Chapter 3

This time the honeymoon lasted for almost three years. We did more together besides fuck, but we did plenty of that. Can a marriage last if it's based on lust? I guess we'd find out – even one as crazy as ours was.

The fourth anniversary of our meeting came and went quietly. One summer Sunday, we met at the airport as usual. She was excited – no, anxious is more correct. Uncertain of me, for some reason. She had no luggage, and was almost dressed in her 'Baroness' costume: a dark blue pants suit in raw silk – but she never wore pants suits.

"I don't want to stop anywhere, except home. Take me home, John MacKutchen. We need to talk."

Uh oh. The infamous words: 'We need to talk.' Maybe it was time for 'the talk.' If so, I'd tell all of my story too.

We got to the loft – 'our' home – and she sat on a chair in the living room. She called it the parlor, I remembered with a small smile. Then she got up, retrieved two bottled waters from the fridge, and came back, putting one carefully down on a coaster on the coffee table between her chair and the couch, where I sat. She was as nervous as a proverbial long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"John..." she paused, waiting for ... maybe divine intervention?

"Just start at the beginning. Whatever it is that's bothering you, it'll be okay," I said, hoping that I told the truth. I think I knew the subject matter, but I couldn't know her feelings.

"John ... four years back, we met at The Plaza. 'Twas to be just a fling. Something I'd never done before. But there was something between us ... something I can't explain."

"I felt it, too, Kate," I interrupted softly.

"Then the week ended and I went ho – back to Liechtenstein. There I was greeted by my husband, the Baron. He's not dead, John. I've lied to ya all along." There were tears in her eyes as she looked at me. "No ... dinna' say anything ... not yet. Let me tell it all."

She gulped some water and continued. "You're not really married to me. Or I am a bigamist. Married twice at the same time." I opened my mouth to talk but was forestalled by her hand. "I fell in love with ya, Johnny Mac. Truly, I did ... Not at first. After that first week, I knew I had to deal with my feelings about ya. I knew in the first few days back home, I couldna' go without ya. The first time, Fritz – the Baron – called me to his bed after our week together, I knew it. I did as he bid, but his every touch reminded me of ya."

Her voice became quiet, her eyes locked on the oriental pattern in the rug. She almost whispered. "The taste of his cum in me mouth – It was vile; so bitter after the smooth honey you produce. I could hardly feel his little thing inside me, after the brutal and lovin' fuckin' my Pirate gave me. He always ignores my breasts and touches my backside only when I'm clothed."

She'd kicked off her heels by now, and was slowly curling into a fetal position. Her feet were on the chair, she was hugging her knees. He face was down. She was talking only so loud as to reach my ears. And she was crying.

"You've got to believe that, Johnny. Please. If nothing else. He's never touched my arse. And he's never suckled on me breasts – no getting them ready for Sean or little Katherine, as you did. As you do. Once you'd done that, how could I go back to such a sterile love making? ... Yours, Johnny ... They're only yours. I ... I..." she was sobbing. "And what ya gave to me. I'd na'er had orgasms like ya gave me. Ya took me to places that he na'er came close to. Oh god, Johnny ... Can ya forgive me?"

I crossed the distance between us, and knelt in front of her. Wrapped my arms around her. Let her tears water my shirt.

"He's na'er done all the little things that tell me how much ya love me. Oh ... Johnny ... Even to hold me like this. He wouldn't..."

I talked into the soft auburn curls that covered her ear. "Stop, Kate." A long pause when she did not stop crying – long sobs interspersed with gasps for air. "Stop! You don't need to be upset ... I know. I know ... I know that Stefan Frederik Franz 'Fritz' von Wurtenberg is alive. That he is 83, now ... I've known since you offered to have my babies, three years ago."

She snuffled her tears to a standstill. She pushed me back to arm's length. "How ... I mean ... What ... If you ... Do you mean..."

