Miss Ballard ordered the maids to remove their blouses before the meal was finished. When tea was poured, they all disappeared under the table where we felt them creep up between our spread thighs. The walls heard many a man’s grunt or murmur, and a woman’s sigh or sweet moan, between our sips.
Uncle Garrick was leading us down the spiral stair, into the heart of the cellar. He produced a ring of keys and unlocked the iron-strapped oak door. I marveled at its three-inch thickness as we filed through.
“Soundproof,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Our unwilling guests we keep down here shriek and moan day and night while they are being trained.”
“Is their pain we cause them that intense?” I asked.
“Well, at first it is the pain of our whips. But once they abandon their pride and modesty and accept the feel of our fingers and cocks inside their pretty pussies, they surrender to the pleasure. Then they cry out from their unending orgasm after orgasm.
We passed through a small antechamber, then through another heavy oak door. There were three narrow passages leading away into darkness. From the left, I heard the voices of frightened girls. To the right, the large cells where I spent last night. Uncle Garrick led us straight ahead through a passage lined with iron-barred doors of tiny cells. Inside each cell a narrow shelf bolted to the wall served as a bed, and a small wooden bucket for a toilet. Chains hung against the wall or dangled down from the darkness above. There were manacles for wrists, ankles, and neck collars. Here the naked girls would lie on the shelf, trembling—waiting in dread of punishment, or hope of sexual pleasure, for the sound of an iron key grating in their door’s lock.
At the end of the passage, off to the right, I could see through the bars of a door into a room with long, heavy benches, odd-shaped frameworks with leather straps and cuffs, and pairs of hanging chains with metal restraints. Along the walls hung whips, and wicked-looking straps. Set out in readiness on cabinet shelves was a glittering collection of devices designed by a mind with a genius for inflicting punishment or pleasure on defenseless, naked bodies.
In a darkened corner, flush with the floor, was the wooden treadmill. It was a large-diameter rotating disk. Standing on the treadmill, a girl’s wrists would be pulled up and manacled to the chains swaying from the arched ceiling. Here, the singing whip would caress her defenseless torso for hours, urging her to run faster—and still faster, her breasts bouncing and jerking, until her pounding heart cannot endure another second and she faints.
“Crude, but efficient,” my uncle said. “Now we turn to the left of the passage and pass through another door, into the receiving room.”
It was roughly circular, with a lower ceiling. Next to the door was a small fireplace, with a fire already kindled. Spread around the room, ends against the walls, were high wooden benches with cuffs for a captive girl’s wrists and ankles at the corners. There was a belt in the center for strapping down her belly.
Uncle Garrick pointed to them with a wicked grin. “We strap the girls down on the benches, their arms above their heads and legs spread wide, then we have an undressing party. First we remove all our clothes, then theirs. When we’re all naked, we give them the liquid gift of love. They make a terrible noise, but it’s fun.” He pointed to another oaken door standing open, and the cave beyond. “That’s where we bring the girls in. That cave leads to the bay, where a boat will unload our cargo tonight.”
“But how do you get the girls to walk through the cave and into this room?”
“They don’t. They arrive tied in canvas sacks, and we carry them in. Broc and Gregor are waiting with Chalmers at the edge of the bay to help us. They’ll signal the captain as soon as they see his boat. We are very cautious when receiving our merchandise. And Dr. Woolsey will examine the girls before we pay for them.”
I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned and saw Treise.
“You’re not angry about last night? I get carried away.”
“No.” I took her hand and kissed it. “Let’s do it again, soon. Only this time you will be chained and I’ll do the whipping.”
“Agreed,” she replied. She stretched up on her toes and gave me a lingering kiss on my lips.
A call echoed from the far end of the cave, “Ho, the warders. Come for your supper.”
“That’s our signal,” my uncle said. “Let’s go.” He led the way with a flickering torch through the twists and turns and uncertain footing of the cave’s floor. “Almost there,” he said, breathing heavily. He extinguished the torch as we stepped out under an infinite span of stars pinned to an ebony sky.
