Anthony and Susan
The day after returning from Boston Anthony began the day with a swim and had his coffee and breakfast rolls poolside. Susan joined him, dressed in a nautical playsuit and high-heeled white sandals with ribbon ties around the ankles. She looked heavenly, sitting there naughtily smoking a joint, with her high blonde ponytail reaching half way down her back and her full red lips curved into a lazy, summer day smile. She poured his coffee and put in just the right amount of milk. She had gotten home late the previous night, having closed Michael’s bar with Michael, Marguerite and some other friends and had joined a sleepy Anthony in bed without discussing his adventures in Boston earlier that day.
“Did you meet Carola?” she now asked.
“Yes and she’s a horrible woman,” said Anthony.
“Not beautiful?” Susan was surprised.
“Oh, she’s pretty enough,” he conceded, “but she has a terrible personality. She made me want to beat her. I do want to beat her. And I’m going to beat her as soon as she comes out. I’ve had Cassandra tell her so. Maybe you could help me.”
“Me?” Susan stared at him.
“Yes. You could do the rigging.”
“The rigging?”
“You could tie her down for me. You know I could never be bothered to learn bondage.”
“You want me to go in a dungeon with you and a lady?”
“Yes, you need to come and help me with this bitch.”
Anthony hadn’t participated in a scene with Susan and another woman since she had first brought Diana Stratton home to the Greenwich Village townhouse when the girls were in college.
“I can’t believe Cassandra’s sister is so bad,” said Susan, coloring a little at the idea of assisting Anthony in a dungeon.
“She’s a sadist. She was so mean to this pretty girl in front of us. By the way, we met two cute subs. They’re coming to work at the club. You’ll want to draw them, a brunette and a blonde. And she’s been awful to Cassandra in the past. She puts her down and disrespects her. I’m glad you know bondage. I want her in the most inescapable and embarrassing position you can invent.”
“Will she go for that, me tying her? I understood she was a top.”
“She’ll be anything we want her to be,” Anthony replied serenely.
“You mean she’s available for a price?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Anthony, you sound like you’ve gone over to the dark side,” Susan accused him.
“I know,” he readily agreed, “that terrible woman has brought it out in me. As soon as you meet her you’ll agree that she needs a thrashing. But I know how you can’t stand to see another lady get a really good beating, even if she does deserve it, so don’t worry, you can leave us after you tie her up.”
“That would probably be best,” Susan agreed, buttering a bit of roll to nibble on, “but it’s nice to be included. And if this woman is as much of a gorgon as you say she is, I’ll be happy to have my position in the harem clearly delineated from the get go.”
“Susan, everybody knows you’re the mistress of my house and my heart,” he said gallantly. Now Susan knew without a doubt that he was having an affair with Cassandra. He never displayed flowery or sentimental emotions to Susan unless he was cheating on her. She was a little surprised he had redirected his passions so quickly from Phoebe Casper, whom he’d been courting only the previous month, to this lithe newcomer and idly wondered who he’d be in love with in the Autumn, when he returned to Manhattan. At any rate, to be the acknowledged Queen was good and Susan was content. In Europe, she had been fearful. But now at home again, with the new woman tucked away under a different roof on the other side of the village, her fears had been calmed.
Meanwhile, Cassandra had spent her first night alone at the house. She had stayed up very late putting things away. At about two am, it began to rain. She smoked a pipe in her front garden and then pulled back into the shadows of the porch when she saw a car cruise slowly by the house. She recognized Michael Flagg’s SUV. He stopped the car and waved to her from the curb. She waved back at him and motioned him over.
“You’re up late,” he said.
“You too. Did you just close up the bar?”
“What are you doing, smoking weed?”
“I thought you quit being a cop,” she admonished her tall, handsome, judgmental neighbor.
“You girls,” he said in exasperation.
“What girls?”
“Every girl I’ve ever been involved with has been a degenerate stoner,” he complained.
