Constance and Her B&b

Dear Faithful Readers - Please join Constance and her new friend, Arnold, as they face many challenges in reviving an historic B&B deep in the redwood forest in California.

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Constance and Her B&B - Part 1 - A Writer's Retreat

There were moments, like today, with the book showing only one reservation, that Constance wondered about foolish women who took loans to buy ancient Victorian houses from their relatives, convinced they could prosper in the Bed and Breakfast business. Her bank balance was exactly fifteen hundred dollars, and the loan payment was four hundred every month, and the savings account balance was not worth thinking about.

She stared out the window at the late morning Mendocino fog and was filled with thoughts as gloomy as the weather. Except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, the lure of a quiet stay in the redwoods wasn't working. The real estate woman in town had told her it would take courage to survive the first year.

A car drove up and parked in front. A seedy, mud spattered Volvo old enough to have bad paint. A tall man with a big mop of disheveled brown hair emerged and came up the steps.

She opened the door and said, "You must be Bryce Arnold."

"I am. How did you guess?" He had four inches on her and broad shoulders.

"Please come in. You are my only lodger today, this is getting to be the slow season. You don't mind if things are a bit informal? The help only comes from town when we are busy."

He shook hands with her and then turned her hand palm up. "These are honest, working hands. Are you trying to make a go of it here in the woods by yourself?"

He had dark eyes that stared right through her. His smile wrinkles suggested he did that a lot. She was having a reaction to this large man that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"It is a complicated story, but the answer is yes, I am the proprietor and owner." She smiled back at him, "Constance Middleton."

He was still holding her hand and brought it to his lips. "Pleased to meet you, Constance."

There was a long moment of silence, which she broke by saying, "Let me check you in and you can pick a room."

He handed over a credit card and driver's license. She noticed the name was different from the reservation. "This doesn't say Bryce Arnold."

The smile was still there. "I'm sorry to be devious. Several of my books have done well lately and the attention that best seller authors get isn't entirely welcome."

She looked at the license again. "Arnold Shultz. I recognize the name. In fact, I have that book of short stories on my e-reader." She glanced up at him and added, "Haven't started it yet."

"Perhaps if you look at it tonight, you can give me a critique in the morning over breakfast?"

She gave him a bold look. "An ex-gradeschool English teacher correcting papers again? What fun!"

He smiled and selected the highest, smallest room. "That's all starving writers get, isn't it? The garret?"

She laughed, "Aye, and the heat and power is only on an hour a day."

She served soup and they shared a ham sandwich at the kitchen table for lunch. She offered a beer and he chose milk. There were homemade cookies for dessert.

"May I have an extra for my walk? Your website says there are trails."

"Yes. The woods to the east are covered with old logging roads. Please be careful with closing the gates. My neighbor is extremely kind to let us go on his property."

He came to the coast prepared for any weather, with a wide brimmed hat and trail shoes.

She looked at him closely, "You are not the type to get lost, are you? The Sheriff keeps busy finding tourists."

"No, and I have this." There was a GPS watch on his wrist.

She asked, "It looks like you are I are dining alone tonight. I have a small roast that could be thawed, or there is chicken for curry."

He looked at her seriously. "I was going to ask to take you to town, but either of those sounds delicious. What about tomorrow night for dinner out?"

"You are very nice to ask me. I'm not sure the innkeeper should be accepting invitations..."

He was pressing and kissing her hand. "You are lovely and hard working and need a break. I insist."

She gazed at his retreating back and felt a strange warmth.

He returned in two hours, windburned and smiling, to find her in the utility room, frowning at the water heater. "Not even an hour's hot water today?"

"It's very finicky. Something about the pilot light."

He chuckled, "So, a helpful male is going to get down there and you are going to hand him a long match to get the burner going?"

She tried to dissuade him, but he was already on his knees, undoing the cover plate. She turned the gas valve and he applied the match and there was a comforting roar.

She hugged him when he stood and applied a soft kiss to his lips. "The innkeeper is grateful."

He stepped back. "Kisses like that will induce lots of chores. Do you need wood split?"

"You are not serious."

