by Jewel Geffen
I watch as the ferry slowly crosses the lake. The boat is festooned in dim erotic red light, and seems to drift almost silently across the water. I can see the movement of bodies on the deck, a restless hive of activity, all those people keen with anticipation for what is to come. I can see them, but they can't see me. Even if they happened to look up to this place right here where I'm standing, they'd have no chance of picking me out. A dark shape dressed in black against the night.
I'm invisible, and all-powerful. At least, until they get here. Then who knows what's going to happen. Victoria's on that ferry, with Jason by her side. Angela's on it too. With Victor.
I can feel my grip on the balcony railing tighten. Victor Kipling. I've never in my life wished violence or suffering upon another human being. It's a fact of which I am quite proud. Victor is the closest I've ever come to violating that stricture.
He joined the company in the early days. He had banking connections in the UK that I needed, and I had the continental pull which he needed. We made several successful and lucrative deals together, and found that we worked very well as a team.
I never entirely trusted the man on a personal level, but our business relationship was ironclad. To be entirely honest, I might not be where I am today if not for the assistance of Victor Kipling – though, to be fair, he wouldn't have gone anywhere much if not for my assistance.
We built the company together, in large part, with him as the junior partner under my guidance. For some time it seemed that everything was going our way, each deal more successful than the last until we were firmly established as major players in European finance.
Then he met Angela. I knew from the beginning that there was something wrong between them. They seemed to take an instant disliking to one another, though I now suppose those initial spats were only a kind of sublimated flirtation. A testing of the waters. Or maybe they were just in denial about their true feelings.
It all came to a head one August. I was meant to go to Italy and finalize a deal, and he had to come to France to deliver some important documents to my house there. Angela was at the house, though he didn't know it and she didn't know he was coming.
How easily it could have gone another way. He might have simply dropped off the papers and driven away, and everything changed. She might have turned down a different hallway, or needed to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water, and they would never have even known how close they'd come. But it didn't happen that way. They found one another there, alone in the house.
And, once the two of them were alone, it all came undone. I don't know who made the first move, or how it began exactly, but I do know what I found when I returned – my flight having been delayed a day due to a dangerous weather front. I walked in the front door and saw them screwing on the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked her up against the wall. I'll never forget the sound of her voice as she called out his name, nor the way her face twisted with pleasure, eyes shut and mouth open.
I would have been willing to overlook it. A simple tryst, a mere infidelity; it didn't have to be damning. Angela and I were both adventurous and open-minded. We'd both had sex with any number of other people during our marriage. We'd never done it in secret, though, always together.
This was different. I knew it was different right from the beginning, just from the guilty yet defiant look on her eyes when she opened them and saw me watching.
I would have been willing to accept it and move past the incident, even forgive her for it, but she wanted none of that. She was done with me. She and Victor, she said, were going away together. She was leaving me.
She never said why, hadn't ever given any indication of unhappiness or dissatisfaction, just... left. For at least the first year after she went I was constantly expecting her to change her mind and come back. She would return, of course she would. What could Victor possibly offer her that I couldn't? He was obviously the lesser man – Angela and I had a deeper and truer bond than that, and she'd realize it soon enough.
But she never did and, eventually, I gave up hoping. Perhaps that was why I never looked her up or tried to track her down. It was better to hope she was wishing to return than to have it confirmed that she wasn't.
And now that she has come back I just wish she'd stayed away.
The ferry is pulling into the little dock down below and my guests are disembarking. I can see them coming up the long path. Evening gowns shimmer in the darkness and lapel pins and cuff-links and diamond rings flash brightly.
Angela is down there somewhere, with Victor, and the divorce papers she wants me to sign. I wonder what she'll do if I refuse. Try to press me, threaten me, even blackmail? Will I refuse, or agree to sign? Even now, at this late juncture, I'm undecided. If I really want to screw her I could just take her to court. The affair will likely weigh heavily in my favor, and she might well end up without a penny. Then where would she be?
Well, dependent upon Victor, I suppose. She would have to content herself with his millions instead of my billions.
This evening is going to be an interesting one, that's for sure.
I turn to go back inside, vanishing once again into the darkness of the quiet upper floors of the house while down below the doors are thrown open and flood the path with golden light.
* * *
We eventually found a caterer willing and able to bring food, and they've quite outdone themselves – no doubt in hopes of future lucrative commissions. Silver trays covered in delicate morsels and succulent treats are carried through the great rooms by scantily clad servers. Elegant classical music comes in over the speakers, drifting over the conversation in a lilting hum. The house is awash in lights and spectacle.
There are perhaps a hundred guests, slightly less than half of them women. The women are, it must be said, exceptionally attractive. Red lips pop on plump lips and full busts threaten to do the same right out of the tops of their gowns. Some are slender and lithely erotic, others full-figures and lusciously sexual. All are in a state of unmistakable arousal. I see a woman eyeing the bulls with the tip of her tongue out, slowly caressing her lower lip as if she were on the verge of salivating over the studs. Erect nipples press at gauzy gowns, and hard cocks strain against trousers. There's a sense in the air of sexual expectation, a kind of musky redolence beneath the haze of exotic perfumes and colognes.
