Passionate Pleasures (27 page)

“I know they mean well,” she told him. “But I just wish everyone would shut up, and let us get married quietly. They’re going to all show up at St. Luke’s. I know it!”

“You’re probably right,” Tim agreed. “How terrible to be so loved by everyone.”

She glared at him but when he made a face at her and stuck out his tongue, Kathryn burst out laughing. “You are so damned good, Timothy Blair,” she told him.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “And you are so damned sexy, Kathy St. John.” His hand slipped up beneath her sweater to unhook her bra.

Kathryn purred deep in her throat as he tweaked a nipple. Then she drew away from him and stood. “Let’s go upstairs, love, so we can fuck each other into oblivion.”

Then she ran up the stairs while he hurried behind her.

Each time they made love it seemed to get better and better between them, although how that was possible Kathryn didn’t understand. She had been angry when Nicholas had taken The Channel away from her. Her fantasies had been lots of fun, and she would never deny them. But being in love with Timothy Blair, being made love to by Timothy Blair, and having him in love with her was far, far better. Nicholas had actually done her a favor banning her from The Channel. Had he known what would happen? Or had he just been showing his true nature, and being deliberately cruel?

Nora Buckley, back in Egret Pointe for the Christmas holiday, saw the story in the
Egret Pointe Gazette
. Flipping open her cell phone as she sat over her morning coffee she pushed 1.

“Good morning, Nora. What may I do for you, my dear?” Mr. Nicholas’s smooth voice said as he answered.

“I thought you might be interested to learn that Kathy St. John is getting married, sir. The new Middle School principal, Timothy Blair,” Nora reported to her employer.

“Indeed,” Mr. Nicholas replied. “I really do dislike this time of year, Nora. It’s rife with bad news of all kinds. Thank you for informing me.”

“Can I do anything for you, sir?” Nora asked anxiously.

“No, no, my dear. You are on holiday.” And Mr. Nicholas closed his own cell phone with a snap.

“What is it, Uncle?” Fyfe McKay asked as he lounged in a comfortable chair near the fireplace in Mr. Nicholas’s elegant office.

“Kathy St. John is getting married,” Mr. Nicholas replied. “I had hoped that being denied The Channel would eventually force her over to us. It seems, however, that she has come to prefer reality. Check the Fiend Finder for Timothy Blair, my boy, and let’s see what we find.”

Fyfe McKay got up and walked over to the computer station in his uncle’s office. He typed in TIMOTHY BLAIR, MIDDLE SCHOOL PRINCIPAL, EGRET POINTE. The machine hummed softly, and then the required information came up. Fyfe scanned it, and then hit PRINT. When the document was ready he handed it to his uncle. “Dull as dishwater, but a big man with a big cock, Uncle. That is obviously Kathy’s great—if you will forgive the pun—interest in the man. Clever little bitch, isn’t she? You deny her The Channel, and she goes out and finds a man who is more than qualified to service her. She has a wonderful appetite for sex. We fucked every night she was at the island spa last time. She claws, and bites, and isn’t one bit shy about screaming when you make her come. I quite enjoyed her. Did you enjoy her, Uncle, when you took her virginity?”

“I do not feel it necessary to discuss my sexual exploits, Fyfe, in order to justify my masculinity,” Mr. Nicholas said heatedly. “And I know when to cut my losses. I miscalculated, and it has cost me Kathy St. John. The men in her family are easy pickings, but she was the first of their women I attempted to entrap.”

“You have a soft spot for her, Uncle,” Fyfe said. “And you played fair. You know better than to play fair. Give her back The Channel, and you will see how quickly she sheds the schoolmaster. Tell her it’s a wedding present,” he chuckled.

“The wedding is in two days,” Mr. Nicholas said. “Besides, Kathy is intelligent, Fyfe. Did you think because she enjoys good sex that she has no brain? That she will toss her fiancé aside for the return of her fantasies? She would not marry him if she were not in love. And you cannot—
I
cannot—win out against love. The man, I am forced to admit, is perfect for her. He shares her values, her faith, and he too likes good sex. Let it go, my boy. We lose one now and again.”

