In The Library Ch. 12

Three months passed, and summer was now ending, autumn starting to turn. Alexandra's child heavy belly was now fuller in front of her, although looking at her from behind, one would never know. Her breasts were rounder, heavier, and she carried the healthy, sensual glow of a woman at her absolute peak of well-being. She was beautiful in her fullness, with a sensuous, sexual presence.

Aunt Catherine was most concerned for Alexandra's spiritual health, and the older woman and the younger woman spent many hours together. In this time Alexandra learned more of her aunt's past, learned her strengths, and prepared herself for the huge sacrifice she would have to make. She also discovered much of her family's history, and began to understand how important the bloodline was.

Odette and Octavius the cerval continued their special girl and beast bond, as if sanctioned by Catherine, and the cat was constantly by the young maid's side. But the creature was remote towards Alexandra, and kept his distance from her. Sometimes he would circle around her as she walked about the grounds, as if observing the woman, two hands hidden, two hands showing, and two hearts. But he would keep his cat's paw quietness and distance from her.

Alexandra knew that her maid often disappeared to the library come the evenings, and imagined her on the device. She also pondered her Aunt Catherine, who was clearly the owner of the clever wooden engine, and wondered about her and the cat. Other than the one night when she discovered her tantalised maid, she had not seen the slender youth. Indeed, she occasionally wondered whether it had been a dream. But she only had to see her maid to know that if it was a dream, then her golden haired maid had shared it with her.

But still, she had a longing for something different, something exotic, something to remember. "Aunt, when did you get the apparatus in the library made?"

Perhaps if she got her aunt to talk of the inventor of the device, she might be able to turn the conversation to herself, because in a small way she envied her maid the pleasure she had received. And Alexandra knew that soon she would be near her birthing time, and then there would be the short feeding time, and then there would be the wrenching time, and then there would be a great, dark, horrible void. Sometimes the bloodline had to be broken....

"Why do you ask, niece?" Her aunt looked upon the young woman with a steady gaze, her eyebrow half raised. Was this a test?

"Because, Aunt, it is an engine of wickedness, and you are permitted to use its wickedness, and Odette is permitted to use its wickedness. But I, who have committed my own wickedness," and she gestured to her belly girdled in her long dress, "I am not allowed its wickedness. And that is not fair!"

Catherine did not expect this burst of temper from the girl; but then she remembered Alexandra's age, and remembered herself at the same age, and thought about the responsibility being thrust upon the girl, and she took pity. Catherine knew of the dark days that were ahead of her niece, and yes, she took pity.

"Alexandra, I shall summon my girls, and they will come for you, once it is dark. I think we can make some entertainment tonight." So Alexandra was taken to her room to be made ready. She was dressed in a rich velvet gown, deep red; and with her long black hair and her pale skin, the effect was like a black and white photograph with hand coloured red detail. Hand coloured photographs were the latest rage, and Catherine had arranged for a photographer to make some images, so that Alexandra might have a keepsake. But there were to be no photographs this night.

Catherine's senior maid carefully dressed the girl and braided her long hair, and placed some soft leather straps on her ankles and wrists. Alexandra knew then that she would be strapped to the device, blindfolded and bound, and she assumed Octavius would take his pleasure on her and in her. Her heart pulsed and the centre of her sex answered with its own beat. She was led to the library and instructed to stand completely still and to await instructions. The library was deserted. The wooden device was centred in the bay, and the only light came from the fire. She heard the rattle of a sliding frame, and wondered who was in the gallery this night. And then the door opened, and Catherine made her way into the room.

But her aunt was as Alexandra had never seen her. Her hair was coiled tight in a bun on her head and she was wearing a magnificent brocade corset, richly embellished with red and gold braid. Her waist was clinched in small, and her slender hips were sheathed in a black skirt made of the finest, softest leather. The skirt was long, but slit right up the front so that it separated as she walked, each long flared panel sliding away from her legs which were clad in long boots, strapped with laces all the way up the front and all the way down the back. Catherine circled her niece, as if inspecting her, and caressed her hand to the girl's belly, filling now. And then the aunt led the young woman to the device and bade her lie on it as if it were a bed. Alexandra was placed on her back, with her body slightly raised and her legs strapped by the ankles to separate wooden supports. Her legs were together, but she could see that the supports for her legs could be moved apart. And then she could no longer see, a soft band of cloth placed over her eyes. Then she was left, sightless, and not a sound in the room.

