When you left me, I was within the library of Melrose Manor, smoking a wonderful cigar and wondering on what to do next. As you can tell, I’m no slow poke when it came to using the old bean. Yet, neither am I a professor of advanced age and education. I, for example, am not able to fill a board with formulas and babble about the meaning of life. I mean, really, the meaning of life? Why waste one’s time on such subjects when one should be living life.
The point is the only thing I could come up with was that something had happened, that very day, to change my daughters’ behavior. I had to find out what it was, and find out soon, because my thoughts had fixated on the idea that it could be dangerous.
I mean, yes, they’ve become easier to live with now. But what if they change tomorrow? What if whatever is happening wears off, by God? Or changes them in some way that makes them even more unpleasant?
I shuddered at the thought. But how did I find out? How did I test the idea?
I rang for Young.
He entered the library and said, “Sir?”
I cleared my throat and said, “Have you noticed anything strange, Young?”
“Yes, strange. Have you noticed anything strange in the manor?”
“Nothing weird about the family?”
“Indeed not, sir.”
“Nothing in the air? The water does not taste bad?”
I was slightly stumped. I realized that being the perfect butler, Young was unlikely to find anything strange about anybody’s behavior. Even if he did, he would never say so.
Also, it hit me that if he was also effected by the, whatever it is, then he might not even notice that he, or the others, were acting strangely.
I decided to try another approach.
“Young,” I said with a puff on the cigar, “anything new in the mansion’s kitchen. The cook is well, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “She and the Lady Melrose are getting along well.”
I was somewhat surprised. The cook, a French woman, hated my wife. She thought the older woman was too cheap and didn’t understand the needs of a chef. In fact, I thought they hated each other.
“Oh yes, sir,” he added. “They are planning Miss Kathryn’s party as we speak.”
I nodded and said, “Very well Young. That is all.”
“Very good, sir.”
As he left the room I started to feel despair. Alarm bells should have been going off in Young’s butler brain and yet he had shown not an ounce, not a pinch, of wariness. They had gotten Young!
Then I stopped myself. I stiffened my upper lip and sat upright. Hold on, don’t babble, I thought to myself. Who are they? Don’t start making up THEY. You need more facts. You need to understand the chain of events.
So, of course I decided to break it down. And what it came down to was one thing. The milk. I am the only person in the manor, in the estate, in the whole district that hates milk. Were the Dairy people trying to take over the world?
I had to investigate and, trying to not be seen, I went to the kitchen. Now, that is not as easy as it may sound. First, I am the Lord of the Manor. Trying to move around without a dozen servants trying to help me was no easy task. And also I was entering what many would have thought of as off limits to a man of my class and standing.
I soon found what was I was looking for. The milk was in the fridge. I pulled out a carton and frowned at it. It was from a local farm and seemed harmless enough.
I sniffed at the milk and frowned. Had it gone back? Or maybe there was some type of bacteria? I had once read that a certain parasite in fish could force them to change their behavior, making them swim near the surface. The fish were caught and eaten by a bird. The bird deposited its waste in the water, spreading the parasite’s offspring, so they get gobbled up by other fish.
What if a parasite lived in the cows? The best way for this creature to travel from cow to cow would be to get into the milk. Logical. And totally paranoid. Surly the parasite would have died during the stage of pasteurization?
I put the milk back and sighed.
I have to say that the lunch, at the civilized hour of just after 2 PM, was somewhat an ordeal. Erika chatted about the weather and Kathryn seemed to be happy to listen and agree. Francine was telling me how she, and the cook, had decided on a simple menu for the upcoming party.
It was enough to turn the food to ash in my mouth. It seemed to me that the, whatever it was, made people more submissive or agreeable. Or maybe it took away their will? But if they had no will, would they even bother to move or breath or eat?
“Dear,” I said to Francine, as the two girls decided to tell each other how good the kidney pie was, “how are you feeling?”
She smiled at me and said, “Wonderful dear. How are you?”
“Wonderful,” I said. “I was just wondering. You know that dress I liked to see you in? The one with the short skirt and very low neckline? Wear it tonight at dinner.”
Francine loved me, I am sure of it. But there were a few things that bothered her. She didn’t like my cigar smoking. She didn’t like my habit of collecting science fiction first editions. And she really didn’t like the black evening dress I bought her last year. It was designed for one reason. To show off her figure. She had worn it once but never again afterwards.
She was too well mannered to say anything about it, but as you know, I’m not a fool. I can tell these things.
“Of course, love,” she said.
I find myself with the mixed feeling of horror and happiness. I would be able to control my household. My wife would obey me. My children would obey me. My butler would allow me to wear a white dining jacket and a green tie, if I wanted to. Maybe I could even get the French chef to stop waving that knife about when she became upset. Europeans, those of the Gallic races anyway, are so emotional.
Yet, was it the milk? Or maybe something else? Did cigar smoking make me immune to whatever it was?
Suddenly I noticed Francine was waiting for me to continue. Her fork and knife was held in her hands, as she watched me.
“And,” I continued, “You will enjoy wearing it. You will enjoy anything I tell you to do, OK? Be a good, happy, willing wife.”
“Of course, dear,” she said before digging into the meal. I noticed she give me a look that suggested she was going to be very willing after tonight’s meal. I felt a tad uncomfortable. Could my words have hidden meanings to a person? Was my wife not as innocent as I thought? Should I be more careful about which words I pick?
I tried to remember everything I had said since breakfast, every word, and every question. I realized, that like the codes entered into a computer, that the commands I was giving might interact in ways I may not foresee.
Fear started to enter my heart. Even if I was not going to be changed or kidnapped or enslaved what if I screwed some command up? What if I end up hurting somebody or, gasp, get hurt myself?
