Chapter 2
The seaboard mansion where Maureen's Aunt Sylvia had lived all her life was named Blythe House, and it was six lonely miles from the nearest rail depot.
Maureen glanced anxiously around as she alighted from the once-a-day train to see if there was anyone to meet her.
A young, short but well-built man in a dark green chauffeur's uniform moved towards her.
"Miss Haley?" he asked. "Miss Maureen Haley?" He glanced at her trim, well-shaped young body with a hint of more than approval in his eyes.
"Yes," said Maureen.
"I'm Miss Haley's chauffeur," he said, showing white teeth in a smile, "Miss Sylvia Haley, your aunt," he added, unnecessarily.
"You're new," said Maureen, "I was here during the summer. You weren't here then."
He picked up Maureen's two suitcases and led the way to the old Lincoln that had been Aunt Sylvia's car for as far back as Maureen could remember.
"I've been working for your aunt for two months," he said, opening the rear door of the car for Maureen.
"What's your name?" she asked, watching him stack her suitcases on the front seat beside him.
"Blake," he said, easing the big car forward, "Ken Blake."
Maureen nodded, wondering vaguely why a young, presentable man would want to bury himself in this remote region.
"I used to drive a cab in the city," he said conversationally, answering Maureen's mental question, "and when I was here on vacation last summer I heard that this job was available. So I took it."
Maureen nodded, glancing through the window as the car glided through the countryside. It was late October, and already the scenery was assuming its wintry mask.
"What made you decide?" she asked, idly. "I mean-" she added, "it's very quiet here-after New York-"
Ken Blake looked into his rear-view mirror. It was tilted so that he had a good view of his passenger in the back seat. Maureen's skirt was casually high and the sleek thigh-flesh within her pantyhose seemed pressed tightly together in a strangely suggestive position. He flicked his tongue over his lips: the winter could be more interesting than he'd expected!
"What made you?" he asked softly.
Maureen stared at the back of his head. "What?" she asked.
"What made you decide to leave New York and come to Blythe House for the winter?"
Maureen frowned at him. "I had reasons," she said shortly.
He grinned at her in the mirror. "So did I."
Maureen sighed. She supposed the servants all knew about her coming. Kitchen gossip, she thought with a wry smile; they had nothing much else to do but talk in this bleak place.
"What happened to old George?" she asked, thinking of the old local man who had driven the Lincoln for her aunt. "He wouldn't ask personal questions," she couldn't resist adding.
His eyes flicked to hers, then he murmured, "Sorry, it's just that I don't get a chance to talk to someone from the city very often."
"That's all right," she smiled.
"Old George died," said Ken Blake, "that's why the job was vacant."
"I'm sorry," Maureen replied, "he was a nice old man."
"So I heard," said the chauffeur quietly.
The old order changeth, Maureen thought to herself. Millie gone and old George dead.
"What about the others?" she asked, half to herself.
Ken Blake raised his eyebrows, questioningly. "The other servants."
"Oh," he seemed to consider. "There's William Selke, the butler-" Maureen nodded. William was a permanent fixture at Blythe House.
"And Mrs. Manton, the cook," went on the chauffeur, then he grinned widely, adding, "and Jennie, mustn't forget Jennie Banning, your aunt's maid."
"That little girl," murmured Maureen.
Ken Blake's grin became wider. "She's not so little, Miss Haley. She seems to be getting bigger every day." His grin changed into a smile, becoming reminiscent.
Maureen felt unaccountably irritated. Men! she thought, all the same. He was probably abusing the young girl who had been her aunt's personal maid for the last three years.
"She's only a child," she said, more to herself than to the chauffeur.
"Eighteen," said Blake, "she had a birthday last week." He met Maureen's eye in the mirror. "Believe me, Miss Haley, she's a child no more!" The expression on his face, as well as his words, seemed somehow obscene.
Maureen flushed, jerking her eyes away from his. She wriggled, thinking of Mason Loking and the office, then Mike Maclean.
"We're almost there." Blake's words broke into her thoughts.
Maureen jerked her eyes sideways, then rolled down the window, listening to the familiar, hauntingly desolate sound of waves breaking on the shore.
"It never changes," she whispered.
"What?"
"The sea," she explained, "it's always the same-always there-"
Blake glanced at her face in the mirror and saw her set expression. He turned his eyes back to the rough road. "Yes, some things never change." Then he wheeled the car into a driveway, slowed. "Blythe House, Miss Haley." He stopped in front of the imposingly old entrance. "Your aunt will be glad to see you."
