The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  Slowly his hands loosened, his lips, already softened by the kiss melted away from mine. With tiny pecks at both corners he released me, looked into my eyes and said, “Loosen your bodice, I want to check your bruises.” His voice was gruff and whiskey-hoarse.

  “It’s been two months, Dr, Larkenson, the bruises are long gone.”

  “I want to check for myself,” he said with a sly grin.

  I raised one eyebrow. “Are you using your profession to take advantage of me?”

  “May I, please?”

  I desperately wanted to give in. Just the thought of him looking at my breasts again was making me quiver and my nipples harden. He noticed. I watched as his nostrils flared and his breathing changed. And before I knew what was up, the palm of each hand caged and cupped a breast and his thumbs flicked my nipples. I shivered and moaned. I vaguely remembered my eyes closing.

  “If we didn’t have the material of your bodice between our skin, just imagine how much better this would feel.”

  I moaned again and then felt his lips on my jaw, working their way down my neck.

  “Soon I will not be able to stand,” I murmured.

  “And soon I will have three legs and I would be most happy to loan you one,” he whispered as he nipped at my collarbone. His hands, the fingers of which had been steadily toying with my nipples, reached around to grip my hips. I felt his groin press into me and something long and monstrous nudged relentlessly at my hip. I’d been around horses all my life, so I knew exactly what it was and for a moment I entertained thoughts of riding this stallion.

  “You said you had a question?” I said as I submitted to the grinding motion he had begun by following his not so subtle movements with my hip. When his hands slid to my bottom and lifted me so I could caress his manhood as he slid me down the hard length of him, I sighed. He groaned. Then he cursed and set me aside.

  I was fairly certain what the question would be and whileI was getting quite tired of the all the improper attempts at seduction, I was intrigued by what line his would take. A country doctor could ill afford to keep a mistress so I was more than just a little curious about the question he wished to pose.

  “Yes. I was wondering if your father might consider me as a suitor?’

  My eyes widened. The thought had never occurred to me, and I’m sure from my expression that he came to that conclusion very quickly. I didn’t know what to say. As early as I could remember, my “job,” when I had attained womanhood was to attract a titled man and to secure him to me by marriage. It had never crossed my mind to entertain an offer from anyone in the gentry. Women of my social class just didn’t do that. Yet there was something so compelling about the idea of this man being my husband.

  “I can see the thought of marrying me doesn’t please you,” he said and I could see the flare of scorn as well as the hurt in his eyes.

  “It’s not that . . . easy . . . a thought to consider. It’s just not done.”

  “There are no laws against it.”

  My faculties were finally returning, and with them the idea that his proposal was probably borne from nothing more than his innate nature to help, to serve, and to protect—after all, his profession practically called for it. “I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice yourself for me, to try to help me with my dilemma, but you cannot.”

  “The dilemma is that I know you are virginal, yet cannot attest to that fact. Or is the dilemma that due to the rumors, your peers, the gentlemen of your wonderful and noble society, are trying to seduce you for their wicked purposes, and you know not which one to select?”

  I reached up to slap his cheek but he caught my wrist just before it connected and he gripped it tight.

  I could see the fire in his eyes and then a cold steeliness to the set of his jaw as words grit out between his clenched teeth, “You slap me, while each one of them suggests vulgar ways to use your body because no man of the aristocracy will come to scratch due to the rampant rumors denying your innocence! They all know you have no other option save spinsterhood, and they are capitalizing. And here I am, giving you a respectable solution that you refuse to even consider!”

  He shoved my hand away and stepped back, fury still leeching out of him. His muscles were so taut I thought he was using all his willpower not to strike out at me.

  At that moment we both heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. His eyes blinked, his head tilted as if a wayward thought had just crossed his mind and I saw his face settle into a mask of resolve. His eyes flashed and he stepped forward, grabbing my shoulders and looking down at me. I feared him in that second as somehow I knew the action he was about to take would determine the course of my life.

  “Well, I won’t see you pandering yourself, and I won’t see you as anyone’s bride but mine.” His hand gripped my bodice and he tore it away from my body. I gasped as my breasts spilled out and he bent me over his arm. He clasped his large hand over one breast and took the tip of the other into his mouth. He was sucking the nipple and drawing it deeply into his mouth when a group of men and women entered the loggia on their way to maze beyond.

  I heard the gasps, the shocked exclamations, and the loud cries of discovery amid my own groans that were an eerily confusing mixture of delight and dismay.

  Dr. Larkenson was careful to keep me covered by both his hand and his face until my situation has served his purpose, then he shielded me with his body, turning me so he could remove his coat and place it around my shoulders. I looked down and watched as he meticulously buttoned it, one button after another. I looked up and met his eyes. I had been thoroughly and completely ruined. And this time, there could be no doubt of it.

  “I will see you in the chapel at Stoneleigh on Saturday at midday. You are mine now.” He kissed me on the forehead then turned and stomped off, parting the crowd as he moved through them.