“I can get her back for you, Uncle,” Fyfe insisted, his dark eyes gleaming maliciously. “Let me try!”

“You are ruthlessly ambitious, and I enjoy that in you,” Mr. Nicholas said, “but I tell you to let it go, Fyfe.”

“Let me try, Uncle,” Fyfe McKay repeated.

Mr. Nicholas shrugged fatalistically. “I could stop you if I chose,” he said. “But I can see you will not be satisfied until you do. But if you fail, Fyfe, I will punish you for your failure, and for going against my better judgment.”

“But I won’t fail, Uncle,” Fyfe McKay said. “So what will you reward me with when I succeed?”

Mr. Nicholas smiled. “You need no incentive, Fyfe. But should you succeed we will discuss your prize then. I will give you the period from the winter solstice until the spring equinox to bring Kathy back to me. And, Fyfe, you may not take the easy way by killing her husband, or harming any she loves and cherishes. You will do this the old-fashioned way, by using irresistible temptation. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Uncle,” came the answer. “But the winter solstice is three days after her wedding,” Fyfe noted. “Shouldn’t I begin before that happens?”

Mr. Nicholas sighed. These young people were in such a hurry today. They never stopped to consider anything. “Would your victory not be more painful for her, and triumphant for you if the marriage were destroyed? Do I have to explain everything to you, Fyfe? You are beautiful to the eye, and have great charm, my boy, but you think nothing out ahead of time. Would Kathy not succumb more easily if her lover were gone from her bed? Let her have her momentary happiness. Then strike! Now run along. You have a great deal of preparation to do before you can even consider success.” And with a wave of his hand Mr. Nicholas gestured Fyfe McKay from his office.

When the young man he called his nephew, but who was actually one of his many sons, had gone, Mr. Nicholas pulled open one of his desk drawers. Reaching in, he pulled out a small photograph of Kathryn St. John and stared down at it. Fyfe was right, of course. He had always had a soft spot for Kathy. There had been so many women passing through his world over the centuries. Women who had borne his offspring, both male and female. And other innocents, like Kathy, whose virginity he had taken. But for some reason he had never understood, she had been the one he remembered best of all.

He realized it was a weakness on his part, and while he had told Fyfe that they had
lost
her the truth was that he had released her. And he didn’t understand why. But he wanted her free to find her own happiness. Fyfe might try his best to win her back, but his nephew would fail. And when he did, Mr. Nicholas intended punishing him for his insolence in even trying.

Fyfe McKay, however, was already plotting. He had read Tim Blair’s biography, and learned that he had left Kensington Academy because the headmaster, David Grainger, was just a few years older than he was. There was no chance for advancement, and Blair was obviously an intelligent man with some small ambition. But what if David Grainger was suddenly forced out? Kensington’s board would most likely turn to their old assistant head, a man of impeccable credentials. And certainly a man who had lived his entire life in a big city would be delighted to return to it.

Fyfe McKay went to his own small office and activated the Fiend Finder to learn what he could learn about David Grainger. He was extraordinarily pleased with what he discovered. Grainger was a very handsome and vain man, and he had a libido that he hid, but that was ready to be tempted. Fyfe probed further, and discovered Ms. DuBois, the Kensington French teacher, who was a customer of The Channel. Viewing Ms. DuBois’s fantasies, Fyfe knew he had found his pawn. The young woman wanted a husband and babies, and she wasn’t particular how she got them as her thirty-third birthday was looming in January.

David Grainger suddenly found himself looking at Ms. DuBois with new eyes at the faculty’s Christmas party that Friday afternoon, the seventeenth of December. Her high, pointed breasts excited him as did her tight, round ass. And Ms. DuBois, realizing his interest, began to flirt discreetly. She was the one who volunteered to do the cleanup as the party concluded. Her fellow teachers were only too glad to let her, as they hurried off to Christmas shop or go home to pack for their own vacations.

