Lust Lurks at Dark Lair Read online

  Lust Lurks in Darklair

  by Roger Hasting

  ISBN: 978-1-942331-54-4

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Email Comments: [email protected]

  Chapter One

  The Spider Spins His Lair

  Melancholy masts speared upward above the black ship, their rough-gripping ropes binding the straining sails, making them prisoners spread-eagled on the yardarms. A sullen midnight moon gleamed through the haze scooting out from the approaching shore.

  “Are you sure this is the place? I want your crew to finish unloading before the first light of dawn reveals our coming.” The tall, cloaked, and scarved man gripped the captain’s arm with a powerful, bony hand. His voice rang faintly with a middle-European accent.

  “Aye, Baron, have no fear. I’ll get ye and yours safely off a’fore first light—after I gets yer gold, o’course.”

  “My gold is with me, and your price is too high...”

  A hiss welled up in the captain’s throat.

  “...But I shall pay what you ask. My need is urgent, and my people expect me to shield them from unfriendly eyes.”

  “Ar-r-r-r...” The captain turned away and growled a hushed command to the helmsman at the wheel.

  “Is that it, Vartan? Are we in Scotland at last?” The tall, mare-faced woman glided up to the man and swathed her arms around his shoulders.

  “Yes, my darling Yeva. Look to the left of the rising moon, on top of that cliff, you will see the dim silhouette of a castle—our castle.”

  “It looks so abandoned—so forsaken.”

  “Yes, my dear, just like us.”

  “Will we ever be allowed to go home again?”

  “This is our home, now, Yeva. It must be. We can never go back to Voldavia.”

  She buried her face in his white silk shirt. “Oh, Vartan, I am so homesick—the mountains, the rushing streams vaulting over the precipice. The midnight arias of the owls.”

  “And the girls, Yeva. I miss the girls.” He lay his cheek against the silken cloud of her long, raven hair. “The pretty young girls you lured into our castle and brought to me. How you delighted in making their chained naked bodies squirm and struggle as you thrashed them for my delight.”

  Yeva looked up at Vartan’s face, her scowl darker than the inky shoreline. “They were common servants—low-born scullery maids—and yet they laughed at my scar, called me names behind my back; ‘Mare-face’, Cut-cheek’, ‘Madame Werewolf’. How I loved hearing them cry and beg for mercy as we tied them down in our bed. I laughed as they screamed while you fucked them.”

  Vartan smiled and tenderly caressed her scarred cheek. “And then we exposed the velvet, creamy skin of their necks, the throbbing pulse of our passion as their terrified hearts drove the red blood coursing through their neck veins.”

  Her face brightened and she grinned wolfishly into his pale gray eyes. “And then, we bit them.”

  The captain strode across the deck toward them. “There’s the dock, she’s just ahead. We’ll tie up, then my crew will begin unloading yer possessions—that is, after ye pay.” His smirk faded as the brightening moonlight revealed the pointed canine tooth in Vartan’s snarl.

  ***

  “Careful with that!” A short, stocky young man waved his hands in anguish as the sailors dropped the long, tapering wooden chest on the floor of the castle cellar. His voice grated with a guttural accent. “My master, Baron Vartan Reznik, will have your skin alive if it damages or marks in the slightest degree.”

  “Easy, mate,” one sailor replied. “It’s strong as a pirate’s chest, and heavy, too. Looks like a coffin, and big enough to bury someone in it. What’cha got in there, bricks or stones?”

  The man drew himself up to his full stature, five-feet, two inches tall. “I am Chilovyeki Dagan—that’s Mister Dagan to you. No one will call me ‘mate’.”

  “Aye,” he touched his cap in mock respect, “have it yer way, Mister Dagan.”

  “This chest is the last of the lot,” the second sailor said. He slid his cap back and wiped his sweaty forehead as he puzzled over the strange wood and metal frameworks they had carried down into the dark cellar. “Let’s get out o’here. This place gives me the creeps. What’ar ye going to keep down here, mister, a zoo?” He waved his hand at the row of cubicles with barred doors.

