Sebastian - Secrets

by Janey Rosen

  Deciding I’ve had enough of men for today, I switch my phone off and go to bed without replying.

  The next morning Joe is brooding and quiet when I drive him to school, Bella has insisted on taking the bus again and I’m unsure as to whether she is angry and blaming me for her father leaving or just showing the first signs of maturity and independence. Chatting to Joe in the car, my light conversation is met with grunts and one-word answers and he is keen to get out when we reach school.

  At the office I have a heap of paperwork waiting for my attention, which I plough through by late morning. Ruth is at a meeting with our lawyer to discuss Sebastian’s investment and shareholding.

  My work completed, I wonder whether to bunk off for the rest of the day. Instead I decide upon a little much needed ‘me’ time and welcome distraction. Taking my latest raunchy book from the drawer in my desk, I flick through the chapters until I reach a particularly erotic scene. They are ensconced in a secret room, her hands and ankles are bound with rope and he is applying clamps to her nipples. Ouch, it makes me shudder and suddenly I’m more curious than ever about this perverse form of sex.

  I fire up my computer, and tilt the screen to an angle so that no one entering my office will witness my search. There are numerous online pages offering a plethora of deviancy, ranging from torturous equipment, to bondage and sadism/masochism dating websites.

  A forum for submissive women catches my attention and reading the threads, I recognise many of my needs and desires within those postings. The women talk about dominant men who care for them and ensure they are safe and looked after, yet with the expectation and profound understanding that their submissive meets their every desire enthusiastically and tirelessly and without question or disobedience. The primary attraction for me, apart from the hot sex, is that the woman is not expected or required to be the decision maker or alpha of the relationship.

  Reflecting on my own marriage and my career, I can see that this is parallel to my own life and realise that I’ve been craving a significant life change for some years. Perhaps submission is the panacea to my unhappiness and dissatisfaction with my life. The penny drops, this is why I’m attracted to Sebastian – he holds the key to unlocking and freeing ‘me’. Go with it Beth, life is short and it’s your turn to fly.

  Picking up the phone, I tap Sebastian’s number. My hand is trembling slightly and the knot in my stomach is firmly twisting … feel the fear and do it anyway…

  Sebastian answers and his deep sexy voice turns the knot in my stomach to a warm tingling in my groin. He reassures me with his confident tone, listening to me as I dump all my anguish and feelings on his shoulders. He tells me exactly what I so need to hear. My marriage breakdown was not my fault as it had clearly been on the cards for years, and it is now my time to do fulfill my own desires.

  It’s nearly Christmas he reminds me, the children will find this year tough because we won’t be a family unit.

  We must come to stay at Penmorrow for the holiday season. He doesn’t allow me to interject as, he assures me, he knows best and I must trust him on this.

  My mobile phone rings – number withheld, I accept the call.

  “Elizabeth Dove speaking.”

  “Sorry … I must have the wrong number.” The voice sounds familiar.

  “Who are you trying to reach?” I ask.

  “Rosie. I don’t know her surname.” It’s Simon!

  “Erm … hold the line, I’ll get her for you.” I place the phone down in my lap for a full minute, before picking it up again.

  Changing my voice to a slightly higher octave, I say, “Rosie speaking.”

  “Rosie, hi. It’s Simon.”

  “Simon, what a lovely surprise. How are you?”

  “I’m good. How are you?” Awkward conversation!

  “I’m fine thanks. How’s work?” Think of something to say, Beth.

  “Work’s good. Not many fires though.” Blimey he’s boring.

  “Well, that’s a good thing right?” I say lightly.

  “Guess so.”

  “So, Simon. What can I do for you?” Say something for God’s sake before one of us dies …

  “Just thought I’d phone for a chat. See how you are.” So, get chatting!

  “How lovely. I enjoyed our time together,” I lie.

  “Yeh, me too,” he says.

  “Well then …”

  “Wanna do it again?” asks Simon. And they say the art of romance is gone.