I spent much of the time before dinner in the library. I absorbed book after book, trying to find an answer to my worries. Was it the milk? Could the human mind be controlled like that?
My problem was, while my library was vast, the subjects it held was somewhat limited. Dusty tomes on cigar history, cook books from Europe, books on gardening, and, of course, my collection of science fiction. I have to say, the books on science were somewhat lacking.
By the time dinner was served I was a wreck. Totally off my feed, I barely touched the salmon mousse and the wine, frankly, went to waste.
I did enjoy my wife’s lovely figure in her dress. Her breasts were on display, almost pushed upwards by the way the dress supported her bust. My daughters also acted somewhat civilized, thou I would be the first to admit their dialogue was less then sparkling. Most of it seemed to focus on the weather, again, how good the food was, how pretty Francine’s dress was, and how wonderful the glassware was. They were coming across as, what I believe they call, airheads.
In the end I could not do the meal justice and even felt a tad guilty about how much was left on my plate. I retired, with my wife, to the parlor, to share a bottle of brandy. I gave very strong orders that we were not to be disturbed. I may have worded it a tad strongly, but my plans called for complete privacy. I told my daughters to go to the library and read up on manners, while dismissing Young for the evening.
I smiled at my wife, sipping my brandy and then, almost on impulse, said, “Slowly strip my dear.”
She didn’t bother to reply but slowly peeled off the dress. I should point out that the dress was meant to be worn, without any undergarments. It had built in wires and other support structures to help the wearer keep her form fit and trim. So there was nothing underneath the fabric as it was slowly, inch by inch, pushed down her shapely body.
As you can guess, with only a few simple piece of jewelry against her pale skin, I could not help but be responsive to her charm. In other words, to be a tad more direct, and maybe a touch common, my flag pole went up. Yes, I got a hard on.
I mean, there she was, naked, smiling at me, her dress like a pool of shadow at her shoes, the woman I loved. How could I not become a wolf in a dining jacket?
I sat down on a chair, drained the brandy, waved her over as I started to undo my pants. I wanted her to mount me, and frankly, I was going to make her do all the work while I sat there and just relaxed. Well, not relaxed. As you could guess a large part of my muscles would be working over time, but you know what I mean.
As she slowly impaled herself on my cock I could not keep my fantasies inside anymore. Always being a kind, gentle Lord in public had its toll. I wanted to use and abuse her. I wanted to rape her. I was a Lord, the Master of the House, and half the time I was treated like a idiot inbreed moron. I wanted to take charge!
I moaned, grabbed her breasts and twisted the nipples. I was going to take charge from now on.
“Hump my cock,” I moaned. Or was it begged? “Hump it, bounce these tits, make me cum. Don’t stop, don’t slow down, don’t let me go unsatisfied.”
She started to move up and down like a piston, her breasts shaking, her face turning wet with sweat. I didn’t need to tell her anything else. I believe the command at lunch, telling her to be willing, had primed her for these fresh commands. The chair jerked as the room filled with the noise of wet, moist flesh working against each other.
I tried to stay still, but even my hips could not refuse the call of the wild. Soon both of us were moving together, answering the desire and passion that burned in our blood.
I have to say, I don’t think sex had ever been as good. Oh, she was always good in bed, but there had been something holding her back. A barrier, a glove of civilization, that needed to come off before she could truly be a eager sex partner. As I pinched her nipples, hard, and squeezed them, I realized that her eyes were wide open but empty. I don’t mean they didn’t hold lust or love for me. But I believe there was no longer any worries, fears, or modestly. It wasn’t that she was out of control. It was just that she had given up control to me.
As she screwed me into the chair, she did so with freedom she had never felt before. Freedom I had given her and I could no longer hold back.
I exploded inside her. If I could say this without upsetting the viewer, it was the best sex I had ever had. My cum filled her, the warm sticky liquid mixing with hers. She was also climaxing and that, of course, added to my pleasure. There was a feedback system for the next few seconds, as our loud groans and jerking bodies added to the orgasms, making them stronger, increasing their power.
It took me a few minutes to recover. All I could do was pant and look up at her face. She was waiting for her next command. Her face was not that of a drooling zombie. She was not mindless, sitting there like a puppet. She face was flushed, but happy and she was smiling.
This was not like some Las Vegas club act, with the hypnotized woman who acted like a robot, and went back to normal afterwards. Something inside her was truly becoming willing. Maybe the more commands I give the more she adjusted to obeying?
“Get dressed and go to bed,” I said. “But do not go to sleep. When I join you in the bedroom I want more sex. This time I’ll be on top. Understand?”
“Of course dear,” she responded as she slide off my lap and started to collect her dress.
“When in private,” I added with a grin, “you will answer me as Lord. That is what I am. Lord of this house.”
“Yes, Lord,” she said, without a blink, pulling the dress up her smooth flanks.
After she exited the room I remember to do up my pants and poured myself another brandy. A tall one that almost over filled in the glass as I sipped it.
Well, as you can guess my thoughts were spinning about like a top. I was thinking of all the things I could do. Depending on how far the milk had been marketed I could control business owners, party leaders, priests, Knights of the realm. I could get the best wines, cuts of meat and Cuban cigars.
I would have to be careful. One wrong command. One wrong move in public. One command to the wrong person. Yes, I would have to keep my nose to the grind stone and my eyes on the prize. Well, you know what I mean. The old bean would have to work over time. I would have to get it on the building of my empire right away.
I smiled as I placed the empty glass on the table. Well, I decided, I would start right away in the morning. First, I had some fun I was looking forward to. Fun I would have all night long.