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Doris dark and dirty secrets

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' lush young body that held the title!


The needle plunged into Doris' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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' vulva. "Fuck," he muttered. "I-I'm gonna fuck!"

He stretched out a long arm, gripped one of Doris' 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' soft silkiness. He reached under himself, gripped his throbbing shaft, steered it toward the wet, waiting opening.

His breath panted onto Doris' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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' body jerked upward as he thrust inward. He pressed his face onto Doris', 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' 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' face like a cat. "Nice soft cunt! Hot pussy!" He smiled, idiotically. "Hot an' wet!"

He let his penis slide out of Doris' 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' 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 for," 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.


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' 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' 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."

Doris smiled in reply, murmured a few words, then followed the cook through the high, spacious hall. George Bateman followed with Doris' luggage.

The wide stairway curved in a majestic sweep from the back of the hall to the mezzanine. Doris', room overlooked the carefully manicured grounds at the back.

"This is a beautiful room," said Doris, surveying the deep pile on the floor, expensive drapes and the invitingly soft modem bed.

"You have your own bathroom," said Mabel, opening a door at the side of the room, revealing a fully equipped bathroom.

Doris nodded with pleasure, then asked: "And is this a closet?" She indicated another door at the side of the bathroom door.

The cook shook her head. "That's just a spare room -- the door is always locked," she said briefly.

Doris glanced at the door casually, noticed the transom above -- curtained from the other side, then turned away, dismissing it from her mind.


On the other side of the door, Willis Wynton stood on the seat of a chair, peered through a small chink in the curtains. He licked his thick lips when he saw Doris' curvesome figure, then waited, wriggling with impatience, for Mabel and Bateman to leave the bedroom.

When the door had closed behind the two servants, Doris dropped onto the satin-covered bed and let her body sink into the softness.

Willis' body became tense. Doris' brief skirt had worked up while she was squirming on the bed, and he could see the thin silk of her pantyhose straining across her crotch. A glimpse of darkness, like brunette pubic hair, was visible through the silk. Willis' hand slithered down to his crotch.

Suddenly, Doris slid her legs off the bed, then scrambled across to her luggage and dragged a suitcase onto the bedside chair.

She opened it, took out a dark-green dress and looked at it quizzically. After a moment, she threw the dress onto the bed, snapped shut her suitcase and started to unbutton her blouse.

Willis' lips became dry, and he slid out his tongue, wet them with jerky, excited licks.

Doris' flesh looked soft and smooth as she shrugged out of her blouse, then she unhooked her brassiere, threw it onto the bed and cupped her braless breasts.

Willis could see the pink tips of her nipples oozing between her fingers. He swallowed with an effort.

Doris had moved in front of the full-length mirror; now, she stared at her reflection as she gently caressed her milky-white mounds. Her lips pursed into an expression of pleasure as she felt the satiny-soft flesh squirming under her fingertips.

Reluctantly, Doris slid her hands off her breasts, reached to the waist of her skirt, unzipped it and slid it off.

Willis held his breath.

Her buttocks were tightly encased in the silk of her pantyhose, then she slipped her fingers in the waistband, slithered the silkiness of her hips and limbs.

He could see the cleft in her bottom opening and closing as Doris leaned forward -- Willis' hand groped at the front of his pants, unfastened them -- then gripped the thick shaft that protruded.

Doris turned around, showing the thick thatch of hair on her abdomen; showing, too, wet pink lips that rubbed against each other as she moved.

Willis' eyes were glued on the white, shimmering thighs and the exciting red slit between. His hand moved slowly, caressingly, as he massaged his swollen organ.

Doris picked up the green dress, held it in front of her naked body, scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her back was to Willis, and he could see the ripples running up and down her thighs and her buttocks as Doris swayed herself slightly.

His excitement increased; his hand moved more quickly.

She walked back to the bed, green dress in her hand, then sat on the edge, staring at the dress thoughtfully. After a moments she dropped onto her back, legs dangling over the side of the bed, and let the dress slip out of her hand.

Her thighs parted, then she stroked the insides of her legs with slow, lingering movements. Gradually, her hands moved higher -- her thighs parted more widely -- and Willis could see the red slot of Doris' sexual cavern stretching open.

She touched a wet vaginal lip with a fingertip -- then a tremor ran through her flesh. Her eyes closed, then she jerked up her heels until they were propped on the edge of the bed. Her knees fell apart and she stabbed a trembling finger into the wet sponginess of her vulva.

Willis watched the finger sinking into the soaking tissue, and the vulva seemed to suck it, draw it inward deeper and deeper as though it was a hungry mouth.

The round ball at the end of his penis expanded, throbbed painfully. He closed his fingers on it, squeezed with sex-excited strength.

A slim, pink spire slid up from the top of Doris' sexual slit, and she used her other hand -- to touch it, press it, squeeze it with exquisite pleasure. Her mouth opened and closed as she drew in gulps of air.

Willis' breath panted from his nostrils, and his body stiffened as he slithered his hand from the swelling base of his shaft to the hard, round ball at the end. His knees had begun to tremble, and the chair that he stood on vibrated gently with each movement.

