Honeymoon Hotel
By Michael Jaeggers
Prologue
Fog moved sinuously -- billowing, as it hugged the surface of the
lake -- and from a distance the dark castle looked as if it were
floating atop a cloud. No light showed within those crenellated stone
walls; it was as if the structure were some ghostly apparition -- a
mirage of the past.
A fish jumped; the splash of its return to the water was muffled by
the fog. Above the swirling vapours, one large, black night bird
flapped its way across a starless sky. Then, as if giving lie to its
ghostly appearance, somewhere within the confines of the castle a clock
struck midnight.
A flashlight flickered briefly in one window on the third floor.
It moved on to the next window and then, at the corner of the castle,
the lights came on in a large room.
"I say, Morgan, isn't it a bit chancey; I mean, lights and all
that?" The question came from the older of two men as he gazed somewhat
apprehensively down at a deeply sleeping girl.
"You should know me better than that, Lord Medwell. She won't
awaken until I tell her to. Watch." He laid down the camera case he
was carrying and lifted the covers from the reclining girl's body.
Lord Medwell's breath whistled out of him in one lewd groan when he
saw the full ripe contours of the girl's lush young body. The blue
nylon gown had crept up to mid thigh, and the left shoulder strap had
slipped down revealing a luscious mound of flesh the size and shape of a
ripe melon. Tom Morgan simply reached forward and pulled the bodice
down until it revealed the brown areola and nipple. "Watch," he ordered
again. Taking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he cruelly
tweaked it. The girl did not stir, but the nipple -- like some slowly
awakening thing -- came erect.
"Watch," Morgan repeated, and lifted the hem of the gown to uncover
the pouting mound of Venus between her legs and its luxuriant growth of
sparse black pubic hair. He parted the girl's legs and, using his right
arm under her knees, raised them until the soft pink lips of her vagina
came into view. Morgan glanced over at Lord Medwell and laughed at the
rapidly breathing older man. Slowly, he placed the tip of his middle
finger against his thumb and then flicked at the pouting clitoris. The
girl remained motionless, but a low moan of lust was wrenched from Lord
Medwell's throat.
Morgan dropped the girl's legs; they remained spread lewdly out
with the vaginal lips slightly open ... the entrance to her secret-most
regions was completely exposed, defenseless.
"Satisfied?" he queried with a slight knowing smirk.
Lord Medwell trembled in eagerness. "Oh my, yes!" he said
hurriedly. "Such a beautiful young creature. Such a fine tight little
cunt. I can hardly wait to pay a visit there." He placed his camera on
the chair.
Tom Morgan grinned at the older man and mentally laughed as he said
to himself, "The old goat is really in heat tonight." And why not!
Hadn't he carefully built Lord Medwell up to this point; hadn't he spent
weeks and weeks in preparation for this moment. Morgan knew Lord
Medwell's proclivities -- as well he should, having catered to various
wealthy and powerful men like him for over seven years. As with most of
Morgan's clients, Lord Medwell at sixty-six years of age, liked his
women young, helpless, and tearfully innocent. Most important, however,
Morgan's operation was practically foolproof. There had been no
repercussions during the seven years; there was no reason why there
should ever be any in the future. In Lord Medwell's case, he liked
young brides -- newly married, still with the dew freshness of their
wedding ceremony clinging to them. And what better place to get them
than at a honeymoon resort, a romantic old castle where for over seven
years brides had come to be deflowered by their adoring husbands.
"These women," Lord Medwell had earlier explained unnecessarily,
"present a great challenge to a man like me. Young, arrogant, proud,
and sure of their undying love for their new husbands, they have to be
humbled -- almost broken in spirit -- before they can be taught to crawl
to their real master's feet."
Now as Lord Medwell watched the sleeping girl, he began to feel a
familiar awesome power growing in his loins. The sheer nylon gown,
above the girl's waist, showed the smooth white plain of her belly and
the mysterious crater of her navel. Her pubic hair was like soft black
down, and the thin fleece-lined vaginal alit was an open invitation to a
warm and heavenly tunnel. His eyes fastened on the contours of her
buttocks and then moved up over the rising and falling of her breasts.
He could see the little nipple still standing proudly erect. Although
his throat was dry, his mouth watered. He was impatient to get his
teeth and hands on those magnificent mounds of young, almost virginal
flesh and to twist, tease, massage, and bite them until they became
unbearably trembling volcanoes of passion struggling to erupt.
