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Category: Erotica/Taboo Erotica
Description: Stories of dark and dangerous, and sometimes downright evil, sex. In Dangerous Desires, the discovery of a yellowed letter opens a door to the past that is perhaps better left closed. For Estelle and Andrew, sex and desire are only part of the puzzle. In Scottish Rites, a warrior journeying back to his homeland weary from battle, meets someone that will evoke swords, sorcery, and oodles of randy sex. Lord Torradan will never be the same, especially when the moon is full. In Estelle's Protege, sex is shown to be more than love or pleasure. It can also be the means to an illegal end. Such is the case when a gritty dame will do whatever it takes to be satisfied. Plus many other stories that mix eros, mystery, and even evil. By the fabulously gifted short story writer. J. Troy Seate. C
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: January 2011

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [301 KB]
Words: 66207
Reading time: 189-264 min.

In this Victorian piece, the discovery of a yellowed letter opens a door to the past that is perhaps better left closed. For Estelle and Andrew, sex and desire are only part of the puzzle.

DANGEROUS DESIRES

2011

Trudy ran her palm over the smooth lacquered surface of the antique vanity. She'd found the beautiful relic at an estate sale up the coast. She opened each drawer, one after the other. The aroma from its wood was like inhaling the past. Underneath the lining in the top left drawer, she found a piece of paper withered with age, yellowed enough to be the Magna Carta. She carefully removed it. It wasn't a document, but a letter.

"This must have been here forever," Trudy said to herself. Her intent was to replace the ancient drawer liners, but that would wait until after she studied this hidden missive. She had wondered who might have owned such a wonderful piece of workmanship. Maybe the letter would tell her.

Delicately handling the single page as if it might dissolve in her hands, she read:

My Darling Estelle,

You are the shining star that entered my life with such a blinding light that I am forever changed. When I was in shadow, you lit my way. You are my salvation and my love.

Always remember, my sweet, in spite of your rebuffs and admonitions, gentle winds will lead me to you like a wave that caresses the shore. I will convince you of the joy we can share in an embrace. The glow of my affection will burn brightly because my love is eternal.

The vine that intertwines the long familiar stone. The kiss as tender as the velvet touch of a breeze. These are images I savor and my heart beats quicker with the knowledge that I will soon possess you.

Without your knowledge or permission, I have decided to act within the next few days. I will come for you after I am done with the Baron.

Soon, my love. Soon.

A

"Wow," Trudy said with enthusiasm. "A mystery." This was more than she had bargained for. She looked at her reflection in the vanity's mirror and tried to imagine the woman to whom these fanciful, yet forceful words had been written. Had the intentions of the letter's author been carried out? Did the Baron get done in? Did "A" come for Estelle? Why would she leave such an incriminating letter if things had worked out the way "A" obviously wanted them to?

She wouldn't have left the letter. Something had gone wrong, Trudy felt certain.

When she retired that evening, Trudy knew that the mystery of Estelle and "A" and the beautiful, lacquered vanity would be worming its way through her dreams.

1901

Estelle peered out from her bedroom window and watched the dying light extend the shadows from the cliffs. It swept across the cold ocean while the waves broke upon the somber, ominous rocks hungry to reclaim them. The scene could illicit a feeling of fading beauty or even desolation after sunset, but tonight she felt anticipation. She looked out over the dark Pacific which now appeared to be the edge of eternity in its sinister, vast blackness. But for Estelle, there was no room for darkness as a solitary star to wish upon popped out from a space between the clouds. No darkness on this night if her cupid had fulfilled the promise revealed in his note.

She turned her attention to the winding road that ran across the coastline waiting for him to come. As the gray clouds rolled in, driven by the sea, the earth below darkened. Still, she waited.

