Bound For Pleasure at Blackthorne

by Roger Hastings

  I gasped. “That wasn’t mentioned in any of the books or lectures. Is it new?”

  For slightly more than a furlong in circumference, a circuit of tall, brownish-red vertical stones erupted from the soil. Their height varied from two to three yards.

  “The local farmers and poachers are afraid of them, and stay away,” Chalmers said. “They call them ‘Lucifer’s Teeth’ in superstitious whispers. Gregor keeps the curious and the foolish from trespassing. The new aero planes never come this far, so our secret is safe.”

  “What’s that in the center?”

  “Come, I’ll show you.” He trotted his stallion into the circle.

  A massive, square, flat stone platform stood in the middle of the grassy circle, elevated waist-high by a roughly cubical pillar directly under the center. At each of the four corners were ringbolts with manacles, bright with wear.

  Standing behind it was a round, inky black stone pillar of massive size; its top at least four yards high above the ground, and its base two yards wide at the bottom. The rounded top had been chiseled by prehistoric craftsmen, roughly shaped into the head of a gigantic penis. I could see the glans facing towards the stone platform, its cleft leading up to a slit lovingly chipped in the tip. Adorning it was a ponderous ringbolt dangling more than a foot above my reach, bearing a few frayed threads of rope dancing in the breeze. At the bottom were two smaller, widely separated ringbolts positioned only inches above the ground.

  “I’m seeing those ringbolts everywhere,” I said with a frown. “Is there some kind of pagan sacrifices being consummated on my estate? I’ll allow no devilry here!”

  “Nothing at all like you imagine,” Chalmers said with a sincere laugh. “We celebrate life, not death; and the joining of live bodies, not dead ones. The only blood sacrifices here are made to the mosquitoes, and other biting insects. Whatever poor soul is chained down on that platform, or against that pillar, will discover their number and appetite is endless.” He glanced at the now-perpetual bulge in my trousers and lay his hand on my arm, “Our practices may seem severe to you at first, but I beg you to be patient and you will share in everything that happens here.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask. “Thirsty?” He extended his arm toward me.

  “Yes, thanks.” I drank a swallow gratefully. “It’s good. Where do you get such fine Scotch whiskey?”

  “Made by a local craftsman.” Chalmers held up a silencing hand. “Please don’t ask. We protect each other.” He retrieved the flask and took a swallow before capping it and replacing it in his pocket. “Now for the lake.” He trotted off to the western edge, where the circle of stones was interrupted by the precipice leading down to the bay.

  “This opening at the edge of the bay marks the sunset point on the horizon each midsummer’s eve.” Chalmers grinned, “We have a special ritual here on the closest night of a full moon. You will enjoy your first encounter with the secrets of this place.”

  We got off our horses and scrambled down the narrow rocky stairway to the edge of the bay. Here, it was no more than a finger of water boring into the shallow cliff. There was a crescent-shaped shingled beach on our left. “Nothing more to see here today,” Chalmers said. “Come, let’s have a look at those cattle in the pasture.”

  “Is this the northern boundary of my estate, then?”

  “Hardly,” Chalmers said. He swept his extended arm from north to southeast. “All this is Blackthorne, miles beyond our sight. Eight miles off to the north, to where this forest ends, is the neglected vineyards where your grandfather used to grow grapes for the wine he bottled. Now it’s abandoned.”

  “Do the vines still produce?”

  “Oh, yes, but the grapes disappear each fall. Our neighbors deny taking them. I think it’s Gypsies stealing them to make their own wine.”

  As they were galloping back across the meadow I spied a horse-drawn cart in the distance, heading north toward Gregor’s hut. The man I had seen outside the stables was driving. The maid Donella, still naked, was sitting next to him. She bent forward with her head in her lap, hands over her face, her bruised shoulders rocking with her sobs.

  “They’re good cattle,” Chalmers was saying, “The grazing is excellent, and so the herd is growing rapidly. It will be a profitable year for Blackthorne.”

  I noticed the bulls had caught their heart’s desire, and were eagerly forcing their ardent cocks up into the heifers’ posteriors. “You’re letting them breed continually, then?”

  “Oh yes,” Chalmers replied with a sly grin. “We do a lot of breeding here. It’s a strong tradition at Blackthorne.”