"Hurry, Morgan," he snapped, not taking his eyes from the girl.
"Let's start with the pictures!"
"In a moment. Wait until I get the camera on the tripod." A second
later, Morgan grunted his satisfaction with the setup and said, "Okay."
The thought of those young, almost untouched lips mewling and
begging in passion, brought a rocklike hardness to Lord Medwell's penis.
The blood pounded painfully throughout its throbbing length, and he
could feel droplets of thick white seminal fluid already beginning to
ooze from its urethral opening.
"All right," Morgan directed. "Stand close to her. Start
unzipping your pants."
Lord Medwell opened the fly of his trousers. His large prick,
almost eight inches long and of astonishing circumference, leapt out as
though it were some voracious tiger suddenly released from an
insufferable cage. The flash of light was brighter than a sun as Morgan
snapped his first picture. Hastily, Lord Medwell dropped his trousers
and underdrawers. Another flash, together with the sound of film being
wound on the next exposure.
"Go on," Morgan commanded. "I'll shoot as you go along."
Lord Medwell hesitated now for the first time; he glanced
apprehensively toward Morgan. "Are you positive she's under all the
way?"
Morgan sighed in exasperation and walked over to the bed. He
stared intently down at the girl.
"Dorothy ... Dorothy, can you hear?" he asked in a flat tone of
voice.
"Yes." The word was a monosyllable without inflection.
"Dorothy ... you are with your husband. Open your eyes, Dorothy."
He pulled Lord Medwell over alongside her. "See, Dorothy. This is your
husband, Roger. Say 'hello' to Roger."
The girl blinked, then smiled and said in a loving voice, "Hello,
Roger."
"Dorothy, you will do anything your husband asks. You'll do it
because you love him, and you know it will give him great pleasure. You
will feel much pleasure from him when he makes love to you ... so very
much pleasure."
She was silent only a second, then she woodenly nodded her head and
said, without blinking, "I will do anything my husband asks ... it will
be pleasure."
"Satisfied?" Morgan asked the older man.
Lord Medwell eagerly nodded his head. Morgan went back to his
camera.
Lord Medwell squeezed the thick foreskin back from his painfully
throbbing prick and bared his teeth as he advanced toward the girl
again. The proud young bitch was totally at his mercy. He had heard
her giggling as she talked to her husband about him earlier that
evening. She had said, "That Lord Medwell is a dirty old man. A nice
rich dirty old man, but a dirty old man nonetheless. Did you see the
way he looked at me during dinner?" Well, the huge cudgel he held in his
hand was a great equalizer between the generations. He'd teach her.
He'd see if she still called him a dirty old man when his prick was
rammed deep between those white thighs of hers and its head buried far
up inside her quivering little belly.
He was only dimly aware of Morgan taking another photo. The heat
was on him and it was all he could do to keep from leaping like a
starving wild animal upon his prey. But common sense gained control of
his body. The pictures, the ones that would bring her crawling abjectly
in helpless desperation to him and insure his and Morgan's future
safety, still had to be taken.
"Dorothy, dear," he intoned. "Turn your head toward me."
"Yes, Roger," she answered, and her head turned on the pillow.
"Dorothy, it would give your husband great pleasure if you kissed
and sucked on his penis ... as much pleasure as it gives you when he
nibbles at your breast."
A troubled expression crossed the girl's face. She hesitated.
Alarmed and wide-eyed, Lord Medwell turned toward the photographer.
Morgan merely shook his head and put his finger to his mouth in a
charade of silence.
On the bed, the girl trembled and then, almost as if she were
frightened of being bitten by it, reached out her hand toward Lord
Medwell's cock. The old man grinned in triumph and moved forward until
the straining organ was almost touching her lips. "Open your mouth,
Dorothy."
She did as she was instructed, and the smooth, throbbing tip
slipped partially through her stretched lips and came to rest against
her bared teeth. The soft flesh of the ripe full puckered lips closed
down about the head. There was a flash of light as Morgan took the
picture.
Against his cock, Lord Medwell could feel the hot air exhaling from
her nostrils, and could feel her innocent young tongue quivering in
ignorance against the instrument in her mouth.