Doris had lifted her buttocks, and her finger thrust in more deeply, pulled out soggily, dragging clinging tissue with it. Her clitoris had enlarged, and she tormented it with her finger and thumb, pinching it, pulling it and squeezing. Her hips began to undulate up and down.

Willis' body began to sway in sympathy with the girl on the bed; he gripped the cheeks of his bottom tightly together, pressing forward with his scrotum, feeling the thrills flicker through the length of his sexual shaft. Small drops of moistness dripped from the slitted lips in the mouth of his organ. He made low, wet sounds of lust and desire as the sweat broke out on his body.

Doris was masturbating with frenetic movements; her knees had spread open like the petals on a flower, and between -- her sexual bud was squirming and writhing as she teased it and pleased it, tormented and titillated it with soft, then vicious, manipulations.

Willis could feel his excitement crescendoing to an obscene climax. His hand gripped tightly as his organ writhed of its own accord, and he felt the spasms wrenching through the shaft.

Doris' eyes opened, then dilated and she drew in her cheeks, biting them with her teeth as she squeezed on the tip of her clitoris. The jerks started: shattering through her flesh; making her thighs writhe -- slap closed then pry open -- as she dug deep inside her soaking vulva. Suddenly, a high wail came from her lips reaching Willis' ears and bringing his excitement to an unbearable peak -- as she orgasmed and fluid seeped from her vagina and dampened the cover on the bed.

Willis choked back a groan as his penis jerked sickeningly; then he leaned back from the waist, precariously, as he felt the thick, painful spurts squirting from the spitting lips in the grossly enlarged head of his organ.

"Urgh..." he groaned, orgasming violently. "Urgh-girl-cunt urgh!"

He saw Doris' body relaxing; her eyes closing as satiation spread through her body. Vaginal fluid still trickled from within her, and Willis watched it, muttering to himself: "Ah'm gonna fuck you, girl-cunt-gonna fuck!"

Then he stepped down off the chair, legs shaky, body trembling, and squatted on his haunches. His penis, huge but limp, dangled between his legs like a vicious but dormant snake. "Gonna fuck you, girl-cunt..." he muttered over and over.


"So she's the secretary," said Mabel Williams to the chauffeur.

He shrugged, gave a sardonic smile. "That's what Mildred says..."

"I didn't see her when she was here before. She's a pretty young girl," said Mabel.

They were talking in the kitchen. Mabel was preparing a meal, while George Bateman was sipping at a glass of beer.

"Naturally," he said, "she wouldn't have got one that wasn't nice looking." He took a gulp of his drink, then muttered, "Sexy figure, too..."

Mabel answered with her back to the chauffeur. "I suppose..." she paused, then: "D'you think-think that she's got her for him?"

George shrugged. "What else?"

Mabel continued with her work, then she murmured: "I feel kinda sorry for her, though..." she hesitated, then: "I'm glad in a way..."

George jerked his head up: Mabel's face was red. "I suppose it'll make it easier for you," he muttered. "Take some of the load off you." His voice was bitter.

Mabel's flush became deeper. "Something like that," she whispered.

"The son-of-a-bitch!" George spat out the words. "Why d'you let him?"

Mabel didn't answer his question. "D'you know what he did to me last night?" she asked in a shocked whisper.

"You don't hafta tell me," George muttered.

Mabel put her lips close to George's ear and whispered: "Up the back of me," she hissed. "Right into my bottom..." she panted with emotion, "he-he pried open the cheeks and stuck his big thing in me. I-I thought it was going to tear me wide open... or burn me." Mabel's hand went behind her and she stroked the ample flesh of her buttocks tenderly, as though she could still feel a gross organ piercing into her anal canal. "His stuff," she mouthed, "was scalding hot spurtin' right inside me."

"Why?" George forced out the word. "I mean -- why up the back?"

Mabel hung her head, breathed out the shame-filled words. "He... he said he wanted somethin' tight, somethin' that'd wrap around his cock -- squeeze the stuff outa him." She looked down and her voice went even lower. "He... he said I was too loose -- that he didn't get the same kick outa-outa screwin' my pussy any more!"

"The bastard!" George's face was white. He reached out for Mabel, encircled her waist with his arm. "Why-why'd'you let him?"

Mabel stroked George's head absently. "You-you know why -- you know what they -- what she -- pays me!"

He didn't answer.

"How much d'you think I'd get for just being a cook?" she asked, bitterly. "You know that I hafta do it." She bent down, looked into George's face. "And you do things, too, George -- she makes you do things, doesn't she?"

"That's different," he muttered. He slipped his hand under Mabel's skirt, found bare thigh-flesh, then slid his fingers inside her panty-leg, caressed her. "I hafta do it -- to keep my job!"

Mabel heard his words but she was thinking of something else. "I suppose that's why they got her," she murmured.

George didn't follow her. "What?"

"This young girl -- this secretary -- I suppose that's what she's for! He wants a nice snug cunt to fuck so his dear mother gets him one..."

"He's a dirty bastard -- an' his mother's a bitch," mouthed George. "We oughta stop it -- we oughta tell her." But his words lacked conviction.

Mabel shook her head. "You know we can't do that," she sighed. "Anyway, I guess she's bein' well paid for it."

