Chapter One
"Just take your time, my dear, and try to pretend I'm not even in the
room with you," George Blackwell instructed the stunningly beautiful
redhead with a slight chuckle. "I'll simply be working in here for
awhile."
"Yes sir," Nadalee Parker replied in a soft, shy voice, nodding sweetly
as she bent down to dust a bookshelf a few feet away from where her new
employer sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his intelligent but somehow
disturbing gaze seeming to bore straight through the sheerness of her
white maid's uniform. She felt a cold shiver run through her, as though
his eyes were stripping her bare, and the very fact of his assurance
that she should pay no attention to him because he was "working," made
her feel all the more uncomfortable in his presence. For he was not
working at all but only sitting there, almost leering at her, glancing
up and down the length of her body with a strange sort of approving
smile on his stern-featured face. Her hand trembled inadvertently as
she swiped along the tops of the books with the feather-duster and she
suddenly found herself unable to concentrate on what she was doing from
one moment to the next.
Jesus, what an innocent, juicy young bitch! George thought to himself
as he ogled his new maid's lush, girlish figure. She was almost like a
toy, a sexy little eighteen-year-old toy, with long copper-red hair and
big fluttery emerald-green eyes. And man, he was glad now that he had
allowed his wife, Dolores, to talk him into buying Nadalee the
"uniform" she was wearing. It was a lacy blouse and a kind of little-
girl pinafore with a tucked-in waist and a short skirt that accentuated
every inch of the lovely girl's body, from the deep cleavage showing
between her large, firm, white breasts to the taper of her slender
waist and the rounded outward curve of her luscious hips that sloped to
her long full-swelling thighs and, lower, to her well-formed calves and
ankles.... Hell, yes, she was absolutely mouth-watering to look at! He
could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on those ripe young curves
and bring her to a pitch of passion that would make her beg for what he
could certainly give her when she was ready. But she had to be ready,
he reminded himself, or his ambitious plans for her in the future might
never be fully realized. Still, though, he decided, it could not hurt
anything now to relish her choiceness from a distance. He involuntarily
drew in his breath at the sight of her sweet chasteness. There was no
denying that there was something especially vulnerable about Nadalee,
in that almost naked expression on her face that made her look as if
she required protection from everything around her and that she was the
kind of girl around whom men automatically watched their language and
probably usually felt guilty about even desiring. After all, she looked
so pure, so thoroughly innocent, so untouched by the tough
sophistication of big city life and the fast types of people that he
and Dolores had left behind them in San Francisco. But there was
something more too, something deeper and excitingly sensual, an innate
sexuality in her that seemed to be just begging to be exploited to the
fullest. Well, by Christ, he was just the man to do it, he gloated
inwardly, thinking with pride of himself as one of those rare, rare
exceptions-a man whose own perversity and lust were points of genuine
honor in his mind.
"Do you like it here, Nadalee?" George asked bluntly, surprising the
girl with the sudden sound of his voice.
"Oh yes-yes, I like it very much," the redhead answered quickly,
avoiding his eyes as she struggled to control herself and not betray
her discomfort around him.
"Do you like me, Nadalee?" he interrogated, grinning pointedly as he
continued to feast his eyes on her voluptuous young body like some sort
of monarch about to enjoy a ritual sacrifice. He could not get over her
youthful smoothness, how unused and unmarked she appeared to be, even
though he knew that she was married to Newton, whom he had hired along
with her as chauffeur and handyman, a young man who was only two years
older than she.
"You didn't answer my question, dear. I asked if you like me," George
repeated after a moment.
"Y-yes ... I-I like you, sir," Nadalee stammered, blushing a little as
she continued to work without daring to look up at the big man sitting
behind the desk.
"But what exactly do you like about me?" he taunted, enjoying her
embarrassment and how she unconsciously dusted again a surface of the
bookshelf that she had just finished a moment before. "Do you like me
the same way you like your husband?"
