“Well, it certainly was convenient for us tonight,” Erik said.
“And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’m afraid the baths aren’t working, nor is there running water in the kitchen. But other than that, the stove works, and there’s a pump outside the door. Plus the old latrine is decent enough. The storm’s likely to rage a day or two. You might as well settle in.”
“We do have plenty of food,” Erik said. “So, I suppose we’re as safe as anywhere.”
“Long as you don’t let the spooks get to you,” Devane said as his odd eyes danced.
“Spooks?” Laney wondered aloud.
“Just kidding, ma’am. But you know these islands can be mysterious, and strange things happen in old houses.”
“You’re saying the place is haunted?”
“Not by the dead, if that’s what worries you. You make yourselves at home, I’ll check back with you tomorrow.”
“And where do you live?” Matthew asked.
“No more than a quarter mile down the island there’s another house. Much smaller. I prefer it there. It’s near the dock and I have my radio.”
“You have a radio?” Jason jumped in.
“When it works. But not in this storm.” He nodded, turned, and shuffled off giving them a friendly wave while mumbling something none of them could hear.
“He’s sure an odd one,” Jason said once he was gone.
“Kinda creepy,” Laney agreed.
“I thought he was rather friendly,” Sandra said.
“Like too friendly,” Elise murmured under her breath. She was still recuperating from her shock. Her plain, wide-open face seemed to hold the fear inside its simple features far longer than a normal face might. She was an enigmatic woman, ‘a sensuous pianist’, Laney called her. And determinedly driven, ultimately focused. ‘She rode her own pair of horses’, Matthew described her once referring to her art and her earth—she was dedicatedly into classical piano and raising rare tropical plants. That appraisal wasn’t quite accurate, however. Elise rode three horses, Matthew being the third. She’d do anything to fuck him, which he needed; keeping his hot temper mollified on most occasions. That was a blessing to the world, so all his friends believed. Now, however, she looked as ghostly as the ghost she claimed she’d seen.
“Elise, you’re going overboard,” Matthew said tersely.
“He was weird-looking in the window,” she said adamantly
“Hell, Jason would look weird peering in a window on a night like this,” Laney droned. “And he’s the least weird person in the world.”
“I’m not weird.” Jason almost sounded hurt.
“No, dear, you’re too regular to be insane like the rest of us.”
“What about Erik? I thought he was Mr. Substantial.”
“He is, but that’s different,” Laney said without explaining.
“I think it’s time we turned in for the night,” Erik said. “It’s nearly midnight, there are rooms upstairs. We can each take one and have a decent sleep.”
“Upstairs?” Sandra quipped. “Like hell I’ll sleep in some rat-infested bed. I’d rather sleep down here and inspect things myself in the morning.”
“Laney?” Erik asked.
“I agree with Sandra.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then. Just remember, though, you ladies have a wager to satisfy before our two weeks are over.” He looked about the room rather happily. “You know, I think this place will be the perfect place to pay in full.”
The night was marked by an increase in the thundering storm—lightning, rain and a sweeping wind that marched the angry clouds across the sky.
In the heart of the night, about two am—though no one was looking at clocks—Matthew Parker tapped his wife on the shoulder, rousing her from sleep enough so she could join him. Elise’s heavy lids hardly opened, but enough so that she could see the fiery intensity of her husband’s. She drew herself from the sleeping bag and let him lead her up the mansion’s stairs—on tiptoe, quietly. Not that the two sleeping couples could have heard them creep, with the wind howling like a heartbroken child. Matthew dragged his half-sleeping wife into one of the fancy gold-trimmed rooms. By the time they reached the bed, his hands and body pounced upon her as though there were a little evil traveling through his veins.
“Oh, my, Matthew,” she shimmied under him. He pulled her T-shirt over her head finding her nakedness a delicious target.
She squirmed beneath him as he pressed himself against her rocking hips, hips that rose to meet his sinewy flesh, and a cunt seeking out the rod between his legs. He held her hands above her head, locked tightly in one fist as though this were rape; then he silenced her with demanding kisses, opening her mouth with his lips and filling it with his voracious tongue.
