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Date: 23:27:56 on Thursday, December 01, 2011
Name:  The story teller
Subject: House of Dark Pleasures part 1
House of Dark Pleasure
by Gloria Day
Little did Doris know when she took the secretarial job offer from
Romily Manor, the nature of the duties she was to perform. She hadn't
counted on being a paid playmate for Mildred Wynton's twenty-five-year-old
retarded son. Her horror deepened even further at the realization that she
had to share her voluptuous body with the degenerate doctor and Mrs.
Wynton's lascivious chauffeur. Mrs. Wynton was the mistress of the manor
in name, but it was Doris's lush young body that held the title!
Introduction
The needle plunged into Doris's arm again, and she lay very still on the
bare mattress, her eyes open but unseeing, and the voices and sounds in the
small room were just a garbled cacophony to her drugged ears.
"That'll keep her for four or five hours," said the heavy-set man of
medium height and middle years.
He removed the needle from the syringe, replaced them both in a small
case and snapped it shut.
"Thank you, Doctor Marston," said the tall, gaunt-faced woman,
emphasizing the Doctor because Basil Marston wasn't a doctor any more: not
since a zealous medical association had removed his name from its list
because of unethical behavior or professional misconduct as they viewed his
illegal operations and indiscriminate use of prohibited drugs.
"I don't like it," the ex-doctor muttered now, looking at the young girl
on the bed.
A tousled lock of brunette hair had fallen onto her forehead, making
Doris Dainton look younger than her twenty-three years. Her big, brown
eyes--usually luminous and alert--were dull and listless, and her
five-foot-one, one-hundred-pound body slumped, rather than lay, on the bed
in the upstairs room in the bleak, rambling mansion in a remote part of
Maine.
"You don't have to like it," said Mildred Wynton, coldly. "You just
have to do what you're told." She jerked her head toward the door. "We'll
go downstairs now." She turned to the fourth occupant of the room, forced a
parody of a smile onto her face. "It's all yours, Willis, dear." She moved
to the bedroom door, opened it, half-pushed Basil Marston into the
corridor, then her smile became a leer as she added to her son: "Enjoy
yourself, Willis." Her eyes flickered to the drugged girl again, and she
moistened her lips as she finished in a whisper: "If you need me--just
call." Then she moved out of the bedroom quickly, clicked shut the door
behind her.
"It--it's horrible," muttered Basil as he descended the narrow stairway
behind Mildred.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped over her shoulder. "It's not
horrible at all." She reached the foot of the stairs, moved toward the
old-fashioned but well-furnished sitting room. "Just because poor
Willis--my son, remember, is somewhat unattractive to girls is no reason
why he should be denied the ... the normal pleasures of female ..." she
hesitated, then, "... company."
"Company!" Basil spat out the word, stared at the severe but not
unattractive woman of forty-five. "He doesn't want company." He moved to a
sideboard, poured whiskey from a decanter than took a big gulp as though he
needed it very badly. "That--that freak--he's like a lust-crazed animal.
All he wants is ..."
"Don't call my son a freak!" Mildred's voice rose quiveringly high with
anger. "He--he's just--just a little backward--just a little undeveloped
in some ways." She snatched up the decanter, poured herself a generous
drink, lifted it to her lips.
Basil watched her, a sardonic expression on his dark, still-handsome
face. "In some ways," he repeated, bitterly, "just some ways!" He drained
his glass.
Willis Wynton stared at the softly curved, lusciously inviting girl on
the bed. An evil smile of anticipation crossed his misshapen face, and he
drooled, saliva trickling down to his chin as his eyes drank in the sight
of young and helpless female flesh that lay at his mercy.
He had a peculiar build, his legs being too short for his massive,
bull-like torso and his arms--as if to make up for the brevity of his
legs--were too long, causing his hands to dangle close to his knees.
He swung his hands loosely, now, as he moved toward the girl on the bed.
His forehead, covered with a mass of long, black hair that hung down, was
too wide--while his chin was too narrow, making the thick, sensuous lips
seem out of place. His pointed tongue darted out, slicked at the edges of
his mouth as he stared at Doris.
She was wearing a white-nylon blouse and short leather skirt; her feet,
shoeless now, and legs, were encased in sheer pantyhose.
Willis reached to the top of her blouse, unbuttoned it, then gripped the
thin fabric of her brassiere. He tugged at it gently, then seemed
surprised when the flimsy garment ripped off. His eyes squinted as he
stared at the twin mounds of soft, fragile flesh--then he slowly stroked
Doris's breasts.
A low, guttural sound came from deep in his throat as he caressed the
silky smoothness. Then he jerked himself back, grabbed at his crotch as
though in pain.
