“See Ewan?” she asked this morning. “He lives to be with me, on our pallet or off. Not a moment of the day passes that he is not doing something for both of us, or me alone. When we are only hours parted, he misses me. He finds reasons to come by the hut, when I work there, or our little house, when I am home. This is how a new-wed husband should be. Your Hugh is always away, always looking for a reason to be away, when he should be with you. He does not desire, but uses you as a convenient outlet for his seed.”
I shut her out. Hugh is just tired from working so hard. Gildavale’s gardens are huge and— because the owners are trying to save on costs—he does the work alone. Some days he is gone before sunrise and does not return until sunset, to fall asleep before his head finds his pillow. When Father relents, it will be different, I know.
August 2, 1936
If I could die now, I would. Or maybe I would rather murder my husband.
Elspeth was right. Hugh has been carrying on an affair, and not just with one woman, but two!
A man came to our door, just the day after my last entry, asking for Hugh. When I said he was at work, the gentleman introduced himself as Mr. Bronson, the chief gardener at Gildavale. Hugh had not been seen in the gardens for two days. I learned that there are six men working in the gardens, every day! I followed Mr. Bronson back to Gildavale, and spoke to the other men he works with. It took some bribery, but a Mr. Simpson finally told me Hugh had been carrying on with the downstairs maid, a Miss Cowie.
I hunted down Miss Harriet Cowie and coaxed her onto the grounds, where I confronted her. She was a pretty little redhead, with big blue eyes that rained tears when she heard my story.
“I had no ken he was marrit!” she sobbed, in a brogue that seemed to spring up with the tears. I believed her, and I could sense that anything she had done with my husband had been under duress. It was there in her eyes, a fear at the mention of his very name.
She claimed that she was merely an accessory in his real affair—with Gilda Valiant, the heiress! Miss Cowie snuck me up the back stairs to Miss Valiant’s rooms, and gave me the key. When I burst in, I found my husband balls-deep in the floozy’s chassis! They both turned at my gasp and the bitch smiled and waved me over!
“Do join us, darling.” She purred between gasps and grunts. “I love a sweet-box as much as a whang, after all. The more the merrier!”
I am sure my head exploded. Hugh’s grin turned into a mask of abject horror, even as he continued to pound his prick into that quiff. Then all went red and black, and I screamed something foul before I lunged at them both.
Mother said they carried me home, nearly insensible. Miss Valiant was sent to hospital to have the slashes in her face repaired, and her right ear re-attached. Hugh fled The Hamptons, so far as we could tell. Mr. Mackenzie, upon hearing the news, quietly resigned and moved out within the week. My mother called Dr. Bainroth, our family physician. He had me placed in an asylum for my own protection, or possibly for my parent’s new fear of me.
The drug-induced sleep was the best thing in the world. I lived as Elspeth for close to three weeks, day and night. I made a point of waking her every night when the moon was at its peak, to rouse Ewan for love-making like Hugh could never manage. Perhaps Elspeth felt pity for me, enough that she let me take near-complete control for those midnight trysts.
Ewan feasted on me. Unknowing, he plunged my depths, brought me to climax again and again, until I felt more satisfied than I had ever been, and then he’d do it again. He explored every part of my borrowed body, and taught me things even I did not know about the female anatomy. It was heaven, and each night I held on a little longer, begging Elspeth for just a few minutes more.
Finally, I wore out my welcome. I had decided I would not return to Beth, and her sham of a life. I tried to hold Elspeth back, for good. The battle was feverish. Ewan was beside himself with worry as Elspeth’s body seized and sweated, but she finally thrust me back into my corner of her mind, and I was not allowed to venture out again.
After a week of only observing, I chose to return to my own life, such as it was.
* * *
I, (Beth), woke in the middle of an experimental treatment they call shock therapy. My body was a ball of burning agony, bolts of lightning running through my veins, and my head about to implode. When they cut the current, I was screaming around a huge chunk of rubber they had shoved into my mouth. They sat me up and yanked out the mouthpiece, nearly taking my teeth with it. Someone wiped away a beard of foamy saliva that had come from my mouth sometime during the charge.