"Delicious," he muttered, "simply delicious. Suck a little and
nibble a little, dear." He began moving his hips back and forth as
Morgan came in with another camera for a closeup. Several small
droplets of cum had seeped from Lord Medwell's cock and had lubricated
her mouth that was surrounding its head. Looking down directly at her
face, he could see a small stream of glistening saliva and cum running
out of the corner of her mouth. Again, for just a moment, the animal
heat came upon him. He wanted to shoot his full load into her sweet
young gullet ... wanted to see her larynx jiggling up and down as she
attempted to gulp it down; he could picture it-his cum would spurt out
of her mouth, into her hair, and run like a white hot flow of lava
across her breasts and down her belly. The mental image goaded him into
a sudden frantic motion and he was uncontrollably battering his cock
down her choking throat, the girl was gasping for air and clawing at his
buttocks when Morgan grinned nastily and said, "Easy, man. We still
have a few pictures to take, remember?"
Lord Medwell reluctantly removed his cock from her mouth. He had
come so close ... so very close. He stood there breathing deeply as he
sought to regain his composure. Finally he sighed and said, "That was
beautiful, Dorothy. Now your husband will repay pleasure for pleasure."
He reached down and removed the remaining strap of her gown, and
stared hungrily at the breast. With a low moan of lust, his hot eager
lips fastened like a leech to it. There was another flash of light as
he used his fingertips to tease the other nipple.
Beneath his lips, he heard a low groan of pleasure from the girl.
She placed both hands gently and possessively behind his head. Lord
Medwell glanced over and grinned in victory at Morgan. His lips went
back to work, and his other hand dropped until it found the moist hot
cavern at the junction of her thighs. He used his finger -- as though
it were a violin bow -- to scrape across the length of her vaginal lips.
"Oh ... oh," she purred.
Dorothy began to breath more rapidly as the sensations mounted in
her body. Lord Medwell used his thumb and forefinger to tease her
gently pulsating clitoris; this resulted in a low, almost animalistic
moaning, "Ohhhh ... Roger ... that feels wonderful. Bite me -- rub me
harder!"
Lord Medwell suddenly crawled onto the bed and crouched on all
fours over the helpless young body. "Dorothy, raise your legs and put
them up over my shoulders," he commanded. The girl paused, as if not
understanding the instructions, but a moment later subserviently bent
her legs at the knees and spreading her legs wide raised and placed her
calves up over his shoulders. Lord Medwell pushed her knees back
against her chest; her upturned vagina, secreting its own lubricant, was
in plain view -- unprotected and vulnerable to any attack. His mouth
watered in anticipation as he gazed rapturously down at the palpitating
little pussy. Spittle slid out of his open mouth as he lecherously
ogled the open slit of her vagina running down from her smooth white
belly and dark silken pubic hair to the full rounded spheres of her
buttocks. He could wait no longer to feast down between her thighs.
His head lowered, his mouth opened, and his tongue -- like a wet red
miniature little prick -- came into action.
The girl gasped. "Oh ... oh ... Roger! You mustn't? Oh ..." She
jerked as his lips encompassed and began sucking at the soft hair-lined
opening. His tongue flickered like lightning against the clitoris,
which was beating visibly. "Ohhh ... daddy ..." Her hands came down and
pressed against both sides of his head; it was as though she didn't know
whether to force him away or force his tongue and face even deeper into
the moist pit of her throbbing cunt. Now his tongue had begun seeking
entry into the vaginal passage itself. It flicked in and out rapidly,
little licks and little strokes of passion that penetrated almost two
inches. The girl's hands fell loosely from his head as she groaned and
began to rotate her hips in an effort to get his tongue in deeper.
Lord Medwell was an expert at this sort of thing -- had been ever
since his early introduction and instruction in its finer arts by a
fiery French governess while he was still only ten years of age.
Suddenly, he withdrew the tongue and his mouth from her now
responding vagina. Dorothy groaned again, this time in disappointment,
but only for a second, for his tongue had begun working again; its soft
flicking tip made circles around the quivering erected clitoris, and his
lips sucked, drawing the organ deeper into the hot saliva-filled cavern
of his mouth. Then he abruptly changed techniques again. Like a
thirsty dog lapping water, he used his tongue to lick the entire length
of her wet, rotating cuntal slit. Dorothy's loud moans of pleasure
turned almost into a scream of delight when his tongue traced a pattern
of fire past her vagina and kept going down, down until it made lewd,
flicking entry into the tight, puckered little anal ring.
Flashes from the camera -- like a summer electrical storm --
continued to brighten the room.
Lord Medwell was oblivious to them now. He had the snooty little
bitch going; she squirmed and panted like a helpless puppet under his
tongue. She could be brought back to her senses now and she'd be so hot
that she would beg him to continue. She was completely at his mercy.
