A Labyrinthine Affair: The World of Taboo

On the Docks

Alright sweet readers. We have some fluff, a lot of smut and a confession. This is an extension of something I wrote previously in "The Beginning – Part 2".  So sorry for the long wait. I'll continue with the story in Africa soon. I truly appreciate your readership, so stay tuned for the goodies to come!

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She heard her husband bragging about his visit to her brother's shipping offices by the docks of the Thames. He told her he visited James just to set the record straight. Now it wouldn't matter how much James pined for her at violin recitals or elegant parties to which they'd all been invited. Zilpha was his wife, his lover, his property. And James could only watch from afar and imagine no, despair, at how twisted and delicious their lovemaking would be.

She laughed at Thorne. In front of his face and behind his back. For all his cravings toward societal standing, he was such an awkward, clumsy bore of a man. She actually felt sorry for him. He knew nothing about their moment in the church and the eddy James released from her loins. He knew nothing about her other secret; the one binding James to her forever. And she was ever so grateful. For if he did, there would be more than murderous fucking on his agenda.

Didn't he know she yielded to him to settle an account for her own soul? Couldn't he feel her slipping away every time he came to her room and thrust himself inside her? Didn't he suspect that her blood poured forth every month, like clockwork, because she drank the tea that blocked his seed from sprouting inside her?

She made herself captive to him. He had conquered nothing. She was merely on loan until she saw fit to free herself from the entire affair.

Women, diminished throughout society. She scoffed at how meek, humble and dumb they all had to be; stroking the egos of their counterparts. Dimming the most radiant pieces of their minds and souls.

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One morning, she had a thought. An idea to pay James a visit. Nothing was ever truly a surprise to him. She could feel his mind peering into hers, willing herself to just break free. The truth is she wanted to see him again. No, needed to. She needed to look at him and drink him in and savor one last moment with him in their own private reverie.

It made her chest ache to imagine them somewhere in the New World living on a large, lush tract of land surrounded by a river with an ominous wilderness just beyond. In her dream, James was a hunter and craftsman, catching their food and selling skins and metal weapons he crafted in his own smithy shop. She was a woman of Nature, learning the herbs of the wood and how to grind, mix and fashion them into healing salves and tinctures, speaking to the deer and foxes and eagles of the forest to learn of impending rains or intruders. In their wooden house, they would laugh and sing, whispering secrets softly in the misty mornings after hungrily wandering over every inch of each other's bodies. She would bear him children, a bevy of them. And he would love them all, guiding them and teaching them, telling them stories by a roaring fire and hugging them tightly. If only...

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She dressed herself in a dark blue skirt and pale rose-colored top; one that would command every man's attention if a few shades brighter. Today however, she wanted to blend in with others. Ladies were known to travel alone throughout London during the day, so for all anyone knew, she could be handling her father's remaining affairs or opening communications with her estranged brother, having not seen or heard from him in ten years.

She ate her breakfast daintily, breaking off bits of toast and dipping them into the small tin of jam. Slowly sipping her coffee, before taking another small portion of porridge. When she peeled off a plump slice of orange, she bit into it slowly, letting the juices burst inside her mouth. This was what she needed in her life. Flavorful moments, pungent, rich and deep. Meanwhile, Thorne greedily dug into his scrambled eggs, toast, bangers and mash. Blessedly unaware. His appetite for food was as ferocious as his desire for her. He seemed to devour the morsels without effort, only touching his large mug of coffee once most of his food was sliding into the pit of his stomach.