Finally she saw the momentary twinkle of metal from a carriage. It was Andrew's carriage. She ran down the stairs to greet him. She threw open the massive oak door and watched the man climb from the carriage and approach. He was tall and straight, and his footsteps were deliberate as he plodded up the walkway. It seemed like forever until Andrew reached the top step. A slight ocean breeze coursed up Estelle's legs and made her sex tingle in a way it hadn't in ages. Her heart was beating fast as she asked, "Is it done?"

"Yes, Estelle. It's done."

Her eyes gave away an intelligence and a careful mind that summed up situations quickly. She could see the truth of his words. She took hold of Andrew's arm and drew him into the foyer. "Then we must celebrate."

"Yes, I guess we must."

She felt a mean and filthy joy, but joy nonetheless. She looked into Andrew's hooded eyes and thought she saw a flicker of regret. "No guilt," she said as much to herself as to him. "It had to be done." Then she smiled. "How would you have me tonight on our first night of freedom?"

"I'd have you in all manner of ways, as you promised, once the deed was done."

"Then let's make haste to fulfill those promises." Estelle pulled him further into the house and into the Baron's study. The dimming light crept in through a bay window that looked upon the Pacific. "I think we should start here in his study where he worked and schemed and plotted ways to keep us apart. And, as you see, I'm wearing only my thinnest of nightgowns."

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"No. Only that it is done and over, and that no one will ever know." Estelle kissed Andrew passionately then stepped back. "Enough of dour thoughts. It's time for you to take what's been promised."

Estelle pulled the nightgown over her head, revealing herself beneath the white gathering of light cotton. She dropped the gown to the floor where it pooled by her feet. She posed for him with the immodesty of a common barroom tart. It made her all the more appealing. The dusky remnants of light from the window cut a deep, curved shadow between her breasts. Likewise, the tangled ends of her pubic hair were silhouetted against a robust thigh.

The image was intoxicating and set Andrew aflame. He'd always gazed at her as if she was some incredible treasure he'd stumbled upon, but that look was now colored with lust. He quickly removed his waistcoat then sat on the edge of a massive wingback chair and removed his boots and the rest of his garments without allowing his eyes to leave the revelation of Estelle's body.

Estelle equally admired the splendor of Andrew's lean form. His cock began to stiffen before her eyes. "My, my, Andrew. I'm more affected than I would have thought for it is a true prize that rises toward me. It's much more persuasive than that which belonged to the Baron."

"No more talk of him. It's time to begin our life and our fortune together."

"Quite so. And it will be my pleasure to satisfy your arousal." She held her arms out to Andrew. "Come to me, my love, and let the wrath of God take the Baron and his distasteful ways."

Andrew smothered Estelle's face with kisses. His hands sought the rest of her as though she were some exotic feast to be consumed. He squeezed her breasts and fingered her vagina with an urgent hunger. His hand ran along the curve of her spine and down the crack between her twin globes, trying to take in all of her at once.

Following his finger, his fully erect manhood sought her slit. Estelle lifted one of her feet and placed it on a squatty inlaid end-table the Baron had been so fond of, allowing Andrew a more satisfactory avenue of penetration.

His lips moved as if in prayer. "Sweet surrender," he said when his shaft slipped into the depths of Estelle's welcoming cavity like a hand inside a velvet glove.

Bathed in dusk, the two figures could have merely been sharing an amusing story if not for their nakedness and the fact that they were joined at the hips in an eternal ritual of passion. Wouldn't the Baron be amused, thought Estelle. She was in a world no longer veiled by the shadow of her beastly, controlling husband.

Andrew bent Estelle's torso backward. She wrapped the raised leg around his waist. Now they could have been amorous Tango dancers. "Take me upon the floor, Andrew."

They stepped away from the table. Andrew's cock pulled free of Estelle. Covered with her juices, its rigidity gleamed in the shadowy twilight. And it craved more of her.

She lay on her back and splayed her shameless legs to beckon her lover's cock in the manner she'd once watched her housekeeper give herself to a stable-hand in the carriage house. Andrew fell on her. As he covered her naked body with his, she took in the smell and the bulk of him, and she was pleased.

