The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 4

  He paused. Hearing no more comments from his audience, he continued. “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 of submission and turn from them as though they did not exist is equally as damaging to the soul. However, to embrace the facts of our nature, and live within their dictates—ones that makes men masters above the feminine species—allows us all to thrive in a state of natural repose.”

  “My god! The man is serious!” Laney suddenly blurted out.

  “You thought he wasn’t?” Sandra turned on her, amazed by Laney now as much as she was by what she heard in Erik’s reading. The sumptuously delectable woman was clearly aroused, her flesh burning with heat, her face flushed, her eyes languidly sensuous with the look of sex. She stood now by the statue of their bound Venus as if the goddess were her friend.

  “Want to hear more?” Erik asked.

  “Yes,” Elise jumped right in, while Laney—having moved to the couch—stewed uncomfortably in her seat, and Sandra appeared to lose herself in the world of her fantasy.

  Erik continued, “For our purposes now, we don’t often force slavery on the unwilling, but rather make it a choice for women with the nature to understand it. However, unlike other choices women might make, this one is not one to be made as a flight of fancy, or some romantic whimsical notion. Sexual slavery is serious business. It requires dedication from both master and slave, and most importantly an understanding that once the decision has been made, the future is sealed. There is no turning back, no denial. Even what might look like righteous rebellion in a female must be squashed. There is no room for error or argument, only a place for the slave to find within themselves their submissive need and dwell solely there…

  “Beyond such a finding, the rest is the master’s business, to train and nurture that place of humility and service within their chattel.

  “Those who have just made the decision and have come into the hands of their master—I refer to as raw livestock. I find it better to take away even the basics of human mindfulness and individuality while slaves are trained, lest they foster some wrong-headedness and resistance—or are tempted to protest the choice they have freely made.

  “Regardless, however, of any name we give an initiate, the raw livestock—or slave —can be expected to rebel at one time or another. Rebellion, being anticipated, can be efficiently crushed. It is, therefore, the purpose of the remaining chapters of this book to deal with the training and discipline of the slave, as well as the proper means of punishment and reprimand for those times when it is necessary. Only as a final epilogue will the sexual arts associated with master/slave relationships be discussed. Though submission and eroticism go hand in hand, it is most important to set the ritual and mindset of subservience before a complete discussion of the sexual methods can be undertaken.

  “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.”

  Erik looked up, about to turn the page.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Laney declared. “At least for now,” she added when all five stared at her noting the distinctive sharpness in her voice.

  “It is extreme, Laney,” Erik said to soothe her obvious fear.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But don’t you find it fascinating?” Matthew asked. His hands were spread wide holding the back of one sofa, while he stared quite intently at Erik’s rattled wife sitting on the opposite one.

  “Perhaps. But you’re sounding as though you wish you were attending one of Barth’s parties.”

  “Oh, I’d be in heaven,” Elise exclaimed.

  “You would?”

  “I find the fear exciting.”

  Laney looked at the languid Sandra draped against the statue, thighs slightly parted as though she might wish to fuck the marble. “I think that kind of submission would be bliss,” the lusty blonde purred unthinkingly.

  “Am I the only sane one here?” she asked, rising from the couch. She moved toward the windows and peered out at the grey rain.

  Erik was at her back some seconds later, pressing himself gently to her ass. She could feel his stiff cock in his pants. “This arouses you, doesn’t it?” Laney murmured.

  “In a way.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t you feel it, Laney? The whole room is so erotically charged, if I didn’t know better I’d think any second, we’ll be stripping off our clothes, leaping headlong into an orgy. Elise and Sandra are nearly orgasmic. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.” He had his hand on her ass, massaging it gently. “You’re the one who always wants it rough. I slap your thighs and ass. I’ve even bound your hands… why are you revolting now?”

  “I’m not revolting. I’m…” she sighed. “Just tired.”

  “We’ll let it slide for now, darlin’. Just don’t let it upset you so much.”

  She smiled, turned in his arms, “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m always right,” he said with a snicker.

  The rain stopped near sunset. In the dusky shadows, the three men hiked to the boat and appraised the damage. Jason suspected they’d need a part to get the engine running. But since the radio wasn’t working either, they’d have to rely on Archibald Devane to find them a means of rescue. Knowing there was nothing they could do in the waning light, they decided to wait until morning to proceed.

  In the mansion, the women made dinner—chili, hot dogs, typical camping fare that seemed out of place in the sensuous elegance of Barth’s finely furnished rooms. Even in this state of decadent shabbiness there was an air of refinement and grace that seeped inside the bones of those who lived there—as much as the erotic conversation and talk of sexual slavery seemed to quicken their sexual bodies. Yet, their feelings of lust remained behind a blanket of excited fear and a bit of dread, which even the more willing Sandra and Elise found kept them from racing toward their desires. While their body language begged for some satisfaction, the possibilities were diverted with small talk and frivolous activity.

