THE VISITOR
By
N.T. Morley
** SMASHWORDS EDITION **
Published on Smashwords by Fanny Press
P.O. Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
Contact: info@fannypress.com
Copyright © 2004 by N.T. Morley
The Visitor was first published by Pink Flamingo Books in 2004.
The text of this version has been slightly revised from the original edition.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
ISBN: 978-1-60381-417-1 (ePub)
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* * * * *
Novels by N.T. Morley:
The Parlor (1995)*
The Castle (1996)
The Limousine (1997)*
The Contract (1997)
The Office (1998)
The Library (1998)
The Circle (1998)
The Appointment (1998)*
The Nightclub (2000)
The Visitor (2001)*
The Tower (2003)
The Dungeon (2003)
The Secretary (2003)
The Administratrix (2003)
Borrowing Privileges (2003)
Special Collections (2003)
*Published by Fanny Press
Anthologies:
Master/slave (2004)
Visit the author at Ntmorley.com
* * * * *
About the Author:
N.T. Morley is the author of sixteen published erotic novels and the editor of two anthologies. Morley’s short stories have appeared in such anthologies as Down & Dirty, Juicy Erotica, Sweet Life: Erotic Fantasies For Couples, Volumes 1 and 2, Naughty Stories from A to Z, Volumes 1 and 2, and other anthologies. You can visit the author at www.ntmorley.com.
CHAPTER 1
Cecilia was just coming down from having her ballet lesson when she heard her mother arguing with someone in the entryway. The ballet teacher, Mr. Wise, had gone out the back entrance, as her instructors always did. Knowing she really shouldn’t eavesdrop, Cecilia nonetheless took off her shoes and tiptoed along the balcony above the entryway.
Her mother was arguing with a man.
Cecilia crouched down low and spied on her mother and the stranger through the slats of the staircase. The man was about her mother’s age, very tall and strong looking. His hair was dark, and even at this distance Cecilia could see that his eyes flashed with fire. He was holding a white package wrapped with silver ribbon. He and Cecilia’s mother Mary were arguing in hushed tones.
Cecilia could only make out a few words and phrases here and there: “Out of the question...virgin...impossible! Cad, you’re a cad!”
Cecilia felt her heart beating as she spied. She really shouldn’t be doing this. Clearly, something very frightening was going on, and she should be upstairs preparing for her piano lesson. But Cecilia was fascinated by seeing her mother so evidently angry, which Mary Drew almost never was.
Mary Drew was a fiery redheaded beauty, and everyone said Cecilia got her natural good looks and busty figure from Mary.
Cecilia’s mother had been married to Sir Arthur Drew ever since Cecilia was three, but they had no children of their own. Mary had experienced an unfortunate unplanned pregnancy early in life, and Cecilia was the result. Nonetheless, Cecilia always felt a great degree of love from her mother, even if Sir Arthur Drew paid very little attention to the girl. In fact, he had insisted that she be known as Cecilia Roswell, keeping her mother’s maiden name, instead of being welcomed into the Drew family. Still, Sir Arthur had offered Cecilia all the comforts of his opulent estate growing up, and Mary had seen to it that her daughter received only the finest tutoring.
Mary raised her voice again. “At least let’s not argue about it here in the entryway, where she might hear us!” Then, in a more hushed tone that Cecilia could just make out: “Come into the parlor.”
Mary and the visitor went into the parlor; Cecilia heard the door slamming.
She really shouldn’t. She ought to go upstairs and change out of her ballet clothes, for her piano teacher Mr. Sterling would most likely be waiting for her in the music room already.
But she had never seen her mother so angry, and she knew that it must be something important that had made her so.
Cecilia tiptoed down the staircase, went through the kitchen, and out the servant’s entrance. She knew she shouldn’t be going outside still wearing her ballet leotard and tutu and ballet slippers, but her curiosity compelled her to sneak outside even though she knew it was very naughty. She tried hard to walk on the stones so as to avoid the muddier parts of the ground—which would spoil her ballet slippers, after all. She slipped cleverly under the bushes that lined the lavish mansion. She crept up to the window of the parlor, finding it open, and stood on her tiptoes almost as if she were still practicing ballet.