“Didn’t you just come from the bar that you own where it’s practically your duty to get your patrons wasted? Even conservatively speaking, three to five poor tourists will be waking up with a hangover tomorrow simply because they crossed your threshold.”
“All right, I yield,” he laughed, for it had indeed been a busy night of just barely legal kids on vacation drinking themselves sick on cheap pitchers of beer at his tavern. “Hey listen, I have a favor to ask you.”
“Sure, whatever I can do,” she said eagerly.
“I might come by in a day or two with a lady,” he began confidentially.
“Oh?”
“And want to rent a dungeon, or at least a play space, let’s say a room, preferably with a bed.”
“Really!” she grinned.
“Since the lady will not be my wife, the utmost discretion will be required.”
“Oh, absolutely. Give me an hour’s notice and I’ll have everything ready for you. Will this be one of the degenerate stoners?”
“No actually,” he smiled. “And just about the only one who isn’t.”
Then, for some reason he barely understood himself, he took the pipe out of Cassandra’s hand and taking the lighter out of her other hand, expertly relit the pipe and took a hit. She stared at him in disbelief. But he had watched his wife go through this ritual often enough to have memorized the gestures. He suddenly coughed and looked surprised.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, feeling a dimensional shift in his mood and perceptions as he gazed at Amanda’s pretty mother. “I can’t tell you how many times Marguerite has begged me to get stoned with her. But I never do. I never do with anyone,” he confided.
“You’d better come in and tuck me in,” said Cassandra helpfully.
Michael looked at his watch, everything around him blurring and vibrating as a sudden head rush overcame him. “2:10,” he said aloud. “Don’t let me linger more than twenty minutes,” he ordered as he followed her into the new wood scented house.
When they got to her bedroom, Cassandra made Michael sit in a big upholstered chair while she looked in the large, elegant walnut chest of drawers that had arrived from Bartlett’s the day before. She looked over her shoulder at him, deciding what to change into.
“Tell me about the mysterious lady you are meeting here,” Cassandra asked.
“You’ll find out sooner or later, so I might as well. But say not a word of this to Marguerite. It’s my old girlfriend Jane Eliot. She’s been stalking me for sex lately and well, let’s just say she’s gotten a lot prettier and a lot kinkier than she ever was when we were engaged.”
“I take it you left her for Marguerite?”
“Yes. We came to Random Point to go antiquing and I happened to walk into the bookstore and see Marguerite. It was love at first sight. Though I wound up married to Damaris for a year or so first.”
“So you broke up with Damaris because of Marguerite as well?”
“Yes. I couldn’t keep away from Marguerite and Damaris isn’t the kind of wife who tolerates that kind of thing. I respect her for that.”
“But Marguerite is?”
“Well, she is more broad minded, but the longer I can put off her finding out about this insane thing I’m doing with Jane, the better.”
Cassandra had gone behind a painted screen to change from her summer dress into a thin sleeveless cotton nightgown with a fitted bodice that emphasized the fullness of her bottom, the slenderness of her torso and small, sculpted roundness of her bosom.
“Turn around,” he said from the chair. She turned and looked at him over her smooth shoulder, noticing his gaze going to her bottom.
“You’d better tuck me in now,” she said, going to the bed and pulling back the comforter and sheet. He came to her, sat on the bed, pulled her down on his lap and put his arms around her tightly. She put her arms around his neck and said into his ear, “All the girls talk about you. So how could I not be curious?” Meanwhile, as she settled herself down on his lap, she felt his sudden erection. “Ten minutes left,” she said, looking at a clock on the bed stand.
“I feel like I’ve gone through the looking glass,” he said, gently laying her on her back and pulling her gown up to her chin. While gazing at her, he pulled his zipper down and reached down with the other hand to cup one of her creamy white, pink tipped breasts. She parted her thighs and he reached down to touch her, exploring her with his long fingers.
“Wait a minute,” she said, turning and getting up on her hands and knees. “There’s no time for fancy foreplay,” she said, “but there’s always time for a spanking.”