“Father Christmas is at the far end of the bay,” said Chalmers. “I’ll signal him all is well.” He uncovered a lantern and flashed the code across the water. There was a brief flicker of light in return, then the long wait as the boat’s throbbing auxiliary engine slowly skimmed her toward us.
My eyes adjusted in the darkness until I could make out the silhouette of a small schooner, sails trimmed and straining to catch the slight breeze. After an eternity, it was close enough for me to see the shapes of men on board.
“Ho, Captain Farold,” Chalmers called out softly, “what news?”
“I’ve fish in my net,” he replied, “and will ye feast with me tonight?”
“That’s the code for ‘all is well’,” Uncle Garrick whispered in my ear.
Chalmers, Gregor and Broc walked out on the dock and stood ready to receive the mooring lines.
“The bay must be deep here, so close to shore,” I said. “A schooner that size must surely have a large keel to steady her.”
“It is deep indeed, Richard. A most fortunate circumstance.”
The engine coughed to a stop and the boat coasted silently up to the dock. Chalmers deftly caught the tossed lines and passed them to Broc and Gregor. There was the thud and bump of a gangway, and the captain came down off his boat with his first officer.
“Captain Farold, this is my nephew, the new Laird of Blackthorne, Sir Richard Cailean.”
“A pleasure.” He shook my hand with the rough familiarity of a seaman, then turned toward the man beside him. “This is my first officer, Steinar. A good man to have at my side in this business.
Gregor came up to us. “Shall we begin unloading?”
“You have the money?” the captain asked my uncle.
“Yes.” Uncle Garrick pulled a heavy envelope from his coat pocket and pulled out a sheaf of large-denomination sterling notes.
Captain Farold nodded to his first officer, and he led Chalmers and the other men on board.
“Come along,” Chalmers called out to me, “see how this business begins.”
The boat had a gentle motion as it rode on the swell. We clambered down a narrow stair into the forward cabin. Two of the sailors were removing the boards from the floor, while a third held the lamp.
“Come now, boys,” Steinar barked, “give a hand to unloading. We won’t be rich and safe until we’re away.”
A dozen canvas sacks lay under the false floor, moving and twisting as the girls inside moaned through their gags. I looked up and saw a tooth-gapped grin on a face in the narrow door in the rear bulkhead. There was engine grease on his face, hands, and smudged on his unbuttoned trousers. Behind him was a naked girl on her knees, tied to the mast passing up from the cabin floor and through the ceiling.
“That’s Vito, our engineer. He toys with our own girl’s pussy or breasts while he’s not running the engine.”
Each of us grabbed a sack and slung it over our shoulders, and carried it out. It was a squeeze to get up the stairs and through the hatch. Carrying our precious cargo, we went down the gangway and into the cave.
“I’ll hand over the money as soon as the doctor says they’re all alive and healthy,” Uncle Garrick said.
“They are,” replied Captain Farold. “Same as always.”
When we were all back in the receiving room, Chalmers checked the doors to make sure they were locked, then began opening the bags
. Such a harvest of beauty we pulled out of those bags. Lovely butterflies emerging from cocoons. But these butterflies had their wings clipped, and could not flutter away from their captivity.
We untied them one at a time, dragging them kicking and struggling to the benches and strapped them down. When all twelve were secured, Dr. Woolsey went from girl to girl, listening with his stethoscope, removing their gags and examining their eyes, throats and pussies while they wept and begged for freedom.
“They are healthy,” he said.
My uncle handed the envelope to the captain and watched while he counted the money.
“Exact,” the captain said. “The tide will be turning, and I want to be well away before dawn.” He saluted us and Chalmers escorted him and his crew out the door and through the cave.
My Uncle closed the door, and we turned our attention to the new girls, wicked grins on our faces. They were all weeping. Two had wet themselves. Some of us had already unbuttoned our trousers. Treise was pulling off her dress. Aunt Caroline was licking her lips. She pushed her hands through the convenient slits in the side of her dress and rubbed them between her thighs.