She murmured needfully, beckoning him to continue with her hungering for this tenacious taking.
Freeing himself of his sweat pants, he was as naked as she, his manhood bobbing fully erect, the purple head batting at her pubis mound for a time while he held himself above her looking down like an avenging angel. The closer to striking home with the force of his dick, the more the taut muscle of Matthew’s body gathered power. Elise looked into him with eyes wondrously scared, her small form anxious for the strike. The power behind the first thrust sent pain shooting through her ravaged cunt and she screamed into the night just as another clap of thunder ripped the heated air.
“Yeesssssssss,” her seething voice vented on in sounds more lush and sensuous.
He held her down as his prick banged inside her depths. Her legs parted wide, her knees bent, and her back arched against the binding at her wrists—all as though she wanted him deeper, even though she knew Matthew’s hefty erection would seem to stretch her small opening beyond its limits. Her hips ground harder as his did. Her strained breasts rose toward the canopy overhead, nipples rigid. Then she squeezed down trying to milk the life from the violating stalk, and in the moments that followed, she heard him groaning in the guttural language of climax, “Oh gawd, fuuuuuuuuck!”
Collapsing afterwards, Elise could hardly breath, and Matthew panted with exhaustion. She wriggled for a time with her arms beginning to cramp as he still held her wrists in his steely grip.
“Matthew,” she whispered quietly. “Make me come, please.”
Her words made him relax and the tension ease away. Falling off her, he fingered the hot wet slit, and found her clit to pinch. Elise rolled about in a sensuous silence as the gentle crest of her climax wafted through her body like a springtime breeze. Even the storm agreed to keep its gnashing force at bay while Elise got off. Then, they settled into the cushion of the lumpy old bed that cradled them, watching the mosquito netting dapple in the drafty air as they drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Two
Laney, Sandra and Elise were in the kitchen the following morning making breakfast. Shards of sun shot right through the dusty windowpanes startling the eye with their brilliance—only to fade behind the gathering grey in the southeastern sky. The storm had not yet left the island and there was an unusual uneasiness among these three friends. Elise was preoccupied with her shock from the night before—and afterwards the sex with Matthew. Likewise, Sandra seemed submerged in thought and Laney was too busy cooking to talk.
“Anyone find this house—this whole island—sort of strange?” Sandra finally broke through the quiet with her troubled thoughts.
“Well, yes,” Elise agreed though her answer was vague. She’d already decided not to mention her night in the upstairs bedroom with Matthew. As far as anyone knew, they’d slept downstairs.
“Odd, yes, and that fellow Archibald Devane is a strange one,” Laney added, “but then we can’t complain. It’s shelter.” The sky had just darkened miserably again and it looked as though the rain would start any second.
The mention of their fears only increased the tension submerged beneath the surface of their chatter.
Elise sighed heavily as she threw more
firewood into the woodstove, pushing a lock of long hair off her sweaty face. “Where the hell did we get the wager idea, anyway?” she changed the conversation. “The guys should be out here hauling water and wood.”
“We were drunk, playing poker, if I recall rightly…” Laney remembered. “And we were pretty hard on them when they lost the Martha’s Vineyard bet.”
“They deserved everything they got,” Sandra fumed. “Plus, my uncle’s cottage got the thorough cleaning it needed. We owed it to him, all that we’ve used it this year.”
“That’s true, and it’s not going to do us any good to get in a snit about the wager,” Laney said. “Besides, we’re better cooks than the guys. I’m not sure I could take Jason’s weird scrambled eggs again.”
“They aren’t that bad,” Sandra defended him.
“They are, too,” Elise said, grabbing a huge plate of steamy bacon and eggs. Pushing her back against the swinging kitchen door, she moved into the dining room where the three men were sitting at the old dining table waiting like three lordly sovereigns. Laney followed with orange juice, and Sandra with French toast.
“This is pretty special food considering that it’s a camping trip,” Laney reminded them as she poured the juice in crystal goblets.