I smiled at her. "I'll answer all your questions. Then I'll tell you a little story. And, after, I hope we can find a way to love each other."

"But I'm not finished telling..."

"You're done for now."

"But..."

"No ... no more talk now ... And then, it's my turn."

I pulled her up to a standing position. Out of her heels, she was almost half a foot shorter than I. I stood close, forcing her to look up at me. I began to unbutton her jacket.

Undressing her in this way was an old pastime for us. Her undressing me from this position was more rare but still frequent enough to be familiar.

This time, we took turns, finding comfort in the exchange of little love touches. Throwing clothes in random patterns around the living room ... the parlor. Our love was built on lust, and I took the time to rekindle it – I hoped.

When we were both nude, I quickly lowered my shoulder into her midsection and hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes. I strode into the bedroom and threw her on the bed. She was smiling now. When I covered her body with mine, I kissed her – hard and demanding – and then paused.

I maneuvered us under a sheet, my head on a pillow, her at my side resting on my chest. Her leg was carelessly across mine, her pussy rubbing on my hard thigh. I bent that knee a bit, shifting her up on my body as I pushed on her cunt more directly. I was hard and I knew that she felt it.

"Okay. My turn," was all I said, wrapping an arm around her back.

"First your questions: that's the easy part. When you told me you'd 'worked it out' so you could have a baby – my baby – I knew something was wrong. So, a little discreet investigation on the internet and I found Fritz and you, at the prior New Year's ball. You're pretty, and pretty well known, you know." She nodded quietly.

"Now the hard part," I went on. "I told you about my marriage to Andrea. Her violation of my trust that I discovered after six years of marriage. How she'd been with an athlete with an enormous cock from before our marriage." Going over the early part of the story was familiar ground.

Her hand drifted lower on my abdomen, toying idly with the heavier hair that led, eventually, to my pubic patch. She planted a little kiss on my neck, and nodded again.

"What I didn't tell you is..." My truth. I hoped she wouldn't hate me. " ... is that I'm still married. I never divorced her. In fact we technically still share a house. And a bed. I'm a bigamist, too."

She strained to put me at arm's length, to look me in the eye, but I held her closely to me.

"Please. Let me get it all out," I pleaded. "I'm very wealthy, from a company that grew from nothing to everything while we were ... are ... married. I never divorced her because of the ruinous cost of any divorce. California is a community property state – that means she'll get half of everything. She'd be in line to get half of the company as well. I'll have to pay her for the privilege of being stupid and not noticing that she was fucking around, and on top of that I'd have a partner I hated. Either that or I'd have to go into debt to buy her out.

"I swallowed my pride and continued to be married because of money. I tolerated her real love – that Mr. Big Cock – to preserve my money. I've been working for the last four years to get my money hidden. I'll still leave her a lot, but I won't give her billions."

She was quiet for a time. Then she kissed my neck again. "'Tis not what I expected, truth be told. But 'tis all right. I still love ya, John the Pirate. I'm in no position to complain. We're both married to someone else ... So 'tis a girl in every port, eh?" She started planting small kisses on my chest and neck. "Plunderer of innocent wenches from foreign lands?"

I pulled her fully on to me, and she pushed on my shoulders to gain some height. The warm gold tinge at the center of her eyes told me it would be all right. Somehow.

"I've had your extraordinary mouth on my cock," I said mockingly. "So don't give me the 'innocent wench' story, okay? And I haven't been with her since you captured me. Before that, if truth be told."

"I have. Couldn't be helped." She paused, then shook her head sending wild cascades of auburn hair around her. "I captured you, eh? What a bunch of blarney. It seems to me that you were the one takin' off me clothes that first night ... We'll deal with all that other stuff later ... Now ... What about me other mouth?" She slithered down until the mouth of her cunt was kissing the head of my cock.

"Mmmmm," I said. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Married you even." She dropped her pelvis, engulfing me. Entire – as she says. I turned on my imitation Irish. "Whether 'tis legal or not, lassie, yer mine." I put my hands on her hips and ground her down even farther.