Michael smiled and applied his palm to her up thrust bottom in a couple of stinging volleys. She smiled and arched back towards him, inviting him to spank her again. Moving to her side, he took her around her small waist and gave her a proper spanking under his arm as she knelt on the bed. After sixty or seventy medium hard swats she groaned, “Okay, good!” She reached in her bedside drawer for a condom, which she began to unwrap but he snatched it from her and did the job much faster than she could have done.
“Is it okay to do it from this angle?” he asked, putting her back into the doggy position. ”Yes. Just take your time. You’re huge,” she said.
“Flatterer,” he laughed. Then he remembered time management and refocused his floating, fuzzy, funny attention on Cassandra and made sure she was wet before positioning his cock against her parted labia. Then, even as stoned as he was, and with only seven minutes left, he stopped to extract a tube of lube from her bed stand and thoroughly slicked down his long shaft as well as her tiny pink aperture, before invading her snug inner precincts with his formidable cock. With the help of ujai breathing, her sudden excitement at the turn of the night and the excellent lubricant, full penetration was achieved almost painlessly and it felt deeply good.
“What does it take to make you orgasm?” he asked, plying her slowly.
“I don’t think I could orgasm in eight minutes,” she said.
“I’ll stay a little longer then,” he decided, “and tell her I had to drive a drunk home to P. Town. I do that all the time.”
“You really want to make me come?” she asked, reaching between her legs to lightly cup his balls.
“God, yes!” he replied, in response to the pressure of her deft fingertips.
“Okay, let’s switch positions. Get on your back and let me get on top,” she said, pulling away and letting him pull out of her. He lay back on the bed and she mounted him, straddling his thighs with her flexible legs and taking him back inside her. She eased all the way down on his shaft until her groin was flush with his and she was sitting on his cock. “Now,” she said, taking his hands and placing one on each of her cheeks. “Touch me,” she encouraged him, nudging his hand toward her bottom crack. He needed no further instructions to begin fingering her bottom and pulling her even more tightly to him while she ground down on his pelvis.
With this happening to her, and then suddenly gazing down into his impossibly handsome face, Cassandra felt her crisis approaching momentarily.
“Okay,” she panted, “about to come!” And then she did come, throbbing and tingling as she rode the crest of sensation for ten seconds before expiring against his chest.
He flipped them over so that he was on top again and began fucking her hard and fast. Pulling her gown up again to completely expose her torso, he suddenly pulled out of her, pulled his condom off and taking his cock in his hand, pumped it to a effusive explosion that rained creamy fluid down on her perky bosom, concave belly and small, neat triangle of brown pubic curls. Cassandra hadn’t seen a male come that long and hard since high school days and laughed with appreciation.
“Careful, don’t let any get on that beautiful gown.” he said, pulling her nightie up and over her head then tossing it to one side. He looked at her lying under him and smiled. “You’re so pretty,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. It never happened,” she said, slipping out of bed to make repairs in the adjoining master bathroom.
Michael redid his trousers, stretched and joined her to wash his hands. He looked at her in the mirror. She was now fully nude while he was fully dressed in a light plaid short-sleeved shirt and light colored pants, a thin leather belt encircling his trim waist. He was a good foot taller than she with an impressive shoulder expanse.
“You’re larger than life, aren’t you?” she asked, leaning back against the vanity and smiling up at him. He bent to kiss her lightly on the lips. “I wish you had time to take your clothes off. I’d like to really see that body,” she said.
It had begun to rain hard and they could hear it pounding on the roof.
“I’d love to stay and cuddle with you for a while,” he said, walking back into the bedroom and casting a longing look at the bed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, pulling on a wrapper. “It’s been a long day and after what we just did, you could fall fast asleep. And then I wouldn’t want to wake you.”
“Okay, I’d better go. It’s really starting to come down,” he said; “Take care and lock everything up tight before you turn in. Always put the security system on. Promise me you’ll do that.”
