The Huntress and the Nightingale Ch. 02

Clara begins to rise as Louis runs a hand over the soft cheeks of her ass, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Just as she's about to flatten her hands to the table for one last push, she finds herself flattened again with a firm shove to her back. It is her patron that gets up from her chair instead. The sound of the legs scooting back on the floors is loud and the sharpness of it is somehow authoritative to her ears.

The air is thick and warm with tension, somehow Clara knows what is coming but what brought it about is unclear. Without the chair to support her, her legs dangle and she's forced to draw them together and raise her hips so she can keep from slipping. Behind her, Louis takes a firm hold of one plump thigh to keep her in place while her other slips between her legs again to gently stroke the soaking, sensitive folds of her pussy.

It makes Clara suck in a breath in surprise and she bites her bottom lip, trying not to moan or show how much she loves this. In the back of her mind, she reminds herself that this is Louis and she does nothing without reason.

"Beloved little bird," Louis whispers huskily in her native tongue, "you have not spoken a word of French since I arrived. Have you been practicing?"

The inquiry makes Clara stiffen instinctively, she had been answering Louis in German throughout dinner without thinking. The only time she spoke the language was with her tutor who was patient with her awkward handling but had little to say about her singing voice. Were she paler, she is sure her cheeks would be flushed red and her brain scrambles to remember any phrase she can.

"I...I have practiced with my music," Clara replies, she stumbles over the words in her nervousness and curses herself for doing so, "and...and-"

The strike to her bottom is sharp and stinging, Louis' thickly calloused hand carries a heavy weight to it that leaves a dull throb afterward. Clara squeezes her eyes closed in an effort to shut out the pain. She can hear Louis' husky growl behind her, her usual crisp aristocratic accent thickening to a gravely tone. It is more than apparent within its firmness that she is disappointed as well, "And then not at all, did you?"

This time Clara is much quicker to answer, she shakes her head as a deep feeling of shame washes over her in a cold wave. Yet the dull throb on her ass remains heated and prickly, keeping the young woman still wet despite it all. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she waits to be spanked again and when it doesn't come, she struggles to keep her voice from trembling, "O-oui, my love, not at all..."

Eyes still shut, there is a long pause interrupted by the crackling of the fire and Clara's own breathing. The curls of her hair would shroud her vision should she open her eyes but she couldn't dare look back. She keeps her hands flat against the surface of the dining table, doing her best to try and keep still in hopes that Louis would take pity on her.

She does not.

With one hand, the Huntress handles her quarry roughly to pull her arms behind her back and hold her wrists while the other lifts the soprano by the back of her skirts. She carries Clara as if she were luggage, her slippered feet skating across the wooden floors and her round ass remaining exposed as Louis leads her around the table toward the high backed chairs by the fire.

The taller woman takes a seat and spreads the small femme across her lap easily. She positions her just right, making sure that though her upper body dangled just above the carpet her exposed lower body could be propped up to her liking. All the while she still keeps a tight grip on Clara's wrists, forcing her to almost completely rely on Louis to keep her from falling face first onto the floor.

Clara has little time to adjust to her new position as Louis doesn't allow it, the moment she is in place her hand strikes her bottom so hard that she yelps aloud. Behind her, Louis makes a pleased growl at the sound and commands huskily, "Count to ten."

And then it begins.

Louis alternates between cheeks and keeps her eyes on the back of the singer's head as she keeps time, watching for any change in her breath or demeanor. Her own hand stings and burns with each impact but she doesn't let up. It makes her proud yet hardens her resolve to see Clara refuse to buckle and hear her voice count in French.

"Un."

Slap.

"Deux..."

Swat.

"Trois!"

Thwack.

For the first five heavy swats, Clara somehow manages to keep it together with only the occasional grunt. It is the sixth that makes her gasp and her knuckles pale as she balls them into fists. The eighth breaks her down into near sobs and the final open-handed strike to her bare bottom pulls a sigh of relief.

She almost forgets to count for the first time before the last one.

Her flesh is hot to the touch and tingles sharply. Louis runs her hand affectionately over her skin in a soothing manner, a gentle hum rising from her throat.

