Spying on the Prince

Tags

Erotica, Free erotica, Free smut, Voyeurism

18+

Felicien Rops [Public Domain] via WikiPaintings

 

The Chevalier kept looking up and down the hall as he crouched outside the bedroom door. Yesterday he had hidden behind a tapestry in the Prince’s chambers, hung over an alcove where a statue had stood. Piled into a little nest were cushions, blankets, and a bottle of brandy. His cock had grown hard with the knowledge that the Prince wanted him to spy on his new bride. Each time the Prince turned to where the Chevalier hid, his dick became harder.

The Prince performed for him. He angled his wife so he could appreciate her milk skin, full breasts, and generous curves. First, the Prince pressed his mouth to her pussy, and the golden curls of his head blended with the Princess’ pubic hair. The Chevalier eased his cock from his breeches and just held it while he watched the Princess writhe. As he thought of the Prince’s soft tongue dipping in and out of the Princess, he started thrusting into his hand, quick little jerks. Raising his head from his wife’s sex, the Prince turned to the tapestry and licked his lips before thrusting his fingers inside of the Princess. This time when he bent his head to her, her legs kicked and he had to hold her hips still. A moan, an “Oh God”, a long indrawn breath, and the Princess came, her hips bucking up against the Prince’s mouth.

While she still twitched, he drove his cock into her. She lay beneath him, crying out, her limbs jerking, as if her husband’s dick were some demon spirit. The Chevalier worked his head as the bed started to thump. The Prince had his head turned to the side, his eyes narrowed to a slit, staring at the crack from which the Chevalier peeked. Pulling out, the Prince spilt his seed all over the Princess’ breasts. Her indignant cry hid the Chevalier’s moan. At the sight of the Prince’s hard dick spurting strings of cum in the air, the Chevalier’s balls had tightened and he had cum all over his own hand.

Now he listened to the moans and wet slaps coming from their chambers. The Princess’ hiccupping pants meant she was coming on her husband’s cock. The Chevalier could feel a wet stain growing on the front of his breeches. He heard the Prince grunt as he spent himself, and the Chevalier had to restrain himself from masturbating in the hall.

As soon as he heard the Prince speak of returning to Paris, he scurried off to a little parlor. The Prince would be resting after his exertions, and he could take his time here. Reaching into his breeches, he fondled his testicles. The door opened and his heart stopped—it was the Prince.

He carefully locked the door behind him, and the Chevalier grew harder under his blue gaze. Turning back to the fireplace, the Chevalier said, “Congratulations on your marriage.”

The Prince came to stand beside the him. He was surprised to see the Prince was also aroused. The Chevalier began rubbing the head of his dick.

“So you were watching?” the Prince said.

“I watched last night. Tonight I was listening outside the door.”

He moaned as the Prince reached into his breeches to withdraw his own hard cock. The Prince looked the Chevalier in the eye as he began to stroke himself.

The Chevalier was overcome, leaning his forearm against the mantle. The Prince looked down to see the Chevalier’s shaking hand gripping his cock.

“Do you like that I am watching you?” the Prince asked.

The Chevalier nodded.

“Will you watch me when you’re finished?”

“Nothing would please me more,” the Chevalier whispered. He pushed his breeches down his hips, exposing more of himself to the Prince.

“Would you like me to touch you?” the Prince asked, moving his hand closer to the Chevalier.

He jumped away and stammered, “No…no, but thank you.” He felt himself fail for a moment, but the Prince’s blushes and bright eyes restored him. His hand jerked over his cock. Instead of watching, someone was watching him, and it felt good. When he came, his toes cracked as they curled in his boots.

All the while, the Prince had been standing there, slowly caressing himself. The Chevalier looked at him and the Prince smiled. “Would you like to touch me?”

The Chevalier stepped closer, then reached out to touch the Prince’s lips.

The Prince kissed the Chevalier’s fingertips. A whiff of sage came from his skin. His whole body shook as he rubbed himself. The Chevalier ran his fingers through his silken locks. The Prince had his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he spent himself in the fireplace.

The Chevalier kissed the Prince’s cheek. Then, he tried to flee, but found the door locked. He stood there, sheepishly staring at his feet. When the Prince unlocked the door, he ran from the manor back to his home.