... Some time later...

It was dark. We'd done it in lots of different positions over the months – years actually, but we always seemed to wind up with me on my back and her curled up around my side: one leg and one arm thrown over me, her head on my shoulder.

The clock radio said it 2:17 a.m.

"John?" she whispered.

"Shhhh! I'm resting from my pirate adventures. It hard work taming a wench, you know."

"John, he said to bring you back. We have seats on the noon plane tomorrow ... later today."

My eyes stayed closed, but I was wide awake at that.

"He did – does? What exactly did he say?"

"He knows about you. He said he wants to meet you. He said to bring you back. Right back." She was quiet. Then: "Fritz is a nice old man. Grandfatherly. He's been an old man to me since I was 14. Even when I ... you know. When he took his pleasure with me.

"I know now that it wasn't love making. I was just an inflatable sex toy, that was warm and ... alive.

"He said that after the last time I tried ... well I tried to arouse him with my mouth. I tried for a few moments, but he stayed soft. And then he just pulled me up and I sat next to him on the bed. 'Thank you, dear Katerina, ' he said. 'You've always done your best for me.' He always did call me Katerina. 'Bring him here. Your Mr. MacKutchen of New York and California. I will meet him.'"

"John?" she whispered even more softly. "I think he's dying." I could feel the soft, wet tears on my chest. This time they were for him. "Can you come back with me? Please?"

I couldn't say 'no' to her.

Well, the web was truly tangled, now.

Eight hours later at about 10:30 a.m., we were in Lufthansa's First Class lounge at JFK airport. We arrived in Heathrow a long nap later, and stayed in our seats as the plane took a small jump to Zurich, Switzerland – Liechtenstein, it seems, has no airport!

A broad-beamed blonde of about 40, wearing a chauffeur's uniform, was waiting at the Arrivals gate. The blonde looked like she could take on 007 and fight him to a draw. She held a sign: "Baroness von Wurtenberg" – unnecessary, because Kate recognized her. Kate had stopped holding my hand in the jetway. I guess she didn't want anyone to know we were together. If we were together, here in Liechtenstein. I was on edge. I couldn't read her. She was closed to me.

Kate greeted her in German and then introduced me. "John, this is Marta, the Baron's aide. Marta, this is John MacKutchen."

We went to the Mercedes parked outside, and got in back. When the privacy window between the driver and passengers went up, I said, "Is this the Marta Rehoven that is the frail, aged retainer you came back for?"

She just slapped my leg lightly and looked embarrassed.

We fell asleep on the 80 mile trip to Vaduz, the Liechtenstein capital. We arrived in Liechtenstein a little after midnight. The flight times and the time zones conspired to steal hours from a traveler. I was prepared for a medieval castle, complete with suits of armor and grand ballrooms. Instead we took an elevator up to a multi-level apartment. The Baron, we were told by Marta, had retired, and would see us in the morning. She took my little travel bag and showed me to my room. The lady Katherine withdrew to her own quarters. Or perhaps she stopped to give the Baron a good night blow job.

That wasn't really fair. She was married to him, after all. Is married to him. She was married to him first, I reminded myself. It's just that I wasn't used to thinking of her doing things with him. I didn't like it.

By my internal clock it was too early to sleep. But it was dark, and I laid down on the bed. When I woke up, the sun was up, but when I pulled back the window curtain, I didn't have an east view, so I could only see the Alps in the distance from my window and long shadows from the buildings behind. On closer examination, there was most of the city of Vaduz, between me and the beginning of the Swiss Alps.

I looked down from the window and saw the bustle of many Liechtensteiners – Liechtensteinians? – residents busily heading off to work. From that, I deduced that it must have been about 7:30 in the morning. Surely the hard working – err – residents would be at work by 8:00. Also I happened to check my wristwatch. It was some eight hours earlier in New York. So – about midnight my time.