Lucifer’s Teeth 1

Aunt Caroline took my arm and led me into the hall. “Now, Richard, while Blanford brings in your luggage I want you to meet our winsome flock of servants. They are quite excited about your arrival. You will give continuance to their way of life.”

“Yes, Aunt Caroline, but first I want to meet my cousins, and other aunts and uncles, and especially my young sister, ‘Addy’. I know from their letters many of them live here, too.”

“Yes, but Addy, that is, Adelle, is away at school. She will be coming home on Midyear’s Day to celebrate her eighteenth birthday and be initiated. The rest of the family is still sleeping. We keep late hours most nights; two or three o’clock in the morning—sometimes until dawn, satisfying our natural impulses...to benefit our business, of course. You can meet them at dinner this evening. I’m sure they want to examine you, and then vote before giving you control of the family’s business.”

“But Aunt Caroline, I thought my father’s will gave me his estate outright.”

“Have you read the will?”

I shook my head

“There are definite stipulations about that.” She waved aside my protest. “Blackthorne House is yours, but keep in mind, this is a family business. We all contribute our skills to finding and acquiring the ‘lovestock’ that delights our natural impulses.”

“What business? What lovestock? Where do we keep the lovestock?”

“Enough idle chatter, Richard. The household servants are waiting.”

Selby followed respectfully behind us as Aunt Caroline led me down a dim corridor past photographs hung along the walls. Pictures of our clan were displayed on both walls, in heavy, ornate frames. I paused in front of one showing me as a small child, holding my mother’s hand. Her face and posture already showed the effects of the illness that took her life while she was giving birth to Addy, my younger sister.

We came to a wide archway on the right. “They’re in here,” Aunt Caroline said. “Mind the step.” One step down to the right led us into the ornate, spacious Victorian parlor. A row of servants stood in the center of the large room, smiling and bowing or curtsying as I entered. A tall, wide window on the left was hemmed in with close-set iron bars, like the windows at the front door. I began to feel like this was some bizarre kind of prison, rather than a home. I wondered if all the windows were barred, and whom was being kept out—or held prisoner—and why?

The slanting sunlight illuminated the staff and the servant girls’ faces; mostly young, a few barely eighteen years old, and our middle-aged staff.

“Good morning,” Aunt Caroline said to them in an austere voice, “This is Sir Richard Cailean, your new Master, Laird of Blackthorne” She gestured to the tall, handsome man heading the row. “This is Chalmers, our estate manager.”

I reached out to grasp his hand. When I felt his callused grip, I knew Chalmers had earned his muscular body honestly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir Richard.” His blonde mustache arched with a smile.

“I expect we will be satisfied with each other,” I replied, meeting his piercing, blue-eyed gaze with a smile of my own.

Next, Caroline introduced me to a tall, black-haired, severe-looking woman of about forty years. “This is Miss Erica Ballard, Mistress of Discipline and supervisor of the household maids. She keeps everyone in a proper order. She and Crom, whom you saw at the gate, are in charge of training and discipline at Blackthorne.”

“Welcome, Sir Richard,” she said in a grim, resonant voice. Her arms were folded across her chest, cradling her abundant breasts inside her black dress. A long, heavy riding crop jutted out from her right hand. Her chin tilted up with a firm jaw. “You can rely on me to keep order and discipline in your house. If you find any one of these girls disrespectful or disobedient in the slightest degree, I will...”

“Thank you, Miss Ballard,” I said. “I’m sure none of you will displease me.” My attention was now riveted on the six young girls looking down at the floor while she spoke, their small hands trembling slightly .

“And now the maids,” Caroline said. “They are all eighteen or older.”

They all wore a starched white cap and loose, flimsy, translucent blouse, with waiflike blue velvet skirts fluffing out from their waist. Creamy skinned thighs and calves with luscious, curves descended to their feet, that nested inside shiny black schoolgirl shoes. Their blouses were pulled not-quite-closed with a flimsy lavender ribbon threaded through a hole on each side of the front. Since they were quite low-cut, and only loosely held together by the ribbon, they gave me a delightful view of their twin charms. The blouses were far too short to reach down to the wide black leather belt of their skirts. My hands itched with desire to caress the wide circle of soft bare skin so temptingly exposed.

Their lace-trimmed skirts, cut scandalously short, flared out from their hips. I could easily see the nakedness of their pretty thighs above the tops of their white stockings.

All the maids were short. The tallest girl, even in their slim shoes, barely came up to my chin. What astonished me most was the thick leather collar locked around each girl’s neck, with a hefty brass ring dangling from a loop of metal in front.

Miss Ballard stepped out of the line and pointed her riding crop at the first girl. “Leslie!” She barked.

The raven-haired girl did a quick curtsy, grasping the sides of her skirt and tugging upward, exposing a flash of pubic hair as she bent her knees. “Welcome home, Sir.” Her voice was submissive, hardly more than a whisper.

