Chapter 7: The Wedding Approaches

Throughout the month of May, as my nuptials approached, I became increasingly nervous. It seemed as if things were piling up all around me and I had nowhere to turn. This, of course, was the sheerest nonsense since both Siobhan and James had shouldered a burden worthy of Atlas. By the time June arrived I was wishing the entire thing was over and done with, yet more difficulties arrived daily. In retrospect, with the wisdom of age and the experience of other weddings, I can now say with confidence that what I was enduring was simply normal premarital jitters, but at the time it seemed insurmountable. When, in the week prior to the wedding, I began to snap and snipe at Siobhan, she calmly set down her checklists, turned to James, and said, “Will you do something to calm her down?” then left the room.

I stared in disbelief. Certainly, I had done nothing to deserve such treatment! I immediately protested to James about such hateful mistreatment, and that the wedding was off; that Siobhan was out of the wedding!

He simply nodded in agreement and replied, “I think you need to get out of the house. Let’s go for a ride.”

What?” I exclaimed.

“A ride. You, me, horses, clippity-clop down the road. A ride!” As I stared in silent astonishment, he took me by the arm and directed me towards the stairs. “Go get changed into your riding clothes while I get the horses ready. We haven’t been riding in weeks.”

This was true, since May was an exceptionally wet month, and April had been cold and blustery. That first week of June had been beautiful, however, warm and sunny and dry, and I suddenly felt a longing to be out of the house. More than anything I was suffering from what the locals called ‘cabin fever’, and I hurried upstairs to change my clothing.

I should explain that my riding clothes were not precisely what was the usual for young ladies of the period. I disdained a bulky riding dress as being most uncomfortable and impractical. I preferred attire much like the many riders, all men, of the household preferred. Specifically, heavy denim trousers as made by Mr. Levi Strauss of San Francisco and a tailored version of one of James’ silk shirts. Further, I wore good leather boots much as the men wore, though cut to my considerably smaller size, and appropriate undergarments so that I neither chafed nor bounced overmuch. I had first worn such clothing in the fall and had caused quite the scandal among the more conservative members of the household, but since James had no mind to change my habits, this died down, though it was considered unusual. Minutes later I scampered back down the stairs and outside, to find James leading Excalibur, his magnificent black stallion, and Daisy, my considerably more docile mare, towards the door. He assisted me aboard, then climbed into the saddle, and we set off.

James led the way across the pastures, and we set a good pace as we began climbing the trails into the hills of the Adirondack Mountains. Conversation was somewhat strained by our speed and a slight separation, but James did not force the issue and we did not discuss my cancellation of our wedding. Finally, he espied a small glen off our path, a neighboring farmer’s field lying fallow for the season, and he slowed our pace, and we pulled aside.

James continued to avoid the subject, simply talking about the weather and the red-tail hawks that were circling above us as we climbed down. He unsaddled our horses and hobbled them near a stone fence, then took the blankets and his saddlebags and led me to a spot some feet away, in the sunlight. I smiled as he set the blankets out, opening them and spreading them on the ground, then joined him as he pulled a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from his bags.

“I shall have to apologize to Siobhan, won’t I?” I asked with a wry smile.

“I think that would be a good thing,” he answered.

“I was rather harsh on her, wasn’t I?”

“Very harsh, indeed.”

“She has been so good about everything. I could never do this alone.”

“That is very true. I am sure you would cock it all up immensely,” was his reply.

I stared at my beloved in exasperation. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you! You are absolutely no help at all!”

“Absolutely none,” he responded. “Now, would you like some wine? It is a very good year,” he said as he examined the label. He poured a glass and held it out to me with a faint smile.