  “Confine your attentions to tasks you do,” Dagan said. “I shall report disrespect to your captain.” He opened his arms and shooed them up the narrow stone stairway yawning up at the brightening sky in the east.

  When they were gone, Dagan returned to the cellar. He smiled and sidled up to the huge wooden crate. “We’re here at last,” he whispered, caressing the thick boards. “Soon you will awaken, and I will lock you into one of these barred chambers. No one will bother you here, and we will share the new ones together. Do not weep for our old home in Voldavia. I will bring you what you desire and make sure you are happy here, my friend.”

  ***

  “Safe in our new home at last,” Vartan said. He and Yeva stood at their south bedroom window looking out at the new day. The freshening October breeze danced with the opened curtains.

  Yeva laid her hand on his chest. “We have much work yet, my darling, before we can really feel at home. We must have servants.” She wiped her finger across the polished stone window sill and grimaced. “Filthy!”

  “I’m sending Graveston into the village this afternoon. He will inquire in the pubs about servants for hire.”

  “Graveston? That lean-faced English butler that met us when we arrived? Is he—reliable?”

  “Oh, yes, my dear. His references said he has a troubled past. Fathered a child by his last employer’s daughter, they say. Not the first time he’s been caught forcing a young girl. Gambling debts, too. He was quite grateful when I paid them off at our European bank.” Vartan cupped his lover’s chin and kissed her quivering lips. “He’s been banned from the villager’s homes in England, you see. Had to move away to Scotland to find employment.” He embraced her warm, voluptuous body. “No, I understand this man’s appetites. We will not have to hide anything from Graveston. I expect him to be content with the clandestine entertainments only we can provide him.”

  “What a lovely forest and vineyard in the distance. Is that part

  of our lands, too?”

  “No, my dear. That is the northern border of Sir Richard Cailean’s family holdings, Blackthorne Estate. Even though Blackthorne House is twelve miles away, they are our closest neighbors.”

  “What are they like? Will we have problems with them?”

  “We shall soon know, my dear. Graveston will deliver my invitation to them this afternoon. They are to be our dinner guests next Saturday evening.”

  Yeva drifted across the large bedroom to the cavernous closet and rippled her hand across her clothing. “I shall wear my most alluring gown and seduce them.”

  Vartan strode quickly across the room on his long legs and leaned against the closet door frame. “From what I have heard about the Cailean family, I expect it will be a mutual effort on their part, both their men and women.”

  “Good,” she replied. “It will be like the old days again. I miss the wi
cked games we played with our friends in Voldavia, don’t you?”

  Vartan fingered one of Yeva’s flimsy silk nightgowns. “Everyone enjoyed them, but no one more than you did, my dear.”

  “You think me too bold and shameless, darling?”

  “I am speaking of perfection, you sly minx.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the huge brass bed, dropping her roughly and plunging on top of her body, her legs already spread open in welcome.

  ***

  “What is it, Selby?” Sir Richard Cailean turned to look at his butler.

  “A man to see you, Sir. Calls himself Graveston, says he’s the butler of our newest neighbor, Baron Vartan Reznik. Emigrated from Voldavia, just arrived at Machival Castle to take up residence last night.”

  “Very well, Selby, show him in.”

  Graveston, a tall bony man, stepped boldly across the threshold. His face held no emotion, and his pale blue eyes restlessly scanned the room. His dark suit seemed ideally fitted for a body much unlike his. The man’s large, pointed shoes scuffed across the carpet. He cleared his throat like the rumble of distant thunder. “Sir Richard?” The voice seemed cavernous and distant.

  “I am, and this is my wife, Lissa. Welcome to Blackthorne House. What is the purpose of your visit?”

  “My employer, Baron Reznik of Machival Castle, has the pleasure of inviting you and your family to dine with him Saturday next at nine o’clock in the evening.” He handed Richard a buff-colored envelope. Richard broke the seal and drew out the gilt-edged stationary.

