by Sahara Kelly
Asylum for the
Mechanically Insane
Book III - Perversion
Sahara Kelly
Copyright 2014 Sahara Kelly for
SK Private Label Publications
Cover Art Copyright 2014
S.L. Carpenter for P and N Graphics, LLC
Acknowledgements
My thanks to all the incredible writers who have inspired me, enthralled me and taken me into new places and new worlds with their words. So many have become good “friends” with whom I share a welcome mini-vacation on a cold evening, or a warm summer afternoon. And to readers, like myself, who consider books as necessary as breathing – long may we snuggle up and lose ourselves in those stories.
To my best friend and superlative cover artist, my gratitude for this series of covers that continually astound. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating…you so rock, Scott Carpenter!
Author’s Note
Yes, this is my ongoing alert when it comes to this series of books. Since my backlist is chock full of erotic romances, it’s not surprising that I continue to remind you that this is not part of that genre. Although this book has a great deal more adult content than the first two, it is still primarily a Gothic Horror story. The sex is necessary because of the plot, and only because of the plot. I haven’t turned my back on my romance genre by any means, but this exploration of horror and the darkness that can exist within the human mind is turning out to be a great deal more intriguing than I had imagined. Multi-character tales, an ongoing story arc, and assorted terrible goings-on…well, it’s a challenge and an adventure that I am doing my best to embrace to its fullest. And yes, I do confess to a nightmare or two now and again. So once more I thank you for taking a risk, girding your loins and walking this strange and complex path with me. Hang on to your knickers and try not to step in the blood…
Cast of Characters
Currently residing in, and owners of, Harbury Hall
Lord Randall Harbury --- Inherited Harbury Hall after the
Lady Alwynne Harbury --- ”death” of their nephew, Devon Harbury
Malcolm --- Butler to the Harburys
Other Household Staff --- Housekeeper, Servants, etc.
Stephen Waring --- Private Assistant to Lord Harbury
Young Tom --- Mute Servant to Lord Harbury
Residents and workers in the Harbury Laboratories
Dr. Eldon Granville --- Specialist in Gaseous Vapors
Viscount St. John Somerly --- Distant Cousin to Eldon Granville, Amateur Scientist
Mr. ‘Enry --- The Cook
Other Servants --- Residents of Level One
Devon Harbury --- Inmate, Level Seven, presently Level Four
Eleven other men --- Inmates, Level Seven, presently Level Four
Various physicians and scientists --- As yet unrevealed experiments
Mary Jones, a maid --- Alias assumed by Portia Fielding
Other Interested Parties
James Burke, Inspector --- Attached to Lord Lieutenant’s Office
Mrs. Louise Onslow --- Milliner, Little Harbury
Daisy and Maisie Woods --- Sisters and Apprentice Milliners, Little Harbury
Mrs. Charlotte Howell --- Antiquarian, Little Harbury
Miss Mary O’Malley --- Friend of the Woods girls
Several London Gentlemen --- Cronies of Granville and Somerly
Baron Gerolf Von Landau --- A Scientist from Leipzig, Germany
Prologue
In the laboratories beneath Harbury Hall, an elegant estate owned by Lord and Lady Harbury of Hampshire. It is barely a few hours away from London, where Queen Victoria holds the throne of England…
“What do you think, Sinjin?”
“She’ll do, old chap. I agree.”
The nude girl turned over on the bed, propping herself up on her forearms and letting her full breasts droop nearly to the mattress. “Lookee, you two. Let’s get at it, shall we? You promised me ten quid an’ I don’t mind earnin’ it. But you’d better be fuckin’ serious about that there money, ‘cos it’s a long trip to get ‘ere, an’ I got plans for it.”
Eldon Granville smiled. “I do love a woman with enthusiasm.”
His cousin and scientific associate agreed. “Oh yes. Jolly good.” He turned and closed the thick door to the small chamber. “Would you like to go first, Eldon?”
“So kind, Sinjun. Maybe together? Or shall we just let nature take its course this time?”
“Hmm.”
“I think nature ought to have a little bit of help, though.” Granville picked up a small jar, inside which something drifted, misty and touched with a slight greenish tinge. He walked to the bed. “Here, my dear. Have a sniff of this. It’s from…um…from Paris. All the rage on the Bois du Boulogne. It’ll make you feel absolutely magnificent.”
She eyed it warily. “Wot’s in ‘ere?”
“The scent of passion. Of desire. The aroma of lust which has traveled down in time from the bed of Caligula to the chambers of Don Juan and hence to here.” St. John Somerly smiled. “Trust us, my dear. It’s a wonderful experience. Even our very own Lady Harbury enjoys a whiff now and again.”
“Oooh, reeeeely?”
“Really.” Granville sat on one side of the bed, flipping up a small lid on top of the jar and keeping his thumb over the opening as he held it out. “Just put your mouth over this little opening and breathe in slowly.”
“You two gonna ‘ave some too?” Her tone was suspicious.
“Oh yes, of course.” Granville made a great show of putting the jar to his own mouth and breathing loudly. The fact that he got barely a thimbleful in his mouth and then quietly breathed it out again…well, she didn’t notice that.