“She’s only a girl!” Cecilia heard her mother’s voice, clear now. “You’re awful for even suggesting it!”
“You were only a girl, my dear,” the stranger said, his voice deep and resonant. “She’s past the age of majority and ripe for the plucking—but very much an ingénue. I’m the one who turned you into the woman you are. You do remember, don’t you?”
“That’s not the point! She’s naïve, she’s never—I mean, she’s never had—she’s never been!”
“Been what?” came the man’s voice, and Cecilia heard her mother sputtering angrily.
“She’s.... she’s not like that! She’s not at all like that!”
“You’d never been done either, Mary,” the man chuckled. “Not before I got to you.” He held up the white package and tapped it with his finger. “Squeeze her into this outfit and she’ll bend right over and spread her legs. She’ll probably even ask for it. I’ve seen those eyes. She’s consumed by her cravings, and doesn’t even know it yet. But she will know.” He laughed. “Just like you did, Mary.”
“She isn’t—the girl isn’t like that at all! She’s not like—”
“Not like who?” growled the visitor.
Cecilia’s mother choked back a harsh, desperate sob.
“Not like I was,” she said, her voice tortured.
“You weren’t much of anything but a horny young girl when I got to you,” said the visitor. “Once you’d been plowed—that’s when you turned into the whore you are now! I’m sure your little girl will turn just as quickly once she feels me in her cunt and ass—perhaps the little whore will be even easier to awaken than her mother was.”
Cecilia heard a loud slap. The man laughed. Cecilia peeked into the parlor through the open window. The man had dropped the white package and seized both of Mary’s wrists. He held them tight, so tight that both sets of hands were shaking violently as Mary sought in vain to struggle free. Cecilia’s mother was bright red, her face flushed with anger, almost as red as her flaming hair. Cecilia could hear her mother choking back sobs as she hurled insults at the visitor.
“You bastard,” she sobbed.
“My dear,” said the man. “I came here only to avail myself of the next generation of Roswell girls. But I’m more than happy to see if an old girl like you still knows the tricks I taught her, as well. Swing on me one more time, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
The man pushed Mary Drew away, so hard that she went stumbling and fell on the floor of the parlor. She sat there sobbing.
“Now,” chuckled the stranger. “Shall I have you send the girl into the parlor so I can have her here, or would you prefer it if I plowed her on her mother’s bed, like I did to you?”
Mary Drew leapt up from the floor and went running at the stranger, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her fingernails were extended like claws and her face looked like the hideous visage of a murderous beast. Cecilia gasped and put her hand to her mouth, her heart pounding as she watched her mother attack the much larger man.
The stranger neatly sidestepped Mary’s attack, grabbed her hair, and struck her fully across the face. Mary went limp and crumpled, but the man held his grip on her hair and, rather than letting her fall, forced her onto her knees against him.
He struck her again, leaving Mary’s face bright red from the blow, and again, making her go limp. He pulled Mary Drew up against him, yanking her head back and forcing her to look up at him.
“Please,” Mary whimpered, quaking. “Please don’t—”
The fight had gone out of her with the stranger’s powerful blows.
“Tsk, tsk, Mary,” said the stranger. “I was going to be happy with a simple defloration. But you’ve spoiled it. Now only utter and abject humiliation is going to satisfy me. The same as I gave to you.”
“Please,” gasped Mary, struggling weakly in the visitor’s grasp.
“Please what?” growled the stranger, bending low.
“Take me,” whimpered Mary. “I’ll...I’ll let you have me.”
The stranger chuckled. “I wasn’t planning on it, but now it seems obligatory. If you think it will save her, I encourage you to have a go. Open your mouth.”
Her lips quaking, Mary opened her mouth. The stranger tipped her head back as far as it would go. Cecilia watched in shock and horror as a large bead of spit formed at the stranger’s pursed lips and fell into her mother’s mouth.
Her mother swallowed.
“Thank you,” she whimpered.
“Very good,” said the stranger. “You still remember how a proper lady behaves. Now take it out.”
“You’ll—you’ll let her go...you won’t try to?”
The stranger struck Mary on the face again, bringing tears pouring from her eyes.