“Not much of a camping trip at all,” Jason retorted with a hearty laugh, lifting his goblet as though he were drinking vintage wine.
After having served the men their meal, the three women stood back and waited for some sign from them to proceed.
“My, how Old World of you to wait for permission,” Erik noted smugly. “Would you like to join us now?”
Laney nodded with a mocking sneer, and the three took their seats at the table.
“Should make you eat in the kitchen,” Matthew commented drolly.
“Or maybe lap their meal from our hands,” Jason gibed.
Sandra’s eyes narrowed as she peered down the table at her fiancée.
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said; though he wasn’t sorry at all. He would remember having scrubbed the kitchen floor in Martha’s Vineyard while the three women had gloated over him. Erik could not forget wearing that silly apron as he cooked Laney’s elaborate mushroom crepes; and no one, especially Matthew, could ignore the memory of the smartly dressed banker, getting his fresh-pressed Dockers grass-stained mowing the cottage lawn—not to mention the stains on his hands after pulling dandelions from the flowerbeds.
They were good sports, but they had memories like elephants. Those unforgettable incidents were now so fresh in their minds it seemed as though they’d happened just days ago. Yet, even with those memories fueling the payment of this wager, their game felt more real, less the joke and more like something darkly driven—inspired by their surroundings.
After breakfast, the three couples explored the house, taking similar paths through the main floor and upstairs bedrooms where the men had explored the night before. By daylight, the curious devices, notable throughout the otherwise normal mansion, stood out more acutely.
“What the hell are all these O-rings for?” Laney pondered aloud while running her hand over the surface of one great mahogany bedpost. She stared into the high center of the burgundy velvet canopy, seeing a fancy array of thick silken ropes dangling like an ornament. “And those ropes?”
“Kinky sex,” Jason stated flatly. “I don’t think we can escape that conclusion.”
“Really,” Sandra murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe you should tie me up,” she snickered.
“You’ll never do that to me,” Laney said waltzing away.
“No,” Erik replied, “you’d never be that vulnerable.”
“Is that a shot?” she whipped around to confront him.
“No, a truth, my sweet.” The naturally dark glimmer of his eyes gleamed even more poignantly in the grey dimness of the cloud-shrouded day. Rain beat against the roof outside, sometimes pelting the windows as though the sky were throwing knives to break the surface.
A wild erotic chill raced to the top of Laney’s spine, tickling the hairs at the base of her neck before darting to the top of her head. She shook off the feeling and turned away from her husband.
“I find this mesmerizing,” the diminutive Elise clung to Matthew’s arm, while he massaged her lightly across her back—a flirtatious sort of move that only enhanced the hypnotic spell. Matthew’s caustic eyes seemed to bite more intensely as the couples moved from room to room.
“So, have we picked out berths? Or are you ladies still too scared of mice to bed down up here?”
“It’s okay with me,” Sandra said. “I haven’t seen any rats, yet. The beds look surprisingly fresh—almost as though they were waiting for us.”
“It’s a bit curious,” Erik suggested. “I think some explanation from Mr. Archibald Devane would be in order.”
“And why’s that?” Laney asked. “I’m not sure I like that man—after the way he frightened Elise.”
“Maybe he frightened you,” Erik said pointedly. “Fact is, I have the feeling the man is not telling us the entire truth.”
“And why should he tell us the truth,” his wife shot right back. “After all, we’re trespassers. Maybe the place is still used more than he let on. Even if it is, though, it’s really none of our business.”
“True,” Erik conceded. “But it does stimulate my imagination. And I know I’m not the only one aroused by its unique features.”
No one disagreed, but no one added to the argument; and the conversation dwindled as the couples, in pairs, moved down the long hall to the end of the bedroom wing. Each seemed to have decided where they’d sleep the night, all opting for the less questionable rooms, without the most bizarre of the curious devices. O-rings were acceptable, the rest were too unsettling to feel comfortable—although the devices seemed to have sparked their interest and raised a curious degree of sexual energy throughout the small party.
