me, there's a good chap."
CHAPTER TEN
Dirk Conway heard the gravel crunching as the limousine came up the driveway. He looked out and assured himself that his Lady Loverly was alone in the vehicle, and that no one was following.
Then he raced downstairs, taking up his post by the door. He waited until she turned the key in the lock and rotated the doorknob, just in case some observer using binoculars was watching the house.
As the latch was released, he eased the door open for her, and the moment she had entered, he closed it and locked it. Then he studied her face.
"Here, now! What's got you all wet-faced and red-eyed?" he asked. Her sobbing-halted just long enough to unlock the door-started up again, and she almost collapsed in his arms. He picked her up and carried her up the stairway, down the hall, and into her bedroom. He put her on the bed, slipped off her high-heeled shoes, then went into the bathroom and brought a cold, damp cloth, which he put over her fevered face.
"Now, just get your breath, and then you tell me all about it," he said, patting her upper arm consolingly. She finally coasted to a bumpy halt, with only an occasional hiccough-like sound. Then it was very quiet.
"What did the old medico want? Does he suspect anything? The way you look and sound, a bloke'd think you'd lost Rosemoor already."
"Oh, Dirk! I might as well have! Take off my clothes and see what they did to me!" She started to cry again, and he gave up any attempt to silence her, deciding she would cry herself out sooner or later. He began to undress her, and soon he had her peeled down enough to see the object of her grief. He studied it for a few moments, grunting and making short humming sounds. Then he got up off the edge of the bed where he had sat to make his examination. He gave her bared buttock a sharp slap.
"Look lively, now, milady!" he said. "One might think you had been given a real problem, the way you carry on."
She sat up to look at him, and the wet washcloth slipped down, falling on her bare midriff, then onto her creamy thighs. She gasped at the coolness of the moist contact, and grabbed it up.
"Just what is that cruel contraption, if it isn't a problem?" she challenged.
"Oh, it may be a problem to you, milady," he taunted calmly. "But I'll not be inconvenienced by any such amateur effort."
"You mean you know how to get it off and back on without their finding out?" she asked breathlessly. Her eyes were wide with new hope.
"I didn't say that, Lady Loverly. I said I wouldn't be inconvenienced by it." He saw the light dim in the violet-blue depths, and felt quite evil as he conspired with himself. "You should be satisfied with knowing that your lack of a maidenhead won't cheat you out of getting Rosemoor," he told her. "If they're going to such lengths as this, obviously they can't default you for anything they may think has happened up until the present."
"Dirk! Are you blind? I can't even get my little finger past that thing to tickle myself! How am I going to stand not having your sweet tongue and lips on me there? Oh, Dirk! I think I'd rather die than wear this. What good will Rosemoor do me if I lose my mind before the year is out?"
"Now, you just turn over there, and let me demonstrate something for you," he commanded. He helped her roll over on the bed, then moved her into the position he wanted. He gathered up pillows and tucked them under her belly. It made her round little ass point up toward the ceiling.
He leaned over her, and the warmth of her buttocks was exciting as his erect cock lay snugly in the crack of her ass. His balls dangled against her thighs, and against the heavily plastic-coated bands of stainless steel mesh which encircled the soft flesh.
"Dirk? What are you doing?" she had to know.
"Just relax, milady. I guarantee you everything will be fine." He withdrew his genitals, then squatted by the bed and parted her warm cheeks to expose the deep cleft between them. He looked at the dark pinkness of the tight little ring of muscle centered in the valley of flesh.
He brought his mouth down to the cleft, and his tongue lashed out, wetting the wrinkled tenderness of her anal rosebud. He toyed with the tip of his tongue at the resisting ring of muscle.
"O-o-o-o-h-h-h!" she breathed loudly. "What are you doing to me, Dirk? That makes shivers go all over me!"
"Just relax and enjoy it, milady," he told her. "You'll be very surprised at how I can make you feel. Relax, now!" He resumed his gentle tonguing of the snug closure, and gradually he could detect its relaxation. When she was wiggling her behind with the pleasure of the sensations he was giving her, and the muscles became limp enough, he probed into the center of the expanding blossom with his tongue.
"Ooh-h-h!" she moaned. "I don't know if I want you to do that, or not." Her anus had tightened up so quickly, that it had forced his tonguetip out. He resumed gentle, wet contacts, gradually coaxing the muscle to relax as the languid, sensual wet warmth smothered the sensitive tissue.
When it began to open again, he quickly stood up, spit in his hand, and smeared the saliva over the head of his cock. Then he laid the warhead against the unsuspecting blossom and shoved it inside her until the head completely disappeared in her body.
"Oh! God! That can't be! Take it out, Dirk! Please!"
She was trying to wiggle her ass in such a way that it might shake him loose, but he had grabbed her hips, and held her to him. As she saw the futility of struggling, she lay still.
"Please, Dirk! That hurts! I can't get pleasure from something that hurts that much. Take it out!"
"It hurt when I tore your cherry out of you, but you seemed to find pleasure in what I did after the first misery was out of the way."
"But that's a natural function!" she protested. I'm not made for what you're trying to do to me now."
"Now, how do you know what you were made for until you've tried everything?" he countered. "I'm going to go through with this, milady, so you'll be well advised to just relax and get it over with."
She fussed and moaned, and made a few more futile attempts to shake him out, then gave up. He just stood there, trying not to think how good it felt to have her rectal muscles squeezing the head of his cock.
Finally, she seemed to relent. The stricture lessened, and he gave another plunge, this time going almost all the way in. "Argh-h-h-h!" she yelled. "God, that hurts!"
"Make it easy for yourself," he advised her. "Think about what a turd I am to take advantage of you like this. Then think about what you do when a turd is in there making you feel miserable."
It worked like magic. She was silent for a bit, and he waited. Then he felt the pressure disappear, and a thrusting pushed at him from deep within her. As she tried to defecate him out of her bowels, her rectal muscles relaxed completely, and he fucked into her with a deep, plunging stroke.
"Hah-h-h!" she grunted, and the door to her back parlor tried to close on him again. But soon she tried to play his silly game once more, and then she seemed to develop an understanding for what was happening.
As his rigid member frictioned within her, it gave the nerves of her vaginal canal a feeling of fullness, and as she got the first real effect of this, she tried to feel it more intensely.
In a few minutes, she was racking back at him with her ass, making her buttocks grab at his belly on the instroke, then caress the base of his cock as it was partially withdrawn.
In less than fifteen minutes, she was shuddering into an orgasm. It wasn't too soon. Dirk began to spurt into her bowels as she had her first quivering feeling of release.
Then they were both gasping as he pulled the shrinking violet from its fleshy vase. They went into the bathroom and filled the huge sunken tub. Lady Loverly made no protest when Dirk piled in with her.
They lathered each other, splashed about a while, then showered off the suds. When they were dry, Lova Lee gave Dirk an accusing look.
"You've raped me front and back, Dirk Conway! You're supposed to be my chattel. I bought you-I mean, leased you for a year-for twenty-thousand pounds. When you disobey me like you just did, that's a breach of our contract! What if I break my part of the bargain, and refuse to pay you?"
"I think that I could prove to the satisfaction of your executors and any judge involved that you haven't exactly been chaste during your year of probation. How's that for a good reason for you to honor your promise to pay?"
She sulked in silence for a while, then looked into his eyes.
"Once a thief, always a thief. Is that it, Dirk? You had no intention of keeping to the agreement we made, did you?"
"If you'll think back, milady, to the final discussion we had about our relationship, you may recall that you said you wouldn't ask anything of me or require any service which would bring physical harm. The moment you broke that promise, I was free to modify my own outlook on the relationship."
"What physical harm have you come to at my hands?" she asked indignantly.
"I've worn your bloody nailprints in my behind since the first time you took my cock in your mouth. Then there was that thing with your toenails and your heels. My kidneys ached for a couple of days after you pounded my back with your feet. And in case you weren't aware of the damage your toenails did, help yourself to a look between the cheeks of my ass, where the last scab still clings to my skin.
"Now, I might have let all that go by, but after you whipped me with my belt, I began to feel as if you weren't the most honest mistress I could have hired out to serve. Pissing on me and cursing at me weren't really physical damage, but I didn't think it very lady-like. Do you begin to see that I had a precedent for breach of our contract?"
"That was before ... I mean ... I wasn't myself those times. But I promise you I won't hurt you ever again, Dirk. So from now on, let's start all over and see how honest we can be in keeping our bargain."
"Sit down on the bed in there," he told her. "And I think I can make you more comfortable." He went over to the dressing room shelves, reached under some bath towels, and brought out a small leather bag. She ran into the bedroom and sat on the bed as he approached.
He knelt at her feet and studied the lock at her waist. The harness was cleverly constructed. Stainless steel wire had been woven into a stout mesh to provide the basic harness material. It was fitted comfortably to her body contours, and firmly riveted at strap junctures. The whole harness seemed to have been dipped in liquid plastic enough times to provide comfortable insulated padding between the steel mesh and the tender flesh it imprisoned.
"No wonder you were gone so long," he told her. "They did a bloody fine job of work on this thing."
The waistband and the crotchband joined at the shiny lock which was centered around her navel area, just missing that dimple by a fraction of an inch.
The lock design seemed familiar, which puzzled him, because he knew no such mechanism had ever appeared on any jewel box or other container he had encountered in his nefarious career.
Suddenly it came back to him! He had been in a flea trap of a rescue mission, right after a particularly celebrated piece of jewelry had disappeared. He was hiding out for a few weeks until things cooled enough for him to dig up his swag and visit his buyer.
In the bed next to him was an amputee, a veteran of Dunkirk. The whiskered old geezer had showed him how the extra strap on his artificial leg had been provided with a lock by the manufacturer, after some boozer had once stolen the invaluable device from him to try to pawn it for a bottle of spirits.
Because locks were an important facet of his business, Dirk had familiarized himself with that one while guarding the prosthetic device so its owner could take a bath without worrying about it.
He opened the little leather bag and removed one of the many slim tools inside. He inserted the oddly twisted end of the tool in the keyhole of the lock, made a couple of barely perceptible motions with his fingertips, and there was a loud click.
The front half of the lock opened like a clam shell, revealing the adjustment devices which retained the ends of the straps. In a few seconds, the chastity belt was lying on the carpet, and Dirk was kissing the faint pink lines it had left on her flesh.
"Thought they could lock up my little dining room and make me starve, did they?" he said, chuckling heartily. Then he kissed the damp golden feathers of her mound.
"Oh, Dirk! You're so clever! Thank God you're a lock expert!" said Lova Lee. Her hands caressed his head as he licked at the treasure he had released from prison. She giggled merrily as he found her eager little clitoris and toyed around its erect shape with the top of his tongue. Her giggles grew louder.
"What's so bloody funny?" he asked, stopping his feast to look up at her laughing face.
"When you came to Rosemoor, you were a cat burglar," she managed to say through her chuckles. "Now you're just a plain pussy thief!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After the morning tasks were finished, Dirk came out of the hot kitchen, feeling quite irritable. As he rubbed his hands together to work in the lotion he had found near the sink, he could feel the ugly ridges on his fingertips.
Dishpan hands! Ain't that bloody lovely, now, he thought. If things don't change around here bloody soon, I'll be wearin' a lace apron.
Just as he had told his Lady Loverly, the menial chores of a domestic were not his dish of tea. Cooking and cleaning used up too many hours of his day, and the nighttime demands of her ladyship seemed to increase as the days rolled by. Being a sexual chattel wasn't half bad of itself, but the other service was a bore.
He moved into the library-den and breathed the combined odor of books and furniture oil, wondering how much knowledge was accumulated on these shelves.
He stopped by the massive oak desk and looked at the faint reflection of his face in the polished old surface.
He knew what was bothering him-had been bothering him for days. He wanted desperately to turn the tables for a while. To dominate Lady Loverly in some manner that would help him regain that portion of his male ego she had bought from him, then sullied with the demeaning acts of her sadistic moments.
He wouldn't lie to himself about the reality of his adoration. She was so damned lovely! That healthy, sensual body magnetized him. And when she was living out the repressed fantasies of her childhood-being the chatelaine of her feudal castle, she fairly glowed with an inner generation of enchantment. There was something about her which blocked his actions whenever he tried to resist her domination.
But he wanted to command her. He wanted desperately to force this delicate creature to do his will. He could almost taste the victory of domination as he thought of it. Her helplessness, alone in this place, vulnerable and afraid of his sheer masculinity, his greater physical strength-this could feed the maw of his starved ego.
But how could he start such a reversal of their relationship? His damned tendency to become worshipful in her presence always outweighed his eagerness to dominate her.