And a viewer in the gallery (let us imagine it is you, or let us imagine it is I - perhaps it is us both, since there are two comfortable chairs...) a viewer would have seen this: Alexandra in her red gown, tied to the wooden device, blindfolded; arms stretched above her head so that her filling breasts were upright and proud; her legs now spread apart so that the folds of her gown fell between her thighs; her head with its coil of plaited blackness, tilted to one side, to enhance her hearing. Her senses were alert, the blackness of her hidden gone sight a background for her other senses, touch, taste, feeling (but her wrists are captured and she can only stretch and grasp at the air), smell, hearing. But all she can hear now is the crackle of the fire.

And the viewer would have seen this: Octavius moving into the room silently, circling the tied girl, silently; gazing upon her pale skin and her black hair and her red cloak. And her head is suddenly alert but motionless - she has sensed rather than heard the youth on his silent feet. And Octavius does not touch the girl, but stands silently by the fireplace, an alert energy on his face. He is clothed in black trousers and a loose flowing shirt, his long tawny hair falling down his back, proud firm limbs long and lean. He leans back against the mantel of the fireplace and, motionless now, he waits.

And the viewer would have seen this: Catherine has returned to the room carrying a wooden box about the size of a large cigar case, beautifully carved in multiple coloured woods, brass fittings and hinges. And she sets it down by her bound niece. Catherine now beckons to the youth, and raises her arms. He comes up behind her and graces her neck with a kiss and a swathe of his silken hair, and then slowly undoes the laces of her corset and removes it from her slender torso. Her slight breasts are naked, nipples already peaking, and a pale flush is upon her neck. She tilts her head and twists around for a long kiss from the young man, and his palms are upon her breasts, gently pushing the small weight of them to her ribs. She is pale and slender and elegant, but holds herself proud. As she is caressed by Octavius, so too does her hand begin to caress the girl. She strokes up the captive legs, her forefinger idly tracing the shin and the slender thigh of her niece, pushing up under the red gown.

Alexandra is the captive plaything of her aunt, and the older woman is slow and patient, her small hands spiralling now over the thighs of the girl, strapped. And the girl, strapped, now lets out a series of small moans, whispers even. " Aunt, is that you, who touches my legs?"

"Hush girl, it matters not who it is; it just matters that it is." And Catherine reaches to the buttons of the red gown and undoes them slowly, one by one, and the heavy cloth of the dress falls away from Alexandra's body, which is revealed naked now, exposed to the eyes in the room. And if the viewer in the gallery pleases, he or she will see this: Alexandra's pale thighs are separated, and her dark bush of hair is thick around her sex. A dark line runs up the seam of her swelling belly which is now near its seventh month, and full and firm.

Her breasts, which once were small like Catherine's, are now tight and round, her nipples dark and full, a rich darkness of deep brown, and erect and hard. Catherine moves between the legs of her niece now, and leans forward so that her flat belly pushes against the fuller mound of the younger woman. Catherine sways her tightened nipples against the warm firmness of the luscious belly. The smooth, slick leather of Catherine's dress rubs against the open sex of the younger woman, and is left with a slick wetness when she pulls away.

Alexandra thrashes against the restraints on her limbs, panting moans of pleasure lingering in the room as her aunt's slow teasing fingers trace the swollen lips of her dark sex, pearls of moisture glistening on the curled hair. Her aunt kneels between the girl's legs spread wide, and lowers her hot tongue with a long lick over the swollen lips, a tantalising slide over the wetness and sucking on the budding clitoris. " Ah, my God, lick on me there, my sweet cunny aches for it, flick on my bud."

Catherine is concentrating on the young woman's succulent sex, her wet centre, her high scarlet pearl peaking from the dark curls of hair; Catherine's long tongue licks a long swathe up that richly scented crevice, honey smooth slick of wetness and over the long clitoris. Alexandra cries out in ecstasy, her bound wrists pulling against the ropes, her fingers grappling at the air of nothingness, her body lurching upwards against the ropes holding her there.