Somerly had helped by moving behind her and stroking her round buttocks, distracting her as Granville played his little trick. “Such a lovely arse, dear.”
She turned slightly away from Granville and toward the man rubbing her backside. “Yep. ‘T’is, innit? I keeps it soft as I can. Got a woman wot gives me some stuff from sheepskin now an’ again. Lanny-something.”
“Ah.” Granville reached for one full breast and squeezed it, teasing the nipple into ripe hardness. “That would be lanolin, I believe.”
“Oooh.” She shivered as his thumb flicked the red bud. “You’re right. Clever stuff, ain’t we?”
“You have no idea.” He held out the jar again. “Your turn.”
“Oh, alright then, Mister Pushy.” She giggled and leaned toward him as he moved his thumb, putting her lips over the little hole and breathing in gustily.
He slid the covering back into place as she lifted her mouth from the jar. Sinjin had moved from her arse to her back and with equal speed he slipped a hand around and over her mouth. “No coughing it out now. Just hold your breath a moment or two.”
Her eyes widened a little as his hand held her mouth shut, but her nostrils were free, and within seconds she relaxed.
“There. That’s better.” Granville smiled as he and his cousin watched the girl start to loll sensuously on the linens. Her pupils were already dilating and her skin flushed with a delightful rosy tint.
“Gawd, I want summat.” She wriggled, her hips pushing down into the bed. “I got me a real bad itch…” Her body started to move.
“Oh let’s not waste this, darling.” Sinjin laughed and turned her onto her back. “Show us, dear. Show us where you itch…”
He glanced at Granville, who nodded. It was working.
The girl’s hands moved, one darting down to her crotch, feverishly delving between the thick lushness of her sex. The othe
r found her breasts, sliding from one nipple to the other, squeezing, pinching, bringing a ruddy glow to the tips of her full globes.
She was a sensual picture painted by lust, her cheeks flushed, her hips lifting now as her legs grew taut and pushed her groin high, seeking fulfillment from her own hand.
Finally she screamed.
Granville and Somerly looked at each other. “One down. If it stays true to our predictions, there’ll be dozens more before she’s out.” Granville briefly glanced at his pocket watch and then jotted a note on the desk near the almost empty jar.
“Well, let’s not waste any of them.” Somerly chuckled as he reached for his waistcoat buttons.
Both men froze at the sound of a knock at the door. It was loud, imperative and not to be ignored. Especially since the girl had begun a series of lustful moans, filling the room with the sound of her second climax as it crept up on her.
“Dammit.” Somerly strode to the door and opened the tiny peephole. It showed him their laboratory, pretty much as they’d left it. It also showed him something else.
With a muttered oath, he unlocked the door and swung it open.
“About time, fffoolsss. You have a woman here. I want to play with her.” The sibilant hiss came from the working half of an almost monstrously inhuman mouth. It matched the horror of the face above it, portions of which were little more than rotting ligaments and darkening bone. The eye had no lid and although it matched the other in movement, it created an eerie and terrible image that none who had seen it could ever forget.
Both men had seen it—and knew to whom it belonged. Granville found his voice first, surrendering to the inevitable.
“Of course. Won’t you come in, Lord Harbury? She’s all yours…”
Chapter 1
“My lady…”
Alwynne Harbury groaned and turned her head on her pillow, pushing tangled locks of blonde hair away from her face. “Mmmph.”
“Lady Alwynne, wake up…please.””
A firm hand touched her shoulder and shook her lightly. “Again, Stephen? God, you’re insatiable.” She rolled over onto her back and parted her naked thighs. “But for some reason, insatiable sounds just what I need tonight.” She arched her spine, eyes closed, and waited for the touch of his marvelous body to further assuage the need he’d already satisfied twice this evening.
“No, Lady Alwynne, not that.” He sounded worried.
She blinked and finally opened her eyes.
He stood at the bottom of the bed, his chestnut hair mussed and sticking up every which way around that perfect fact of his. His loose shirt was open and his breeches barely laced.
“What?” She yawned.
“There’s been a problem, my lady. With his Lordship.” He bent and pulled on a boot.
That brought her awake with a shiver of apprehension and she was out of bed and shrugging into her nightgown within seconds. “Where is he?”
“On his way back from one of the laboratories.” The other boot was tugged rapidly upward.
She bundled her hair into a bun at the back of her head and haphazardly stuck a few pins in it as she passed in front of her dressing table. “What the hell was he doing down there? How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that Robert and Arthur were called.”
Lady Alwynne allowed herself a brief moment of fury. “Fuck.” She reached for a thick robe and snapped the belt tightly around her slender waist. “Tell me honestly, Stephen. How bad is it?”
He blew a breath through his teeth in a quiet hiss. “She’s dead.”
Alwynne rolled her eyes. “Dammit to hell. Damn him to hell.”
“Better that way, after what I heard.”
Stephen’s voice shook a little, telling Alwynne more than she wanted to know. She reached for the ornate door handle. “Are they bringing him back?”