Her mewls drove his tongue faster and faster as it licked its way up and
down the now wildly clasping lips of her cunt. She was almost there; he
could tell by the contractions of her vaginal muscles. His muffled
laughter came as her hands desperately clawed at his head -- seeking to
drive his tongue further and further into her. The hot happy bitch, he
thought; she doesn't realize that what she really wants right now is a
hard cock. She'll be begging for it within seconds.
He pulled his face away, tormenting her. Dorothy's face was wildly
contorted in what appeared to be pain. She cried, and it was a moaning
plea, "No ... Roger. Please, Roger ... keep going."
Lord Medwell let her force him this time, and she did so,
frantically, pressing his mouth against her hungrily quivering vagina.
His lips rounded and covered the clasping viscous opening, and he thrust
his tongue deep into it. Her thighs closed convulsively around either
side of his moving head. On his inward strokes, he could feel her
deeper vaginal muscles sucking and milking at his tongue as though they
were seeking to rip it out by the roots and devour it. Dorothy's legs
had found leverage against his back and she pushed down until he could
barely breathe. With tongue deep in her vagina, he used the tip of his
nose to titillate the tiny throbbing clitoris. Every muscle in the
girl's body seemed to be as taut as a steel cable. The cords of her
neck tendons stood out as she tried to raise her head to look down her
naked body and see what he was doing.
"Oh! Ahhh? Ahhhhaaa," she began, as if questioning exactly what
was happening to her. Then she screamed, "Aiieee ... Ah ... aiiieee,
I'm cumming, darling! I'm cumming!" Her body thrashed from side to
side, her legs splayed open releasing his head, and her feet beat a
tattoo of wild abandoned lust against the crumpled sheets.
Lord Medwell didn't even glance over toward Morgan. He could stand
it no longer. Even as the girl was thrashing and twitching
involuntarily in the throes of her orgasm, he grabbed her flailing legs
behind the knees again and shoved them roughly back against her
shoulders. His long rigid prick was placed against the visibly
throbbing lips of her cunt.
"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk," he said through
gritted teeth, and suddenly began pushing forward. The elastic rimmed
tightness resisted his huge circumference for only a moment, then
rapidly gave way to his unrelenting pressure. Down, down, down, the
pulsating white rod drove.
Dorothy tried to pull back from his attack. "No, Roger," she
whimpered, "darling, you're hurting me."
Lord Medwell paused. The contractions of her cunt continued to
squeeze at the head of his cock; he hadn't realized the girl's pussy was
so tight. It fit his prick like a very tight leather glove, and he
thought with some glee that the girl undoubtedly had been a virgin on
her wedding night three days before.
She obviously had never had a prick this deep into her before, he
gloated to himself, as he watched her from above with a lust filled
smirk on his face. Her lips had curled back from her teeth. Pleading,
incoherent whimpers of pain came from deep within her throat.
Abruptly, he could stand it no more. He rammed forward giving her
all he had in one great implacable thrust; his huge expanded cock sunk
in all the way to his pubic hair, and his balls -- like weathered
pendulums -- slapped hard against her uplifted buttocks. Her legs
jerked out wide on either side of his body as she kicked futilely into
the air and screamed, "Oh, God! You're killing me, Roger. Please!" It
was a scream wrenched from the deepest depths of her tortured womb.
As though he were demented, Lord Medwell screwed her brutally down
into the squeaking mattress -- pounding into her with the uncontrollable
fury of a typhoon.
Morgan watched with some amusement as the old goat went about his
business of ravishing the helpless girl. He had already shot two rolls
of film on his tripod camera and had expended another two rolls on
closeups. The girl's face was too distorted by pain to take any photos
at the moment, but Morgan knew that her expression would change once her
tight young pussy got used to the old man's cock. You bad to hand it to
him, he thought in admiration as he watched the white pistoning rod
being driven relentlessly into the girl's tightly clenched vagina.
Medwell's hung like a small stallion.
Even as Morgan was thinking these thoughts, the girl's body seemed
to be reacting slightly different. Her groans of pain came less often
now; they sounded different -- questioning, perhaps. Once, when Lord
Medwell had pulled his prick out about six inches and then driven it
inward with one masterful stab, the girl had moaned and an unmistakable
flicker of pleasure crossed her contorted face.