He lay on his bed, his chest heaving. It was the first time he had touched someone. He had always fled from the girls when he was younger. There was no way for him for him to explain to them that their caresses meant nothing. The only time he felt any excitement was when he nestled himself deep in a closet and watched them as they darned socks and chattered. His mother often caught him touching himself, and beat him every time, which did no good. He only discovered that risk heightened his excitement.

Now, with the Prince, he did not know what to do. He had wanted to let the Prince touch him, but he was afraid. He reached down to rub his anus, fantasizing it was the Prince’s fingers. He was surprised to find himself growing erect. For the first time in his life, he touched himself thinking about a person rather than watching one. He grunted, making a mess on his stomach.

The Prince and Rosalind wedded, the Marechal and the Duke circling like wolves, and the Chevalier to watch it all. It was going to be chaos, all these affairs. His joints would be aching from the hours he would spend folded up in closets, hiding.

Perhaps the Prince would join him again. If he did, the Chevalier promised himself that he would allow the Prince to touch him, even if it was only his cheek. Maybe one day, they could stand next to one another, and the Prince would make the Chevalier come in his hands, and then the Chevalier would return the favor.

The Marechal’s Chambers

Tags

Erotica, femdom, Free erotica, Free smut

Another hot little snippet!

18+

Tintoretto [Public Domain] via Wikipaintings

 

A step behind Rosalind was the Marechal. The entire court noticed how he was Rosalind’s shadow as she moved about the Louvre. He took her arm, and did his best to hide how her present state was affecting him, turning the bulge in his breeches away from her. The Duke had somehow gotten into her room, and he’d taken her. There was a subtle peace to her movements, a looseness, when normally she was tight and agitated. She had to pull her lips down in order to frown, instead of lifting them up in a hollow smile.

In his head, he pictured the Duke bending her over a table, pounding into her until every tension snapped and she came on his thick sex. All the Marechal wanted to do was throw himself in her path so she could trample on him. As he thought of it, he shivered, his sex painfully turgid. He turned to look at her, and she was staring back at him. She nodded, and he started. When she smiled at him, she showed her little teeth.

The Marechal wracked his brain for a place to take her, somewhere that would be empty, where they would not be seen. Two turns, and they would be at his chambers. If no one saw them, he could simply lock his door and tell her she must be quiet. Looking around, he saw not a soul, and he dragged her to a trot. Slamming the door behind them, he dropped his keys. He had to catch his breath before he was able to lock them in his room.

Rosalind flopped onto the Marechal’s bed. He crawled over to her, and began to kiss her feet, slipping them out of her shoes.

The smell of sex overwhelmed him as he began to move his mouth up her legs. She slid her groin closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs as he buried his face between her legs. Her lips were hot and swollen, and the Marechal licked them lightly. He flicked his tongue over the opening of her sex, consuming the liquid that oozed from her, the trace of her and the Duke’s love. He moaned, and she moaned, grinding against his face. He rubbed her asshole, and pressed his tongue inside her. She fluttered on his mouth and whimpered as she came.

He rubbed his cheek against her thigh. With his finger, he felt her little bud throb. She lifted up one foot, stuck it on his chest, and kicked him out from under her skirts.

The Marechal lay on his back, looking up at her, and wriggled. If he moved like a worm she would know that he wanted to be crushed like one. She rose, and prodded his leg with her toe. She did not put her little slippers back on, but instead stepped onto his thigh. The Marechal reached up to give her his hands, to help her balance, and she slapped them away. She carefully curled her foot over his femur, transferred her weight, then planted the ball of her other foot in his groin. He wanted to writhe against her foot, but instead peeked at her through his half closed eyes. There was a wicked smile on her face, and he almost came.

She shifted more of her weight onto his groin and he hissed when she placed her foot on his chest, crushing his balls. He reached up to touch her legs, and she released his testicles, then smashed her foot into his face. When she stuck her toes into his mouth, he nibbled at them. Giggling, she almost lost her balance and he grabbed her hips to steady her.

Rosalind felt silly then, locked away in the Marechal’s chamber, standing on him. The Marechal could read her thoughts in her wide uncertain eyes.

“What is it Rosalind? I know what’s put you in a good mood, but not why you’re frowning,” the Marechal said, seeing her expression change.

“There’s all that intrigue about the letter. The Duke is in the middle of it.”

