tagLesbian SexFrench Whore Ch. 01

French Whore Ch. 01

bynothingisalways©

"Do you mean to tell me," the tone of her voice sets his teeth on edge but he keeps his eyes locked on her face. The bed sheet fell away from her naked shoulders when her maid had fled the tent and she made no effort then or in the long minutes since to cover her nudity. It was damned indecent and he would be hard pressed to maintain his anger if not for the self righteous incredulity painting her features.

"Do you mean to say that you men honestly believe that a woman has no desires at all? You, who has shared my bed only long enough to get me in whelp twice? Two springs I've had with you, two springs in seven years." she pushes a stray lock of hair back from her face and her breasts bob into view. Her pale chest looks dewy and her nipples are soft and shameless in the hot French summer, as if to emphasize her complete serenity. He works his jaw to steady his voice before he answers but she needs no clue to tell her he is mortified.

"Wh- whether a woman has desires or not she is expected to keep them decently in check, madame." he flings the ironic pet name at her like an insult. The surge of anger that follows has her on her feet before she has time to think so she crosses the room and pours them each a measure of his beloved scotch whiskey. The nape of his neck reddens and she can practically see his skin crawl at the thought of her completely exposed in the bright glow of sunshine through silk. As if to mock him, she hands him the drink from behind. Thank god, when she drops back onto the pallet, a down mattress finer than most merchant's wives have in their bedchamber, she has on a dressing robe. He downs the whiskey and continues,

"Particularly in the middle of the day, in a tent, while half the nobility of England makes merry and jousts on the other side of the silk!"

"Making merry, of course! Well what were we doing then? I certainly didn't mean to joust today." she may look like an especially beautiful English lass with those light laughing eyes, but her bold nose, and full lips never let him forget that she was born French and only became English when Calais did.His wife, bearer of his heirs, a french whore in truth. His cock gives a twitch.

"No one was looking for me anyway. I pled exhaustion and retired to my tent after we had tea on the green. I have been faithful to you. I have never known any man but you, who has tumbled a wench every time I bled or bred since I was a maid of fourteen!" her challenge shames him. Of course he's had whores and mistresses with bastards, but he was foolish enough to believe she was ignorant or invulnerable, which the glisten of tears in her eyes said she was not. He falters slightly.

"If this got out, I would be a laughingstock! I would have to divorce you and have you beheaded like Anne Boleyn just to save face!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! Do you think I'm the only one? Do you think I'm the only neglected wife who knows she has a cunt? I never imagined men didn't know! For god's sake, even the queen sleeps with a bedfellow!"

He chokes at this, the thought that the anointed Queen of England, his England, would be as wanton and lusty as, as, a bitch in heat! But what she said was true. Women were never alone, nobles keep women in flocks like geese. A proper lady had ladies and maids in waiting everywhere she went, and a female bedmate was considered proof against adultery.

The idea that women would... together... he felt hot and restless and it was becoming difficult to ignore his rising erection. He didn't want to fight anymore, he was aroused and he wanted her to still her whore's lips long enough for him to kiss them. He wasn't sure where the whiskey in his hand had come from, he had finished the first one long since.

"Surely it was only the one maid, I hope?" she chuckled. Drat, the friction from her robe had made her nipples tighten. He could see them press against the silk.

"Husband? Have you never heard of girls and their bosom friends? Did you think maids only whisper after the candles are out?" her face is open and she's smiling again.

"You can't stop it, it's natural women's business like courses and childbirth. You'd have to dismiss at least half of my household, and then I would find a playmate in their replacements." her eyes went dreamy, considering.

Unless you replaced them with men... would you rather it was men, my love? Would your relief in the correction of my sexual deviation outweigh the shame of the cuckold's horns?

Or maybe you'd find solace in fighting and killing my molester?" at the last her voice went throaty and her eyes shone. Dear god she was a shameless slut. His crotch throbbed. He lurched to his feet and crossed to the opening at the front of the tent. One of his men was waiting outside.

"My wife was exhausted by the heat. I'll be retiring with her for the evening and I don't want her to be disturbed." the young man nodded curtly and sent for a soldier to guard the tent, no doubt anxious to get back to the festivities himself.

He crossed the tent feeling like he'd been strung too tightly and swayed a little when he kicked off his boots. When he'd stripped down to his breeches and linen shirt he took her roughly by the arm and forced her to her knees beside the pallet. His voice was rough from whiskey and lust and he hoped he didn't look as tormented as he felt when he dragged a kiss across her lips and lowered himself onto the soft mattress.

"You shall have to confess and ask for forgiveness then, wench." Her eyes sparkled with fury and he quickly pressed his knuckles against her lips to quiet her.

"You can call me Father." He gives her a pointed look, weighing, wondering if she will take him kindly to her breast now or drive the killing blow now that he's lost his stomach for a fight. A naughty smile lights her face as she drops her head in mock subservience and he sighs in anticipation.

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