Robert Desmond
House of Evil

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 amp; 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.