His fingers trembled as he undid the front of his pants, then the huge,
swollen organ thrust out and he wrapped his hand around the bulbous head of
it, bent himself forward from the waist.
Doris lay unmoving, unseeing, unaware.
Willis stood by the head of the bed, his animal-like penis just inches
from the drugged girl's face--then he pushed his pelvis forward, guided his
shaft until its slitted ball of lust was touching Doris's cheek. He weaved
his organ back and forth on the delicate softness of her cheek.
Low sounds of pleasure came from his throat as he performed his lewdly
intimate action, and thin dribbles of moistness slid from the slitted mouth
of his penis and oozed over Doris's cheek.
Suddenly, he dropped to his knees beside the bed, pressed his face over
the girl's unfeeling body, encircled a small, pointed, pink nipple with his
mouth, sucked it with sickening pleasure.
"Oooh, Maaamaa--Maamaaah," he mumbled, sucking and licking with wet,
squelching sounds. He drew his head back abruptly, letting the
saliva-slicked nipple slide from his lips with a plop. "You're not Mama,"
he mumbled, sounding more like a child than the twenty-five-year-old man
that he was. "You're what--what Mama got for me " an infantile smile
spread across his face, "... for me to play with." His hand caressed his
penis as he spoke. "Mama said--enjoy yourself." His smile became wider.
"I can do what I like--whatever I like." He reached down to the hem of the
leather skirt, lifted it. "I--I know what I like to--to do--" he panted.
The pantyhose stretched tightly over Doris's belly and hips, so thin
that the dark triangle of her pubic hairs was clearly visible. Willis
clawed at it, and a long fingernail ripped at the crotch, tearing through
the fragile silk, shredding it open until it was slitted from the waist to
where it disappeared between her smoothly fleshed thighs.
Willis's eyes fastened on the thatch of dark foliage, then he touched
it, stroked it gently at first, then more roughly.
His penis reared when his hand went lower, probed between the exposed
thighs, found vaginal lips that were soft and wet and felt inside them.
"Nice pussy," he drooled, rubbing his finger in Doris's intimate
moistness. "Soft, wet pussy!"
He drew back, breathing heavily through his nose. "I--I'm going to do
it," he muttered, panting with excitement. "Mama said I can enjoy myself."
He began ripping off his clothes with frantic haste, keeping his eyes on
the small pink opening between Doris's thighs. "I'm going to push my cock
inside your pussy!" He giggled, highly like a girl, then dragged off his
remaining clothes.
His chest, belly and legs were covered with thickly matted hairs and
below his massive penis, huge balls were encased in tightly stretched
flesh.
He cupped his gross testicles, moved to the foot of the bed, stared up
into Doris's vulva. "Fuck," he muttered. "I--I'm gonna fuck!"
He stretched out a long arm, gripped one of Doris's feet, moved it
toward the side of the bed--then did the same with her other foot.
The silk-encased legs formed a gleaming V to the shredded slit at the
crotch. Willis panted as he stared up into the wet pinkness. "Fuck," he
mumbled again.
He climbed over the end of the bed, breathing heavily, and crawled
between the outstretched legs. His hairy thighs pressed against Doris's
soft silkiness. He reached under himself, gripped his throbbing shaft,
steered it toward the wet, waiting opening.
His breath panted onto Doris's face as she lay still, as though she were
a doll.
The hard, round ball of lust pried at the vaginal lips.
"Small," Willis complained, "so small!" He jerked his body angrily, and
Doris's belly quivered under the thrust. The head of his penis probed
again at the small, tight vagina--then Willis jerked his shoulders upward.
"Let me--" he panted into Doris's face, "--let me do it!" He dragged a hand
upward then slapped the drugged girl's face. "You--you gotta--" he moaned
in childish rage. "Mama said I could!" He slapped Doris's face again, and
her head rolled with the blow. A deep pinkness suffused her cheek where
the palm of his hand had hit.
He reached under his body again, with both hands this time; gripped
Doris's thighs, spread them apart into an agonizing, strained split. "I
wanna fuck--" he half-cried.
His body lurched again--and this time the end of his shaft penetrated
the slithery vaginal opening and slid inside.
"Oooheeh--ooheeeh!" Willis shrilled as he felt the soft walls gripping
his lurching organ. "Inside--oooheehh--my cock's inside!" He squirmed his
whole body with lustful delight.
"Squeeeeze!" he squealed. "Squeeze my cock, nice tight pussy!"
He drove himself inward, causing the stretched vaginal walls to be
forced open even more widely. Doris's body jerked upward as he thrust
inward. He pressed his face onto Doris's, groped for her mouth with his
wet, slavering lips--then kissed her with slimy hunger. "I--I don't need
Mama to help me," he mumbled when he drew his head back, "I can do it
myself all by myself!"
