Sarah's Playmates

Copyright © 2012 Virginia Wade

All Rights Reserved.

Published by I Love Stacy

Smashwords Edition

Virginia Wade

http://virginia-wade-erotica.com

http://twitter.com/VirginiaErotica

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Cover Art by Adelaide Cooper

All characters appearing in this work are
fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

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I stood on the railway platform, staring out
at the gathering throng waiting to board the train. My traveling
companion, Millie Doyle, waved a fan over her face, her ivory
complexion marred with small red circles. The humidity at this time
of year was oppressive, and the layers of clothing, the camisole,
drawers, and corset were necessary, but challenging when it came to
staying comfortable.

“We’ll look like wilted cabbage before the
day’s out,” said Millie in a lilting Irish accent. She pointed.
“There’s our man with the bags.”

I pivoted in the other direction, seeing a
person dressed in a striped vest and trousers, dragging a heavy
looking trunk. Another man was behind him, clutching what I
recognized as my own bag. “Good morning, Ladies.” He tipped his
hat. “You would be Sarah Collins, I presume?”

“Yes, I am.”

He grinned pleasingly. “We’re due to board
any minute.”

“Thank St. Patrick,” muttered Millie. Wisps
of strawberry blonde hair floated around her pretty face. She had
been my mother’s maid, and upon arriving in America, her position
in the family had improved. I was privileged to have her as my
companion, and she would accompany me to California.

A whistle blew and the doors opened. “All
aboard!”

Excitement raced through me because my
adventure was about to begin. I held the ticket in a gloved hand,
my fingers trembling. My fiancé, Edmund Lakewood, waited for me in
Chicago. The engagement ring I wore held a deep blue sapphire
flanked by two large diamonds. Although it was hidden under my
glove, I could feel the weight of its prominence. We had been
engaged for more than a year, and, within two weeks, I would be his
wife.

The porter took my hand, helping me ascend
the steps. “Thank you.”

I had been born in the jungles of Africa,
where my mother had gone to find her father, the famous explorer
Author Tennent. I’d spent my childhood in the wild and untamed
beauty of the Congo. My mother, Jane Tennent Collins, was an
adventurous spirit of unequaled loveliness. We had left Africa to
live in England, because she wanted me to have an education and to
know my family. Upon Author’s death, we crossed the Atlantic,
leaving behind the gray skies and rain to begin a new life in the
sunny state of California.

The porter led us to a first class
compartment with its own sleeping car. We would be traveling in
luxury, the gleaming wood and plush seating affording all the
comforts of home. Millie rushed to open a window; a sticky breeze
filled the space along with the acrid smell of burning coal.

“Come sit with me,” she said, removing her
straw bonnet. “There’s a breeze here.”

I joined her on a plush, red velvet seat, as
the men dragged the trunks in, placing them against a wall. “I’d
wave goodbye, but there’s no one to see me off.”

“They’ll greet you on the other side.” Her
smile revealed dimples.

“I can’t wait to see Chicago!” I glanced out
the window at the chaos. “Do you think we’ll encounter
Indians?”

“I hope not.” She looked horrified. “They’re
proper heathens, mind you. They’d best stay far away or I’ll beat
them with my shillelagh.” I laughed at that mental image, and the
porters stared at me. “Off with you now.” She waved at them.
“You’ve done your job.” They tipped their hats and left hastily.
“And don’t be expecting a tip either.”

I had spent years with various African
tribes, including the nefarious
Azande
, who filed their
teeth to sharp points and practiced cannibalism. What could
possibly be worse than that? “I’m starving.”

“Let’s freshen up and find the dining
car.”

“That’s a capital idea, Millie.”

An hour later, we sat facing each other in a
lengthy car graced with oversized windows. Green fields stretched
as far as the eye could see, punctuated by the occasional farm. The
top portions of the windows were open, creating a delightful
breeze. Sipping my tea, I stared happily at the scenery, knowing
that with each passing mile, we drew nearer to Chicago, where my
fiancé was waiting to accompany me to California.

A porter approached. “You have a telegram,
Ms. Collins.”

I took the small piece of paper. “Thank
you.”

“Must I ask from whom?”

I smiled. “No, you mustn’t. You know,
Millie.” The message was from Edmund.

DARLING SARAH STOP MY ANTICIPATION OF YOUR
ARRIVAL GROWS BY THE HOUR STOP MAY YOU HAVE A SAFE AND FELICITOUS
JOURNEY STOP YOU ARE ALWAYS IN MY THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS STOP-
EDMUND.

“He’s besotted with you, and why wouldn’t he
be?”