She lets go of Clara's wrists but doesn't pull her skirts down, just continues to rub her sore behind with one hand and stroke her back with the other. The young soprano clings to Louis' breeches now that her hands are free yet doesn't bother to right herself. She sniffs, lets the last of her tears fall to the carpet, and tries to control her breathing.

When her sobs quiet and her breathing slows, Louis pushes Clara's skirts back down and draws her up until she's sitting in her lap. The soprano's cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes are reddened, and her hair has loosened from the pearl clip to fall around her shoulders and down her back. Both of her breasts are still exposed, the dark nipples fat and erect.

Louis pulls a clean lace handkerchief from the pocket of her waistcoat and wipes away Clara's tears. She then carefully repins her hair in its clip, lovingly helps her tuck her full breasts back into her dress, and resecures her loosened stays. As Louis concentrates on putting the young woman back together, Clara watches her patron intently even as she still shudders beneath her touch.

By the time she finishes, she looks almost as she did when Constancia dressed her. However, there are still the tell-tale signs of the ravishing Louis gave her by the flush on her skin, the poutiness of her lips, and the leftover redness from her tears around her dewy eyes. The two are locked in a long stare for a few quiet moments before the Huntress cups Clara's face, runs a thumb over her cheek, then draws her in for a kiss.

Whereas the two women were hungry and eager for each other before, they connect tenderly this time around. Their kisses are slow, loving, yet still heated as they begin to cling to each other. Louis slips an arm around Clara's waist and beneath her legs while the soprano wraps her arms around the tall woman's neck. The two do not speak as Louis rises from her chair with her lover secure in her arms and carries her out of the dining room, leaving the last of their dinner behind.

Night has truly settled over the wooded chateau, most of the candles in the hallways have been extinguished and not a servant is in sight. The only light that remains lead to a pair of doors that have been locked since Clara arrived. Louis' private quarters.

The door is already ajar and it is clearly well lit as if waiting for the lovers to return.

Inside, Louis' room is painted an emerald green and much like the rest of the house is decorated with mahogany furniture, paintings of hunting scenes, a collection of antlers, and royal hunting trophies. Her windows face the overgrown garden and the forest behind the chateau, one of the few places where the ivy has been allowed to nearly cover the glass. Between them sits a stately desk with a simple chair, its surface stacked with books, papers, and a hunting knife.

Clara takes in the room briefly as Louis continues into her bedroom. Here too, a servant has made sure it is fairly well lit and a roaring fire has been fed to fend off the night's cold. This room is much like her foyer but where most beds would have a thick quilt, she has a sable pelt thrown over it as well. The walls are crowded with her hunting trophies, muskets, pistols, and somewhat risque paintings of Diana, the Roman Goddess of the Hunt.

Louis kicks the door closed behind her and crosses over to the large bed to gently lay her lover on the dark fur. The two kiss in the silence before she pulls away and begins to hurriedly shrug off her waistcoat then tug at Clara's dress once more. Her aggression makes the soprano gasp at first but then she is just as eager to get her patron undressed as well. She reaches into the tall woman's breeches to untuck her blouse and loosen the buttons keeping them closed at the front. Again they meet for a kiss, this one just as hungry and fierce as their first one before Louis loses her patience. Kicking off her boots, she climbs over Clara in an effort to pin her on her back.

The next few minutes are a blur of wet kisses, growls, mewls, flying fabric, and the clatter of Clara's slippers joining Louis' boots on the floor. Both women are impatient to feel the other's skin against their own. Clara practically shoves Louis' pants down when she can and Louis tears at the laces of Clara's bodice until they are completely loosened. Before long they finally get their wish and they lay naked, Louis fully in the buff and Clara with only her white stockings encasing her calves. Tangled together in the warm room, they marvel at the reunion and rediscover each other's bodies.

Louis holds Clara flush against her as she rolls over onto her back, both hands grasping her plump bottom. She slips a hard thigh between the brown-skinned girl's soft legs and buries her face between her breasts. Clara cradles her in return and runs her fingers through the thick curls of Louis' auburn hair. The light floral fragrance that Constancia scented her with seems to calm the taller woman for now despite her excitement as she runs her rough palms over the soprano's smooth skin.