“Where do all these girls come from?” I asked. “They look so young.”
Dr. Woolsey was standing next to me. “Oh, they’re old enough, at least eighteen. We find them mostly at dance halls, or wandering the streets begging. Some of the prettiest ones are stupid enough to read our advertisements for secretaries or a governess, and come to questionable addresses to apply for high-paying jobs.”
We waited for until Chalmers returned and locked the door behind him.
My uncle folded his arms and walked slowly past the benches, looking down at each girl as he spoke. He couldn’t resist reaching out and caressing each pretty ankle trembling in its manacle. “Now, my pretty little ladies, we’re going celebrate your arrival with a unusual kind of party. But there are rules, and you will obey them. This is going to be an undressing party, so—rule number one is, ‘everyone, including me, has to take off all their clothes’. Since we are your hosts, we will undress first.” He plucked at a chained ankle. “Since you’re helpless, and can’t undress yourselves, we will do it for you.” He paused by one terrified girl and slid his hand up under her dress. He paused while she screamed. “Then we’re all going to play a game called, ‘Let’s Make Love’. Won’t that be grand fun?”
There was bedlam as a dozen female voices screamed, shrieked, wept, and a few even cursed us. Uncle Garrick nodded at us, and we began removing our clothes. All of us stripped naked without hesitation, even my aunt and Dr. Woolsey. The girls turned their faces away from us, hoping they would wake up and this nightmare would end. Broc went to a cabinet and returned with scissors, handing us each a pair. “Don’t rush,” he said to me. His face glowed with a fiendish grin. “Go slow and savor each inch.”
“Richard,” my Aunt said, “you’re Master of Blackthorne, so you choose your girl first.”
“It’s so very easy, and at the same time so very hard to choose,” I replied. “They all have such pretty faces, and their bodies are so enticing.” I walked slowly past each girl, appraising the charm of her pale, frightened face. Even though the modest covering of her clothes, I could picture the surging mounds of her breasts, the swelling curves of her hips, and the long tapering beauty of her legs.
I finally paused longer beside one girl, a petite lass with pale auburn hair who wouldn’t stand more than five feet, three inches tall, even wearing those delightful shiny black high heel shoes. She had a tiny, Cupid’s bow mouth. Her eyes were the pale blue sky of paradise. She held her breath as I gazed down at her, her lower lip quivering.
“This one!”
“No-o-o-o!” she wailed. “Please, Sir, let me go!” Her arms and legs trembled as she strained at the chains. “Help, help! Please, someone help me!” Her voice broke and she began sobbing.
I glanced at the others for a hint of the most enjoyable way to begin. Following their example, I lay down the scissors and reached for the pearl buttons on her blouse.
Her face was crimson with shame. “No-o-o! Stop, Sir! For pity’s sake and my honor, please don’t!”
The buttons were tiny, and close set. The first was free. Now I fumbled to grasp the second one. My hands were trembling with the thrill of domination over my defenseless feminine plaything. One by one, each pearly defender of her modesty was tragically defeated.
“No-o-o, No-o-o, I’m a virgin. Have pity on me, Sir!”
I glanced up once more, to see if anyone was watching my cock’s healthy response to her words. They were all busy with the pleasures of undressing their own girls. Aunt Caroline had climbed up on her bench and straddled her girl’s hips, cooing and singing softly as she joyfully scissored away the girl’s blouse.
My girl’s breath was coming in gasps, between her sobbing. Finally I had the front of her blouse completely open. I scissored through the sleeves and pulled it free, dropping it to the floor. The others were taking off their girl’s clothing, carrying it, one item at a time, over to the fireplace and throwing it into the flames. I walked over and tossed in the mutilated white blouse. I watched it burn for a moment, letting the reality of this evening settle into my mind and belly. These girl’s clothes were not only being removed, but destroyed utterly and gone forever. Their destiny changed from being free and virtuous girls to the slavery of naked female bodies under the domination of lustful men and women.
