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Boucher [Public Domain] via WikiPaintings

 18+, Nonconsensual/dubious consent. All characters depicted over 18.


“How provincial…”

A phrase lipped with a sneer that described my whole life, until she walked down the aisle at Mass. From the corner of my eyes, a flash of silver and yellow ribbons filled the dull church. The Comtesse des Barres—her very name sends shivers down my spine. I mouthed the “Amens” like dust and knelt and rose through the ceremony like a dumb beast. All I wanted to do was drink the new Parisian beauty with my eyes and I stared at her back as she spoke with the General’s wife.

I searched everywhere for information about the woman, pestering the servants, bothering my mother, until I learned those three magical words, Comtesse des Barres. After that, it was a matter of waiting for an invitation. My mother, the Marquise de le Grise, and I, were always invited to the General’s.

I put on my best dress, expecting her there. I was not disappointed. Her tall lithe form commanded the room, diamonds glittering in her hair and patches prancing about her face.

My heart thrilled at having her close, at being able to gaze upon her. When she approached me, all I was able to do was put on a pleasant expression.

“Mademoiselle de la Grise, I hope you do not find me forward, but too much of your bosom shows. Not that it is not a delightful bosom, white as snow, soft as goose down.” Her eyes drifted to the subject, her lips curling in a voluptuous smile.

That expanse of skin flushed red as she adjusted my linen collar.

“Thank you, Comtesse des Barres,” I stammered.

My mother smiled and took my hand. “Yes, thank you Comtesse.” She knew we lived in the backwaters of France, and were glittering bird like the Comtesse to become my patron, it would help me make much of my supposed beauty.

“Her hair is not dressed to her advantage either,” the Comtesse continued. She made me sit in her lap to arrange my hair. The scent of rose swirled around me as she moved, her diamonds throwing off little sparks of light. Each time her finger brushed my cheek, my heartbeat sped.

My mother clapped her hands in delight. “You were quite right Comtesse. Her hair looks almost as splendid as your own.”

“My woman, Madame Bouju, could teach her how to arrange her hair,” the Comtesse said, her elegant hands on my shoulders. She turned me toward her and kissed me. So many strange feelings rose in me at the feel of her lips against mine. I started when she spoke. “I will send her to you.”

“Nonsense,” the Abbe interjected, “you should not deprive yourself of your servant.”

My mother’s smile only faded for a moment before curling her lips again. “Why, it would not be necessary. I will send my daughter to you.”

The Comtesse caught my chin in her long fingers and took another kiss, this one lingering on my lips. “What a delightful idea.”

The night after that is a blur to me. I remember many wet warm kisses from the Comtesse and how they seemed to touch places of me that I didn’t know I had. Unable to contain my joy the next morning as we packed, I plagued the servants and pestered my mother.

I sent my maids running for ribbons and bagatelles. From my mother I wheedled the loan of half the family jewels.

The ride in the carriage was a veritable party, with the General’s whole family, the Abbe, the Cure. We surprised the Comtesse in a her pink dressing gown, white ribbon coronets in her hair, without a single patch to be seen. She greeted us as though she wore the finest velvets with a gracious curtsey. “Mesdames, now you have seen all my fashions.”

The Abbe took in her state of undress, and commented, “In my youth, I would prefer the shepherdess to the princess.” His words were accompanied with a lewd wink.

Everyone laughed, and the Comtesse kissed his cheek.

We were given rooms to wash and after that joined the Comtesse for refreshments downstairs. While we ate, Madame Bouju entered and tutted at my hair. “Yes,” she said, “this is badly done. Do not worry Madame de la Grise, by the time we are done with your daughter, people will think you have sent to Paris for a hairdresser.”

My mother smiled and thanked her. All I was aware of was the soft eyes of the Comtesse fixed on me. She sat beside me, and with both my hands caught in hers, she kissed me.

I’m not sure why, but I was impatient for the night to end. The Comtesse seemed anxious as well. The fine courtier she was, she hid it well, but I could see her mouth tighten as glasses were filled, toasts proposed, and old yarns unwound. Somehow, it ended, and we were at the door waving goodnight.

Madame Bouju dressed me for the night and showed me to the bed so I was by the petite ruelle. A moment later the Comtesse joined me in her gleaming white chemise, her eyes fever bright.

“Come here,” she said, lifting the sheets around her.

