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“You’re saying Mr. Barth owned slaves as any Southern plantation owner might in the 1800’s?” Laney asked.
“No, I’m not saying that at all. He did believe most avidly in the right to own human females as property, but his intention was primarily sexual in nature—everything he did had a sexual component, or it wasn’t important to him. He hosted numerous house parties and balls on the island where his lascivious inclinations could be played in the grandest form—that’s why the large rooms in the estate house and the many bedrooms. Most of his gatherings were associated with the de Sade Society—as in the Marquis de Sade. Sexual practices of a sadomasochistic nature were openly practiced here. Masters from the United States and Europe brought their chattel so they might enjoy their chosen life without glaring scrutiny or judgment. The galas and soirees were wild affairs lasting many days. The custom was that women were trained to serve, and the men were skilled masters of the extreme sexual arts…”
“Like bondage…” Matthew spoke aloud.
“And the fine arts of whipping, application of the cane and rod, and the delightful whimsy of crops, pinchers and the variety of apparatus you’ll find in this house designed to torment the female creature into oblivion.” Devane paused. “Those parties were, of course, special occasions. In his normal life on the island, Mr. Barth had at least three female sex slaves and sometimes as many as six or seven. They lived here with him on the island, served his needs, as well as those of his guests. You might be surprised to learn that Mr. Barth even entertained more conventional business friends—those not particularly interested in his unusual lifestyle. Visiting this island, however, his guests accepted his practices as easily as they accepted the strange ways of any other foreign country. Many were shocked when they initially arrived, but most became intrigued and eventually adjusted to the customs.”
An anxious Matthew had risen from his chair and strolled toward the fireplace, throwing another log on the glowing embers. He stood up and faced Devane, asking casually, “So, what might a visitor see here that would be particularly out of the ordinary?”
“Probably the most noticeable deviance for an arriving guest was the attire of the female slaves. It was common for them to wear few clothes—only what might enhance their natural naked state. Generally, they were naked. But then, since this is a tropical climate, the nudity was probably the most easily accepted custom. And, except for the obedient subservience of the slaves during the daily routine, there was likely little to find odd—until the evening hour. Unless, of course, a slave required some discipline.” Devane paused, noting the expressions of awe on the women’s faces. Giving them a moment to absorb the information, he went on with his narrative. “There were times when a slave might be punished before a guest—spanked, whipped, caned, or humiliated for her errs. Perhaps that was the most frightening experience for a new guest to Marquis Island, seeing Mr. Barth’s intense disciplinary rites. They could be shocking, though they were rarely protested. A reprimanded slave knew their place, they understood the ritual and obeyed with little objection. Like anything else on the island, because the practice was natural, few gave it much thought after witnessing their first few scenes.”
“Why would any woman…” Sandra whispered, her voice so soft that hardly anyone heard her speak.
“You mentioned the nights?” the fascinated Matthew probed deeper. He seemed to speak for the entire six astonished listeners who all seemed hypnotized by the subject, if not a little fearful of the implications.
“Nights on Marquis Island bloomed with sadomasochistic passions… they were animated by its secrets, scenes with women bound, driven to their knees, collared, leashed, brought to ecstasy with every means of torture imaginable. There is a dungeon in the bowels of this house, an old slave cellar—from the 1700’s—with racks and pulleys and ancient devices of excruciating torment made to cause suffering—and physical rhapsody. While Mr. Barth reigned as king every hour he spent here—he was a master of the nighttime hours. Some say he was a sorcerer, a sexual wizard. Women would naturally collapse at his feet as though they were brought there by the power of his voice and the look in his eyes—not women already slaves, but women so enthralled by his authority that they would give themselves up to his promise of pleasure. They couldn’t stop themselves. What may sound cruel, my fair ladies and gentlemen, was not cruel at all, not when in reality something divine took place—even if the experience lasted only seconds.”
Old Devane was so enamored with his own speech that he seemed to have journeyed into another world, transporting his spellbound audience with him. When he finally revived, he looked to the stunned group, “Have I shocked you?” he asked.
No one spoke for several seconds. “You’ve shocked me,” Sandra finally belted into the silence.
“Ah, does his rattle your cage, darling?” Jason asked her.
“Of course it rattles me,” she answered as she rose to her feet, clutching her arms across her breasts and moving away from the table and Archibald Devane.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Devane bowed deep and mockingly.
“Why so nervous, Sandra?” Erik asked. “That was thirty years ago. You look afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. It’s just spooky thinking of those things happening here.” She stared at the others, while thinking of her morning with Jason, “Aren’t any of you spooked by this?”
“I am,” Elise said. “But then it’s terribly erotic.”
“You think so?” Matthew turned to his wife with a look of surprise.
“Laney?” Sandra polled her.
“I’m dumbfounded,” she answered.
“We all should be,” Sandra stated. “And the three of you, too,” she said focusing her remarks on the men. “The man was obviously crazy.”
“Why?” Erik asked. “Seems to me he found a means of living out his fantasies in a safe way… no one got hurt, I assume.”
Sandra didn’t agree. “How do you know that?”
“Well, we don’t,” Matthew said. “But purely theoretically, there’s nothing wrong with what consenting adults do in their personal lives.”
“Seems I’ve challenged you,” Devane interjected.
“Not at all,” Sandra snapped a little too forcefully to be believed.
“I’ve heard it said,” Devane leered at them all, “that what makes you fear carries with it the suggestion of desire behind the fear. Perhaps you should explore what you fear now.”
“I fear nothing,” Laney stated flatly.
“I’d call it arousal,” Elise managed.
Sandra said nothing.