"I ... I don't know what you mean, Mr. Blackwell," the lovely green-
eyed girl quailed as she turned to briefly glimpse his face for some
sign, some clue to his meaning, and saw the slight smirk on his face as
his eyes blatantly traced the contour of her throat to the tantalizing
valley of cleavage between her full breasts suspending below her bent
form under the gauzy veneer of the lacy white blouse. She hardly dared
to breathe and anxiously wondered why he was putting her in such an
awkward position by asking a question that she obviously did not know
how to answer. She knew that her face was a beet-red color and the
knowledge only served to fluster her more.
"Now come on, my dear, it's a simple question," he chuckled hoarsely as
he watched her full, rounded buttocks poke high in the air when she
bent lower to flick the feather-duster over the books on a lower shelf.
"I'm certain that a bright girl like you knows what I mean.... Do you
like me as a man in the same way that you like your husband? I'm merely
curious, that's all, so you mustn't try to avoid answering for some
silly reason that has nothing to do with the truth."
"I'm sorry.... I'm sorry," she blurted, unable to decide on what he
wanted her to say. Of course she did not have the same feelings toward
him as she had for Newton, her own husband! But maybe the stern-faced
man meant something else....
"That's okay, honey," George said, faking a patronizing tone of voice
to further intimidate her. "Just forget it. I guess it's not all that
important anyway."
"But Mr. Blackwell, I'm sorry," she said meekly, an apologetic frown on
her face as she straightened up to look at him and a feeling of girlish
confusion mounted in her. "It's only that I don't know what you want me
to say."
"Please, forget it," George rasped, wiping his palm across his forehead
in mock disgust.
"But really, I'm sorry," Nadalee whimpered, afraid that she had
actually offended her employer. She wondered now if she had been wrong
to suspect him for what might after all have been just an attempt on
his part to make harmless conversation. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Mr.
Blackwell, but I just don't understand you."
"I said forget it," he snapped, his tone causing her to wheel away from
him as though she had been cuffed for stupidity. He sat watching her
apply herself to cleaning the room with renewed fervor, grinning to
himself as he reveled in the power he felt after making the little
bitch squirm. Damn, he thought, he had fucked a lot of women, many of
them young, but never had he even come close to screwing anything as
luscious and naive as the girl before him. The picture of her lying on
her back with her innocent young legs spread wide and just the thought
of helpless mewling grunts of pleasure coming from those tender lips
goaded his prick into rock-hardness. He could feel the blood throbbing
painfully into its large expanded head and the tiny droplets of
slippery clear seminal fluid, that already had begun to seep from the
sensitive contracting gland at its tip, smearing wetly against his
beefy hairy thigh. Then, silently, surreptitiously, he opened the fly
of his expensive woolen trousers to ease the pain a little. Then, with
the massive desk shielding him from detection, he slowly massaged the
heavy thick foreskin back and forth over the wet jerking cock-head as
he leered salaciously over at the beautifully built young redhead who
was still working away in deep concentration on the long bookshelf. He
could not help but smile contemptuously as he noticed how determinedly
she was evading any direct eye contact with him, holding herself back
from him as if she really knew what a fiend he was when his own greedy
enthusiasm for obscene sexual situations took over his brain and body.
Well, never mind, he thought to himself, this big prick he now held in
his hands was the great equalizer, the piece of equipment that would
teach her the facts of life, and he would see that she prayed to it
like an idol of pleasure before very long. But shit, he could barely
contain himself from jumping up now and throwing her down to the floor
to ram it up deep between her soft silky white thighs. Probably the
time would be right tomorrow, or the next day at the latest, but soon,
soon, no matter what.
Being careful not to attract her attention, he slyly opened the last
button at the top of his fly and peeled open the flaps of his trouser
front to fully release his hard thick penis. It stood out in proud
menacing erection under the desk-top as he savored the thought of the
obscenities to come, dwelling particularly on what a delectable sight
it would be to see his stiff cock throbbing out its load into Nadalee
Parker's sweet innocent face and down over her soft pale breasts as she
knelt down in front of him. He lewdly pictured his sperm dribbling down
over her chin to the hollow of her slender throat and forming warm
sticky pools between those lush firm breasts of hers. It was driving
him half crazy and again he considered going through with it then and
there as he stroked himself to a rigidity that threatened to erupt into
a streaming flow of thick white cum at any moment.... But no, not yet,
he chided himself; not until everything was perfectly arranged
according to plan. He knew that he would hate himself if he allowed his
impatience of the moment to spoil all the juicy fun in store in the
near future for everyone in the household.