George squeezed Mabel's fleshy buttocks, then drew his finger up the cleft. Mabel winced. "Does that hurt?" George asked.

Mabel smiled. "Not when you do it."

"The bastard," said George again, remembering. "I'd like to castrate the son-of-a-bitch."

She reached down to George's crotch, squeezed at the fleshy mass there. "I'm glad you're not castrated," she said with a half-giggle.

He managed a grin. "You'll be gladder still tonight."

"Don't brag," she murmured, then she asked: "I wonder if this girl'll be willing to do what they want."

"Whether she's willing or not, she'll do it." George looked at Mabel. "They have ways you know that you oughta know that!"

"You mean the doctor..."

"He isn't a doctor any more -- he was struck off. Mildred knows somethin' about him -- that's why he does what she tells him."

"I suppose..."

"He'll be screwing that young cunt tonight," George spoke slowly. "Squeezin' his cock into that snug, tight pussy."

Mabel drew in her breath and her pelvis jerked forward. "You're getting me excited talking like that!" she whispered.

George pressed his fingers into her buttocks, pulled her body against his so that she could feel the hardness of his penis jammed into her flesh.

"D'you hafta wait until tonight?" she whispered.

He shook his head, slathered his lips on her cheek.

Mabel pulled herself back, her face red with excitement. "In here," she murmured, dragging George to the side of the kitchen. "We can go it in the pantry." She opened the door to the small storage room. "No one but me ever goes in here." He slid into the tiny place, let Mabel click closed the door behind them and stared at her in the dimness. She lifted her skirt at the front, then clawed at her crotch with urgent fingers.

George watched her panties slide down and when the thick growth of pubic hair became visible, he ripped his pants open and dragged out his swollen penis.

Mabel's glance veered down onto the still thickening shaft, then she jammed her buttocks on a low shelf so that she was in a half-squatting position. Her thighs spread open and the wet, pinkish tissue was revealed.

"Wet, screwin' cunt," George muttered, taking a shaky step closer to the woman.

"Don't talk -- just fuck!" Mabel slid her fingers down, pried open the lips of her vulva.

George moved between the open thighs, feeling Mabel's hands on his belt, unfastening it, letting his pants slip down then her fingers were clutching his buttocks and pulling his body closer to her, into her with hungry strength.

He gripped the shaft of his penis, steered the jerking head into the wet mass of sexual tissue. The walls of her vulva gripped the sides of his cock, sucked it up and into her body.

"Urgh, Mabel," George groaned, "you hot, hungry pussy!"

She pressed her mouth on his, sucked and bit at his lips as she felt the hard shaft penetrating her. "Long, hard cock," she slavered. "You're filling me all of me; you're fucking inside my belly!"

She jerked herself down, and the stiff cock pressed up more deeply. "Like that," she moaned, writhing herself. "Fuck me like that!"

George's knees trembled when he bent them to let his organ slide down, then he drove inside again, deeper and deeper, feeling the vaginal walls undulating against his throbbing shaft. "Oooh, you sweet fuck," he mumbled, trembling with excitement, "you're suckin' the strength outa me!"

"Keep fuckin'," she said, her voice ragged. She tried to squeeze her thighs together to heighten the sensation and the movement of her thigh muscles tightened the grip of her vulva.

"Oooh, that!" George panted, feeling the wet grip of the soft but strong walls of his cock. "Keep holding my cock like that!"

He lurched himself upward, his cock making wet, sensuous sounds as it thrust through the soaking tissue; then he dragged the shaft down, felt Mabel's body quivering against his as the thrills throbbed through her flesh.

"Oh, Georgie -- don't stop!" Mabel panted out the words breathlessly and squirmed her buttocks on the edge of the shelf as she sucked at his cock with her pulsating pussy.

George could feel the head of his cock expanding and contracting and fiery slivers of juice began to spasm inside his organ.

"Mabel," he gasped, "I'm gonna-gonna blow-blow!" His voice rose and his in-and-out movements became frenzied.

"Georgie -- Georgieeeeh!" Mabel tried to stifle the squeal that rose in her throat as his swollen organ jammed against the tip of her stiffening clitoris. She wriggled herself urgently, working the hard clitoral tip on the swelling, throbbing shaft.

Thrills flickered through her vaginal walls then cascaded through all parts of her sexual flesh. "I'm coming!" she gasped, then her teeth bit onto George's lower lip as she orgasmed, jerking her pelvis and feeling her vulva quiver with a spontaneous reaction.

"Urgh, Mabel -- Mabellll!" George's voice rose high as burning spurts of juice squirted from the lips of his cock, splattering against the soggy tissue at the top of Mabel's vulva, scalding her, thrilling her and making her flesh shiver until she lifted her feet off the floor, wedged herself on the edge of the shelf and wrapped her legs around George with her heels jammed into his buttocks, pulling him ever deeper inside her sexual cavern.

At last, her mouth moved away from George's, her teeth relinquished their grip on his lip and she panted, "You lovely big cock, oooh, Georgie -- you drive me fuckin' wild!"

"Soft screwin' pussy," he mumbled, feeling the last dregs of juice trickle from the end of his cock. "Your cunt was just built for fuckin'!"