  After dinner, the six surrounded the fireplace again, looking as though they’d had a rough day working. Devane’s book sat on the table beckoningly, but no one mentioned it.

  They played cards, drank wine, and ended up going to bed much earlier than they were used to—driven by their lust. Once the candles were doused inside each room, the black night hit them squarely in their blinded eyes and their bodies replied to the deadly dark as they snuggled close. In all three rooms, desire seemed to unleash as flesh touched flesh. In remembrance of their earlier sex, Elise and Matthew, and Sandra and Jason, clashed anxiously until their swift fucks left them empty and ready to sleep. In the third room, at the top of the stairs, Laney and Erik Priestly began to make love fitfully, almost too scared to touch with so much electric energy passing between them.

  “What’s happening to me, Erik?” Laney whispered, as her flesh jumped inside her prickly skin. She felt orgasmic the moment her husband’s fingers circled a nipple, and his breath expelled on her hardening bud. “I’m coming apart at the seams,” she thrashed worriedly
, while desire on desire spilled through her mind and into the passion rushing through her hands. She was on him, grappling as hotly as he was wrestling with her, seeking his cock with her hands so she could steer it to the entrance of her clenching cunt.

  While Erik was as driven with desire, he held back enough to steady her—to keep her body from exploding too fast. He wondered if she were headed for madness the way she clawed his shoulders and spread wide her thighs demanding he take her cunt. He put her off twice, in the interest of pursuing his own desire to make her suffer, happy to have her discontent—until the tease became too maddening for her. He finally rammed his erection into the offered orifice, grateful for the way she milked the stalk. Her pussy was alive and grabbing, almost as though there were mysterious hands reaching inside to grab the thing and suck it inside her.

  She came, thrashing back and forth beneath him, moaning like the wind was moaning in the restless night. “Gawd cuuuuummmmmmm!” she roared as she pumped his meaty flesh. Even when he would have stalled, the grasping muscle worked hard enough to bring on his orgasm and thereafter didn’t stop until she drained him dry.

  Afterwards, neither one could speak as though something other than sex had usurped their power of speech. Waiting to recover, they listened to the sounds of their winded breath and watched their heaving chests rise and fall. Even when they finally settled they couldn’t speak, so they didn’t bother. Laney drifted to sleep first, Erik followed closely after, thinking as his eyes closed, that something devilish was brewing on this island. They were caught in a web of riddles unaware of its powerful influence to control their behavior.

  Chapter Three

  The following day was a curious repeat of the previous one. The three men checked the boat again, working on the engine, trying the radio, finding no solution to the engine failure and unable to raise anyone off Marquis Island. In the midst of their frustration, Archibald Devane suddenly appeared on the beach. He stood for some moments appraising the weary group, then stepped forward.

  “Perhaps I could help.”

  “We’ve had engine failure,” Erik told him dourly. “You’d said you had a radio. Since ours isn’t working, we’ll need yours to contact help.”

  “Certainly. Though, I could tinker with the engine, if you like?”

  “No,” Matthew stepped forward. “This baby is sensitive, I think I know the part we need. If we could just use your radio.”

  Devane nodded. “We can try this afternoon.”

  “Try?” Jason wondered suspiciously.

  “Like I said, sometimes my machine is cranky and takes some encouragement.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can encourage it,” Jason said, hopping from the boat.

  An hour later, the three men returned to the house, edgy, bewildered and tired.

  “I think the old man is half crazy,” Jason remarked as he slumped down on the sofa. “You see the way he lives?”

  “He’s eccentric,” Erik reminded him. “After all, this island wasn’t exactly a mainstream sort of place. Ladies,” he called sharply to the women in the kitchen, “how about some beer and sandwiches?”

  Laney appeared in the doorway, curtsying, “Why yes, your grace.”

  “Cut the sarcasm,” he quipped. “You’re still paying off.”

  “At this rate, we’ll be paying off this wager the entire two weeks. That wasn’t the deal we made.”

  “And if you’re not careful we’ll just have to institute some new rules. Why we have one hell of a guidebook.” Erik picked up Barth’s S&M bible and shook it at her menacingly. By then, Sandra and Elise were in the room with trays of food and drink.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Laney answered Erik’s threat.

  “Chicken?” Jason gibed.

  “I am not!”

  “Oh, you’re chicken all right,” Matthew shot right back. “But you won’t be forever.”

  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  “You know as well as I do, this island has cast a spell on us all. I’ll bet Old Archie’s done some incantations—like he’s trying to turn back the clock and relive the past.”

  “You’re crazy!” Laney snipped.

  “Am I?”

  “Don’t you think things are a little weird here?” Elise asked her.

  Laney thought a moment.

  “I know they are,” Sandra said. “I’m not like myself, but you know,” she beamed impishly, “I rather like it.”