"Mr. Blackwell, there's a call for you on the telephone downstairs," a
tall, completely bald man of about thirty announced suddenly at the
open doorway to the study. The unexpected sound of the gruff male voice
caused George to jump slightly in his chair, swearing as he glowered
with loathing at the unwelcome intruder. It was Braun, his and Dolores'
personal manservant for the past five years, a brutish half-wit who was
well-trained and obedient but too stupid to observe certain
formalities.
"You goddamned fucking idiot, I've told you over and over to knock
before you enter a room!" George barked savagely at Braun. The husky
sweating man of forty-five lifted one hand from his lap beneath the
desk-top to smooth back his silver-grey convict-short hair and then
reached down again to button his trouser fly before rising to his feet.
Nadalee twisted quickly around from the bookshelf with a look of open-
mouthed amazement on her pretty face at the sound of the ugly vile
words that George Blackwell had used so cruelly to reprimand the dull-
minded servant who stood there unfazed and uncomprehending in the
doorway. She had never heard a man speak that way in front of a woman
before and she was visibly shaken. But that shock was mild compared to
the one she felt when George finally rose and she saw the jutting
hardness of his penis straining against the semen-soaked fabric at the
front of his trousers. She almost fainted, her body sagging back
against the wall for support, her knees feeling as light as balloons as
she gazed helplessly at the lewd, disgusting spectacle of the older
man's shameless lust. Any other time she would have run away as fast as
possible to escape from such an indecent, vulgar exhibition of evil
carnality as this but now she was paralyzed, her feet rooted to the
floor, and she could not bring herself to take her eyes from his
bulging maleness. It was as though she had been spellbound, was charmed
into motionlessness, and not even her own innermost horror could break
the trance of wicked fascination that held her sight locked inexorably
on the tent-like protrusion in his trouser crotch. It was insane,
hideously sinful, something that she had never done before in her short
sheltered life.
There was a glint of pleased amusement in George's dark inquiring eyes
when he saw the stunned expression on Nadalee's exquisite face. By God,
look at her, the impressively big man smirked to himself as he strode
heavily toward Braun who was still waiting silently at the entranceway.
Goddamned if the sensuous-looking young maid did not seem to be more
than just a little interested in her new employer's aching hard-on!
Shit, maybe he should just stick around and forget all about his
carefully worked out plans for the girl in the near future.... Maybe
his scheming was actually unnecessary.... Maybe he should try to have a
go at the tasty little cock-tease right now.
"It's a long distance, Mr. Blackwell," Braun droned thickly in an
almost characterless voice, reminding George of the telephone call
waiting for him downstairs. "Mrs. Blackwell said to tell you it's
pretty important and that you should get down there as soon as you
can."
"Don't you worry yourself about it, Braun," George admonished, "because
if it's any close friend of mine, whoever it is can damned well afford
to pay for a few lousy extra minutes of telephone service, long
distance or not." When Braun failed to offer the inane reply that he
usually uttered after any remark that George made in his presence, the
big-limbed wealthy man turned slightly to glance at his feeble-minded
employee and saw that the bald servant was examining Nadalee's
scantily-clad form, his nostrils quivering as his deep-set eyes
hungrily scanned the girl's soft curvaceous limbs.
"You stupid son-of-a-bitch, you're going to get yourself all hot and
bothered for nothing if you don't stop gawking that way at the poor
young thing. Anyway, she's married, you know," George teased as he
sneered insultingly at the already obviously aroused moron. Laughing
aloud then, he slapped Braun on the shoulder and shoved him playfully
toward the hallway outside the door.
Just as the two men were leaving the room, George threw another cackle
back over his shoulder and said wryly, "Nadalee, honey, I want you to
decide what it is that you like about me when you go home today. We can
talk about it tomorrow."