  “You bet.” Another lie. “Let’s fix something up really soon. I’m busy for the next couple of weeks but why don’t you text me some dates and we’ll put something in the diary.” Like maybe next century.

  “Yeh. Sounds like a plan. See ya.” He cuts the call before ‘Rosie’ can say goodbye.

  At the end of the day, my desk is tidy and I turn out the office lights and put my coat on. My phone pings with a new text message.

  Rosie I can do next Wednesday or the following Monday. Any good? Same hotel, same hot sex. Simon x

  Oh crap! I tap a quick reply to him.

  Hi Simon, sorry can’t make either of those days due to meetings. Will call you. X

  Don’t hold your breath!

  Driving home I scold myself for getting into these tricky situations. There’s no comparison between Sebastian and Simon. Sebastian is complicated – very complicated but at least he doesn’t have a vacuous void for a brain. I make a mental note to delete the message from Simon – erase him from my life but that thought is forgotten, as my mind drifts back to thoughts of Sebastian.

  14

  The weeks pass so quickly. Each day is a master class of juggling; the children, housework, the business, divorce correspondence and I am utterly and completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. My mother tries to help as much as she can and is invaluable, as is Ruth and between the three of us we somehow manage always to keep the cogs and wheels of my life well oiled and turning. The children have not yet starved or burned the house down on the days I have worked late, thanks to mother being there. The business has not suffered from my drop in efficiency thanks to Ruth shouldering more than her share of meetings - life after Alan is bearable.

  Alan is not thriving alone. He doesn’t appear to be at work very much and the children tell me, after their latest visit with him that he’s on ‘garden leave’ though for what misconduct I have no idea, although I suspect whisky may be involved. Bella tells me he’s drinking all the time – when I question her on this she clams up, loyal to her father but it spurs me to notify my lawyer, seeking a reduction in his access and restricting him from driving our children in case he is under the influence of alcohol. His fury at the ensuing letter culminates in the mother of all rows on the phone late one night, when he accuses me of being a manipulating bitch who is ‘just like all those women and no wonder Justice For Fathers were in the news every day when women like me stopped them seeing their kids’. There is no reasoning with him and it leaves me with a steely resolve to continue the restriction, as the safety and welfare of my children seems to be my priority alone, not Alan’s.

  This new confidence is directly attributable to Sebastian. Our daily telephone conversations reaffirm my decisions and actions, and Sebastian’s wise words and practical suggestions prove invaluable in helping survive each day rather than curling up in my bed and closing out the world as I wanted to do soon after Alan left me.

  Christmas is fast approaching. The children have just two more days before their schools close for the holidays, and I have just two more days to work until the start of my two week period of leave and I can hardly wait. The anticipation of seeing Sebastian again after so many weeks, together with the promise of a much needed rest are steering me through each day. Alan vehemently refuses to allow the children to spend the entire holiday with me and I relent – agreeing that he can have them to stay with him for New Year. I decide he is less likely to drink himself into oblivion on New Year’s Eve if the children are with him.
It also means they can travel to Penmorrow with me for Christmas, we leave in just four days time.

  Mother is unhappy that the children and I will be absent for Christmas, but she has decided to invite her sister, Aunty Margaret, to travel from Eastbourne and enjoy the festivities with her. They are not close but my mother will nevertheless enjoy her company and it absolves me from my selfish act of going away. My penance for such a sin was to agree to host dinner for the two of them on the night before we leave for Cornwall and we exchange gifts over an early turkey dinner at my home before kissing and hugging our farewells and festive wishes.

  The white carpet of frost glistens on the front lawn and path, twinkling in the early morning sun as I load suitcases and brightly wrapped Christmas presents into the boot of my car. The children seem in good spirits, chatting animatedly for much of the journey. They seem unconcerned to be visiting a stranger or spending Christmas with him, instead they seem more anxious to know whether I have bought Joe’s latest console game, and Bella’s iPad, as demanded on their hastily penned Christmas wish lists, which of course I have.

  “Kids, are you excited to be staying in a mansion for Christmas?” I ask, observing the reaction on their faces in my rear view mirror.