His gaze encountered something on the desk, and locked onto it. A tape recorder. He moved around and sat in the chair behind the desk, studied the device for a while, then started to familiarize himself with its operation. Soon, he was satisfied that he could accomplish his purpose with this machine. He started to speak into the microphone as the reels rotated slowly, and the backlash of his pent-up reaction-his resentment at being so completely dominated-gave the ring of authority to his commands.
When he had finished, he switched it off, then ran it backwards and replayed what he had recorded. It sounded just as he had hoped. He rewound it again, setting it at the beginning of his message.
He took it upstairs, taking pains to be very quiet, and found that Lady Loverly was soaking languidly in a bubble bath. He went to the late Sir Arthur's wardrobe and searched thoroughly. It took a bit of looking, and considerable thought, but finally he had what he believed might make an effective costume. He was soon wearing it.
He placed the recorder where he could switch it on just before ducking out of sight behind the heavy drapes at the rear window of the bedroom. The machine itself was not readily visible. It was in the drawer of the occasional table by the window. The drawer was open just far enough for the sound to emerge.
When Lady Loverly's shadow broke the light coming in through the window of the dressing room, he switched on the recorder and stepped behind the drapes, peering through the tiny slit where two panels joined.
The moving shadow in the dressing room doorway was replaced by the ivory-pink contours of the original body. The shadow had loomed large, and Dirk was gleefully anticipating the effects of his stage presentation. But the small figure of the shadow's owner seemed so pitiful, so incapable of self defense, that he almost reached out to switch off the recorder.
But it was too late. As she stepped into the bedroom, the harsh voice issued from the speaker of the portable unit, and she gave a frightened shriek as she jumped backward, ending with her back against the edge of the doorframe.
"Lady Loverly!" rasped the recorded voice of Dirk Conway. Its commanding tone impressed the surprised Dirk as much as it did the frightened Lova Lee. "We shall now change the rules. Milady has demonstrated that she enjoys punishment when she is the one to dole it out. We shall see if she also enjoys a little brutality when she is the recipient.
"Milady has demonstrated also that she can perform certain duties and fulfill certain obligations and responsibilities as chatelaine of Rosemoor. But her ladyship yet lacks the education and experience necessary to make her fit to rule the domain she hopes to own.
"One who rules or leads must first learn discipline. Until one has known the sensations of being mastered and the proper humility of submissive behavior, one is not capable of mastering and earning the respect and submissiveness of others."
As Dirk listened to the authoritative sound of his own recorded voice, its scornful, commanding tones seemed to fill him with self-confidence. It was a power he had never felt before.
"Fate has robbed milady of this most important part of her training. To make her worthy of her inheritance, so she may properly administrate that which she has not yet earned, milady must now learn true subservience to one stronger than she.
"Lady Loverly, behold your lord and master!"
Dirk, hypnotized almost as much as his subject, stepped out from behind the drapes on cue. Lova Lee gasped as he assumed his stance less than ten feet from her.
The gleaming black leather of riding boots covered his legs up to a point just below the knees. A shiny black satin scarf was tied rakishly around his neck. The matching material between scarf and boots must have been part of some Batman costume or something. It had been among several masquerade items in a back comer of the wardrobe. Dirk's waist was the same size as the late Launtford, but his large-boned hips stretched the black briefs snugly, and his genitals bulged, the ebony satin in a manner that accentuated his masculinity to the greatest possible degree.
The black riding crop in his hand was as highly polished as his boots. The black hair on his chest and the black curls which crowned his head completed the satanic effect.
In his gray eyes shone a light Lova Lee had not seen before.
He moved toward her, slowly, one step at a time, pausing just a split second before each successive step, and she cowered against the doorframe, her face pale, her violet-blue eyes large and full of fear as he drew closer to her.
"On your knees, woman!" he commanded, gesturing with the crop.
As if in a trance, she slid down the frame of the doorway and fell on her knees. Her eyes never left his face; her head tilted upward to match her downward body movement, as if she couldn't tear her gaze from his. A strained whisper issued through her dry lips.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"You have been told. I am going to teach you discipline. The length of time required for your education will be affected by your willingness to obey. Now: Begin by kissing my boot!"
A tiny shudder passed over her shoulders, and she hesitated. The leather loop of the riding crop landed on her shoulder, making her cry out. She leaned down and placed her lips on the toe of his boot.
He pulled the foot from beneath her head and strode over to the bed. As he turned to face her, he let the riding crop smack against the side of a boot.
"Crawl over here to me! No, don't raise your head! You are very much ashamed. You have much to learn before you can lift your head to look at me! Quickly!"
She moved toward him on hands and knees, breasts jiggling with the shock of each "step" taken by her hands. When she had reached him, her head once more over his boot, he spoke.
"Forehead on the floor. Quickly!" He watched her obey, then stepped away and went to the wardrobe, speaking as he moved. "Keep that position!"
He grabbed a thin black dress belt from a rack, and discarded the crop. It was too heavy for his purpose, now. It had served to set off his costume, and would not be needed again.
He came up behind her and snapped the tip of the belt across one of her creamy rounded buttocks. She yelped at the smarting pain, and started to look around at him.
"I told you to keep that position!" he said, snapping the strap harder this time, on the other buttock, wringing a more pained yelp from her than before. But she had put her forehead back on the rug, and was now keeping it there.
She would learn obedience more quickly than he had thought.
He went around to the edge of the bed and sat down, then lifted one boot and placed it on her bowed shoulders, letting the weight bear down on her for a few moments.
"You will learn the burden of servitude," he told her, then turned his ankle to rock the boot-heel back and forth on her soft flesh. "Now turn around and face the other way, with your lazy arse at my feet!" She moved hands and knees, turning in a circle, until her feet and legs bumped into his boot.
"Clumsy wench!" he said, and lashed her back with the strap. She moaned loudly at the pain. "Look beneath you under your lazy body and watch what you're doing! Put one leg on either side of my boots!" She looked back between her hanging breasts and maneuvered one leg around to the other side of the black leather pillars.
He brought up a boot and inserted the toe in her crotch. She gasped at the contact, then when he pressed it brutally into her tender slit, she cried out.
"Oh-h-h! Dirk! Please don't hurt me so much!"
"Silence, woman!" he commanded harshly. "Speak when you are given permission, and then you will address me as 'my lord' with the proper tone of respect. Understood?" He pressed the toe into her soft cunt for emphasis.
"Oh-h! Yes, my lord!" she sobbed.
"That's better." He let the heel of his boot rest on the carpet. "Now lower yourself until your puss touches my boot. That's it! Now, work your arse a bit until those lips part and your cunny gets a good mouthful of leather."
She maneuvered her buttocks around until she got the toe in her slit, then worked until it was well inserted past the outer lips.
"Now, wench, fuck yourself on that until I tell you to stop."
She rocked her hips gently, and her round little buttocks bobbed up and down at him appealingly as she worked. Soon she was panting, caught up in the sensations created by the friction. Her ass started a rotating movement, and Dirk watched in fascination.
The rhythm continued, unbroken, but slowly her speed increased. He reached a hand into her crotch, slipping his fingers into the wet, sloppy flesh and drawing them back coated with the lubricant. He wiped the crack of her ass with the moisture, then returned for more.
After several such sorties, he had the crack between her buttocks slippery with the juices from her heated cunt. Then he shoved a well-lubricated finger into her anus.
"Argh-h-h-h!" she cried out, and her motion almost ceased. But she was too near her goal to give up, no matter what he did. She resumed her movements, and he thrust his finger the rest of the way into her.
Her own motion did the rest of the work. As she pumped herself snugly against his boot, her ass fucked itself on his invading finger. Soon she was moaning and shuddering as she came to her climax. Her movement halted.
"I didn't tell you to stop!" he shouted, and brought the lash down on her back. She cried out, but started her motions again. He let her work away for a while, until he knew she was well into her next climb toward a peak, then stopped her.
"Enough!" He pulled his finger toward him, and her rectal muscles clung tightly to it as he yanked it out. She groaned, and her ass worked a little longer, reluctant to give up now that she was again near her goal.
The belt lashed out, again, landing in the cleft between her buttocks with a loud snap. She shrieked, but her motion continued.
"I said that was enough!" he yelled, bringing the strap down and under her to splat across her belly. Her shriek was much louder this time, and her movement ceased.
She was sobbing and panting in pain and unfulfillment. He let her remain that way for several minutes, then sighed as his pity and adoration got the upper hand.
"All right. You can lie down and rest for a while."
She collapsed onto the carpet and lay there, gasping. He let the strap fall lightly on her buttocks, once, as he spoke again.
"Are you grateful for the rest?"
"Yes," she panted.
"Yes, what?" he asked, letting the strap drop a bit harder.
"Yes, my ... lord, I'm ... very grate ... ful. Thank ... you," she gasped out.
He smiled to himself, but for some reason he was not as happy with his victory as he had expected to be. He placed the belt on his lap, then noticed that his fancy briefs were swollen with his rigid member.
He stood up and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, and her bosom was heaving as she breathed heavily.
"You have done satisfactorily for your first lesson," he said. "Come and get your reward." Her eyes opened and she got up on her hands and knees again and came crawling to him. "Remove the covering that imprisons your lord's cock."
She reached up and pulled at the snug waistband, and worked until she got the briefs down to his knees. He sat down, and she pulled them off over his boots, straggling as the tight elastic encountered the bulk of heel and instep. She placed the garment on the bed beside him, respectfully, instead of leaving it on the rug.
Her wide eyes, partly draped by swollen lids, looked up at him, as if awaiting further command. He nodded to her.
She moved on her knees until she was between his legs, and her hands slid along his thighs, fingers searchingly touching, almost clawing to feel the hairy surface as they traveled upward to his crotch. Her head moved forward, and she took him with her lips, nibbling lightly at the purplish-red fruit.
Her tongue caressed the orifice at the tip, and he gasped at the sensation. Then she was laving the entire length of the shaft with lips and tongue. Her hands slipped under his scrotum and her nails clawed gently at the hairy, wrinkled sac.
Then she was engulfing the entire wand in her mouth and throat. She worked her head in gentle thrusts, rotating it slightly, and in a few seconds he could stand no more.
It came boiling up out of him like an erupting volcano. His hot lava splashed into her mouth in torrential spurts. She couldn't swallow it fast enough, and it oozed out to run in tiny driblets down her lips and chin.
When she had drained him thoroughly, he fell back on the bed, pulling his fatigued member from her mouth. She licked at her chin, then leaned over him and lapped tenderly around his shaft until he was moist but clean. He sighed deeply, and closed his eyes.
"You may rest on the floor beside the bed," he told her. "In a few minutes, I will be refreshed, and then I will tell you how to prepare my meal."
"Yes, my lord," she said in a tiny voice. She curled up on the rug and was quiet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The new regime was much more smooth than the old. With Dirk in command, there was order at all times. Schedules were established for everything.
He elected to keep the bathrooms clean as his own form of exercise, and Lova Lee did all the rest of the work, with one exception. After each delivery of laundry or supplies, she watched until the delivering vehicle disappeared down the drive. Then Dirk went out and brought in the stuff from the porch.
Each morning he would decide on one new thing that his training would include for the day. His chatelaine-turned-chattel became completely cooperative, and seldom hesitated before executing a command.
But he wondered if her submissiveness would survive the trip to London that he knew could not be postponed. It was time for her to make the weekly trip to Dr. Bentley's office.
He watched her small body become swallowed by the huge, black limousine, and marveled at the expertise with which she tooled it down the drive. When it disappeared from view, he went into the library and sat down behind the desk.
He fingered the controls of the tape recorder thoughtfully.
Most of the disciplinary measures which came to his mind were not too difficult for him to demand of her. But certain things, particularly those which were extremely demeaning or degrading, and those which could be very painful, he was unable to voice. Somehow, that quiet little dignity she had, an inner something that gave the impression of containment-as though she had more to offer than she would let show-stayed him from commanding her to perform-the worst acts of humiliation.
Her regal loveliness, even when distorted in the grotesquerie of some command performance, had a constant effect on Dirk. He knew that he would have to use the recorder for some of the things he felt compelled to demand of her.
He pulled himself together, thought for a while, then recorded a message. When he had replayed it, then reset it for the evening performance, he got up and went upstairs.
From the dressing room shelves he got out the clothes he had worn when he came to Rosemoor. Lova Lee had washed them well and put them away at his request.
From the topmost window of the house, he studied the area of the gatehouse. When he was satisfied that movement there indicated the presence of the observer he had seen on the other side of the estate a few minutes before, he dashed downstairs and went out the French windows of the library.
Moments later, he was over the wall and running across a small clearing. Once in the woods beyond he turned off on a barely perceptible trail, moving surely and swiftly up to a bushy cluster of small trees. He reached in and hauled out a compact motor scooter.