Then he was opening the car door for her, taking out her bags and seeing her into the high hallway to be greeted by the stern old lady with a cane who was her Aunt Sylvia.
Maureen had never really known how old her aunt was. Guessing her age was like trying to estimate the age of a tree that had always looked the same for as long as she could remember. Somewhere between fifty and sixty-five she supposed. How could she say?
"You must be hungry, child," said the old lady, "and tired. You look pale and undernourished. It was high time you left the city."
Maureen stared at her aunt. She was a couple of inches taller than her, with a spare, almost gaunt, figure. Her face was austere and bleak like the late fall scenery outside: she fitted into her environment perfectly, Maureen thought. Right in character, as Mason Loking would have said.
"I-I feel fine," said Maureen, "how are you?"
"Same as always," said the lady of Blythe House, leading the way into the large living-room with its open hearth.
She carried a slim cane and walked with a very slight limp. The metal tip of her cane made a sharp tapping sound on the hardwood floor whenever she moved.
"Welcome back, Miss Maureen," said a deep, quavering voice.
Maureen turned, smiled at the old man.
"William," she said with pleasure, "it's good to see you."
He smiled back at her nervously, then Aunt Sylvia's arm moved. "William!" The slim cane whistled through the air and the old man jerked back with a surprising nimbleness. "Your pants are open at the front," snapped the old lady.
Maureen's eyes went down, and she flushed with embarrassment. The old butler's fly was unfastened, and there was a glimpse of white flesh and hairs inside. William's hand went down, and he fastened his pants with trembling fingers. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am-" he stammered.
"I've warned you, William-" Sylvia's voice was deadly calm.
"Y-yes, ma'am-" the old man turned, started to shamble from the room, then half-turned to give Maureen a slight smile. "It-it's good to see you back, Miss Maureen." Then he hurried to the door.
Aunt Sylvia glared after him. "Senile old fool," she muttered, "he's getting weak-minded in his old age." She set her lips grimly. "A taste of my cane might do him good!"
Maureen gave her aunt a shocked glance, then giggled. "Aunt Sylvia, the days of slavery are over!"
"If my servants act like fools, I'll treat them like fools," said the old lady with a trace of venom.
The smile faded from Maureen's face. There was something too ominous in her aunt's tone of voice.
Maureen went to her room early.
She and her aunt had eaten a light dinner, served with ceremony by a subdued William, and then the old lady had retired.
Maureen wandered to the window; there was a small balcony outside and she opened the glass door, stepped out and listened to the dull sound of waves in the distance before she went back inside out of the cold.
She felt restless; it was only nine-thirty and she was used to late hours.
When she heard the tap at her door, she expected it would be Jennie, the maid, but it was Blake.
"Would you like a drink, Miss Haley?" the young man asked.
Maureen stared at him in surprise. "Do you work in the house, too? Where's William?"
He gave her a strange smile. "In the library, I suppose-"
"The library?" Maureen's eyebrows went up. "What's he doing in there?"
Blake shrugged. "Who knows?" He hesitated, then: "He has some kind of duties to perform. Would you like a drink?"
Maureen nodded. She felt like a drink very much.
"Yes. Bring me a bourbon, a tall bourbon with ice.
He left, and Maureen wandered about her room, then switched on her portable radio. The pop music sounded incongruous in the austere surroundings. She was glad when the sound at the door told her that Blake was back.
"I'll leave you to drink it in peace," he said smiling, "if you want another, or anything, just ring." Then he was gone.
Maureen stared at the closed door with mixed feelings. She had a vague feeling that she'd have liked him to stay, talk awhile, relieve some of the loneliness that already seemed to envelop her. She stripped off her skirt, thought fleetingly of Mason and the regular sexual sessions in the changing room behind his office, then she dragged off her pantyhose with jerky, vicious movements.
Outside Maureen's bedroom, Ken Blake shivered in the cold as he watched. He was crouched on the small balcony, out of Maureen's sight, yet in a perfect position to view her actions. He licked his lips when he saw the soft thatch of pubic hairs on her abdomen when she dragged off her hose, and he felt his penis move when she sat on the bed to remove the rest of her clothes, exposing pink vaginal lips as she lifted a leg.
Juicy morsel, he drooled to himself; and soon, when she'd had her drugged bourbon, she'd pass out. He had plans for her, plans he'd made from the first moment he saw her at the train.
Maureen looked at her nude body in the full-length mirror, then picked up her drink and sipped it. Her breasts looked bigger than usual and the nipples seemed stiff. She passed her hand across them thoughtfully then glanced at her watch. If she was in New York, this would be about the time that Mason would ... she angrily whirled around and drained her glass, picked up her robe and wrapped it around her young figure.
