“How many lairds in old times past,” I mused, “galloped like this to capture a shy maid for secret love-meetings over this very ground?”
The pasture with its sleepy cattle lay over the low stone wall in the darkness to the east. The scattered silhouettes of clumps of black trees stood against the sky like giant Cyclops huddled in privy councils.
“Fare thee well, my brothers,” I called out into the wind.
The forest was approaching like a tide of ink. Already over the limb of the eastern rise was a rime of light frosting the horizon. The moon! Not a moment to lose. To avoid alarming Gregor, the black guardian of the wood, I veered far left, traversing the edge of the trees. A few miles ahead I knew, from Shawe’s description, lay a secret path piercing through the woodland into the clearing.
Could I find it in the darkness?
“Ah, there it is.” I whispered.
Slowing to a walk, I threaded my horse into the opening, trusting his instinct to keep to the path. After endless turns and twists, I came out at the edge of the clearing.
Where was Treise?
The inky sky drew my eyes upward, and I flinched slightly as I always did. That immense, endless depth above me galvanized a sensation others feel when leaning out over a precipice. It seemed perfectly natural to me that I should be sucked up into that star-embroidered vastness to spend eternity falling upward.
Where was she? “Treise!” I called out.
“Richard!” Her faint, distant answer was far out in the clearing, inside that ghostly circle of stone sentries guarding forbidden mysteries.
The moon broke over the eastern hill crest; and although I could not see it because of the trees behind me, its feeble light carpeted the clearing with a waxen luminescence.
“Richard,” she called again.
“Coming!” I answered.
I walked my horse across the wide space of the clearing until I approached the standing stones. He snorted and shied away, refusing to enter the circle.
“Steady, boy.” I noticed the shape of Treise’s horse, grazing on the south fringe of the clearing at the edge of the wood, and guided my mount to it. Treise’s horse snorted a greeting to mine as I dismounted. The moonlight revealed all of Treise’s clothes stuffed loosely into the saddlebag. It was an instruction, and a promise. I stripped naked, shoving my clothing into my horse’s saddlebag, along with my pistol.
I stalked purposely toward the circle of rocky teeth patiently waiting in the dark to swallow the foolish and unwary. Stopping at the edge, I casually placed my hand on one of the standing stones, blinking in the indistinct moonlight get my bearings. My palm felt a tingle, an almost imperceptible, slow throbbing, like the heartbeat of an erection in the stone.
“Richard, is that you?” There was a hint of anxiety in her voice.
“Treise, I cannot see you.”
I heard the relief in her voice. “In the center, Richard, on the stone platform.”
Now I saw her figure, lying on the platform like an alabaster statue under the rising moon. I hurried toward her.
“Gregor was kind enough to assist me with these.” Treise tugged playfully at the metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She was stretched out, spread-eagled on her back, naked and helpless. “How may I pleasure you, Sir.”
My heart pounded with apprehension, as well as lust. “Treise,” I whispered, “Are you sure we should be out here in this forlorn darkness? I’m sure it’s haunted.”
“Don’t be silly, Richard. You’ve been listening to poor Lara’s folk tales. She likes to frighten the maids with her stories of grotesque creatures prowling the midnight woods and meadows of Blackthorne.” She tugged at her chained wrists and ankles, squirming her beautiful torso playfully. “I’m completely defenseless, Richard.” She drew my eyes to the whip lying beside her. “Don’t you want to do something?”
“I ought to spank you, and take you back to the manor house...but...”
“Oh, I like the spanking part.” She glanced at the whip again. “Please, Richard?” She twisted her hips invitingly, “You can fuck me, too. Gregor won’t disturb us. He’s spending the night fucking and tormenting those poor girls locked in the cellar of the manor house.”
I sat down next to her, the stone platform cool against the nakedness of my buttocks. “Selby has told me stories about the strange goings on when he was a child here. About how young virgin girls were brought here on nights when the moon was full...”
