Chapter 2: Execute

No one in his right mind missed the summer solstice celebration around these parts, according to Samuel. Indeed, to hear him and his pub regulars tell it, the solstice party was the event of the year in the village, far more important than Christmas or New Year’s Eve. It started before sunset, Samuel told me, and the survivors continued through until dawn. He and his wife always opened the pub the following morning to serve breakfast, free of charge, to those who managed to stagger in.

The contessa made it plain she was going and that she expected me and Kitchen Girl to accompany her. In fact, she told us, the festival was her main reason for choosing this cottage for summer vacation.

I’ve been fair enough to the contessa, but the truth is she was a bitch in her role and remained one during my time with her. Even though her behavior had brought out in me feelings I hadn’t recognized or admitted, she had a heavy hand and she didn’t stint in applying it to us. Kitchen Girl and I were going to make sure she paid for that. We’d embroider her script a little.

Our own plan for the evening would give her the fright of her life when it appeared her luck had run out.

“You’ll know where we’ll do it, right? It’s just beyond that little point. I’ve made the arrangements. No one will notice and no one will hear her. Teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.”

Kitchen Girl nodded.

“When?”

“When she’s good and smashed, for sure. Full moon is two minutes past midnight and the solstice is exactly twenty minutes after the full moon. The timing is important. This is a solstice celebration. That’s when we’ll toss her in. It’s five minutes to the spot where we fuck her brains out, what brains she has left, anyway, five minutes to tie her up when we’re finished, and in she goes at exactly twenty-two minutes past midnight, right at the solstice. The lake creature some locals talk about, whatever it is, will accept her sacrifice. Bye bye Contessa.”

Kitchen Girl gave me a high-five. “Yeah!” Her look turned crafty. “How long to fuck her brains out?”

I was on a roll here. You’d think I planned this stuff all the time, or that maybe it was a game for me, too. “Ten minutes max, Kitchen Girl, maybe only five. We work fast and we get it done. She will have been plundered so many times by then she’ll be on the edge of her millionth orgasm even before we touch her. All we have to do is tip her over that edge again and maybe one more time for luck. She’ll be a quivering mess and she won’t have a clue about what’s going to happen.”

I laughed.

“Until she hits the water, that is.”

With that I took Kitchen Girl in my arms and kissed her, not hard, I wasn’t trying to push anything. When we broke the kiss I whispered in her ear. “I love you, Roberta.” I’d learned her real name some time earlier, and of course she knew mine from my first interview, but we’d never broken character. I felt her squeeze me in return but she didn’t say anything.

In the end it was a friendly orgy where just about everyone knew everyone else, even the small summer colony of which the contessa, Kitchen Girl and I were part. Not many outsiders. The place is far enough off the main drag and not a tourist destination in itself. Most folks don’t even know it’s there.

The festival isn’t billed as an orgy, of course. It’s not hard to image the regional tourist board’s reaction if the village of Upper Wherever began advertising “Midsummer’s Eve Solstice Orgy Come One Come All. And More than Once, Too.”

I should add that the contessa’s script meant she confined her punishment to Kitchen Girl and myself. I never saw her try to force anyone else to do anything or apply her hand or any other favorite appliance to someone who didn’t want her attentions. She didn’t need to force anyone. She had plenty of takers for her charms even without the warm-up exercises she enjoyed with us.

The heat of the summer afternoon made it easy to strip off, for those who wanted to, although the temperature of the lake water discouraged idle dipping except for a quick cool-down. Kitchen Girl and I kept our eyes on the contessa from a distance. We didn’t want to spook her or let her think there was anything unusual going on.

It was a treat, I admit, to see the local vicar, as straight-laced as anyone, bury his face between the contessa’s thighs to her evident and vocal delight. Her cries were interrupted when Samuel mounted a vigorous assault on her mouth with his cock. Samuel may have quieted her but he didn’t slow her down.

“Contessa?”

I shook her shoulder a little. The vicar was apparently dozing, still between her thighs, and she’d swallowed when Samuel finished and wandered off.

“Mmph.”

I leaned closer. Her skin had a tang of sweat and semen and spilled drink. I just stopped myself from licking up a little splash of what I thought was mustard between her breasts. She’d enjoyed one of Guillermo’s sausages earlier in the afternoon.

“Can I get you something to drink, Contessa?”

She rose on her elbows and dislodged the vicar. I think she nodded, but she didn’t say anything. I decided a beer was in order.

“Thanks, Bertuccio.” She downed half the bottle in one gulp and poured the rest on the vicar who seemed to be trying to get back between her legs. He uttered some unholy words and shoved himself to his feet and walked away. With that she tossed the bottle over her shoulder and turned to me with a smile.

“You’re cute, Bertuccio.”

She’d definitely had more than enough to drink.

“Thank you, Contessa.”

She ran her fingers lightly across my chest. My nipples noticed. So did the rest of me when her hand drifted down to find me almost at full mast. I’ve never felt fingers on my cock that I didn’t like, but I had plans and they didn’t include sex with her. Yet. I glanced over my shoulder to see Kitchen Girl watching us as she slowly stroked the vicar’s erection.

By now it was almost dark. Singers and dancers continued to circle the bonfire. They had begun to slow a little even as the fire burned high. When I kissed the contessa I inhaled the smoke in her hair. I heard the singing but it seemed far away, or maybe there was something in my ears. It seemed to be getting more insistent, and those who were still on their feet and sober enough to stay that way began to move faster. I could smell something meaty and delicious roasting over the coals.

“Something to eat, Contessa?”

She shook her head, and her touch turned to strokes. I gently fended her off and looked around for someone to distract her while I went to get her another drink. Samuel was playing with one of his barmaids, and as I watched the vicar achieved liftoff when he thrust one last time into Kitchen Girl’s hand. It was a respectable fountain. He’d been saving up.

“Back in a sec, Contessa.”

When I returned with another beer for her I found the contessa entwined with the village librarian, Éilís Cassidy, a transplant from Dublin many years ago. I watched them move urgently against each other for a minute or two and decided it was hopeless, although under other circumstances I would have joined them. I put the beer on a rock nearby and searched for Kitchen Girl. It was time to get the contessa moving.