I gave out with a quiet shriek of exasperation, just loud enough to send birds flying and cause the horses ears to prick up, then reached out to take the wine and sip it as James poured himself a glass. I joined him in a toast to marriage, then James took my glass from me and said, “Take your clothes off.” I had suspected ulterior motives as soon as I saw the wine bottle, and promptly stripped my clothing off, to lay naked on the blankets before him. He refilled my glass, and we toasted Siobhan. Next, we toasted the return of Ahkbar Singh. There were several more toasts along this line and I discovered that we had finished the bottle, or I should say I finished the bottle, since I was feeling quite tipsy. I was also feeling quite flushed with passion, since James had pushed my free hand between my legs during the third toast, to force me to prepare myself for our coming tryst, to manipulate my quim and nubbin. I was quite ready when the bottle was empty, and as he brought forth a second bottle, I took the empty first bottle and inserted it into my cunny, spending as I thrust it into me.

James watched this with considerable interest, then set down the second bottle and stripped his own clothing off. He looked marvelous, a veritable Greek God, Zeus, prepared to have his way with his Leda. His cock stood up stiff and proud, eagerly anticipating burying itself in my hot and oily flesh. There were however two surprises to come. First, rather than join me directly, to crawl atop me and sink into my eager cunny, he directed me to kneel, and he took me from behind. Secondly, after plumbing my depths for several moments, he pulled his member from me, and I felt him spreading my arsecheeks with his strong fingers. Before I could do any more than gasp in pleasure, he had inserted his organ into my nether orifice and pushed forward, seating his cock in my arse fully. With that, he began bucking against me as I spent wildly, crying out the pleasure of his assault, bucking back against him as his sac swung forward to slap against my cunny, until he gave forth a massive groan and I felt him expand even further, to pump his seed into my arse.

Sated, even if just for the moment, I collapsed to the blankets and James followed me down, to nuzzle against me from behind, his softening cock still lodged in my arse. “You have been very naughty,” he told me, “And this is your punishment. I am going to bugger you all afternoon, until I can’t fuck you any more at all, and then you are going to go back home and apologize to Siobhan.”

I wriggled beneath my love, thoroughly enjoying my punishment, and I felt him beginning to stir and revive within me. “I shall have to apologize quite thoroughly, will I not?” I asked.

“Very thoroughly.”

“In fact, I will probably have to kiss her, won’t I dear?”

“Probably,” he replied, as I continued to feel him stiffen. I began moving gently, to help the process, whimpering with the pleasure I felt at the process.

“I will have to kiss her lips and her boobies and her cunny and her nubbin. I am sure that will make her feel better.”

James began to thrust into me now, enjoying my discussion of what I would do with Siobhan later. I decided to make sure that we did this in her rooms, with the lights on, on top of her bed. James has a most decided voyeuristic streak, and I knew that he would watch us through the half-silvered mirror set in the wall between her room and the secret passageways. He was unaware of my knowledge of these passages, and normally I was with him during my trysts, but in this I would provide him with a special viewing.

We continued our enjoyment of the outdoors until dinnertime, with a third bout lying on our sides, and a final coupling with me kneeling atop my beloved, facing him as he played with and suckled my boobies and nipples. Amidst these enjoyments we managed to open and finish the second bottle of wine. Exhausted, we dressed and rode back home and acted as if the arguments had never occurred, though I made sure that I apologized to Siobhan exactly as I had told James I would. This apology lasted until the wee hours of the night, and when I returned to our rooms, James insisted on taking me again! It was very late when I fell asleep, exhausted and sated and at peace with the world.

This proved the last of my nervous condition, since the next day was Sunday, and our first guests were to arrive. James escorted me to church and then back home, and it was early afternoon when the Johnsons arrived. I had pressed upon Mary, my dear friend, and David, her husband, that not only were they invited to our joining, but that they were to consider it a grand vacation and holiday, and were to spend the entire week with us, and to bring their children with them. Mary and David considered this quite the imposition, since they had two young daughters, and Mary had just delivered a son only a month or so prior. However, my letters to them argued that we would hardly notice the interruption, and that rather, the children would be most welcome additions, and that we had most suitable accommodations, those being my nursery. I had laughingly explained once how James had misread my first letter to him and thought me but six, rather than sixteen, so that he had procured for me an enormous nursery complete with hobby horse, and that this was to be the residence of any children who would visit with us.