“The Duke, it does not surprise me, that man is prone to intrigue. Surely only a very naive woman would fawn over such a cad.” The Marechal tried very hard not to smile as he spoke.

Her lips pulled down in a moue and she put her foot over his mouth. “You, you are not to speak. You are far too clever. I want you kneeling in front of me.” When she stepped off him he scrambled to his knees. “Is that your riding gear?”

The Marechal looked at her, and then at the pile of clothes in the corner, the handle of his riding crop peeking out. He licked his lips as his heart began to throb.

“Strip,” Rosalind commanded.

The Marechal was thrown into a state of confusion as he undressed. As soon as he revealed a patch of bare skin, Rosalind would trace his flesh with the crop’s leather tip. He blushed furiously under her eyes. Removing his breeches, she massaged his sex with the whip. When he tried to kiss her hands, she gripped his hair and pulled so he was down on all fours. She started to hit him lightly, against his shoulders and the meat of his buttocks, quick fiery stings. Growing bold, she hit him harder and he gasped. There were hot licks on his ribs, his thighs; she would reach down and pull his hair and rub his genitals with the crop. She beat him, each blow inflaming a previous mark, a fiery network crisscrossing his skin until he came.

The Marechal wept on Rosalind’s feet.

Composing himself, he dressed quickly and took her to the King’s court. The serenity with which Rosalind moved filled the Marechal with pride. He was her confidante, his body bore the marks of her inner fury. Each step agitated his tender skin, a delicious pain. He could not stay at court, but instead shut himself up in his chambers. Stripping off his clothes, he lay himself down on his cool sheets. He took Rosalind’s stocking from underneath his pillow and wrapped it around his turgid sex. Stroking himself, he dreamed of Rosalind pinned beneath the Duke. With a groan, he came all over the white silk.

About this text:

Rosalind/The Princess of Cleves is based on Mme. La Fayette’s classic novel The Princess of Cleves. I wrote it for nano, but ended up abandoning it after a couple of editing passes. Needless to say, I am tickled pink to find that it’s (okay, she, I call her Princess) is receiving a warm welcome at Literotica. Thanks to all readers and writers who make that place great! You can find the first four chapters here.

The Knight’s Lover

Tags

Free erotica, Free smut, gay

I put together a few snippets for a publication (more on that later) and this was one of them. It has the Chevalier de Guise (I mean Knight) kissing and making up with the Prince de Cleves (I mean Count). I redid this portion in first person. Of the pieces I submitted, it was my favorite, because I love the Chevalier! It’s a tie between him and the Marechal for my favorite character.

 

Warning 18+, Anglo-Saxon titles!

Albrecht Durer [Public Domain] via WikiPaintings

 

After the King’s death, I was kept busy with my family’s political machinations. The entire court believed the Knight of Guise had been written off as weak and left to his own devices. I, the Knight of Guise, had never been given reason to doubt this, until the Duke of Guise told me how useful spies are. It was decided I would be allowed to develop naturally into a voyeur, he explained. Then he handed me a list of times and places. Black ink for where I was to spy, and red ink for where I was to report.

Even though my spying was of vital importance to my family’s fortune, I couldn’t focus on it. The Count of Cleves was mad at his wife, thinking she’d spread the rumors of his impotence, something which she and I both knew was a lie. Caught between them, I thought it best to allow the Count to calm himself and reconnect with his wife. If things became desperate, I would intervene on the Countess’ behalf.

I continued to see her, though we were no longer lovers. It disturbed me how strained her relationship with the Count had become. He had such bile for his wife, even speaking with her, it felt like I was betraying him.

Not that he had much love for me these days. The man had been sulky and intractable, half the time locking his door and feigning sleep when I visited him. I was determined to speak with him before the chaos of the court’s journey to Chambort.

Much to the Duke’s displeasure, I told him I was unavailable after 9 tonight. If I wasn’t so useful, there would have been a row. They needed me, I’d been cooperative, and so I was given the night off. I spent my first hour sniffing around the Cleves’ quarters. The Countess was shut up in her rooms crying, and from the Count’s chamber came an unnatural stillness.

I scratched at the door, but my lover would not deign to hear me. I scratched again, then tried the door. It was locked. “Stubborn man,” I muttered, taking my key from my pocket. Surely the Count realized I’d made a copy. Opening the door, I expected the Count to say something, but he lay motionless in his bed.

