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“How many times have you wanted to be abused by two tough dykes?” she continues. “You wrote that story a week ago, and then you tell me that’s what you pretend when we make love. I swear if I didn’t do these things, you’d never have any adventures at all.”
“But I don’t need adventures, I need you. How could you possibly think I’d want this?” Suddenly, I’m raging mad, my anger supplants my honesty. I want to scream right here, except that we’re in the middle of some small town, and in the open Jeep it’s no place to have a full blown argument. I set myself on a low simmer clamming my mouth shut, refusing to say another word.
When we’re out in the country again, “You did like it,” Peach asserts more positively.
“Don’t do it again,” I tell her with my eyes boring into her. This time I don’t let her con her way into some “true confession” from me, some ridiculous admission that I loved this afternoon. It won’t happen.
Peach sits back, sullen and silent, as we wind our way to our destination for the night.
Peach looks as though she’s sleeping, but I know she’s playing possum as I crawl into bed behind her.
“Perhaps it wasn’t as dangerous as I thought,” I tell her as I reach out and stroke her back. I watch her body shiver under the tee-shirt. I lift the hem and run my hands along her legs and then over her round ass. I breathe lightly against her neck, tickling the soft hairs. My tongue runs along her ears and I hear her groan. I don’t know why she should be avoiding me, after all, I was the “wronged” one here, if there was an injured party. She moans, the more passionately my fingers toy with her, the more I kiss her neck and reach around to caress her breasts. I pinch her nipples lightly, knowing this turns her on most.
She finally turns to me with her mouth wide open and we kiss, arms and legs wrapping round each other.
“Tell me you loved it,” she says.
She seems so small and vulnerable, but I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. “Let’s not talk about it,” I tell her quietly.
I don’t want to think about it again, but that’s impossible. All the while we make love, I can think of nothing else, my mind remembers every detail. I feel the ache in my arms being strung up the way I was. I feel Donna’s mouth pressed against my cunt, the feel of the butt plug against my unyielding anus and the pain of its entry, the way it spread me so gloriously wide. Never have I been stretched to such limits.
I think of Cozinne’s taunting face, stuffing my mouth full, as her sarcastic quips make me feel like dirt. These thoughts are making my cunt shoot hot. With Peach playing with my ring and my clit, I’m quickly at an edge, but not finished even when I soar over. My body clamors for more and I can’t escape the second surge of pleasure. I think of both holes stuffed, of Cozinne’s switch laid across my tits—to my perverse sense of satisfaction, the marks still remain where the red welts rose on the surface. I recall the woman’s smirk as my body cringes a second time and gasps loudly. In our entangled mess, I know Peach orgasms at least once. She seems satiated as I finish and we lay motionless afterwards. In the strange quiet, I feel the breach between us, wishing it could be otherwise. But I’ll not talk about this afternoon again, even though I realize that’s why she’s holding back. I know why I won’t speak of it. This is Elizabeth all over again, and I can’t bear that thought. What’s more, I can’t bear for Peach to know. What she doesn’t know, protects us both.
Chapter Six
“Here.” Peach points to a tiny spot on the map. “It’s a place right in this cove. “The Edge”, it’s a women’s retreat. You’ll love it. The beach is so secluded we can sunbathe nude. Skinny dip, if you want.” Her eyes twinkle because she knows I’ll like it. I listen to her excited exposé, wondering if she thinks she has to make up to me for the day with the leather dykes.
“When were you there?” I ask.
“Few years back, but I know it’s still there. Christine, I told you about her, she was there just last summer. Said the food was wonderful, and the gardens more beautiful than ever. But I can hardly imagine that, Miriam always kept them perfectly.”
“Miriam?”
“She runs the place, and she’s a “peach” of a woman, if I’ve ever known one,” Peach says, the blissful expression on her face is hard to ignore.
It sounds innocuous enough, even restful, which is exactly what I need right now. Peach, pushing me into these dangerous reminders of Elizabeth awakens things in me that are best put back to sleep. But, I think I got my point across the last two days, refusing to talk about her spanking me, or the leather dykes.
“We can stay as long as we like,” Peach tells me, “I called, and they said there were rooms open for the summer. At the very least, we have to stay for the midsummer madness. Even your tender sensibilities will appreciate the fest.”
“And what’s that about?” I ask.
“Miriam celebrates pagan rituals, but they’re nothing threatening, just very seductive.”
Pagan rituals are a frightening thought, except for the way Peach says it, making it sound like some glorious erotic fun. I should be scared, but oddly I’m not.
There are storm clouds threatening, a rarity this time of year along the Northern California coast. I don’t trust the weather, but Peach drives on confidently, refusing to stop and put the top up on the Jeep. “We’ll be there in no time,” she says. “Besides, it takes too long to get it on. I’m more worried about the road getting into the retreat than our getting a little wet.”
We finally turn off the main road and head directly towards the ocean. We’re on a narrow dirt road that winds its way through coastal woods, finally breaking out onto the sandy cliffs above the beach. It’s already nine o’clock and quite dark for a summer evening. The thick clouds overhead block the light of the moon and stars, giving the warm night an ominous feel, almost as if it were a spooky autumn night. Halfway down the road, it starts to pour, taking just seconds to drench us to the skin.
“Don’t worry,” Peach shouts, as she wipes the water from her face. “It’s just beyond this rise.” But once over the hill, I can’t see a thing for the driving rain and wind. There’s not a single light in sight. We can be thankful that the Jeep has four wheel drive when the mud begins to gush across the road.
“Just a little ways,” Peach says, though she doesn’t sound nearly as confident as she should be. Rounding one last curve, however, we see lights burning in a massive three story house.
“God, this had me going,” Peach exclaims relieved. We park beside a front stairway and race to the top, giggling all the way.
We shake ourselves off in the foyer of the grand old Victorian mansion. I’m thinking immediately that it’s awfully spooky, with the dark colors surrounding us. The light in the foyer is dim, and I can barely see any more than I can outside. I’m sure it’s quite pretty in the daytime, but now I’m reminded of haunted mansions, dime story suspense novels, and Freddie Kruger on stormy nights. I could almost imagine lightning and thunder roaring outside the house, though that’s even more a rarity than summer storms in California.
