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Another bit of my abandoned NaNo novel. In this scene, Rosalind has arranged to meet her lover, the Duke. They agreed that she would hang a white handkerchief in her window if the coast was clear. Her plans are interrupted when her husband, the Prince, and the Chevalier, want to play.


Warning: Head hopping

By Gaston Bussiere [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Chevalier and the Prince were standing before Rosalind’s door. When she let them in, the Prince pushed her onto the bed. The Chevalier knelt at her feet, taking off her boots, and caressed her thighs as he removed her stockings. The Prince teased the head of his sex against her mouth, stroking her face. The Chevalier finished, and they rolled her over. Together undid the back of her dress, their hands touching as they unlaced her corset. Taking her in his arms, the Prince stood her up, and the Chevalier pulled at her clothes so they pooled at her feet. Together they lifted her onto the bed and now she was pinned between them.

She could feel them, touching each other over her. They had removed their boots and jackets, but they wanted to torment her, rubbing themselves against her. Everyone’s skin was tingling with anticipation. The Chevalier lay in front of the Princess, sucking her nipple as he cupped her pubic mound.

It was strange, but after she blossomed under the Duke’s touch, he loved her again with the same feverish passion he’d first felt. As he touched her sex, he thought of the Duke touching her, and knew she thought of the same thing. He gripped her buttocks, pulling her groin against his, then felt the silky head of the Prince’s phallus. He ground his hard sex into her pubic mound as the Prince took her from behind. Freeing himself from his breeches, the Chevalier rubbed himself against their joined bodies. Lifting one leg, Rosalind was able to reach down and stroke him, but soon she was only holding onto him as her body jerked with the Prince’s thrusts. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth open, and gave a little gasps at each thrust.

They came together, one shuddering mass of sticky, slick flesh. The men smothered Rosalind in the afterglow of their ardor, touching her and thinking of each other. She squirmed in their arms, hoping they would go soon, allowing the Duke to come to her.

In a few minutes they left, and she washed herself as best she could in the basin. There was the sour smell of sweat on her skin, so she sprinkled herself with the fragrance of roses. With a shock she realized she had forgotten to put the handkerchief in the window. Her fingers trembled as she affixed the white silk to the casement. She left a single candle lit, the one by her bed, and she drowsed while she waited for the Duke.

When a face appeared outside her window she almost shrieked. She doubted she would ever become accustomed to her lovers appearing from out of dark corners.

Outside in the hall, her husband and the Chevalier stirred, sensing her excitement. It had occurred the Chevalier that the Duke may be too sophisticated to sneak about the halls, and may climb in through the window. Seeing a dark shadow standing over Rosalind, he motioned the Prince over. They both held their breath, waiting for the man’s face to be revealed in the flickering candlelight.

It was the Duke; they saw his features clearly as he bent down to take Rosalind’s face in his hands, lifting it for a kiss. Her chemise fell from one shoulder, and the men moved closer to each other. It was strange, but they were more excited by that careless exposure than they were by the games they played with her. Her pale hands were playing in the Duke’s hair, her arms reaching up to loop around his neck. The men outside shook, and reached for one another’s hands. She lay back on the bed and the Duke hovered over her, stroking her cheek, her neck, her collarbone.

He wanted to savor her. It was the dead of the night, the doors and windows were locked, and the Prince slept soundly. She would be his. He’d remove the trace, the memory, of the other men from her skin. His mouth pressed against hers, his tongue writhed inside her mouth. He drew her full lower lip between his teeth, and as he sucked on it she moaned. She pulled his jacket off, and he rested his weight on top of her. Her hands moved under his shirt, traveling up his spine to embrace his shoulders.

His sex was rock hard against her thigh. Her whole body moved beneath him. She reached down to touch his sex, but he pulled her hands away. “No touching me, not yet.” Her hands caressed his face, and he turned his head to kiss them. She pulled up her skirt, one hand trailing up her thigh to nestle her fingers in her sex. “You can’t touch yourself either. Wait my love, wait.”