  To be continued . . . I could not believe how involved I was getting in this story. And I was very impressed with Philip’s writing ability. Until I remembered that he had written screenplays for his productions. Well, it figured he’d be a shoe-in for erotic fiction then, didn’t it? But still, I was hooked, but afraid to ask for the next pages. I wouldn’t get off so lightly next time and I knew it. But I truly did not want any naughty pictures of me circulating online. Just the thought of taking them sent shivers down my spine. But I had to reply and I had to ask for more.

  VaVaViv: This is an amazing story. I must admit that I am hooked. I really want to know what happens next. Does she marry him? And if so, how does that all work out? Does her father disown her because she marries a man without a title? I want the rest but can’t send any more “naughty” pictures, what else can I offer in payment?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  A most perfect day My mother called early the next morning to say they were home, that she and my uncle were fine, and that Uncle Lester had been absolved of any wrongdoing. The police had spoken to the girl’s parents who had verified that both my mom and my uncle had visited a few days ago and that they had said they would try to track down Crystal, as my uncle was a master tracker. Everyone was now thrilled that Crystal had been found, and all were agog at my uncle’s exceptional talent. The fact that he absolutely refused to disclose exactly how he had located her was a sore bone of contention, but he always refused to give up his secrets. I was very well aware of this. Over the years, many had offered money for his unique techniques but he felt it paid him in the long run to keep those close to his vest. But I must admit, I was quite curious about that part, too.

  My mother, I knew, would want everyone to think she’d had a hand in it, and had used some mysterious means, some hocus pocus that would cement in her status as the alien being she so desperately wanted to be. Meanwhile, I knew my uncle. He was deftly smart and had a mind that never stopped working. This would turn out to be some manner of logical and reasonable deduction. It had to be. I was sure of it. I would believe none of this superstitious posturing my mother referred to as witchcra
ft. I would waggle the secret out of him at the very first opportunity I got.

  Right now, I was going to meet Tessa, Catalina, Amy, Karen, Deb, Kathy, and June at Marie Wilcox’s house where we were gong to play cards. As more people settled into the area, new games flourished. We had groups that played Cardinal Train Dominoes, Pinochle, Bunco. And now the current rage was Hand and Foot. Marie and Lowell had a lovely house over on Baroney near Tessa and Roman and I always felt so welcome there. Marie and I had been on a few church committees and I had always found her calming and uplifting to be with. So I was anxious for a fun afternoon.

  Just before leaving, I fluffed my hair, spritzed myself with a lovely lavender fragrance I’d gotten as a sample at Belks. I just love free samples, I have two full baskets of them so I never smell the same way twice. I guess you could say my signature cologne is anybody’s signature, I love them all. I moseyed over to check my email, knowing darned well what I was going to find, forcing myself to face the music.

  PeterPeterPeater: I’m afraid I must insist. Be daring. Be naughty. I command it. Oh Jeez, I said to myself as I straightened and stood. He was playing hardball. Now how was I ever going to get the rest of the story he’d hooked me on? This was like a soap opera and I was a junkie. Well, I’d think about all this later, it was time to whoop some ass at cards.

  I grabbed my new Nahui Ollin purse, a real beauty dubbed Moonlite, bought at the Hallmark’s at Colonial Mall, and the wide-brimmed hat decorated with daisies that I’d bought to compliment it, and ran out the door in time to see Tessa pull up out front. Well, I certainly couldn’t ask them about my new email challenge, could I?

  This was way over the top. I’d known all along that Philip was way out of my league, but now I was actually having to figure out how to deal with it without giving him up. At this point that was clearly not an option anymore. I was shaking my head as I walked over to the car and opened the door to get in. How did I get myself into these fixes? I was reminded of the time I had stood topless in my new boss’s office, garnering his praise, while trying to work up the chutzpah to actually grab a serving tray and saunter into the bar area. All my life, life had surprised me. Philip was just one more colorful block on the twisty, topsy-turvy road of my own personal game of Life.

  “Hey, what’s with the negative headshake?” Cat asked. “Love the hat.” Hers was a red and black boxy thing with short tassels that looked stunning on her. We did the hat thing just to make things fun. Sometimes we even wore high heels to match, but today we were celebrating the approaching arrival of spring and were wearing capris with sandals instead.

  I slid onto the leather seat and closed the door behind me. “Just trying to figure something out that doesn’t seem to have a ready solution at the moment.” Then I changed the subject of the conversion because I didn’t want them to attempt problem solving on this particular matter. For one thing, they’d never understand why in the world Philip desired me to have a side relationship with his Dr. Jekyll alter ego, and for another, I didn’t think they’d get the master/slave thing we had going on because of it. Even though I knew from Tessa, that Roman, as an honest-to-god real life commander, often delved into a very commanding role and that they themselves skirted some bondage themes from time to time. But I would think that Philip, with his past history, had to have Roman beat in the world of kink by a considerable margin. So, yes, it was time to move on to another subject.

  “Hey, guess what? Mom and her brother found that girl who has been missing. Well, actually I think it was more Uncle Lester than her, but they found her. In Georgia. They just got back.”

  “I was wondering where they were. I went to the condo with some fresh cinnamon rolls and there was no answer so I used my key and left them on the counter.”

  “Mmm, your famous cinnamon rolls,” Tessa said, “Where’s mine?”