I returned to my girl, my cock now in full glory, bobbing and waving as I walked. Her head was turning from side to side, weeping and mumbling supplication to some inner voice condemning her. The other girls were going through their own personal hell as each was being slowly stripped.
My finger tips toyed with the silky sheen of her embroidered chemise, running lightly over the twin mounds of her breasts and down to the buckle of her belt.
“Her skirt,” Broc rasped out his advice. “Cut off those buttons down the side.”
I nodded my agreement. Keep every removal in balance. Feast on the forbidden vision of her legs.
The dozen buttons were black, matching the color of her long skirt. Starting at the bottom, I mocked her despair with exaggerated tenderness and leisurely maneuvers. My scissors snipped, and she heard the first button clatter on the stone floor. Seconds passed while she held her breath, dreading the sound of the next button. It dropped.
She was sobbing again, not the vigorous self-pitying sound when I began, but a soft, half-sigh, half-moan of surrender to the eternal fate of a maiden’s body in the hands of brutal men. The third button bounced and rattled to rest at my bare feet. I continued with the slow, cruel game, relishing the anguish in the profile of her face. Her tear-flooded eyes were shut, her face turned away from me.
The moment finally came when the last button had deserted her virtuous body. The slit they had guarded went only half-way up her legs. Before cutting into the rest of the fabric, I paused and lifted the now open slit and exposed her from her toes to just above the knees. Her legs were as shapely and beautiful as I had hoped. When I caressed them, they jerked against the chains.
The other girls were crying and shrieking, so I leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. “This is only the beginning of my pleasure with your body.”
“No-o-o,” she moaned in a whisper.
My scissors bit greedily into her skirt, traveling that paradise road up her thighs. The skirt was completely open now. I unbuckled her belt and peeled away the scrap of fabric that used to be her clothing. I carried it to the fireplace and fed it to the flames.
The white satin chemise lay on her torso and thighs like the shiny paper covering a birthday present. She gasped and shuddered as she felt me snip away the shoulder straps. Then there was the slow, romantic dance of my scissors from that wonderland of lace circling the bottom up her quaking torso to the final snip between her surging breasts. Shivering pink skin glowed between the edges of the slowly opening slash. The lace edge was severed. I pinched
a wisp of white in my fingers and inched it off the side of her body. Then the other side. Grabbing the cloth, I jerked it violently, ripping it out from under her. It followed her skirt to fiery oblivion in the fireplace.
“Now to secure that lovely thin waist of yours.” I drew the belt over her belly and cinched the buckle tight.
Only two items left; her frail bodice, and her panties. Bodice first. I had already discovered by feel that she needed no padding to compliment her swelling breasts. First the shoulder straps, then the sabotage to the front. When I pulled her bodice apart, I beheld the defenseless wonder of her robust, strawberry-nippled twin mounds. When my fingers found them she cried out and strained upward.
When she finally tired, and lay still and panting, I slid the palms of my hands down against her belly to her Victorian panties.
“What shall I do with these?” I asked.
“No-o-o-o, oh please, sir, have pity.” Her voice sank into a shuddering sob.
I toyed with her panties, slipping a finger under the waistband and sliding it back and forth. With each traverse, I forced her panties down a fraction of an inch. Her toes curled and splayed with shame and a newfound urge she had never before experienced. I moved my hands to the lacy bottom and tugged gently, pulling her panties down even more, inch by tantalizing inch.
Her body went rigid. “Won’t somebody please help me,” she groaned through her ruby lips. I was so inflamed with lust the blood pounded in my ears. I could hardly hear her words.
Most of the other men had stripped their girls already and mounted them, fucking vigorously to the music of their shrieks and wails. I couldn’t endure a moment longer; my cock demanded her pussy. I cut her panties open along both sides and jerked away the last barrier to my lust.
A soft puff of silky red hair garnished her virgin pussy. My cock would make it even redder. Working the lever that swung open the wooden beams forcing her legs farther apart, I climbed on the bench and settled into the bliss between her thighs.
Bound For Pleasure at Blackthorne Page 7