And her aunt touches her forefinger delicately to the dime sized blaze of red and brown upon Alexandra's thigh, blood heating into the birth stain, and the older woman speaks. "Alexandra, know by this mark on you that some man will recognise and discover you by this mark; and he shall know the sweet place nearby, and there shall be a reckoning. I am certain of it." And with a final spiral of her fingers around the mark, Catherine stands, and beckons Octavius to her.

The slender youth moves away from his stillness at the fireplace and silently approaches his mistress, dropping his shirt as he comes to her. His torso is lean and finely muscled, his long hair a twist down his back, almost to his waist. He sheds now his trousers, baring his long swelling cock against his thigh, swinging heavy and thickening. But not yet hard, not yet rigid. He leans to the waist of his svelte mistress, and unbuttons the myriad of small loops that hold her long swaying skirt, until it too drops to the floor. So the woman is clad now in just her long boots, laces up the front of her legs to above the knee, and laces down the back of her legs to her ankles, with small stiletto heels. The leather laced boots make her legs long and slender, lightly muscled thighs firming up to a delectable taut derriere. And the skin about her haunches and upon her hips is laced with a pattern of long thin scars, each some two Inches long, each thin scarred ridge a line of white upon her flesh. They are old scars, not recent, but shimmer a strange, fine corrugation on her flesh.

Catherine turns towards her youth, and the bottom of her belly is a triangle of dark hair. She presses herself tightly to his body, and his long prick tightens and thickens against her belly, and rises. She takes his rising length into one hand and lightly circles her fingers and palm around it; and with her other hand she takes the full weight of his heavy sacs, and gently squeezes them. And she holds his centre and his fullness in both her small hands and is slow and gentle with him. She is rewarded by a full taut rising of his cock now, and she enjoys a slow stroke of him, her hands alternately pulling and stroking, and squeezing and gently twisting on his heaviness. She too is rewarded by his hot probing tongue between her lips and teeth, and for a long moment young Alexandra is completely ignored, as the older woman and her man enjoy the taste and touch of each other.

Their hands are a slow, stroking caress of each other's body; and his fingers linger on the thin white threaded scars on her flesh; and her slender fingers twine themselves into his long flowing hair, pulling on it as she pulls on his shaft. In their throats there is a low, slow sigh from her, and a deep throaty growl from him.

"Is that you and your cerval cat, Aunt," whispers Alexandra, her cloth blindness peaking her other senses, her hearing acute and heightened, piecing together the movements and scents in the room. "Will he take his pleasure in me?" She pleads.

"I think not, sweet thing, I think he takes his pleasure in your golden maid, I think she is the favoured one." But Octavius reaches out a single hand and lightly touches the girl on her rounded belly, as if to feel for the second life there, as if to assure the girl that he is aware of her and is not blinded to her. But in his own silent way, he will not be her mate, he will not become of her blood. One of the bloodline of this family is enough for him; and the variety of the maid is his permitted luxury.

Yet Alexandra is not forgotten, her lush sexuality is not to be ignored. Her aunt reaches for the beautifully carved box and opens its patterned lid. Inside lies a curved phallus, a dildo carved and curved from ivory, cleverly fixed to a strap of leather and cloth, a beautifully shaped objet d'art, a piece of fine art, perfectly crafted. But it is cold from resting in its box, lying on its plush velvet bed, padded and shaped for its wicked purpose. It is a beautiful thing, and Catherine lifts it with reverence. She straps it to her slender hips, and it thrusts wickedly in front of her, its base pushing on her pearl, so that every thrust and twist of the carven prick will push and twist on her centre of pleasure.

Catherine moves to the head of the table, where Alexandra's stretching fingers are free but clutching only at air. There is no flesh for her to trace her fingers upon, and still there is no flesh but she is able to curl her fingers around the cold ivory and discover its shape and length, and its roundness and smoothness, and to guess its purpose. "Aunt, is it your toy that I can touch in my little fingers? Is it your toy strapped, and will you put it in my tightening cunny, that is even now clenching at the thought of it?"