A moment later, there was an almost imperceptible change in
activity on the bed. Morgan saw it first, simply a small motion on the
part of the girl as she pushed up to meet a downward thrust. The rest
came rapidly; the young bride's eyes were beginning to glaze in
pleasure, and her tongue had crept out of her mouth to rest quivering on
her lower lip. It presented a lustful picture; Morgan lost no time in
capturing her lewd changing expression on film.
Now the girl was moving, experimentally rotating her hips and
putting her arms around Lord Medwell's midriff. Not satisfied with
this, she reached down and cupped his buttocks in the palms of her hands
and began of her own volition forcing him deeper into her.
Lord Medwell could hardly contain himself as he felt her abdomen
begin moving up and down in time to the thrusts of his hardened cock.
The contracting muscles inside her pussy were hungrily at work massaging
and sucking at the inflated head. With each withdrawal of his long
white cock, the pink lips of the vagina pulled and milked at the
instrument. The girl was a natural born piece of ass, he thought in
glee, as her quivering body pumped up and down on the rigid penis fusing
the two bodies together.
Morgan had begun to feel some excitement growing within himself as
he watched the girl strain against the older man. When she raised her
ass from the mattress, he could see the little brown puckered anal
entrance already covered with trickling cum. And he thought happily,
eagerly: You're next, little asshole, you're next! I've got just the
thing for you. Morgan took photographs of it all, capturing on film the
utter abandon of her labours and the half-crazed erotic smile of lust
playing across her taut lips. She was moving even faster than the old
man now, and thrusts had become more violent as she desperately sought
her second orgasm. Above the tortured creaking of the bed and the
almost obscene slap of flesh against flesh, Morgan could actually hear
the wet sluicing sounds of her hungrily sucking pussy as it reluctantly
relinquished its hold on the lustfully driving cock sunk deeply between
her thighs.
Suddenly the girl's back arched and she pushed upward with a
frightening power that almost threw the old man out of the saddle.
"Ooooh God ... I'm cumming, love me. Fuck harder ... fuck fuck ...
fuck, fucker, Roger ... Oh, God ... I'm cumming." With a deep throated
groan: her body began convulsing in lewd untamed pleasure. Hot wet cum
spurted from the throbbing passage. It's sticky warmth flowed down the
crevice created by her buttocks; the viscous fluid inundated her anus --
bringing an impatient groan from Morgan. She jerked about frantically,
as though she were suffering seizure. She clawed at the old man's back;
her legs pumped against him as she sought to drive him in deeper. Lord
Medwell's face was taut as he sought his own release; he rammed his
reaming cock forward with all his fading strength. His body drooped
down heavily on her, mashing her full ripe tits against his own hairy
chest. His long hard strokes moved violently in and out of the steaming
passage that was now wet and slippery from the girl's continuing climax.
Abruptly, he could feel the orgasm building up like explosive fumes
inside his tortured balls as they beat against her unprotected ass. The
lustful pleasure arched across the nerves of his abdomen and his prick
throbbed once, twice ... then began to spurt.
"Oh, yes, darling. Cum in me ... cum all the way inside of me,
Roger." Dorothy chanted as her head rolled laxly from side to side and
she frantically pumped her vagina up and down the long spurting rod of
flesh in an effort to drain it of everything.
Lord Medwell felt the hot slippery walls of her cunt sucking
hungrily at his cock until there was nothing left in him, and his
hardened organ began to deflate.
The girl lay back full-length in bed, with his prick still buried
inside her. "That was wonderful, darling," she said, huskily. Her eyes
closed in weary pleasure.
Lord Medwell slowly pulled his slippery penis from the girl. She
moaned as though reluctant to have it leave her body.
Morgan, who had been becoming increasingly impatient, took a last
closeup as the prick slowly slid out of her battered cunt. He could see
the girl's wet matted pubic hair -- like black moss hanging over a
peaceful river bank -- glistening on both sides of her vagina. The
insides of her milky white thighs were smeared with the cum from both of
their bodies. The open crevice of her ass was completely wet from it,
and Morgan knew he could stand the sight no longer. If ever a woman was
lubricated and ready for sodomizing this one was. He already knew how
it would feel -- hot, tight ... oh, so very tight! ... and beautiful.
"Hurry," he grunted to Lord Medwell, as be dropped his trousers.
His own cock, like a lean telephone pole angled on the side of a hill,
was stiffly ready.