She gave a breathless giggle, leaned against him, feeling his softening shaft sliding out of her. "I came, Georgie," she whispered. "You always make me come -- an'..." she hesitated, then buried her face on his shoulder so that her words were muffled, "an' now, will you suck me, Georgie?"

"Hungry pussy," he muttered, "always ready for more!" But he obeyed, letting his body drop down until his face was level with her belly. She opened her thighs eagerly, then reached down and stretched the lips of her pussy wide open. The pink, tensed head of her clitoris slid out and George took a deep breath, bent his head and opened his mouth.

"Like that!" Mabel breathed as his lips encircled her clitoral tip. "Suck it into your mouth -- tickle it with your tongue -- bite it, Georgie!"

He gripped the squirming muscle with his teeth, pulled it away from its warm, wet slot.

Mabel made low ecstatic sounds and entwined her fingers in the hair on George's bent head.

"Stick your tongue up my pussy," she begged in a whisper.

He drove his tongue into her, tasting the saltiness of the mixture of his and her come-juice, then sucked at her clitoris again.

Bubbling moans poured from Mabel's lips and she rocked herself, slowly and sensuously, as George licked, sucked and bit with thrilling sexual devotion.

"I'm gonna come again!" The words spurted from Mabel's lips; a violent shiver shattered through her body and she almost jerked her clitoris from the grip of George's teeth.

"Now!" she gasped, straining herself back, increasing the tension as George's teeth pulled at her clitoris. "Now, now, NOW!"

Her voice rose to a squeal, then meaningless babbles of sound ran from her lips in a torrent as she orgasmed with frenzied intensity.

George released the grip of his teeth, felt the head of the clitoris throbbing wildly against his lips then a shiver ran down his spine as the pantry-door opened and an ice-cold voice said; "So this is where you are!"

Still groveling on the floor, George twisted his head and stared at Mildred Wynton.

She was standing in the pantry doorway, face white, eyes glittering.

"Did I interrupt you -- or had you finished?" she asked in a coldly sarcastic tone. Her eyes flicked down to George, focused on his limp penis -- then she glanced at Mabel, first at her face then at her curled-open, soaking vulva.

"Did you enjoy that, Mabel?" Her voice was like ice.

"Ma'am, I-I..." Mabel's face was scarlet.

"Come to my room tonight, Mabel," Mildred's voice was soft but frightening. "You haven't been spanked for a long time -- too long, it would seem." Mildred's tongue flicked out and she touched her lips. "It's time I whipped that soft, fleshy bottom -- you're getting spoiled."

"But, Ma'am I..."

"Bring my small riding whip to my bedroom tonight at the usual time," Mildred interrupted. "I'll punish you before you go to bed." Her eyes went onto George's face. "It's too bad you can't do these things on your own time, George. I don't pay you to suck Mabel off whenever she -- or you -- gets the urge!"

He stared at his mistress in silence.

Mildred's hand dropped onto her belly, and she massaged herself very slowly. "However; since that's what you enjoy doing, George..." she paused, licked her lips again, then: "Come to my room after I've punished Mabel -- and you'll get what you deserve."

She turned, took a step into the kitchen then snapped over her shoulder: "And now that you've finished your fucking get on with the work I pay you for!"

They listened to her heels tip-tapping across the floor then looked at each other in eloquent silence.

Mabel spoke at last. "Cold-fish, dirty bitch!" she whispered.

George nodded very slowly. His penis moved of its own accord and he gave it a surprised look then encircled it with his hand, squeezed and felt the shaft coming alive, throbbing within his fingers. "She's a bitch all right," he murmured, then added almost inaudibly: "A hungry, fuckin' bitch!" His cock jerked inside his hand and he tightened the grip of his fingers.


Mildred Wynton was passing down the corridor when Willis exited from the spare room. She drew back in surprise, then her eyes flickered to the next demand she gave a sly smile of understanding.

"You've-you've observed her?" she asked softly.

Willis nodded his head, then grinned like an idiot.

Mildred walked to her bedroom at the far end of the long corridor, and her son followed her like a pet dog.

"You liked her?" she asked Willis, closing the bedroom door behind them.

He grinned again. "Yum-yum!" he mumbled.

Mildred sank onto a chaise lounge in front of her dressing table, took a cigarette from a silver case and snapped a lighter.

"What was she doing?" she asked, blowing smoke from her nostrils.

Willis made movements with his hands as though he was taking off clothes.

Mildred smiled through the smoke. "Undressing?"

"Um," said Willis, saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, "all off all naked..."

"Really!" Mildred sounded interested. She stared at her son, then her eyes went onto his pants -- with the tell-tale white splotches on the front.

"You played with yourself," she said softly, "while you were watching her."

The misshapen young man's face flushed scarlet, then he hung his head, mumbled, "Ya, Mama -- ah'm sorry, Mama..."

"It's all right, Willis dear," she said softly, "I understand." She reached towards him, patted his arm affectionately as though he was a very young child.

She smoked in silence for a moment, then stared at Willis and asked, curiously but softly, "What did she do after she'd undressed?"

His face flushed even redder, then he grinned. "The same, Mama."