He plunged deeply inside her again. She spread wide. Her ankles found his shoulders. He pounded deep inside of her, slamming her with his thighs again and again. Her pleasure mounted, the sensation inside her grew. The couple rolled into different positions on a massive hemp rug -- for a time on their sides then reversing their positions with Andrew on his back. They frolicked like two ruffians grappling in the dirt. Their performance couldn't be mistaken for chatting or dancing now, and their fornication delighted Estelle even beyond the knowledge of the Baron's demise.

"And now, to the bedroom," Estelle breathed.

"It wouldn't be prudent for me to spend the night," Andrew cautioned. "Not yet."

"I'm not thinking of all night. Only that you mount me again in a more comfortable place. We will eventually intercourse in every room, but for now, off to my bed."

She led him up the stairs and into the boudoir where she lit a candle on her vanity. She climbed on the bed and rested on her hands and knees. "Join me, Andrew," she beseeched. "Make love to both of my openings. Tonight I want to share everything with you."

Andrew adored Estelle with his eyes then planted kisses on her back and shoulders. He placed his knees behind her and forced his cock into her vagina once more. After an eternity of strokes, he pulled free. Her anus then absorbed him.

As Estelle's arse opened, so did a new world of sensations. While Andrew alternated between cunt and ass, she experienced her first and second orgasms. If only she'd known of these pleasures, she'd have sought out someone like Andrew much sooner than she had.

Tender words were now cloistered. Grunts and groans replaced any poetic prose that might have come to mind. Simple animal pleasure raced through their bodies.

Andrew exploded with a series of cries that were nearly sobs, his passion at its rapacious zenith. "Dear God, Estelle, I should have done what I did today long ago. So much time wasted."

"Better now than never, my sweet," she responded in a satisfied drowse as his dripping strokes continued.

"Yes. Now and forever. It's our time to savor each other."

"My body will cry out for your puddles of love after you have gone," Estelle moaned. "But now that we have gratified each other, we must think of the morrow."

"Sadly true. But in a few days -- "

"Yes. In a few days."

"Allow me but one final indulgence."

"Quickly."

Andrew pulled free of Estelle. He turned her slim around body around and hoisted her above him so that faces met genitals. "I've done all but taste you." He raised his head and took succor from the slit that had so welcomed his cock.

Estelle eyed the organ that had satisfied her so. She had never taken one into her mouth and had never even entertained the thought in the presence of the Baron. But this was a special occasion and who could know when such an indulgence might present itself again. Her emotions were once again stirred by Andrew's licking and lapping at the spot he'd just penetrated.

She rested his balls in one hand and held his cock with the other so that she might taste the beast. It was a curious weapon and as handsome as its owner. She flopped it one way then the other. She ran her tongue up and down its shaft slowly, feeling a vein thicken and the weapon harden. The thing held great power to please and she'd want much more in the years to come under her own terms. And while Andrew's teeth tugged at Estelle's clitoris, she took his root in her mouth and sucked it until the last bit of creamy goo was strained out and swallowed.

"Sweet mother of heaven," Andrew gasped. "Tell me this is only the beginning of our splendor?"

"It's only so if we're not seen together for an acceptable period. You must be on your way."

Andrew climbed from the bed with a reluctant sigh. When Estelle stood, he cupped her breasts and suckled them while his cock calmed. Then, like a true gentleman, he took her hands and kissed the center of each palm as if neither murder nor licentiousness had preceded this final gesture. "I'll get my clothes and be off, but never was a moment of departure more painful."

"True words. I will feel the pain as well." Estelle reached under her pillow and came away with a small derringer pistol her husband had given her for protection. She pointed it at Andrew's chest.

Andrew looked at her. His expression abruptly changed from rapture to disorientation. "What's this?"

"I care for you with all that passes for my heart," Estelle said, "and I will truly miss you, especially now that I know the nature of a good stallion's cock. But I can't inherit all of this merely to give it to another man. You can understand that, can't you, my darling?"

