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“You might be right,” she conceded. “But I’m not the kind of woman who can let something like this slide.”
“Well, you just watch yourself.”
“Is that a warning?”
He shrugged, “Maybe.” He took her business card and stuffed it in the pocket of his shorts. Laney assumed that was the last he’d see of it.
Missing from their parting was any hint of the physical intimacy they shared. Alex was the darnedest one night stand Laney had ever had and certainly the best. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just a horny guy with enough savvy to take advantage of a half-mad widow and her crazy obsession with an island that would not easily give up its secrets. Maybe he was right, that she should watch herself and forget her pursuit of the Marquis, however, that was advice she’d likely ignore.
Chapter Seven
Laney sighed heavily as she turned on the light in the den, and shuffled through her mail. Sinking down in Erik’s leather chair, she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, intending to catch the eleven o’clock news. The smell of the flowers, the roses and honeysuckle, sitting on a table beside her, made her smile—a gift from Sandra and Elise, who would soon want all the intimate details of her trip to Marquis Island. They’d get quite a story, although she had yet to make sense of what had happened and the pair would have to wait until she’d sorted it out for herself.
The TV came on with an advertisement for the latest miracle drug, during which Laney absently looked through the usual bills and advertisements in her mail. A letter from Sam, her accountant, she set aside for later, then at the bottom of the pile was a postcard, with a shiny colored picture of the docks at St. Martina. She smiled. Turning it over she read the message: Hope the ankle’s all healed! Alex.
That was it! She had to laugh.
For the first time since she returned home, the thought of sex and punishment with Alex Greenwood filled her thoughts. Oh, she might have lighted on his memory from time to time, but she’d been too busy to allow what happened during that long night to return to her and engage her emotionally. The last several days she’d been busy in court for nearly sixteen hours each day, wading through complicated testimony in a criminal trial, her client charged with arson and theft. She was exhausted by the time she arrived home late each night, and although it had only been three days since she was on the island, it seemed like a century ago.
She’d been called in on an important care and was obligated to pitch in for another colleague who’d taken an emergency leave of absence. The unexpected change in plans probably served her well, since she wasn’t prepared to take off on another excursion so soon after the last. If she were to continue her search for the Marquis, where would she go? The trip to the island had yielded little in the way of concrete information and just as Alex mentioned, it seemed pretty foolish to search every bookshop and book dealer in Paris.
She reread the postcard several times, as if she thought she’d missed something in Alex’s simple greeting. Hope the ankle’s all healed! Why would he even have bothered? With thoughts of him now rampant in her brain, she put her head back and closed her eyes, letting those powerful memories return. She was suddenly there again, her skin hot, a breeze on her face, the prescient tingling sensation enlivening her body as she mentally moved through the ancient house. And Alex. His image stirred her beyond all the others.
The agitating sounds of the evening news disturbed her present reverie, so she clicked off the TV, which in that instant caused her eyes to light on the books she’d stolen from the library on the island. They were tucked inside the small shelf under the tabletop, directly beneath the bouquet of flowers. She’d almost forgotten that she’d put them there. Her plan had been to read them on the plane home, but her hands had faltered as she reached inside her backpack to pull them out. It was too soon, her time there too fresh to add more fuel to the disquieting fire that raged in her hungering body.
Thrust back into her working life, she’d had to concentrate on this case and nothing else.
Even on this night, Laney should have let her brief memories be enough for her; it was late and her body longed for sleep. But just the sight of the two slim volumes compelled her to pick them up, which was enough to require she open the cover of the first one—The Marquis’ Book of Pleasure—and demand she read. Within seconds she was lost in the pages, reliving the rich wealth of feelings just as she’d experienced them when she heard the words on the page read by her husband three years before.
“The Care and Training of Human Chattel. Chapter One, the Slave Decision.”
Chapter One – Being that slavery has been banned in most modern countries, the practice of keeping sexual slaves is rarely an appropriate topic for consideration. Only in secret fraternities and free societies like the one on Marquis Island will proponents of these practices be allowed to appraise such curious ideas. It is my belief, however, that the rite of slavery is one deeply embedded in the psyche of humanity—one not easily eradicated by law. It is as well, particularly desirous as a means of sexual stimulation and satisfaction. For the obviously dominant male to subjugate, imprison, and use the female species as he desires is a deeply seated craving that cannot be turned aside without giving up some degree of personal liberty and truth. Conversely, for certain members of the fair sex to deny their yearnings for submission and turn from them as though they did not exist is equally as damaging to the soul…
Do not, however, misread my remarks here. A sexual slave can and should be expected to serve her master sexually at all times—from the first day of her slave life until the last. Compliance is expected. And a good master will demand it, while at the same time knowing that time and training increase the sexual benefit for both master and slave. The slave’s decision is just the beginning…
Just the beginning…she’d hardly started and suddenly her mind was there again at the island, not with Alex, but with Erik, Sandra, Elisa, Jason and Matthew…and Archibald Devane. The subversive words slipped into her consciousness like rain dissolving into the air, making her body breathe with the forceful fire that consumed her when she was victim to the book. She’d only experienced a fraction of that feeling on her return. Even Alex had noticed that she had a lot stored up, and she could feel that stifled energy now, rumbling as if it were about to break free. She paged forward in the book…
“Raw livestock should remain naked for everyday activity. They do not eat at tables, sit in chairs or on sofas, sleep in beds, and should be tethered when walked or ordered to crawl on all fours. It is only proper that they remain at the feet of their masters, or humbly waiting in corners during meals, where, if their master is so moved, they are fed by hand, or given scraps from his plate when his meal is finished…
“To subjugate the ego of a human slave, it is essential they have no self concern, self-consciousness or modesty. They must have no thought for propriety. Indeed, they should have no concerns at all. Their single task is to obey the rules set for them by their master, and in so doing dispense with any idea of self and the conventions of society they may have adhered to in their past.
Laney shuddered with that memory fueling a raging storm between her legs, and it was all she could do to stop herself from masturbating.
“In order to attain this selfless state, it is imperative that they undergo efficiently administered beatings on their buttocks, thighs and even their shoulders—all places where punishment can be dealt and not produce permanent damage…
“The whip is perhaps the most enticing of all sadomasochistic implements for its many varied uses.
“Straps have the same correctional implications as the paddle, and unlike the paddle can be used for long, harsh sessions of punishment…
“Bridles, tethers and other such devices are for containment…
“No well-behaved and well-mannered slave learns their duties without experiencing the utter emptiness found within extreme restraint…
“Everything becomes erotic. The skin sensitized, the orifices thirst for pleasure and the body becomes a magnet for ecstasy. Every movement, every touch, every kiss rife with passion…
“…what happens to the slave from this point is totally dictated by the property owner, and as such, many masters including myself find a certain finality associated with leaving their mark on the chattel’s body as proof of their sovereignty over the submissive livestock.”
The Marquis’ book fell from her hands to the floor as the reality of the words invaded her being. Her body screamed for satisfaction, her thighs rubbing against themselves, her ass squirming on the leather seat. Lifting her bottom off the chair, Laney pulled up her skirt and frantically struggled out of her pantyhose and panties, tugging them off almost desperate to be rid of them. Once they were flung across the room, she settled back down,