Lord Medwell wearily dried his wet penis on his underdrawers and
put on his trousers. A moment later he was standing behind the tripod
camera. "All right," he said. "Ready any time you are."
Morgan said to the girl, "Dorothy ... I am your husband, Roger.
Say something to me."
The girl scrunched herself deeper into the bed and mumbled
hypnotically, Roger, darling, I love you."
Morgan said, "Dorothy, darling, don't you want to repay your
husband for the pleasure I just gave you. It would be nice if you
sucked on my penis."
There was no hesitation this time. Dorothy turned her head and
opened her mouth. There was a flash of light and Lord Medwell nodded.
"Now, Dorothy, I'm going to make love to you in a new and
excitingly different way. Get on your hands and knees ... that's right,
and spread your legs out wide."
The girl did as she was told. Lord Medwell moved in with the
closeup camera. Morgan used both thumbs to peel the smooth white cheeks
of her tender young buttocks apart to reveal the quivering, puckered
little brown circle no larger than a dime. Really he thought in
ecstasy, it looks like an oval of tiny pink lips. He rubbed his prick
in the crevice, lubricating it from Lord Medwell and the girl's cum.
The girl winced when Morgan inserted his middle finger into the opening.
He moved it in and out, and around and around. The girl moaned in pain
when a second finger joined the first. Then Morgan could stand it no
longer: Placing the tip of his hardened cock against the tight, puckered
nether lips; he plunged forward ...
The photograph was taken just as the head of Morgan's cock
disappeared through the tight resisting ring of anal muscle. Lord
Medwell continued to shoot pictures as Morgan gleefully pounded his
prick into her vaginal rectum and until her groans of pain became mewls
of pleasure and surprise and finally of screaming release as her
helplessly impaled body reacted orgasmically like a bitch dog in heat to
the unnatural invasion of her bowels.
* * *
Downstairs, the clock struck twice. Lord Medwell helped Morgan
change the badly stained and wet linens on the bed, as the girl stood
blank-eyed and stiff near the closet.
"Get back in bed, Dorothy," Morgan ordered.
The girl walked like a zombie across the room and climbed into bed.
Morgan pulled the covers up to her shoulders, the began intoning,
"You are sleepy ... sleep. When you awaken tomorrow morning at nine
o'clock, you will not remember that we were here. Anything you will
recall will be simply a dream about your husband. Do you understand?
You have been dreaming about Roger fucking you. Say it!"
"I ... have ... been dreaming ... about Roger ... fucking ... me."
"Yes, you have been dreaming. You are sleepy. Your eyes are so
heavy that you cannot open them. You are sleepy ... sleepy."
The girl slumbered peacefully.
Morgan glanced at his watch. "Two fifteen. It's almost time for
'Roger dear' to wake up next to my wife. Care to bring your camera
along and take candid snapshots."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, old boy," Lord Medwell laughed
lewdly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. If his pecker reacts half as
well as that hot little cunt of his wife's, it should be quite a show."
He clapped his hands together in eagerness. "I can hardly wait until
tomorrow afternoon when we show that arrogant little bitch our
photographs. How overwhelming. How simply delightful! She'll come
crawling to me then. Oh, she'll do anything. Anything!" he gleefully
repeated. "And she'll do it fully conscious!"
The two men were still chuckling as they walked the darkened
corridors of the castle. When they reached the east wing, Morgan pulled
down on the handle of a sword on a suit of knight's armour. The hidden
door swung silently open to reveal a well-lighted passageway. Two
minutes later, they were seated in comfortable armchairs and drinking
whiskey and sodas, as they watched -- through the large pane of one-way
glass -- a young man slowly beginning to awaken next to a voluptuous
nude woman who looked up directly at them and winked conspiratorially.
Then her face changed. She looked as if she had been weeping, and when
the boy's eyes opened, she sobbed, "You beast, you. How could you ...
after we had offered you the hospitality of the castle ... to cruelly
rape me ... Oh, Roger! And I was beginning to be so fond of you. What
will poor Dorothy think ..."
* * *
The following afternoon, a bewildered and ashamed Dorothy "crawled"
for her pictures, and then learned that she must continue to be nice for
as long as Morgan and Lord Medwell and their assorted friends decreed.
Only then would she receive the negatives. Precisely thirty-two minutes
later -- the seminal juices of two strangers in her mouth, vagina and
anus -- she leapt like a wingless bird from the roof of the castle and
splattered against the cobblestone courtyard 90 feet below ...