Then she shot him.

With disbelieving eyes, his impressive appendage still gleaming with her wetness, Andrew pitched and fell facedown on the floor. One of his hands reached out toward Estelle's bare foot as if it might be the Holy Grail, the life raft that would save him. She stepped back and stood next to Andrew for several minutes until he moved no more.

One final time, she observed the body of the man to whom she had bestowed post-coital death. It was as pale now as a dinner candle. His wound would make an ugly spot on the rug, but some compromises couldn't be avoided. She dropped the pistol on the floor, stepped over Andrew's body and walked to her bedroom window. She looked out over the dark Pacific, which now appeared to be the edge of eternity in its vast blackness. But there was no room for darkness inside Estelle.

She delicately seated herself at her vanity. She looked at her reflection in the mirror for some time and admired what the candlelight revealed -- the glow of a woman freshly fucked. There was no hurry. Her dalliance with Andrew had warmed her. Her lips were swollen and puffy from Andrew's insistent kisses. Her nipples were still stiff and tender from his kneading and sucking. Her anus tingled from its heavenly violation. Her vagina begged for more and her mouth still held the taste of her dead lover's issue.

She meditated on her white and slender body with its round and lifted breasts. She touched the place between the mounds. Her blood ran to her touch and she wished she'd permitted Andrew one final fuck. She idly wondered if his majestic penis might still be hard in death -- a thought that brought a slight upturn to the corners of her mouth.

In a house no longer filled with her indulgent desperation, what had she expected to feel? Sadness at Andrew's passing? Euphoria at the Baron's demise, knowing she was no longer bound to the wheel of her unsatisfied past? She puzzled over the paradox, but only briefly, and settled on instant nostalgia for the way Andrew had taken her. She froze the moment in her mind, preserving the sexual rush without following the impulse toward permanence. The nostalgia would carry her to the promise of randy times to come, for there was a world of possibilities to explore.

From a drawer, she took the piece of stationary that was different from her own and, in the gloom, penned a sweet letter from her dead lover, careful to copy his handwriting affectations. Her plan was simple. A man other than her husband had shown interest in her. None could blame a slight, impulsive flirtation, given the Baron's overbearing demeanor and nasty disposition. At least that's how she would make it sound.

She'd shown her husband the letter and warned him of Andrew's intentions, but he hadn't taken the lovesick Romeo's remarks seriously, she would tell the authorities. He had treated with scorn the notion that someone would pursue her.

Andrew came to the house and announced that he'd killed the Baron. He'd begged Estelle to go away with him. When she rebuffed his entreaties, he removed his clothes and attacked her. She fought her way to her bedroom where she found the means to defend herself and shot him down.

When the ink was dry on the letter, she slipped it beneath the lining of the drawer that contained her monogrammed handkerchiefs, until such time as was appropriate to reveal Andrew's admission. It would be a scandal to be sure, but she would be good at acting horrified at the acts of the flirtatious Andrew.

After all the unpleasantness, Estelle intended to have a string of lovers. Further, she planned to write about her adventures. It was high time the world was exposed to the antics men and women might undertake away from prying eyes and in their beds. And she'd always had a way with words.

"Everything done and buttoned down," her late husband might have said. In a moment, she would dress modestly, even chastely, and take Andrew's carriage to the nearest house with the story of his attack. She would cry as she told of him stripping out of his clothes and chasing her up the stairs into her bedroom where she had saved herself from his beastly advances with her tiny weapon.

But she delayed, still savoring the memory of her late lover's cock pounding her orifices. Their night of passion would comprise the first chapter in her first book about an adventuress who took her pleasure where she found it.

She again beheld her nakedness. In the mirror, she saw more than her reflection. Through her pretty face, she saw a portal into the future that contained other young, rambunctious men who would be as covetous of her affection as was Andrew. She rubbed her fingers against the slit that had been penetrated. Her clitoris responded with a shiver. She wondered how long her period of mourning need last before pursuing a suitable replacement for Andrew. She only hoped the next was as active as he, but there would be great fun in the exploration.