  Lissa’s head tilted in suspicion, “Machival Castle? Isn’t that the one called The Darklair?”

  Graveston’s face remained impassive, only a slight hint of disdain marred his composure. “I believe some of the more ignorant villagers do say that, Madame. However, I’m sure sensible people don’t.” His heavy-lidded eyes bored into hers.

  “Thank you, Graveston,” Richard said, “I will discuss this invitation with my family and respond by tomorrow’s post.”

  “Very good, Sir Richard. My master, Baron Reznik, will expect your reply. Good-day Sir, good-day Madame.” He nodded to Richard and Lissa and turned away, strolling out the door.

  “Well, what do you make of this?” Richard handed his Uncle Garrick the invitation.

  “Odd sort of invitation,” he replied. “He only arrived in Scotland last night, and already wants to dine with his neighbors.”

  “Well, at least he is sociable. Perhaps he can help us kidnap some young girls from Central Europe. I hear they are quite passionate, just what we need to supply our horny customers.”

  “Perhaps.” Garrick unfolded the paper and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the barred parlor window. “Excellent stationary. European manufacture. Strange watermark—I can’t quite make it out.”

  “You travel a lot in Europe, Uncle. Haven’t you ever heard of this Baron Vartan Reznik?”

  “No, nothing definite. Never been in Voldavia. I have heard rumors of a clan there, however. Don’t believe any of it—the Gypsies tell positively fantastic stories.”

  Lissa twisted her handkerchief tight around her knuckles. “Anything we should know about them, Uncle?”

  He patted her cloud of golden hair. “Don’t concern yourself, my dear.” He turned to Richard. “I recommend we accept the Baron’s invitation, and find out for ourselves. I want a look at his servant girls. I’d like a taste of foreign pussy again.”

  Richard looked at Lissa, waiting.

  “Why not?” she asked, her face brightening. “I’d love the thrill of an adventure again. Things have been so dull around here since our wedding. You promised me I’d get abducted and fucked by your friends from time to time, and I’ve been waiting so long!”

  “Yes,” Garrick said. “All our male staff have had a turn with her. I’m sure her pussy’s more than hungry for a strange cock.”

  Richard sighed and embraced her. “All right, darling. We will accept the Baron’s invitation. But please try to keep your clothes on at least until dessert.”

  “I wonder if I can persuade him to tie me up and fuck me right there on the table in front of all of you.”

  “Be careful, my dear,” Uncle Garrick replied. “Darklair used to be a jail as well as the home of the sheriff. The Baron may decide to keep you for his naked prisoner awhile.”

  Lissa blushed and ducked her head. “Oh, Uncle, don’t tease!”

  ***

  “And what is your name, child?” Baron Vartan leaned back in his large overstuffed chair and pressed his fingertips together, making a tent of his hands. Yeva sat beside him, coiled up in her chair, legs pulled up on the cushion, stroking the red silk gown over her thighs. Her emerald eyes locked on the girl’s torso, a lithe predator selecting her prey.

  The young girl blushed. “My mother named me Ella, sir. But I’m not a child, I’m eighteen, a grown woman.”

  “Certainly a woman,” Vartan said, eyeing her ample breasts and the swelling curves of her hips. “Ella—that’s a pretty name.”

  “Thank you, sir. My mother says it means, ‘beautiful fairy’.”

  “A perfect name for a girl of your dainty appearance.” He leaned forward slightly, “And why do you want to work here in Machival Castle as my maid?”

  “Oh, indeed, sir. Work is scarce here in the moor countries, and I don’t fancy to scrabbling on a farm for one of those crofters—breaking my back for hours before dawn until far after dark.”

  “You could make more money in any of the factories in Glasgow.”

  “Oh sir, it’s punishing work all day, never seeing the sun, and dirty. Speakin’ of which, the pawing hands of the bosses—a poor girl don’t have a chance—havin’ babies a’fore finding a man-husband.”