When I touched his shoulder, he remained limp. My heart juddered in my chest, and I pressed his body, searching for signs of life.

“Wretched man, can’t you see I don’t want you,” the Count said.

His words cracked open the dam to release all the misery of these past weeks and I began to wail. The Count touched me, trying to embrace me as I crouched over his prone form. I knew what he wanted, that we not be discovered, and I stuffed my wrist in my mouth. The Count was making soothing sounds, but I couldn’t understand him over the blood pounding in my ears and the keening that continued in my head.

Something wet touched my cheek, and it was not my tears. I turned to see the Count’s pink and cream face hovering close to mine. Our lips met, and it had been an eternity since he kissed me like that.

“I’m sorry. It’s stupid of me to be jealous of you and my wife. After I instigated the affair, I can hardly be cross if you share her bed.” He pulled back the covers of his bed, and I could see him trembling in his nightshirt.

He kept talking about court intrigue and nonsense as I caressed his thighs, slowly revealing more and more of his velvet skin. Just as my tongue reached out to touch his sex, the Count stopped me. “No, please, before you touch me, tell me that you love me, that you forgive me for my jealousy.”

“I haven’t touched your wife since you quarreled with her. In all honesty, even talking to her feels like a betrayal.” I took his hand. “I love you, and I forgive you. Now that my family is in power, and they need me, I shall bedeck you in riches and honors, and you will be a king in everything but name.”

We kissed, and his tongue wreathed around mine. I could feel the seams of his clothing as we pressed our bodies together. “I don’t want those things, I just want you, and I don’t want to have to share you.”

The anger, the need, in the Count’s voice startled me. The man I’d first met wasn’t capable of such fire, but it seemed the gossip and rumors of court had finally cracked the Count’s sweet and noble spirit. It only made me love him more, and want to protect him. If I put it in the Countess’ head to run off with someone, I and the Count could live in peace.

I made these plans as I made love to him. I took his sex into my mouth, thrusting it deep in my throat until I gagged and the saliva streamed from my lips. I’d feel hoarse tomorrow, and every time I spoke I’d think of the Count’s soft moans, his hand clutching the back of my head as he thrust his hips upward. With one hand, I stroked his shaft, twisting my wrist as I worked my fingers up and down. My other hand I used to loosen his anus, preparing him for my sex.

My phallus ached as I thought about taking him. I moaned and worked my mouth on the Count with greater ferocity. His sex surged in my mouth, and I tasted his seed as it flowed down my throat.

It was while he lay in the afterglow of an orgasm that I liked to make love to him. I rubbed the tip of my sex against his anus, and his limbs spasmed. He feebly batted me away as I milked his soft phallus, rubbing the drops of dew I coaxed from it onto my own sex.

He hissed as I slid myself in, slowly, gently, until he arched his back allowing me to sheath my entire length in him. He gripped my hip, urging me to a hard and rapid rhythm. His phallus grew turgid and pressed uncomfortably into me. With his head was thrown back, his mouth stretched open in a grotesque contortion, he came.

As he came the second time, his anus clutched me so tightly I gasped in pain. I grunted as I spurted inside the Count. He wrapped his arms around me, undulating his hips to move me inside his body until I slipped out in a hot wash of seed.

We fell asleep in one another’s arms, filthy, exhausted. When we woke from our first sleep, we found we had become stuck together. It was difficult to conceal our laughter as we cleansed ourselves. After that I crept home to my own bed, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly.

About this text:

This is yet another snippet from Rosalind, only redone to submit to an anthology. I published the first chapter on Literotica, and as the response was positive, I pulled my submissions in order to publish it there in it’s entirety. Pop on over, and find out how this weird love triangle really began!

Also, I’d like to note I veered from the plot from the original novel for the Chevalier. He should have died in the middle, but I didn’t want that, he deserved some happiness, right?

Rosalind Snippet 9.1

Tags

Free erotica, Free smut

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.

18+

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!

Rosalind Snippet 11.5

Tags

Erotica, Free erotica, Free smut

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.

18+

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!