“...And chained naked on this platform, just as I am,” she finished. “Then the sons of local farmers would sneak out of their cottages, to come here and fuck her while she screamed and struggled. It was supposed to please the mythical imps, so they would make land and cattle fertile that year.”
She smiled, twisting slightly to make her breasts surge. “Isn’t that such a romantic legend? It makes me horny every time I think about that poor defenseless girl lying naked here, her terrified heart pounding every time a bush rustles or a shadow moves past one of those standing stones.”
I grasped the thick handle of the braided whip and stroked her belly with its serpentine length. “Do the tales mention whipping the girl?”
“Oh, yes,” Treise blurt out with passionate delight. “The whip is a symbol of a snake, and they were very important in the ancient fertility rituals.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as I raised the braided coil. “Each boy,” she gasped in a seductive invitation, “had to add his share of bruises to her belly, so when he fucked her she would conceive.”
“Be ye fruitful,” I said.
CRACK!
“Aua-a-agh!” Treise jerked her body, twisting against the pitiless stone surface.
“Oh, Richard,” she said with a shuddering gasp, “I’ve dreamed of this...”
CRACK!
“Augh!--Uangh!--Oh-h-h-h...” The muscles in her arms and legs tightened, slowly twisting her torso, savoring the torment. Her voice was only a whisper. “Please, Richard, show me what cruelty is.”
I raised the whip again, when in the darkness, the tiniest of movement, the vaguest of shadows, moved on the edge of my sight. I turned to see what it was, and the blood froze in my veins. Treise turned her head in the direction of my stare. Her scream echoed off the circled stones.
At the edge of the circle stood the bronze sculpture of the satyr I first saw in the foyer, when I arrived at Blackthorne. Who brought it here? No, wait...there were more, dozens. Their eyes were shining with yellow light in the darkness...and they were alive, moving slowly toward us!
The horses whinnied in terror and bolted away with our clothing, our chance of escape, and most catastrophic, my pistol. I sprinted after them, calling out the command to stop. I tripped and struck my head. Treise’s shriek followed me into the jaws of darkness swallowing my mind, “Richard, save me!”
I was unconscious.
My arms were stretched up over my head, trying to claw my way up out of the cyclone of darkness. My fingers, moved, but my arms were frozen in position.
Well, kick, then.
But my legs were gripped by some mysterious power, unable to move.
Helpless! I’ll smother under this shroud of destruction.
My eyes fluttered. There were vague shapes swarming around me, confused sounds. I was looking at the ground below me, my head slumped forward on my chest. I wanted to massage the ache in my forehead, but my arms were gripped by ropes. Lifting my face, I twisted around to see my elbows tied together behind my head, and my wrists bound to the large ringbolt above. Looking down, my legs were pulled painfully far apart, and each of my ankles was tied to the widely separated ringbolts below. I was a prisoner, my nakedness stretched out against the stone pillar carved to mimic a gigantic penis. Before me the stone platform shone in the moonlight with Treise’s lovely naked beauty a defenseless lure. The fog was clearing from my mind, and I heard Treise’s voice, sobbing and whimpering.
“No, please, get away! Augh! Stop! Someone please help me! Oh, Richard, wake up
and help me!”
I squinted my eyes and focused on her thrashing body, stretched out on the stone platform. The satyrs were crowded around her, pawing and stroking her naked body. Their interest centered on her pussy, with their cunning and skilled fingers pulling its lips apart. They chattered softly to each other, stroking the pink wetness inside her pussy, then sucking their fingers. Other squeezed and kneaded her breasts, amused by her frantic struggles.
Their language was a hodgepodge of buzzing lips, snorting grunts, and a trilling and clacking of tongues. They had been taught speech by the birds, the squirrels, and the wind rustling through the trees. But these beings were not animals, nor were they demons. Perhaps they were the remnant of some prehistoric version of mankind, or a regressed throwback.
But the intelligence in their faces and the power of language set them apart from mere animals. These were not beasts, but displayed an eager need for sex that could only be interpreted as human. Yes, they were people. All that set them apart from us was the shape of their bodies.