  “Bella told me it’s haunted,” replies Joe nervously, “and she said there will be dungeons and secret tunnels and everything” he muses. Bella laughs, “belieeever!” and Joe digs her ribs sharply with his elbow. Bella yelps and responds with a hefty thump to Joe’s leg giving him a dead leg. I sigh, this is my life these days but I resist the urge to scream at my children or to dampen my excitement, instead I switch on the radio and crank the volume up to drown out their squabbles.

  We break our journey only for a comfort stop near Exeter and to share out the hastily made sandwiches, which are in the picnic bag beside me. Fifty minutes later I leave the arterial road to north Cornwall and am soon navigating the tiny capillary lanes threading toward Trevissey. It’s odd but the smaller the roads, the greater my excitement as we approach the turning to Penmorrow. We soon pass the stone stags, and the children gasp as Penmorrow looms ahead.

  15

  The car wheels crunch noisily on the gravel signalling our arrival. As I cut the ignition I see, reflected in the wing mirror, the welcome sight of Sebastian approaching from the house.

  The children are already out of the car and, as I open the door and step from the car, the sight of Sebastian embracing Bella and shaking Joe’s hand melts my heart. I’m beaming when he walks over to me. He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly into his chest, kissing my forehead. My arms wrap around him and I turn my head upwards and plant a lingering, intense kiss on his lips – I’m so very glad to be with him again, having grown to miss him terribly over the last few weeks.

  After an eternity of kissing we become aware of the children, impatient to get on with the business of ghost hunting and exploring the vast house before them. Sebastian opens the car boot and retrieves our luggage, which he carries into the house. The children run ahead of him and, as I follow him inside, a feeling of optimism and belonging enfolds me. I am home.

  Two hours. The time it takes the children to complete their mission of discovery, after which they find us in the kitchen and regale us with tales of dark shadows and ‘really cool’ rooms. Sebastian feigns intrigue, then fuels their excitement by telling them stories of an apparition of a grey lady purportedly seen floating along the upper landing and passing through bedroom doors. I laugh and admonish him for telling tales, which will inevitably keep Joe awake tonight.

  Sebastian leaves us at three, returning an hour later with the most enormous Christmas tree the children have ever seen. We have a wonderful time adorning the branches with the glass baubles that Sebastian retrieves from the attic.

  It feels cathartic – to laugh, to be a family unit, to forget Alan and all the negativity which has clouded my life of late. It’s Christmas and I feel safe, my children are happy – life is good once again.

  Scarlett serves a delicious supper of beef wellington with a warm chocolate fondant for dessert and, irritatingly, joins us at the table.

  “Beats your microwave dinners, Mum!” exclaims my ungrateful son as he devours his second helping. Scarlett catches my eye and I note the smugness with which she smiles at me.

  Refreshed from a hot bath and now dressed only in a towelling robe, I’m sitting on the rug with Sebastian, as we did the night we met, gazing at the fire and sipping port. In the great hall, the last embers of the fire glow and the last remnant of burning pine spits cinders and crackles. We don’t speak but instead relish each other’s closeness. The house is quiet. The children are sleeping upstairs and the only sounds I can hear come from the fire and the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chiming intermittently.

  I’m seated contentedly between Sebastian’s open legs, resting back against his strong chest, breathing in the seductive scent of him. I raise the crystal port glass to my lips, finishing the warm sweet liquid and breathe in the aroma of smoky pine, sighing contentedly. He kisses the back of my neck then nibbles at the top of my ear and I moan at the touch of his lips “mm that feels so good…”

  “We aim to please, Elizabeth… and how does this feel?” he moves the hair from my neck and traces gentle kisses down to the top of my spine, sending small tremors down my spine to my sacrum. I squirm and melt back against him harder. It feels so good. He falls back with my weight against him, onto the rug taking me with him – my glass tumbling from my grasp. His legs entwine mine, and we’re kissing passionately, our tongues seeking each other’s with a raw hunger. His hands roughly grasp and knead my breasts, pinching my nipples until I cry out with the delicious pain. He moves on top of me, my legs now wrapped tightly around his, pulling his hardness against me and I need him so badly, the ache within me is almost unbearable.