“Welcome back, Elizabeth.” A man said from behind me. “Or do you prefer to be called Elspeth, now?”
I fainted dead away.
* * *
There were a million questions after that. Did I really think I was a witch? What year was it? Where did I live? What was my husband’s name? The latter sent me into a rage that very nearly got me a second round of shocks, but the very mention of the treatment snapped me out of it. I never wanted to feel that kind of torture again.
I refused to answer anything, at first. After a week or two, I realized they would never let me go if I did not find a plausible lie. Finally, I told them I had created a fantasy world for myself, in order to stave off the madness. They believed it, and my apparent self-analysis convinced them of my recovery—and the future success of shock therapy. May God forgive me, for the patients who follow me will not.
Yesterday, I returned to our estate in the Hamptons, alone. My parents will remain in New York this summer, giving me the time and space I need to recover, under the supervision of a Dr. Peck they hired to care for me. The good doctor has brought his wife, a nurse, along for the working holiday.
Father has forgiven me, and Mother calls daily with her worried voice and tearful goodbyes. I’m sure much of my mother’s worry is guilt-driven. It is nice to be back at Rudderfirth, again. If I never see Hugh Mackenzie again, it will be too soon.
August 6, 1936
Fate has given me a gift, and I must find the best way to utilize it. It came in the form of a redheaded young woman, with the biggest, bluest eyes I have ever seen.
Miss Harriet Cowie appeared on the doorstep this morning, begging for work. She was unaware that I lived here, she said, or she would not have knocked. I brushed away her objections, and insisted she tell me what had happened to her position at Gildavale.
They turned her out for letting me into the mansion, she told me, and would give her no reference for another position. I hired her, immediately, as my personal maid. It will take time, I know, to wring all of the details out of her, but before my lawyers begin the divorce proceedings, I will know everything. If I cannot wring Hugh’s goose-neck with my own hands, I will make him, or his family, pay for the ruin he has made of my heart.
* * *
As for Elspeth, she continues to live her perfect little life, with her perfect husband, but we both know there is more to come. She can feel it even more than I. She will not listen when I caution her. She warned me, and I refused to heed. Despite my attempt to appropriate her existence, we are still some kind of sister-soul. We will face whatever comes together, I hope.
August 10, 1936
Hugh has returned to me, and I am giving him a chance to redeem himself.
No, not really, but he must believe it, or my plan comes to naught. He is to live in our marital cottage, until he has earned my trust. That will never come to pass.
The doctor objected vehemently, Father is furious and threatening to disown me again, and Mother is all balled up. Even Harriet is in a snit. All of them can rub salt, except Harriet. The poor thing has been through enough, already. Though I don’t know all of it yet, I know that it has scarred her. I will have to tell her my plan, soon. First, I have to be sure she will not rat me out.
She has barely begun to tell me the details of what her mistress, and my soon-to-be-ex-husband, put her up to. Like me, Hugh used her emotional attachments to manipulate her, callou
sly took her virginity, and then broke her heart. If anything, though, his cruelty to her was far worse, because of the circumstances, and how maliciously he disregarded her as unworthy of compassion.
* * *
Hugh took the position at Gildavale with every intention of seducing Miss Valiant. I can only guess that he meant to snag himself the beautiful young heiress and somehow rid himself of his less than pretty wife after he had filched enough money from my family. What he didn’t anticipate was that Gilda was already far more liberal with her sexual talents than he was prepared for.
According to Harriet, Gilda enjoyed many forms of sexual gratification. Once Hugh heard the rumours of her escapades from his workmates, his plan to corrupt and seduce an innocent, inexperienced nineteen-year-old were foiled. It was only luck and attention to detail that inspired his new plan.
While Gilda strolled in the gardens one day, Hugh happened to observe how Harriet revered her mistress. In fact, the young maid was quite moon-struck, if utterly confused by her own feelings. Hugh took it upon himself to cultivate Harriet’s friendship, and at the first opportunity confided in her that he thought Gilda had a real affection for her. His offer to investigate the matter met with denial at first, but the much-needed introduction was soon made, and everything snowballed from there.
