Gloria Day: House of dark pleasure

The air hissed from Doris' lungs as the throbbing cock drove up her pussy; she felt her vaginal walls clutching at the organ, caressing it as it careened up its sexual path.

"Sweet fuck!" George gasped, screwing inward, dragging out.

Her clitoris was still aroused and she pressed down with her pelvis so that she could savor the delicious pressure of the stiff shaft gliding over her clitoral tip.

"I-I can't hold it, Miss Dainton," George sobbed. "You've got me so worked up I'm gonna blow my load!"

My pussy's still snug and tight! The thought flashed into Doris' mind as George worked madly towards his orgasm. I've gotta be small and snug if I can make his cock blow so fast! A laugh rippled through Doris' belly, and the vibrations ran down to her clitoris, bringing on her own orgasm with unexpected rapidity.

"Ooohh, George, ooohh!" she squealed, orgasming, rocking herself and feeling the hot blasts from his spitting, spurting cock inside the depths of her pussy.

"Miss Dainton," George gasped, "you're the most – the fucking most!" His exhausted body lay limply on top of Doris.

Slowly, George rolled off the body of his mistress – for that was what she was, now that he had to obey her every command.

"I-I suppose you want me to go, Miss Dainton," he mumbled.

She didn't answer him directly. "Well?" she said, questioningly.

He looked blank.

She squirmed with irritation. "Is it still snug and tight? My pussy, I mean!"

A slow smile spread across his face. "The snuggest, Miss Dainton, the tightest, sweetest fuck!"

She smiled back at him.

"I'm glad you're here," he said. "I hope you're going to stay."

She nodded.

"Is there anything else you'd like, Miss Dainton?" he asked, still smiling.

"Yes, there is," she surprised him by answering. "There's some massaging-cream over on the dresser, and I'd like to be massaged all over. A real massage, I mean – not a sex massage…" she let her eyes smile at him. "You can rub it into the cheeks of my bottom, of course, and over my breasts, but not up my pussy not inside my bummie, I just want a good massage. I take very good care of my body, George, very good care."

"It's a luscious little body," he mumbled.

"I want to keep it that way," she murmured. "Now, will you massage me?"

He nodded, swallowed. It would be a thrilling pleasure just to move his hands over that delicious, little-girlish body that excited him so wildly.

"Yes, Miss Dainton," he said, moving to the dresser, finding the cream she'd mentioned. "It'll be a pleasure to massage you any way you like – any time!"

He poured some lotion onto the palm of his hand then began to rub it onto her back.

Doris lay on her face, smiling, feeling pleasurably relaxed and sexually appeased. The caressing, soothing motion of George's hands on her back was lulling her to sleep.

"Is that the right way, Miss Dainton?" George asked, massaging soft cream into her even-softer body. He sneaked a glance at his wrist watch: Eleven o'clock! Downstairs, they'd be wondering what had happened to me. He grinned: Let them wonder – I don't care!

"Yes, George," said Doris, drowsily, answering him, "that's exactly the way that I like it!"

She liked what he was doing – and the way that he was doing it. Doris smiled: There are a lot of things I like around Romily Manor – and then she wondered: When am I going to start work?

Doris started to perform her duties at Romily Manor soon after she'd finished her leisurely brunch.

Mrs. Wynton was still in her room, Mabel informed Doris as she served her grilled ham, fried tomatoes and omelet; the low-browed Willis was nowhere to be seen.

Doris was sipping her second cup of coffee when Mildred came into the dining room. "Good morning, Doris," she said quietly, smiling. "I hope you slept well."

Doris looked up at her employer; Mildred was neatly dressed in a country-tweed suit, hair carefully brushed and face lightly made up. It was hard to connect this well-dressed, well-bred woman with the erotically sadistic female who had performed perverse acts upon the hapless bodies of her servants in her bedroom the night before.

"Good morning, Mildred," said Doris. "You look very well, very attractive."

"Thank you," Mildred laughed. "I've been lying in my tub for almost an hour; that always relaxes my body."

Doris smiled; there was no reason to tell Mildred what method she had used to obtain complete relaxation.

"You look as fresh and pretty as ever," Mildred sighed, enviously. "Are you ready to start work this afternoon?"

Doris laughed, finished her coffee. "I think it's about time."

Mildred rang the bell for Mabel, seated herself at the table. "I'll see you in the office at two," she told Doris, picking up her morning mail which Mabel had left on the table.

"And this is a list of the tenants," said Mildred, "with their address and monthly rent."

Doris peered over Mildred's shoulder at the hand-written list of names. "Their houses all have names, not numbers," she murmured.

Mildred laughed. "This is Maine countryside, dear. The houses and cottages are scattered all over – not neatly laid out in streets like in the city."

"How do they pay their rent, by check?"

"Some of them, but others are so old-fashioned that they like to pay in cash."

"Do they come to the manor?" Doris asked.

Mildred shook her head firmly. "Never. We collect from them in person."

"You?" Doris looked at Mildred in surprise; she couldn't imagine this aloof woman knocking at cottage doors and collecting rents.

"Usually," said Mildred, "I used to send Willis sometimes, but…" her eyes became vacant, "the dear boy always seemed to have problems…" she broke off, looked at Doris. "Where is he, by the way?"

"I haven't seen him at all today," said Doris, feeling her face blush as she remembered the sensuous episode in her bedroom the night before.

"Probably walking about the grounds," she sighed. "He loves the outdoors." She looked at the list of names again: "Well, Doris, it'll be your job to collect rents now – that's one of your duties here. Let me see," she scanned the list, "you can walk over to Mister Macallister's this afternoon; he always pays in cash and his rent's due right now."

Doris looked at the address. "Three Hills Cottage," she read. "Where in the world is that?"

Mildred got to her feet, strolled to the window. "Look!" She pointed to the end of the grounds; there was a gap in the line of trees and three small hillocks were visible. "It's on the slope of the middle hillock," Mildred explained. "You can't see it from here; it's a small stone cottage."

"What's he like?"

Mildred looked at Doris. "Barney Macallister?" she laughed. "He's an elderly eccentric – lived at Three Hills for as long as I can remember."

"He lives alone?"

"Mostly," said Mildred, thoughtfully. "He has relatives and friends staying with him from time to time. Well," her tone became brisk, "you can walk over there, Doris; take this small receipt book, collect his rent, in cash, then come back." She smiled. "That'll be your work for today."

Doris smiled at her employer; it didn't sound like a big day's work.

The cottage was a thirty-minute walk from the manor, and Doris was glad that she was wearing low-heeled shoes, even though they looked out of place with her tiny mini-skirt and nylon blouse, which was all she needed on this pleasant, balmy day.

She approached the heavy oaken door, looked vainly for a bellpush, then rapped on the wood.

Instead of the door opening, a voice called out loudly: "Who is it?"

"I-I'm from the manor," Doris called, nervously. "I've come for the rent."