All three couples picked rooms in the same vicinity near the staircase—perhaps their choices made from some subconscious fear the house engendered, perhaps just simple caution.
While the others returned to the main floor, Jason and Sandra remained in their upstairs room, Sandra reluctant to leave.
“You’ve been unusually quiet,” her fiancé remarked as he watched her stare outside the window into the gloomy day. At one window, a tree branch rattled the window like a beggar seeking entrance.
“Have I?” she turned around.
Jason was stirred by her look, the way her heavy breasts pressed against her too-tight T-shirt. She was braless, flesh ripping against the fabric, her tiny nipples like small pebbles on the surface.
“Shall I tie you up?” he asked, remembering her earlier suggestion.
“I wonder what it would feel like,” she answered dreamily.
“We can find out, you know.”
“Think so?” She was vague and seductive, making Jason’s penis begin to throb as if she had her hand on the thick stalk now and was massaging it erect.
Eyes darting about the room, he looked for an answer to his need, and finally moved toward an old chest of drawers, opening and closing empty drawers until he came to the last one where he struck gold—gold rope. Smiling, he withdrew the lengthy cord and moved directly to the immobile Sandra.
“Your hands,” he ordered simply.
She smiled back blushingly, as she clasped her wrists in front her and let him bind her with the silky rope.
“You know this does things to my crotch,” she squirmed inside her short shorts, with her thighs rubbing together.
“Really?” Jason pressed his hand to her crotch and massaged the jutting sex mound. Juice from between her thighs had soaked her panties, now soaking her shorts as well.
“Hmm, yessss,” her quiet purring encouraged his efforts, though he was anxious, moving toward the bed as he worked her pussy with his hand.
Cock swollen now, and spear like, arcing inside his jeans, Jason pushed his girlfriend over the footboard of the bed. Then, t
ugging at the gold rope binding Sandra’s hands, he pulled it tight, stretching her arms and torso until they could go no further. Tying off the end of the rope at the headboard, she was virtually immobile—unlike the picture in her imagination—but that didn’t matter. There was just enough slack in her bondage to allow her crotch to undulate on the foot board bar. With her ass jiggling inside the shorts, Jason stood back and admired her for some seconds. Then with his impatient cock in charge, he yanked her nylon shorts off her hips, tearing them off her legs and tossing them aside.
“You like being bound?”
“Un, huh,” she answered him now panting breathlessly.
He drew his fingers along the crack of her ass, gathering juice from her dripping pussy.
“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”
“Hmm, yess.” She wiggled into his fingers wanting more massage; but instead, he brought his wet fingers to her mouth and made her suck the juice. “Oh, your cock, sweetheart.” He stood back, struggling from his pants, unveiling his stiff organ. She could see the firm thing from the corner of her eye; and she licked her lips as if begging to taste the head and suck some precum from the tip. “Please.”
“You want this now?”
“Oh, my yes.”
“In your mouth, or in your ass?”
“My ass?” she tensed up, startled by the idea.
“Yes, your ass. You’re going to get both, Sandra.”
“Oh, my mouth first.” He snickered happily, as the swirling darkness of his mood took these bizarre turns in lust. Climbing on the bed, he made her reach with her face to have his cock. The tease worked. Sandra groaned fitfully when she couldn’t quite reach it with her lips. “Closer, please!” she pleaded.
“Closer, huh?” he laughed, moving forward slightly so she could almost grasp the head with her mouth.
“Ooo, Jason, please.” As awkward as the position became, she wanted him closer still. Inch by inch he answered her need—and his own—until he was close enough to her face so that he could shove the entire shaft down her throat and make her suck. He worked her in a steady rhythm with the picture of his bound girlfriend more pleasant to his eye with each stroke of his cock. Nearing climax, however, he pulled out and off the bed, taking his erection to her pink round behind. He slapped her cheeks, listening to her groan with delight as the warming sting worked pleasurably through her ass. “Ooo, Jason, yes, yes, more.”
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 2