Ever eager to try out a new bedfellow, the young heiress had my husband in her bed that very evening. The mere suggestion that he orally pleasure me had repulsed him, but he was chin-deep in Gilda Valiant before that first night was over, and deeper in her good graces. Gilda told poor Harriet every detail.
It didn’t take long for the heiress to tire of Hugh’s monotonous lovemaking, though, and he had nearly botched things before he took the next step. When he proposed that Harriet be employed as an audience of one, at their next tryst, the suggestion pleased Gilda. It thrilled her so much that she fucked him senseless, in the toolshed of the gardens, by way of an answer, or so Hugh told her, rubbing it in her face, much later.
* * *
Hugh convinced Harriet that he could teach her how to please her mistress if she watched him service her. Harriet, desperate to decipher this confusing attraction, and hopeful of her mistress’ affection, agreed. She had no idea that by serving, Hugh meant sexually.
They drank some wine together; wine Hugh had laced with opiates. Harriet was well basted when they tied her to a chair and gagged her, “just for fun, they said”, and began their foreplay. Gilda, always a little high, eagerly agreed to let Hugh direct everything. When he’d brought her to orgasm once, orally, he then turned his attention to Harriet.
He must have seen how stimulated she was by the dope and her mistress’ obvious pleasure. She opened her legs as commanded and submitted to Hugh’s rough attentions willingly enough. The man’s hands and lips did far less for her than seeing her mistress pleasure herself while she watched. When she had reached her first summit, he untied her and removed the gag.
He carried Harriet to the bed, and laid her down beside Gilda, ordering her to kiss her mistress. Harriet said that kiss was a moment of clarity she’d never anticipated. It was then that she knew she was truly a lover of women.
* * *
That was as much detail as sweet Harriet was willing to tell me and it has taken a few days to get that much. Hugh’s return has made her punchy. I will have to tread carefully now.
* * *
Elspeth knows what I plan to do. She objects vehemently, and has dire predictions about the karmic payback I can expect, but she knows that my mind is set in this.
She has told Ewan about their baby. He is thrilled, or course. Dubhglas even seems genuinely happy for them, and willing to open his heart to his son’s wife.
Our lives are growing apart, as she becomes complacent and I seek revenge. We are like the Oriental Yin and Yang, opposites somehow entwined, balancing one another, perhaps? I hope so and yet I still fear that I will never have my own life, alone and content. She seems to have found that contentment, and her awe and wonder at my modern existence have subsided. My life has lost its shine, for both of us.
August 30, 1936
My plans are coming along better than I could have hoped. Hugh believes I will relent, in time, and welcome him back to my bed. He is truly as gullible as he thinks me to be. I know he is still carrying on his affair with Miss Valiant, or rather, he is one of her frequent orgy guests. Her appetite has outgrown him, but he clings to his failing status, hoping for more luck. He is always back at the cottage by midnight, though, in case I sneak out for one of our infrequent trysts.
I began with some cuddling sessions, and then a little making out. I have fucked him twice since his return, as abhorrent as the practice is. It is enough to feed his optimism. I tell him that I believe in him, but must make a show of punishing him to keep my father from disinheriting me. It is obvious that he married the family fortune, not me. As long as he is blinded by greed, he will not see his comeuppance looming.
Dr. Peck distrusts Hugh more each day, thanks to Harriet’s ‘secret’ concerns about our daylight meetings. I insisted on meeting with Hugh each day, claiming that he should be given a chance to plead his case and save our holy vows. The doctor made his concerns clear, and volunteered to chaperone the meetings personally, to ensure I would not be hoodwinked by Hugh’s charm. I negotiated a compromise, having Harriet come with me, in his stead. She has, at my request, convinced Dr. Peck that Hugh shows signs of a volatile temper. She meets with the psychiatrist each evening to report her observations. The good doctor has sent his wife back home, away from any danger, proving that my ruse is working perfectly.