"I need the exercise, and it is for my own protection when the power goes off."

It was almost dark when he came through the kitchen with an armful of dry sticks for the parlor fireplace. And then several more. The fog had not lifted all day, and he started a blaze to chase the chill away.

She leaned in the doorway, enjoying the flame as he fed paper to make sure the fire caught. "I don't have any money, but I would love to have you join us as the butler."

He reached for her hand and pulled her into an embrace. Their bodies touched and she felt extremely comfortable in his arms. He asked, "Do we dress for cocktails and dinner?"

"There is no need, but would you mind if I got out some of the china and silver that came with the house and we ate in the dining room?"

"Only if you sit at the head of the table like a proper duchess and let the butler serve."

"If this is a seduction, you have real talent."

"Mistress is not supposed to know what goes on below the stairs. That rascal maid was in my bed again this morning."

Constance laughed and went back to the kitchen. "Cocktails in thirty minutes, dinner in an hour."

In a blazer and cords, with an open necked checked shirt, he went to work on the sideboard, making two very chilled martinis. She had ducked into the back apartment and came out in a floor length flowered country dress. "The meat is resting and the vegetables are finishing. I will join you in the parlor."

He raised his frosted glass, full of crystal clear gin, "The lady gets the first toast."

She wasn't in a hurry, staring at him with her serious dark eyes, "To writers and writing."

They drank deeply, letting the icy fire flow downwards.

"To chefs and Innkeeping."

The kiss was tender and lasted longer than was socially correct. They leaned back in the sofa, warmed by the fire, and rested on each other. Finally, she said, "If this was real instead of a pretence, James would be at the door, summoning everyone to table."

Rising, he said, "Yes. To table. To table."

He carved while she arranged bowls of vegetables. When he brought the meat tray in, there was a decanter of wine ready. He seated her, with a gentle kiss on her ear, and offered the tray.

He poured the wine and joined her. She smiled, "Bon appetit."

The meal was delicious, the wine exceptional. His eyes accused her, "This is not the house red."

She laughed, "Not at all. It is one of a case of Napa Cabernet my father gave me ten years ago."

"I'm loving it and enjoying the special favors of the innkeeper." His fingers were drawing lines on her palm.

Dessert was in front of the fire. Ice cream and berries with espresso. After they finished, she arranged herself across his lap, head on the sofa bolster. She held his hand and kissed the back of it.

"I'm not coy. You are welcome to my bed this evening, if you wish. There hasn't been anyone there for a very long time."

He leaned for a kiss and it was even more incorrect than the first. Their tongues played. She moved his hand to her well covered breast.

"You are making me feel like a love struck teenager. I can't imagine a nicer place to spend the night than your bed, but I am afraid this instant love will flare like a match and go out. If I were here a hundred years ago to seek your hand, mother would insist on an engagement of at least twelve months."

She smiled quietly, "Mother would, but Constance is a wayward daughter and insists on a fall wedding. Any more delay, she asserts with a pout, and they will elope."

"Constance is a strong, beautiful woman with many charms, but she and her lover will have a dreadful time eloping from these deep woods."

She laughed. "You are right. Could you love a girl so much you would try to fight your way from here to San Francisco with her? With father and brother after you?"

He quivered. "Gunfire! Horses galloping. Wagons overturning. The thwarted bride lying in the mud?"

"Pretend we got away. Carry me to the fancy bed in our hotel suite."

She reached her arms around his neck and he walked easily to her apartment. She plucked an embroidered nightdress from a hook and stood with her back to him.

"Undress me. He is seeing her naked for the first time and terribly shy. Keep your eyes averted and pull the nightie over her head."

Constance was exceptional from the back. His gaze was not averted but fastened closely on the inward curve of her waist and the convex curve of her buttocks.

"Place her delicately in the bed and strip down to whatever you would have had on a hundred years ago in the way of undershorts. Then get in next to her, frozen with fright but incredibly proud to have succeeded in spiriting her away from her family."

They fit together well and liked the warmth.

"I'm having trouble with the frozen with fright part."