"The same?"

He nodded vigorously. "Same as me, Mama."

Mildred drew in her breath. "You mean she was-was..." her voice had become tight, "playing with herself, too?"

"Um, um, Mama..." he stretched out a finger, pointed it. "In and out, Mama all naked on her backspin and out!" He made stabbing movements with his finger.

Mildred leaned forward. "Between her legs?" she asked in a whisper.

Willis stood with his legs spread, bent his knees, then made stabbing movements toward his crotch with his finger.

"Um, Mama -- up her cunt!" He grinned again. "Up her fuckin' cunt!"

She winced, then: "I wish you didn't use that word, dear, but..." her voice trailed off.

Willis had clutched at his crotch while he was speaking; now he caressed himself lewdly through his clothing. Mildred noticed it.

"I suppose that it was watching her do that -- watching this girl diddle herself -- that excited you, dear?" she whispered.

He bent himself slightly forward, gripped the bulge in his pants.

"All red..." he blurted, "all red an' wet." He looked into his mother's eyes. "Water came out -- thick water."

"She orgasmed," whispered Mildred, wriggling her body as though she was uncomfortable. "She made herself come..."

"Um," said Willis, "me, too..."

Mildred drew on her cigarette until the tip was red. "You'd like to-to play with this girl, wouldn't you, Willis?" Her voice was low, throbbing.

He wriggled with excitement, squirming himself in his clothing like a child that wanted to pass water. "Um-yum-yum, Mama..."

She nodded her head slowly.

"When, Mama?" His voice was jerky with excitement. "When can I fuck, Mama? Fuck her wet cunt, Mama?"

She winced again, half-closed her eyes. "We'll see," she said slowly. "I'm having Basil for dinner tonight."

Willis looked pleased. "Doctor Basil?"

Mildred smiled. "Yes, dear, Doctor Basil Marston."

Willis dragged his hand off his crotch, made a jabbing movement with his fist. "He-he'll stick it..." he mumbled, "the-the needle -- stick it in her." He swallowed, half-choked with excitement, "Make her go half-asleep like he did with..."

"We'll see," interrupted Mildred, still smiling and nodding her head, "after dinner, Willis, dear -- we'll see!"


Doris took her time about dressing for dinner. "There'll be a guest," Mabel Williams had told her, and added: "Mrs. Wynton eats at eight."

She showered, then relaxed on the bed in her bathrobe, and wondered about the sudden spasm of sexuality that had flooded her body when she was undressing and teased her until she had succumbed to its urging and spread herself on her back on the bed and masturbated to a devastating climax.

Bruce! She murmured to herself. No more Bruce!

She thought about it for a moment, then remembered the bleak countryside that surrounded Romily Manor, and added to herself: No more anybody!

She had got used to the regular sessions of lovemaking that she had enjoyed with Bruce -- and she had enjoyed them, enjoyed them more and more as their affair had progressed -- and she wondered now, how she would manage without him.

Whatever his other shortcomings, Bruce had been a very satisfying lover.

There was always somebody, she tried to reassure herself, for every hungry girl there was a man -- at least one man! But this wasn't populous New York, she had to mentally add. This was a remote part of Maine!

Doris sighed; dragged herself to her feet and started to get dressed for dinner. She should have considered this aspect of leaving New York before. It was a little late to worry about it now!

"Doctor Basil Marston," said Mildred Wynton, introducing Doris at the dinner table, "and this is my son, Willis."

Doris noticed the slightly defensive note in Mrs. Wynton's voice when she introduced her son, and she stared curiously at the odd-looking man-boy.

"How do you do..." Doris stretched out her hand diffidently.

"Hi'ya..." Willis mumbled; his long arm reached forward, and she stared with mingled horror and fascination at the huge hand, its back covered with hair, that seized hers in a strong grip.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dainton," said Basil Marston, smoothly, touching her hand with his.

He was a handsome man, Doris decided, glancing at the deeply tanned, slightly saturnine face with its firm lips that curved now in a welcoming smile.

His eyes rested on her face with more than casual interest, and Doris wondered, absently but automatically, how old he was. Somewhere between forty and fifty, she'd suppose.


The dinner was served by Mabel Williams, and -- Doris noticed with surprise -- George Bateman.

"There's been a mild epidemic," said Doctor Marston casually, during the course of the meal, "at a village a few miles from here and everybody has to be inoculated against it..."

"Epidemic!" Doris sounded alarmed.

Basil Marston made a depreciating motion with his hand. "Nothing serious, Miss Dainton, I assure you -- it's merely an Asian virus, very rare for this country -- and I've brought the necessary vaccine..."

Mildred Wynton cut in. "I asked Basil to bring it over for you, Doris, then you could be inoculated like everyone else."

Doris blinked, thinking about it. She always hated having any kind of shots -- but if everybody else had had them... She gave a small sigh of resignation and murmured, "I just hate having things stuck into me." Then she wondered why Willis sniggered into his soup.

She glanced at the malproportioned young man, noticed how he slopped soup and crammed crusts of bread into his mouth.

He eats like an animal! she thought, then: He looks like an animal, too!