My sweet Harriet has become my confidante, my spy, my co-conspirator—and most important of all—my faithful, secret lover. It is an unlooked-for miracle.
It came about, really, from our confessions. When I did not renounce the girl for her sexual preference, and genuinely empathized with her abhorrence of Hugh’s cruel manipulations, she finally gave me her complete trust.
The first gift she gave me was the rest of her story. Her brogue had vanished along with her nerves, and she was able to make her ordeals more clear to me, now.
* * *
After that kiss with Gilda, Hugh commanded Harriet to mimic his oral skills with her mistress. The girl would have been happy to oblige, even without the opium. With it, the experience became a surreal fulfillment of a fantasy she had not realized she had.
“I slid down the bed and nuzzled her sweet-box.” Harriet told me. “I was so eager and so frightened. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the scent of her made my heart beat like Gene Krupa was working his magic on it. It was all so heady, I am afraid I dove in with more enthusiasm than skill. Gilda protested my crude attempt, and Hugh insisted she teach me the right technique, herself.
Oh, Beth, it was heaven! She nuzzled and licked, and sucked, and nipped in all the right ways! I thought I would burst with the joy of it!”
When Harriet had come, she made another attempt at Gilda, and soon they were striving and writhing together, Hugh all but forgotten. They took turns gratifying one another, and then shifted to continue in unison. Gilda was insatiable, and when the maid fell back, blissfully exhausted, she found herself again on the receiving end of her mistress’ talented tongue and fingers.
Her passion renewed, Harriet turned the tables, pushing Gilda back to tenderly make love to her again, but as she hovered over the woman, Hugh made his authority crudely clear. He seized Harriet by the hair and shoved his cock into her mouth.
Gilda seemed to find it amusing, and she laughed as Harriet nearly vomited.
“She said I would learn to enjoy it, and she would teach me, but I did not want to learn!” Harriet was crying, as she told me this, “All I wanted was to be with her, making love, until I withered away from exhaustion!”
Hugh pulled away, but he still had Harriet by the hair. While Gilda leapt to the challenge, Hugh pushed the maid’s head back down to her mistress’ cunny and commanded her to “e
at”. Harriet complied, while Gilda gobbled sloppily at Hugh’s cock, and he began to jab at Harriet with his fingers. When he got too rough, the girl protested, confessing her virginity.
Harriet said a strange glimmer came into Hugh’s eyes, then, and Gilda’s as well. The woman grabbed Harriet by two fistfuls of hair, and ground her cunny against the maid’s face, while Hugh spit on his hand, and began to probe Harriet more gently. Harriet responded to this more tender treatment by moaning her pleasure into Gilda’s sex. The vibrations excited the heiress more, and at her urging, Hugh replaced his fingers with the head of his pulsating cock. Harriet cried out in fear and confusion, but the two conspirators must have heard it as encouragement. Hugh pressed on until he felt the barrier, and then began a slow, steady stroke.
Hugh had to have felt her tension fading, as passion overcame her fear. He could have taken her gently then. He could have shown compassion for her delicate condition. Instead, he thrust deep, and shattered her virginity in a spear of pain that made her scream. He practiced no restraint at all, after that, pounding his prick into the poor girl until he climaxed, without granting her the charity of her own orgasm, and then rolling her aside to bring his attention to bear on the heiress again. Gilda offered no more compassion than Hugh, ignoring Harriet’s tears, coldly commanding her to clean herself up and get back to work.
The whole escapade had gone from dream to nightmare, and Harriet fled while the other two were distracted with each other.
“I thought she could love me, but I was just another plaything to her.” Harriet was obviously heartbroken. “She called me to her room often after that, to perform for her, for her other lovers—for your husband. She threatened to fire me if I told a soul, to have me blacklisted from working for any of the big families. She said she would tell everyone I was queer and depraved, and I could not be trusted with their daughters… I was trapped on a never-ending pleasure and then sweating, grunting men, and yet I still wanted to love her! Sometimes...”
Between The Sheets (A Naughty Box Production Book 1) Page 18