  “I left them with Roman.”

  “I was out biking with Sandy and the bike group! He must’ve eaten them all, that prick! They sure weren’t there when I got back after lunch.”

  “Geez, Tess, I left six of those suckers, each one the size of a dessert plate.” I knew Cat was stirring the pot up, she liked to egg Tess on that way, especially where Roman was concerned. Roman made every woman’s heart beat faster and a warm cinnamon bun, even six of them, was a small price to pay for one of his incredible smiles.

  “I am soooo going to kill him!”

  We all laughed and I thought it a good time to congratulate myself on sidestepping my interesting dilemma vis-à-vis Peter a.k.a. Philip.

  “So, what’s this issue you have going on that needs a solution?” Cat asked as she swung into Marie’s driveway.

  I groaned inwardly.

  The first twenty minutes or so as we settled in with a drink and a plate full of snacks, we devoted to catching up on gossip and admiring hats, shoes, handbags and jewelry. Then we got down to the business of cards.

  It had been a sad winter for Sea Trail residents as each month a cherished neighbor had died. It seemed there were always more widows joining forces, whole clusters of them could now be seen dining at Derbster’s or lining up on Sundays at the Frank Theaters in Shallotte. The widowers, what few there were, seemed to pair off again with surprising speed. Women generally seemed to take better care of themselves, or maybe, due to all the female issues we always have cropping up, we are more likely to be under a doctor’s care when things start going flooey with our bodies. Either way, it’s devastating to keep losing friends and it seems that as I get older there are more people I have to say goodbye to, people I’ve known for years, and people I was just getting to know. The Sea Trailer newsletter announced one or two brick memorials at the Chapel on the Green almost every single month. And now it sounded like I was living in a community where someone was dying almost all the time. It was sad really and a very dismal fact of life.

  “Hey, you’re looking pretty somber there, sweetheart,” Karen said as she sat beside me at the table and hugged me. “What’s up?”

  “Oh just listening to all the news, seems most of it’s been bad lately.”

  “That’s often how it is this time of the year at church, too. But spring is here, people can come out of hibernation now and cheer each other up. Have you seen how many people are out walking on the beach lately? Does your heart good.”

  “Yeah. It does. This is a wonderful dip you made for the veggies, makes me want to just get a spoon and forget the broccoli.”

  Karen laughed and then everyone came to settle into their usual spot and the game began. And the laughter. And the good-natured sniping. It was almost time to leave when I saw Cat pick up a framed photo from a side table on her way back from the bathroom.

  “This you Marie?”

  “Yeah, and this one,” she stood and handed her a oldfashioned oval frame, “is my grandparents. I just had it restored and the photographer did a wonderful job with it.”

  “Photographer?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they use a digital camera and take a picture of the picture, then they use some special software to doctor it up, fill it in, and brush out the imperfections. The original picture had actually been water-stained pretty badly, but now, just look at it. They look so beautiful, and young.” They did indeed. The couple in the picture looked sweet and innocent and terribly in love as they held hands and turned sideways to face each other. A picture of a picture, I thought. Hmmm. I wonder if that would work?

  As soon as I got home, I ran to the garage and found the box containing Dale’s old scrapbooks and photo albums. There was a very special magazine at the bottom. I found it wrapped in tissue and tucked into an old blanket. It was his cherished Playboy, the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Issue from January 1979 The Collector’s Edition. He had held onto it for thirty years and as I had no idea who would appreciate such a rare edition, I had just packed it up with all the rest of his memorabilia. Now, I was going to use it to get the next chapter in Philip’s . . . well . . . Peter’s book.

  I care
fully unwrapped it and then carried it gingerly into my bedroom where I placed it on the bed along with my digital camera. Then I removed my shirt and bra and minutely examined my nipples before going back to the magazine and zipping through the pictures in search of a playmate whose nipples closely resembled mine. Close enough that Philip wouldn’t suspect I had made a substitution.

  I found her easily enough when the book opened to the centerfold playmate, Candy Loving. They were the right size and the color; they even had the same tiny little bumps in the areola, in almost the exact same place. I was giddy with excitement. Unless Philip had side-by-side pictures to compare, he would never suspect. I stood over the magazine; zoomed in as far as I could so that the nipple would fill the frame, and clicked. Then just to be sure I backed off and clicked one or two more.

  I ran to the computer, downloaded the pictures from the smart card and put them in the reader. I had to jump back when I opened the first one as the whole screen filled with nipple. It was huge. I laughed out loud. Talk about naughty, I whispered as I checked out the others and decided on the first one.

  I typed in Peter’s email address, attached the picture, and typed, “You win.” Then clicked send.

  An hour later, I got his reply.

  PeterPeterPeater: Lovely. Stunning in fact. Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm. Here’s your reward: Saturday found Felicity in the nave standing next to her exuberant father. Ever since the doctor’s barrister had met with her father’s to discuss the terms of the marriage, he had worn a cat-ate-the-cream grin. And when she had asked him what was pleasing him so much about her marrying beneath her, to what he had often referred to as “the common folk,” he had just smiled and winked, saying, “He’s a fine lad, and really what choice did we have? You were ruined. And now you are not.”