His throbbing organ, swelling and pulsing, thrust inward again--then
withdrew, slid in, slipped out. "Oooheeeh," he shrilled,
"fuck--fuck--ooheeeh!"
He screwed his organ in and out with ever-increasing strength and speed.
Doris's body had become a jerking mass of tortured flesh as his climax
began.
"Squirt--" he screamed suddenly, "I'll squirt inside you." He dragged in
a gasp of air as his organ contracted, expanded. "Right inside your pussy
all so hot so wet--" he babbled as his crest neared. "Aaaargh!" He let out
a deep groan then writhed his body wildly. The slitted lips in the rounded
head of his organ opened, emitted a scalding spurt of juice, then
closed--opened again, spurted again. "Ooooheeeh aaargh! Fuck--fuck your
hot pussy!" His voice went high, then racking tremors shook his body as he
expended the last squirts of his juice.
The long shaft softened, reduced in size, became limp.
Willis lay on top of Doris, breathing deeply, languorous with satiation.
"Nice pussy," he mumbled, licking at Doris's face like a cat. "Nice soft
cunt! Hot pussy!" He smiled, idiotically. "Hot an' wet!"
He let his penis slide out of Doris's vulva; then he squirmed himself
down to the foot of the bed, stared in between her grotesquely stretched
open legs. "White inside--" he mumbled. "--my white stuff all inside!" He
smiled, as though he'd performed a clever feat. "Nice fuck--nice pussy
fuck!" He stroked the insides of her thighs, then fondled the wet tissue
inside the lips of her vagina.
"Again," he said slowly. "Mama said--enjoy yourself--I'm gonna do it
again--" He started to stroke his reawakening penis with expectant desire.
"Again an' again--" he mumbled, "I can do it again an' again--as many times
as I want!"
The shaft was stiffening, so he guided it to the vaginal entrance again.
This time it was easier; Doris's vulva was still curled open from the
previous onslaught of his huge penis--it slid in smoothly, sensuously,
stretching the abused and fragile tissue without effort. Willis grunted in
satisfaction.
* * *
Downstairs in the sitting room, Basil Marston slammed down his glass.
"D'you realize what time it is?" he snapped to Mildred. "He's been up
there with that--that poor kid--for four hours!"
She didn't even glance up from the book she was reading.
Basil leaned forward, spoke urgently. "It's midnight." He tapped the
face of his watch. "That stuff'll be wearing off!"
Mildred looked up this time. "Oh, Basil--let the poor boy have his
fun!"
"Fun!" Basil looked startled then angry. "D'you call raping a young,
drugged girl fun?"
Mildred snapped shut her book. "Don't act so goddamned righteous." She
paused, then: "After what I know about you--"
"Don't go into that--" he muttered.
She gave him a cat-like smile. "If I did go into that, there'd be
criminal proceedings against you--not just being struck off--"
"I said--don't go into that," said Basil, more loudly. He took a deep
breath. "Like I just said--that stuff'll be wearing off."
"What was it anyway?" asked Mildred curiously. "Just what exotic
solution did you inject into that girl?"
"Exotic is right," he muttered. "It's some stuff they use in the Far
East when someone's in agonizing pain--it dulls everything--deadens the
nerves--"
"Some herbal remedy--" Mildred's voice was disdainful.
"Hardly that," Basil said. "It's strong--can be deadly--stuff."
"But it just lasts four or five hours?"
"Depends on the dosage," he murmured. "That's all I gave her." He
glanced at his watch again. "By God--isn't that long enough for that
damned stud to do his thing"
"Don't call him a stud," said Mildred. "He's just--just a normal,
developing male--with normal instincts." She dropped her eyes as she spoke.
"Normal!" Basil gave a mocking laugh, then stopped suddenly. "You'd
better go an' drag your normal son off his latest victim!"
Mildred glared at Basil angrily, then got to her feet. "I suppose I'd
better go up." She smoothed down her skirt. "Willis'll have to carry her
back to her room before she comes to--it wouldn't do to have her come round
in the attic!"
"Is that what you got her out here fox asked Basil," so that your son
could rape her, abuse her an' amuse himself with her body?"
"No!" Mildred spoke, emphatically. "I really needed a secretary--that's
why I advertised!"
Basil shook his head in anger or despair as Mildred swept from the room.
Chapter 1
Doris Dainton had come across the small advertisement when she was
scanning the classified ads in a New York paper. Though she already had a
job--had held it for six months, in fact--with a New York realtor, she
still continued to glance, al beit casually, at openings for secretarial
assistants.
Secretary, the ad had said, for country estate management, rental, etc.
Top salary, accommodation and board in fine old Maine residence. Age
21-25, single and unattached. Please enclose recent photo with application
to Mrs. Mildred Wynton, Romily Manor, Romily, Maine.