It doesn't take long for the party to get into swing. Many of these people are returning guests, and they know exactly what they're here for. Almost as soon as they're in the door the wine starts flowing and the clothes start coming off.
Some guests retire to the private rooms without much preamble, either with the men they brought or with ones they've just met. I say 'private' but of course they're anything but. The sumptuously appointed bedrooms have been equipped with state of the art recording equipment, and everything that takes place inside is broadcast to the viewing rooms on the periphery of the party in glorious high definition.
There are already a few husbands sitting on the couches there, gripping their wineglasses excitedly while they watch on life-size screens in real time as their wives are taken to bed. The feminine moans and whimpers and masculine grunts that emanate from those rooms are broadcast intertwined with the classical music – a touch I'm especially fond of myself. The mingling of rarefied art and base passion. It gives the entire mansion an ambiance of sensual exoticism.
Most of the guests, however, aren't quite so eager to forgo the finer pleasures just yet, and mingle together in the large dance hall and several adjoining sitting rooms. They converse with one another quite amiably. If not for the moaning coming through the speakers and the occasional glimpse of a woman on her knees in front of an unzipped man in the corner of the room, one could almost think at a glance that this was no different from any other high society function. The charge in the air, however, is quite palpable and undeniable.
I find Jason and Victoria sitting in a corner and looking somewhat overwhel
med. No doubt they've never been to a gathering such as this, though for them the shock must be two-fold. On the one hand, they're in a room where there is assembled more wealth and power than most people see in their lifetime. On the other hand, of course, they're in over their heads as neophyte converts to the kink.
I find myself once again charmed by them both. There's something sweet about it, sort of innocent in a way. Especially now in contrast to Angela's cold and mercenary manner. I try to put her from my mind – though I'm feeling a touch on guard and jumpy at the knowledge that they're waiting somewhere in here and looking for me – and I put on a welcoming smile and go to them.
“Victoria. So glad you could join us. And Jason, welcome.”
He nods, gripping his knees and taking a deep breath. She smiles, looking serenely calm. I see now that it was just Jason that was giving the impression of being overwhelmed by the party. She appears quite at home, or at least she does now that I'm here with her. Perhaps I'm flattering myself to think that.
“A lovely party, Antoine. Thank you for inviting us. It's...quite an honor.”
I shake my head. “Please, the honor is all mine. I see you found the refreshments. The wine is to your taste?”
She grins slightly. “As always, your selection is impeccable.”
“Only the finest, for the finest caliber of guest,” I reach down and take her hand and lift it to my lips, and I plant a slow and sensual kiss on the backs of her fingers. Jason looks on, practically green with envy as his wife gazes adoringly up at me.
“You're too kind. I have to admit,” she lowers her voice just a little, glancing briefly about, “I feel a bit... out of place. Everyone here is so...”
I lift her to her feet. “Victoria,” I say, “you're the guest of honor here tonight. Don't forget that. You've more right to be here than anyone.” Then I lean in, sliding my hand behind the back of her head and pulling her close against me. I kiss her deeply and fully on the mouth. She moans slightly, her lips parting against mine, her little tongue exploring as she sinks into the embrace.
I can feel people turning to watch, many of them no doubt trying to take a measure of my latest partner. My personal connections are, perhaps inevitably, an invariable factor of interest at these events, and they're all curious to see what she's like. Let them look. Let Angela look too, if she wants, and that bloody Victor if he's skulking about. Let them all see.
I let my hands slide down to cup her bottom and pull it against myself. Her ass fits perfectly in my large hands, and feels breathtakingly firm and full. Her breasts press against my chest as I kiss her.
Our lips part, and she gazes up at me, dewy eyed and breathless. I grin down at her, and reach up to brush her lower lip with the tip of my finger. “Would you care to dance, Misses Dubois?”
She nods slightly, her body seeming to melt against mine. Just like that, I have her. She'd do anything for me. If I ordered her to drop to her knees and pleasure me right now, right here in front of everyone, I believe she'd do it. It's an attractive notion, honestly, but there will be plenty of time for such activities later in the evening.
I take her by the hand and lead her out to the middle of the hall, where the tinkling strings of an elegant concerto and the breathy moans of someone's orgasmic wife are coming louder and louder through the speakers.
Chapter Six
I lead Victoria out into the center of the dance hall. There are several other couples turning slowly in the vast room. Tall men in neatly tailored suites and sensual women in close-cut gowns and glittering diamond, they turn like little island in the huge marble space, each alone and each in their own world, gazing deeply into the eyes of their lovers.
I take her by the hand and hold her against myself. We turn slowly, our feet following the easy steps of the dance. The hem of her gown swishes on the floor as it sweeps in slow circles when she turns.
“I haven't thanked you yet,” she murmurs, her cheek against my shoulder.
“What for?”
She reaches one hand down to brush her flank, her fingers sliding over the elegant brocade of the gown. “It's beautiful... I've never even owned anything like this before... it seems like too much. I almost couldn't accept it.”