He walked it through the woods until he reached the road on the other side. No one was in sight. He started the engine, and was quickly on his way to London.
In his pockets were his complete kit of lock-picking tools, and thirty one-pound notes he had removed from the wall safe in the library at Rosemoor.
He opened up the scooter's engine to full speed, bending low behind the small windscreen for optimum vision. An especially juicy bug splashed wetly against the plastic, making him wince.
He considered the workings of Fate. That particular bug had just happened to be in a certain place at a certain time.
People happen into events the same bloody way, he thought. We never know what's going to pop up to change things.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lady Loverly latched the front door, then leaned back against it. Her mouth was tensed, tightening the ripe, full lips into a compressed paleness. There was concern in her eyes.
"Any problems?" Dirk asked. He was facing her from across the entrance-living room, having just come downstairs after shedding his cycling garb and putting it back on the shelf.
"Dr. Bentley commented on how little marking he found on my skin after that many days," she replied. She gnawed at her lower lip. "Do you suppose he could guess that someone locked it back on me just a few hours before he examined me?"
"I doubt it very much. All the same, we'll increase the time margin after this, and see what his reaction is. No need our taking chances."
She passed by him and went up the stairs. He watched her undress as she climbed, until she was bare down to the waist by the time she disappeared into the upper hallway, hands full of jacket, blouse and brassiere.
He stood there for a few seconds, thinking. Then her voice came floating down to him.
"Would you come up and get this thing off me?"
He mounted the steps slowly, making no answer. He wanted to see exactly how impatient she was-whether she would address him as she had been taught in the last few days.
When he entered the huge bedroom and stood just inside the door, she was in the middle of the room, facing him with her hands on her hips. He forced a steely hardness into his eyes as he met her gaze.
"Did I hear you talking to someone?" he asked.
She tried to stare him down for a moment, and if those beautiful violet-blue eyes had continued to fight him for a few seconds more, she might have won. It shook him considerably to be reminded how this lovely creature could make him adore her by just being there, looking at him. Her lashes fluttered, and her gaze dropped.
"I wondered if my lord would release me from this," she said. Her voice now was that of a punished child. He moved toward her.
"Perhaps if you could convince him that you are pleased to be again in his company, he would consider your release," said Dirk. She moved to meet him, her mouth mating with his, and in a few brief seconds she was clinging to him tightly.
When they separated, he went to the dressing room and returned with the lock-pick. He knelt before her, realizing that he could have sat on the bed and made her walk over and present her imprisoned crotch for the release. But he found that he was glad of a break in the new order, if only for a moment.
He kissed her breasts, thrilling to the quick response of her erecting nipples. Then he forced himself to shake off his urge to worship the compelling body. Quickly, he inserted the pick in the lock, executed the tricky double-twist movement necessary to disengage the pawl spring of the cleverly designed lock, and heard the click as the outer shell opened.
When he had removed the harness, he looked at the straps more closely, then grunted his annoyance.
"What is it?" Lova Lee asked.
"Good thing I decided to do what we did to mislead that bloody croaker," Dirk muttered, then looked up at her. "This isn't the same one."
"Then they switched while the doctor was examining me," said Lady Loverly. "And I thought you were wasting a lot of time and effort when you put it in the bathwater so often. Now I know why you did it. They'll find soap and water marks and things on those straps, won't they?"
"Yes, and a certain amount of mineral and soap in the lock itself. I'll be sure to do an even more convincing job on this one."
"You're so clever, Dirk!" she said admiringly. Then, as his eyebrows raised, "My lord is both strong and wise." He got up and turned so she wouldn't see his grin at her hasty amendment.
"Come," he said, and went into the bathroom. She followed to stand beside him at the cabinet which contained first aid supplies. He opened it and removed a pillbox, then handed it to her.
"Take one now, then continue taking them every day," he ordered.
"What are...." she peered closely at the container. "Oh. The Pill, huh? Where did you get them?" Her frown was one of perplexity.
"I picked them up from a chemist friend in London, today."
"London? You didn't leave here to ... But what if you had been seen leaving or coming back. Isn't that awfully risky?"
"Lady Loverly, are you questioning the decisions made by your wise and clever lord and master?" He regarded her mockingly.
"Oh, no! It just frightened me for a moment. But why did you want the pills? I don't need ... Oh!" She drew in her breath with a sharp little gasp. "I hope they can't tell if...." She paused.
"If what?"
"If it gets used a lot. I mean, won't you stretch it? Can't the doctor tell when he examines me?"
"Why should he examine you, if he keeps you locked up like that?"
"Well, he might be suspicious or something and insist on making sure. After all, he seemed pretty surprised that there weren't worse markings on my skin. And he did seem to take longer than I thought he needed to study the spot where the two sections join against my pussy. He sort of rubbed the hair for a bit, and said he was glad that it didn't look chafed there."
"Loverly, my innocent, I'm betting that he was just copping himself a feel of your exciting cunny. You're not to worry, now."
She nodded, then dispensed a pill from the container, put it in her mouth, and got herself a drink of water. When she turned back to face him, her hand moved to scratch lightly through the curls below her belly. It hadn't itched like that when the straps first came off.
"Does my lord need me for anything else before I go to prepare dinner?" she asked. She could see his gaze center on her busy hand.
"No. I'll rest until mealtime. I had an exhausting trip."
Slowly, she walked out into the bedroom, then shrugged back her shoulders as she picked up speed, hastening into the hall and down the stairs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"You will put on the gown you wore to bed on your wedding night," said the recorded voice. "Then you will lie down on the floor of the bathroom, pick up the new candle which awaits you there, and insert it in your cunt-as deeply as it will go! You will then lie there and wait for the arrival of your lord and master."
There was no further message. She could hear the faint hiss of the moving tape as the machine continued to operate from the top of her dressing table. It had been switched on just before she entered the bedroom, she knew, so Dirk had to be somewhere around.
She got the white gown and put it on, took a deep breath, and went into the bathroom. The washable throw-rag was sizable enough to keep her off the cold tile, for which she was thankful. She lay down on it, and picked up the candle which was lying beside it.
She pulled up the gown to her waist, waited a few seconds longer for her hand to warm the butt of the cold waxen cylinder, parted her slit with her fingers, then placed the probe against its target.
Another deep breath was required to steel herself against the pain she was afraid she would feel. It surprised her to discover that she was lubricating freely, but she was grateful, as she shoved the rigid shaft into her passage.
It was snug, but not painful. In a few moments, she had it in to the point where it was stopped by her natural limitations.
She waited with increasing impatience for Dirk to appear. Not only was she miserable with apprehension, wondering what he was going to do to her, and how much it might hurt, but she was extremely aware of the sensations being created by the inserted candle.
When it seemed that Dirk was never going to show up, she reached down and inserted a finger in her slit just above the installed shaft. She massaged the sensitive bud there, and presently her hips started to move. Then she grasped the candle with her other hand, and withdrew it a little. It felt good, and she pushed it back inside, then pulled it out again.
Her hands became busier and busier, as her feelings heightened. Then Dirk was standing in the doorway.
He was wearing his black scarf, briefs and boots, and his feet were planted widely apart, his hands on his hips. He seemed to fill the entire doorframe.
"What are you doing?" he thundered, and the frown he wore was frightening.
"I'm ... I couldn't help it ... I got so ... you took so long-"
"Answer me! What are you doing? Describe it to me!"
"I ... I'm moving the candle back and forth." She licked her suddenly dry lips, frightened and not quite knowing why.
"You are using two hands. You will tell me exactly what you are doing with each, and you will use common Anglo-Saxon words to confess your acts to me! Now speak!" His hand moved toward her, and the belt she hadn't noticed before now lashed her across the belly. She jerked with the pain, and cried out.
"I ... I'm ... I'm playing with my clitty and fucking myself with a candle, my lord."
"Were you instructed to do this?"
"No, my lord. I'm sorry. I didn't think you would care."
"After this, you will not think for yourself in these matters. You will ask me for permission to do anything to your body. It belongs to me! Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good. Now, we must correct something else. Your gown is white. That is proper only for a virgin. Are you a virgin?"
"No, my lord."
"And why are you not a virgin?"
"Because my lord deflowered me."
"Describe how it was done."
"My lord put his masterful cock against the lips of my virgin cunt and pushed through my maidenhead, tearing it open that I might receive my lord's cock into the depths of my body."
Her eyes were bright and staring as she spoke, and Dirk had accomplished two things by making her describe the event. She had stirred her passion with the remembrance of his initial mastery, and thus reinforced her status of chattel to him, and she had succeeded, through the lurid description, in giving him an erection.
He leaned over her, and his hands seized the top of her gown.
"You cannot regain your virginity, so you will no longer need this white gown," he said.
He ripped it from her in three mighty jerks, causing deep, painful welts in several places before the material gave. He tossed it aside.
"Take the candle in your hand!" he ordered. She obeyed.
"Now you will work it until you achieve your goal," he said.
She began to plunge it in and pull it out rhythmically, and he watched as her expression grew blank, and the lustful gleam of concentration appeared in her eyes. Then he moved to stand above her, and did some concentrating of his own.
It took more will power than he had expected. In planning this, he had not expected any rebellion from his own body. And the three beers he had consumed in preparation should have been all the help he required. But it was quite an effort to gain control of the proper muscles.
But finally, by recalling the occasion which he now wanted to avenge, he was able to relax his sphincter.
He began to piss on her. He sprayed his urine over her crotch, thoroughly wetting her hands and the plunging candle, then played the stream over her thighs. He leaned forward, and guided his hose to soak the skin of her belly, then the mounds of her breasts. She was gasping and trying to get out from under the shower as drops splashed up on her neck, chin and face.
He put a foot on her belly, pushing her down. The action stopped his stream, and it felt as if he wouldn't be able to get it going again. He strained with the effort of resuming his operation, and his jaw muscles tightened, while the tissues of his plexus muscles corded tautly.
It started up again, and he waved his fleshy hose around, distributing the amber fluid promiscuously over her body, until he had not a drop left in his bladder.
He stepped back to the doorway and looked down at her. She was sputtering as she wiped her wet face with her wetter hands. But the strange look in her eyes made him think that some part of her mind was enjoying the degradation.
"Milady knows very well what all that was in aid of, doesn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord," she said, gasping as she continued to squeegee her breasts and belly with her hands.
"Tell me, so I will be sure," he commanded.
"I tore my lord's clothes and made wee-wee on him," she said.
"And what else?" he demanded to know.
"And then I tinkled on my lord's cock," she admitted.
"You aren't through confessing, yet," he told her.
"I ... I ... what else was there, my lord? ... Oh! ... I said very mean things to my lord ... things that were not true ... about his masculinity ... but I didn't mean them, not really ... and I'm sorry I said them."
"Very well, milady. Now, clean me up, and you may then take a bath." He pulled his briefs farther down on his thighs-he had only dropped them a short way for his revenge-and she came up to him with her mouth.
She licked the few stray drops of amber from his fleshy weapon, then sucked it into her mouth and began to work at it. Her eagerness triggered the explosion he had been building for the past few minutes as he studied her beautiful, ravaged body.
He popped his load in explosive gushes, until he was replete. He let her take his last sediment with her hungry suction, then backed away.
"Bathe yourself, then call me when my bath is ready," he ordered.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The wine rack in the butler's pantry was almost empty. Dirk decided to look in the basement, knowing that there should be a wine cellar somewhere in a mansion as gracious as Rosemoor.
He found the light switch at the top of the heavy wooden steps and flipped it on. As he descended, he wondered why he hadn't been curious enough to investigate this lower level before.
The stairs ended in a passage from which several doors opened. He peered into the first, then reached in and switched on the light. He grinned to himself as he saw the wealth of exercise equipment that comprised this deluxe private gymnasium.
In fifteen minutes he had checked each piece of equipment, then examined the adjacent steam room and the expensive steam generator which served it. A dressing room between gym and steam room contained towels and other supplies.
He studied the steam generator more closely, then fired it up and wandered around the basement while the temperature was climbing. He located the wine-cellar and saw that it contained a goodly stock of wines and spirits. The last room he explored was a fairly complete little home workshop. Certain things he observed there reminded him of something in the gym, and he went back in to make a detailed examination of the gadget which had given him a wild idea.
It was an electric shocking machine.
The extensive use of electrical and electronic devices in modern alarm systems had forced Dirk to make himself familiar with the basic theory and applications of these fields, and his inquiring mind had stimulated him to learn more than the bare essentials. So it was little work for him to open the cabinet of the shocker, analyze the circuitry and mechanics of the thing, then modify it to his intended use, employing tools and wire from the workshop.