Doris had read it twice, then thought about it. She was the right age,
twenty-three, and she was single--and, she added to herself with a trace of
bitterness, completely unattached.
Since Bruce had walked out on her two weeks ago, she couldn't have been
more unattached! So maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery would be good
for her morale.
She sighed. There'd probably be lots of applicants, and there was
little chance that she'd be selected. Nevertheless, Doris wrote a careful
application, enclosed a snap (Bruce had taken it during the summer) and
mailed everything off.
Two weeks later, when she had almost forgotten about her application,
she got a reply.
And what made this reply different was the fact that a money-order to
cover her train fare with an extra ten dollars for expenses was enclosed
with the letter.
I'd like to meet you, Mrs. Wynton had written, and if you like Romily
and everything else is satisfactory, then ...
Doris had read the letter very carefully, then decided that a trip to
Maine, all expenses paid, would not be a bad idea, so she'd phoned--as Mrs.
Wynton had also suggested then made the journey on the Saturday following.
She was met at Romily station by a George Bateman, her employer's
chauffeur, and was driven to Romily Manor.
The Maine countryside had looked wonderful after the noise and dust of
New York, and the manor itself was one of those delightful early American
residences that never seemed to change.
"There really isn't a great deal of work involved," Mrs. Wynton had
said. "And since my husband died several years ago, I've managed
everything myself--but now I feel I'd like to have someone take charge of
everything for me." She'd laughed. "Maybe I'm getting lazy in my old
age--"
Mildred Wynton didn't look so old, Doris had thought, though her manner
was that of a much older person.
What she'd learned of the job, Doris had liked. There were a dozen or
so houses on the estate which had been rented to the same people for
years--and half a dozen more which were rented out seasonably.
When Mrs. Wynton mentioned the salary, Doris's eyes had opened wide.
It was higher than she was getting in the city--and all her living expenses
would be taken care of here, too!
"Do you have any family?" she had asked, hesitantly, thinking that there
might be more work involved.
"Just my young son," said Mildred Wynton.
"Oh!" Doris had wondered. Young son! Would I be expected to baby-sit,
too? Is that the fly in the ointment?
"How--how old is your son, Mrs. Wynton?" she had asked, wondering if
she was being too bold.
"Twenty-five--" Mrs. Wynton had startled Doris by answering. "He's
very delicate and stays in his room most of the time."
Doris had nodded. If she has an invalid son, that could explain why she
wants someone to help with the estate; it could also explain why I haven't
seen any other members of the family.
* * *
She had told Mrs. Wynton that she would think about it; thanked her for
the pre-paid trip and promised to call her, but by the time the train had
rolled from lush countryside to the unprepossessing outskirts of the city,
Doris had already made up her mind.
She had phoned Mrs. Wynton on Sunday, given her notice at the office on
Monday, and by the following week was ready to make her move.
George Bateman met Doris again, touching his cap respectfully when she
alighted from the train, then carrying her meager luggage to the waiting
Chrysler.
It was an old car, Doris realized as they drove toward Romily Manor.
Old but well-kept--then she glanced at the back of the driver's head. It
would be hard to say how old George Bateman was, Doris decided; he could be
anything from thirty-five to fifty. His skin was tanned, and his body,
short but well-muscled, looked tough and durable like the countryside they
were passing through.
Doris frowned. He looked out of place behind the wheel of the ear--he
seemed more like an outdoors man.
"Do you work for Missus Wynton full-time?" she asked now.
He jerked his head as though he was surprised at being addressed, then:
"Yes, Miss--" he slowed at a crossing, then went on: "I work on the grounds
as well as drive."
She nodded. It was as she thought.
"Miss--it's Miss Dainton, isn't it?" the driver asked.
"Yes," she told him, "Doris Dainton." She smiled.
"Did you--" he asked very slowly, "--meet young Mister Wynton when you
were here before?"
"Why no," she said. "He's an invalid, isn't he?"
George Bateman made a sound that could have been a laugh, then: "He's
all right sick, but--" his eyes flickered to hers in the driving-mirror,
"he's not exactly an invalid."
"What's the matter with him?" Doris was startled.
George shrugged. "He's like, well backward--"
Doris's eyebrows went up. "You mean--retarded?"
George didn't answer for a while, then: "You'll find out soon enough,
Miss." He swallowed. "Missus Wynton wouldn't want me to talk about
her--her son!" And he finished the drive to the manor in silence.
The massive front door of Romily Manor was opened by a buxom woman of
some thirty years.
"Welcome to Romily," she said to Doris, her pleasant face smiling. "I'm
Mabel Williams, the cook--Mrs. Wynton is resting and she asked me to show
you to your room."
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