Caroline shivered when the car door opened – not from the warm summer air gushing into the air-conditioned limo, but from the sudden chills that crawled across her naked flesh. Determined to follow instructions to the letter, she waited for the younger woman to get out, and then she climbed from the car on shaky legs, her patent leather black stilettos coming together, her hands clasped behind her back. The breeze whipped her auburn hair across her face; she reached up to push it away, but immediately dropped her hands and assumed the expected stance, hoping the other woman hadn’t seen her. It was enough that her knees were shaking, although she hoped not visibly; she didn’t want to move any more than that until she was told to do so. For the moment, she would wait silently and focus, trying to tamp down on the sudden need to climb back into the car and forget the whole thing.
Would the driver even leave with her, or would he just wait until the delivery was complete? Ethan had said she could back out at any time…at least up until the moment that she was inside the main house. After that, there was no going back.
Caroline looked longingly at the woman who’d ridden along with her and took a deep breath through her nose. The younger woman stood looking into the distance, her Blackberry pressed to her ear, seemingly unaware of the naked woman behind her. Her hair was blonde and pinned up in a tight bun with a brown hair clip that matched her tweed jacket and skirt. A simple white blouse was opened a few buttons deep, hinting of cleavage, and her heels gleamed robin’s egg blue, a color that contrasted sharply with the black ribbon of asphalt underfoot, while she avoided the sand and dirt at the edge of the road.
The younger woman, Ms. Benedict she’d said her name was, nodded, muttered something in her sing-song Southern accent and slid the phone into her pocket. She turned, a tight smile pressing her lips together, and sized up the older woman before her. “The boss is eager to see you, my dear. He’s down there waiting,” she said and pointed at the house in the distance.
Over her shoulder the long paved driveway stretched away to the KingFisher Estate, a place Caroline had only ever seen online or in the papers, and in the shadows she could see some of the modern house nestled in a clutch of massive live oaks. It was located on the north bank of the mighty Mississippi on what had once been a very profitable Southern plantation prior to the Civil War — that much she knew. A little Googling had gone a long way and she’d wanted to know what she was getting into, at least as far as she could. The rest had been left up to her imagination and the briefest moments and conversations she’d had with the owner of the house, Mr. R. Ethan Kingfisher, Esq., leading up to this moment. Those same live oaks spread out behind the house, obscuring everything and leaving her imagination soaring. Elsewhere, to the left and right, there were groves of small fruit-bearing trees — she could smell the apples and pears on the breeze, and beyond them the fields were awash in waist-high greenery. Kingfisher Estate was still very much a living, breathing plantation, but the slavery, she understood, had evolved.
Ms. Benedict stood off to the side surveying the house with her and looking at her watch. She waited patiently, understanding the need for a moment of silence, a moment to breathe it all in, not only the beauty that was the plantation but also the magnitude of what was about to happen for the woman standing before her. She sized Caroline up and nodded. What was coming would be very enjoyable for Master Ethan, if the ride had been any indication. He’d chosen well — a fresh peach, as he liked to say, and yet not fully ripened.
“For when you bite into it, you want the juices running down your chin. That’s how you know you’ve chosen well. Stay away from the early ones with the hard skin — they are sweet tart, crunchy and delicious, but you soon grow tired of them. What’s needed is a piece of fruit that’s had some more time on the vine. And when you pluck it, you want to feel the suppleness of the skin, the soft down, and know what’s locked inside is waiting to burst out and cover you in its sticky sweetness.”
He’d winked at her knowingly, and she’d blushed. Now, feeling the heat from the memory and still awash in the moment she’d had in the car with the ripe peach before her, Miranda Benedict stepped forward. “This is it, Caroline. I have to go now, and when I do, you will walk down the lane here to the house and find whatever awaits you.”
“It’s so far,” said Caroline, finally speaking and immediately realizing that she had made a mistake. She swallowed, her heart leaping into action as she tensed for the rebuke. She’d been expressly forbidden to speak.
“You will learn to obey the rules, Caroline.” And with that, Miranda leaned in close until her lips nearly touched the other woman’s cheek. “I’m not here to punish you,” she growled, “and I prefer not to do so, but others will not be so kind. Mind your tongue and mind the rules. We understood each other in the car. Correct?”
Caroline nodded, eyes down as she was instructed. She could feel the fire in the other’s eyes, hear the warning in the younger woman’s voice and understood. The contract was signed, and there were new rules in her life. She would have to obey them if she wanted to get where she was trying to go. What choice did she have? She swallowed again and nodded solemnly.
“Good girl. Now, hold on a second while I arrange these ribbons.”
Miranda stepped around behind Caroline, fishing two long black ribbons out of her jacket pocket. The first had a small bow, and she wrapped it snugly around Caroline’s pale neck, clasping it in back. The second was plainer and was used to tie the woman’s wrists together behind her. Then, satisfied that the knot was secure and also appealing, she came around to the front of the nearly naked woman and surveyed her work. “Nice,” she said, adjusting the first ribbon and bow. “A pretty little package for the Master.”
Caroline tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure. Miranda leaned in once more, and she felt the familiar fingers pressing between her legs. The wetness there had begun to fade with her nervousness and the awe-inspiring lay of the land, but it returned quickly now. The day had finally come, but she still hadn’t. And now the magic fingers that had kept her calm in the car were working their dangerous spell on her again, teasing her clit while Miranda’s beautiful face leaned in close and her lips pressed against the delicate flesh of Caroline’s long neck.
And then she was gone – hand and lips, and all Caroline could hear was her soft chuckle and the click of her own heels, the door opening behind her and a parting shot from only the second woman ever to touch her so intimately. “Now march, little slave. Your Master is waiting.”
The sun pulsed on the precipice of the woods that stretched away to the west, and Caroline took her first step as the car pulled away.
Author’s Notes: When I first started writing The River some ten years ago — honestly I can’t even remember when I started, I got through the first chapter, which ended up here as the first 2-3 episodes, and I stopped. I knew I had a story, but I didn’t know what it was. So, the story just stopped. I don’t force it. I have too many other projects in mind, and if one’s not working, I move on until the words come.
Who was Caroline then? In my head, I don’t know. But I know now. I think I know a lot about Caroline and who she is and was and maybe who she wants to be. I know how the story ends, and that’s half the battle. But characters take on a life of their own when they start to flesh out. They become alive, and sometimes, when that happens, they take on a mind of their own. Who Caroline will be, and what she may do, may not be the same when this story is over. And I’m cool with that. It’s not the first time that’s happened.
I also wasn’t aware when I first started writing this what genre it was — not exactly. I knew I wanted a sexy, steamy story set in New Orleans because I love that city. I knew I wanted it to be erotica and the Caroline would learn her place in a world in which she is seen as a sexual being. I knew she had an ex that was a loser, as well as dead, and that she had a rough relationship with her college-aged daughter. But again, now, ten years or so later, the story has changed a little, and the genre is moving away from erotic romance toward erotic thriller — or at least that’s how the narrative will unfold.
Either way, I hope the story is satisfying on both accounts. Enjoy!
I’m going to absolutely love this 😍