The Marquis' Book of Pleasure

Chapter One-2

The second floor of the old mansion revealed more than a dozen bedrooms, some styled with a breezy summerhouse decadence—mosquito netting still flying in drafts of air. Other more formal rooms were draped in heavy velvet and trimmed in fading gold leaf. Each room, however, had some curious feature that suggested unusual activities taking place inside the bedroom. There were more O-rings and several eyehooks bolted into the walls. A curious canvas sling. Rigging hanging from the ceiling, or inside the actual canopy of one great mahogany bed. And a strange tiled bathroom that had been equipped with several devices neither of the three men could clearly identify.

“I think some guy was getting his jollies doing weird things to women,” Jason chortled.

“I think you might be right,” Erik agreed.

“Could go either way, you know,” Matthew said as he stared at the rigging inside the canopy bed.

“If you remember, the statue was of a woman,” Erik reminded him.

“So, it was,” Matthew remembered as he paced the room, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, the curt features of his chiseled face seeming to contort oddly. In fact, all three men were strangely moved by the awesome house and the unknown implications of the innovative hardware and contraptions.

A sudden shriek hit the air like a bolt of lightning—Elise!

Tearing themselves from the room, the three raced down the staircase to the first floor, finding Elise sitting on a couch with Laney and Sandra on either side.

“I swear there was a man staring at me!” she was panting nervously, wringing her hands, her pale face white as a mainsail as she stared forward in shock.

“What happened?” Erik asked.

“She thought she saw a face in the window,” Sandra said.

“Then, we’ll have a look outside,” Matthew said moving toward the foyer with Jason at his heels.

“That won’t be necessary,” another, unexpected voice wrapped the room with an oddly sonorous quality of calm. The two men heading for the door stopped abruptly. “It was my face the lady saw.” An elderly but quite vigorous looking man was standing by the hallway door near the kitchen. His yellow parka was dripping with water, but there was a firm gentleness about his face that seemed almost mirthful.

“Yes, that was him!” Elise exclaimed, pointing his way.

“Sorry to have shocked you. It’s been some time since we’ve had visitors on the island.”

“And who are you?” Erik asked.

He moved forward, “I’m Archibald Devane, the caretaker.”

“My friends and I were shipwrecked by the storm,” Erik explained.

“I saw. There’s been some damage to your boat.”

“I’m afraid so. Is there some problem staying here?”

Archibald Devane smiled kindly. “Why no. I’m glad the house could be a safe haven once again.”

“Again?” Laney whispered.

“We are uncharted here, but occasionally someone stumbles on our humble shore.”

“You say we?”

“Ah!” the old man looked slightly chagrinned. “It’s just me now. Mr. Christian Barth, the owner of Marquis Island lives in New England. I’m afraid he had to abandon this little jewel a few years ago, due to bad health. I still think of him being here. This was quite the place in the 60’s and 70’s.” He gazed around the room with a melancholy eye. “I’m just the caretaker now.”

“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 f**k 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 d**k, 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, n*****s 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.