In this bit, everyone wants Rosalind’s snatch! Princess Mary, the Duke, the Marechal, the Prince, the Chevalier, are all plotting or pouting about her golden cooter. To stir the pot, something is wrong and she won’t come for her husband. Now she has the Duke’s proposed marriage to Queen Elizabeth to worry about. I don’t remember what she’s ticked off about.


Warning: Too many characters

Henri Gervex [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Rosalind had been cold to her husband and the Chevalier since that night. The two men consulted one another, and decided it was best to be patient with her. Until the time she became sociable again, they continued with their private experiments. Locking the doors of the parlor, the Prince would take the Chevalier’s sex in his mouth, suckling his seed from him. The Chevalier then stripped off his breeches, allowing the Prince to do to him what he would.

While her husband and lover kept each other warm, Duke was only able to gaze upon Rosalind and waste.

Princess Mary’s eyes always lingered on her wrist, looking for the bracelet she had given her.  Even her two lovers, Monsieur d’Anville and Anne, could not cheer that gloomy woman.

The only one who enjoyed his relationship with Rosalind was the Marechal. Using familiar techniques, he stoked the flame of friendship within her until it was large enough to warm his hands.

They did not meet privately again, as their tryst upon his return had caused quite the scandal. Diana demanded an explanation from him. She laughed as the Marechal had stuttered and blushed, giving an account of their time together. She had approved of his handling of Rosalind and their correspondence. She offered him advice for guiding the girl, and recommended he keep the Duke from her, and the Chevalier as well.

Rosalind was uneasy. Her husband lost interest in her once it became clear that one night had been a fluke. Every attempt he made to coax her to orgasm failed. More often than not she simply turned him out of her room.

One night as she lay in her bed reading, someone knocked on her door. Without waiting for a reply the Prince and Chevalier entered, wearing masks and cloaks as if for Carnival.

“What do you want?” she asked. The way they stood looking at her made her nervous. “I know who you are. The Prince de Cleves is in a bear mask, and the Chevalier de Guise has chosen a dog.”

They dropped to their knees, and growling, crawled to the bed on all fours. She did not know what to do when they jumped onto the bed, and began nuzzling her until she smiled.

“Stop it. I’m not playing games with you two.”

They did not listen, but instead flipped their masks up and pretended to gnaw on her. They were both snorting and snuffling into her sides, and in spite of herself, she began to laugh. She could see their arousal, and she began to grow warm too. They did not touch her breasts or sex or ass. Their tongues traveled her throat, her ears, her shoulders, until she reached out to touch them.

A soft rustle of cloth, and their breeches fell to the floor. They left on their masks, hiding their faces when they were not tasting her. The Chevalier rubbed his sex on her thigh, and she quickly moved beneath him. He rubbed himself against her flushed petals, and took her.

The Prince was crouching behind the Chevalier, caressing his anus and testicles as he labored over his wife. Rosalind and the Chevalier came together, and when he finished the Prince took his place.

He was about to slide himself into his wife when he saw her eyes fixed on the wall in a blank stare. Taking off his mask, he covered her in kisses. He looked at the Chevalier, and he joined him, stroking and caressing Rosalind, her slender limbs, the fullness of her hips and breasts. They started to nip at her, gently, and then harder. She squirmed beneath them and with a moan her teeth found the Chevalier’s neck, her husband’s ear.

The Prince pounced on her, his sex darting inside her. She held him, panting into his shoulder while the Chevalier watched. This night, when they traded her back and forth, she reached out to touch the man who rested. The Prince’s blue eyes were fixed on her mouth as the Chevalier ran the head of his sex back and forth, in and out, her pink cheeks swelling with the length of him. When it was the Chevalier’s turn, the Prince placed his phallus against her lips, and swelled as he thought of her tasting the Chevalier’s sperm.

They fell asleep together, the Princess nestled between the two men. The next morning the Chevalier was gone, having slipped away in the middle of the night, taking the masks and cloaks with him.

The Prince and Princess smiled at each other than morning as they ate their breakfast.

“I heard the Princess Mary wishes to have another private audience with you,” the Prince teased, smiling as she blushed.

“I do not think I will be able to accommodate her,” Rosalind said. She hoped she had not been foolish last night. It could have simply been a ruse to seduce her, although it had not felt like that to her. The way they touched her, it was like they were apologizing for their crude behavior during her first seduction.

The Prince reached across the table to take her hand. “What is troubling you?”

“Why…why did you come visit me last night?” she asked.

“I felt bad about the way things were between us,” he said. “I thought maybe if I could make you laugh, you would be happier. I cannot take credit for the idea,” the Prince said.

“That does not surprise me,” she said. “What will you and the Chevalier be doing today?”

“We were going to, we have a meeting this morning. We are free in the afternoon. Would you like play tennis with us?”

Rosalind smiled. “Thank you, maybe after my walk with the Marechal.”

At the mention of his name, the Prince frowned. They said very little after that, and parted at court, kissing one another’s cheek.

The Prince and the Chevalier gossiped. Rosalind was in love, and the only candidates were the Marechal and the Duke. The Duke repulsed her, no doubt because of the man’s reputation of womanizing, while the Marechal she favored with her time every day at court. They would have followed the pair, but of all the courtiers, the Marechal was shrewd enough to detect them.

The Duke was eavesdropping on the pair, and found himself inclined to agree with their assessment. Rosalind would never give her heart to a man as faithless as him. If only the Duke could see the flash of jealousy in her eyes as the court discussed the English Queen Elizabeth.

Princess Mary had a portrait fetched to show Rosalind, and the handsome Queen displeased her. “I have never seen a portrait of a Queen that was not beautiful. This artist flatters very well,” Rosalind quipped.

Mary grinned. Rosalind had been vexing her, and she could not resist the temptation to repay the favor. “No, it is said this Queen is quite beautiful. Both her and her sister Mary were in love Lord Courtenay, but Mary knew she held no charms besides the vivacious Elizabeth. Her mother, Anne Boleyn, was raised in the French court, and was said to be a woman of great wit and charm.” Mary was pleased to see the young woman frowning. Later, in Anne’s bosom, she repented her cruelty.

A note on 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, like way too many flipping characters, and I trimmed them bitches. I hope you enjoyed it!