  Our horses passed though the low gate into the pasture and through loose groups of cattle. As we passed near a spinney of flowering trees I heard a girl’s voice shrieking in terror. In the open pasture beyond I caught a glimpse of a naked girl running barefoot, her elbows and wrists tied together behind her. Close behind, a young lad wearing no trousers was pursuing her his stiffened cock danced and flopped wildly with each stride as he laughed and flourished a twirling whip.

  I felt a thrill quiver in my groin. “What’s all that then?” I asked.

  “It’s just as I said” Chalmers said with a grin. “Breeding.”

  “That poor girl is terrified. Shouldn’t we interfere?”

  “That’s as it should be, Sir Richard. She’s part of our lovestock, and the young man is Barth, our herdsman, doing his duty. He’s still in his late teens, but already he’s become quite the lusty lad, and hasty with the whip. Sometimes he leaves a cell door unlocked to trick an unsuspecting girl. If she is foolish enough to try running away, it gives him an excuse to whip her. True, he takes liberties with our young girls, but we believe in sharing our natural life.”

  “Chalmers...” I began.

  “Sir Richard, she’s one of our newest girls, trying to run away. That’s the worst thing a poor girl can do. Attempting to escape from Blackthorne carries a severe penalty, and it will go hard on her when Barth returns her to the Manor house cellar.”

  “What’s in the cellar? What will they do to her?”

  “Please, Sir Richard, I’ve already let you see more than I should have allowed. Your family will choose one of themselves to initiate you into the secrets of Blackthorne. Please don’t mention what I let you see here and in the stable. It would go hard on me.”

  I nodded. “I promise, Chalmers. And while we are sharing confidences, I must say that all I find here excites me. I only regret not having a girl of my own to play with.”

  “Your father was wise to keep you away while you grew up,” Chalmers replied. “We all waited to see what you would become. That holiday you spent with the young girl from your university; tying her down on your bed. You certainly enjoyed doing that, and then fucking her all night.”

  “But she asked me to tie her up, and how did you find out?”

  Chalmers grinned, “Your father sent her to you. It was a test of your dominant sexual preferences.”

  “Damn. I thought I was seducing her.” I shook my head.

  “Let’s get back to the manor. There’s one more thing you must see before dinner this evening.” He spurred his horse to a gallop.

  As we approached the manor house with its circle of Beech trees, Chalmers veered off to the right, heading for the gate in the low stone wall above the bay.

  “We’ll dismount and leave the horses here. Farley will care for them.” He led me through the opening and down a steep, twisting stairway roughly cut into the stone slope. “Mind your footing. We seldom use this route to the bay, and we don’t encourage anyone to try it. At night, it is foolhardy to attempt the descent or climb.”

  “What other way is there to reach this place?” I asked. “Only by boat?”

  “That’s what I want to show you. It’s another secret of Blackthorne.”

  We reached the foot of the slope, and Chalmers led me to the left. “See that tall bush growing against the cliff?”

  “Yes.”
r />   “Look behind it. There’s a gap between the slope and the bush.”

  Concealed from view behind the brush was dark opening yawning in the side of the cliff. “Are we going in there?” I asked.

  “That’s not necessary yet, Sir Richard. That cave leads back under the meadow all the way to the manor house. It’s a good two hundred yards of twists and turns in the darkness. Not a journey for the faint hearted.”

  “You’ve been through it, then?”

  “Many times.” Chalmers pointed to the small wooden pier jutting out into the lake behind us. “We unload our ‘lovestock’ there, and carry them through the cave into the cellars of the manor.” He rubbed his mustache again. “It was your father’s idea, and a damn good one, too.”

  “Smuggling contraband? What’s going on here? I should be told right now.”

  “No, not smuggling. No brandy, no French champagne or perfume. We import those things legally. It’s just that what we bring in here is nobody’s business. There’s too many self-righteous busybodies in this world. We only want to be left in peace to take advantage of our traffic in privacy.” He patted my shoulder. “Dismiss your concerns, we are not petty scoundrels.” He began scrambling up the rocky stairway. “The ride has put me in good appetite. Let’s find what Lara has prepared for us. She can conjure up marvelous cream teas.”