The headmaster of Kensington remained also to help. But his eyes kept straying to Irene DuBois’s butt as she bent over, picking up bits of wrapping that had fallen to the floor during the secret Santa exchange. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and his dick was swelling in his trousers as she dumped the final scraps in the garbage bag.

“There!” she said, standing up and turning about to face him. “That should do it.”

Then she saw the bulge in his pants. Her eyes grew wide, but she said nothing.

David Grainger unzipped himself, and pulled out his turgid cock. “I have a little present for you, Mademoiselle DuBois,” he said in a husky voice.

“Ohh, Mr. Grainger.” She giggled. “You’re a very naughty man!”

“The question is, are you a very naughty girl, Mademoiselle DuBois?”

Her little pink tongue touched her lip thoughtfully. “Do you want me to suck you off, or do you want to fuck me, Mr. Grainger?” she whispered.

“Both!” he groaned.

She carefully perused him. She could see he was very hard. If she took him into her mouth he was going to come like a shot, and that was no present. “I’m not wearing any panties,” she told him as she pulled her skirt up. Then turning, she bent over the table in the faculty lounge, where the party had been held.

He was on her quickly, his prick nosing its way beneath her butt and ramming itself into her cunt. Fully sheathed he moaned with his excitement. Fyfe watched them on the screen of his Fiend Finder dispassionately, but he did make certain that Mr. Grainger’s ordinary dick felt thick and long to his partner, and that Ms. DuBois’s previously well-used cunt was tight and gave the kind of pleasure that neither of the couple had ever enjoyed. This was going to be the start of a very dangerous affair for them both. And when it concluded they would be quite ruined. Timothy Blair would succumb to temptation and return to Kensington as its new headmaster, and Kathy St. John would be Fyfe’s for the taking.

Unlike his uncle, Fyfe McKay enjoyed the Christmas season. There were so many opportunities for deviltry. And he was not a man to miss a good opportunity.

S
aturday, the eighteenth day of December, dawned sunny. Looking out of her bedroom window, Kathryn saw it had snowed in the night. Everything was covered in a pristine white. It was almost magical. She ate her favorite breakfast of yogurt and buttered rye toast. Drank her orange juice with a vitamin pill. She had switched to acid-reduced juice as her stomach had been a bit fussy of late. She had alternated between euphoria and panic for the last two weeks.

Out of habit she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Then she went back upstairs to shower and wash her hair. Then she lay down in an attempt to relax. She had slept late, but the wedding wasn’t until two thirty in the afternoon. Her brother was coming to get her. A little after one as she dozed, she heard knocking on her front door. Getting up, she went downstairs to find Mavis and Miss Julie from the Egret Pointe Salon. Mavis was carrying a box with their nosegays.

“We’ve come to get you ready,” she said.

“I don’t need any help getting dressed,” Kathryn said. Oh God! Mavis was going to fuss, and Kathryn was nervous enough.

“Honey,” Miss Julie said as she stepped into the foyer of the cottage, “every bride needs someone to do her hair and makeup. You trying to put me out of business, Miss Kathy? Let’s go upstairs now. I can see you washed your hair already.” She gently urged Kathryn back up the stairs, Mavis following.

“I didn’t want a fuss,” Kathryn said.

“Wait until you get the ring on your finger, and through his nose, before you stop fussing, honey,” the hairdresser advised.

Kathryn had to laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I give up. Do your worst, and I promise not to complain.”

“Where’s your suit?” Mavis wanted to know as she headed for the big walk-in closet across the room.

“Left side, in a garment bag. I’m wearing my mother’s single strand of pearls for the something old, okay?” Kathryn sat still while Miss Julie began to do her hair first.

“My underwear is new.”

Miss Julie giggled. “Something naughty from
Lacy Nothings
, I hope, and not a Walmart special.”

“Suitably bridal, and yes, from Ashley’s shop,” Kathryn answered, grinning.