He completed his project and was gloating over his success when a buzzer sounded. He went to the steam generator controls and turned the master switch from START to MAINTAIN, checked the pressure gauge, then opened the door and entered the hot, mist-filled vault.
When he felt as if every pore had released enough body moisture, he charged into the nearby shower and closed them with an icy needle spray, then lathered under tepid water and cleansed his skin thoroughly. After a final icy shower, he toweled himself, shut down the generator, and went back to the wine cellar.
He had failed to bring with him anything to carry the bottles in, so he went back and got the huge towel he had used. It made a large enough sling for the several bottles he selected from the racks, so he carried them up to the butler's pantry and stored them there.
A variety of odors was drifting out of the kitchen. He could detect the mild-cabbage smell of broccoli and the cheddar scent of the cheese sauce that went with it. Just as he stepped through the kitchen doorway, the oven door was being opened.
Two sweetly rounded buttocks were aimed at him as Lady Loverly leaned to check on her roast. Now he could inhale the savory steam which came from the pork loin, carrying with it the hint of herbs cleverly used.
He admired the upturned bottom, then sneaked up close to her. When she closed the oven door, he planted a kiss on one buttock, and as she gasped out a little shriek of surprise, he kissed the other cheek. He turned her around toward him and tongued the pink button of a shy nipple, coaxing it out of retirement. He sucked gently at its spongy erection.
"If your dinner is half as tasty as your appetizer, I fear I'll overeat," he told her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"You will report to me in the exercise room of the basement at exactly eight-thirty, at which time you will have had your bath and will be ready to serve your lord and master by performing new and interesting acts, all of which will shock you."
Lova Lee listened to the recording with mixed feelings. She had come to dread those moments when she would hear the metallic reproduction of Dirk's voice as it issued from the tinny speaker of the portable machine.
It always presaged misery for her-physical and mental discomforts that she wanted to avoid. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to rebel against them. And she was puzzled about his use of the recorder.
Whenever she was startled by the voice, pouring into a room she had thought was occupied only by herself, Dirk would be elsewhere, and she would be alone with the voice which intimated that there were miseries in the offing for her.
He would have recorded in the middle of the tape, rewound it to the beginning, then set it going where he knew she was about to be. He could be anywhere in the house when the moving reels brought the message portion of the tape across the reproducing head, and she would gasp, every time, as it surprised her solitude.
The things he recorded were not usually orders containing sadistic elements of themselves, but rather instructions on how she should dress or not dress, where and when she should appear for her degrading session, what item or items she should bring with her, and various innuendoes calculated to demoralize her in advance.
Why didn't he just tell her those things in person? When she appeared for her discipline, he would be waiting, and would soon be giving orders directly-orders which were cruel and sadistic, and which caused her to be subjected to all sorts of perverted treatments. Why, then, did he preface these sessions with the recorded instructions?
She couldn't know of his psychological quirk which tongue-tied him in her presence when he tried to initiate a series of demeaning orders. Only by means of the recorder could he trigger the action. Because the in absentia orders would make her appear at the proper place and the proper time, in the manner instructed, he could then accept the fact of her compliance as an act of sharing in the responsibility for what followed.
Especially after she had reason to know that each recorded instruction was followed by direct orders that caused pain and degradation, her obedience could be accepted as a full share in the acts, for if she didn't want to play the game, she had only to absent herself from the designated scene of the session he planned...." bring with you," the recorded voice was saying, "a roll of adhesive tape and some absorbent cotton."
The tape then hissed on for a while with no more message, and she knew there were no further instructions. Resignedly, she went from the dining room, casting a backward look at the sideboard where the tape reeled quietly on and sticking Out her rebellious pink tongue at its delegated authority.
She climbed the stairs and went into her suite. Soon she was bathed and dried, and she sat on the bidet as she mustered her courage to take the final steps.
With a deep sigh, she got to her feet and went to the medicine chest. She took the items she had been ordered to bring, and slowly started out to keep her rendezvous with-she knew not what; only with whom.
The door to the exercise room was open, and when she stepped inside, Dirk was standing at the far side of the room in that stance she had come to think of as "the conqueror's pose." His feet were firmly planted about twenty-six inches apart. His hands were on his hips, his belly sucked in and chest thrust out. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
She moved toward him until he spoke.
"Put the things down on that mat, there. Then come with me."
She dropped the spool of adhesive tape and the box of cotton onto the thick pad which lay between a leather-covered jump-horse and some kind of electrical machine. As he turned and headed for another door, she followed, and soon found herself inside a room filled with steam.
"I'll come for you when I'm ready," he told her, and closed the door, sealing her inside the hot, misty sweatbox. She paced around for a little, peeved that she had been freshly bathed, and was now forced to perspire. She saw, in the dim light of a sealed overhead fixture, a drinking fountain mounted on the wall. She turned the handle of the valve and bent over to drink.
It was very warm-almost hot-and she spit out the mouthful onto the duckboards which covered the floor. She let it run for a while, and finally the temperature was lower. But she could not get it any better than a tepid lukewarm. She gave up and swallowed some, rinsed her mouth out and spat again. It seemed as if she had been cooking for ages.
Then the door opened, and Dirk stepped inside and took her arm. He pulled her toward the door and led her outside, where he sprinkled her with salt from a huge silver saltcellar he had brought from the dining room. She was puzzled more than ever.
"Lie down over there on the mat," he ordered her, pointing toward the pad where she had tossed the tape and cotton. She obeyed, and when she was stretched out on her back, he sprinkled more salt over her, making the stream linger longer around her genital area.
Then he walked around and picked up the cotton package. He took out two generous tufts, then dropped the box back onto the mat. He went into the steam room and came back with both pieces of cotton thoroughly wetted.
He placed these on her nipples, then sprinkled a little more salt on top of the patches. Her eyes followed him as he went over to the weight-rack on the wall and returned with some pieces of rope.
When he knelt and tied her wrists, she began to be worried. He was obviously going to do something to her that would be extremely painful, and had to keep her from running away!
While she was wondering whether to break and run, now, while she could, Dirk fastened the other ends of her bonds to the steel frame of the jump-horse. It was too late to struggle.
He went back to the wall-rack, and she discovered how ingenious was his method for securing her legs. He placed a long bar over her ankles, letting its weight rest on the cast-iron discs installed at either end. Then he tied her ankles to the bar.
"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"But, I've already told you," he replied, busying himself with something out of range of her vision. Then he was doing something with the pads on her nipples, and she felt the pressure as he smoothed out lengths of tape across her breasts. Then he left her, and she waited, wondering what would be next.
When it started, she thought he had managed to sneak up and pinch her nipples without being seen. But that thought lasted only a split-second. Her second impression was that she was having a heart attack, for the sensation-while it seemed concentrated at the tender centers of her delicate breasts-spread all through her chest.
It was a pulsing, nerve-shaking seizure which made her chest muscles want to bunch up in knots. She shrieked as the current tugged at her, and when it stopped, she tried to breathe deeply, as if she was unsure of her ability to control her body.
Just as she got a deep breath, it hit her again. This time the sensation was different, and she sensed that he had changed some kind of setting which determined the potency and depth of what she now knew was an electric shock.
This time, there was less stricture in her chest, but the nerves in her nipples were sending messages of agony to her brain. She cried out with the pain, but he kept the current on for what seemed like hours.
When it stopped, this time, she caught her breath, filling her lungs full, then relaxing almost into collapse. Suddenly she was aware that she was lubricating violently. She could feel the juices flowing out of her cunt and running down the seam of her crotch into her anus.
"Please!" she gasped, trying to locate him in the range of her vision. "No more like that, please!" But her hips were wriggling, and her juices continued to flow.
"Very well," replied Dirk. "We shall change things a bit."
She sucked in her breath sharply as the tape was torn from the sensitive surfaces of her breasts. Then she felt the wetness of the cotton pads on her lower belly. He taped them, one on either side of her groin, just above the juncture of thigh and torso.
She drew in a deep breath in anticipation, but it wasn't necessary. This time, it was an entirely different sensation. It was a shock, yes; but it did not interfere with her breathing. What it did, mostly, was make her belly muscles vibrate rapidly, and force her female organs up and down within her abdomen, creating an unbearably exotic feeling in her depths. She guessed that he had set the power pretty low, and the rate of vibration seemed slower.
"Oh! What a horribly wonderful feeling!" she said. "It's making my insides try to squeeze out my pussy, then jump back up into my tummy!"
"So I notice," replied Dirk. "Your cunny is fairly winking at me!" He knelt down and put his face close to her widely parted slit. Viewed from this vantage point, he could see the slight opening and closing of the pink inner lips at an incredibly rapid rate. He got up and changed the frequency of the current, then returned to kneel between her spread thighs.
"Oh, God!" he breathed. "That little mouth is nibbling at a ghost! Let me give it something to nibble on!" He leaned and inserted his tongue in the moving cuntlips, and the sensation of their rapid mouthing combined with the scent and taste of her womanly lubricant to kindle a terrific fire in his loins.
He sucked and licked at the pulsing mouth of her femininity, until she felt the electrical force and the workings of his mouth drive her up into the clouds, where she burst like a Roman candle, then floated down in little pieces, coming to rest on a strangely vibrating cloud that seemed to grab her with misty fingers and massage her belly and genitals in rapid movements.
"Oh-h-h! It's so good I can't stand it!" she cried. Then she felt Dirk's legs against her inner thighs, and the head of his cock touched her moving cunt-lips. He pressed into her, and she thrust her hips upward to meet his plunge as he probed her deeply.
"My God!" he cried out, as he felt his prick grabbed by a hungry throat and swallowed whole. The movements of her passage were fantastically grasping, and the pulsations literally milked him. He had no chance to enjoy the moist heat of her sucking sheath. It jacked him off thirstily, sucking the spurting streams of his come deep into her, and making him feel more spent than he had ever felt before.
"Coo!" he shouted, as he pulled out of her, and fell onto his back on the mat. "That has unbelievable possibilities, Lady Loverly! I'll have to find just the right settings, so we can make it last longer, though!"
"Turn if off! Please! It feels too good! I'll lose my mind if it goes on any longer!" she cried.
He got up and did something, and the current disappeared. She was panting and moaning for several minutes before she could get her breath. Then she rolled passion-swelled eyes to look at him as he collapsed beside her on the mat.
"You're right, Dirk. And you're so awfully clever to have found such a thing! But please, my lord! Keep it for fun-don't make it hurt me any more, please!"
He didn't answer, and as she strained to raise her head and peer down at him, she saw that his eyes were closed. But as his lips were drawn at the comers, showing his teeth in an evil grin, she had an indefinable premonition, and a shudder rippled over her lovely nude body.
Oh, Dirk, she thought, why must you go on hurting me? Haven't I been repaid for what I did to you? She tried to move her legs to relieve the discomfort of the long-held position, but the restraining axle of the weight assembly kept her from achieving any relief.
I could love you so much, Dirk! she thought. If only you could enjoy me without making me suffer! I'd even marry you. We could share Rosemoor and all the rest together!
She raised up again and looked at him. He appeared to be sleeping.
"Dirk?" she said. There was no response. She sighed and lay back on the mat to wait for him to become rested, so he could release her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The second time Lady Loverly heard the recorded voice of Dirk Conway order her to the exercise room, she was eager to keep the appointment.
Dirk had been so enthusiastic about the results of the first shocking experiment that she anticipated another wild release like she had experienced before.
But when she entered to see him dressed in the black boots, briefs and scarf, she almost turned and ran back up out of the basement. This attire always spelled pain for her. Each time he wore it, he became another person-sadistically demanding, and satiable only through her agony and degradation.
"Onto the mat!" he commanded, gesturing imperiously at the pad near his feet. She hesitated, rocking on her toes, as if she couldn't break the seal between her feet and the floor. But the gleam in his piercing eyes finally drew her forward, and she positioned herself as before, closing her eyes as if not seeing his preparations might make them less real.
When he had tied her wrists and ankles as before, she found that the ankle ropes were longer this time, for some reason. She soon learned why. He kneeled beside her and tugged her knees upward to give him access to her body. Then he parted her buttocks beneath her, and she felt something hard and wet being forced into her anus. It hurt, and she whimpered as the rigid thing invaded her rectum, but she tried to relax her muscles as it pushed more deeply inside her. Finally, when she thought she could stand no more without screaming, it came to rest, and she felt Dirk's finger-which had been pushing on the external end of the object-withdraw from her, and her tight little ring closed. But she could feel something still hanging out of it. It was like a string. She also could feel the thin string where it lay between one buttock and the mat.
Then he was pushing another hard, wet object at the lips of her slit. She shifted her hips slightly to make herself more open and minimize the discomfort of whatever he was doing.
She felt the end of the thing slip into the mouth of her passage, and then she suddenly had a whole cuntful of it. She gasped as it was sucked up into her by the reflex action of her vaginal muscles.