She felt a moment of dizziness, so she sat on the edge of the bed, then let herself drop onto her back. The ceiling seemed to be whirling in front of her eyes, whirling about faster until....
Ken Blake opened the balcony door very quietly and stepped into the bedroom. He closed the door quickly, shutting out the cold air and shivered, then he moved toward the bed.
Maureen was lying on her back and her robe had fallen open. He could see the soft, brown tangle of hairs on the swell of her body; he reached down, caressing them very gently. She didn't move.
Her thighs felt as soft and smooth as they had looked, and Ken moved his hand between them with sensuous pleasure then gently parted her legs. He stooped and stared up into her slot, seeing the wet pinkness and spongy folds of flesh. He inserted his finger, felt inside the unconscious girl's vulva. The warm wetness made his penis rear.
His hands trembled as he ripped open his pants and let his penis thrust out. He took a deep breath, then dragged the limp body higher onto the bed and spread himself on top of it.
Maureen breathed deeply through her nose, and her breasts rose and fell, slowly, steadily.
Ken inserted his penis in her vulva. The walls were limp, flaccid, and his shaft slid in easily. He began to work himself in, slowly at first, then faster.
Why did he get more pleasure from screwing an unconscious girl than a conscious one? He had asked himself that time and again. It was this strange preference which had got him into trouble in New York and then made him glad to take a job in this remote place when things had got too hot for him in the city.
He drove his penis in and out with slow, sensuous pleasure.
Maureen's mouth had opened slightly, so he pressed his face down, kissed her unresponsive lips. The inside of her mouth was soft, warm and sweetly wet. His penis enlarged.
He placed his hands on her breasts, caressing the still stiff nipples, furthering his pleasure.
Her vaginal walls felt tighter against his swollen penis, and the breath rasped from his throat as his movements quickened. Soon, he knew, he would climax, spurting his hot stuff into this unknowing little pussy, filling her with his thick, hot come, and she'd never know what had hit her.
The thought that she'd never know made his penis jerk.
He pushed her legs apart more widely, drove in deeper. Maureen made a mumbling sound in her sleep.
Now, he breathed to himself, I'm going to come now. Frantically, he writhed his body on top of the unconscious girl, screwing his shaft to the top of her sexual sac and feeling the soft walls of her vagina clutching at his excited column as he dragged it out, thrust it in.
"You soft cunt," he said aloud as his orgasm began. His whole body jerked as he squirted hotly and violently inside the dormant vulva. "I'm fucking you, Maureen, I'm screwing your pussy, Miss Haley-" He laughed, wildly and loudly as the spurts of fluid shot into the girl's body. "You'll never know it, but I've fucked you!" Then he collapsed on top of Maureen as shaking sobs of satiation and a strange kind of remorse throbbed within his body.
Outside Maureen's bedroom in the corridor, William Selke stooped over. There was no key in the unlocked door and the large keyhole gave him an excellent view of the action in the room.
His pants were open at the front, and his hand was wrapped around the projecting organ. He caressed himself, gently and lewdly, as he watched the two inside.
When Ken stretched Maureen's thighs widely apart and lurched his body upward in a final spasm, William's hand moved quickly, large droplets of saliva trickling from the corners of the old man's mouth, his breath spurting loudly from his lips.
He watched when Ken finally lifted himself off the girl's sleeping body, and he feasted his eyes on the exposed inner thighs with the red, open lips between. He felt a fresh excitement as he saw the thick white fluid seeping from inside the ravished vulva.
Ken took a small towel, wiped Maureen's vulva and the insides of her thighs; then he lifted her supine body, placed her lengthways on the bed and moved back to the balcony door. After a last, long, lingering look at the victim of his lust, he exited.
William waited until Ken had time to leave the balcony before opening Maureen's bedroom door and entering.
She was lying as Ken had left her, still deep in her drugged sleep, her mouth open as she drew in slow drags of air. But William wasn't looking at her mouth; his eyes focused on the legs, the thighs and the wet open vulva.
After a moment, he went to the foot of the bed, leaned over it, then crawled upward until his mouth was over Maureen's belly. He reached down with both hands, parted her soft, white and limp thighs, then moved his head down.
His mouth slithered over her flesh, mushing through the brown hairs and downward until his lips were over her vaginal lips. He pressed his mouth over the wet opening and sucked. A trace of salty fluid was drawn onto his tongue; the old man savored it with sensuous delight.