Those waiting to molest Treise danced impatiently on their hoofed legs, their excitement visible in their faces.
“Stop it!” I shouted, the effort sending a sharp pain shooting through my bruised forehead. “Leave her alone!”
They all hesitated and looked up at me. One of the larger satyrs spoke to the tallest one wearing a feathery circlet of leather-brown oak leaves at a rakish tilt on his head. I guessed it represented his royal crown. He and three others left Treise, and hopped up to me. The king stood only inches away from my defenseless body, with his hands on his hips looking up at my face with an open-mouthed grin. He tilted his head playfully, obviously pleased at my struggling and fearful panting.
In my imagination, I could see the image of Cousin Lamont’s butterfly collection, each helpless creature spread out for inspection and piercing. Two of the satyr’s kinsmen pointed at my limp and shriveled cock, making a sucking, snickering sound and laughing. The crowned satyr turned his face to one, then the other, listening. He then put his right hand to his chin, his other hand under the elbow, and gazed thoughtfully at my withered manhood, shaking his head. He turned around and called out to his troop. A number of them nodded, broke away from the group, and hopped back into the woods.
Treise’s wide eyes were looking at me. “Richard, please! Do something.
“I am—I am,” I replied, grunting as I strained to free my hands and feet. I exhausted my strength and hung motionless, panting and shaking with horror.
“Hel-l-l-lp!” Treise screamed to the sky, and her voice echoed back from the circle of trees around the clearing.
“It’s no use, Treise,” I said. “Gregor is gone, and we’re miles from the manor house. Are there any farm houses nearby?”
“No,” she wailed. “Blackthorne stretches for five leagues north and east. There’s no one.”
“Then we are doomed,” I said with a groan. “We are helpless prisoners of these bizarre creatures, with no hope of rescue, and—look at the elation in their faces—they know it!”
Treise cried out again as a new group began exploring her pussy.
The King of the satyrs reached out and cupped my cock in his leather-tough hand. With his other hand he dragged the sharp cusp of his forefinger along its length. His satyrs put their heads together, buzzing and mumbling in their exotic language.
“At least,” I thought, “They don’t sound angry or malicious.” I was trying to talk myself into being brave. The Satyr on his left reached out and began feeling my scrotum, rolling my balls between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, damn! Please don’t rip them off my body.” I know they didn’t understand my words, but they seemed to read my expression and the terror in my eyes. They smiled up at me and removed their hands from the most important treasures in my life.
There was a shout of gaiety from the edge of the woods, and the troop of departed satyrs had returned. Each had a few wineskins slung over their shoulders, and a number of new satyrs with them.
“A feast?” I thought. “And guess who’s the main course.”
The new satyrs were shorter, with longer, softer hair that swirled below their shoulders as they danced into the circle of stones. What the brightening moonlight revealed confirmed my guess.
Breasts...females...they are nymphs!
The satyrs took them by the arm, pointing at me, and leading them toward me. I held my breath, not wanting to guess what they would do to me. At least there were no knives or sharp sticks in their hands. The leaf-crowned king called one nymph to him, embracing her, obviously his consort. Speaking to her, he first pointed to the other nymphs and then toward me. She smiled and nodded, leading the females to my naked body.
The nymphs clustered around me, the king’s consort taking a wineskin and shaking it, so I would hear the sloshing. The rest were crowding up between my spread legs, fondling my unprotected cock and cooing to each other. The one with the wineskin hissed an order, and four of them joined hands, interlocking their wrists. She hopped up onto the cradle of their arms and was high enough to look in my face.
She held up the wineskin and smiled, poking the spout at my mouth.
“No.” I shook my head.
There was a look on her face so human that it could only be disappointment. She uncorked the spout, and pressed the wineskin, forcing a stream out and into her open mouth.
Not red colored, so it isn’t blood, I thought.
Even in the pale moonlight I could see it was golden yellow. She swallowed a few mouths full, then pointed it at me, smiling again. A shiver of astonishment shook me as her warbling voice mimicked Treise’s words;
“Richa-r-r-d, please.”
