Lucifer’s Teeth 3

“There it is,” Chalmers shouted above the wind, “inside that forest.”

“What’s under that brown conical roof I see poking above the distant trees?”

“That’s a tall stone tower where our warder lives. We’re headed for it.”

We slowed our horses to a walk as we passed under the edge of the forest, following a winding trail. A quarter of a mile farther I saw a hidden clearing through the thinning trees. About fifty yards before we reached the clearing, we came to a round tower of two stories, made of drab gray stone. Its dark red-brown roof and bars at the windows gave it the air of a brutal finger pointing at the open sky.

“Gregor,” Chalmers called out. “Gregor, are you there?”

A powerful, bald-headed black man opened the iron-studded door and stepped out. He wore a sulky scowl on his bearded face, and was naked to the waist. His ebony head and torso gleamed in the sun, like it had been oiled. The muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he moved. He wore nothing more than loose black trousers, cut off just below the knees. He left his fly unbuttoned with his long, prominent cock bulging out, swaying in the sunlight. I stared at it. It was as thick as my own wrist. The tops of Gregor’s brown boots were turned down, exposing most of his thick, powerful legs. He carried a coiled, leather-braided whip in his left hand, and a large-bore shotgun in his right.

“Who’s this,” he demanded in a rumbling voice.

“This is Sir Richard, the new Laird of Blackthorne.”

His wide face brightened, and he leaned the shotgun against the door and touched his forehead. “Welcome, Sir Richard. I hope that things will go better for me now.”

“Gregor guards the northern border of your estate. He’s a brave and loyal man,” Chalmers said. He turned back to Gregor, “What’s the problem here?”

Gregor twisted the whip in his hands, stroking it against his coal-black cock. “I was promised they’d send a girl from the house to pleasure me today. It’s almost noon, and no one came.”

“It’s barely eleven o’clock, Gregor. Be patient, one of the maids is being disciplined. I’m sure she will sent to service you within the hour.”

Chalmers motioned to me, “Come, there’s something in the clearing that will interest you.” The horses trotted out into the sunshine. “I know you studied history and folklore at the university.” He pointed into the clearing. “What do you think of that?”

I gasped. “That wasn’t mentioned in any of the books or lectures. Is it new?”

For slightly more than a furlong in circumference, a circuit of tall, brownish-red vertical stones erupted from the soil. Their height varied from two to three yards.

“The local farmers and poachers are afraid of them, and stay away,” Chalmers said. “They call them ‘Lucifer’s Teeth’ in superstitious whispers. Gregor keeps the curious and the foolish from trespassing. The new aero planes never come this far, so our secret is safe.”

“What’s that in the center?”

“Come, I’ll show you.” He trotted his stallion into the circle.

A massive, square, flat stone platform stood in the middle of the grassy circle, elevated waist-high by a roughly cubical pillar directly under the center. At each of the four corners were ringbolts with manacles, bright with wear.

Standing behind it was a round, inky black stone pillar of massive size; its top at least four yards high above the ground, and its base two yards wide at the bottom. The rounded top had been chiseled by prehistoric craftsmen, roughly shaped into the head of a gigantic penis. I could see the glans facing towards the stone platform, its cleft leading up to a slit lovingly chipped in the tip. Adorning it was a ponderous ringbolt dangling more than a foot above my reach, bearing a few frayed threads of rope dancing in the breeze. At the bottom were two smaller, widely separated ringbolts positioned only inches above the ground.

“I’m seeing those ringbolts everywhere,” I said with a frown. “Is there some kind of pagan sacrifices being consummated on my estate? I’ll allow no devilry here!”

“Nothing at all like you imagine,” Chalmers said with a sincere laugh. “We celebrate life, not death; and the joining of live bodies, not dead ones. The only blood sacrifices here are made to the mosquitoes, and other biting insects. Whatever poor soul is chained down on that platform, or against that pillar, will discover their number and appetite is endless.” He glanced at the now-perpetual bulge in my trousers and lay his hand on my arm, “Our practices may seem severe to you at first, but I beg you to be patient and you will share in everything that happens here.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask. “Thirsty?” He extended his arm toward me.

“Yes, thanks.” I drank a swallow gratefully. “It’s good. Where do you get such fine Scotch whiskey?”

“Made by a local craftsman.” Chalmers held up a silencing hand. “Please don’t ask. We protect each other.” He retrieved the flask and took a swallow before capping it and replacing it in his pocket. “Now for the lake.” He trotted off to the western edge, where the circle of stones was interrupted by the precipice leading down to the bay.

“This opening at the edge of the bay marks the sunset point on the horizon each midsummer’s eve.” Chalmers grinned, “We have a special ritual here on the closest night of a full moon. You will enjoy your first encounter with the secrets of this place.”

We got off our horses and scrambled down the narrow rocky stairway to the edge of the bay. Here, it was no more than a finger of water boring into the shallow cliff. There was a crescent-shaped shingled beach on our left. “Nothing more to see here today,” Chalmers said. “Come, let’s have a look at those cattle in the pasture.”

“Is this the northern boundary of my estate, then?”

