Bound For Pleasure at Blackthorne ebook

Chapter Three-1

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 p***y 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.” Turning 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.”

“Degenerate beast!” Aunt Willa said. “Always showing off your university education.”

“Now Aunt Willa, here,” he continued, “naturally prefers men. I have no quarrel with her. After a long evening of being entertained by her caged harem, she becomes as sweet and agreeable as Springtime itself.” He shook his head, “But it doesn’t last.” He pumped my hand in greeting. “My function is to keep this clan out of the courts, and far from Blackpool Prison. I’m a Barrister, I make sure what little of us and our line of business is known by the public is all legal and law-abiding. And,” he added with a wicked wink, “I am an enthusiastic participant in our nightly revels.” His laugh was like a song echoing in a barrel.

“Enough, Lamont,” Aunt Caroline said. “Confine your long-winded expositions to the court.” She turned back to me, grasping the hand of a petite, pretty, brunette girl and pulling her toward me. “Here’s your step-cousin from your mother’s side, she is your mother’s sister’s step-daughter by her second marriage. Because of her beauty, and her enthusiastic service for our business, we consider her one of the family. May I present Miss Treise Mallory.”

A doe-eyed girl no older than eighteen pressed up against my body, her hair a mound of wavy black silk tickling my cheek. “Hello, Richard,” she cooed. She stood on her toes and kissed me. “I can do whatever is necessary to make you feel welcome and wanted.” Her hand danced down my chest and fingered my belt buckle. “Au deboucher?” she whispered in my ear.

Lamont arched his cigar in the air, “Careful, Richard, she’ll have you stripped naked and stretched out on the dinner table before the soup is served.”

Treise spun around with a sneer. “You weren’t interested.”

“I’m saving myself for the new arrivals.”

“Make way, make way!” The group parted, and a frail, but energetic aged lady propelled her wheelchair forward. Her snow white hair framed a still attractive, aristocratic face. She must have been stunningly beautiful in her youth.

“Now, young man, show some of that charm you inherited from your father.” She held up her hand, palm downward and fingers drooping.

My aunt lay her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Your grandmother, Claudia Cailean.”

“Yes, I remember her from our Yuletide celebrations.” I bent and kissed her hand. “The loveliest jewel in the family diadem.”

Her eyes sparkled as she grinned and gave me a confidential nudge with her elbow. “Did they tell you about the girls yet?”

Before I could answer, the oaken double doors on the opposite side of the room swung open, and the brunette maid, Bridget, lovely in her scanty maid’s costume, said, “Masters and mistresses, dinner is served.” I stared at the wide leather collar around her neck. In the front hung a large metal ring.

I paused as I passed her, admiring the liquid brown eyes sparkling in her lovely oval face. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled at me, flashing the brilliant whiteness of perfect teeth encircled by the soft cupid’s-cushion of her crimson lips. The deep red color of the generous n*****s crowning her breasts were plainly visible, pressing out against the frail tissue of her blouse. I reached out and touched her collar and fondled the metal ring, making sure my eyes weren’t tricking me.

We sat down at a long table draped with a brilliantly white linen cloth and set with china and silver that gleamed and sparkled in the candle light. The brunette servant girl wheeled in my grandmother in her chair and stood quietly behind her.