"Yes, my sweetness, it is for you, and I will deliver it!" Catherine delights at the idea of piercing this girl's wet cunt, and the wickedness of her being an ivory pricked man for the doing of it. For Catherine is a connoisseur of the erotic arts, as evidenced by her wooden device and her exquisitely carved tool, and the cleverly constructed gallery with its comfortable chairs and the sliding windows.

And you, the viewer in the gallery, you lean forward and slide the window screen across with a click, to get a better view. And can you scent the rising heat of the perfume of these heatened women? Breath in deeply, because their scent rises.

Catherine is now working the ratchets and levers of her machine, so that the sweet wettening cunt of the big bellied girl is just at the exact right height for her red lipped sex to be spread wide, to receive the ivory length; and Catherine delicately opens the lips of her opening niece, like a butterfly opens its wings to the sun and sips on the nectar of a flower. Catherine's fingers lightly splay the moist pink flesh just as the butterfly's legs are lightly splayed on the petal of a deep flower. And Alexandra's hot sex is the flower, and Catherine's fingers the delicate weight upon the petals of her flesh. And then the fine rounded end of the dildo is placed at the nexus of those petals.

"God yes, press it to me, press it into me, press its wicked heat and coldness into the middle of me!" The girl pushes her black curled centre as far down the table as she can, eager to thrust herself onto the prick, and through the prick, to push her weight onto the older woman. But Catherine knows the power of a touch and then the removal of the touch; and she cleverly dances and sways her hips so that the end of her false length darts and twists and touches the pulsing lips of her prey, lightly and then a little deeper; deeper and then a taking away tease.

"My God, there is wickedness in you, dear Aunt, that you tease me so. Stick it in, stick it in me. I want your prick in me, please press it all the way." And Catherine has twisted and danced too much, and her own clit is begging for more certainty, the fleeting pressure has arisen in her own bud, and she too must have a deeper thrust into this split red heaven between the girl's trembling thighs. And now she thrusts deep to the core of the girl, and Alexandra gasps at the force of that thrust which now aches her deep core.

But look, Octavius had been roused by the scent of the fucking women, and his slender loins are now behind his mistress, his prick long and hard and throbbing, a touch of moistness at its tip; and he pushes on the back of his woman with his hands, so that her lean body lies upon the rising belly of the girl; and he now fucks his length deep into the wet cunt of his mistress. So the three are joined with Catherine receiving and giving, her thrusts into her niece driven by the youth behind her, who now starts a rising beat, the cheeks of his taut ass clenching with each delicious thrust. As they press their weight each into the other, the room fills with the hot pant of the animal in the youth and the deepening sighs of the woman who has tamed him, and the crying sobs of the girl who begs to be taken.

And in the gallery, your fingers are busy on yourself.

As the peak builds within each of them, Octavius bites on the neck of his mate; and Catherine leans forward to take the hot nipples of the breeding girl into her mouth and sucks them deep, her tongue swirling those tight ends, her hands squeezing the hot full breasts. And Alexandra pants in her trapped ecstasy, and with a quickening heat at the base of her belly she starts to rise up to the peak of her pleasure. As her body twitches and jerks with an unavoidable, instinctive need, her aunt is watching the red flush upon her chest and throat, and as it darkens and heats, her aunt reaches for the blindfold and tears it away.

And Alexandra's eyes are huge and wide with her coming, and as she pulses to her orgasm she looks straight into her aunt's eyes; and as she comes, oh fuck yes, she comes, hard; she looks deep as if into the mirror of her own soul. And she shudders and she knows that Catherine too has suffered for the bloodline and their female souls are joined in an intimate sharing of some deep ancestral knowledge.

As she shimmers down from the white light of her own pleasure, Alexandra tears her eyes from the her blood woman's eyes, and she glances up and looks into the soul of the cat's eyes above her aunt's head, just as the animal in the man howls his own coming, and her open sex feels the throbbing pulse transmitted through the cunt of her father's sister. And Octavius' hands are upon the haunches of his mistress, and his nails align perfectly with the thin white scars upon her flesh, two rows of four long, raised scars upon her skin.

And finally, Catherine's own pleasure now rises between the two, and she arches her throat and back with her own exquisite edge. And she too comes hard, her cry a hot pant of breath into the stillness of the room. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck... Ah God!"