“I said take it out,” growled the stranger, and Mary immediately reached for the stranger’s belt.
Cecilia had never seen sex before. She had received the minimal education, of course; she knew how children were made, how a man took his pleasure with a woman, and how a woman managed to endure it despite its distastefulness to the female of the species. She even knew that certain women of questionable morals could be induced to engage in such activities solely for their own pleasure, as shocking as it seemed.
But she had never seen the act; she wasn’t even sure that her mother ever did it, though clearly Cecilia herself was proof that at some point Mary Drew had endured the unpleasantness of a man’s carnal attentions, and from the circumstances surrounding her existence it was clear that such attentions had been rendered in an unsanctioned context. But since that moment, Cecilia had always assumed, her mother had been mercifully free of the urgencies of male anatomy. Mary Drew and Sir Arthur never showed the least amount of physical affection, and Cecilia had spent almost her whole life in the bedroom adjacent to theirs without ever hearing the faintest hint of the sounds one might expect from acts of male pleasure. She suspected that Sir Arthur had no sexual demands, and that her mother therefore did not need to know how to provide sexually for a man, which must have been quite a relief.
Now, Cecilia was finding differently.
Cecilia’s mother unfastened the stranger’s belt and unzipped his pants, reaching in. When her hand came out, it was wrapped around a long, hard shaft that made Cecilia’s eyes go wide and her breath catch in her throat. She had to stifle a gasp with her hand.
Was it a penis? Was it what a man used to take his pleasure with a woman? Was it even remotely possible that that huge, ugly thing could be actually placed inside a woman without hurting her gravely, and doubtless permanently damaging her as well?
Cecilia knew that sex was supposed to hurt, in fact, that women on some level expected it to hurt, and pleasurable insertion could indicate a profound moral failing on the part of the female. She had been advised that if, upon marriage and consummation, she discovered pleasure accompanied the act, she keep that fact to herself lest her husband cast her out as a whore.
But none of the lessons she’d been given in the very basics of human anatomy had implied that the male organ was so exceedingly large—and, therefore, assuredly possessing the capability of causing greater unpleasant sensation in the receiving woman than even Cecilia, with her wickedly-roaming thoughts, had ever anticipated. Cecilia’s eyes roved up and down its length as her mother held the organ—surely such an insertion would kill a petite woman like Mary Drew, wouldn’t it?
Cecilia felt a disquieting stir deep within her—something that made her heart quicken and her mouth drop slightly open in a distinct series of desperate panting breaths. Surely such an insertion would be ... challenging, to put it politely—would it not? The very thought made her own private areas feel swollen and vulnerable.
Cecilia quivered all over.
“You know what to do,” said the stranger, still gripping Mary’s hair.
Mary nodded, closing her eyes and bending forward. Cecilia watched as her mother took the head of the thick organ in her mouth and began sucking it. She had never heard of such a behavior—her understanding was that men only wished to use a woman’s nether regions and perhaps suckle at her breast while they did. But this—this was shocking.
Cecilia watched wide eyed as her mother’s lips closed tightly around the shaft. Mary’s head started bobbing up and down on the stranger’s rod. Mary’s hands hung limp at her sides.
“Not good enough,” said the stranger sternly, slapping Mary’s face, more lightly this time. “You know where it goes.”
Mary’s hand came up and curved around the base of the man’s organ; she took a deep breath and began to push it back deeper into her mouth.
“No hands,” said the stranger, and slapped Mary again.
Mary put her hand down and leaned forward, craning her neck so that it was straight.
The stranger’s organ disappeared into Mary’s mouth.
Impossible! Where was it going? Cecilia realized with a shock imagined it must have been traveling into her mother’s throat. Her mother was swallowing the man’s penis.
Cecilia gasped as she felt an unexpected contraction inside her. It felt a little like she was going to be sick, but there was a curious warm pleasure to it. What was happening to her? She felt heat pulsing up from her thighs, and a tightness at her breasts that ... goodness, was it suddenly cold—or hot? Cecilia couldn’t tell; she felt bathed in waves of sensation, cold-hot, cold-hot, cold-hot. Her nipples reacted as if it were cold. She felt a sudden flush of fear; something was most certainly very wrong with her.