A second after they were gone, the lovely distressed girl slumped down
limply with her back against the wall, shaking so violently that she
was barely able to support her own weight with her legs. Gradually,
regathering her senses little by little, relief from being alone again
coming over her, she began to relax and breathe normally for the first
time since she had been in the room that afternoon. As her mind began
to clear, she found herself remembering the odd chain of events that
had brought her and Newton to accept their present jobs with George
Blackwell and his harsh-seeming but extremely attractive wife here in
Southern Oregon, jobs which paid well but were so psychologically
demanding that sometimes she wished with all her heart that she and
Newton were still back in Oklahoma, living the modest life they had
known as newlyweds in a tiny town outside of Tulsa. Not that they had
been wildly happy there; not when her husband had been so gravely
religious and sober-minded, just as he always was now, but at least she
had been among friends and had felt freer to be herself while Newton
worked as a service station attendant in town. And they had had "the
dream," as her handsome brunette husband called it, that someday they
would have enough money saved up to buy a farm and raise children. It
had been all he ever talked about and finally she had come to have
faith in the dream as well.
Then, one evening before dinner, Newton had come running into the
kitchen to her, waving the Tulsa newspaper excitedly and pointing to an
advertisement in the classified section. "This might be our chance to
make 'the dream' come true!" he had enthused, urging her to sit down
and read it then and there, even though she had been in the middle of
cooking their meal. The ad had read: RETIRED COUPLE WANTS ATTRACTIVE
YOUNG MAN AND WIFE AS MAID, CHAUFFEUR & HANDYMAN. FIVE-ROOM COTTAGE
PROVIDED, MORE THAN GENEROUS PAY AND MANY BENEFITS. ONLY REQUIREMENTS:
WILLINGNESS AND APPRECIATION OF PRIVACY IN BEAUTIFUL FOREST AREA. SEND
PHOTOGRAPHS.
Newton had insisted that they answer the advertisement and they had
spent the entire evening drafting a reply and choosing the best of
their wedding pictures to accompany it. They had received an answer
within a week, a friendly letter of acceptance along with a check for
airplane fare and instructions to meet a Mr. and Mrs. George Blackwell
at the San Francisco airport on a date less than a week away. It had
been a frantic time for the next few days, packing, Newton quitting his
job, saying goodbye to everyone, but at last they had arrived in San
Francisco and been surprised to find that their new employers were not
the elderly couple that they had expected.
After a drink together to get acquainted, they had all left the
terminal in the Blackwells' expensive shiny black Chrysler and driven
into the city itself where George had given them a fistful of money and
told them it was an advance for clothes and personal items that they
might need up in the mountains where they were going. She remembered
now how Newton had practically fainted when the older, white-haired man
had told them what their salary would be. It was more than they had
dreamed possible! More than three times as much as Newton had been
making at the service station back home! And there were supposed to be
what the Blackwells had called "premiums," to be paid every few months,
if the young Parker couple "worked out all right." As the big car had
sped northward toward the Oregon border, Mr. Blackwell had explained
how he had made a virtual fortune on real estate holdings in California
and had decided to retire while he and his wife were still young enough
to enjoy themselves. He had gone on to relate how they had searched all
over the west coast to find exactly the right spot to build a luxurious
home with servants' accommodations nearby, a spot where they could have
privacy in lovely natural surroundings, and how excited they had been
when finally they had found and bought the property at Quail Lake.
Nadalee had been proud when he had said that she and Newton had been
chosen out of over two hundred couples who had answered the
advertisement from almost all over the United States.
They had arrived at Quail Lake that evening, been given a large bundle
containing their uniforms, and then the Blackwells had escorted them by
flashlight to the roomy, nicely-furnished cottage that was located
about three hundred yards from the main house. It had all seemed to be
a fairy tale, too good to be true, and she had been filled with
childish happiness over the elegance of their new home and the seeming
windfall of money they would be earning simply as servants.
That had been a week ago. But now, despite the fact that Newton was
well pleased with the way things were working out, she was nervous and
always plagued with a feeling of unexplained anxiety, as though her
welfare were constantly on the verge of being irredeemably destroyed,
not only by George Blackwell's insolent behavior, but also by a strange
mixture of unreconciled feelings inside herself. She had been
struggling with herself, as was even now, against an overpowering
resentment at her husband's miserly displays of affection toward her
even while she wanted more than anything to please him and be a perfect
wife. She knew she was being silly but it was becoming harder and
harder-especially lately, during the short time that they had been at
Quail Lake-to endure the strong sense of loneliness that she felt.
