The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Read online

  The Marquis’ Book of Pleasure

  &

  Property of the Marquis

  by Lizbeth Dusseau

  ISBN: 978-1-938897-52-8

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2014, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Email Comments: [email protected]

  The Marquis’ Book of Pleasure

  Chapter One

  The thirty-foot boat rocked on an unseen, unwieldy sea, water splashing over the sides, the craft groaning as though any moment it would break apart. The moon, shrouded for hours by a clamoring sky, tried peeking from its hiding place behind the clouds, but it was repeatedly blackened by the night, sinking the tiny ship into a darkness penetrated only by the light of one bobbing lantern.

  “What the hell are we going to do now!” Laney Priestly’s scared voice screamed as the bobbing boat jostled in the waves, knocking her from her feet while she grabbed for a rope at the side of the boat.

  “Dammit, Laney, if you’re going to complain, get below deck,” Erik scolded his wife with his reply.

  “Don’t swear at me,” she got up sparring.

  “And don’t act like such a girl!” Eyes fired, expression determined, it was enough to make Laney shrivel and retreat below where Sandra and Elise were already hibernating. Closing the cabin door, she closed out the sounds of the howling wind and the three men still arguing with the sea, the wind and the cold storm.

  “Are we going to survive?” Elise asked, as she huddled under a blanket in the corner, looking like a wet mouse, her two eyes, shiny and startled, her mouth capturing the tiny stream of water dripping from her bangs. Her long bedraggled braid looked like a black sinewy tail plastered to her white skin.

  “Hell, I don’t know!” Laney sighed as she slumped next to Sandra on the couch, and grabbed the old wool blanket to share.

  “It’s an adventure,” the blond-haired woman reminded her ruefully as she tugged the blanket back.

  “And we let them talk us into this over Jamaica. Never again,” Laney shook the water from her short dark hair, and grabbing for another blanket tried toweling it dry.

  “You suppose we’ll find the island?” Elise asked.

  “In this storm? It would be a miracle. There are dozens of uncharted islands in this chain. Right now, I’d take any of them just to feel my feet on dry land again.”

  The boat rocked, taking another nasty dip toward the water and the three women held their breaths. Best friends since college, hours, even days commiserating together in dorm rooms and apartments, with husbands and lovers coming and going from their lives; they thought they had found some consistency now. Laney and Elise were married in ceremonies just months ago, and Sandra was almost at the altar. But would all that end with this fiasco in tropical seas? Was this torrid night sent to shake apart their earned tranquility? Would, at the ripe age of twenty-nine, the lives of three friends be ripped asunder by the hazards of this dangerous night?

  What happened to the bucolic peace this camping trip promised? Two weeks in paradise, Erik and Jason had assured them. Matthew had taken the trip before. He knew these seas like the back of his hand… at least until the storm began. Jason was an expert sailor, and Erik had the survival instincts of a wolf. But with prowess and pride defeated by the elements of nature, the three men seemed as vulnerable as the women they brought into this messy peril.

  ***

  A fire crackled on the sand as the six huddled together, staring at their wounded boat tied to old pylons embedded deep. Their blankets were wet, their hair soaked, their clothes drenched.

  “Six months getting ready for this trip, who would have thought we’d end up marooned on some unknown beach?” The hulking Jason remained the most upbeat of the tattered travelers. His normally unkempt curly hair was more disheveled than usual and his green eyes lit with a jovial jester dancing mischievously inside them. “Hey, you have to have a sense of humor.”

  “When it’s this cold?” Laney pouted.

  “It’s not cold, Laney,” Erik sputtered. “Not in the tropics. You’re just wet.”

  “Hey, I’m up for a little search and find mission here,” Matthew’s sharp eyes brightened as the flame from the fire seemed to jump inside them. Unlike Jason, he was a wiry, quick-witted, and sometimes hotheaded man with an underlying nervousness that kept him perpetually moving. “Maybe there’s shelter somewhere on this island.” He hopped up. “Anyone care to go with me?” He looked directly at Erik.

  “Yes, I think I will,” Erik Priestly pulled himself from his wife’s side. Erik seemed the more settled and down to earth of the three men, a natural leader—though with friends a reluctant one. He was afraid he’d have to make an exception this time, and the mantle seemed to fall on his shoulders without anyone noticing—other than Erik himself. “Maybe these ladies will be a little more amenable to our wager when they’re dry.”

  “The wager?” Laney exclaimed. “You’re not going to enforce the wager after this!”

  “And why not?” He turned back to show her the devil in his black eyes. “We all agreed, fair and square. You ladies lost and we aim to have our weekend.”

  “Only if you can find some decent shelter,” Laney snarled unhappily.

  “Of course, my dear.” Erik smiled wickedly. “Jason, keep them laughing, will you? We’ll be back shortly. This place can’t be too big. If there’s a cabin or some boathouse, I’m sure we’ll find it.” He stared at the sky almost as though he was one with it. “Rain’s gonna hit again.” With flashlights in hand, the two men disappeared into the black.