I pressed my body against hers and she caught my lower lip between hers. Her skin was hot through the thin fabric of our night clothes. I wound my arm around her neck, but instead she took one hand and pressed it to her flat chest with its slight swell of bosom.

A strange heat pooled between my legs. The Comtesse must have approved, for she coaxed it to burn brighter, her hands trailing down my back to cup my bottom, part my thigh. I rubbed against her leg, and the movements of her body spurned me on.

The Comtesse pulled away, and said in a low voice, “What a lovely mouth you have Agnes, and the swell of your breasts enchants me. May I see them?” As she spoke, she rolled me so I lay trapped between her arms, her body over mine.

Heat flooded my cheeks at her tender compliments, and with shaking hands I tugged loose the ribbon on my chemise. With a happy sigh, the Comtesse stroked my bosom, sending sparks through me as she touched their tips. I thought of her diamonds, the soft press of her lips against mine.

She shifted and I found her solid hipbone grinding into the juncture between my legs. The heat roiled in my core. Her mouth touched the soft skin of my bosoms and I couldn’t breathe. My hands clutched her clothes, her hot wet mouth closed over the bud of my breast, and I moaned.

“Come, my darling,” she said, and suckled on my bosom.

My body froze and gripped, my heart stopped, and pleasure exploded in me. The Comtesse smothered my cries with her kisses. Placing me in front of her, she pulled me back to her body, her hand nestled in my bosom. I fell asleep with her hips gently rocking against my bottom.

The next day I was distracted. I thought only of the night, when I would lay beside the Comtesse once again. I did my best to focus on my lessons, but I did poorly. The Comtesse was indulgent, soothing me with kisses and caresses.

We began again, as the night before, but her kisses became wild. Her tongue dipped into my mouth and danced. My hips bucked into her as she pulled at the hard points of my nipples beneath my chemise.

She lay above me above me and parted my legs with her knees. I stared as she drew my chemise over my waist. Taking my breast in her mouth again, all thoughts fled as her hot tongue lashed my nipple.

To the familiar heat between my legs, something new was added, like a firm rod covered in silk.

The Comtesse held my gaze for a moment before she bent down to give me a tender kiss, her lips lightly brushing over mine. It was like she was trying to tell me something important.

A moment later, her hands seized my shoulders in a strong grip and pain pierced the heat. Shocked, I opened my eyes to see the Comtesse straining about me, her mouth pulled down in a grimace.

I bore it a moment longer before I tried to push her off. “Madame, I don’t know what you’re doing, but it hurts.”

“Hush darling,” she said and tried to kiss me.

I twisted in her arms, but her grip was firm and she kept moving between my legs, thrusting into my gut inch by painful inch. Hot tears stung my eyes and the Comtesse drank them. So busy was she lapping at my cheeks, she did nothing to stifle my cries.

Madame Bouju peeked past the curtain and I felt shame at being caught in such an intimate embrace with the Comtesse. “Is all well?” she asked, a smirk on her wrinkled old lips.

“It was just a cramp Madame,” I mumbled. I winced as the Comtesse’s fingers dug into my shoulder.

“The pain will pass in a minute Mademoiselle, and then you will be pleased,” Bouju said before she disappeared.

I repeated the words in my head as the Comtesse started again, and there was pleasure after I had borne the pain. The Comtesse released her grip and I clung to her. A heat coiled where our bodies joined.

“Do you love me my darling?” the Comtesse asked, my nipple tweaked between her thumb and forefinger. Each word was punctuated with a thrust of her hips.

“I love you,” I said. She forced the breath from me with each jolt of her body. “And you will always love me?”

She did not answer, only kissed me some more with her greedy lips. The pressure in my belly built and finally released in a wave. The Comtesse moaned. She left me empty as the pleasure washed over me, and a hot liquid coated my stomach.

After she wiped me off, she kissed me and told me how beautiful I was. I fell asleep to her tender whispers.


And thus concludes the seduction of Mademoiselle de la Grise. Don’t fret, there’s more to the tale.

Dressed as a woman, the Abbe de Choisy often seduced women. In The Transvestite Memoirs, he tells of his affair with a young noblewoman, Mademoiselle de la Grise. At twenty years old, she is so sheltered she doesn’t realize the Comtesse des Barres (as the Abbe went by) is really a man. For the full story, see pages 71-96. Needless to say, liberties have been taken with the tale.