SMARTS!

by Jay Lawrence

  The foyer was of surprisingly modest proportions – an anteroom or vestibule, perhaps – and its pure white walls formed a perfect hemisphere, regularly punctuated by six shallow alcoves. Every tall, narrow recess contained a beautifully fashioned marble nymph, each clasping a burning oil lamp between her chilly fingers. The floor was also composed of marble in a geometric pattern of black diamonds on a white background, and the immediate effect was that of an elegant mausoleum. With a start, Frederica realized that there appeared to be no inner doors. But there had to be a way into the house. Whoever heard of a hallway to nowhere? Slowly, she approached one of the alcoves and, for some inexplicable reason, she reached out to stroke one of the statue's pert little breasts.

  "Mmmm..."

  Whirling about at the sudden sound, Frederica was astounded to see an Amazonian young woman who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. She stood almost six feet tall and was strongly built, with elongated, sturdy limbs, which were tightly encased in a revealing, sleeveless evening gown of startling scarlet velvet. Her heavy breasts strained against the skimpy bodice of the dress, which also clung to her broad hips like a second skin before narrowing, like an inverted tulip, to her sturdy ankles. Her skin was a deep golden brown and her feet were bare upon the marble floor.

  "Who are you?"

  The dusky Amazon did not reply but merely smiled enigmatically, showing a mouthful of strong, white teeth, then, shaking her magnificent mane of ebony hair, she touched some mysterious place upon the wall and a panel swung inwards, offering a limited vista of a narrow passage of flickering lamplight and deep shadows.

  "Is Lord Urquhart in there?"

  All of Frederica's mettle had deserted her and her heart began to pound wildly as the mulatto girl stepped into the corridor, her velvety hips swinging with a raw rhythm that shrieked of animalistic sensuality. Briefly, she turned, the full lush glory of her statuesque silhouette imprinting itself upon Frederica's mind, before murmuring:

  "You come with me. We find you a suitable dress, no?"

  The panel closed behind the two young women and the passageway grew darker, the heat from the wall lamps making the enclosed space almost unbearably oppressive. But I'm claustrophobic. Please don't bury me alive; I can't bear it! So, she had been taken as the Devil's bride, after all... She could smell the other girl's scent, acrid-sweet, a blend of vanilla, cloying as butter icing, mixed with the piquant odor of arousal. Dear Jesus, this dusky maiden is Lord Urquhart's concubine! What man could be near her and not become dizzy with the pervasive essence of her rapacious lust? The luscious creature was pushing aside a heavy curtain and holding it for Frederica to pass. Almost fainting from the stifling effect of the Hadean passage, she fell onto her knees upon a thick bearskin rug.

  "My dear Miss Roe."

  Through the haze of her exhaustion and confusion, Frederica opened her eyes to see a pair of very highly polished black shoes tapping an insistent rhythm upon the floor, several inches from her face. Slowly focusing, she gradually looked up to appraise the owner of the shoes. It was a small man of – goodness, he had to be around sixty years old! His face was narrow and as well lined as a sea captain's, yet he still possessed a full head of soft brown hair and an otherwise spry appearance. Smiling at a private joke, the man bent to take Frederica's chin in one hand.

  "What marvelous red hair. The perfect foil for Sydonie. Simply perfect."

  "Sydonie?"

  It was as if she had entered some mysterious dream. This could not be! The mulatto girl wrapped her naked gleaming arms about the old man's neck and a heavy lock of her wavy hair brushed against his leathery cheek. He sat in a low armchair and wore dark trousers and an immaculately white shirt, open to reveal an expanse of tawny fur.

  "Sweet Sydonie. My love slave. Each night I fuck her insatiable cunt. Can you imagine that, Frederica?"

  Frederica could not speak. Lord Urquhart's voice was quiet but menacing, filled with mocking levity.

  "Oh, did you think I rattled around this crumbling ancestral pile all by myself, child?"

  At that moment, they began to laugh at her, and she placed her hands over her ears to block the hateful sound. Lord Urquhart pulled Sydonie onto his lap and began to unfasten the straining hooks of her bodice, swiftly uncovering the twin peaks of her magnificent breasts before lowering his mouth to feast upon her prominent chocolate nipples. An almost instantaneous change came upon the young woman, who began to writhe and moan in ecstasy, her long-toed feet scrabbling on the rug, strong arms pulling her Master's head down to feed upon her chest.