  “Chastity is important, isn’t it?” A sly smile hid behind his hand.

  “Oh, sir, I’m a good girl. No man has ever seen the color of my bloomers.” She blushed at her imprudent declaration.

  “Well, Ella, you sound like exactly the kind of young woman we want to keep here in our hands. You can begin in the morning. We have already discussed your pay and days off, so I think we can end the interview now.”

  “Oh, sir, thank you so much!” she curtsied and turned to hurry out of the room. She paused at the door and nodded toward Yeva. “And please thank your kind wife for me, sir.”

  “She’s not my wife. She is my personal secretary.”

  “Not your wife? But...I mean...when Graveston showed me around the castle he said you both...” Her face paled and she held her breath.

  “We both sleep in the same bed.” Vartan smiled. “I understand how strange our Central European customs are to you British people. We are more free and sharing in our homeland of Voldavia. Perhaps you can teach us the value of your British ways.”

  Ella gasped, breathing again, her troubled eyes flicking back and forth between the two. “Oh, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

  Yeva gave the girl a Cheshire grin. “It’s perfectly all right, dear child. I’m sure the Baron and I will be teaching you some new habits, too. You’d better run along now, Ella, it’s already dark outside.”

  At least Vartan’s smile seemed innocent enough.

  Ella curtsied again, her wide blue eyes trapped by his. She turned and scurried away.

  Graveston stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “She’s a tempting morsel. It will be an amusing evening, breaking her to your will in the cellar, won’t it, sir?”

  “You’ll eventually have your turn with her, Graveston. But until I give you permission, you are forbidden to touch her.”

  “I’m willing to be patient, Sir. She’s a delicious morsel, and worth waiting for.” He sighed and drooped his head, “But while I’m waiting, it would be so delightful to feel my cock stimulated by one of the others.”

  “I’ll arrange something for you, Graveston, when I’ve interviewed the other girls.”

  Yeva uncoiled from her chair and stood up, str
etching like a tawny kitten. “Why not let me handle his problem, dear?” She prowled over to Graveston and loosened his tie. “Our dear butler has been so helpful since we arrived. I would enjoy demonstrating my gratitude in a personal, private way.” She brushed her firm breasts against his chest, letting him feel the swelling of her engorged nipples. “How lonely it must be for a healthy, hot-blooded man, shut up in this empty castle, obeying our every command.” Yeva stretched her arms straight up over her head, pressing her wrists together in a simulation of bondage and swayed her hips. “I bet Graveston would like to compel me to obey some of his own commands, too.” She breathed her warm breath on his exposed neck, “Wouldn’t you?”

  Vartan stared at the two people a few seconds, then grinned. “Why not, my dear. I have been so taken with supervising the unpacking and arranging of our affairs that I have neglected your needs. Please Graveston, take Yeva to the cellar where you can punish her body and fuck her as much as you like.”

  Graveston stared at the Baron, and stuttered. “B-but, Sir—s-she’s your...I mean, I’m a servant and she...”

  “Graveston,” Yeva whispered. “You have your orders. Now give me mine.” She winked at the growing swell in his trousers and handed him a short length of a leather thong. Turning around, she pressed her arms against her back, with her forearms crossed and raised until her wrists were under her shoulders. “Tie my wrist, then loop the thong over my shoulder, under my armpit, then across my back. Thread it under my other armpit, up over my shoulder, and tie the end around my other wrist. And while you are doing this, pull it tight, Graveston, tight! The rules of our games are strict, and merciless. They cannot be broken for anyone—not even me.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “And don’t call me ‘Madame’! You are supposed to punish me. I’m not worthy of respect or kindness until you are finished abusing me.”

  Graveston looked puzzled while he bound her arms behind her. “What shall I call you, Madame...uh...miss?”

  Vartan stood up and laughed. “Perhaps I can suggest a few suitable names.” He strode over in front of the now-helpless Yeva. “Slut—whore—public cunt.”

  “I’m not comfortable using those words to address my employer’s woman, Sir.”