The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis

Chapter 3

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 s*x 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 p*****t 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 s*x,” 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 s****l 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 n*****s 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 p***s 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 s*x 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 p***y with his hand.

Cock swollen now, and spear like, arcing inside his jeans, Jason pushed his girlfriend over the footboard of the bed. Then, tugging 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 c**k 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 p***y.

“You’re about to c*m, 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 c**k, 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 c**k. 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 c**k. 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.”

“Harder, honey?” He slapped her with a brisk-paced staccato until her broad and jiggling cheeks were bouncing to the glorious beat, and turning rosy from his spirited efforts.

“Hmmm, ouch!” Her bottom burned.

“More?”

“Oh, f**k me, Jason.”

That was what he wanted to hear, the gentle music of her s*x urging him on.

“So, you want it in your ass?” he wondered as he gathered juice from her almost cumming cunt and swathed it high against her anus.

“Ooo, my,” she wasn’t sure.

He poked two wet fingers into her ass, hearing her suck in her breath nervously.

“Ah, Jason, can’t you take my cunt?” she wondered in her sexy reverie.

“Not today, darling,” he was firm, too exhilarated by his power to stop. It came on intense, surging through his hot veins, a mighty river of untapped need finally discovering its source. He’d have her now and she wouldn’t balk. In fact, he could already hear her throaty cry as she begged for his d**k in her ass. A third finger joined the other two, opening the puckering bud wider still.

“Ah, ah,” she seemed to struggle, but then relax.

“You like it, Sandy, right here, right in your bum hole, nasty.”

“Ooo, yes.” She was feeling the penetration, her muscles finally relaxing around the invading fingers, and the physical arousal beginning to swim through her ass end. Her p***y tightened as though it had been filled, but it was an empty squeezing, pulsing sensation. “Gawd, Jase, in my ass,” her hushed whisper seemed to shriek. “f**k my ass!”

He didn’t wait. The head of his d**k hit the hole with enough force to widen the channel and allow the entire shaft to bury itself until his balls hit her ass.