  "Aaah, aaah, aaah..."

  "Mmmm. Such bountiful tits, sweet Sydonie. Generous yet firm, standing proud without support, nipples to the north."

  Sydonie continued to squirm and gasp in Lord Urquhart's embrace, one long brown leg escaping from the complex folds of the scarlet skirt. The flesh was firm and smooth, almost like some exotic tropical hardwood, and shone softly, as if freshly oiled. Slowly, Lord Urquhart ran the very tips of his fingers up the inside of her thigh and smiled as his servant shuddered violently, thrusting her moist sex against his searching hand.

  "You see? She always wants it. Morning, noon or night. My luscious Sydonie is ever ready to mount my horny pole."

  With that, Lord Urquhart unbuttoned his trouser fly and released a massive member, quite disproportionate to his slight build. The wriggling young woman cried out in pleasure and fell onto her knees before him, taking his full erection between her moist red lips and almost swallowing its length with greedy haste. Despite her horror, Frederica watched, as if bewitched, unable to move one inch as Lord Urquhart received intense fellatio from his wanton slave. I'm getting damp in my drawers, just like when Wade said he was going to spank my bare bottom. I wonder if Lord Urquhart will spank me too? Will he redden Sydonie's broad buttocks once she has drained his seed? Briefly, the young woman's thoughts returned to the abandoned nursery and, despite her fury at the humiliating assault, her moist sex thrilled at the memory of her cousin's hand upon her squirming cheeks... She loathed Wade Roe with a purple passion, but knew she yearned to be mastered once again...

  "Look and learn, child, for tomorrow your time will come."

  It was almost as if some potent spell had been broken. Frederica realized that she still crouched on all fours, just as she had fallen, the sullied skirts of her fine new gown billowing out upon the coarse fur of the bearskin rug. Lord Urquhart was buttoning his trouser fly and Sydonie sat silently at his feet, her coppery breasts coated with a glistening mess of semen. The young woman looked drowsy, her dark eyes as vacant as an opium addict's. Slowly, she raised a languid hand to massage one of the turgid mahogany nipples, then slid into a recumbent position, seemingly asleep. Lord Urquhart smiled at Frederica, who began to assess the extent of the mud stains upon her hemline, unwilling to meet his piercing gaze. The innocuous tones of his voice washed over her as she fussed with the heavy woolen cloth, angry tears beginning to prick her emerald eyes. My appearance was perfect, until I stepped from the stagecoach. Immaculate!

  "She will sleep for a while, then arise, fresh as a daisy and ready to start all over again. A love slave, or odalisque, is a trained pet, Frederica, existing only to service her Master's needs. In time, she comes to see no other purpose to her life, can take no pleasure in anything but satisfying her owner's demands, effectively addicted to his desires. When my cock sleeps, so does sweet Sydonie..."

  At last, Frederica looked up, first at the softly snoring figure by Lord Urquhart's feet, then at the man himself. The mud on her skirts was rapidly drying in the heat of the roaring fire and several large flakes sloughed off, pale dun against the black fur of the rug. To her horror, an unruly tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the back of one gloved hand.

  "I'm a wretched mess..."

  Why was she apologizing for her appearance, when he had not sent a horse to meet her?

  "So you are, and I really should put you over my knees and spank your naughty little bottom."<
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  "Oh!"

  She could not help herself. A sudden exhilarating spark of electricity jolted through her body, seemingly sourced in the tingling cleft between her thighs... A brief bolt of summer lightning and then delicious, all encompassing, melting submission... She was ice before the fire.

  "I'm sorry, Lord Urquhart! I had a beautiful hat but it fell off when I tumbled down the drive! With silk roses and a veil! And my boots were new! Indeed, everything was new. And my hair so carefully dressed..."

  Why had that pleading tone entered her voice? What right did he have to accept her abject groveling at his feet?

  "Ah, dear Frederica. I think you are going to do most admirably."