I sent a tailor to their cabin this morning to see to it that Victoria was suitably attired. They'd come here planning to spend the week hiking and canoeing, after all, not going to ritzy parties. I told the man to spare no expense and to hurry, and that I would pay any price. He'd delivered, and then some, no doubt under Victoria's close guidance. The gown is a striking silver thing, shockingly low-cut and slit up the thigh to show off her full breasts and slender thigh almost to the hip. It leaves her shoulders and arms bare, and scoops low in the back to display the flesh of her immaculately toned body.
I shake my head a little. “I can't think of a way the money could possibly have been better spent. You look breathtaking. It's worth every penny just to see you in it.” My hand moves to her hip, sliding over the silken material, settling there and holding her, feeling her warmth. Her body seems a magical thing. Every woman has her beauty, that sexual charge that she alone bears and which permeates her being. Victoria's, it must be said, is especially potent, especially powerful. I bend my head a little and breathe in slow the scent of her prettily pinned-up golden hair.
“Tell me something, Antoine.”
“What's that, darling?”
“What can I expect here? I mean... I know there's more going on here than just dancing.” As if to affirm her statement an especially loud squeal of delight floats through the speakers. Misses Allie Bush, if I'm not mistaken, a frequent guest and voracious lover. Her portrait hangs in a place of honor in my special room.
“A good deal more,” I answer, “but you can't expect me to give everything away, can you? Surely that would ruin the surprise of the evening, wouldn't it? Where would be the thrill in that?”
“I don't need to worry, though, right?”
I laugh softly, and spin her slowly under my arm. “Worry? Of course not, my darling Victoria. As long as you are with me, you needn't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you. And I will take you places your husband never dreamed.”
She shudders against me. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask, feigning innocence. I can feel her body filling with a sensual energy as her excitement grows.
“Make me feel like this, I mean. I'm not this sort of woman, you know... I've never... done anything like this. I'm not some kind of-”
I put my finger to her lips. “Ah, but you are, remember? You are now. You're mine, and you're exactly what I need you to be. You know that. You'll do anything I tell you to, won't you.”
It's not a question, but she answers as if it were, nodding her head slightly. “Because I trust you,” she says.
“Completely?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then you don't have to worry. This is a dream, Victoria. This place, this night... everything. It's just a dream. There's no judgment in dreams, no guilt, no shame. Allow yourself to drift upon the surface of reality. Let me be your Morpheus, and guide you through the pathways of your dreaming. Don't waste time second-guessing, just let what happens happen, and know that when you wake it will fall away and you will be as you were before, though carrying always within you the sweet memory.”
For a time after that we turn slowly, dancing through the room.
“When you say things like that,” she whispers, “I can almost believe that it is a dream. I've never known anybody like you, Antoine, who talks like you... who...” she leans in a little closer, “who fucks like you. I'm almost afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I'm afraid that I'll never be able to get enough of you,” she says, “that I'll be so blinded by desire that I'll allow you to make a slave of me and never be free of the need.”
I lift her chin and gaze down into her blue eyes. “I'm here every summer,” I say, “if you come bac
k... there will always be a place for you here...”
She moans softly and lifts her mouth to mine and we kiss. I spot something out of the corner of my eye just before our lips touch. Melody Johnson stands in the doorway of the room, her bonnet a little askew. She's gesturing urgently at me.
I frown, and try to focus my attention on Victoria. When our lips part, however, I can't help but tear myself away. “You'll have to excuse me,” I say, taking hold of her naked shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze, “but I'm afraid that my duties as a host require my attention for a time. Please, make yourself at home and I'll find you shortly.”
“Alright,” she says, and I can hear the subdued sense of disappointment in her voice.
I give her another quick kiss, then make my way to were my housekeeper waits. “Melody, what are you doing here? The regular house staff aren't required to be here for these events.”
She blushes, crossing her legs and putting her arms over her breasts. She's dressed in the same skimpy little thing that the rest of the special staff are adorned in: a frilly black lace skirt that doesn't do a damn think to hide her black silk panties, and a top that leaves her nipples exposed. I can't help but note that they're small and dark and firm. “I, um, volunteered,” she mumbles, then flashes a challenging look at me, as if daring me to pursue the topic. I decline.
“Is there something the matter, Melody? You seem agitated.”
“It's, er, it's that woman. The one who went and let herself in the other day?”
Angela. I can feel my eyes narrow. “What's she doing now?”
“More of the same, sir. She's gone and got herself into your portrait room and she's, well... I don't know what she's doing, but she's getting up to something in there.”
I take a deep breath. Well now... this is it.
She's looking for a confrontation, I can tell. It's become painfully obvious that that's what this is all about. She's not looking for a divorce; she's looking for a fight. It occurs to me now that she might not actually want me to sign that paper. There's something up her sleeve. Maybe Victor's convinced her that the two of them can get something out of me. I don't know, and I have a feeling I don't want to find out. It's time to end this before it gets any messier.