  “Oh, I’d like to be snuggled up in a sleeping bag with you,” Sandra purred in Jason’s ear as she mellowed before the warm fire. He ran his fingers through her sand-colored hair, now more dark than light, as it was not yet dry.

  “No fair,” Laney declared. “Not until Elise and I have our men back.”

  Jason, laughing, held his fiancée about the shoulders and began massaging her breasts underneath her wet tee shirt. “You have any idea how great these look like this?”

  The voluptuous woman scooted closer, her hips tangoing into Jason’s groin.

  “Stop it, you guys!” Elise snapped. “Sandra has no right to look so slutty when the rest of us look like drowned rats.”

  “It’s just the tits, hon,” Sandra tried appeasing her. Looking down, she noted the way her cold nipples broke the surface of her shirt. “Does look like I stepped out of a wet tee shirt contest, huh?”

  “Looks lewd,” Laney griped.

  “Just because you don’t have as much,” Jason joked.

  “Erik says a handful is just fine with him.”

  Jason snickered. “But you do have perky nipples when you’re aroused.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “Don’t think I didn’t see you and Erik going at each other in the woods last summer.”

  “What! You saw?”

  “Sure did.”

  Sandra giggled.

  “You too?”

  “Hon, you were having so much fun.”

  “But…I-I was naked!”

  “That you were,” Jason recalled the
memory easily. “Those little bronze tits didn’t look so little with Erik hammering you from behind—dangled like nice fat ones. Didn’t know you sunbathed in the nude.”

  Laney blushed and turned away. “I can’t believe you watched.”

  “Damn! It was a pretty sight.”

  “Jason!” Sandra slapped his hand. “You weren’t going to say anything.”

  “Yeah, but spooky nights like this just sort of bring out the devil in me.” He lunged at Sandra like a fiend, his hands going around her neck, and they tumbled to the ground, laughing.

  “You’re going to have to wait to screw her,” Matthew’s voice rang out over the wind as he and Erik returned to the beach.

  “What did you find?” Laney perked up.

  “Ah, this is better than perfect,” Erik answered. “Some old estate house, wild looking place, but it’s shelter.”

  “Then, let’s go.” Laney was on her feet, reaching out for Elise, while giving a sprawled-out Jason a gentle shove with her toe. She grabbed for her backpack and Erik’s, then trudged towards her husband. “I’m so exhausted.”

  “We all are, darling. We’ll find a dry place and you can do nothing but sleep tomorrow.”

  “That is, until we kings get our just desserts,” Jason reminded them all.

  “There won’t be any dessert for you,” Sandra gave him an elbow to the waist, “until we’re all rested.

  “Hey, listen, I’ve been looking forward to this payback for three months. We waited on you in Martha’s Vineyard like you were queens. Don’t think you’ll slide on this just because we’re marooned here.”

  “No one’s going to let them slide,” Erik assured him. “But let’s get off this beach before we’re all wet again.”

  The rain was beginning to fall—huge droplets pinging against their cheeks as they hiked to the top of the beach, over a rise of grasses, and along a meandering path through the dunes until it broke into a nest of palms and beach trees. In the midst of the trees loomed a darkened house—one of grand and once glorious stature. Like a transplant from the Deep South it rose two stories high, with shuttered windows, a large veranda across the front and a second story balcony across the same expansive length. Proud, stately, and now obviously abandoned, it lured the six stranded campers as though it had a gentle hand reaching out to beckon them inside with a crooked finger.

  “You don’t suppose someone lives here?” Elise wondered as they started up the stairs to the front entrance.

  “We’ve already checked,” Matthew moved quickly to the door and opened it wide. Creak it did, but it still seemed firm in its frame, as solid as the flagstone entry.

  “Oh my,” Laney stared into the shadowy darkness illuminated only by the beams from their lantern and two flashlights.

  “Fireplace seems to work all right,” Erik announced as he hauled a load of firewood he’d gathered from just outside the door. “And this wood’s dry, stored right under the overhang as though it was waiting for us.

  They were in a grand living room, which was still sparsely furnished with sheet-covered sofas and chairs.

  “This was someone’s masterpiece,” Elise noted as she ran her hands over the carved columns, and then along a marble statue of a naked female. “She’s beautiful.”

  Sandra stood beside her, gazing benumbed by the glowing ivory surface of a woman, seemingly so faithful to the essence of life and femininity that they feared she would—except for one essential feature of the sculpture—step from her golden pedestal any second. The lovely lady was, however, bound; arms gracefully raised above her head, her hands crossed like a ballet dancer’s. Her wrists were entangled with marble chains embedded in the marble above. Though she shyly held her thighs together as if to cover her nakedness, the lustrous beauty smiled demurely, suggesting she kept some secret from those who gaped in wonder at her bondage.

  The room began to lighten as Erik’s fire raised a sultry glow, dispelling half the shadows, though making more as the flames bloomed and flickered.

  Turning their attention from the statue, Laney, Elise and Sandra warmed themselves before the hearth, while the men perused their surroundings with cautious interest.