But even if that were true, Cecilia decided, a few more minutes of watching the proceedings couldn’t possibly hurt her further.
Now her mother was bobbing up and down in earnest, her head coming up so that her light pink lips stretched around the tip of the organ and then thrusting down so that disappeared down her throat. Cecilia was close enough that she could smell the sweat of the stranger, perhaps the scent of his organ, through the open window. And she was close enough that she could hear the whimpering noises her mother was making between thrusts onto the stranger’s rod.
“That’s right,” said the stranger. “A woman never forgets how to deep-throat, once she’s properly trained. Remember how I trained you, Mary?” The stranger chuckled. “Yes, of course you do. You’re probably dripping wet thinking about it right now. Now go ahead, Mary. Use your hands, now.”
Cecilia knew she must be mistaken, but she thought for an instant that her mother’s hand moved eagerly when it came up to grip the man’s organ again. Mary was making noises that sounded quite distinctly—well, “pleasurable” was of course a poor description, since that was impossible—her mother couldn’t be enjoying this behavior, could she? But the noises coming from Mary Drew did very much sound like moans of pleasure.
Her mother’s hand began stroking and pumping, and when Mary pulled her mouth off the stranger’s rod she looked up with her lips slick with spittle and her green eyes wide and fiery.
“P—please,” she whimpered, just loud enough that Cecilia could hear it.
Mary Drew opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, moaning.
The man let out a sudden grunt, and Cecilia watched thick white fluid spurt from the end of his organ onto her mother’s face and tongue. Was this semen? The sight of it sent another quiver through Cecilia’s body, and she was frightened for a moment that she might pass out. Mary continued to stroke the man’s organ as the white fluid came pulsing out onto her. Cecilia could hear her moaning softly.
Finally, the white fluid slowed to a drizzle, and Mary licked the head of the man’s rod clean.
“As skilled as ever,” said the man, replacing his manhood in his pants and buckling his belt. “And enthusiastic.”
Mary blushed.
“Lift your skirt and turn around.”
“Please,” she said. “I’ve given you what you wanted, now won’t you—”
“You’ve given me nothing but what you wanted, Mary, and I intend to prove it. I’ll make you a deal, Mary. If you’re anything less than dripping wet, I won’t fuck you in the ass. In fact, I won’t fuck you at all. I’ll just give you a good lashing and be gone. If you’re not wet, I’ll even spare her. If you’re dry, you can save her all the torment I’ve given you—and all the pleasure. But if you’re wet...”
Mary’s eyes went wide; she gasped.
“Please,” she begged. “Give me a moment.”
“If you’re wet, I’m going to have both your holes, Mary. I’ll bend over that sofa and fuck both your holes after I lash you bright pink. And then I’m going to have her.”
“I’m—I’m not wet,” said Mary. “I’m not wet at all.”
“Lift it,” said the stranger.
“Please!”
The stranger seized Mary’s hair and slapped her, sending droplets of his semen splattering over her clothes. He seized her dress with his other hand and half walked, half threw her across the room, forcing her over the arm of the big sofa.
“No,” sobbed Mary. “No, don’t—”
“Now why would you be so resistant to letting me feel you, Mary? I just offered you a way out of the situation—for both you and your daughter. Why would you resist it—unless I’m going to find something that would trouble us both?”
“The stranger yanked up Mary’s skirt and thrust his hand up underneath. Cecilia watched breathless as she saw him feeling around under there. Then a smile spread across his face.
“No,” she sobbed. “That’s just sweat.”
“You’ve soaked them,” said the stranger. “You’re dripping.”
“No,” Mary whimpered, then gasped, her eyes going very wide as her back arched and she tried to get up. The stranger gripped her hair harder and forced her back down again, his hand sliding back and forth under her skirt.
“You’ve sealed your fate, Mary,” chuckled the stranger. “And hers.”
“No,” she sobbed. “I’m not wet, that’s just...just...”
The stranger took his hand out from under Mary’s skirt and, holding her hair tight, forced her head back. He thrust his fingers into her mouth.