Well, she decided, there was no time right now to dawdle over such
unimportant matters. She was merely a young newly-wed and Newton surely
realized what he was doing, even if she was unhappy to the point of
misery sometimes, and besides, his apparent coldness toward her was
probably only because he worked so hard to please the Blackwells and
that his mind was filled with plans for the farm that, now, in one
short week had become less "the dream" and more of a reality in her
mind. Her mother had warned her against selfishness, had said, "If you
can't be certain your man is leading you in the right direction, you
shouldn't have agreed to follow him in the first place."
Nadalee noticed the clock on the wall behind the big desk that George
Blackwell had occupied less than five minutes ago. Heavens, it was
almost five-thirty, only twenty minutes before her husband would be
expecting her back at their cottage, and she still had most of the
study to clean! Despite her troubled state of mind and the
embarrassment she had suffered in the room, she knew that Newton would
be absolutely infuriated if for any reason the Blackwells were
dissatisfied with her work as a maid. Sighing, she straightened up and
set herself to the task of finishing the task with a fresh burst of
energy, praying that she could do a decent job and still be home before
she was missed.
Twenty minutes later, almost to the second, Nadalee hurried through the
garden toward the forest path that snaked through the towering trees
along the lake to the cottage. Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks
at the sound of a menacing growl behind her. After what seemed an
eternity, she turned slowly and saw that it was Buck, the huge black-
and-brown German Shepherd that was nearly always at Braun's side. She
had forgotten in her haste that the bald servant usually allowed the
dog to run free in the afternoon.
"Go home, Buck, go back!" she commanded with shaky authority. But the
ferocious-looking creature would not budge and sat there a few yards
behind her, snarling as he moved his head up and down to scan her body,
eyeing her as though he were human. She was frightened half to death
but could not help but admire Buck's raw animal magnificence. Even
perched on his haunches, he was imposingly large and feral, even
exciting.... His chest was as broad as a young boy's and she allowed
her eyes to roam from its huskiness down along his fawn-colored belly
to the hairy sheath aiming up between his powerful hindquarters. For
some reason, the canine's furry sex organ reminded her of the sight of
George Blackwell's erected penis under his woolen trousers, how it had
jutted out so lewdly and yet had been mysteriously exciting. The German
Shepherd's ensheathed maleness now had the same alarming fascination
about it, like some mighty hidden strength that was threatening but
oddly thrilling as well.
Realizing what she was doing, she quickly raised her eyes and stood
there in confusion for another long moment, wondering if the beast
would attack her. Then, suddenly, she heard Braun's deep voice calling
Buck back to the house and watched with relief as the big dog rose and
turned to trot off, his dark pod-like testicles swinging heavily down
between his back legs as he went. They looked to be as large as, if not
actually larger than her husband, Newton's!
A couple of minutes later, she was already halfway home, still
trembling from the shock of her encounter with Buck. She stopped at one
of her favorite spots along the trail, hoping to calm down a little
before she arrived at the cottage. She peered out through an opening in
the evergreens at the idyllic mile-long lake shimmering like molten
fire in the light of the late afternoon sun. It was a brilliant blaze
of orange and gold that softened and finally faded in the rhythmic
green water that lapped at the glacier-formed rocks and the exposed
down-curving roots of pines along the edge of the shore. Good Lord, it
was a beautiful place! She had to admit that she had never seen
anything so utterly breathtaking anywhere in Oklahoma. She felt the
coolness of the air wafting over her skin, her wide green eyes full of
the poetry of nature as she gazed out at the oblong body of water
nestling in the bosom of the high peaks surrounding it.
Just as she turned to leave, a hawk came into view, circling up high
over the lake and then gliding silently down on the still air to flash
in the sunlight like a hover of gold. Oh, if only she were that free,
that free to soar and feel the bloom of young womanhood in her limbs,
free to be herself and not haunted by whatever it was within her that
seemed to enslave her almost as much as Newton and the Blackwells.
Remembering the time, she hurried down the shade-mottled path toward
the cottage where her husband would be waiting impatiently for her to
prepare his dinner.