“I will,” she said. Michael drove off and Cassandra obediently locked everything up before retiring to her bedroom. As the rain began pelting the windows hard she got completely undressed and climbed between the twelve hundred count sheets fresh from Bartlett’s luxury linens department. She had slatted the wide wooden venetian blinds and could see the raindrops splashing against the windowpanes of her back garden and woods facing bedroom.
“What a beautiful man,” she thought, lacing her fingers behind her head and looking out the windows. “That’s the second beautiful man I’ve temporarily annexed from a local woman. I should work on finding a beautiful man of my own.” Since returning to Random Point, she’d now had a man in his forties, Anthony, and tonight a man in his thirties, Michael. Should she try it with a man in his twenties next? Raphael Price from the art gallery came to mind. She grabbed her phone off the table and began to send a text to Amanda, “Is it okay if I go after Raphael Price?” But before she hit send she realized that Colby Hodge could be looking over her daughter’s shoulder when the text came in. And she suspected that Amanda hadn’t mentioned anything about Raphael Price being one of her lovers to Colby. She aborted the text and settled back in bed. And then perhaps she could complete her summer rampage through the warm and leafy back roads of Random Point with a man still in his teens, just for the sake of symmetry; that adorable Dru Baxter for example, he who craved a spanking so badly. No, she shook her head on the pillow, to sleep with a boy that her own daughter had slept with was unthinkably perverse.
Cassandra’s last thought before drifting off to sleep with a smile was, “I did Michael Flagg!”
Meanwhile Michael pulled away from the house, thinking, “What the hell did I just do and why?” Had he really broken a twenty-year spell of not getting high and within minutes of doing so, made love to a woman who wasn’t his wife? So far he was confident that Marguerite knew nothing about his resumption of relations with Jane Eliot. But this would not be the case for long. Someone would see him at one of his rendezvous with his former fiancée and report to his wife. And that gave him pause. Marguerite was a temperamental creature who had broken up with her first husband at the first sign of crankiness. She was too passionate about Michael not to be fiercely jealous of his affections and he feared that this could lead to an unappeasable anger in his redheaded goddess if she were to discover even a tenth part of what he had been up to that summer. The unfair thing was that he hadn’t gone looking for these adventures. They had more or less coming looking for him. At least Jane had. Jane had in fact been completely self-determined in her stalking and seduction of him. She had made up some story about a biological clock, but Michael was beginning to agree with Hugo Sands that this was nothing more than a righteous fib the novice thrill seeker Jane had made up to somehow justify what was a simple case of lust. Michael was a known quantity, he was convenient, she had once loved him and he her. It was natural that she turn to him the first time true sexual restlessness began to preoccupy her otherwise serious and socially committed consciousness. The fact that she had only grown prettier as well as much less inhibited since they’d been engaged, made her impossible to resist. All she really had to do was ask him to play with her while looking attractive and he found himself aroused. At the same time, he was still enthralled with his wife, who had only really been his for the last couple of years. It was delightful to actually have Marguerite at home with the added bonus of the beautiful baby that was theirs and of Marguerite being his wife now. Was he suddenly putting it all at risk for a whimsical Jane and whatever had just happened with Cassandra, which he couldn’t even begin to understand? The rain pelted down on his windshield as a text came in from Marguerite. He stopped the car and pulled over to look at his phone. “Just fed baby. Meet me at the house.” His heart lurched. The house Marguerite meant was his property, a little further down Pine Tar Road. He sniffed at his shirt. Would Marguerite detect Cassandra’s perfume? There was a faint wisp of a floral scent that his wife might notice.
In a moment or two he was pulling into the driveway of the house, his heart pounding at an unaccustomed rate. He wasn’t used to feeling guilty. It was an awkward and alarming sensation.
Marguerite appeared in the timbered living room in a smoky blue lace nightgown that displayed her hourglass figure handsomely, the creamy peach tones of her skin adding texture to the clinging ensemble. Her beautiful face, framed by a gleaming of curtain of light red hair, beamed on seeing him. She came to hug him, the warmth of her skin and absence of eyeglasses indicating that she had jumped out of bed when she’d heard his key in the door.