Willis became aware of her scrutiny, and Doris saw his face flush brick-red. A piece of bread slipped from his hand, and he slithered down in his chair, groped under the table for it.

He was seated opposite his mother, on Doris' left, and after his head had disappeared under the table Doris imagined she felt something brush against the bare thigh-flesh above the tops of the full-fashioned stockings she had donned for dinner.

She started. Surely he hadn't touched the insides of my legs!

Willis' face seemed redder than ever when his head reappeared.

I must have imagined it, Doris told herself, I must have!


Willis was the first to finish his soup, and he sat, hands on his lap, waiting for the next course.

Doris became aware that he was staring fixedly at her; the rigid gaze from the dark, close-set eyes embarrassed her, and her napkin slipped from her nerveless fingers. She murmured something then bent under the table to retrieve it about to straighten up, something caught her eye that made her freeze. Willis wasn't sitting with his hands in his lap as she had supposed. His pants were unfastened at the front, and he was gently caressing the longest, thickest penis that Doris had ever seen!

She raised her head quickly, blood flooding her face then draining out, leaving her cheeks pale and wan. Her soup spoon clattered nervously against the side of her bowl.

He is like an animal in even more ways!


Doris ploughed through the meal mechanically, listening to the conversation between Doctor Marston and Mrs. Wynton with half an ear, and answering absently when she had to. Her mind was on something else... something that was gross and long and thick, that was held in a hair-backed hand!

She glanced at Willis' face. He was still staring at her -- and his hand had dropped under the table again.

A strange shiver ran through her body. Is he still playing with himself while he stares at me? Is his huge hand still wrapped around his monstrous cock?

The thought horrified -- yet at the same time, perversely thrilled -- her!

He is horrible, she told herself. He is monstrous! Then she wondered: How would it feel to have such a huge mass of male muscle and stiff tissue thrust into my vagina!

Her face flushed at the awful thought! How could I even think about something as grotesque as that?


"Sure you won't have some wine?" asked Mrs. Wynton.

Doris had declined it before, but this time she changed her mind. "Just a little, please." She drained the glass and didn't demur when Doctor Marston refilled it.

The thing that I've seen! She picked up the fresh glass of wine, drank it, thirstily.

"After the doctor's given you your shot -- we'll show you around the manor," said Mrs. Wynton. "You may find it interesting."

But Doris wasn't listening to the last part of the sentence. She was thinking of the needle and the shot!

"Will... will it hurt?" she asked, nervously.

Basil Marston's deep, reassuring voice answered her. "You'll hardly notice it."

Gently, he took her elbow, led her to a corner of the room. "Won't take a minute," he told her, taking a needle and syringe from a small black case on the side table.

As usual, Doris turned her head away; then she was scarcely aware of the tiny prick before he spoke again. "That's all there is to it!"

She turned, smiling her relief. "I-I didn't know you did it!"

"Like I told you," he said, leading her back to Mrs. Wynton.


There was a small room which Mrs. Wynton used as an office, on the main floor of the manor. "You can rearrange things as you like," Mildred Wynton said. "I'll leave everything up to you -- I'm dreadful at office work, anyway."

Doris stared at the desk and papers. It would be kind of nice to have her own place where she could work as much -- or as little -- as she wanted.

"It all looks very neat," she said, indicating the big, bare desk and filing cabinets.

Mildred Wynton laughed. "That's because I cleared it up for your benefit, Doris."

There was a large, well-stocked library on the main floor, too, as well as two small sitting rooms and a large lounge with an open fireplace.

"My husband was an amateur astronomer," said Mrs. Wynton, leading the way up to the top of the manor. "He converted this part of the attic into a small observatory."

Doris looked around her with amazement. She'd never seen this kind of a place in a private home before. The mass of telescopes and other optical instruments fascinated her.

She moved towards a large telescope with its own mirror, then staggered. "I-I feel kinda-kinda dizzy..." she mumbled.

She was vaguely aware of a sound like a snigger from Willis, then Mrs. Wynton took her by the arm. "Sit down for a moment, Doris dear," she said, sounding suddenly very solicitous. "There's a small room here that my husband used as a bedroom..." and she led Doris into the small attic room with its bleak bed and bare mattress... then Doctor Marston gave her the second needle and she remembered nothing further.


Doris started to regain consciousness very slowly. She was lying on her back and there was a great weight pressing down on her body.

Where am I? she asked herself hazily. What kind of a dream is this?

She tried to move but the huge mass on top of her prevented it; she realized then that her legs were stretched widely open, her thighs were apart and there was something moving on top of her, between her legs, and... She shivered: There's something INSIDE ME! Doris tried to turn -- but couldn't. It's right inside my pussy -- filling me like I've never been filled! She tried to struggle frantically but the swollen penis pinned her to the bed as though she were a fly.

The huge column inside her vulva churned upward and Doris could feel her vagina being stretched and strained wider and wider open. Oh, my God -- what's happening?

The gross rod slid down and the walls of Doris' vulva undulated against it. It's fucking me! A monstrous cock's fucking my pussy!

She tried to open her eyes but all she could see was a red haze. Am I dreaming? Is this real? A thrill ran through her belly as the massive organ pressed against her clitoris. I'm having a dream an exciting sex-dream that's going to make me come!