Edmund hailed from a wealthy family; his
father was a prominent Senator. I had met him in New York, while
vising my parents before they decided to relocate west. I had
delayed the trip because I had hoped that he would ask for my hand
in marriage, and he had! It was my proudest achievement to date,
despite earning a diploma from Girton College. I relished the idea
of maintaining my own home and having children. Millie was kind
enough to offer me “special” instruction on the intimacies between
men and women, which she was versed in. Her husband had died of
tuberculosis three years after they had been married. Thinking
about our nightly lessons, the tiniest hint of a blush mantled my
cheeks.

“What shall we eat for supper?” Millie held a
menu. “The Macaronied Beef sounds good.” The child across from us
had his napkin tucked into his shirt. He swung his legs happily,
until his mother made him stop. “Sarah?”

“Hm?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

I glanced at the menu. “Of course.”

That evening, as the train rocked and swayed,
I dressed for bed in a white cotton nightgown with a high neckline.
I sat in a chair and held a novel, while Millie used the
facilities. She returned a few minutes later.

“What are you reading?”

“One of your books by Lady Morgan.”

“Which one?”

“
The Wild Irish Girl
.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Put it away.”

“But it’s good.” She hated it when I went
through her things.

“Your time would be better spent learning all
the little ways you can please your husband.”

I inhaled a long, shuddering breath. “Is a
lesson in my future?”

“It is indeed.”

“Is the door locked?”

“Of course.”

“What’s on the agenda tonight?”

She turned down the lamp. “Something slightly
unorthodox, but highly stimulating. I’ll perform it on you, and
then you’ll know how to do it for Edmund.”

“How will I know if he’ll like it?” She had
removed her basque, dropping the fitted bodice on a chair. Her
fingers deftly worked the tiny buttons on the shirt.

I slid from the bed. “I’ll help.” I began to
untie her corset.

“Oh, don’t bother with the laces. I’ll
unfasten it at the front.” She seemed slightly impatient
tonight.

“Then my work is done.”

I snatched a wine glass off a table and had a
sip, eyeing her. She had removed her skirt and bustle, which were
now draped over the back of a chair. Petticoats were next, then her
camisole and drawers. At last, her pale, creamy skin was revealed.
I shivered, remembering the first time she had approached me with
the idea for “special instructions”. This was all in the vein of
learning how to please my husband, of course. How knowing a woman
intimately would accomplish this feat was beyond me, and, perhaps,
it didn’t matter. That first lesson had produced such extraordinary
pleasure, I was more than willing to continue and learn for as long
as Millie deemed it necessary.

She released her hair, the lustrous
strawberry locks falling down her back. Her breasts were
wonderfully full and contoured, with rosy tips that hardened to
stiff peaks. Knowing that the evening would end with us entwined,
moaning, and perspiring left me suddenly weak. I held the table, as
the train rocked, the repetitive sound of the running gear moving
over the tracks.

She sat on the bed, holding out her hand.
“Come here.”

I left the glass on the table and approached,
while little crickets jumped in my tummy. “What’s the lesson
tonight?”

“Something wonderful.”

I shivered at the husky tone in her voice.
“It’s always wonderful.”

“Take your nightgown off.” The garment went
over my head and landed at my feet. Her breath hissed through her
teeth. “You’re always so lovely, Sarah. Your body is sheer
perfection.” She touched my breasts, which were nearly as large as
hers. “These are sinful, my dear. You’ve been blessed with such
beauty.”

“So have you.” I stroked the side of her
face, feeling the softness of her skin. “I don’t know why you
haven’t remarried. I see the way men look at you.”

“Come sit.” She patted the bed. “My husband,
as the saying goes, was always in the field when the luck was on
the road.” She touched my hair. “He was sick when I married him,
but I didn’t know how bad it was. Then there was the drinking.”

“I’m sorry, Millie.”

She sighed. “He preferred whiskey to sex
anyway. Oh, it doesn’t matter. It was long ago.”

“I can’t wait to be married.”

“Men are wondrous creatures, but…they’re not
Gods. They aren’t perfect. They drink and they fight and they…” She
shrugged.

“What?”

“They have all the power. When you’re
married, you’ll not be able to do as you please.” She noted my
expression. “I won’t lie to you, Sarah. It’s not all wine and
roses. You must choose carefully.”

“You don’t think Edmund is the right choice?
But I’m fond of him.”

“He’s…a respectable man from a good family.
You…you’ve made your parents proud.”

I sensed her reservation. “But…?”

“Oh, my dear. He’s a fine gentleman. I just
wonder…”

“What?”

“Well, he’s quite domineering. You’ve such a
gentle spirit. I worry that he might crush it.”

She’d never spoken like this before.
“Really?” It occurred to me that I should be angry that she was
finding fault with my betrothed. She wasn’t a family member. She
was essentially an employee. Her job was to be my chaperone.

“I’ve said too much.” She looked contrite.
“You’re such a lovely young woman.” Her attention was on my lips.
“What a luscious mouth. I should kiss it.”