“To his suite, yes. Through the garden door. He’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.” He followed her from the bedroom and through her sitting room to the corridor beyond. “One of Robert’s lads brought the message while you slept. He’s trustworthy, Lady Alwynne. You don’t have to worry. Nobody else knows.”
“For now.” She gritted her teeth as the two of them rushed down the carpeted hallway.
It was a good three or four minute walk through the maze that was Harbury Hall’s upper floor. Lord Harbury was housed as far away from the rest of the household as Alwynne could put him without making him sleep in the barn. She had often wished that was an option, even though she knew she could never do that to the horses.
But at times like these…
They reached the spiral staircase ascending to her husband’s rooms, and she grimaced at the clear evidence that he was already there.
Blood drops spattered the floor where he’d obviously been helped upstairs. There were none on the walls or handrail though. Robert and Arthur were very good at their job.
For some reason, she hesitated at the door. Was this going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back? Was this the moment when she finally lost whatever iota of control she had left? And what would she do if that were to happen?
“Let me, my lady.”
Stephen gently moved her to one side and tapped on the solid oak. A little panel slid to one side and an eye appeared. Then disappeared, as the sounds of locks being undone and bolts being snapped open filled the darkened landing.
“Thank you Stephen.” She breathed the words quietly and stepped inside.
Blood.
That distinct metallic coppery smell hit her nostrils and she swallowed down bile.
Clothing littered the floor; thickly stained with the stuff, gobs of it in some places and an odd pristine flare of white linen contrasting horridly with the gore.
The sound of water rushing told Alwynne that her husband was being bathed in the cage shower device she’d had installed a few years before. It was an interesting contraption of piping, strongly resembling the cage for which it was named.
It only held one person, and was surrounded by a thick canvas fabric, but it did the job and allowed a servant to be present and assist if necessary. Randall Harbury had always needed that assistance. He’d have drowned long ago but for this cleansing system.
Alwynne realized her good intentions had circled around and had bitten her very roughly in the arse. He should have drowned years ago. Or been drowned. There was no excuse for this poor imitation of a human to survive.
But survive he did, and there he was.
She stood in the doorway to his bedroom and watched Young Tom, his body servant, wrap a towel around him and help him from his shower contraption.
Clean and glowing, Lord Randall Harbury’s body was amazingly fit, and for a brief moment Alwynne felt a tiny stir of desire. Angrily, she pushed it away and looked into the horror that was his face.
He was staring at her, his arrogant chin raised. What there was of it, anyway. “I might have known those buggerssss would call you.” He sneered, his broken mouth muddling some of his consonants, his spittle slurring the sibilant sounds. The fact that his speech was still understandable astounded her, given the increasing deterioration of the remnants of cheek, flesh, lips and musculature. It was as if a creeping fungus devoured half his face, a little more dying each time she saw it.
“Yes you should have known.” She kept the fury and disgust from her words as best she could. “You know you did something very wrong and you could have caused a terrible scandal. Exactly what we are trying to avoid, Randall.”
The remains of his lips managed a pout. “I never have any fun anymore. You don’t bring me women any more. And God forbid I should want to touch my own wife.”
He giggled, a chilling sound, and turned to Young Tom. “Can’t fuck my own wife, boy. Ssssad, isn’t it?”
There was no answer.
“Sssee?” Randall turned to Alwynne. “He’s ssstruck dumb with dissbelief. That’sss right, isn’t it Tommy?”
The lad nodded.
“He
can’t speak, Randall. Did you forget? He is mute.” Alwynne watched her husband carefully. Even for him this was bizarre behavior.
“Mute? Oh yesssss. I had forgotten.” He paused, still for a moment as if in thought. “I’m forgetting thingss a lot aren’t I?”
Alwynne wanted to ask him how the hell she was supposed to know what he was remembering or forgetting, but once again her control took over. “Never mind that. You need to rest. And you need to promise me, on your word of honor, that you will never go down to the laboratories alone again. Ever.”
He moved to the bed and dropped his towel, unconcerned that he was nude before them all. “Maybe.” He grinned, a deformed and unpleasant grimace. “If you’d get me sssomething to fuck now and again, perhapsss I wouldn’t think about it.” He sighed and leaned back against his pillows, his hand going to his cock and stroking it to hardness with a few deft moves. “I’m a bit tired of doing it myself all the time. Do you want to ssssuck me until I sssspend, dear wife? Do your marital dutiessss? Maybe ride me like you usssed to do?”
Alwynne turned away.
“I didn’t think sssso.”
She was aware that Stephen was still at the door listening to the entire conversation. Her cheeks heated and once again she swallowed down the nausea that churned in her belly.
“She gurgled, you know.”
Alwynne froze and then turned back to look at the monster on the bed. “What?”
“That whore. I fucked her hard, really hard, then took her from behind. She liked that once she got usssed to it. Didn’t really care what I did to her. She wanted it more than anyone I can ever remember having. It wasss fun.” He continued to stroke himself, but absently, as if remembering was taking all his concentration.
“Then she let me get rough. I like rough. Her arssse was so lovely and red where I hit it. Over and over and over…” His hand moved in time with his words.