White Thighs by Frances Lengel (Trocchi) is the tale of Saul, a dominant European who travels to the New World, enjoys a series of games with his deliciously cruel house cook Kirstin, and finally, against the the advice of the family executor, seeks boldy for a beautiful and lost childhood nurse.

Excerpt:

She stared from him to me and, with a small cry, she fainted. I caught her as she fell and carried her into the cottage. The sheriff — he was called McCabe — followed me in.

He helped me carry her over to the bed and a moment later McCabe joined me with a glass of water.

“Good-looking broad,” he said to me as he handed me the glass.

I nodded, and, raising Anna on my arm, I forced the glass between her lips.

A moment later her eyes flickered open.

She stared at me.

I looked at McCabe.

He grinned. And then, when her gaze flitted to him, he became serious.

“Phone me later in the morning, Mr. Folsrom,” he said, giving me his number. “I'll get along now. Be seeing you.”

He nodded to Anna and went out.

Neither of us spoke until we heard the car start and drive away.

“You killed Inez!”

I stroked her hair.

“You murdered him!”

“In cold blood,” I said. “I waited for him for three nights. He came this morning just before dawn. I shot him twice between the eyes.”

“Oh God!”

I thought she was going to faint again, but she took hold of herself.

“I told you I loved him!”

“You told me he had the power of a beast over you. I shot the beast.”

She was looking at me as a rabbit watches a snake.

Something stirred in me. I knew that I had to act now or not at all. Coldly, with calculation, I slapped her across the face.

I was now ready to act at every moment in accordance with a new attitude. She had loved Inez. I had thought about that night after night as I waited to slay him.

She had loved me in a different way.

My act of slapping her across the face had the effect of annihilating the past, of reversing the relation between us. In the future, she would obey.

It was not what I wanted, not what I had intended, not the situation for which I had made a thousand preparations while I was separated from her, but I had come to realize clearly that it was the only effective way — at least for the moment, for she was not ready to be that woman of my imagination — of putting things in suspension; I should not have lost irrevocably.

Her expression had changed.

The fear was still there, but it had undergone a subtle modulation: it was no longer stark panic, and all hatred had gone from her eyes. It was as though she were waiting for me to act again.

Slowly, holding her gaze, I bared myself, and as I did so, I felt the sluice of urgent blood move to harden my member. I looked down and her gaze followed my own. When our eyes met again, I climbed onto the bed beside her. Kneeling there, slowly, an inch at a time, I brought it toward her face. She stared at it, her whole attention riveted upon it, and then suddenly, when it was no more than six inches from her, she let out a small whimper, enclosed it like a valuable object in both hands, and took it into her mouth. As she did, her liquid eyes closed, and I felt the warmth of complete envelopment. Her full lips pressed to my hard flesh, sliding up and down it, her tongue twisting madly around the swollen head. She held onto the base of my sex with her hands, squeezing hard. I was on the verge of annihilation.

She was breathing heavily.