Rosalind Snippet, 8.2

Tags

Free erotica, Free smut

This is a hot little excerpt from the now abandoned Rosalind. In this portion, Princess Mary has discovered that Rosalind does not love her husband, but rather the Duke de Nemours. She uses this secret to blackmail Rosalind into fooling around with her. Rosalind’s husband, the Prince, also has a few secrets.

18+

François Boucher [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Prince spent his mornings in court, and Rosalind accompanied him. Princess Mary had summoned Rosalind to her inner chambers. Rosalind wore the jewels given to her by Diana. She hoped there was an implication that she was now under the protection of the King’s Mistress, and not to be blackmailed. Even better would be to find others assembled there, but she doubted her luck was so good.

She found Mary alone and artfully undressed. She could have been posing for a portrait dishabille, but she was posing for Rosalind. Mary did not speak, but instead motioned for Rosalind to seat herself on her lap. Rosalind’s voice was stuck in her throat, and she settled herself numbly in Mary’s arms. She took Rosalind’s hand and pressed it against her bosom.

“You are so pretty when you blush,” she said, then kissed Rosalind. “Let me help you remove that gown.” Mary twisted Rosalind’s shoulders so she could unlace her dress. She pulled it back from the Rosalind’s chest, and the young woman stood up, clutching her gown to her.

“These are not kisses, your Highness,” she said.

“Those jewels Diana gave you are lovely. Why don’t we make this our last meeting? Indulge me now, and I will never trouble you again,” Mary said.

Rosalind unfastened her panniers, and her gown fell to the ground. She sat on Mary’s knee. The scent of rose mingled with lavender.

Mary pulled Rosalind’s chemise down to lick where her breasts swelled over her corset. When she kissed Rosalind, it was all tongue and spit. “Kiss me, fondle my breasts,” Mary commanded her.

Rosalind suckled on Mary’s bottom lip and pinched her nipples through her chemise. Mary reached down to pull up Rosalind’s petticoats, and rudely took her sex. She was using four fingers penetrate her, and her thumb to work her little bud.

Rosalind threw her arms around Mary’s neck, too overcome to remember her instructions. Mary stuck two of her fingers in her mouth, and then worked them into Rosalind’s anus. With her two hands working together inside Rosalind, Mary made her come and come again, her hips undulating.
When Rosalind started to push Mary away she was still. She very slowly removed her fingers as Rosalind twitched.

Mary helped her to stand in a minute, and led her to a couch. She washed her hands, then brought Rosalind a little wine to revive her. As she rested, Mary stroked her hair.

Rosalind drank, and as her mind became clear, she was troubled by the fact that the Princess Mary had accomplished something her husband had not. She did not know why, but making love with him was different now; she could not climax. There were so many secrets between them, she could not fully give herself to him, and only him it would seem.

Mary was assiduous in aiding Rosalind to dress. Before she left, Mary gave her a gift, a glittering diamond bracelet. Rosalind blushed, and protested, but she prevailed upon Rosalind to at least try it on, if only to please her.

She acquiesced, and when she wished for it to be taken off, Mary refused. Rosalind became angry, as she could not get the bracelet off herself. Mary kissed her, and told Rosalind she was always welcome to visit her private chambers.

Mary had caught rumors of Diana’s gift, and she thought there must be an affair. She thought her trinket might woo the young girl’s favor. Sticking her fingers in her mouth, she sucked off the traces of Rosalind left on her skin. She retired to her room to fantasize about Rosalind, and play her pretty little Anne. When d’Anville came to visit her later, he would find her well prepared for their tryst.

Rosalind could not even begin to fathom the meaning of the diamond bracelet. She found a bower in a dark corner of the garden where she thought about her position. The Duke would seek her out if she remained at court. The Princess Mary would also be here to tempt her with a lust so pure she felt like Mary was still touching her, and she became wet again. She was not surprised when the Chevalier de Guise joined her after an hour. He sat beside her with a troubled frown.

He fidgeted in his seat for a minute before he spoke. “I do not mean to accuse you, but, there is a certain odor which lingers on you, so strangely like the odor of love. Were your husband to meet you now, he would think Princess Mary had taken you for a lover.”

Rosalind became angry. “What are you…”

The Chevalier took her hand to soothe her. “You mistake my intent Rosalind. I want nothing from you, and I say these things to you as your friend.” He saw that she was no longer angry. “Come, there is a little brook close to here, and I have a little scent in my pocket.” He led her to an abandoned corner of the garden which contained a thin ribbon of water flowing through it.

