The Taking of Maxime

"Fuck" I think to myself, "where is he?" Once again Master licked my tits, teased my cunt, spanked my sorry ass and left me tied to this cross, muttering something about meeting friends for drinks and coming back for me later as he walks out. I know "later" means hours later, when he is loaded and horny and wants to use me. I want his attention. He should stay with me. He says he has his reasons and methods...

I'm tied to this cross at the wrists. The post behind me is a solid old two by two wooden support beam affixed in the middle of the basement of a farm house dating back to the Revolutionary War, colonial times. It is located in rural upstate New York, near the Canadian border, on a 100 acre farm. Nobody is within ear shot and I am all alone. Master built the cross beam and bolted the two together, just for me.

The walls are made of stone and mortar. A fireplace sits in the wall before me, slowly burning and warming the room, warming my flesh. All is dark except for the light thrown from the hearth and the votive candles on the floor which encircle me. When they flame out and the fireplace dies, all will be dark. Both are close to finished, the flames laboring to flicker.

I am tired, my flesh sears with pain and my wrists hurt from their prolonged binding. I stare at the hearth as the minutes eek by. Suddenly, a foot steps from the wall hosting the fireplace. I shake my head in disbelief and wonder if I am hallucinating, if that stupid fuck drugged me when he plied me with wine before he left. Then a leg emerges, followed by hips, a torso, a head and arms. Before me emerges a handsome man, or is he a ghost? A chill runs up my spine as I find myself alone and with this 'being'.

He is dressed as a revolutionary era French soldier. I can tell by the uniform- black riding boots, white breeches and a french blue jacket with gold trim. A sword dangles on his left side and a wooden handled one shot pistol on the right. Not a front line infantry man but not a general either. No, he is a leader of men, a commander, one who guides the troops but reports to superiors. Probably well educated- a man of letters and perhaps family wealth- renaissance in nature... I contemplate his dark eyes- they ooze a warrior's plotting confidence. He has a handsome angular face and is of a strong tall muscular build. His hair is dark, parted in the middle and slightly long.

He looks at me pensively. His eyes start with my pointed toe black spiked pumps and move up my naked legs, caressing my body. He views my creamy thighs and then spies my mons, pelted by a trimmed black bush outlining the length and width of the mound. He nods his head in approval as he inspects my buxom hips and hefty breasts.

"Please don't hurt me," I blurt out in panic.

He approaches and walks to the right inspecting my ass. Noting the pink skin, he shakes his head with disapproval and mutters, "de Sade..." as he walks behind me.

I turn my head and find him coming around the other side, following his every move until he stands before me but a foot or two away. He brings a finger to my jaw and pushes my face to the left and then to the right- to inspect its beauty. My face moves even though I do not feel his touch. He looks into my lusty cat shaped eyes, eyes which initially fascinate most men but which terrify them when they learn my preferences. He looks at my right arm and then the left, noting the leather cuffs holding my wrists, padlocked shut and keeping me captive.

He steps back and removes his sword. I cringe anticipating harm but he walks to the right padlock, raises his hand and swiftly levels the butt of the gilded sword to the lock. It is unflinching. He tries again, this time with more vigor, more anger, but to no avail. He tries the other lock with equal failure and a look of disgust masks his face.

"This is no way to treat a beautiful woman," he remarks in French.

I wonder if he thinks I cannot understand him. "Merci," I reply.

"You speak French..."

"Oui," I confirm.

"That is good... now we can talk.... I was afraid we would not be able to communicate... I have been watching you for a month or so. One night I stumbled across the two of you, here, doing this... I do not like how he treats you. You deserve better, even if you like this foolery..."

"Do you have a name?" he asks.

"Maxime. And you?"

"Stephan," he says.

"Who or what are you?" I ask. He does not answer. He stands before me, a modern woman. He is a man of another era. We are completely disconnected and have nothing in common. I find him compelling.

"I want to make love to you, the way you should be loved," he says.

I am hesitant- he is a ghost, it is unnatural- but I have no say in the matter. Before I can protest he reaches down and pulls the draw string holding his breeches fast. I notice the restrained bulge and gasp as he pushes the garment down to his thighs, revealing his swollen meaty manhood.

"It has been a long time," he tells me, "I have avoided human contact for over a century but I am irresistibly drawn to you... I have not been with a woman for even longer. I want you," he says as he moves forward to seize his quarry.

He slips his fingers into my wet wanton slit. I do not feel them enter and slide within me but my pussy tingles with an intense erotic buzz. He looks me straight in the eyes as he fondles me. Our eyes lock. He reaches down and lifts my left leg by the knee, hooking his arm below it. As he raises it, my cunt spreads and my pink folds are his. He raises my other knee and holds both over the crooks of his elbows so I am raised and available. His hands cup my ass, supporting my weight. He levels his cock to my lips and thrusts forward, impaling me. I do not feel his entry. Spreading lips and walls tells me something has penetrated me and I gasp but I do not feel his cock inside me. His hips sway with unmitigated audacity as he hammers away at me. The buzzing in my pussy grows stronger. My thighs and hips shake as he pounds at my flesh, meting out his desires. I feel my ass open and then widen as a finger plunges deep. Both erogenous zone are filled and humming and I tell myself this is surreal, unreal and feels all too good to be true.

My body tingles from head to toe and all places in between. I quip. He pauses and then thrusts hard rocketing into me and holds himself deep. I moan, "Oh, yes." He thrusts again, pushing himself against my body, pinning me to the post. I am panting with desire. He withdraws and then swiftly impales me again and I cry out in pleasure as we fence.

Holding himself deep within me, he leans his head forward, pressing it against my forehead, "Mon Cherie, I want you," he growls.

"Then have me," I tell my hungry deprived lover in a warbled voice, "Fuck me harder." My thighs quiver as I lust for his power. I beg for him to cum. He forcefully sinks it into my wet spread flower, stabbing at my delicate petals and seizes, defiling my tender rose. I can't feel his release but I can see it in his face. His form shakes and a sudden heat wells within me. I cry out his name and am tossed into a sudden overwhelming heavenly climax as he takes me, the kind of climax I have never felt- deep, moving and otherworldly. My tender pink flesh releases all the tensions within me and I do not care that my lover is an apparition.

"That is how it should be," he says as he withdraws and places my feet on the ground.

"Yes," I say as I pant, still reeling from the incredible orgasm as the sweat runs down between my breasts.

As he fastens his pants he says, "I died in battle, here, on this farm... My travels are limited to the general area... Where do you live?"

"Two towns over, a mile from the border, the old Mill house on Tawney's creek," I tell him.

"My time tonight is short, the sun rises soon. I must go... I could pleasure you like that all night. There is no recovery time for those who are heaven sent... it is the reward for living a good life. I will come to you when the moon is next full. We will make love. Adieu," he says as he recedes into the wall, leaving me to my thoughts in an almost dark room.

I am fascinated by him and try to understand what transpired. Then it dawns on me that my juices have run thick down my thigh. When he returns, Master will be enraged that I released without permission. I do not care except for the fact he will tease me to the edge and spank my ass into a deep punishing painful red. Suddenly, the fireplace roars and a warm draft circles the room. In a few minutes the air dries me, leaving no trace of my pleasure. I realize I now have one who looks over me.

The draft subsides, the fireplace dulls and the room is dark again. I do not care that I am alone. All I can think about is the next time we will meet, how I will lay in bed on my back, spread my thighs and he will lay between them, and pleasure me all the night long...