She gave up the effort of trying to understand, let her eyelids drop, shut out the red haze -- then the thrills came again, more strongly.

The huge snake in her pussy was squirming wildly, pressing against all parts of her vulva at the same time. The tip of her clitoris was dragged inward by the thrust of the giant cock and as the shaft writhed, fierce throbs of ecstasy rocked through her sexual tissue. She felt the air panting from her lungs and her breasts, flattened against the mass of flesh on top of her, ached when she tried to move them. Her body jerked up the bed as the rod drove in deep again; she could feel wetness seeping out of her pussy, trickling down the walls of her vulva then wetting the tops of her thighs each time the cock pulled down.

A violent thrill rocked up to the top of her belly and she groaned; drew in her pelvis -- making the cock press more strongly against her clitoris. I'm going to come -- I've never felt like this! This dream is the most -- the wildest -- I'm coming!

Her clitoris was a crazy bobbing spire of sexuality as she started a wild orgasm. Right from my clit to my pussy -- then round to my bottom and more -- I'm coming all over!

Doris' lips opened in a soundless scream; she orgasmed, again then again, jerked her thighs and felt her vaginal lips closing, hugging on the alien snake that was fucking her with excruciating strength.

It's going right through main at the front and out of the back! I've never been fucked like this -- not in a dream or for real!

Willis made a high, whining, animal-like sound as his orgasm started again. The hot juice flowed to the end of his cock in ragged, uneven spurts -- then squirted, scaldingly, inside her straining pussy.

I'm all wet inside! I'm coming and I'm all wetted hot inside my pussy!

The violence of Doris' orgasm increased; a damp sweat covered all parts of her skin. She wanted to cry out, squirm herself frantically but felt as though she was still in the grip of a dream. The sexual spasms became unbearably intense as her orgasm reached an impossible peak -- then the limits of Doris' endurance were passed, and she dropped into unconsciousness again.


Willis was still lying on top of the unconscious girl, his softening cock sliding slowly from her saturated pussy, when Mildred and Basil came to the bedroom door.

"Still doin' his thing!" Basil muttered angrily when he saw the position of the figures on the bed.

He hurried up to Doris' face, then reached down and drew up her eyelid. "Still unconscious," he murmured to himself, then added: "Poor kid!"

"Don't waste your time feeling sorry for the girl," said Mildred coldly. "She doesn't know what's happening -- and would probably enjoy it if she did." She spoke to her son. "Willis, dear -- get off her now. It's time to stop; you can play with her again tomorrow!"

Willis turned a slack face towards his mother, then gave a weak grin. "Fucked her, Mama -- I fucked her pussy!"

"Yes, dear," said Mildred. "Now get off her -- come down and have your milk."

Reluctantly, Willis squirmed himself to the foot of the bed, his penis dangling limply. He reached down, held his organ gently, then looked at his mother and smiled. "I did it twice, Mama -- I fucked her cunt twice!"

"Yes, dear," said Mildred again. "Now get dressed and come downstairs."

Basil listened to the conversation with an expression of distaste on his face. When Willis had dragged on his pants and shirt, then let his doting mother lead him from the room, Basil turned his attention to Doris again.

She was lying very still, eyes closed, lips parted as she breathed deeply through her nose.

Absently, Basil stroked her cheeks. She was still, gave no sign of awareness. He noticed her breasts, touched the pink tips very gently and a tender smile crossed his face.

"You've got virginal breasts, Doris," he murmured, "but you're not a virgin!"

As he spoke, his eyes moved down her body, stopped at the top of her thighs. Her legs were still stretched open and the insides of her thighs were sopping wet. Basil bent, stared into her vagina. It was curled open, making a wide, red sexual mouth and its lips were saturated with a creamy fluid.

Basil touched it with a fingertip, sliding his finger on the edges of wet tissue. "Poor little pussy," he whispered. "You've been well fucked -- too Goddamned well fucked!"

He touched the clitoris, and Doris flinched. "So aware!" he murmured. His face became excited: "I must examine you -- fully and completely -- and test you!" He thrust his finger deep inside her vulva, savoring the feel of warm, wet sensuality. "You must come to my office tomorrow, Doris, little girl."

Then Basil stooped, lifted Doris in his arms, and carefully carried her downstairs to her bedroom.

She was still unconscious when he placed her on her bed. He stripped off her shredded pantyhose then dampened a towel in the wash basin and wiped the outside, then inside, of her vagina.

She submitted to his ministrations without a sign of life. Basil searched among her clothes until he found a shortie-nightie, which he took to her bed. Carefully, he removed her torn brassiere and blouse then slipped the nightie over her head.

He had scarcely completed his task when Doris' eyelids flickered, then opened. A small frown of puzzlement creased her forehead.

"Where am I?" she blinked at Basil.

He sank onto the edge of her bed. "You're all right, Doris -- you're at Romily Manor."

Doris sighed, remembering. "But what's happened? Why am I here in bed?" She looked down at herself in surprise.

"You fainted, Doris," Basil said smoothly, "it happens that way sometimes, after a shot -- you remember the shot I gave you?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember."