Again, she could feel a cord-like something stretching across the outer lips of her invaded cunt. When he got up and pushed her knees down on the mat, she could also feel this second cord under her thigh. She realized that he had stuffed some kind of electrode in both openings, and that the cords were wires leading to the source of the electricity.
Immediately she became aware of the implication. With both holes occupied by these foreign objects, Dirk could not insert himself in her. So he didn't intend to share a thrill with her as she had hoped. It frightened her as she tried to imagine what she was in for.
When the current was switched on, her buttocks jumped up off the mat and her back arched to hold her rigidly in a perfect semicircle. Her whole body was pulsating and shaking from the transferred sensations which began at the floor of her pelvis and spread all over.
A girl's voice filled her ears with the staccato sounds of a vibratory scream. As she realized that the sound's tremolo matched the vibrations of her shuddering body, she identified the voice as her own.
The current was switched off, and her body fell back onto the mat. She was gasping with exhaustion from the workout her major muscles had been given.
Just as she caught her breath and started to relax, he switched it on again. Arched once more into a human bridge, she could see that Dirk was standing by her head. His cock had erected, and she could see up past the rigid shaft to his face far above, where his eyes burned feverishly in fascination as he watched her reaction.
His tongue slipped out to lick his lips, and she was amazed to note that she could marvel at the strange way the action looked to her, upside down as it was from her viewpoint, in spite of the agony she was feeling. The current was stronger this time; he must have turned it higher!
Through it all she could hear her quivering scream. She wanted to stop screaming long enough to beg him to switch it off, or at least turn it down, but she couldn't shut off the scream, even at those moments her diaphragm took over and forced her to inhale more air. The second she had a little air in her lungs, the scream would begin anew.
She had an idea, but the tension of her muscular reactions would not allow her to carry it out: If she could just shit out that thing in her bowels, that should break the circuit. But the nature of her neuromuscular reflex to the electric current was one of contraction, and she couldn't fight it.
She didn't know how long the session lasted. She could see the wet pearl forming on the end of Dirk's extended cock, then it grew larger, finally falling off to splat on her face Another opalescent jewel took its place on the end of the fleshy scepter, then it plopped on her lips and started to run down into her upturned nose.
The pearls appeared faster and faster, then his fluid was spurting hard, scattering splashes all over her neck and breasts, one large gob landing just above her navel.
Then she started to lose consciousness.
Then tension lessened, and she thought it was because she was passing out, and welcomed the oblivion he expected. But she felt her body lowering to the mat, and the current stopped completely just as her buttocks touched the canvas.
She opened her eyes, and could see Dirk's hand for the first time. He was still standing at her head, but his facial expression had changed to reflect his concern over her condition. She could just glimpse the object in his hand, and see the cable which ran from it down to the floor somewhere, and guessed that it was a remote control of some kind.
He moved around to kneel between her thighs. One of her knees had remained bent, and was leaning outward away from its mate. The effect was to open her cunt widely, presenting the wet, gleaming gold of her mound as if for inspection.
He pulled on the wire, and the electrode squished out of her body with a wet, sucking sound. Then she was amazed to see him turn his back to her and lean over, thrusting his buttocks out to her and separating them with the fingers of one hand.
"Does this excite you to watch?" he asked, then brought up the other hand, which held the electrode that lately had occupied her tortured cunt. It was slimily agleam with the mucous of her lubricant, and she watched in fascination as Dirk made the pinkish tan rose of his anus ring blossom outward from internal muscular effort, then shove the lubricated electrode into his ass.
She could hear him grunt with the discomfort of his fullness as he forced the plug into himself. In short, sure gulps, he got his rectum to swallow the device, then she saw the fleshy ring tighten down onto nothing but the insulated wire that trailed from the inserted electrode.
It surprised her that the sight had indeed aroused her. Her nipples had erected, and her genitals felt full and swollen with the sudden engorgement of her excited pulse. When she realized what he was going to do, she became even more passionate. Her hands bunched into fists, and then her fingers clawed, as she tried to get them free to massage herself in the top of her cleft mound, where a demanding tingle had begun to grow.
"Oh, yes! Do it! Do it to me! Quickly, please!" she begged. He smiled down at her as he turned to face her supine body. A slight frown accompanied the smile, she thought.
"To whom are you speaking?" he asked, and she saw a twitch at the comer of his mouth.
"To you, my lord," she quickly amended.
"Do you know what is about to take place?" he queried.
"I think so, my lord," she replied. "Oh, I hope so!"
"Then describe to me what you anticipate. And make certain that you describe it in terms I understand and appreciate."
She wet her lips nervously, and her eyes went from his limply pendant cock to the wire which hung down behind him.
"I think that my lord has connected us like the two poles of a magnet. Our assholes are stuffed with the connectors, and when my lord's cock is shoved into my cunt, we'll be drawn tightly together with the current."
"And just how do you think I propose to stuff a limp thing like this into you?" he wanted to know.
"If my lord will come up here where I can reach him, perhaps I can restore some of the stiffness," she offered.
"If necessary," he agreed. "But let's see if the bloody old faker can't be brought to life another way, first. There may well be a lot more to this bloomin' project than just an electric rogering, you know." His eyes twinkled as he knelt again between her creamy thighs.
He was grasping the remote switch in one hand. With the other, he placed the flaccid member against her slit, with its drooping head touching the hard little bud of her clitoris. When the two glans were in firm contact, he pressed the switch.
The current was set low at first, but even the tiny tingling of that initial flow performed wonders. The soft head of Dirk's cock filled with blood like a balloon being inflated, and it slipped up, up and away from its tiny counterpart.
That electrical aperitif had stimulated Lova Lee, also. Her fleshy little thorn was excited, and her hips moved upward to regain contact with the source of the stimulus. She managed to get exactly the right contact, as the shaft of Dirk's penis wedged in her deep cleft, with the head once more touching her tightly cloaked little boatman. For a moment, the two ultrasensitive surfaces remained connected, and the mild current which flowed back and forth between them, combined with the spasming pulses of their separate engorgements, built them both to a pleasurable plateau.
Then Dirk withdrew, and let the rearward movement of his buttocks guide the stiff weapon into the slickly lubricated vestibule of her increasing desire.
As the trailing movement made the tingling current shift downward, Lova Lee gasped with the electric sensation. And when he started to insert himself in her, she growled like a tigress in heat. As he pushed slowly to enter more deeply, he cranked up the intensity slightly at the remote control.
"Gr-gh-gh-h-hr-r-r-r-r!" growled the tigress from somewhere deep in her throat, as the fleshy electrode contacted the walls of her vagina, moving slowly along and stirring more and more of the nerve-ends every second. It was like the invasion of an army of tiny crawling things, climbing around the wet pinkness of her inner depths.
Then Dirk plunged in the rest of the way. When the meaty head contacted the wrinkled mouth of her uterus, she shrieked with the intensity of the sensations that followed.
The army of tiny invaders now had crawled completely around her inner female organs. They must be holding hands and squeezing themselves around my babymaker in spasms! she thought to herself.
Then Dirk withdrew a little, and the innermost feelings stopped. The sensations now stayed in her passage, shifting as he plunged in and out. And also there was a constant tingle in her bowels, and through the thin wall between the hard electrode at her rear and the fleshy one above it.
Then he probed deeper, resuming the uterus-mouth contact, and holding it for a few seconds. Once more, she almost lost her mind with the intensity of her arousal. Then she felt herself soaring wildly, and she knew she was headed for an orgasm like she had never known before.
Dirk had not been without great stimulation from the current, and now-as her hyper-stimulated womb opening seemed to bite rapidly at the top of his glans, he felt himself being uncorked.
They struggled to increase their contacts, pressing tightly to each other, wiggling their buttocks wildly as if the extra lateral motion could weld them more firmly together, and plunging their tongues into each other's hungry mouths.
Then, with his last bit of control, Dirk tweaked the remote device just a little more.
They screamed together into each other's throat as the additional force made their orgasms change in tempo. The frequency of the current was fighting with the natural frequencies of their bodies, making their systems double the effort toward completion.
It was agony of the deepest sort, blended with a supreme ecstasy. To Dirk, it seemed as if he was spurting his seed twice as fast, twice as hard, for twice as long as ever he had before.
To Lova Lee, it was the rosiest of all rosy crucifixions. The hard, rapid spurts were hot rivets or machine-gun bullets, nailing her to the pilot's seat of a diving fighter plane. Then she was automatically ejected and began to float down. But the bullets followed her all the way, nailing her constantly until she lost consciousness.
Her attacker crashed on top of her, his machine gun empty. He had just enough awareness left to turn the remote switch completely off. Then he, too, passed out.
Dirk stirred on the mat, opened his eyes, and raised himself to a sitting position. He grunted as the aches all hit him at once. The belly muscles required to make the move seemed to be interwoven among dozens of muscles and nerves that rebelled at any additional work. The hyperactivity induced by the electric current had forced them into a week's work in the space of minutes.
Still more miserable were the empty, gnawing clutches in his groin-like a hungry stomach and bowels growling for food, only lower and more intensely pronounced. No doubt about it, he thought, I'm drained as I can be without sticking my prick in a bloody milking machine!
But the worst was the immense, dull ache deep in his lower bowels. He reached back and grabbed the trailing cable, then pulled the cylindrical electrode from his rectum. But he knew it wasn't the foreign object that caused the misery.
I'm too bloody fuckin' young to have prostate trouble, he told himself. But he knew that an overworked gland was exactly the cause of that deep-rooted misery. No more of that! he promised himself.
He rolled to his knees and got a grip on the cable trailing from Lova Lee's buttocks, and eased out her electrical suppository. It brought a faint whimper from her, but her eyes did not open. He disconnected the cables from the smooth cylinders, then struggled to his feet, took the streakily stained objects into the shower with him, and cleaned them off. Then he cleansed himself.
When he washed the outraged ring of his anus, it smarted more than a little. I'd not make a proper jag, and that's for sure! he thought.
The cold needle shower refreshed him, after he was clean, but the heavy, dull pain of his strained prostate was still with him. He groaned and tried to ignore it as he went out to see how his mate had fared.
She awoke as he untied her, and there was a strange look of satisfaction combined with misery in her eyes as she looked up at him. He knelt and kissed her pouting, full lips.
"How do you feel, Lady Loverly?" he asked.
"I've got an Excedrin womb-ache!" she complained.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, puzzled at an Americanism he had not heard before.
"I've got a hellish headache in my baby maker!" she rephrased.
"Oh! Well if misery does love company, it may console you to learn that my ammunition depot has been sabotaged quite effectively."
She returned his kiss, then held his head in her hands as she peered deep into his eyes.
"I'm sorry for you," she said, full of gentle feelings for this clever, brutal male who had such a schizoid character. When he was tender, at moments such as this, she could eat him up, she was so filled with love of him and what he could do with her.
Even when he was ravaging her as he had just done, she felt that she couldn't desire another male in the world any more than she desired Dirk Conway.
But at those other times, when he seemed to be quite another person, entirely-bent on making her suffer, while he looked on in hypnotized enjoyment at her agony-she could murder him with pleasure.
She wondered if there were any chance of his changing. If he could only shed that other personality-that sadist who took over his mind and body-she would love him forever. Could I have hurt him that much those few times I humiliated him? she wondered. Surely he must by now have evened the score. Oh, Dirk! Please don't hurt me any more! Just love me!
"You should get your bath now," he said, pulling away from her. "Don't forget. You have to be at Dr. Bentley's office in a matter of hours, and we want to get that harness on you and make some noticeable marks this time."
She managed to get up, with a hand from Dirk, and her walk was a little unsteady as she headed for the steps which led up to the kitchen. Dirk watched her cherubic round buttocks bob daintily as she moved up the stairs.
Even when she's sore front and rear, he thought, there's something regal about the way she moves-that Lady Loverly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cecil Wethering held up an indignant hand to silence Harold Tipton's chuckle. Tipton's reaction, as he listened on the monitoring earphone of the conference-room extension, was due to the fussy phrasing used by the caller. The younger man stifled his amusement as the senior partner replied.
"It would seem to me, Dr. Bentley, that your suspicions are rather thinly supported. Just because the flesh is marked deeply where you think it needn't be, and only faintly marked at points you believe to sustain the worst stress, you can't very well go barging into Rosemoor as though you were raiding a Piccadilly bawdy house."
"That happens not to be my only reason for suspecting Lady Launtford of hanky-panky," the doctor's voice grated angrily. Tipton's eyes widened and he held the earpiece a little farther from his ear.
"Well," replied Wethering, "get on with it. What else has you so suspicious?"