“Let me take a quick shower,” he told her, abbreviating their hug. “It’s been a long, hot day.”
There was nothing odd in this. After a fourteen-hour shift in his own bar, it was reasonable to take a shower and Marguerite didn’t question it. She climbed back into bed and awaited him. A few minutes later he emerged from the master bath with a towel wrapped around his trim waist, which he tossed aside before getting into bed beside his voluptuous but equally small-waisted wife and drawing her to him.
She turned her back to him and fitted her body against his as he lay on his side, arranging his arm around her waist. As always, being in such close proximity to her magnificent bottom caused his penis to jump to attention and it nestled as a hard bar against her lace wrapped cheeks.
“Do you have a little energy left?” she asked, pulling up her gown behind and grinding back against him.
“Always,” he said, wondering if he actually did. But instead of continuing in this manner, he sat up and said, “But let me ask you something.”
“Okay,” she replied agreeably, sitting up herself.
“Do you really love me?”
“What? How can you ask that?” she asked. “Didn’t I have your baby? And didn’t I marry you?”
“And you definitely plan to stay with me?”
“Of course I plan to stay with you, why wouldn’t I?”
“Having a baby together is a huge commitment,” he pointed out. “But you didn’t even tell me about it until you were months along. And then you insisted on staying in Europe until baby was born. Why so independent? That’s what alarms me. That you could so cheerfully do that all on your own.”
“Oh, Michael, it was all for vanity. I didn’t want to parade around the village with a big stomach. It would have been so awkward. You said you weren’t mad at me for that anymore.”
“I’m not mad. But how can I trust you not to dump me over the littlest thing and take Felina away in the same way you brought her?”
“I’d never do that. I can see you’re very fond of her. Everything worked out perfectly in that respect, just as I knew it would. What little thing are you talking about?” Marguerite asked.
“What if you found out I’d cheated on you,” he said. Marguerite’s light green eyes narrowed at him.
“Well, that was fast!” she cried with vexation.
“Remember what you promised,” he said.
“I will, but who is she?”
“When I tell you you’ll understand that this isn’t my fault.”
“That’s very interesting. I’m all agog,” said Marguerite, jumping out of bed and pacing, her plumper than usual bosom heaving with indignation. She caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror and added, “I knew it was time to stop nursing.”
“Honey, don’t say that, it’s so good for baby.”
“Baby is twenty months old. She’s already walking and talking She’s practically legal to drink. No, it’s long past time!” Marguerite folded her arms and glared at him. “Well? What local slut is it? Tell me!”
“Jane.”
“Jane Eliot?” Marguerite cried incredulously. “But, why? How?”
“This isn’t my fault,” Michael reiterated. “Someone invited her to that Venus Club dinner and it reawakened all sorts of memories of the hot sex we did have and the kinky sex we never got around to because she was an uptight bitch in those days. She stalked me and propositioned me just days after that dinner. And then she doubled down on how it was only fair I help her have a baby.”
“A what????”
“She said she wants a baby but she’s with a female partner. She said I owed her one because we were supposed to have gotten married and had a family.”
“And because of that you’ve been having sex with Jane again?”
Michael shrugged. “That and she’s been looking really good lately. And said she wanted that spanking I never got around to giving her while we were together. How could I resist, Marguerite? I did jilt her. Because you turned my head.”
“Yes, I see. It all makes perfect sense. Do you believe this story of wanting a baby? And have you been trying very hard to give her one, dearest?”
“I did believe it at first, but not anymore. Now I think she’s just bored with being gay.”
“So, she’s not pregnant yet, as far as you know?” Marguerite asked.
“No.”
“Well, did you spank her?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a horrid man!” Marguerite said, stamping her foot at him.
“Please, Marguerite, help me solve this problem?”