: Roger Hastings 2017-06-28
: Waltz of the Wantons
: Pink Flamingo Media
: 9781942331841
: 1
: CHF 2.20
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 85
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

October, 1913-across the lonely Scottish moors to the Cailean's Blackthorne Estate, come men and women in horse-drawn coaches, motor cars, and even on horseback. The glittering ballroom is teeming with guests eager to partake the awaiting sexual pleasure. The real action, however, takes place in the cellars of Blackthorne, where captive maidens and a few young men satisfy the constant flow of guests who find their way down the winding stone stairway into a forbidden paradise.

Chapter One

Preparing For Passion

“Is the list complete?” Aunt Caroline looked up from the typewritten column of names.

“Of course,” Uncle Gerritt said around his stubby cigar. He folded his hands across his moderate paunch and settled deeper into the bulky upholstery of his chair.

Richard turned from the large parlor window and shrugged. “I will leave all the details to you. This will be the first Annual Autumn Ball since I arrived this Spring. Do we have enough girls to entertain our male guests?”

Uncle Gerritt chuckled, the cigar ash dribbling onto his tweed vest. “Just got twelve more last night while you were in town posting the invitations. Captain Farrold brought them in on his schooner, as usual.” He closed his eyes and grinned. “Tried out three of them already. Stripped them naked and strapped them down on the benches. Screamed like hell, they did. Bucked against their straps like wild ponies. But I made sure they found out what a real man’s cock feels like in their pussies.” He nodded at Caroline’s scowl. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch the three virgins. I know you wanted them saved for our highest-ranking guests.”

Richard glanced at Miss Ballard. “Will they be trained in time for the party?”

She abandoned her usual frown for a rare smile. “Yes, Sir Richard. I earn my title as ‘Mistress of Discipline’.” She slapped her heavy riding crop into the palm of her hand. “I worked on all of them last night,” she glanced at Gerritt, “when your Uncle wasn’t busy fucking them.”

Uncle Gerritt opened his eyes and winked at Richard. “Crom, Gregor, and young Barth are down in the cellar working them now. If it wasn’t for the soundproof doors, you could hear those wailing girls all the way to the village of Lympwyk.”

Richard turned back to the window, looking out over the meadows and moors of his south-west Scotland estate. “As Laird of Blackthorne House, I must be sure all our guests’ desires are fulfilled at the Autumn Ball. Do we have enough captive young men to pleasure the women guests?”

Aunt Caroline looked over the top of her fashion magazine. “Only a few, but they know what is expected of their tongues.” She sighed and smiled. “I personally tested each of them. All the ladies will get what they come here for.”

Selby, the venerable butler, hurried in throug