Well, perhaps it’s an opiate to numb my body so I won’t feel the pain when they sacrifice me to whatever gods they worship. With a sigh, I opened my mouth. The females not holding her up clapped their hands as the golden stream shot into my mouth. I swallowed, savoring the sweetness, and the spicy flavor. Wine...but not wine. At least not the wine that humans make. It was delightful, but more akin to the potions and remedies Dr. Woolsey dispenses to his wealthy patients.
The female consort stopped pouring, waiting for my reaction.
I gulped in a quick breath. “More.”
She understood my delighted smile more than my words. The stream poured into my mouth.
The nymph smiled and twittered her pleasure, her excitement infecting the rest. I must have drank the whole wineskin. I noticed her passing down the empty one, and taking another full one lifted up to her.
Treise’s coughing drew my eyes to her. The satyrs were pouring their wineskins over her mouth, splashing the stream over her lips and chin. One satyr was holding her nose pinched shut, forcing her to drink.
They had kindled a bonfire in the clearing, some satyrs sitting around it with crude drums. They began sounding a cunning rhythm of various tones; repeating—no—not repeating, but captivating my ears. Others began a hopping, side-stepping jig, or prance, their enormous cocks erect and waving in time to the music. The dance’s purpose was clearly a prelude to fucking.
The nymphs paired off with the satyrs, placing one hand on the satyr’s shoulder, and gripping his cock with the other. The males placed one hand on the female’s shoulder, and fondled a breast with the other. As they danced, never once taking a miss-step, they would switch hands from shoulders to cocks or breasts in perfect time to the rhythm.
The drumbeat was so insistent that my legs ached to dance with them. But part of me was dancing. I looked down. The wine had heated my belly and erected my cock and it lifted, throbbing in time with the primal cadence.
The nymphs clustered around me shouted and clapped their hands, pointing at my triumphant manhood. They began a dance around the stone pillar, clapping in time to the drums, twirling to the right, twirling to the left and hopping at every other step.
Treise was responding to the wine, also. Her eyes were closed while her tongue ran ceaselessl
y back and forth across her lips. Her naked body twisted and squirmed, lifting her hips and moaning, synchronized with the relentless drumbeats. The satyrs clustered around her, buzzing with expectancy, laughing, rejoicing at each other’s profound erections.
My heart pounded, sending my blood stampeding like ravenous wolves through my veins. My belly ached with such lust and shameless desire I had never dreamed human flesh could contain. My cock was a trumpet. Its straining rigidity sang out its fierce craving for a pussy...even for these strange female creatures cupping their breasts in tiny hands and whirling around my captive body.
They danced closer, each one brushing her lips against the tip of my erection as she whirled past. Their touch was ecstasy. I burned with the need to release my cum in fountaining spouts. But the females were in no mind to let me cum before they had their fun. They kept up the teasing, each one kissing my cock a little longer, with a little more sucking.
When I was at the threshold, when just one or two more kisses from those dainty little mouths would trigger my orgasm, they seemed to read my mind, and danced away, laughing as they kept their circle from touching my cock.
Treise was shrieking and crying out in wordless passion. The king of the satyrs had leaped up between her legs and lay on top of her, driving his mammoth erection in and out of her pussy. Her head rolled from side to side, her hair sticking to her forehead’s perspiration. Treise’s body jerked upward and I heard her scream with her stupendous orgasm.
I moaned in despair, unable to bear the agony of denial. Then I felt the lips and tiny tongue of the king’s consort slide up my cock. She sucked and bobbed her head furiously, as if trying to draw out a lifetime of my cum in one colossal flood. She did her work well; my groin shuddered with a fanfare of ecstasy. The nymphs crowded up as close as possible, their faces touching, only inches from my spewing manhood. The consort gripped my cock, waving it about so each female’s face would be splattered with her share of my cum.
Bound For Pleasure at Blackthorne Page 10
