Bizarre Erotic Novel with a Gothic Feel and Atmosphere:

Little did Heather know when she took the secretarial job offer from Romily Manor, the nature of the duties she was to perform. She hadn't counted on being a paid playmate for Mildred Wynton's twenty-five-year-old retarded son. Her horror deepened even further at the realization that she had to share her voluptuous body with the degenerate doctor and Mrs. Wynton's lascivious chauffeur. Mrs. Wynton was the mistress of the manor in name, but it was Heather's lush young body that held the title!

Excerpt:

The needle plunged into Heather's arm again, and she lay very still on the bare mattress, her eyes open but unseeing, and the voices and sounds in the small room were just a garbled cacophony to her drugged ears.

"That'll keep her for four or five hours," said the heavy-set man of medium height and middle years.

He removed the needle from the syringe, replaced them both in a small case and snapped it shut.

"Thank you, Doctor Marston," said the tall, gaunt-faced woman, emphasizing the Doctor because Basil Marston wasn't a doctor any more: not since a zealous medical association had removed his name from its list because of unethical behavior or professional misconduct as they viewed his illegal operations and indiscriminate use of prohibited drugs.

"I don't like it," the ex-doctor muttered now, looking at the young girl on the bed.

A tousled lock of brunette hair had fallen onto her forehead, making Heather Dainton look younger than her twenty-three years. Her big, brown eyes - usually luminous and alert - were dull and listless, and her five-foot-one, one-hundred-pound body slumped, rather than lay, on the bed in the upstairs room in the bleak, rambling mansion in a remote part of Maine.

"You don't have to like it," said Mildred Wynton, coldly. "You just have to do what you're told." She jerked her head toward the door. "We'll go downstairs now." She turned to the fourth occupant of the room, forced a parody of a smile onto her face. "It's all yours, Willis, dear." She moved to the bedroom door, opened it, half-pushed Basil Marston into the corridor, then her smile became a leer as she added to her son: "Enjoy yourself, Willis." Her eyes flickered to the drugged girl again, and she moistened her lips as she finished in a whisper: "If you need me - just call." Then she moved out of the bedroom quickly, clicked shut the door behind her.

"It - it's horrible," muttered Basil as he descended the narrow stairway behind Mildred.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped over her shoulder. "It's not horrible at all." She reached the foot of the stairs, moved toward the old-fashioned but well-furnished sitting room. "Just because poor Willis - my son, remember, is somewhat unattractive to girls is no reason why he should be denied the ... the normal pleasures of female ..." she hesitated, then, "... company."