He was handing Rosalind his handkerchief and sage cologne when they both realized that she would have to undress to wash herself. The two blushed, then laughed.

“I hate to ask this of you, Chevalier, but I am afraid I need your help.” Rosalind gathered the front of her skirt in her arms, and hid her face in petticoats.

The Chevalier knelt at her feet, stunned. The sight of her, red and swollen from love and smelling of lust inflamed him. For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman as a man should. “Oh Princess, I do not know if I can do this thing you ask of me. The sight of you makes me dizzy, I shall dishonor you.”

Rosalind craned her neck to try and see the Chevalier. She stepped back as he stood. He was holding his sex in his hand, and reaching for hers. “Chevalier, I…”

He froze. “I heard you, I heard you come for Princess Mary, and I want to see if you will come for me. Don’t you want to know, Rosalind, if it is only your husband who cannot bring you to a climax?”

Everyone was eager to know the answer to that question, including the Prince who was watching from the shadows. The Chevalier had arranged this for him after they spied on Mary with Rosalind. When the Prince realized what was happening, that Mary was blackmailing Rosalind for the keeping of some secret, the Prince pitied his wife. It was the first time he had thought about what it must be like for her, caught up in the intrigues of the court.

When the Chevalier had suggested this, that the Prince watch the seduction of his wife, he had agreed to it in part because it would ease his conscience. He had certainly sinned against his wife, in a myriad of ways, with his friendship with the Chevalier. Should she be unfaithful, in a situation with no coercion, she will have sinned against him too. He hoped the Chevalier succeeded, and tonight when he made love to her, he would think of Mary and Chevalier enjoying his wife.

Rosalind stood in the clearing, the very tip of the Chevalier’s finger on her sex. There was something strange, something about the look in eye the Chevalier’s eye that she recognized. It was the same gleam she saw when she caught him and her husband talking to one another in whispers with their cheeks all ruddy. They would stop as though she were interrupting some conspiracy, and she understood, that conspiracy was her.

The Chevalier’s eyes kept flicking to one dark corner, and no doubt the Prince hid there. She could feel his sharp blue eyes on her. It was as though she had her husband’s blessing, and she leaned forward, the Chevalier’s finger sliding between her lips.

“Is that a yes?” the Chevalier asked, and she nodded. His clumsy fingers began to pry at her tender sex. She was glad when he began to rub the head of his phallus against her. “Shall I make love to you?”

“Yes, I want you to make me come,” she said, caressing his sex. She wondered what effect her words had on her husband. The Chevalier tried to enter her as she stood in front of him. “It might be easier from behind,” she said. She positioned herself on her knees so her husband would have a good view of them.

The Chevalier was trembling as he knelt behind her. He pulled her buttocks back against him, and she had to position him so the tip of his phallus entered her. He took her hips and slowly sank his sex into her. He felt his entire phallus caressed, and he stayed like that for a moment, feeling the warm satin of her womb. When he started to move, it was in quick short strokes, which soon became him withdrawing from her sex then pounding his entire length into her. He would have come then and there had he not already touched himself twice today.

Rosalind kept glancing to where she thought her husband hid. The Chevalier’s artless vigor soon put out all other thoughts from her mind, and she climaxed. As he felt her womb grip him, the Chevalier came too. He had never imagined how exquisite the sensation of his own seed spilling back over his phallus could be. Rosalind’s womb was slick, and as he pulled out, he stared at his sex as though it had gained some magical property.

“I will really need your help in cleaning myself now,” she said.

The Chevalier recalled himself, and he wiped her, and scented her pale thighs. The Prince wanted to run to them, push the Chevalier away, and take her in the dirt. He wanted to feel the Chevalier’s seed leaking from his wife’s sex as he took her. They would have to retire from the court soon: he would be sick with desire until they did.

More about the text:
This was an erotic retelling of the Princess of Cleves by LaFayette. Ultimately, because it was a NaNoWriMo novel, it ended up getting pretty tangled. Add a large cast and court intrigue to it, and the text became unwieldy, so I’ll be sharing snippets with you! Maybe next NaNoWriMo, I’ll actually make and outline and try it again.