He placed his hands under Maureen's buttocks, raised her body until her pelvis arced upward and her vulva was squashed against his lips. His tongue moved, jerkily and urgently, as he sucked with sexual devotion.
He continued his sensual task until every trace of the thick juice was sucked from within the sleeping girl, then he straightened himself, stood up and stared down at Maureen with flecks of whiteness at the edges of his mouth. His pants were still open at the front and his penis projected like a white sliver of lust; he touched it delicately then pushed it back inside his pants and fastened them.
Gently, as though she were a precious and fragile toy, William lifted Maureen's body up on the bed. He closed her open thighs, pulled a sheet over her sleeping body, then shambled across the room and opened the bedroom door.
"So!" The sound rasped from Sylvia Haley's lips as the old lady waited in the corridor outside Maureen's bedroom door.
William Selke turned, surprised at her presence.
"Ma'am-" he quavered, touching his dry lips with his tongue, "Ma'am-I-I-"
"What have you been doing?" she hissed.
"I-I-" he stammered.
"Where is my niece? Is she in there?"
The old man nodded.
Sylvia's face looked shocked; her eyes fastened on the flecks of whiteness round the old man's mouth. "And-and she allowed you to-" her voice trailed off into a whisper.
"No!" The old man's voice was frantic, "She's asleep-she-she didn't know!"
Sylvia eyes widened. "Asleep?"
William dropped his eyes. "She-she was drugged-there was something in her drink-she's unconscious."
Sylvia's eyes blazed. "You drugged my niece so you could perform your abominable perversions on her helpless body?"
"No, no, ma'am-it wasn't I-" William's voice quavered. "It-it was Blake-he-he drugged the bourbon that he brought her so that-that-" he half-choked, "so that he could rape the poor girl-"
Sylvia's face was white. "And you wouldn't touch her, of course, you lecherous old fool." Her tone was sneering, vicious. "You're so holy, so good-"
"I did it to help her!" he blurted.
"Help her! Did what to help her?"
He lowered his eyes. "I-I sucked the stuff-Blake's horrible stuff out of the poor little girl's pussy-" he looked up frantically. "If-if I hadn't done that-she'd have known when she awakened-she'd have been all wet-all sticky-so I sucked it out of her. She's clean, ma'am, all nice and clean!"
Sylvia Haley's eyes pierced into the old man's face like knives. "You abominable, filthy old man," she spewed. "Go to my bedroom and wait forme!"
William's legs started to tremble. "But ma'am-it was Blake-not me-who drugged Miss Maureen-"
"I'll deal with Blake later! Now, go to my room!" She tapped on the floor of the corridor with the tip of her cane, and the sound of the metal tip on the hardwood seemed to add to the old man's fear.
"But, ma'am-" he pleaded.
Sylvia lashed out with her cane; the blow caught William off guard, slashing against his thigh. "Go!" she hissed.
As though his legs were scarcely strong enough to support him, William tottered down the corridor towards Sylvia's suite.
The stern-looking woman stared after him contemptuously, then she opened the door to Maureen's bedroom and entered.
She looked down at the sleeping girl, and a strangely tender expression flickered across her face. "Poor child," she whispered, "what have I got you into?" She drew down the top of the sheet, looked at the naked body, then put her fingertip between the sleeping girl's thighs. Her expression changed, became tensed and tight as she felt the wet vulva. She moved her fingertip upward, found the dormant clitoris and gently stroked it.
"So sweet," she whispered, "how could anyone resist it?" Then, stepping back, she lifted her cane and touched the tip of it against Maureen's vulva.
The girl slept on, stirring only slightly as the gaunt-faced woman inserted the end of the cane in her vagina and pressed it slowly upward.
Sylvia's face became drawn and white as the cane thrust in deeper; she leaned forward, lowered her arm so that the cane was between Maureen's parted thighs as she pushed it in deeper.
Suddenly, Maureen gave a low moan as the metal tip reached the top of her vulva. Her legs became rigid, knees tensed and her toes curled upward.
The breath came raggedly from Sylvia's lips, then she slowly withdrew her cane. The tip was wet and glistened with the vaginal fluid that clung to it.
She stared at it, as though seeing it for the first time. She suddenly dropped the cane onto the floor and pressed her hands over her eyes. "Oh, God, you poor child! Even I am not immune to your sexuality!" Strangled sobs burst from her lips. But slowly she regained her composure, covering the sleeping girl and moved slowly from the room.
A shivering William waited for her in her suite.
"Ma'am," he pleaded as soon as she entered the room, "please, ma'am, don't-"
"Stop your snivelling," snapped Sylvia, moving through the small sitting-room towards her bedroom at the rear.