“Taste it,” he said. “You know that taste. You know it well. Now try to tell me you’re not wet. You know it would be a lie. Admit it or I’ll tell him.”
“No,” Mary moaned, her voice muffled by the stranger’s fingers. “No, no, please—”
“Admit it!”
Sobbing, Mary took a deep labored breath and said, “I’m wet.” Then she collapsed into panting sobs, as the stranger wrestled her back into a standing position.
“You know what comes next,” he said.
“I—I’m sorry I...” Cecilia’s mother began. “I’m sorry I attacked you.”
“You’ll be much sorrier when I’m through with you, Mary. Now take your clothes off.”
Cecilia could see tears in her mother’s eyes as she struggled to her feet, her face still dripping, covered with the visitor’s semen.
“Take them off,” said the stranger.
Cecilia watched as her mother disrobed, unbuttoning first her blouse and then her skirt, leaving both in rumpled piles on the floor. She stood there. Her freckled skin flushed a deep red, as the stranger looked her over. Mary Drew was clad only in a white bra and panties, garter belt and stockings. The panties were just filmy enough to show Mary’s thatch of fire-red pubic hair through the fabric.
“As delicious as the first day I took you, Mary,” said the stranger. “But that fig of yours—hairy as a savage’s. Unacceptable! I can see that red carpet of yours through your panties. We’ll have none of that, and you’re very bad for thinking you could get away with it. You should have kept yourself ready for me.”
“But it’s been years,” whined Cecilia’s mother.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d be back for you?”
Mary nodded miserably.
“I want you shaved smooth by dinner.”
“Please don’t make me,” she said.
“I want you shaved by dinner or I’ll make it rougher on her. Understood?”
Mary looked down miserably. “Understood.”
“Understood, what?”
Mary’s face reddened still more and tears drizzled down her cheeks.
“Understood, S....S...”
“Say it!”
“Understood, Sir,” said Mary.
“Good. Now take everything off.”
“Please,” she whimpered. “What if one of the servants walks in?”
“Then I’ll take her, too, if it’s that saucy slut of a maid—or if it’s the butler, well, Mary... use your imagination. Now strip!”
Meekly, Mary unclasped her bra and doffed it, revealing her firm, full breasts, so similar to Cecilia’s own. She unhitched the garter belt and pulled everything off. She stood there nude, her arms crossed over her ample bosom.
“Everything,” the stranger growled, gesturing toward Mary’s hand.
“Please,” Mary whimpered. “I haven’t taken it off since—”
“Since the last time I had you,” said the visitor. “You cried, then, too. How strange, since you clearly don’t love the man.”
“I do!” protested Mary.
The visitor chuckled. “Of course. That’s why you always come so hard when I use you. Now take it off.”
Mary Drew’s naked body was wracked with a brief sob.
Slowly, she removed her wedding ring.
The stranger snatched it from her hand. “I’ll keep it for you,” he said. “I’ll return it to you when I decide you’ve earned it. Now bend over the couch,” he said.
Miserably, Mary went to the couch and bent herself over it, her breath coming short.
As she did, she turned toward the window.
Cecilia froze in terror, unable to move. For a moment she thought her mother had seen her, but then she realized that Mary Drew’s eyes were so filled with tears that she couldn’t possibly have seen a thing. The moisture brimmed over and ran in rivulets down Mary Drew’s cheeks. The older woman stared blankly into space, her eyes unfocused, and Cecilia knew she’d escaped detection. But she could look right into her mother’s eyes, and what she saw terrified her: abject horror, pulverizing dread. The texture of those emotions sent a shiver through Cecilia’s young body.
Cecilia was frozen. She couldn’t run away, though she wanted to. She remained there, watching, as the man walked to the far corner of the parlor and bent over the umbrella holder. He chuckled, withdrawing a thin, slender cane.
Cecilia knew that cane quite well; she knew its sound and its sting and its afterburn, but she had never felt it swung by her mother. A precocious child, Cecilia had been threatened many, many times with that cane when she was younger and had misbehaved. But both her mother and Sir Arthur were good hearted people, and only her teachers—especially her grammar and etiquette teachers Ms. Jones and Mr. Conrad, as Cecilia was not gifted in those subjects—had ever used it on her.