  “Interesting place,” Erik said. “See here. Wonder what they were for?” He motioned Matthew and Jason to join him, where sporadically along the inside walls were arched alcoves with O-rings embedded in the top and bottom of each space. Some had empty pedestals as though there had once been statues displayed in the small nooks.

  “You see that statue of Venus?” Matthew asked him.

  “You think it’s Venus?”

  “Or some other goddess. She’s bound.”

  “Kinda makes my crotch antsy,” Jason snickered.

  “Who’s crotch is getting antsy,” Sandra called to him.

  “Yeah, hon, we have something to finish,” he called to his fiancée.

  “I think I’ll explore some more,” Erik decided. “Want to come, Laney?”

  “Oh, sweetie, no. I’m enjoying the fire too much. But let me know if you find a decent kitchen.”

  “You know I feel like I’m trespassing in someone’s house.” Elise said, uneasily.

  “Well then, let them come kick us out,” Laney replied.

  “Yeah, they could have locked the door,” Jason added.

  “It was more like we were invited,” Matthew suggested. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

  The three men took off to explore the house, making their rounds of the first floor, finding a dining room sizable enough to match the living room, and what had once been a kitchen and pantry large enough to serve a household of dozens. There was a library still furnished with dusty leather-bound volumes and heavily brocade furniture, and what might well have been a music room, though the function of the room was unknown. Thick drapes covered the windows and half of the walls, though there was not a stick of furniture inside. But just as in the other rooms, there were more oddly placed O-rings fixed in both the walls and floor; and hanging from the ceiling was a strange apparatus of decaying rope.

  “Makes you wonder what they did here?” Erik said.

  “Like what kind of wild parties?” Jason wondered.

  “Not sure. But it has a strangely erotic feel, don’t you think?” Erik answered.

  “I’m not sure what I think,” he said, though his mind was moving forward briskly as his imagination reeled with pictures. “Could be innocent, but then it could be…”

  “Be what?” Jason asked.

  “Off shore island… belongs to no one but the owner?” Matthew answered. “You never know what people would do with no restraints from society.”

  “That sounds pretty nasty, what’s in your head?” Jason asked.

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered vaguely.

  Erik was silent contemplating, until he suggested they move upstairs.

  The second floor of the old mansion revealed more than a dozen bedrooms, some styled with a breezy summerhouse decadence—mosquito netting still flying in drafts of air. Other more formal rooms were draped in heavy velvet and trimmed in fading gold leaf. Each room, however, had some curious feature that suggested unusual activities taking place inside the bedroom. There were more O-rings and several eyehooks bolted into the walls. A curious canvas sling. Rigging hanging from the ceiling, or inside the actual canopy of one great mahogany bed. And a strange tiled bathroom that had been equipped with several devices none of the three men could clearly identify.

  “I think some guy was getting his jollies doing weird things to women,” Jason chortled.

  “I think you might be right,” Erik agreed.

  “Could go either way, you know,” Matthew said as he stared at the rigging inside the canopy bed.

  “If you remember, the statue was of a woman,” Erik reminded him.

  “So, it was,” Matthew remembered as he paced the room, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, the curt features of his chiseled face seeming to contort oddly. In fact, all three me
n were strangely moved by the awesome house and the unknown implications of the innovative hardware and contraptions.

  A sudden shriek hit the air like a bolt of lightning—Elise!

  Tearing themselves from the room, the three raced down the staircase to the first floor, finding Elise sitting on a couch with Laney and Sandra on either side.

  “I swear there was a man staring at me!” she was panting nervously, wringing her hands, her pale face white as a mainsail as she stared forward in shock.

  “What happened?” Erik asked.

  “She thought she saw a face in the window,” Sandra said.

  “Then, we’ll have a look outside,” Matthew said moving toward the foyer with Jason at his heels.

  “That won’t be necessary,” another, unexpected voice wrapped the room with an oddly sonorous quality of calm. The two men heading for the door stopped abruptly. “It was my face the lady saw.” An elderly but quite vigorous looking man was standing by the hallway door near the kitchen. His yellow parka was dripping with water, but there was a firm gentleness about his face that seemed almost mirthful.

  “Yes, that was him!” Elise exclaimed, pointing his way.

  “Sorry to have shocked you. It’s been some time since we’ve had visitors on the island.”

  “And who are you?” Erik asked.

  He moved forward, “I’m Archibald Devane, the caretaker.”

  “My friends and I were shipwrecked by the storm,” Erik explained.

  “I saw. There’s been some damage to your boat.”

  “I’m afraid so. Is there some problem staying here?”

  Archibald Devane smiled kindly. “Why no. I’m glad the house could be a safe haven once again.”

  “Again?” Laney whispered.

  “We are uncharted here, but occasionally someone stumbles on our humble shore.”

  “You say we?”

  “Ah!” the old man looked slightly chagrinned. “It’s just me now. Mr. Christian Barth, the owner of Marquis Island lives in New England. I’m afraid he had to abandon this little jewel a few years ago, due to bad health. I still think of him being here. This was quite the place in the 60’s and 70’s.” He gazed around the room with a melancholy eye. “I’m just the caretaker now.”