Miss Ballard pointed her crop at the next girl. “Gail”

The red-haired girl curtsied, flashing a shy smile. She repeated the welcome, gracing me with a glimpse of her silky Venus-nest.

“Cody.”

The shortest girl curtsied, a pale blonde whose curls caressed her shoulders as she moved. “I will gratify your every desire, Sir.” Her smile and half-wink made my already pounding heart leap into my throat.

“Mandissa.”

A pleasingly plump black girl with a smooth skin that glowed like mahogany velvet curtsied with a wink and a cheerful tilt of her head. Her walnut-brown hair was piled in great sweeping curls on her head Gibson-Girl style. She smiled, tugging her skirt up even higher than the first three girls. She twisted one thigh slightly over the other, making her triangle of black thatch pout an invitation. The gleaming whiteness of her teeth, framed by the sensuous cupid’s bow of her lips was the image of joyful sunrise after a night of gloom. When her lips moved, I felt their enchantment, hardly hearing her words. There was sincere desire, a wanton energy in her voice. “May I always pleasure you, sir.”

“Next is our newest and youngest acquisition, Donella. We acquired her just a few days ago, on her eighteenth birthday.”

The girl bowed her head, the lustrous ends of her page-boy, ebony hair stroking her neck. With a frightened blush coloring her girlish face, she grasped the hem of her skirt with trembling fingers. Her breasts began to quiver with her sobs as she struggled with her shame. She hesitated, then tugged down on her skirt as she curtsied. Her lips moved, but her weak breath carried no words.

Aunt Caroline’s eyes widened in indignation, and she whispered fiercely into Miss Ballard’s ear.

Miss Ballard nodded, scowling at the terrified young girl. “Donella, after Sir Richard dismisses us, you will report to Master Shawe in the stables immediately. I’ll join you there. Your disgraceful lack of submission needs correcting.”

“But she didn’t...” I began.

“Now Richard,” Aunt Caroline said, “The maids’ behavior is Miss Ballard’s responsibility. She is strict in her duties. Our family gives her and Crom complete jurisdiction to punish disobedience. Even you cannot stop whatever they may do to our girls. You’ll understand later why things are done in such severe ways. Be patient until you learn the reasons for our harsh rules.”

I nodded and looked back at the last maid, an elfin-faced girl, her face and exposed shoulders decorated with hundreds of brown-sugar freckles. Her wide, blue-eyed expression was framed in a swirl of flame-red hair. I had to fight down the temptation to reach out and stroke those inviting paired mounds of soft flesh displayed on her chest. I glanced at my aunt. She was looking at the jutting bulge growing in my trousers. She nodded at Miss Ballard, and they both smiled.

The riding crop aimed at the girl. “Fiona, from Ireland. She speaks a passable English.”

“Welcome, Sir. Pleasin’ you shall be my fir-r-rst desire.” She curtsied with a flash of love’s secret.

“Excellent,” I replied. “I love the musical lilt of an Irish lass.”

“Thank you, Sir-r Richard,” she said in a faint, girlish fashion. Miss Ballard nodded and stepped back into line.

At the end of the line was a large-bodied, vacuous-eyed woman in white, her coarse hands dangling like a stricken puppet’s.

Aunt Caroline lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is Lara, our cook. Please show her kindness and patience. What she lacks in mental capacity, she redeems in her skill in the kitchen. She works hard and never complains.” Aunt Caroline glanced at me, a pleading look in her eyes.

I wanted no tears at this first moment of meeting, so I spoke with soft compassion. “Good morning, Lara. I look forward to enjoying this evening’s dinner. I’m sure I will relish your cooking immensely.”

An angled smile distorted her lips. She stuttered under her breath, then said in a deep voice, “...pleasure, sair.” Aunt Caroline exhaled with relief. “Now, Selby, would you show Sir Richard to his rooms. I’m sure he would like to freshen up and rest a bit before Chalmers gives him a tour of the estate.”

“Very good, Mistress Cailean. If you’ll follow me, Sir Richard.” He led me through the archway and across the hall into the great room where a wide, banister stairway led to the upper floors.

When we had climbed the carpeted steps to the first landing, I spoke to him. “Selby, when those maids curtsied before me, they grasped their skirts, lifting them slightly. Didn’t they realize I could see their...uh...?”

“Pussies, Sir?” Selby turned to me with a cheerful smile and his eyes sparkled with a life I hadn’t expected in a man of his years. “Oh, Sir Richard,” he said with a sly wink, “The maids don’t wear anything under their skimpy skirts, and nothing under those peek-a-boo blouses. No panties, no bras—nothing!” He glanced behind us, then whispered, “It was your grandfather, Sir Robert, who gave that order.” His whisper was charged with hoarse emotion. “We men here were hoping you would continue to enforce the rules.”

His grin was contagious. My face became infected with his pleasure and I blushed at the swelling evidence of my manhood. “Really? Nothing at all under those skimpy skirts?”