The Princess of Cleves #08

This was not what the Prince had expected. It was not acceptable either. "You are a married woman. Were you a maid, what you said would be correct, but you are my wife."

"In age, I am a maid," she replied.

It was clear to the Prince that she was simply finding reasons to avoid the Duke. The aroma of rose, lavender, and sage came from her skin. Perhaps she had too many lovers. "It would be unseemly for you to retire. I am sorry, I must be firm, you will attend court." He reached out to hold her, and she was stiff. "Why have you changed so much toward me? You have never truly loved me, but you loved me enough."

"There are too many secrets between us," she told him.

The Prince held her tight to him. He only kept one secret, but she had many. "You are right. Do you want to talk about them?"

She shifted in his arms to face him. "Not tonight, but another night."

"Thank God, I would like to talk about it another night as well." The Prince let the silence stretch. "You know, people are beginning to spread rumors about you and Diana because of that necklace. Today, you are wearing a bracelet that belonged to Princess Mary. They are calling you Sappho."

Rosalind trembled in his arms, but then she remembered the Marechal would return tomorrow.

"Did you hear, the Marechal will be back soon?" the Prince said, guessing at her thoughts.

"You are being cruel," she said. She pushed the Prince away and turned her back to him.

"No Madame, it is you who are cruel. Did you think I did not notice that you withheld from me what you gave so freely to others?"

Rosalind rolled over to face him, her little pointed teeth showing. "How was your afternoon dear? As you know, I spent my morning with the Princess Mary, and the afternoon with the Chevalier."

She was so angry he could feel the heat from her skin, it thrilled the Prince's heart. "I am glad to see you are not entirely numb to me." It was a hideous compulsion, this desire to provoke her. "I heard the Duke has made a miraculous recovery and will be visiting a few people in court tomorrow." The Prince knew he had gone to far, that she would either hit him, or cry, or scream. Before she could decide which to pick he covered her mouth with his. He felt himself strong again.

"You are a pig," she spat.

The Prince didn't let her get another word out. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and rubbed himself against her sex, now overflowing with seed. "Pretend it is someone else making love you," the Prince whispered as he angled his hips to pierce her. He stuck his two fingers his mouth, and worked the first one into her anus. He could feel his phallus sliding in and out of her with his finger. This was how Mary had coaxed an orgasm from her. When he felt her shudder and come, he could have wept with joy.

He was not done with her yet. Making her get on her hands and knees, he took her as the Chevalier had, and again, she came. There was a thump followed by a scuffle outside the door, and the Prince came as well. He strode over the door and opened it to reveal the Chevalier sitting there, his cheeks red.

Rosalind blushed. The Chevalier was upon her in a second. He took a long time to come, and his phallus was growing raw with the day's adventures. By the time he finished, the Prince was again aroused.

His wife's thighs, her buttocks, were all slick with seed. The Prince slid himself into her loose spent womb. The side of her face was pressed into the bed. With each stroke, the Prince became covered in seed. He lubricated his finger and began to play with her anus. The Chevalier lay down beside her, and kissed her as he fondled her breasts.

Rosalind came again, and she kept coming until her body was pulsing and sore. She felt like a scrap of meat being shared by two dogs. Freed of any responsibility, she reveled in their caresses: the conduit for the tension between them. This is what the Marechal must feel crawling at her feet. When her husband finally came, he collapsed on to her.

The Chevalier began kissing the Prince, caressing him. When he looked into the Prince's blue eyes he saw a sparkle that was not there for Rosalind.

He wanted to thrust his sex between their joined bodies, to force himself into the Rosalind's womb and rub himself against her and the Prince. The Chevalier stood up, and for a moment he thought about attempting the feat, but instead he brought a basin of water and a towel to set on the table near the bed.

They were both exhausted and half asleep. The Chevalier wished he could curl up with them. He prodded them to clean themselves. Like sleepy children, they held their arms out for a kiss.

He crept home in the 4 AM stillness. This was much messier than he liked. Rosalind become pregnant, the child could be the Chevalier's. At some point someone would notice who the progeny really resembled. Even as he thought of all the reasons to abandon this affair, he knew he would not.

* * * *

When Rosalind rose the next morning her body was tender. She requested a bath to soak her sore muscles and wash away her sins. The Prince spent that morning seeing to his wife's every need. Whenever she looked into his blue eyes, she could see he was ashamed, but she did not know of what. Was it that he had shared his wife with another man, or that she allowed herself to be shared? It was probably both she realized with a bitter laugh. Her own feelings on the night before were mixed. She only kept herself sane by thinking about seeing her friend, the Marechal, again today. The Chevalier joined them for breakfast.