“Hardly,” Chalmers said. He swept his extended arm from north to southeast. “All this is Blackthorne, miles beyond our sight. Eight miles off to the north, to where this forest ends, is the neglected vineyards where your grandfather used to grow grapes for the wine he bottled. Now it’s abandoned.”

“Do the vines still produce?”

“Oh, yes, but the grapes disappear each fall. Our neighbors deny taking them. I think it’s Gypsies stealing them to make their own wine.”

As they were galloping back across the meadow I spied a horse-drawn cart in the distance, heading north toward Gregor’s hut. The man I had seen outside the stables was driving. The maid Donella, still naked, was sitting next to him. She bent forward with her head in her lap, hands over her face, her bruised shoulders rocking with her sobs.

“They’re good cattle,” Chalmers was saying, “The grazing is excellent, and so the herd is growing rapidly. It will be a profitable year for Blackthorne.”

I noticed the bulls had caught their heart’s desire, and were eagerly forcing their ardent cocks up into the heifers’ posteriors. “You’re letting them breed continually, then?”

“Oh yes,” Chalmers replied with a sly grin. “We do a lot of breeding here. It’s a strong tradition at Blackthorne.”

Our horses passed though the low gate into the pasture and through loose groups of cattle. As we passed near a spinney of flowering trees I heard a girl’s voice shrieking in terror. In the open pasture beyond I caught a glimpse of a naked girl running barefoot, her elbows and wrists tied together behind her. Close behind, a young lad wearing no trousers was pursuing her his stiffened cock danced and flopped wildly with each stride as he laughed and flourished a twirling whip.

I felt a thrill quiver in my groin. “What’s all that then?” I asked.

“It’s just as I said” Chalmers said with a grin. “Breeding.”

“That poor girl is terrified. Shouldn’t we interfere?”

“That’s as it should be, Sir Richard. She’s part of our lovestock, and the young man is Barth, our herdsman, doing his duty. He’s still in his late teens, but already he’s become quite the lusty lad, and hasty with the whip. Sometimes he leaves a cell door unlocked to trick an unsuspecting girl. If she is foolish enough to try running away, it gives him an excuse to whip her. True, he takes liberties with our young girls, but we believe in sharing our natural life.”

“Chalmers...” I began.

“Sir Richard, she’s one of our newest girls, trying to run away. That’s the worst thing a poor girl can do. Attempting to escape from Blackthorne carries a severe penalty, and it will go hard on her when Barth returns her to the Manor house cellar.”

“What’s in the cellar? What will they do to her?”

“Please, Sir Richard, I’ve already let you see more than I should have allowed. Your family will choose one of themselves to initiate you into the secrets of Blackthorne. Please don’t mention what I let you see here and in the stable. It would go hard on me.”

I nodded. “I promise, Chalmers. And while we are sharing confidences, I must say that all I find here excites me. I only regret not having a girl of my own to play with.”

“Your father was wise to keep you away while you grew up,” Chalmers replied. “We all waited to see what you would become. That holiday you spent with the young girl from your university; tying her down on your bed. You certainly enjoyed doing that, and then fucking her all night.”

“But she asked me to tie her up, and how did you find out?”

Chalmers grinned, “Your father sent her to you. It was a test of your dominant sexual preferences.”

“Damn. I thought I was seducing her.” I shook my head.

“Let’s get back to the manor. There’s one more thing you must see before dinner this evening.” He spurred his horse to a gallop.

As we approached the manor house with its circle of Beech trees, Chalmers veered off to the right, heading for the gate in the low stone wall above the bay.

“We’ll dismount and leave the horses here. Farley will care for them.” He led me through the opening and down a steep, twisting stairway roughly cut into the stone slope. “Mind your footing. We seldom use this route to the bay, and we don’t encourage anyone to try it. At night, it is foolhardy to attempt the descent or climb.”

“What other way is there to reach this place?” I asked. “Only by boat?”

“That’s what I want to show you. It’s another secret of Blackthorne.”

We reached the foot of the slope, and Chalmers led me to the left. “See that tall bush growing against the cliff?”

“Yes.”

“Look behind it. There’s a gap between the slope and the bush.”

Concealed from view behind the brush was dark opening yawning in the side of the cliff. “Are we going in there?” I asked.

“That’s not necessary yet, Sir Richard. That cave leads back under the meadow all the way to the manor house. It’s a good two hundred yards of twists and turns in the darkness. Not a journey for the faint hearted.”

“You’ve been through it, then?”

“Many times.” Chalmers pointed to the small wooden pier jutting out into the lake behind us. “We unload our ‘lovestock’ there, and carry them through the cave into the cellars of the manor.” He rubbed his mustache again. “It was your father’s idea, and a damn good one, too.”

“Smuggling contraband? What’s going on here? I should be told right now.”

“No, not smuggling. No brandy, no French champagne or perfume. We import those things legally. It’s just that what we bring in here is nobody’s business. There’s too many self-righteous busybodies in this world. We only want to be left in peace to take advantage of our traffic in privacy.” He patted my shoulder. “Dismiss your concerns, we are not petty scoundrels.” He began scrambling up the rocky stairway. “The ride has put me in good appetite. Let’s find what Lara has prepared for us. She can conjure up marvelous cream teas.”