Robert Desmond - House of Evil

"It's got to be done," he insisted with a hint of callousness, despite the tears beginning to streak her pale cheeks.

"No, please, Mr. Blackwell… don't do this to him," Nadalee entreated again, her tone still whispery and distant as more tears spilled from her eyes.

"Why not, you little whore, why shouldn't we tell the poor bastard that you're both being fired! Why shouldn't he know about the farm fund he lost! A man should be told why, you know, when it's because he's married to a female Peeping Tom who plays with herself and teases a poor helpless moron!" George barked, brutally spitting out the words with explosive force as he waited indignantly for the wincing young maid to attempt an answer.

George's every accusing word was a separate blast of pulverizing shock to Nadalee. She could feel her knees weakening even more and her body was sticky with sweat, a cold perspiration that seeped from her skin as she stood there swaying before him, fighting her impulse to scream hysterically… Nothing made any sense at all, she thought vaguely, remembering dimly how happy she had been that morning with Newton and later walking along the trail, so magnificently happy, and now it seemed that she was sinking deeper and deeper into a quagmire of misery and shame from which she could not escape without half killing Newton. She knew her pious young husband well enough to realize that he would never listen to any excuse she might make for her behavior… if she were lucky enough to even think up an excuse… and that he would readily accept a man's word over hers, particularly when that man was their employer and someone like George Blackwell. Despite his being hard to live with sometimes, she loved Newton and would do anything in her power to keep from losing him.

"What's wrong, don't you have anything to say, my dear?" George asked caustically, a taunting glitter in his cold dark eyes as he glared at his victim. She looked so pure and untouched, he mused fiendishly, his impatience growing by leaps and bounds. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Oh yes, yes… I'm so ashamed," she heard herself say, wetting her lips before adding, "and I'll do anything, sir, if you won't tell him… Anything! I'll work extra hours and I promise to never do what I did again, I swear it!"

"Promises aren't enough, not nearly enough," Dolores joined in, her voice thick with mockery, "because even though we might be convinced of your good intentions, there's still Braun to worry about with you in the house… Isn't that right, George?"

"I suppose so… unless…"

"Oh, what, what can I do, please tell me, oh please!" Nadalee sobbed, lifting her free hand to cover her face as she mumbled, "I'll do any thing… to stop… losing our jobs… Newton's big chance for… the farm." She could not see the wicked smirk of triumph that slanted the corners of George's mouth as he winked first at Braun and then at Dolores.

"Do you want to stay here?"

"Oh, please… yes!"

"Then, my dear, you want to help Braun, don't you?"

"Anything… Yes, I want to help him," she said absently, innocently, not looking up as she answered between sobs and prayed that the wealthy man would believe her.

"I'm glad you're coming to your senses, Nadalee, at last," George congratulated her in a strangely husky voice as he turned to glimpse over at his wife.

"She's brighter than I thought, agreeing not to cause more problems by holding back what she owes him," Dolores said almost gaily as she smiled up at the dense servant.

"Okay, Braun, you heard what she said," George smiled broadly, baring his teeth in satisfaction. "Undress her and do what you've been wanting to do to her."

"You mean it, Mr. Blackwell, I can do it to her?" Braun blinked in slow recognition and then a toothy grin broke over his grotesque face when he saw the wealthy man's nod of affirmation.

"Dolores, I suggest that you get off the bed now – and close both doors, too," George instructed in a voice that was clinically calm except for the betraying trace of lecherous excitement in it. He saw Braun's prick throb slightly and begin to rise slowly as he gazed at his delicious reward for long silent obedience in serving the Blackwells.

"No, not this way! Not that – I can't!" Nadalee wailed, staring at George in disbelief as the powerful idiot forced her toward the bed, a strange crazy fluttering deep inside her stomach beginning as she realized fully the complete helplessness of her position as though for the first time. Her protests were cut short by Braun's fingers clamping harshly over her mouth, muffling the resisting girl's sounds of complaint as he reached down with his other hand to jerk up at the hem of the short skirt. There was a sharp tearing noise as it suddenly ripped loose, fanning up the fullness of her firm white thighs and up over the rounded blue panty-covered softness of her buttocks. Braun gasped and wriggled the skirt of the dress over her hips to the narrowness of her waist, his eyes bulging open as each voluptuously smooth portion of her young body was presented to his view.

"I believe you're taking too long, Braun, so hurry up," George coughed urgently at the servant as his own hands found the creeping semi-erect length between his legs. He began to skin it back and forth as he watched the pagan rape about to take place like some Roman spectator at a special event of carnage taking place in an arena. Braun's nostrils flared in undisguised desire as his fingers coursed greedily over the smooth silky softness of her naked thighs. He pinched the nylon-covered globe of one of her ass-cheeks, grinning lewdly as she groaned against his fingers still clamped over her mouth. There was only a glimmering blue narrow band of sheer nylon between his hand and the roughness of his blunt fingertips, bunched tightly up in the crevice of her buttocks, and he could see silky tufts of her soft auburn pubic hair protruding from beneath the tight elastic of the leg-bands. The rounded globules of her soft young buttocks stood out brashly, exposed to his lust-crazed eyes and quivering convulsively as he moved his eager hand upward to run it lewdly over the curve of her right hip, fondling the luscious flare of velvety flesh above the panties.

Nadalee wished she could faint, mercifully fall unconscious to the floor, for she knew now exactly what was going to happen to her. She saw thin lines of spittle drooling from the bald moron's hideous mouth and his eyes were gleaming with animal desire as he moved closer yet to her, pressing his vile repulsive body up to her side until suddenly she became aware of the massive hardness of his penis digging against the naked flesh just above her waist. He had forgotten George's instructions to make haste and now, in his very excitement, he lingered a moment to rove his hand higher up on her back, suddenly becoming frustrated in his obscene anxiousness with the obstruction of the dress. Without thinking, he released her mouth and seized the flimsy garment with both hands, stripping it up savagely over her head and then flinging it in a useless heap on the carpet a few feet away from where they were standing.

"Dammit, Braun, hurry up," George hissed commandingly, "the girl wants to help you."

"My God, Mr. Blackwell, make him stop, make him stop!" Nadalee pleaded, using the half-wit's removal of his hand from her mouth as an opportunity to beg for mercy.

"Shut up, you… Mr. Blackwell don't like no talkin' now," Braun growled threateningly. The lust-maddened idiot slapped her hard, flat across the cheek, jerking her head to the side so hard that she thought surely he had broken her neck. She struggled to twist away from his cruelty but the bald servant caught her by the hair and jerked her back to face him, delivering another brutal blow to her other cheek this time, bringing a stinging sensation to her skin as though she were being doused in raw gasoline. She was terrified more than ever now, afraid to struggle or offer any resistance at all for fear he would become even angrier and kill her right where she stood.