  My hand moves down to his hardness, stroking the length of him through the course fabric of his jeans and he groans, reaching down to unzip his fly – his manhood rises, freed from the constraints of the denim. He hurriedly pulls at the tie belt of my robe until it gives, the robe falling open to expose my nakedness. His hand moves between my legs, his fingers probing my creamy arousal, his thumb stroking at my clitoris so expertly. He continues his assault on my clit as I stroke his throbbing member, my teeth catching his lip as the passion of our kiss engulfs us. He sits up then, pulling me with him and positioning me to straddle him.

  My legs still wrapped around him, I feel the slick head of his cock pressing at my wetness as he grabs my hips and purposefully guides me down onto his shaft. He is pounding into me again and again as his grip on my hips controls the pace of our movements, forcing me to ride him faster and faster, down harder and deeper - chasing our orgasms together. I feel the delicious waves coursing through me as I grind down harder, taking all of him greedily. His breath catches as he finds his own his release, the spasms of his climax shuddering through my core. The strength leaves my body as my climax abates - I sag forward into his arms, not daring to move my hips or legs, wanting him inside me still. Savouring this moment neither of us moves, and the dying fire throws just enough heat to warm my buttocks and back.

  “You’re so amazing…” I whisper. “This is what I’ve been missing all these years.” At this moment I feel a flood of warm emotion and gratitude toward Sebastian. Could this be love?

  “You’re pretty amazing too, Mrs. Dove,” he murmurs as he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. He strokes my hair as he holds me. I’ve longed for this for so long, fantasising and imagining how good sex could be. I feel almost drunk with contentment right now. Our breathing steadies, my eyes are heavy and I listen to the faint ticking of the Grandfather clock mirroring Sebastian’s heartbeat and breathing and it lulls me. My eyes lazily adjust to the growing darkness of the room as the fire fizzles out… and then I see her!

  16

  A shadow at first, it could be the failing light playing tricks on my eyes but then the shadow m
oves … the shape is that of a woman, I’m certain. It moves from its’ position by the long heavy drapes at the mullioned window and glides silently toward the door. My breath catches. I sit up and my eyes are wide now, trying desperately to focus and the doorway is more illuminated with the light from the hallway casting sufficient yellow glow upon the shadow to reveal that it is not a ghost, it’s her… Scarlett.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, “Scarlett was right here … watching us!” I feel his body stiffen.

  “Where?” he asks and I detect just a hint of annoyance in his voice, but certainly not the shock that I feel and that unnerves me.

  “Over by the window, she must have been watching us the whole time. When I saw her she left.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth,” he scoffs. “Why the hell would Scarlett be watching us? Anyway, so what if she was?” So what? Is this another, freaky ‘normality’ in this house? Voyeurism certainly is not normal in my humble opinion and after … what we did! I’m furious suddenly, and I want answers from her, as it’s painfully obvious that none shall be forthcoming from him.

  “I’m sorry Sebastian, it may be perfectly acceptable to you but not to me. I’m going to ask her what the hell she was doing spying on us.” I get up quickly pulling my robe tightly around me, tie the belt firmly, and leave before he has the opportunity to stop me. I exit the great hall and make my way to the kitchen but when I enter, the room is empty.

  Instinct takes me to Sebastian’s study next and I find the door ajar. I can hear Sebastian moving around in the great hall, and imagine that he’s hastily putting on his clothes and is sure to follow me. I move hastily through the doorway, which hides the steps to the basement and, flicking the light switch on, begin my descent.

  Scarlett’s door is closed but I don’t bother knocking. I firmly twist the handle and open the door, to find Scarlett sat at her dressing table brushing her long dark hair. She turns as I enter her room, her rosebud lips pursed at the intrusion. “Excuse me, don’t you ever knock?” she asks indignantly.