Sebastian - Secrets (18 page)

A forum for s
ubmissive women catches my attention and reading the threads, I recognise many of my needs and desires within those postings.  The women talk about dominant men who care for them and ensure they are safe and looked after, yet with the expectation and profound understanding that their submissive meets their every desire enthusiastically and tirelessly and without question or disobedience.  The primary attraction for me, apart from the hot sex, is that the woman is not expected or required to be the decision maker or alpha of the relationship. 

Reflecting on my own marriage and my career, I can see that this is parallel to m
y own life and realise that I’ve been craving a significant life change for some years.  Perhaps submission is the panacea to my unhappiness and dissatisfaction with my life.  The penny drops, this is why I’m attracted to Sebastian – he holds the key to unlocking and freeing ‘me’.  Go with it Beth, life is short and it’s your turn to fly.

Picking up the phone
, I tap Sebastian’s number.  My hand is trembling slightly and the knot in my stomach is firmly twisting … feel the fear and do it anyway…

Sebastian answers and his deep sexy voice turns the knot in my stomach to a warm tingling in my groin.  He reassures me with his confident tone, listening
to me as I dump all my anguish and feelings on his shoulders.   He tells me exactly what I so need to hear. My marriage breakdown was not my fault as it had clearly been on the cards for years, and it is now my time to do fulfill my own desires. 

It’s nearly Christmas
he reminds me, the children will find this year tough because we won’t be a family unit. 

We must come to stay at Penmorrow for the holi
day season.  He doesn’t allow me to interject as, he assures me, he knows best and I must trust him on this.

My mobile phone rings – number withheld, I accept the call.

“Elizabeth Dove speaking.”

“Sorry … I must have the wrong number.” The voice sounds familiar.

“Who are you trying to reach?” I ask.

“Rosie.  I don’t know her surname.”  It’s Simon!

“Erm … hold the line, I’ll get her for you.”  I place the phone down in my lap for a full minute, before picking it up again.

Changing my voice to a slightly higher octave, I say, “Rosie speaking.”

“Rosie, hi.  It’s Simon.”

“Simon, what a lovely surprise.  How are you?”

“I’m good.  How are you?”  Awkward conversation!

“I’m fine thanks.  How’s work?” Think of something to say, Beth.

“Work’s good.  Not many fires though.” Blimey he’s boring.

“Well, that’s a good thing right?” I say lightly.

“Guess so.”

“So, Simon.  What can I do for you?”  Say something for God’s sake before one of us dies …

“Just thought I’d phone for a chat.  See how you are.” So, get chatting!

“How lovely.  I enjoyed our time together,” I lie.

“Yeh, me too,” he says.

“Well then …”

“Wanna do it again?” asks Simon.  And they say the art of romance is gone.

“You bet.” Another lie. “Let’s fix something up really soon.  I’m busy for the next couple of weeks but why don’t you text me some dates and we’ll put something in the diary.”  Like maybe next century.

“Yeh.  Sounds like a plan.  See ya.”  He cuts the call before ‘Rosie’ can say goodbye.

At the end of the day, my desk is tidy and I turn out the office lights and put my coat on.  My phone pings with a new text message.

Rosie I can do next Wednesday or the following Monday.  Any good?  Same hotel, same hot sex. Simon x

Oh crap!  I tap a quick reply to him.

Hi Simon, sorry can’t make either of those days due to meetings.  Will call you.  X

Don’t hold your breath!

Driving home I scold myself for getting into these tricky situations.  There’s no comparison between Sebastian and Simon.  Sebastian is complicated – very complicated but at least he doesn’t have a vacuous void for a brain.
  I make a mental note to delete the message from Simon – erase him from my life but that thought is forgotten, as my mind drifts back to thoughts of Sebastian.

