If she had but known where the three of them were, the young wife would surely have been horrified. In the master bedroom, which was at the end of the long second-floor hall, in the opposite wing to Sharon Court's bedroom, the three lewd plotters lay exhausted. The night had been long, their games together rituals of pagan lust and perversion, and they were spent of energy and desire.
Mark Marlowe lay on the round, scarlet-coverlet, bed. He was naked, as the other two were, and he was propped up against the headboard, his legs spread wide, his penis limp and glistening against his testicles. Lying next to him was the similarly pleased Lena. She was on her side, propped up on one elbow, her black hair draped over the pillow, her eyes and nose level with Mark's genitals. Her other hand rested on his knee and her fingers toyed with his penis, trying to make him hard once more. Already the collected pools of cum from many orgasms by both Wafto and the head of Marlowe Manor lay in her vagina… but there was always room for more. Lena was a lustful, insatiable woman; she would have had it no other way.
Wafto was standing by the window. He had pulled the heavy crimson drapes aside partially to let in the morning sun, and he smiled as he looked out of the wavy, hand-blown glass of the small panes, out upon the formal garden beneath. He said: "It's morning. Do you want coffee or breakfast?"
"I'm full," Lena replied. "I'm full of you and Mark."
Mark chuckled lewdly. "I see you're still hungry, my dear. Let me rest a few minutes, and then we'll see if I can satisfy you for a little while longer."
"It's good to have you with us again, Mrs. Alvaro," the obsequious hunch-back servant said, his knobby back still to them. "We always have so much fun together. When does your husband arrive?"
"Day after tomorrow. And he'll bring along that handsome man, Neal Court. I hope by that time, we'll have transformed his pretty little innocent wife into a hot raving little piece of tail."
"Have no fear. After last night…" Again Marlowe chuckled. "The way she ran from us she looked as though her fanny was on fire."
"Don't laugh," Lena warned. "Perhaps you were wrong and she didn't get enough marijuana. Perhaps she will remember enough this morning to know it wasn't some dream but that it actually happened. Then we will lose her, her and that luscious man of hers." Her mouth trembled and a moistness formed around her lips with the sheen of anticipation. "I bet he'll be good in bed; I can't wait to find out."
The ugly, toad-like drawf turned his head slightly and leered over his deformed shoulder at the luscious woman sprawled on the rumpled round bed. "She was completely out of it, Mrs. Alvaro. If the marijuana she smoked wasn't enough, I can assure you that the potion in her Sherry did the trick."
"It had to be for her to let you fuck her," Mark said. "And kiss her cunt and put your overgrown cock into her mouth. Goddamn, I wish I'd been there to watch!"
"Watch? Hell, you'd have joined right in, you sadistic beast." The glitter in Lena's eyes told all; she, too, would have been party to the actual rapine perversions that had been performed on the naive Mrs. Court. Would have been — and was planning to just as soon as possible.
"What is the next move in our plan, Master?" Wafto asked, turning back to the window, moving the drapes a little more so he could view the expanse of moors and the gardens. "We have to move fast if we are to have her at our mercy in two days."
"Anxious to have another go at her, aren't you, my little fiend," Mark chortled and shifted his body so that his hardening prick could be better attended to by the teasing hand of the black-haired harlot beside him. "Ahh, that's it, Lena. More, more. Suck it, if you like." Lena Alvaro dipped her head and slipped her lips over his turgid penis, licking his great shaft and its head with her tongue. Mark said: "To answer you, Wafto, it depends on how Mrs. Court reacts to everything that happened to her. She's a sexy little girl, she is, so that I think her reaction will be."
"She's outside," the dwarf interrupted in an excited voice. "She's wandering through the back and… and she's heading for the hut!"
"We must stop her!" Lena said, jerking upright.
"No, let her see the little surprise in the hut." Mark Marlowe's eyes filmed over with the image of the lusting perversions which awaited the blonde wife. "It won't be long before she'll be formally introduced." He thought that was funny and laughed loudly. "Until she becomes old and close friends."
"She's almost there…" Wafto clutched the curtains with excitement.
"Lena get dressed and go downstairs," Mark instructed.
"To stop her?"
"No, I said that I want her to go in. If she's near the hut and doesn't decide to see what's inside, then get her to. And if she does on her own, then I want you to be ready to comfort her. She'll need comforting after the shock she's going to get, and you're just the one for that."
"And then?" Lena was breathless with anticipation of what was to come. "And… and then what?"
"Bring her to the living room." The evil Lord of Marlowe Manor grinned sardonically, his face lined with the effects of his debauchery. "No; better yet, bring her to my study. Wafto, prepare more of the Sherry. We want to be ready when the poor young Mrs. Court begins to comprehend what is happening."
And with that Marlowe once again began to laugh diabolically, and he was joined by the throated purring of Lena Alvaro and the high hysterical tittering of the gnarled dwarf.
Sharon Court looked back once. The high green hedges were like a natural barricade between her and the mansion; she could see the monster house of stone loom over her, but the long porch and most of the first floor were hidden from view. She thought she saw the curtains in a window on the second flood move, as if rustling in the morning breeze. But there wasn't any wind, nothing stirred except perhaps the curtain. From somewhere out on the endless moors came soft, distant calling of sheep, and once there was the bark of a dog, then nothing. She turned around and continued her way through the winding paths, pleasantly pleased by the well tended circular beds of flowers, at the stone benches held up by stone lions and gryfons, at the gazeboes that were in different niches at the corners…
The main path, bordered by thin, almost wispy trees, seemed to lead in a round-about fashion to the left hand corner of the garden. Up ahead she could see the old mortised brick wall that was mostly covered with ivy that bordered the garden, setting it apart from the purple and black table that was the moor… she turned the last corner and spied a tall round building made of stone.
It was one of the oddest small buildings Mrs. Court had ever seen. It looked older than the ancient house, its stone work rough-hewn and crumbling at the corners, as if the prehistoric Druids had fashioned it crudely as some enclosed place of dark worship. Ivy, the broad-leave English variety, and moss grew on it, but unlike the healthy and bright, deep greenness of the plants among the garden wall, the gnarled and twisted branches of the growth on the building were blighted and a sick brown, and the leaves seemed to curl inward and wilt, and the moss was sparse and burnt-looking. Moreover, while the garden wall was covered from top to bottom, the lushness spilling over its top like zealous escapees, the ivy and moss finally gave up after no more than six feet in height along the building's surface, as though there was something in the stone which prevented and stunted what lay upon it.
The small house was circular, like a cistern or guardhouse, or a turret of some medieval castle, with a tall peaked roof made of some undefinable thatch or thin shingle. The only windows were small slits, the type which widened out on the inside on an angle so that archers and other defenders could operate behind cover, and what little area was exposed was barred with thick iron scrollwork. The wrought iron had once been blackened; now it was rusty and pitted, and where it was fastened to the wall by great bolts, the stone was stained with orange-yellow streaks.