Clinging to each other, the differences in their bodies become more apparent in their nudity. Places where Clara is soft and rounded are hard and angular on Louis in comparison. The Huntress's tanned olive skin is peppered with freckles and the occasional scar, hardly hiding lean muscle just underneath. Her small breasts are topped with pale brown nipples, the tips fully erect and pressing like hard pebbles into Clara's belly.

With only a roll of her hips, Louis' rubs her near bare pussy into her lover's thick thigh. The brown hairs over her sex are soft and thin, hardly impeding with the smooth movement aided by her sopping wetness. Recognizing her need, Clara guides Louis' mouth to her nipples and holds her close as she begins to suck one then the other greedily.

Louis holds Clara even tighter, the rough pads of her fingers digging into her pillowy ass as she continues grinding her cunt into the yielding flesh of her thigh. Together their bodies twist and writhe in a natural rhythm, each woman's soft moans, grunts, and gasps harmonizing with it. Clara soon even widens her legs a little more so her plump pussy could slide against Louis' muscled thigh while the older woman kissed, suckled, and occasionally nibbled at her breasts.

The candles were already low when they entered and the room continues to dim as one by one they exhaust themselves until only the light from the fireplace remains. Louis' hips increase the pace as she releases Clara's nipple from her mouth and looks up at her lover adoringly, biting her lower lip as her head falls back into the pillows. Above her, the plush brown-skinned femme is back lit by the fire, her curvaceous body only accentuated by the warm glow and dying light of the candelabras.

Clara herself rises from atop Louis, her eyes softened with love and her cheeks flushed with lust. She adjusts herself just so, grabbing hold of Louis' other thigh to curl it around her waist as she angles her hips just right so that their centers finally meet. Louis groans aloud and Clara's mouth falls open at the feeling of her patron's wet and heated sex pressing firmly against her own. Leaning back, she grasps the taller woman's calf for balance and holds tight to her thigh as she takes control of the pace of grinding herself slowly against her.

Eyes closing in pleasure, Clara drags out the feeling as long as she can, marveling at the slickness between them. It was everything she had dreamed of since she arrived and more. Now that she had Louis with her again, she wanted to enjoy it as fully as possible. As her hips roll, their clits meet and send a pleasurable shock through both women each time. Clara presses her pussy more firmly against her lover's and increases the pace as the tingle of a far off orgasm makes itself known.

Below her, Louis grips Clara's hips and waist almost hard enough to bruise as if she's afraid the smaller woman will suddenly evaporate. She watches Clara above her work up a sheen of sweat as she fucks her, grinds against her, and take control of the situation. In the back of her mind she wonders if her ass still stings from the spanking and her pussy flutters at the fresh memory of what transpired in the dining room. The lithe Huntress' mouth falls open as a raspy moan escapes her and she whispers, "Clara..."

Hearing her name makes the soprano's eyes open just enough so that she can see Louis through the veil of her dark lashes. This is one of the few times where her normally dapper aristocrat is so vulnerable and even more beautiful as she softens beneath her touch. The tenderness Clara gives her opens her up every time, revealing that other layer of Louis that so enraptures her. As much as she is enjoying this, she wants to give her the most pleasure possible with every part of her body that she can.

For just a moment, Clara stops to shore up support in her legs and thighs, then pushes back on Louis' thigh to widen her legs a bit further. Glancing down between her breasts, she can clearly see where their lower lips kiss and their hardened clits meet. Both women are so wet that it is impossible to tell who is wetter than the other and their sexes glide effortlessly in their rising fervor.

As the soprano continues, she notes what pressure makes Louis grip her tighter, what pace sends her eyes fluttering, and which angles make her head fall backwards to be haloed by her auburn mane. Within minutes she has just the right movements that make the masculine woman writhe, moan, and pant wantonly from her efforts. Beads of sweat roll down Clara's dark skin and once more her hair begins to loosen from its pearl clip. The tightly coiled curls stick to the back of her neck but she won't stop until Louis reaches her peak.

She doesn't have to wait much longer.