"There's nothing wrong. You'll feel fine in the morning; just have a good sleep -- then in the afternoon, come and see me at my office." He pulled a card from his pocket, thrust it into her hand; then took it back, placed it on her bedside table. "You're all right, Doris, but I want to examine you -- make a few tests."

Doris nodded again; a dream expression on her face, then she reached under the bedclothes and he saw her cheeks get red.

"What is it?" he asked, quietly.

She lowered her eyes, then whispered. "I-I was dreaming."

He nodded.

She opened her eyes wide. "A-an awful kind of dream."

"What, Doris?"

"You're a doctor," she said. "I can talk to you?"

He nodded again.

"It-it was like-like a sex dream," she whispered, flushing. "I-I dreamed that-that..." she broke off, looked embarrassed.

"Dreamed you were with a man?" Basil prompted.

She nodded her head eagerly. "Yes. Isn't that awful?"

"It's quite normal. Did you have an orgasm?"

"Yesss..." she hissed. "Oh, did I ever!"

"That should relax you, Doris. You'll sleep well tonight."

Her hand moved under the covers, then she met Basil's eyes with a puzzled expression. "But-but I feel as though I've really had a man inside me -- like all open -- you know what I mean?"

Her face was flushed.

"Dreams can be very vivid," Basil reassured her.

"I-I'm sore down there -- Doctor, my pussy's all sore as though I've had a-a big thing inside me!" Her voice was a whisper.

"But you don't hurt?" he asked.

"Not hurt -- but sore and..." She hesitated. "Aroused?" he asked.

Her flush became deeper, then she nodded. He saw her hand move under the covers.

"Do you masturbate, Doris?" he asked quietly.

She bit at her lips, closed her eyes.

"Do you?" he persisted.

Doris didn't answer.

Suddenly, Basil whipped the sheets down. Doris was lying with her thighs slightly parted and her hand was over her crotch. Two fingers had spread open her vaginal lips and a third finger was pressing on the head of her clitoris.

"Just sometimes," she whispered.

"That's normal," Basil said. "You should make yourself come whenever you feel like it-it'll relax you."

"Yes," she nodded eagerly, "it always relaxes me -- helps me to go to sleep."

"If you feel like it -- do it," he said.

"Yes," she said, her eyes still closed, cheeks still red.

Basil took a small vial from his pocket and shook out a pill.

"If you find it hard to sleep tonight -- take one of these." He placed the pill beside his card on her bedside table.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Will you be an right now?"

"I think so." She opened her eyes, smiled at Basil then pulled up the sheets over her nakedness.

Basil smiled at her, then stroked her face very gently. "You're a very pretty girl, Doris. I hope I'll see a lot of you while you're here."

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Comfortable?" He slid his hand under the covers, let it glide down her body to the soft, warm flesh of her thighs.

She flinched, pressed her legs together, when his hand went near her crotch; then he took his hand away.

"Remember what I said -- if you can't go to sleep."

"You mean?" Her eyebrows were raised.

He smiled, got to his feet. "You can take the pill -- or make yourself come -- or both."

Doris gave a nervous laugh. "A doctor's never told me to do that before."

"I mean it," he said. He moved toward the door, then said over his shoulder, "Don't forget to come and see me at my office tomorrow afternoon."

"If Missus Wynton doesn't need me!"

"Don't worry about that. I'll tell her."

"Good night, Doctor."

"Good night, Doris," he answered, exiting.


The white, fleshy half moons of Mabel's buttocks stared into Mildred's face as the cook positioned herself over the back of the low chair.

Mildred's eyes glittered and her tongue snaked out to moisten her dry lips. She was wearing a leather skirt which was so brief that Mabel had caught a glimpse of dark pubic hair at Mildred's crotch each time the mistress of Romily Manor moved. The halter was leather, too: a thin strip that barely concealed the firm, well-shaped but not overlarge breasts. Her breasts rose now, as Mildred drew in a deep breath.

"You deserve to be disciplined, don't you, Mabel?" Mildred hissed.

Mabel nodded her head. From past experience she knew better than to speak. All that Mildred wanted from her was obedience -- and the use of her soft, naked flesh upon which to vent her weird, sadistic obsession.

When Mabel had entered Mildred's bedroom, the mistress had indicated the familiar chair and Mabel had bent over it, exposing her bare bottom and hoseless thighs for her employer's delectation.

Mildred toyed with the short whip that Mabel had obediently brought her, moved closer to the waiting flesh, then snapped: "Open your thighs more, Mabel -- let me see that precious pussy that you adore having sucked. Bend your knees; relax, my dear; enjoy what I'm going to do!"

Mabel stifled a moan, forced her legs to relax and let her thighs part. A trickle of moistness slid from her vulva and ran down the inside of her thigh.

Mildred stooped, stared into the red sexual maw. Mabel's vaginal lips were still curled open as though they had not fully recovered from the sexual session in the pantry. Mildred looked into them, then reversed her grip on the whip -- prodded the butt end into Mabel's vagina.

Mabel flinched, instinctively tightening the cheeks of her bottom, gripping the butt, preventing it from entering her.

Mildred jerked the whip angrily. "Relax, Mabel -- don't try and stop me!"

A bubbling

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