"You deserve to be punished," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into the alcove that hid her bed. "And I'm going to punish you," she called from out of William's sight. "And afterwards-" she paused, and William held his breath waiting for her next words, "I'll let you do what you crave!"
The air panted from William's mouth as he heard her last words. "Oh, ma'am-" he breathed.
Sylvia reappeared in the archway from the alcove, and William's eyes flickered wildly, then glistened as he stared at his mistress.
She had taken off her severe dress and drab stockings; now, all she was wearing was a wide leather belt around her still-slim waist and thigh-high, black leather boots. A verdant thatch of dark pubic hair covered most of her abdomen, and her breasts, remarkably erect for a woman of her age, swung freely, nudely forward.
"Prepare yourself," she said, her voice soft.
William's eyes swivelled to the cane in Sylvia's right hand and the vicious-looking, multi-thonged whip in the other.
"Not-not too hard, ma'am-" he whispered.
"Prepare yourself!" Sylvia's voice rose high.
The old man's hands shook as he unfastened his belt, then dragged down his pants. His fingers slid inside his underpants and he slid those down, too. Tremblingly, he turned and bent over the back of an overstuffed chair.
Sylvia's eyes gleamed as she surveyed the exposed buttocks of her butler. She moved forward, and, positioning herself behind him, she lifted her cane, pointed the tip at the red anal opening between the white buttocks and shoved her arm forward.
A groan oozed from William's lips as the metal tip penetrated the lips of his anus. "Not deep, ma'am, please not deep!" His voice was high and tremulous.
"Keep still!"
Her face had again tightened up, and she stood with her legs apart, eyes glued on the thin wooden rod as she thrust it into the soft, red tissue.
"Argh-argh!" The groan quavered from the butler's lips.
"If you move, it'll hurt-" hissed Sylvia, licking at the edges of her lips, letting her eyes veer inward as she watched the cane moving slowly, surely into the anal canal.
The old man stilled himself as he became impaled upon the torturing sliver of wood. Suddenly, Sylvia took a deep breath, moved her arm forward cruelly, urgently, and the cane thrust in deep.
William's whole body straightened, then writhed on the wicked stick. A scream spiralled from his mouth as he twisted himself in agony.
Sylvia wrenched out the cane, spurts of blood coming with it, and then she doubled over, her body rocking forward and backward in an orgasmic fit.
The old mar. had collapsed on the floor in a mass of quivering flesh. "Oh, ma'am," he wailed, "oh, ma'am!"
Sylvia took a deep breath and straightened herself. Her thighs were sopping wet with the fluid from her vulva. She spoke with controlled calm.
"Now I'm going to punish you for what you did to my niece."
"No, please no, you've done enough, ma'am-"
"Bend over the chair, William," said Sylvia gently, "you have to be whipped. You know you have to be whipped!" She dropped the cane and took the vicious-looking whip in her right hand.
William dragged himself to his feet; his limbs shook more than ever. "And after, ma'am-" he quavered, sounding older now, "after, you'll let me-"
"Yes, William," Sylvia smiled at him, a cruel, sensual smile. "Afterwards, I'll let you do what you crave."
Slowly, shiveringly, William bent over the back of the chair again. A bright trickle of blood oozed from his anus and ran down the inside of his legs.
Sylvia raised the whip, licked her lips, then brought the thongs down onto the quivering, waiting flesh.
William screamed; his body shook and he drew in his buttocks.
"Position yourself!" she hissed, watching his writhing movements.
Sobbing gently to himself, William bent his abused body over the back of the chair again.
Six vicious lashes followed, each one followed by a scream. By the time she had finished, there were livid lines criss-crossing his white, fleshy buttocks.
"Listen to me, William," said Sylvia while the old man was still lying in his prostrated position. "Leave my niece alone. Don't you get enough from Jennie? And-and-" she paused, took a deep breath, "your beloved Anne Boleyn?"
Slowly, the old man got to his feet. He turned and faced his mistress. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am-" he muttered hoarsely, twisting himself with pain.
Sylvia gave him a thin smile. "And now," she said graciously, "you may do what you crave," and she walked into her bedroom, stretched herself out on her back, then reached between her naked thighs and spread open the thick, wet lips of her vulva.
"Suck, William, suck!" she commanded, and the old man went down onto his knees, burying his head between the thighs of his mistress, searching for, finally finding, the moist, musky opening of her vulva, and sucking it, using his lips and his tongue to probe inward and suck out the stiff hard tip of Sylvia's clitoris.