"There was marked edema of the labia majora-more so than on the previous examination-and a definite inflammation of the entire vaginal canal. Under other circumstances, I would not hesitate to diagnose promiscuous and frequent invasion by either a penis or a phallic simulation of some sort. And that just is not possible if the lock has not been picked."
Wethering wet his thumb and turned a page of the sheaf of papers before him, noticing how much more prominent were his veins than they had been on the last occasion he had to notice them. Have to give up the Laphroaig altogether, he thought. Don't like that damn sherry Neil sent, either. Have to find some bloody thing to drink, damn it all! His finger pounced on a sentence in the document before him.
"I'm reading from your initial prognosis, doctor," he said into the telephone transmitter. "And I quote: 'With this device secured on her person, Lady Launtford not only would be absolutely protected from penetration by a penis or dildo of any sort, but she would be deterred from exciting herself through stimulation of the clitoris-accidental or deliberate. The only manner in which she could obtain masturbatory sensations is by thigh pressure, which could facilitate labial friction, or by directing a stream of water through the orifice in the crotchpiece and eroding the clitoris or-by manipulation at angles or the use of a small-bore hose-flood the vulval area or even the vaginal passage with sufficient friction to elicit gratification. On the whole, this harness-in my medical opinion-satisfies the letter and the spirit of any obligation to the late Sir Arthur Launtford, as regards the subject final codicil of his last will and testament.' End quote. Is that not your exact wording, Dr. Bentley?"
"Yes, yes. But what has that to do with the current situation?" inquired the voice on the wire. "If she had...."
"It has this to do with it, Doctor," Wethering interrupted. "Are you not as familiar with the furnishings in the master bath at Rosemoor as am I? Are you not aware that the plumbing includes a very modern bidet and complete accessories?"
"Of course I am, Wethering."
"Then I suggest that you accept the possibility-no, the very likely probability-that a young woman in her obviously untenable position would not be slow to grasp the possibilities of that most versatile piece of equipment."
"You're saying," replied the doctor, "that she has been over-zealous in the use of hydrotherapy?"
"I most certainly am," Wethering replied. "lust as would you or I, should we be locked up in like manner. If we couldn't get a grip on old Roger to work off our steam, we'd find a way to get our finger or something-even a hose-up our ass to bugger ourselves until we got our bloody eggs scrambled."
"Speak for yourself, you horny old shyster," replied Bentley. But the chuckle which followed his implied innocence belied the words themselves.
"You sleep on it, you Harley Street quack," Wethering laughed. "If you can leave your nurse unfingered long enough to do that. And if you have the same suspicions tomorrow, we'll talk about a visit to Rosemoor. Satisfactory?"
"Hell, man, it's your decision! You're the legal end of this outrageous circus Launtford got us all into. I'll tell you one thing, though: If my fifty-eight-year-old nurse looked like that Holstein heifer you keep in your outer office, I'd have more than my finger between me and a good night's sleep. In fact, I doubt whether I'd have taken the time to phone you this report!"
"Why, Doctor Bentley!" said Wethering in pretended indignation. "I didn't know you were hard for our Breasty Beth. Would you like for me to put in a good word for you?"
"You can bloody well be damned!" said the doctor, chuckling as he slammed down the receiver. Wethering and Tipton guffawed as they hung up their own phones, then probed at their noise-deadened ears.
Wethering got up and walked over to the doorway, and Tipton got the impression that his senior partner was staring at then; bosomy receptionist. But when the older man turned and started back to the table, it was obvious that he had something else in mind.
"What are you thinking?" asked Tipton.
"I was thinking," said Wethering, slowly, "about a conversation I had with Inspector Summers about a foxy young cat-burglar who's gone to ground somewhere in the county. No. That's a pretty un-likely coincidence. Well, what say we get busy finishing the briefs on old Ainsley's thing?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dirk was waiting for his Lady Loverly to return. His naked buttocks were perched atop the high back of a solid old antique overstuffed chair. His feet were on the rounded arms of the chair, and he had a darkly potent Scotch and soda in his hand.
Most of his orgiastic hangover had disappeared, but now and then he would shift his seat on the chairback as his protesting prostate gave him a hard, dull nudge....
He knew that liquor was not prescribed for this ailment. When his father had suffered with it, he had learned a bit about this agonizing affliction that was peculiar to the male of the species.
The gaffer used to say it was like having a baby lodged in his bloomin' ass, Dirk recalled. Coo! He couldn't have known what it was to have a baby, no more could I, but it sure feels like some bloke stuffed a wad o' hurt up my ass!
He slid down off the perch and went into the library. Then he remembered that he had left the recorder in the dining room. He went in and got it and brought it back to the library, where he put the machine on the old desk.
He sat in the leather-covered desk chair and thought for a while. He had been struggling with his alter ego for quite a long time. He wished he had finished his schooling, or that they provided a bit of psychology in the lower forms where he had obtained his incomplete education.
He didn't know what it was that compelled him to treat Lady Loverly the way he did at times. At moments, he was sure that it was a combination of his male ego, trying to revenge her initial domination and degradation of him, and some indefinable quality that seemed to emanate from her when he had her in his power.
She was a beautiful, young woman-there was absolutely no doubt of that! And she enjoyed the more gentle things he introduced her to in the field of sex. She seemed at times-in fact-as though she were content and would continue to be content just loving it up with him, spending all their time deliriously saturated in each other's sexuality.
He suspected that she had been filled with romantic notions about being the chatelaine of Rosemoor, and that she obtained a puerile enjoyment from those moments of triumph when she had played the great lady and dominated him-her chattel, her serf-taking from him and doing to him what she willed.
But when he had turned the tables, and she had been quickly brought under his domination, he learned that she really wanted a man-a strongly willed masculine personality-to lead her and make her his property. It made sense. After all she had married Sir Arthur Launtford expecting just such an arrangement.
The shock the poor thing had had on her wedding night was quite the blow. She could be excused for her backlash at the only male within range. It was quite human, after all, for her to strike out at a man for the way she had been left high and dry on her night of nights!
Oh, he wasn't pulling his own leg, any. When this whole wild game was over, and she was really officially Lady Launtford forever, with nothing threatening her ownership of Rosemoor and all that went with it, she would chuck him out with his twenty-thousand quid, and that would be the last of it.
A dream of a thing like her-why, she could get any man she set her cap for. Even without the inheritance. So he wasn't counting on anything lasting with her. But still, for the months to come, he wondered what it would be like if he let up on her a bit, and made things a bit more equal between them.
Sure, she had that strange helpless aura about her, when he had her under his power. It was indescribable, but it was maddeningly gratifying!
Her total loveliness, so feminine and sweet and entirely helpless. The sum of all that fleshly wealth actually his to command-it fair made a man's blood boil!
But he also enjoyed the more peaceful moments. Those sweeter times when they just crawled all over each other with purely tender feelings, kissing and caressing and striving to satisfy each other. What the hell, how many chaps did he know who had ever had that-with a real lady, a perfect virgin of a doll like Lova Lee Launtford?
Was it because he was jealous of what she would become or of the men she would have after him? Was his possessiveness the real root of his problem? Hell, Conway! Just because you took her ruddy maidenhead, you don't own her for Hie. Sure, you're living here with her as if you were husband and wife, but that was a business proposition-remember?
He heaved a big sigh and took a huge swallow of his drink.
No, by damn! If I keep things just as they are now, at least I'll be able to feel like a man while I'm here. If I let up on her, she might spring back in the other direction and start treating me like a piece of property, again. And I worship the lovely bitch so much, that I might not have the guts to turn the tables the second time.
What do they call it? Psychological advantage? I've got it now, and I don't want to lose it.
He pulled the recorder toward him and dictated his orders. When he finished and rewound the tape to the starting position, he shut it off, then closed his eyes and sat there quietly for a while.
He opened them when he heard the engine of her returning car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Although Dirk had told her they would not eat until very late, Lova Lee was not hungry. She was drinking her third beer, and it made her feel very full and very silly. Mostly very full. She started to get up off the sofa, then remembered that she couldn't do what Nature was trying to tell her was a necessity.
When she had come home, Dirk had made her go into the library and listen to the tape machine. Among the other orders was one she thought extremely petty, whimsical, and thoughtless.
She was not permitted to urinate until he so ordered her! Right now, even with the pressure of her full bladder, she was not too uncomfortable. The beer-to which she was quite unaccustomed-had her in a state of half-euphoria half-hysteria.
Maybe my poor swelled little bladder is pressing on my female organs, she thought. That might account for the odd thoughts that pop in and out of my mind.
And what's Dirk doing upstairs? Why was he going up and down between the basement and the master suite so many times? And when for the love of God will he let me tinkle? Pretty soon I'm going to pee down my leg! If he hadn't made me take my bath the minute he took off my chastity belt, I could do that now, and he'd never know if I pissed while I was in the bathwater. Hurry up, Dirk!
But when he called down the huge staircase for her to leave the parlor and come up, she found that it took a little maneuvering to get under way without falling on her face. All that beer on an empty stomach had done more than swell her bladder. It had wrapped its liquid fingers around her brain, or at least the portion which controlled her legs.
When she finally made it upstairs and down the hall to the bedroom, he wasn't in sight, so she went on through the empty dressing room to the bath. She knew that if she stopped, she might not be able to get started again.
Why in hell did he insist that I drink so much beer, anyway? Especially if he wasn't going to let me tinkle? she wondered fuzzily, as she almost fell into the large bathroom.
Hanging onto the doorframe for support, she peered in at Dirk, who seemed to be weaving unsteadily on his feet. Perhaps it wasn't his fault, because the whole room seemed to weave a little.
"Sit down on the bidet," he commanded, extending a hand to help her navigate across the tricky floor. She grasped his hand, and soon was seated on the pink-peach porcelain of the fixture.
"Spread your sweet, sexy legs, Loverly," he said, and she slowly managed to shift them, one at a time, until he was satisfied with her vulnerability. Then he massaged her vulva, and she grew excited quickly, wondering vaguely if that also was caused by the bladder pressure.
When she was lubricating freely, he stopped, and then she felt something being inserted in her hot, wet passage.
"Right you are," he said, standing up from the leaning position he had assumed to make the insertion. "Now. Stand up slowly and turn around. I want you seated on that thing as though you were using it. Remember? Like the first time I saw you?" He helped her to her unsteady feet, and made her stop in mid-turn as he took one foot and lifted it for her, as though he was keeping her from tripping over a rope or something. Then she was reseated, facing the business-end of the bidet.
He did something that made a ringing sound, then a tiny splash. Her eyes were not focused too well, so she didn't try to figure out what it was, although it seemed as if he had dropped something into the bidet.
"All right, my lovely," he told her. "Now you can tinkle to your heart's content."
She heaved a relieved sigh, and relaxed the muscles which she had feared she couldn't control much longer.
A hard-driving spray burst from her, and the first pleasure-pain of the great relief almost sobered her completely, so wonderful was it. Then she was suffering the tortures of the damned!
She knew, the second it began, what he had done. With the sudden clarity that can accompany the instant sobering of a shocking incident, she knew that he had set her up for an agonizing trap. The stream of her urine formed the complete circuit between the electrode in her cunt and the one he had put in the bidet.
And she couldn't stop pissing to save her life!
The vibrating force which tore through her genital area was making her stream spurt in hyphens at the rate of fifty times each second, and the terrible, grasping pain which she felt with each tiny spurt convinced her that her tinkling system was being absolutely destroyed for good.
Her scream was a constant siren that filled the room, and the blood was draining from her face rapidly.
Dirk panicked, not wanting her to go into complete shock. He switched off the current, and she fell backward. He caught her shoulders in his arms before she could tumble to the floor.
Her legs were splayed outward, her cunt was elevated by the blocks her buttocks formed on the bidet, and he could see the bright golden drops in the paler gold of her gleaming pussy fur.
The fountain was still gushing. It was now a thin but steady little gusher, spraying slightly at the sides, and flowing down against her thighs into the bidet.
Fascinated, he reached out and fingered the warm stream, and one fingertip touched the wet fleshy butterfly of her passage mouth. He grasped the wire and removed the electrode from her vagina, tossing it into the bidet with the other one.
When her flow became a tiny dribble, then only an occasional drop, he grabbed some tissue and dried her mound and thighs. Then he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, where he placed her on the coverlet of the huge four-poster.
A quick trip back to the bathroom was in order. He found some ammonia inhalers in the medicine chest, brought them in to her, and broke one under her nose.
Her eyes fluttered a bit, then opened. Her face started to get back a little of its color, and he relaxed the worried look on his face just as she focused her gaze on him. Her eyes were full of the hurt of his treachery. They accused him so strongly that he couldn't stay and meet their steady inquisition.
He straightened up and pretended to be busy around the room, then spoke to her from the doorway.