  Oh please! Undress me, spank my bare bottom as if I were an unruly child! Teach me about love.

  "Thank you, sir."

  For what seemed like an eternity, they gazed at one another, and it appeared to Frederica that she knelt naked at Lord Urquhart's feet, although he merely stroked the glowing ringlets of her hair.

  "Your hair is on fire. What a lover you are going to be."

  I'm afraid. Will it hurt to be taught?

  "I think I shall enjoy taking your virginity, my dear. It's such a long time since I had that particular simple pleasure. Sydonie came to me with many accomplishments, quite a different kettle of fish altogether. Oh, don't be deceived; I have a different method of making her scream. There's nothing quite so arousing as a frightened young lady. Fear is the ultimate aphrodisiac, broaching the final bastions of the conscious mind, beyond which we are free to explore the primal sea of unrestrained desire..."

  If I look down, I shall see that my clothes have vanished and I'm bare before the fire, the shadow of the flames playing upon my creamy skin.

  Tentatively, Frederica reached down to touch her thigh, but her gloved hand sensed the faint roughness of the woolen traveling dress and she almost flinched, an aching pang of disappointment coursing through her weary body.

  "How do you know?"

  "That you are a virgin? It's in your eyes, a subtle veil, an innocence you cannot hide. Don't regret your maidenly condition for one moment, Frederica. It's not a practiced sensualist I seek, but a fresh canvas on which to express my dreams, my idealism... Every man carries such a creature within his heart – a captive bride – Isis to his Osiris..."

  Looking almost wistful, Lord Urquhart rose from his chair, and, stepping over the sleeping Sydonie as if she were a favorite pet, he bent to warm his fingers by the blazing logs. Frederica watched him intently, unable to conceal her curiosity. Was it a trick of the flickering firelight? Suddenly he seemed much younger than before. There were so many questions to ask and yet they had forever, did they not? Softly, she inquired:

  "May I ask how old you are, sir?"

  Lord Urquhart's clear gray eyes were filled with dancing flames as he turned to her and smiled.

  "Does it matter? Old enough to be your father. Or, indeed, your father's father. I am as aged as the Sphinx and every bit as knowing. I didn't know Helen of Troy personally, but of course, I had a friend who did..."

  The corners of his puckish mouth began to twitch and his eyes to crinkle with mirth. Frederica began to laugh, impulsively reaching out to touch the smooth coolness of his perfect shirt. Abruptly, Lord Urquhart straightened up and the young woman flushed.

  "I – I'm sorry, I just wanted to see if you are real and not some figment of my fevered imagination. Please tell me when we are to be married."

  Tenderly, Lord Urquhart pressed his lips against the palm of her gloved hand, his face seemingly painted with the colors of the sunset as the fire leaped high in the grate.

  "Tomorrow afternoon, my most precious. You see the haste with which your master would bind you to him for all eternity? I do not intend to let you change your mind."

  * * * *

  The next morning, Frederica woke to the pale beams of winter sunlight slanting across the faded counterpane. She had not bothered to close the shutters, as there were no lights outside and no bright moon to keep her from falling sound asleep in the great boat of a bed. She had slept like the dead, unconscious almost the moment her head touched the plump feather pillow, yet the night had been broken by a strange dream in which she had risen from her bed and padded across the uneven wooden floor, guided by the faint orange glow of embers in the bedroom hearth. Stealthily opening the heavy door just enough to slip out onto the narrow gallery, she crept forwards, pausing to look down upon the great hall where vast dusty tapestries hung like weary flags about the sandstone walls. There was the huge fireplace with its baronial coat of arms carved into the lintel – two rearing griffins fiercely clasping a heraldic shield – and there the bearskin rug and Lord Urquhart's chair. To Frederica's surprise, a lively fire still burned in the grate and, what was more, someone had placed a large circle of lighted candles upon the floor. In the center of the guttering, smoking ring crouched Sydonie, naked but for a dark cloth wrapped about her head like an executioner's hood. Lord Urquhart stood over her with a coachman's whip, silently staring at the writhing prey, which cowered in submission at his feet. In the dream, Frederica stepped back into the shadows, quietly returning to her bed as a faint voice implored, "Oh, please, please..." then rose in terror to a blood-curdling scream as lash cut flesh...