  Chapter Three

  Feasting On Love

  I had been napping in my room on Chalmers’ advice, ‘Better rest while you can. It will be a long dinner, and a longer night, if the whispers I’ve heard are true,’ when I heard a knock at my door. “Enter.”

  A lovesome girlish face showed in the half-opened door. Her maid’s cap perched on a cloud of strawberry blonde hair cascading half-way down her back. Her pale blue eyes widened. “Oh, Sir, I dearly hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Come in. I was only dozing.”

  She slipped through the doorway, and closed it, pressing her back against the door. Her voice was a lyrical grace of feminine melody.

  “I was ordered to come and help you dress for dinner.”

  Her translucent maid’s blouse was illuminated by the blush of sunset shining through the bars of my west window. The rhythm of her breath pushed her abundant breasts against the gauzy fabric, testing the looseness of the ribbon lacing up the front. The ends of the ribbon were not even tied in a bow, but dangled loosely between her twin mounds.

  “Come here, uh, you aren’t one of the maids I met earlier. What’s your name?”

  “Katy, Sir, but the men call me Kitten. I am one of the evening maids.” She walked slowly toward me, her legs moving with the grace and beauty of a ballerina. Anxiety flickered in her eyes.

  Sitting up in my bed, I adjusted my dressing gown. “Come closer, Katy.”

  I was mesmerized by the splendor of her long legs, their curving shape tapering down into her shiny black high-heeled shoes. I stared at the symphonic cadence of her walk, drinking in the vision of glowing thighs, from the lacy hem of her short skirt, down to the pink-ribboned tops of her white stockings. I could see faint purple bruises on her thighs, where she had been repeatedly disciplined with a riding crop, or whip.

  She stood at the side of my bed. “How may I pleasure you, Sir?”

  “Katy...Kitten...” My throat went dry. I reached out and cupped a curl of her hair in my palm. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

  “Please don’t be afraid, Katy. I won’t hurt you.”

  A tear escaped from one eye.

  “What do they do to you in this place?”

  “I cannot talk about it, Sir. It’s against the rules.”

  “Katy, I want you to do something that will please me very much. Will you trust me not to harm you?”

  She spoke with a tremble in her voice. “I am your love slave, Sir. You can do anything you want with me.”

  Her answer sent a chill coursing through my body; half of amazement, half of delight. I placed my hands on her arms, by her shoulders. I could feel her shivering.

  “Lift your skirt, Katy.”

  Without hesitation, with her eyes still closed, she grasped the lacy edge of her skirt and pulled it up as far as possible. Her belly, thighs, and fluffy-haired pussy were exposed. I removed one hand from her arm and stroked my fingertips across her belly over to the side, then down her left thigh.

  A lump of joy lodged in my throat; my voice was a hoarse whisper. “You’re beautiful, Katy.”

  Tears were leaking from both her eyes. I removed my hand from her thigh and lifted her chin. “It’s all right, Katy. Nothing bad is happening.” I fondled her silky blonde hair with both hands. “You can put your skirt down, now. I just wanted to find out if something I was told is true.”

  Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Thank you Sir.” She reached down and pulled the bedcovers off my belly and legs. “Please, Sir, I must get you up and dressed. If you’re late for dinner they will punish me.”

  I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. Katy’s head fit comfortably under my chin and I couldn’t resist embracing her.

  “Let me help you with this, Sir.” She tugged the sash loose and my robe fell open, exposing my manhood. Katy sank to her knees and kissed the tip. “I serve your manhood, Sir,” she whispered. She looked up at my face. When I did not reply, she stood up and moved behind me to pull my robe off.

  While I stood self-consciously naked, she trotted to the closet and took out fresh pants and black trousers, a white silk shirt with pearl buttons, and a formal Edwardian dinner jacket. “Your aunt bought these for you, Sir. She wants you to make a good first impression with the family.”

  There was very little for me to do, but, “Put your arms in the sleeves, Sir. Now lift a leg and I’ll pull up your trousers, Sir. Please, Sir, I’m supposed to button that up, not you.”

  “You know, Katy, I’d much rather be undressing you, than have you dressing me.”

  Her answer sent my blood pounding to my groin. “Yes, Sir, I am yours after dinner.”