The Prince was grateful for his presence, but Rosalind felt rather awkward. The Chevalier was cheerful, and he managed to make them both laugh. Later, he and the Prince would talk about what happened last night. They would touch themselves, and each other, as they relived sharing her. She would be busy with the Marechal; they would have plenty of time.

The Marechal arrived early that afternoon. He greeted Rosalind with gracious bow, and the court began gossiping about how time apart had dulled his affections for the young woman. He whispered he would meet her in an hour and a half, but he found himself waylaid by every courtier and he was a half hour late. His heart sank, he could see that she had been dabbing at her eyes.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting Rosalind. Come here and kiss my cheek, and then we will talk." He took her arm and led her to sumptuous private room Diana had provided, complete with key. That morning, he had read through her letters one last time, and now they were a weight in his breast pocket, waiting to be destroyed. He wished he could keep them, but it would be foolish; it was bad enough that he was sneaking off with her again. As soon as the lock clicked close, Rosalind wrapped her arms around his neck and started to weep. They were deep heavy sobs, and he held her tightly to him, stroking her hair. Her hip rubbed against his sex, and he tried very hard to ignore the sensation. It was difficult with an imagination already primed by his earlier reading.

She pulled away from him and gave him an angry glare. "You're just like everyone else here. You are only kind to me so that you may use my body."

The Marechal fell before her. "No, please. I read your letters again this morning, full of intimate details, and, I am only a man. I have them here." He held them out to her, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Rosalind stared at him. Peering beneath his lashes he caught the wild look in her eyes. No wonder Diana had her recalled, the girl didn't have a friend in the court. She snatched the letters from him and threw them into the fireplace. The Marechal scuttled over to the hearth, threw a log on them, and took up the bellows so in a moment they were ash.

Not knowing what else to do, the Marechal remained kneeling, submissive, until he heard her crying again. Rosalind sat on the couch and wept and the Marechal sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

This time he was able to maintain control of himself while he comforted her. When at last she calmed down, he asked her, "What has happened?"

She sat up, shaking her head.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" The naked desire he saw in her eyes startled him, and he blushed.

"Yes, what you did before," she whispered, her little hands curling into fists.

The Marechal sunk to the floor, and kissed her fingers, her skirts. He touched the little boots she wore.

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he lay with his cheek against her knee. When he felt her gather his hair in her fist, he began to tremble. He moaned as she yanked him off her, then rose to stand behind him. She kicked his thighs and buttocks, and as he jerked away he pulled at his hair held in her hand. She began to strike his hunched shoulders, and tears squeezed from the Marechal's eyes.

He reached back to make her release him, and when she did he turned to kiss her feet. Her toes kept striking between his ribs, just hard enough to make his eyes water more. He rose to his knees and held her legs so she struck his shoulders again.

The Marechal shook. He was so close to her, he could smell her sex, and he could smell the seed that leaked from it. What had happened in Paris while he was gone? She was breathing unnaturally fast, and she knelt to hold the Marechal. Her tears were hot on his neck. "What have they done to you?" he murmured, stroking her back.

"My husband, and the Chevalier..." He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. "They have been creeping around, spying on me. I think the Prince, he arranged for the Chevalier to..." She broke off in a hiccup of sobs.

He started kissing her face to try and soothe her. Without being told, he knew the game they played. He was shocked when she next told him the extend of the Prince's relationship with the Chevalier.

"The Prince and Chevalier, they planned for the Chevalier to seduce me while my husband watched."

"What?"

She looked at him, and from the shame in her eyes he knew she acquiesced. Who knew what bold adventures the pair had planned after that? "I thought you would understand, what it's like," she mumbled.

"What it's like to want to be abused," he said, and she nodded. He sighed, "Yes, clearly I do. But Rosalind, if it is causing you so much pain, perhaps you should tell them to stop."

She shook her head. "I do not think I have the power to resist such temptation. I asked the Prince to let me retire from the court, but he would not allow it." She moved closer to the Marechal, "I can do whatever I wish, and my husband cannot reproach me."

She kissed him, and he pulled her into his lap. Their tongues entwined and they sucked one another's lips. The Marechal's legs became numb from sitting on the stone floor. "Please, let me carry you away from this. There would be no censure from the King if I did."

"No, my mother's ghost would come and haunt me, if she hasn't begun already. Did you know what she said to me, before she died?"

"No," the Marechal said, but he imagined it was something cruel.

"She said she was happy to die if it prevented her from seeing my fall." Her voice quavered as she spoke.

"I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but I do not care for your mother." He looked at the clock and saw they had been closeted in that room together for two hours, and certainly someone had noted their absence. "We must part, but know this, nothing that you ever do, or wish to have done to you," he added, "Will change the fact that I love you." He kissed her brow and helped her to her feet. They fixed themselves and left, the Marechal deeply troubled and Rosalind feeling relieved.