14

The weeks pass so quickly.  Each day is a master class of juggling; the children, housework, the business, divorce correspondence and I am utterly and completely exhausted, both mentally and physically.  My mother tries to help as much as she can and is invaluable, as is Ruth and between the three of us we somehow manage always to keep the cogs and wheels of my life well oiled and turning.  The children have not yet starved or burned the house down on the days I have worked late, thanks to mother being there.  The business has not suffered from my drop in efficiency thanks to Ruth shouldering more than her share of meetings - life after Alan is bearable. 

Alan is not thriving alone.  He doesn’t appear to be at work very much and the children tell me, after their latest visit with him that he’s on ‘garden leave’ though for what misconduct I have no idea, although I suspect whisky may be involved.  Bella tells me he’s drinking all the time – when I question her on this she clams up, loyal to her father but it spurs me to notify my lawyer, seeking a reduction in his access and restricting him from driving our children in case he is under the influence of alcohol.  His fury at the ensuing letter culminates in the mother of all rows on the phone late one night, when he accuses me of being a manipulating bitch who is ‘just like all those women and no wonder Justice For Fathers were in the news every day when women like me stopped them seeing their kids’.  There is no reasoning with him and it leaves me with a steely resolve to continue the restriction, as the safety and welfare of my children seems to be my priority alone, not Alan’s. 

This new confidence is directly attributable to Sebastian.  Our daily telephone conversations reaffirm my decisions and actions
, and Sebastian’s wise words and practical suggestions prove invaluable in helping survive each day rather than curling up in my bed and closing out the world as I wanted to do soon after Alan left me. 

Christmas is fast approaching.  The children have just two more days before their schools close for the holidays, and I have just two more days to work until the start of my two week period of leave and I can hardly wait.
  The anticipation of seeing Sebastian again after so many weeks, together with the promise of a much needed rest are steering me through each day.  Alan vehemently refuses to allow the children to spend the entire holiday with me and I relent – agreeing that he can have them to stay with him for New Year.  I decide he is less likely to drink himself into oblivion on New Year’s Eve if the children are with him.  It also means they can travel to Penmorrow with me for Christmas, we leave in just four days time. 

Mother is unhappy that the children and I will be absent for Christmas
, but she has decided to invite her sister, Aunty Margaret, to travel from Eastbourne and enjoy the festivities with her.  They are not close but my mother will nevertheless enjoy her company and it absolves me from my selfish act of going away.  My penance for such a sin was to agree to host dinner for the two of them on the night before we leave for Cornwall and we exchange gifts over an early turkey dinner at my home before kissing and hugging our farewells and festive wishes.

The white carpet of frost glistens on the front lawn and path, twinkling in the early morning sun as I load suitcases and brightly wrapped Christmas presents into the boot of my car.  The children seem in good spirits, chatting animatedly for much of the journey. They seem unconcerned to be visiting a stranger or spending Christmas with him, instead they seem more anxious to know whether I have bought Joe’s latest console game, and Bella’s iPad, as demanded on their hastily penned Christmas wish lists, which of course I have.

“Kids, are you excited to be staying in a mansion for Christmas?” I ask, observing the reaction on their faces in my rear
view mirror. 

“Bella told me it’s haunted,” replies Joe nervously, “and she said there will be dungeons and secret tunnels and everything” he muses.  Bella laughs, “belieeever!” and Joe digs her ribs sharply with his elbow.  Bella yelps and responds with a hefty thump to Joe’s leg giving him a dead leg.  I sigh, this is my life these days but I resist the urge to scream at my children or to dampen my excitement, instead
              I switch on the radio and crank the volume up to drown out their squabbles.

We break our journey only for a comfort stop near Exeter and to share out the hastily made sandwiches, which are in the picnic bag beside me. Fifty minutes later I leave the arterial road to north Cornwall and am soon navigating the tiny capillary lanes t
hreading toward Trevissey.  It’s odd but the smaller the roads, the greater my excitement as we approach the turning to Penmorrow.  We soon pass the stone stags, and the children gasp as Penmorrow looms ahead.