She turned over and thrust a knee in his crotch. "Remember that Constance is strong willed. As soon as they get in the bed, she tells him he must make her his, because otherwise the family will haul her back to the woods."

She gazed into his eyes and asked, "What happens next?"

His hands and fingers explored her back and below the base of her spine. She nibbled at bare skin here and there.

"He is totally confused and scared. They have pulled off the great escape, but he can't imagine what to do next. He has only had intercourse two or three times in his life, always in a brothel. He is so scared, he can't get an erection, even when Constance reaches into his drawers to find him. She snorts, and asks what the problem is. An anguished moment later, he jumps from the bed and runs out into the night!"

Arnold was across the room against the wall, laughing hysterically. "How could you do this to me! Chasing your lover into the night?"

"Come here!"

He ambled over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to the garret. Probably only safe place in the house."

"But..."

"No buts. We agreed to take this slowly, and if I get back in there, nothing will be slow."

"You still want me? I haven't killed us with the stupid story?"

He took her face in his hands and kissed everywhere he could. "I am not permitted to say this, but I am falling wildly for you. I will see you in the morning. Sleep tight." He turned out the light as he left, leaving her to wild erotic dreams with strange men chasing her.

There was early sun the next morning, and she opened her eyes to see it shining on the breakfast tray in his arms.

"Scrunch over, there is enough for both of us on the tray."

She frowned at him, "You left me."

"Indeed I did. Don't try any of your ingenue tricks. I have your number." He handed over a cup of very black coffee and pressed a piece of flakey croissant to her lips.

"What number?"

"When you were younger, getting your degree, the courses required reading all sorts of romantic trash from the 19th century. Somewhere, deep in your psyche, lives a sexually deprived woman begging for a real lover."

"Arnie, who is being trashy now?"

"Eat your breakfast, we have a busy day ahead." He darted a hand down the low front of her nightie and palmed the fine breast within.

She looked up at him, "Without even asking?"

"Before we can go anywhere, we have to renegotiate our relationship."

"You have been here less than twenty-four hours and we have a relationship that already has to be renegotiated?"

He placed the tray on the floor and allowed his shorts to follow. He lay on the bed, stretched alongside her. His pale body had seldom seen sunlight. His male part lay along his thigh, impressive but limp.

She gazed at him. "Does it ever get hard? We can't have a relationship if he can't perform."

"How many lovers have you had?

"That's none of your business, but approximately six."

"How many of those did you have an orgasmic relationship with?"

"That is absolutely not your business, but none of them."

"My god, woman." He seized her and worked the nightie off without ripping it. He lay her on top and pounded her behind. She howled and he beat her harder.

"Did I miss something? You are going to tie me down and abuse me?"

"I'm keeping you busy while I think." He shifted to more delicate swats. "I have to find some way to liberate you."

"God damn it, Arnold, you are messing with me."

"Writers do it all the time. Mostly with words. We don't get a chance to work on tough, smart beautiful women who have hidden themselves away in the redwoods."

"I asked you to work on me last night and you walked away. What kind of a eunuch are you?"

"That's better. The real Constance is emerging. What if we chase around the house and I take you over one of the sofas?"

"I can't believe you would sink to the level of a cliche that is in almost every porn movie. Besides, we are not getting sex juice on my antique furniture."

"I see, you are going to make me carry a beach towel over my shoulder. The next thing, you will want me to find a condom."

She was crouched over him, lowering a stiffly tipped breast to his mouth. Her hand was exploring between his legs and finding a suitable erection. Keeping his attention on her boobs, she carefully lowered until she could drop directly on him. There was a slurpy liquid sound and she yelled, "Finally."

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We are renegotiating. We are not using words. If you make me come, like you did that nymph of a maid, you will be hired as Head of Household."

He stayed silent but turned them over and concentrated on liberating Constance. It wasn't easy. Even though she said no words, she kept babbling. Finally, he nipped hard at her boob and said, "Shut up and fuck."

She was trying to say something about more cliches when her body exploded in orgasm. She swore a blue streak at him and pleaded for more. The finale came when she was back on top and squeezed him hard, producing a fountain splashing inside her and then outside as well when he yanked her off and doused the fine tits.