Mary had proven her friendship to me once when we were staying in New York, and she nursed me to health after I was injured by ruffians during a street robbery. We became very close to the point where on occasion we gamboled with each other, and I would advise and assist her in her seductions of her husband. David and James did not become as close, but James did seem to admire the younger man. For my part, I suspected that James saw in David himself a score of years prior, for David Johnson was young, bright, ambitious, honest, and hard-working. However, when I told James of my belief, he laughed loud and long, and he replied that nobody had ever accused him of any of those faults.

Arrangements were rather varied for the innumerable guests. Certainly, every hotel room in Saratoga and for miles around was booked months in advance, and Siobhan and James had gone to much planning over the rooms of the estate. Furthermore, Mrs. Whitney had most generously offered to put up a number of guests at their fine estate nearby, and we had eagerly agreed. While most of the guests were James’ friends and business partners, there were a number of mine coming, from a wide background, and they were to stay with us. For every Harry Kendrickson, wealthier even than James, there was a Mary Johnson, of humble origins but a proven friend, and I would not let them stay with strangers.

Mid-afternoon on that Sunday I was in the front parlor when I spied a carriage pulling up before the veranda. This was not unusual, since it seemed as if every carriage for hire within a day’s drive was busy ferrying people and things to and from the estate. I glanced through the window and cried out in delight, then summoned James and scurried outside. The Johnsons were still alighting from the carriage and the looks on their faces were priceless; Mary was in sheer awe of the estate, whilst her husband David looked worried at being so high above his normal station. I helped Mary down and hugged her to me as James came out and smiled, to welcome them and make them feel at home. Moments later they were all lined up in the drive, and I was cooing at the sleepy babe tucked cozily in the bassinet Mary was carrying.

“He’s beautiful!” I cried. “He’s so adorable! What is it five weeks now?”

“Five yesterday,” acknowledged the proud mother. “We named him David, after his father.”

David beamed at his wife most immoderately at this, practically blushing, then reached into an inner coat pocket and handed out an envelope to James. Speaking to James, in a low voice though one which both his wife and I heard, he said, “The management wishes to congratulate you on your marriage, sir, and I am instructed to give you this.”

James considered the envelope briefly, and asked, “What, my last bill?” to which we all laughed.

“Well, no,” admitted David. “Actually, the next time you are staying at the Waldorf-Astoria, this will be a free stay in the bridal suite, in thanks for all the times you have stayed with us in the past.”

James nodded at this, and continued, “Well, I thank you, and please tell your superiors that I thank them and will take them up on it sometime soon, I am sure. Now tell me, I have been very pleased with my various suites up until now. What does the bridal suite offer that a regular suite does not?”

David lowered his voice even more and blushed upon seeing me eyeing him but soldiered gamely on. “Well, quite probably the largest bed I have ever seen, and a substantial discount on room service!” at which we all laughed loudly.

At this, I turned back to Mary and said, “Now, if this little one is David, who are these two?” I smiled down at the two girls and saw that they were most unalike. Oh, not in looks, for they were very much peas from the same pod, being very similar to their mother, but in expressions they could not have been more different. The older girl, being about five or six, was very bright eyed and inquisitive, looking around herself eagerly, and straining at the leash of her mother’s hand, eager to go and explore. The younger, of between three and four years in age, had the most doleful expression and the saddest eyes, and was nervously trying to hide behind Mary’s skirts.

Before her parents could say a word, the oldest spoke up clearly, her voice a light bell-like tone. “My name is Katherine, but everybody calls me Katie. What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” I said, squatting down on my heels so that we were at eye level.

“Can I call you Caroline? Momma says I shouldn’t, but I like to ask, just in case. Are you the one getting married? You’re very pretty. How old are you? I’m six! Janey, that’s her, she’s four. She doesn’t talk much...”

Woo! Once you started Katie up, she never stopped! I gathered her parents were always afraid that somebody would get her going because she was an inexhaustible supply of questions and comments. However, do not let me give you the idea she was an impossible child, for that is the furthest thing from the truth. She was a delightful little girl, friendly and outgoing and very much a likeable child. I found her very pleasant indeed, and I laughed as her parents tried to quiet her irrepressible nature.