  She had me standing before the mirror next to her, admiring my gentleman’s appearance. As I gazed into the reflection, I had eyes only for her; transfixed by her captivating face, the blonde hair cascading down behind her shoulders, her twin mounds so temptingly surging under the frail fabric of her blouse. The black leather belt cinched tight around her waist, with its metal rings glinting at the sides. Her long graceful legs were so artfully exposed, and her delightfully short skirt barely concealed love’s pink chamber.

  Katy touched my hand. “You look splendid, Sir.”

  The moment demanded I obey my passion. I grabbed her, turning her toward me and crushed her delicate body against mine. Then, lifting her from the floor I pressed my lips against hers for a dozen heartbeats. When I set her down, she staggered back, gasping for breath, her eyes wide with delight.

  “Oh, Sir,” she finally blurted out between breaths, “Oh...” She turned and fled from my room, hands pressed against her crimsoned cheeks.

  When my breathing slowed to normal, I left the room and descended the wide staircase. Selby was waiting for me at the bottom. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Good evening, Sir Richard. May I call your attention to the smudge of lipstick on your mouth. Please allow me.” He produced a pocket-handkerchief and gently wiped love’s tattle-tale from my face. “Now you are ready. The family is taking cocktails in the Parlor. Please follow me.”

  He brought me to a large, tapestry-hung room illuminated by a large chandelier aglow with glass-globed kerosene lamps. Every face turned to me as Selby escorted me to Aunt Caroline. A dark-haired servant girl in her skimpy maid’s costume approached carrying a tray filled with champagne glasses. She stood with her brown eyes downcast, silently offering a glass to me, while the gray-haired Miss Ballard stood watching in the background, her long riding crop ready her hand. I took a glass of champagne without comment.

  Aunt Caroline smiled at my elegant appearance. “Good evening, Richard.” Tu
rning to the group, she clapped her hands twice. “Attention everyone. May I present my nephew, the only son of Sir Drake, and now Master of Blackthorne, Sir Richard Cailean.” There was a scattering of polite applause, then Aunt Caroline began the ritual of naming the clan. She led me to a stocky, pleasant-faced man.

  “This is your Uncle Garrick. He works in our import business on the continent. He selects the European lovestock we purchase from trusted procurers.”

  His walrus-mustached mouth expanded to a toothy grin as his beefy hand crushed mine with conspiratorial camaraderie. “I must take you on my next tour, Richard. If you are to be Master of Blackthorne, then you must see how all this delightful business begins.” He winked and raised his champagne in salute.

  Next, a lean, nervous man, half a head shorter than me, limped forward. He shoved his bony fingers through a shock of dangling red hair.

  “This is your uncle Russell by your mother, our accountant.” Aunt Caroline said. “He arranges the sale of our processed lovestock, and makes sure we profit from every acquisition.”

  His nasal voice reminded me of an electric dynamo’s drone, “Not lovestock, Caroline, we process Lovestock” He grinned and shook my hand. “Welcome, Richard. If it weren’t for me, by now these people would be paupers.”

  Next, a muscular, lioness-faced woman approached. “Here is your Aunt Willa. She is our southern agent. She acquires imports from Iberia, North Africa, and the Upper Nile area.”

  “And the Adriatic,” she added, squeezing my hand.

  “The Adriatic is my territory,” Uncle Garrick said.

  “Only the females,” she barked. “The males are mine!”

  “We import men and women?” I asked, moving my uneasy gaze from face to face.

  There was an uneasy silence, then the limber, athletic-looking man with sandy-hair rose from the couch, removed his cigar, and spoke. “Damn it, can’t you see he knows? Chalmers told me Richard has guessed half the truth, already.” He jabbed the air with his cigar and prowled toward me, “I’m your cousin, Lamont. Yes, Richard, we buy and sell young men and women.” He raised a practiced finger to accent his point, “But not too young! We are not pederasts.” He flicked the ash from his cigar. “Mostly women,” He grinned with a flash of his gold tooth. “Beautiful, lovely young women, Richard. Trained to obey, and serve our every desire.” He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “A very profitable profession, with an unbroken tradition stretching back beyond ancient times. Remember the Trojan War? The buying and selling of female slaves was old news even then.”