15

The car wheels crunch noisily on the gravel signalling our arrival.  As I cut the ignition I see, reflected in the wing mirror, the welcome sight of Sebastian approaching from the house. 

The children are already out of the car and, as I open the door and step from the car, the sight of Sebastian embracing Bella and shaking Joe’s hand melts my heart.  I’m beaming when he walks over to me.  He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly into his chest, kissing my forehead.  My arms wrap around him and I turn my head upwards and plant a lingering, intense kiss on his lips – I’m so very glad to be with him again, having grown to miss him terribly over the last few weeks. 

After an eternity of kissing we become aware of the children, impatient to get on with the business of ghost hunting and exploring the vast house before them.  Sebastian opens the car boot and retrieves our luggage,
which he carries into the house.  The children run ahead of him and, as I follow him inside, a feeling of optimism and belonging enfolds me. I am home.

Two hours.  T
he time it takes the children to complete their mission of discovery, after which they find us in the kitchen and regale us with tales of dark shadows and ‘really cool’ rooms.  Sebastian feigns intrigue, then fuels their excitement by telling them stories of an apparition of a grey lady purportedly seen floating along the upper landing and passing through bedroom doors.  I laugh and admonish him for telling tales, which will inevitably keep Joe awake tonight. 

Sebastian leaves us at three, returning an hour later with the most enormous Christmas tree the children have ever seen.  We have a wonderful time adorning the branches with the glass baubles that Sebastian retrieves from the attic.

It feels cathartic – to laugh, to be a family unit, to forget Alan and all the negativity which ha
s clouded my life of late.  It’s Christmas and I feel safe, my children are happy – life is good once again.

Scarlett serves a delicious supper of beef wellington with a war
m chocolate fondant for dessert and, irritatingly, joins us at the table.

“Beats your microwave dinners, Mum!” exclaims my ungrateful son as he devours his second helping
.  Scarlett catches my eye and I note the smugness with which she smiles at me.

Refreshed from a hot bath and now dressed only in a towelling robe, I’m sitting on the rug with Sebastian, as we did the night we met, gazing at the fire and sipping port.  In the great hall, the last embers of the fire glow and the last remnant of burning pine spits cinders and crackles.  We don’t speak but instead relish each other’s closeness.   The house is quiet.  The children are sleeping upstairs and the only sounds I can hear come from the fire and the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chiming intermittently. 

I’
m seated contentedly between Sebastian’s open legs, resting back against his strong chest, breathing in the seductive scent of him.  I raise the crystal port glass to my lips, finishing the warm sweet liquid and breathe in the aroma of smoky pine, sighing contentedly.  He kisses the back of my neck then nibbles at the top of my ear and I moan at the touch of his lips “mm that feels so good…”

“We aim to please, Elizabeth… and how does this feel?” he moves the hair from my neck and traces gentle kisses down to the top of my spine, sending small tremors down my spine to my sacrum.  I squirm and melt back against him harder.  It feels so good.  He falls back with my weight against him, onto the rug taking me with him – my glass tumbling from my grasp.
  His legs entwine mine, and we’re kissing passionately, our tongues seeking each other’s with a raw hunger.  His hands roughly grasp and knead my breasts, pinching my nipples until I cry out with the delicious pain.  He moves on top of me, my legs now wrapped tightly around his, pulling his hardness against me and I need him so badly, the ache within me is almost unbearable. 

My hand moves down to his hardness, stroking the length of him through the course fabric of his jeans and he groans, reaching down to unzip his fly – his manhood rises, freed from the constraints of the denim.  He hurriedly pulls at the tie belt of my robe until it gives
, the robe falling open to expose my nakedness. His hand moves between my legs, his fingers probing my creamy arousal, his thumb stroking at my clitoris so expertly.  He continues his assault on my clit as I stroke his throbbing member, my teeth catching his lip as the passion of our kiss engulfs us.  He sits up then, pulling me with him and positioning me to straddle him.