Her next sensation was sudden, unexpected, and alien to all of these others. It threw her torso forward, almost knocking her off her cushioned seat. It happened too fast to feel pain. She noticed only a smoking lead ball buried in the veneer of the vanity surrounded by a splash of red, the color of her most daring shade of lip paint.

But the derringer only contained one cartridge, she thought as she slumped over her perfume bottles, a black curtain covering her consciousness.

2011

Trudy awoke before sunrise. She looked at the vanity through the dim light of the approaching dawn. There was something special about it besides its concealment of the love letter. Unable to go back to sleep, she got out of bed and turned on her computer. She ran a search on recent estate sales, finding the one where she'd made the purchase. She typed in the address and came up with the homeowner's name. Taking that surname, she ran several tracking screens but came up with dead-ends until she cross-referenced that search with variations of crime prompts and police case files.

And there it was in the San Francisco Chronicle -- a story about multiple homicides in Vallejo on April 10, 1901. Trudy blinked at the screen. Today was the morning of April 10, 2011 -- one hundred and ten years to the day the event had occurred.

Her eyes scanned through the article, mesmerized by what it revealed. According to a police report, a female friend of a Mr. Andrew McPhee had discovered his carriage in front of the Baron Reginald Quartermaine residence. She entered the residence to investigate and found three deceased persons in the Quartermaine bedroom -- a trilogy of death in what was presumed to be the aftermath of a love triangle.

The young McPhee had been killed by a small caliber derringer. Mrs. Quartermaine had been slain with a large caliber revolver apparently fired by her husband. The Baron had died of gunshot wounds sustained earlier from an unknown weapon. The Baron's bloody trail had led from outside the house, up the stairs, and into his wife's room.

The authorities believe that Quartermaine had been shot and left for dead at an unknown location, but had made his way home on foot only to find his wife with Mr. McPhee. Police were unsure as to the order of events, but they hypothesized that Mrs. Quartermaine was shot by the Baron for her indiscretion, and McPhee was caught in the crossfire between husband and wife. The article went on to speculate on the relationship between not only Mrs. Quartermaine and McPhee, but also between McPhee and the woman who discovered the bodies.

Trudy knew this wasn't exactly the way it had gone down. The police report was just the cork in the neck of a bottle. The proof of that was in the hidden letter. Poor Estelle hadn't the chance to destroy the letter or to be with Andrew after that night.

But there was more to the story than what the authorities knew. Had Estelle and Andrew truly been in love or merely in lust? And who amongst the threesome had suffered the misery of being deprived of love? A worm of unease gnawed at Trudy. There was this not-quite-dead husband showing up. She even wondered if Andrew had another woman and had pursued Estelle for more than just amorous adventure -- for her money, maybe. Was the letter just pretty words for the purpose of exploitation?

She suddenly and shockingly understood the blemish that had been filled and disguised as best as possible in the vanity's surface. It was a spot that had contained a spent bullet -- the one that had completed the trilogy of death and unfulfilled aspirations.

Maybe, somehow, Estelle could reveal the truth to her. It might not be as impossible as she would have thought a day ago. For at this moment, as a dim shaft of light crept across the vanity's surface and gave a silky texture to the air, a ghostly shape resolved itself into a naked woman. Trudy rubbed her eyes in disbelief. She picked up the scent of something sweet -- perfume. And something else -- the nonspecific, coppery smell of blood and sex.

She saw the pale form seated at her vanity with a fountain pen in her hand, writing a letter, quite possibly her last living act. Trudy was fascinated rather than horrified. "Estelle," she breathed.

What had finding the yellowed letter released? The truth, perhaps? Maybe whatever force had created this apparition would allow Trudy to approach the woman and read what was being written. And there was the anticipation of what might happen next.