Monday, January 7, 2013

Ch145 Switching Men

“I do believe I'm going to like switching men,” Chenille said.


“Come, Sweet Violeta,” the Fabio look alike said, taking Violet’s hand and hooking it around his arm. “You may ride in front with me.”

In distress, Violet glanced behind her only to see Victor glued to the Amazon and seemingly forgetting all about her. Goodness! Were they honestly switching partners? And just how far were these miscreants willing to go with that notion? Panic seized her as Fabio—really she must ask this man his name— walked her outside.

“Don’t vorry, Violeta, it goes both vays, you see,” he whispered in her ear. “I hope you don’t mind old automobiles?” 


She might have asked his meaning had she not gasped at his idea of an old automobile. Sitting on the gravel drive was a vintage Rolls Royce. Violet recalled seeing old time movie stars emerging on the red carpet out of these cars. Well, not exactly like this one. Fabio’s car was painted a metallic purple instead of the standard black.

Now she was quite certain of one thing about this man; he loved all shades of purple. Her first clue had been the lovely amethyst color of his shirt and his plum tie with matching hanky tucked into his tailored suit jacket. Come to think of it, Chenille’s dress was an orchid color as well.

He held the front passenger side door open for her and she then saw the garish magenta interior which oddly suited the color scheme. She hesitated getting in, looking at Victor, but he was on the other side of the car helping Chenille into her seat and following her when she scooted over making room for him.

“I don’t bite, Violetta,” Fabio whispered, his tone amused. “Unless you ask me to, but I promise not vile I drive.”

Lord have mercy! What was she getting herself into? Was it too late to feign illness? Could she trip and fall perhaps and hope to be left behind? How, when Fabio was still holding onto her? Her brain searched for something—anything!—to save her from this night of impending doom, but nothing came to her except...

“Uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she hurriedly muttered.

He smiled. How a simple smile could be so gosh-darn sexy and promised so much sinful enjoyment, she didn’t know.

“Ah, but if I tell you that, you’ll know from vere I hale.”

She shook her head. “I very much doubt that.”

He chuckled and bowed his head. “Anders Svinfvud at your service, sweet Violetta.” He then raised her hand and kissed it, his eyes never leaving her frightened looking face.

She blinked stupidly at him. “Wow, that’s quite a mouthful,” she mumbled, uneasily.

“Then it would be best not to mention my mother’s family name is Leijonhufvud.”

Her eyes widened just thinking about not only having to pronounce that name, but perhaps writing it out as well. “No, you better not do that.”

He laughed.

“Anders darling,” Chenille’s sultry voice spoke from the interior of the car. “Whenever you are done flirting we can go.” 

“Yes, Dearest love, “Anders replied, winking at Violet, that sexy smile never leaving his face.

Violet could do nothing more then to slip into the luxurious car and hope they drove into the lake before reaching the restaurant.

Unfortunately for Violet, and unknown to her, many years of driving on the autobahn had taught Anders how to maneuver even winding, curving, hilly dirt roads such as those found in the wooded regions of New York state, and at great speed. They arrived at the restaurant in no time. 

This was good and bad. All throughout the journey short as it was, Violet could hear whispering from the back seat and every time Chenille giggled the squirming beast within seemed ready and willing to pounce and tear the flesh off her bones. The chatter coming from Fabio—that is to say Anders—was also discomfiting.

“Violeta, vat a lovely name,” he mused. “I do believe I should like having a voman named Violeta. I vould like that vety much.”

“You do seem to like the color,” Violet said, her heart beating a tad too quickly for her liking.

“Yes,” he replied smirking. “I may even call out Violeta while I make love tonight.”

Good God! Her heart just stopped and fell down to her toes. So stunned as she was, she couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say to that.

“Tell me, Violeta, how long have you known Victor?” he asked.

“Uh…” she said, quickly calculating. “About eight months.”

“Ah, the best of times,” he mused aloud. “New lovers, so many firsts within this time. All is new, all is fresh and alive, all is foreign yet achingly familiar, all is strange and exhilarating. New lovers soon discover the mysteries each holds dear, then it becomes easy, pleasing, comforting. Feelings too strong to deny, wonderfully sublime.”

“That almost sounds like poetry,” Violet said.

“I am a poet at heart, sweet Violeta,” he said.

“And you and Chenille?” she tentatively asked.

“Almost as long as I’ve been in this country, ten years.”

“Really?” she said incredulously.

He laughed. “Does not seem that long to me, but it  may be because I go home often.”

“Where is home?” she asked curiously.

He smiled at her. “You have to guess.”

“I’m not very good at guessing."

"Try."

 She thought for a minute. "Uh…Germany?”

He shook his head and smiled.

“France?”

He shook his head again, but frowned. “You are getting colder, and that is the only clue I give.”

Some clue! She had no idea what that meant. Wasn’t it warm in France? 

“Russia?”

He chuckled. “A tad warmer.”

She made a face and said, “So the colder I get the warmer I get?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a laugh.

“Yugoslavia?”

He laughed again and shook his head.

“Stop torturing the girl, Anders,” Chenille interjected. “He comes from Sweden, Violet.”

“Sweden? I never would have figured that,” Violet said. “I don’t even know where to find it on a map!”

They all laughed, which made her feel dumb, but  the trees cleared out of the way just then and she caught the first glimpse of the castle.

“Oh, how beautiful!” she gushed.

“Yes,” Anders said, parking the car. “And the restaurant is nice to look at, too.”

Violet gasped when she saw how far her dress had ridden up her thigh. She was too busy tugging it down as far as it would go to find the door handle and by that time, Anders had already come around to her side and held his hand out to help her from the car.

He saw her tugging on the dress and grinned. “A voman with legs so beautiful should never hide them.”

She suddenly had visions of the paparazzi snapping pictures of girls like Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears, both sans underwear. Violet was dreadfully glad she hadn’t gone with something vulgar like crotchless panties. Really, what is the point of them then? She wondered as she tried to find a graceful way to alight from the car without showing her world to the world. There was none.

Her thoughts being elsewhere she didn’t notice when Anders lifted her hand to his lips, gave her that sexy smile again and then held on to it tucking it into the crook of his arm and then taking her to the restaurant’s huge oak door, festooned with heavy wrought iron brackets, just like you'd find on a real castle.

She belatedly cast a glance behind her and saw the other two dawdling several paces behind and whispering to each other. They didn't even seem to know there were others in the world besides themselves. This annoyed Violet something awful and it must have shown on her face.

“Vorry not, Violeta,” Anders whispered to her. “This vill merely enhance the pleasure later tonight.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” she said, before realizing she probably didn’t want to know.

“You are jealous, no? My Chenille, she steals away the attention of your Victor and this you do not like.”

She made a grumpy face. “You can tell, huh?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I can tell. But cannot you tell also?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at your Victor every time I whisper in your ear,” he said, as he did indeed lean down to speak softly to her, so no one else could hear.

She quickly turned around and saw it, just like he said. Victor’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, even his nostrils seemed to flare like a bull ready to charge. It was the same hard look he got when John Yearly or any other man was trying his best to get in her good graces or her pants.

“Is it not satisfying?” Anders asked.

She looked back and saw Victor absorbed with Chenille again, smiling at her as she needlessly—at least to Violet’s eyes—fixed Victor’s tie. Violet turned back and shook her head. “No, not really,” she mumbled, rather more dejected than she had been before.

“Then we must try a bit harder, no?”

What in the world he meant by that, Violet had no idea.


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