The noblewoman releases Clara's hip to grasp the wooden headboard behind her as she feels the tightening yet pleasurable pressure in her abdomen become near unbearable. For so long it felt that she was near the edge until that coil inside of her suddenly snaps and a flood of ecstasy washes over her. Brows knit together, the muscles in Louis' belly visibly tense then relax as she cries out her pleasure openly, her voice hoarse and raspy. The sound is music to Clara's ears but she keeps going, driving herself into Louis' core without letting up.

When Louis comes down, Clara's hips begin to slow then stop before she falls back onto the bed gasping for breath. For the first time, she realizes how much exertion she has put in when her legs begin to tremble and she notices the cool air caress her glistening skin. She can still feel the heat in her pussy but the twinge of the far off second orgasm has long since disappeared when she began concentrating fully on bringing Louis her first. Panting, she reaches up to pull the pearl clip out of her tresses and her cloud of brown hair tumbles around her shoulders. Glancing downwards, she sees Louis is a shuddering, exhausted mess just as she is and she smiles happily to herself.

Seeing her patron and lover so satisfied makes her heart soar.

Louis groans as she rises slowly, her long curly hair shrouding her face briefly as she crawls over Clara's body. She kisses her way up her abdomen, delighting in the salty taste of her skin, until she reaches her lips. The noblewoman cups her face, grants her one tender kiss, then another before pulling her up and guiding her beneath the warm covers. Clara in turn, holds the heavy quilts up for Louis, she slides into bed and gathers the singer into her arms.

Neither of the women say a word as the last of the candles die out and the only light comes from the fire. They hold each other tightly, Clara laying her head on Louis' near flat chest, and drift off to sleep with only the crackling of kindling to take them there.

When Clara finally wakes it is the afternoon and she is alone.

Sitting up alert in bed, for a moment, she doesn't recognize where is. Everything in this room is so unlike her own in the east wing of the mansion. Then the memories of last night come flooding back to her so fast that it makes her head pound. Was it a dream?

The stinging pain from the spanking she received as she rolls out of the large bed is more than enough proof that it was not.

A long nightgown and a thick red robe have been left draped across the sable fur at the edge of the bed. Clara quickly puts them on and looks about for her clothes. One quick turn around and she finds they have been folded and left in the seat of a nearby chair, her slippers placed neatly on top. There is no sign of Louis and the singer's heart begins to pound with fear that she had spent the night only to return to Versailles.

Padding to the door, she exits the bedroom into the foyer to find it empty of Louis' presence but a spread of cheese, bread, and wine have been left on a now organized desk. Clara approaches it and helps herself, doing her best to sate her hunger before she begins to assume that Louis has left her alone again. She should wait until she can find Constancia and confirm.

Just then, she hears a heavy "thunk" coming from outside and she rushes to the window left ajar behind the desk. Peering out, she sucks in a breath when she catches sight of a familiar tall and leanly muscular figure just below her in the garden.

Bow in hand and a quiver of arrows at her back, Louis has just landed what looks to be her fourth bullseye at a target nailed to a large tree at the other end of the garden. At her side is one of the male servants, likely a footman, who rushes off to retrieve the arrows as she lowers her bow and stretches her limbs.

The air is still brisk with the winter's chill, so much so that Clara pulls the robe tighter around her but Louis seems unbothered in the sun. She wore black breeches that hugged her legs, leather boots with bronze buckles, and a crisp blouse that billowed around her arms and was loosened around her throat. As always her mane of hair fell around her shoulders and down her back, only now the curls were much looser since their rendezvous the night before.

Clara sighs to herself, relieved that her handsome patron has not yet left her.

"Mademoiselle?"

The voice makes the soprano jump in shock and she turns to find Constancia waiting for her. Serene yet somehow still severe looking as ever, the Housekeeper is dressed in another simple deep green dress, crisp white apron, and her iron keyring always at her waist. In her arms she carried a dress and bodice, this one an autumnal yellow that was appropriate for the season. Clara had been so fixated on Louis that she had not even heard her come in.

"Did you rest well? Would you like to dress now?"

"Y-" Clara stops herself, the dull throb of her buttocks reminding her of what Louis tasked her with. She begins again but this time in French, "Oui, I did and I would like to get dressed now."