Rosalind frowned. She was drunk with love and wrapped him tight in her arms, pulling him down onto her chest. Gripping the back of his neck, she forced her tongue into his mouth as she rubbed her groin on him.

The Duke pulled back, gasping, trying to let his mind clear, trying to remember the plan he had made as crept to her room. He wanted to make her quiver and beg for him, but her soft lips were wet and hot on his throat. Gently she suckled and nipped at his skin, her warm breath sending shivers down his back.

He stood up, his heart in his mouth. He tore his clothes from his body, then he pulled off her chemise. Crouching at her feet, he kissed her calves, her thighs, his hands running up her legs to touch her hips. He pushed her knees apart, and rested his face before her sex. A pungent, but not unpleasant smell tickled his nostrils, and the dark curls of her sex were glossy with moisture. She rocked her hips from side to side as he touched her.

The temptation was too great, he could not forbear taking her into his mouth. He had never tasted a woman after she had been with another man before. It was strange, and it made him even harder. Her lips were full and flushed pink. She gripped his hair and pressed his face into her as she undulated her torso. He ran his tongue up and down the crease between her thighs, pinching her little bud with his fingers. She almost climaxed, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

He leapt on top of her and took her. There was no resistance as he slid himself into her. Her legs hooked around his waist as she arched her back. He could feel seed trickling from her sex as he moved in her. With his phallus, he would purge the Prince from her. Laying down over her, he buried his face in the nape of her neck, taking one of her hands in his. His other hand was working her nipple, rubbing it, massaging her breast. He was panting into her hair, but he wouldn’t let himself come.

“Roll over,” he told her. At first she just blinked at him. “Roll over Rosalind.” He touched her leg, and with his hands, he moved her. He pulled her to the edge of the bed and began licking her anus. She bucked underneath him, and he held her buttocks. He thrust his fingers inside while stroking her bud. She pushed back, forcing his tongue into her asshole while she cried out. Her climax was violent, and as she trembled he stood up and thrust himself into her.

He gripped her hips and jerked her body back into him as he surged forward. Her head was turned to the side. He could hear her soft moaning. Her sex was loose, but as he tapped the back of her womb she grew tighter. Soon, she clenched him so hard it hurt. This time, they would come together. There was a pulsing on his sex, his jaw clenched at the pain. A wave washed over Rosalind, and the Duke grunted as he climaxed. Her sex fluttered on him and pleasure radiated over their bodies.

He collapsed onto her, his chest heaving. He pushed her damp hair away from her neck to lick the sweat that glistened on her skin. He lapped at her back, her spine, and soon felt himself firm again.

Resting on his back, he made Rosalind lay over him, her face nestled between his ankles. He did not enter her, but instead rubbed himself against her slick sex. The head of his phallus pulsed against her bud, her legs twitching. She scrambled to her knees to gain some leverage and writhed against him. He touched her anus, the opening between her lips. Placing a finger inside her, he could feel her whole groin flexing as he touched her. He gripped her ass with one hand, moving it in circles, and gripped his head in the other, working his knuckle against her bud. He made them come again.

As the lovers rested from their labors, the men in the hall turned to one another and kissed. The Prince tried to withdraw, and the Chevalier touched his hand. When the Chevalier attempted to rise, the Prince pressed his head to Chevalier’s knees, until they were in each other’s arms again. Their eyes darted around, and the Chevalier pressed the Prince onto his belly. He worked his tongue into the Prince’s anus, drooling as the Prince fluttered against his mouth. With a few quick thrusts he worked himself into the Prince, his arms wrapped his thin shoulders. They were quiet, their gaze always moving. A few minutes of muffled breathing and rustling clothe, and they parted. They clung to one another for a moment before they scuttled away, each to his bed.

More about this text:
This is an erotic retelling of the Princess of Cleves, written by Mme. LaFayette, for NaNoWriMo. As you can tell by the snippet, while it’s a hot read, it also has some systematic problems. It gets a little dizzy, skipping around POVs. I hope you enjoyed it!