Robert Desmond
House of Evil
CHAPTER ONE
"Just take your time, my dear, and try to pretend I'm not even in the room with you," George Blackwell instructed the stunningly beautiful redhead with a slight chuckle. "I'll simply be working in here for awhile."
"Yes sir," Nadalee Parker replied in a soft, shy voice, nodding sweetly as she bent down to dust a bookshelf a few feet away from where her new employer sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his intelligent but somehow disturbing gaze seeming to bore straight through the sheerness of her white maid's uniform. She felt a cold shiver run through her, as though his eyes were stripping her bare, and the very fact of his assurance that she should pay no attention to him because he was "working", made her feel all the more uncomfortable in his presence. For he was not working at all but only sitting there, almost leering at her, glancing up and down the length of her body with a strange sort of approving smile on his stern-featured face. Her hand trembled inadvertently as she swiped along the tops of the books with the feather-duster and she suddenly found herself unable to concentrate on what she was doing from one moment to the next.
Jesus, what an innocent, juicy young bitch! George thought to himself as he ogled his new maid's lush, girlish figure. She was almost like a toy, a sexy little eighteen-year-old toy, with long copper-red hair and big fluttery emerald-green eyes. And man, he was glad now that he had allowed his wife, Dolores, to talk him into buying Nadalee the "uniform" she was wearing. It was a lacy blouse and a kind of little-girl pinafore with a tucked-in waist and a short skirt that accentuated every inch of the lovely girl's body, from the deep cleavage showing between her large, firm, white breasts to the taper of her slender waist and the rounded outward curve of her luscious hips that sloped to her long full-swelling thighs and, lower, to her well-formed calves and ankles… Hell, yes, she was absolutely mouth-watering to look at! He could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on those ripe young curves and bring her to a pitch of passion that would make her beg for what he could certainly give her when she was ready. But she had to be ready, he reminded himself, or his ambitious plans for her in the future might never be fully realized. Still, though, he decided, it could not hurt anything now to relish her choiceness from a distance. He involuntarily drew in his breath at the sight of her sweet chasteness. There was no denying that there was something especially vulnerable about Nadalee, in that almost naked expression on her face that made her look as if she required protection from everything around her and that she was the kind of girl around whom men automatically watched their language and probably usually felt guilty about even desiring. After all, she looked so pure, so thoroughly innocent, so untouched by the tough sophistication of big city life and the fast types of people that he and Dolores had left behind them in San Francisco. But there was something more too, something deeper and excitingly sensual, an innate sexuality in her that seemed to be just begging to be exploited to the fullest. Well, by Christ, he was just the man to do it, he gloated inwardly, thinking with pride of himself as one of those rare, rare exceptions – a man whose own perversity and lust were points of genuine honor in his mind.
"Do you like it here, Nadalee?" George asked bluntly, surprising the girl with the sudden sound of his voice.
"Oh yes – yes, I like it very much," the redhead answered quickly, avoiding his eyes as she struggled to control herself and not betray her discomfort around him.
"Do you like me, Nadalee?" he interrogated, grinning pointedly as he continued to feast his eyes on her voluptuous young body like some sort of monarch about to enjoy a ritual sacrifice. He could not get over her youthful smoothness, how unused and unmarked she appeared to be, even though he knew that she was married to Newton, whom he had hired along with her as chauffeur and handyman, a young man who was only two years older than she.
"You didn't answer my question, dear. I asked if you like me," George repeated after a moment.
"Y-yes… I-I like you, sir," Nadalee stammered, blushing a little as she continued to work without daring to look up at the big man sitting behind the desk.
"But what exactly do you like about me?" he taunted, enjoying her embarrassment and how she unconsciously dusted again a surface of the bookshelf that she had just finished a moment before. "Do you like me the same way you like your husband?"
"I… I don't know what you mean, Mr. Blackwell," the lovely green-eyed girl quailed as she turned to briefly glimpse his face for some sign, some clue to his meaning, and saw the slight smirk on his face as his eyes blatantly traced the contour of her throat to the tantalizing valley of cleavage between her full breasts suspending below her bent form under the gauzy veneer of the lacy white blouse. She hardly dared to breathe and anxiously wondered why he was putting her in such an awkward position by asking a question that she obviously did not know how to answer. She knew that her face was a beet-red color and the knowledge only served to fluster her more.