He pulled the sheet up and said, "You suckered me." His hands were busy keeping her body close to his.

She sniffled on his chest and said, "All that for one simple fuck."

"Didn't feel simple to me."

"I knew you would say that. You made me come. For the first time with a guy. More than once. I suppose you are going to lord it over me, you arrogant sexist thing."

He dragged them to the shower, where they used most of the hot water. She kept calling him every name in the book, but stopped crying and started shouting. He wrapped her in a towel and went back to the destroyed bed. She showed him where some lotion was and he worked on her body, keeping up a stream of soft encouragement as he did so.

"This is the new Constance. The old worried, anxious Constance is gone. You have a new helper and a new investor. We are going to do writing seminars, with well known authors enjoying stays at your B&B. We are building austere cabins in the woods where they will write new best sellers."

She giggled and reached for his hand. "All this because of one simple fuck?"

He got down on his knees at the side of the bed. "If we are still talking to one another in a month, will you marry me?"

She buried her head and cried. "This can't be happening to me. It just can't."

She raised her head and smiled, "Are we still negotiating?"

She was clenching her behind so that he could see the muscles ripple. Her feet and legs were waving back and forth. She couldn't see, but he was incredibly hard again.

He took a deep breath and said, "Yes, I guess. Is there some new demand?"

"Carry me to your aerie."

The small room was flooded with sun. The bed was very small, but they fit together well. There was a view to the treetops, shining with morning dew.

She closed her eyes and kissed him, "The secret Constance is a writer. She wants to take one of your seminars. A very private seminar."

She was stroking him hard again and coupling them up. She squeezed him into a favored alignment with her insides and hummed her approval.

They lay there, playing at kissing, and moving gently on each other. She hissed quietly in his ear, "We need to explore each other with words. Can we do that?"

His fingers massaged her scalp and worked down her back. "There are dark places in everyone. We cover them with little white lies in order to get along with social convention. Only wild daughters like Constance have the strength to let everything show."

She pulled him on top. "Fuck me. Fuck wild Constance and make her scream."

His cock pierced the wild woman repeatedly as his mind recorded the scene for future reference. He had no performance worries this morning. She twisted and swore and let everything show in a great heaving orgasm.

Eyes wide, she lay there smiling at him with fingers buried in her messy pubic hair. Her juicy cunt still tingled and leaked onto the sheet. "I want the dark places. I want to lie here on lazy mornings with you pounding in me. We don't need to be married for that. I'm not the kind of woman who wants to bind you to me."

He kissed her with an emotion that seemed to flow from deep within. His mental recorder was still on, but having trouble capturing this scene.

"I'm thirty-six. I'm not on birth control. Do you want to play baby roulette with me?" The smile was forced and uncertain.

He rolled to her side, enclosing and licking her fingers.

"I thought I was coming here to decompress. To clear my mind for a new novel the publisher has been pestering me about."

He paused and was quiet.

She was not quiet. She twitched and rolled half onto him. Her lips caressed his cheek. "I am a distraction. A terrible distraction with stories, and sex, and chores in an old house. If you do me every morning, think of the chemicals released in your brain. Chemicals to catalyze your novel. I can be feisty and pick fights. You need anger to write from. You can string me up and flog me. Suck up lust for your hero, who will take the domineering heroine and make her his."

Their bodies came alive, thrashing in the tiny bed. He bit her shoulder muscle. "Sucking up lust, is it?" He forced her legs high and plunged his lips to her. He made giant sucking noises and filled his mouth. She screamed loudly and came.

They stood in a tight embrace at the window. "You destroy me, wild Constance. I thought there was something missing in me. I thought I couldn't love. I was wrong..."

Warm and pink from the shower, she made eggs and sausage. He found the whole wheat bread and placed it in the toaster.

"I'll find the number on the water heater and get a new igniter at the hardware. What else needs attention?"

"The old fuse box is a fright. Could you look at it? I've been afraid to even ask what it would cost to replace. And I've been too poor to do something about that firetrap of a smoke hood over the range."

She served their plates and kissed the top of his head. "Are you really going to invest money in this broken down place?"