  A beautiful morning and the day of her marriage... Frederica threw back the heavy bedcovers and, hurriedly enveloping her shoulders in a cashmere shawl, slid onto the window seat to gaze out upon Lord Urquhart's estate. This bedroom looked out at what must once have been a formal garden of breathtaking beauty, a symmetrical pattern of gravel paths and oblong rose beds neatly bordered by low privet hedges and occasionally embellished by a graceful statue or Grecian urn. Suddenly suffused with a youthful urge to explore this magical kingdom, the young woman dressed quickly and, aware that the vast house was still sleepily silent, found the servants' stairs and slipped quietly out into the glittering day.

  Still so lovely but so sad...

  The garden bore the air of an elderly gentlewoman, faded yet proud, melancholy in its widow's weeds. Slowly, Frederica walked the narrow paths, pausing to greet the smiling statues of Diana and Apollo, and to cast a sorrowful eye over the roses, the tangled thorns of which crept rampant upon the stony ground. In the summer, this must be a sea of weeds, dandelions and daisies and wildflowers seeded by the March winds, noisy with friendly bees and brightened by butterflies... There was a stagnant lily pond in the center of the parterre, with a small and silent fountain guarded by a lascivious nymph. Looking down into the murky, bottle green depths, Frederica started as the shadows deepened and her husband-to-be greeted her.

  "Tradition states that on the day of a wedding, the bride and groom should not set eyes upon each other until the ceremony. What shall we do?"

  "Oh dear. Is it bad luck?"

  Suddenly nervous, Frederica realized that she had omitted to pin up her hair, which lolled in rambunctious sleep-tousled curls upon the soft blue wool of her cape. A sharp stab of unpreparedness rent her dreamy mood and it was as if she had abruptly fallen to earth like a stunned bird. The ceremony is this afternoon and I have not picked out a dress to wear... Oh! The trunk!

  "Sir, I fear my trousseau lies in a box abandoned by the gates to Urquhart Hall. Can it be retrieved this morning?"

  She was beginning to panic, a myriad of worrisome thoughts spiraling through her head until, quite dizzy, she sank down upon the broad stone rim of the pond.

  "Darling Frederica. Your box may wait. I have selected a bridal gown and veil for my sweet young love. When we return to the house, you will go to your room and there you will find a young girl from the village who will assist you with your preparations. She has been given her instructions and you will not alter them. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, but..."

  Firmly, Lord Urquhart placed one stern finger against Frederica's lips and again she felt the surge of electricity between her legs, spinning in the very pit of her stomach with a potency
that made her long to cry out. Her creamy redhead's skin flushed scarlet as his finger moved up to rest upon the tip of her nose in the manner of a strict schoolmaster. Again, the hot tears were so close to spilling from her brimming eyes and she could not meet the intensity of his gaze. Instead, she concentrated on a patch of velvety moss, imagining she saw odd patterns in the creeping green fur. Lord Urquhart continued to speak but his words were lost, as if carried away by the wind. Only the depths and the darkness of the tone remained, and she seemed to be falling into a well of unconsciousness...

  "Answer me, young lady."

  "I ... I'm sorry, sir. Please ... I feel so dizzy, as if I shall faint..."

  "I see. You are rather more impressionable than your fiery locks suggest. Almost painfully susceptible to suggestion. You are a rare delight, Miss Frederica. Now, when you have recovered some of your equilibrium, we shall go for a walk. There is something I wish to show you."

  Tucking her arm beneath his, Lord Urquhart led the way through the maze of narrow pathways, Frederica tottering beside him like an invalid who has finally been allowed to take some air after many months of confinement. Beneath the weighty winter dress and petticoats, her legs appeared to have turned to gelatin and her heart beat fit to burst from her chest.

  I am a doll. A lovely, virginal, nubile bride doll, with a porcelain head and a soft body stuffed with animal hair. My Master will keep me in a special box, like Sydonie, only bringing me out to play with my limp form and breathe life into my hapless shell. I am a marionette. Oh, see Him lift my languid limbs, one by one, my God, my creator, my keeper...