  “Of course it’s not like home,” Laney tried to be reasonable, “but you’re all getting way too bizarre for me. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

  “Laney, eat your lunch,” Erik countered her.

  “I’d rather walk.”

  “No,” he answered calmly. “You’ll sit and eat your lunch, then we’ll both walk.”

  She pouted as she munched her way through her ham and cheese, and downed a beer. When she was finished, she sat back dolefully while the others chattered on. Then finally, tired of her sullen attitude, Erik pulled his wife to her feet and guided her to the front door.

  “It’s raining,” she said.

  “I thought you wanted to walk? The fresh air will do you good.” He turned to his friends. “In fact, I think we all need a little exercise.”

  There was no more than a drizzle falling as the six hiked the island in separate directions. There was little to explore, not much beach, and while the house was surrounded by a paradise of steamy tropical foliage, the opposite end of the island was barren rock. Seeing all there was to see in an hour’s time, they headed back to the old estate, feeling much revived by their outing. And for Laney, her dour spirit seemed to lift. They played rummy, a game of scrabble, and began to piece together an old jigsaw puzzle when they finally broke for dinner. Then, the men seemed to scatter again, while Laney, Sandra and Elise headed toward the kitchen.

  ***

  Thoughts of spells and sex and Christian Barth’s wicked book did not arise again until much later that night. When the old wind-up clock on the mantle chimed ten, it seemed to toll another consciousness, one that walks in with the wind, where beer, games and simple small talk have no power to turn it back. Another passion pressed their spirits—one so remarkably devious that it was on them before anyone realized what was happening.

  Matthew and Elise were lounging on a thick rug, pillows behind Matt’s head, Elise using her husband’s tummy to rest hers. Jason sat on a stool a few feet off massaging Sandra’s shoulders while she sat on the floor in front of him. Laney had one couch to herself, stretched out like a lazy cat, and Erik, who’d tended the fire and otherwise puttered about the room, finally stopped before the hearth and lit a stick of old incense, letting the smoke catch the current of air and cover the room with a soft grey fog.

  “Why don’t you read some more from Barth’s book?” Matthew asked him.

  “Shall I?” He didn’t consider the request for long finding the book conveniently placed on the mantle next to the clock. Settling into an easy chair, he opened the cover.

  Even Laney seemed ready to hear more of the startling narrative. Outside, they heard the wind rage. There was no rain now, but drafts in the old house set the candles flickering, sometimes too fast to seem reasonable. Inside their living room retreat, the charged air seemed about to explode—as though the six had spent too many hours ignoring what was becoming more obvious to them all. There was a spell working in their midst—though it wasn’t clear if this was self-imposed, or, as Matthew suggested earlier, had been cast by their enigmatic host.

  Now inside the cloud of incense, Jason’s eyes seemed to take on the same dark glow that had gripped Erik’s. And the excitable Matthew appeared focused and quite certain of something—strangely calm. The three women were subdued, though their calm only masked an enormous hunger churning in their bellies.

  “The Subjugation Of The Ego,” Erik began. “Chapter Two… To refer to a slave without name is essential. Names may well be useful after the submissive has learned their craft; bu
t for the initiate, it is necessary to treat them in ways that remove the normal customs of humanity from their consciousness. Remaining nameless is a first step. A slave will learn watchfulness immediately, so that simple eye contact will communicate the master’s message, leaving words unnecessary. A good slave will respond to simple commands when referred to simply as ‘slave.’

  “In addition, the slave collar is essential in the dehumanizing process. The device should be snug, affixed about the neck tightly, though not enough to bind. It should remain in place at all times—being a substantial reminder to your slave of their subservient nature. Collars are also useful for leashing and other means of bondage.

  “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. In the same way, if it pleases the master to keep their slave at their side, they will sit at his feet, and at night sleep with only the very necessary bedding on the floor. A slave’s comfort is never a matter of consideration in the early stages of training. And to allow any sort of simple luxury would be detrimental at this juncture. Every measure taken with initiate livestock should emphasize their degraded status.”

  Erik looked to the audience, and seeing their rapt attention was about to continue until his eyes fell on Jason.

  “I read ahead in the book,” he said rather quietly and quite unlike the boisterous man.

  “So you’ve read this chapter?”

  “The gist of it. Then I did a little exploring…in the cellar…” his voice trailed off, though his message got the attention of everyone in the room. All eyes focused on Jason’s muscled body and the aura of strength that seemed to wrap him with an air of authority. Even Sandra seemed more alert—though she couldn’t see the impact of her boyfriend’s physical presence, she could feel it through his hands. With eyes gleaming from his newfound source of command, Jason ran one hand down Sandra’s neck, continuing to her chest where he pressed his palm across one breast and squeezed. She quaked, shyly grinning as a tingle of delight flooded through her.