"Rest a while. I'll prepare the meal, and call you when it's ready."
Her head had not moved when he left her side, and now, as he looked back at her from the doorway into the hall, he knew that if he were to return to her side, her eyes would still be looking up, waiting for him to meet the challenge of their accusation.
He left quickly, hating himself and wondering if he could ever completely erase from his memory the vision of those hurt, accusing eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Harold Tipton's face wore a dejected look when Cecil Wethering walked into Tipton's office. The senior partner took in the scene quickly.
"What's the matter, old man; summer cold or something?" asked Wethering. "You're not lying down as usual, and you have your office lights on."
"She's wearing panties today," Tipton complained. When the elder barrister laughed, he added, "What's funny, I'd very much like to know? My whole day's spoiled."
"She's not wearing panties," Wethering informed him. Tipton's jaw dropped, and he jumped to his feet.
"How would you know?" he demanded, advancing on his colleague. Wethering went over and closed the door, sealing them off from the conference room and the reception desk which had been visible beyond, through the two open doorways. He returned and took a seat on Tipton's couch.
"She's performing a service for Doctor Bentley," he said. "I mean to say that Bentley's enlisted her to research something that concerns all of us, unfortunately."
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" asked Tipton.
"He rang me up late last night," explained Wethering. "Said that he was far from satisfied that Lady Launtford wasn't putting one over on us. He gave me a lot of medical jargon, and I could only understand about half of it, but the end result was that we agreed to test the chastity belt and some hydromasturbation on a test subject. If the tests reveal what Bentley suspects, we shall have to pay Lady Launtford a surprise visit."
"Do you mean to sit there and tell me that ... that you asked Beth to...."
"Not exactly, Harold. We discussed the delicacies of approach, and came up with an ideal solution, I believe. I phoned Beth at her flat, and told her that Dr. Bentley required her assistance on a project relating to one of our clients, and that I would appreciate her cooperation sufficiently to present her with a sizable bonus. I lied to her in that I said I hadn't the faintest idea what Bentley wanted, as he said he was protecting a client's confidence."
"And she agreed," said Tipton, wonderingly.
"Apparently so. Bentley rang me again this morning just before I went out to lunch, and said that she was going to wear the device for a few days, then report to him for the final test. You see, he doesn't believe that Lady Launtford could have caused the er ... ah ... that is ... he doesn't think that a stream of water would have made such a drastic change in her internal tissues. He believes that something sizable-too large to get through the slit in that device she wears-is responsible. Something like a human penis!"
"Good Lord!" Tipton ejaculated. "What a bloody bag of eels that will open up, if he proves to be right!"
"Yes," said Wethering. He sighed as he got to his feet, and a worried frown creased his brow. "I hope, for the poor girl's sake as well as our own, that the old quack is wrong." He left the office without closing the door, and Tipton eyed the busty receptionist-telephonist for a moment, then switched off his office lights. He debated with himself for a bit, wondering whether to go back to the couch and study the details of the device that was spoiling his usual sport of pussy-peeping.
Then he shrugged his shoulders and went into the conference room, crossed through it, and stood briefly in the doorway, studying the busy girl as she typed at top speed.
You may not know it, old girl, he told her silently, but you've joined one of the nastiest espionage projects there is. Bloody damned shame! Bunch of legal and medical bloodhounds ganging up to spy on that poor young widow, as if the gal hadn't suffered enough because of Launtford's stupid vanity and possessive ego!
He was just angry enough to vent his frustration on the innocent Beth as he went toward the outer door of the suite. Even though he knew it would probably cost him his hobby.
"I'd appreciate your wearing more clothes, Miss Fawkes," he said as he passed her desk. "When I'm lying on my couch trying to think, you can be quite distracting!" He glanced at the mirror on the hatrack near the door as he seized the brass doorknob. Beth's face was pasty white, and her jaw was hanging loosely.
Hell with it! he thought, as he slammed the door behind him. When he started down the street, he decided to walk to the tearoom where he sometimes went for elevenses.
I need some bloody fresh air! he told himself, not even feeling the first fine drops of rain as the drizzle burst upon him from the gray sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lova Lee ran her fingers through her long blonde tresses, making them spread out around her head on the counterpane of the huge old fourposter. They gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight, like the lustre of gold treasure displayed on a silken museum cushion.
She breathed deeply, wondering if Dirk really regretted all the suffering he had put her through, and if he had called a halt to his sadistic games with the recorded overtures, or if he was just resting things for a few days before going at her again like a modern Marquis de Sade.
She didn't think she could stand it, if he started torturing her again. It was bad enough before. But these last few days had been so wonderful, that she was almost ready to break through the last barriers of reserve and tell him just how much he really meant to her. He had been so tender and sweet and loving, that she wanted him to stay like that forever.
It would be absolutely like heaven if they could go on this way for good. When Rosemoor was safely in her hands, legally, she could marry Dirk, and they need never part. They could come and go as they pleased, do whatever they wanted, and live like royalty. If Dirk's true feelings were as she suspected, they wouldn't go very many places or do very much that would interfere with their sexual revelries! These last days had been unbelievably satisfying.
Her golden lashes closed over her violet-blue eyes, and she let her slim fingers travel from her silken hair down across her face and neck to her breasts. She cupped the hard mounds firmly, and felt the nipples erect under her fingers as she recalled the wealth of joy Dirk had brought to her since the last electrifying torture session.
The agony which had gone before was drowned out in the delirious recollections of the later events.
The way he had treated her-like Lady Launtford, instead of his slave-made her feel for the first time as though she were really nobility. Not the romantic-schoolgirl conception of what a noble lady was like. But a real person, with an inner value that won respect and admiration-yes, even adoration.
For he had adored her these last days, waiting on her, speaking softly and lovingly to her, calling her 'my darling Lady Loverly' and 'milady, my love' so naturally that he might always have thought of her thus.
And the way he had made her body come alive, using only tender caresses of his gentle hands, lips, tongue and that marvelous, hard maleness he carried like a scepter! She had felt some pretty deep sensations under the influence of his painful treatments, but there had been nothing to equal the raptures he had created with the more gentle techniques.
Oh, he had bitten her a little, of course. And she blushed as she admitted that she had made more than one mark on his manly physique, too. But those brief hurts only served to intensify the depth of their feelings.
No, she could never go through the other kind of sexual gymnastics, again! It would be like going back to the chain gang after having escaped it to become a millionaire living in luxury. Do they have chains gangs here in England? she wondered. And if not, what do they do to punish people? They don't still put them in stocks or pillories, or whatever, do they?
Her hands had slipped down from her breasts, as if they had a will of their own, and she realized that they were massaging her lower belly and thighs. She was starting to pant from the excitement, and it renewed her memories of the many hours she had been caressed by Dirk. The unpleasant thoughts of punishment vanished.
Her hands continued to fondle her creamy flesh, as she wondered what Dirk was doing, and how soon he would join her here. When her fingers crept into her feathered slit, it was as though Dirk were there, teasing the slippery edges of the swelling lips, making them draw back in their fullness, parting her golden nest like the curtains opening on a stage.
"It's almost like a little world all its own," Dirk had told her during one of the many times he had been studying it closely in the recent days of love.
He liked to lie far down in the bed, between her abducted thighs, with his head resting on the side and top of one creamy thigh, and peer lovingly at the wonders of her golden-furred pussy.
"It's so ungodly beautiful!" he had told her. "The delicious shades of pink and red, and the fantastic way it's all put together! It makes me fair want to cry, it's so lovely." Then he would kiss it, nibbling ever so gently with his lips, until she would tingle all over with wanting him.
"Oh, Dirk, my lover!" she would moan passionately, as he licked at the inner edges of the thickening lips and the hardening little creature which stage-managed the fleshy curtain. She realized that she had moaned to him now, just thinking about it, as her own fingers worked to create the illusion that her lover was there.
She could almost hear his voice, full of hoarse overtones as her natural female endowments thrilled him to lusty heights, as he told her of her magnetic hold on him.
"And the darling perfume of you, Lady Loverly!" he would say. "It's indescribable. It's a delicate acid sweetness, like an exotic fruit of some kind, ripe and aching to be eaten, giving off its compelling scent to lead me to it.
"When I get there, I find that it's a thing too beautiful to ravage with my teeth, no matter how the scent of it hungers me. And I needs must take the juice from it to hold back my hungers for a while, hoping that somehow I can taste more and more of it, until I stop hungering for a while.
"But always, though I thrill to taste the musky delight of the juices, I'm left unsatisfied a little. Yet I can't bruise the dear little fruit that oozes such nectar, or I'll lose the entire joy. Oh, Loverly, my darling lady, give me your nectar! I'm dying of hunger for you!"
And he would lick and suck and lip-nibble at her heated cunt until she was ready to faint with passion. She could feel the hard rod of his desire against her foot while he drank of her flowing juices. And her mouth would ache for the taste of him. She could hardly wait to take him in her lips and swallow his dear maleness. The very words he had spoken to her heightened her own desire, and the wet sounds of his feasting made her all the more hungry for that meat which was being wasted at her feet.
And the quivering thrills that were running over her body, like little electric moles burrowing just beneath her skin, then diving to burrow downward at the most sensitive points of her being-all of these sensations were building to make her hungers increase by the second.
She was now mixing her memories with the present, her need for him almost creating his presence in the bed with her. It made her relive those moments-a composite of all those moments-as she brought herself near completion with her hands.
"Oh, Dirk! My darling lover! You drink me so beautifully! I love to have you suck the juices of my love for you!" Her hips were making tiny thrusts to meet the ghost of his mouth as she spoke in her passion-muted whispers.
"But I want your sweet cock in my mouth, darling! I'm hungry, too! Let me have you, Dirk! Oh, let me have you!"
In the trance of her heated ascendancy, one hand drifted subconsciously from her flowing crotch until she could thrust three of the dripping fingers in her mouth. She seized on them eagerly, sucking and humming to herself as she tried to make them be the male organ she so desperately wanted!
But the substitute couldn't fool her. After a brief attempt to lick and suck the imitation into some semblance of the real item, she let the fingers slip from her lips, and the hand fell at her side.
"Oh, Dirk, lover! Fuck me! I need you!" Her other hand now redoubled its activity. As her fingers dipped into her flowing passage, she felt the lack of something to authenticate the dream-fuck she was reaching for. She reached down and shifted hands, and the slippery moisture from her wide-open cunt was transferred now to her anus, as she lifted her buttocks to slide the lubricated fingers across that winking pink rosette.
Then a finger slipped in, and she felt almost as if Dirk was there, giving her the multiple thrill that she loved so well. Her movements became erratic as she strove to swallow first the fingers in front, then the one which penetrated her rear parlor door.
Suddenly, the accumulated passions of the last few minutes caught up in a gargantuan traffic jam, and her back ached as the whole effect piled up to shove her through the final gateway.
"I'm coming! Oh, darling! Come in me, quick! Flood me, Dirk!"
She shuddered as the dam burst, and fell back onto the bed. Her hands lay where they fell, and she could vaguely sense the moist heat at her rear, and the warm liquid flow in front, as her inner gates let the last of her passion drain promiscuously over the exhausted digits which had served her to make the dream come partly true.
"Oh, Dirk!" she whispered, as she regained the present with her conscious mind. "Come to me. Come be good to me, Dirk." Then her eyes opened, and she realized her condition.
"No! Wait until I've bathed again, my darling. Then come to me!" She slipped off the bed and ran into the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dirk threw the operating lever of the recorder to STOP, then rewound until he could erase the last sentence. Then he backed it up and set it so he could re-record over the erased area.
Damn! This is the toughest bloody assignment, yet! he thought. He gnawed his lower lip thoughtfully, trying to think of how he could word this message.
Why is it so damnably difficult for me? he wondered. I know what has to be said. No matter how painful, this had to be done. So why can't I just blurt out the bloody words and have done?
He labored over the thoughts that were jamming in his mind, and then went over to the bar near the desk and poured a heavy tot of Scotch into a tumbler. He put it to his lips and tossed it off neat. It coursed its warm way down his gullet, then he felt it hit bottom and spread. As the warmth crept through him, he began to get an idea of how to make this miserable recording. He went back to the desk and sat down, then flicked the switch to RECORD.
He let the tape reel up for a while, without making a sound into the microphone. He had to have enough time to get out of the range of her perception before the message started, once he had planted the recorder and switched it to PLAY. So he let quite a bit of it reel up before he spoke.
"Lady Loverly, you must listen to this recording very carefully, and...."
He spoke slowly, distinctly, and with deliberation, until he had completed his message, then he switched it off.
Then he had another inspiration. He took a piece machine, but unseeing. I wonder if she'll ever be able to forgive me, he thought.
He sat there for a moment, eyes aimed at the of the notepaper off the desk tray and printed on it in large letters with the gold desk pen: PLAY THIS RECORDING IMMEDIATELY!
He had decided that he would plant it when she wasn't in the room, then get the hell out and hide for a while, just in case! Before he could bring himself to take the next step, he had to pour another stiff drink and down it.
Then he picked up the recorder and the note and went out and climbed the stairs. When he got to the bedroom, he could hear her in the bath, splashing merrily as she hummed a romantic ballad to herself. He set the machine on the dressing table, propped the note on it, then went out and down the stairs as if chased by all the demons in hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lova Lee came out of the bathroom looking like a fresh-washed angel. Her creamy body had a mild underglow of rose-pink, which seemed to be a virginal blush under the perfection of her smooth skin.
She was still humming to herself as she crossed the rug to the bed, where she literally threw herself down, letting the spring action toss her for a bit before she settled into relaxation.
I'm all clean and fresh for you, Dirk, darling, she thought. Come soon, please. I'm so hungry for you. I want your arms to hold me for a long while, then I want you to kiss me, tenderly, like you've kissed me so often recently. Then move all over my body, kissing the way I love to have you kiss, until I can't stand it any longer. Then we can melt together for hours and hours!
She breathed a deep sigh of pleasure, and just lay there feeling the mild breeze which moved across the room as it played over her body, ruffling the tiny gold feathers of her delta and the longer tresses which spread around her on the coverlet.
Then her eyes wandered over to the mirror above the dressing table, hopeful of seeing Dirk's tall form in the doorway. Her gaze fell on the hateful metal-and-plastic machine which perched there, seeming to ooze malevolence into the room.
An icy hand gripped her heart, and the subsequent chill ran through her body like a flame through a tinder forest. She felt the final shock as the cold reached her toes and fingertips.
"No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" she moaned in a great screaming sound that was carried away out of the open window by the rising wind which poured in through the other window in the adjacent dressing room. It seemed to her as if Dirk-not the sadist, but the Dirk she had thought was finally hers to have and hold in some dreamy, happy future-had blown out of that open window, to disappear from the halls of Rosemoor forever. He had been blown in, like the wind, through the dressing room window, then went out through the huge old casement, past the antique leaded-glass panes which were swung wide-open, to disappear over the neglected lawn and into the dark depths of the trees which fringed the estate.
"Oh, Dirk! How could you-u-u-u!" she cried. She slipped out of bed and went to the window, looking out on the tall grass which had been so neatly manicured before she dismissed the servants.
The sun went under a cloud, and the gloom of the outdoors scene poured into the window to chill her more deeply. She drew the two window-halves together and latched them, then went over and stood by the dressing table, looking down on the hated recorder with all the venom she could muster from her ice-filled spleen.
The huge block letters of Dirk's note seemed like an insult to her shocked senses: PLAY THIS RECORDING IMMEDIATELY! Like hell she would!
In a blinding rage, she turned from the dressing table and headed out of the room. As she went down the hall, she felt all the hours of agony he had ever made her suffer. The tortures he had inflicted now melted into one massive ball of pain which centered in her gut.
And I wanted to share Rosemoor with him, like a romantic fool! she thought, as she paced regally toward the head of the staircase. I was dying to give myself to him forever, to share everything I had and ever hoped to have, just to keep him with me!
As she went down the stairs, her anger built until it seethed from every pore of her body. She had to do something drastic, and do it quickly! If she didn't show up wherever the recorded message had commanded, he might be even more terrible to deal with.
As it was, she didn't know how she could escape his greater strength when she faced him. And that is what it would boil down to. There was no percentage in threatening him with the law. If she squealed on him, he could lay a deadly barrage of words where they would blow her hopes of winning Rose-moor sky-high.
She detoured through the dining room, stopped at the sideboard, and took from the rosewood cabinet there a stiletto-like knife that was designed for boning operations when a cold joint was served at the Launtford table.
Holding the weapon behind her, she crept about, listening for some sign that would tell her where he was. She could go back up and play that damned recording, and find out, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of even carrying out his written command. No, by God! She'd smell him out, the sadistical sonovabitch! And she'd shove a few inches of Sheffield steel into him. That would teach him what it was like to be on the receiving end of some physical pain!
She was very quiet as she peeped into the library doorway. At first, she didn't see him. Then his head moved as he shifted his position in the tall-backed chair which faced away from the door. Silently, she tiptoed up behind him to stand directly at his back, and slightly at his right.
"Will you take back everything you had to say in your latest recording?" she asked him. Her voice was deadly but calm.
He started a bit in his chair, but did not look around. When he answered, his voice was a hoarse whisper.
"I meant everything I said!"
With a cry of pain and rage, she moved her right arm and pivoted on her right foot. As all of her memory banks tripped to stockpile the agony she had suffered in the past weeks, her voice screamed at him like the howl of a mortally wounded lioness.
The boning knife, gripped not too expertly, but carrying behind it all her weight, pierced the flesh of his chest, started to glance off a rib, then plunged on into his thoracic cavity.
The momentum of her swing carried her body over the arm of the chair, and she ended up lying on her side in his lap. She looked up to see a little rivulet of blood trickle from the comer of his mouth, and he half-grinned at her, although there was in his eyes a look of pained surprise she knew she would never forget.
"Didn't think you'd ... be that indignant ... Lady Loverly!" he said. Then his eyes lost their piercing lustre, and his head fell back against the back of the chair. A strange sound came from his throat. Then it was awfully quiet in the room. Quiet enough for Lova Lee to hear someone sobbing with grief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It could have been hours later, or days. Lova Lee had lost all sense of time in the terror and grief of this frightful world in which she found herself. But at some point in the passage of time, she heard the chime of the front door signal.
"Dirk!" she said, shaking the cold arms of the corpse in the high-backed chair. "We have company, darling. Come, get yourself presentable. I'll stall them while you freshen up. Your face has such a strange blue color! They'll think you're not feeling well. Hurry up, darling! I'll hold them off as long as I can."
She climbed wearily off the cold, stiff lap and managed to get to her feet. In another few minutes she had made it to the front door, massaging her nude limbs on the way so she could keep on her feet.
She pulled back the bolt and unlatched the door, throwing it open wide. Facing her on the top of the wide landing at the apex of the impressive concrete steps, stood Cecil Wethering, Dr. Bentley, and Harold Tipton.
"Come in, gentlemen," she said. "Come into the library and make yourselves comfortable. Pour a drink while you're waiting, and I'll go see if my lord and master is able to receive you." There was a strange, glassy smile on her face, and she walked regally away from them toward the huge stairway that led to the upper floor.
The trio were unable to take their eyes off her nude figure as it slowly, majestically mounted the stairs. When her lovely form disappeared into the upper hallway, they all turned and looked at each other. Every one of them was as pale as a ghost.
"My God!" said Dr. Bentley. "I think she's gone over the edge."
"Let's go into the library," Wethering said, shakily. "At least we'll be doing our hostess the courtesy of gathering where she has asked us to go. Besides, I think I need that drink she offered."
"Yes," whispered Tipton, still seeing the ghost of that lovely nude figure moving up the huge staircase and dwarfing by its sheer beauty the gargantuan architecture which surrounded it. "I need that drink, too!"
They moved into the library, and Wethering let the doctor-who had called here more often than he-open the liquor cabinet and pour each of them a generous two ounces in the crystal tumblers.
Tipton, after downing his Scotch in a single, burning gulp, wandered around the room, then came to an abrupt halt as he found himself facing the death grin of the naked Adonis in the high-backed chair. He swallowed hard.
"My God!" he said. Then he repeated himself until the others arrived to see what had shaken him so. "My God, my God, my God!"
Wethering was the first to speak, since Bentley was busy with a purely formal check of the body. The old medic had seen death too many times to mistake the cyanotic countenance and the unseeing stare for anything but what it was.
"Old Launtford-Sir Arthur's father-cut me a piece from a leg of lamb with that very knife, once," Wethering whispered. "That chip in the bone handle was made not fifteen minutes later, when he slammed his fist down on the dining room table to emphasize his statement that his son, Arthur, was a discerning man, and that no one would ever be able to take from him anything that was his-Rosemoor included."
"We can do without your reminiscing," said the old doctor. "The immediate thing is to see what that poor girl is doing. She needs help!"
Tipton raced out and went up the huge stairs two at a time. He went into the only room where the hallway door was ajar.
Lova Lee Launtford, temporary chatelaine of Rosemoor, was sitting on the edge of the heirloom four-poster. Her feet were drawn up beside her buttocks, and her abducted thighs were displaying the most delightfully beautiful sight Tipton had ever seen.
The wonderfully sculptured Venus mound was parted to gleam pinkly at him, and he thought he could see a droplet run down the lips and disappear into her perineum.
"I knew if I waited you'd come," she said as he entered the room. "I knew you wouldn't stay blue and cold the second time. It just wouldn't be humane to make me wait all by myself forever, while you stayed so blue and cold." She waved an inviting hand to him, and he took a half a step forward before he caught himself up short.
Then the others were in the room with them. Bentley, bag in hand, soon had a needleful of sedative in the girl's system. As Tipton waited with the doctor by her side, watching her eyes close and the body relaxation increase until she could be placed on her back. Wethering wandered over by the dressing table.
He switched on the recorder out of curiosity, and at first only the hissing of unrecorded tape sounded in the speaker. Then the voice began, and all three of them listened:
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Lady Loverly," said the gentle, well-modulated voice from the recorder's speaker. "You must listen to this recording very carefully, and think about what I have to say before making any decisions.
"First, let me say that I have always found it hard to tell you what was on my mind and in my heart. It seemed to take so much effort to bring myself to speak to you. You always seemed so far above me-so wonderfully, sweetly noble and angelic. That's why, even when I was backlashing and avenging myself for the slights you gave me, I had to record the beginnings of what I wanted to say to you.
"But this time-happy surprise, I hope-what I have to say is not the initial instructions for a session which means pain for you. All I want to do is tell you what I feel, and hope that your goodness will respond somehow favorably.
"I've been thinking about it-all of it, everything that has happened to us and between us. And I'm hoping that the physical response you've shown in the last few days reaches further than that wonderful female sexuality of yours. I'm hoping that you can listen to what I suggest with an open mind, and then think it over a while before reacting.
"There's a strange purity in you, my Lady Loverly. It's almost as though you were still a virgin. I think that you've been purified, somehow, by the suffering you've been through. And it's like you were a saint or something.
"Whatever it is, these last few days have made me change a lot. Right now, I know that all I ever want in this life is to have you. Not just the way we've had each other up to now-but completely.
"I'd gladly forget Rosemoor and all that money; I'd even get a job doing some kind of honest work, if you like. As long as I could have you to call my own, I'd give up anything, do anything I had to, just to keep you forever.
"I know how presumptuous this might seem at first. There are a lot of differences between the worlds we were reared in, and you can become Lady Launtford of Rosemoor-a personage far too high to take notice of a bloke like me.
"But look at it this way: The feelings I have for you are not easy to describe, but I'm willing to bet that no one on the face of this earth would be willing to go as far as I would to make you happy. I'd do anything for you, Lady Loverly!
"Is there a chance-even a very small one-that you won't be so indignant at my presumption that you spit in my eye? Could you think it out and maybe find it in your heart to think kindly of me? Maybe even kindly enough that you might want the kind of love and worship I could give you for the rest of your life?
"I'd try bloody awful hard to make you forget how much you gave up for me-if you could bring yourself to give up Rosemoor, that is. But I think we'd be happier without this place-especially after the cheating it would take to win the title for you. Somehow, it doesn't seem fair to poor old Launtford. The bloke can't defend himself, now, but I know he must have loved you, and for that I have to respect him. Because it's kind of like he belongs to the same church or something, you see?
"I mean-well, damn it all, Lady Loverly! I don't believe it's right to be forced into being a slave, but when a bloke like me is offering on his own to worship you for the rest of your life-well, it's almost like you were my saint. And I have to be honest with myself-I feel sorry for Launtford because you were his saint, too. Or you should have become, if he had lasted."
"So, what I'm asking, really, is that you think seriously about chucking all this and going off with me. I know it's cheeky of me to even hope for a favorable answer, but I have to make the attempt. Because right now, it seems like the most important thing in my whole life.
"Can you think about this before you get too upset and indignant? Remember, we've had some rousing wonderful times together. Can you be sure you'd be as happy with someone else? Even with all that money?
"Please think about it, milady. And think about old Dirk Conway, who would do anything-just anything-to be able to spend the rest of his life with you. Because there's something about you that just threatens to stop my heart, and I don't think I could live without you, Lady Loverly.
"I'll be waiting in the library for your answer-even if I'm there for days, or until I starve.
