Invitation to Ruin (10 page)

“Please, Christophe,” I went on my hands and
knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.

He grimaced, then grabbed my wrist and
dragged me toward the next room. “If I must bear your mouth, at
least I can get something out of it!”

He flung himself down on the couch, me on my
knees, naked in front of him. Beside us, the window’s curtains were
pulled wide, letting in the afternoon sun. He lifted his hips and
stripped his pants away and then picked up a sketchpad and
charcoal.

Vaguely, he gestured at his cock.

I looked at the window positioned so close to
the street. “Someone will see us…”

“The hedge is too high for them to see you on
the floor and I need the light,” he responded with a flat
take-it-or-leave-it tone.

And I took it.

In its unexcited state, I could just fit my
mouth around the fist-like head. I released him, running my tongue
over the tip and shaft before taking him between my lips again. But
he was growing so hard I found the lubrication too little to allow
me to work his girth and length.

“You have cream enough elsewhere,
Veronique.”

I blinked once at the suggestion, ready to
reprimand him. But he was right. I was dripping with my excitement
and I reached between my legs, my hand coming away slick with my
juices. I spread the liquid around the shaft and head, stroking him
to a new firmness with my hands. His body’s response produced a
fresh fount of arousal in my cunt. I coated him with more of my
juices and then took the head in my mouth. I bobbed up and down,
one hand squeezing his shaft while I played with my clit.

“I did not say you could improvise,
Veronique.”

He was still sketching but his breathing had
started to break into harsh pants and the veins on his cock stood
out in thick ridges. Dutifully, I took my hand from between my
legs, bringing more moisture up and clasping both hands around his
rod. My whole body was absorbed in sucking his thick shaft. My tits
bounced from the long strokes, my ass followed up and down. And
when, at long last, he wound his hands through my hair and forced
me down until my lips touched its base, I came in time with the hot
rush of his cum down my throat.

Keeping his hands in my hair, he stood and
dragged me up until I was straddling the arm of the couch—one leg
on the floor, the other, bent at the knee, resting on one cushion.
Now anyone walking by might see my face—surely they would see my
body.

“Do you want me inside you, Veronique?”

“Not here,” I moaned, both desperate and
terrified. My cunt was so eager to take what my mouth had struggled
to contain!

“All that work and you would put aside your
reward?”

The hand that did not hold me in place by my
hair worked the depths of my pussy, the hard thrusts causing my
clit to rub against the arm of the divan. Once again I was shaking
in orgasm. And then, sweet heaven, he withdrew his fingers and
wedged the heavy cock head tight into the opening of my hole.

“I want it, Christophe,” I pleaded.

How he battered into me with his cock. He
used hard short thrusts that kept him from entering and made my
entrance swell tighter with the abuse. Two dozen such thrusts he
must have made before he stopped and wedged himself again at the
opening. Then he began slowly gyrating his hips, entering my wet
slit inch by inch, butting up against one wall and then the other
until his full length was buried inside me.

While he worked his cock deeper into my
pussy, he forced my head to turn so that I was looking out the
window. Ladies with parasols passed by and tradesmen with satchels
rushed to wherever it is tradesmen rush. My mind raced between two
prayers—that Christophe would fuck me ever harder and that none of
the passers-by would absently turn their heads and see me splayed
on the couch like a whore, clawing and groaning and loving every
second his cock filled me.

At last, our bodies surrendered to their
climax, my noisy excitement only heightening the chance of
discovery as he slammed into me again and again. My cries of
ecstasy and pain pierced the apartment as my torso jerked along the
couch with the vigor of his thrusts.

Finished with me, he pulled his pants back on
and sat down at a drafting table. He pulled out a new piece of
paper and began sketching. His gaze focused on the work in front of
him, he called my name as I turned to gather my clothes and some
shred of dignity.

“Veronique, I would see you next week.”

I stopped in the doorway and watched him work
for a few seconds before I answered. “I must return to the convent
next week.”

He nodded and pulled out another new sheet of
the same size. “I have a commission nearby and have been given use
of a guesthouse,” he explained. “I will send a carriage for
you.”

“The sisters are loath to let us out of their
sights absent a parent in attendance,” I said and stepped into my
dress. “They are afraid we will wind up in one of those ‘Diary’
stories.”

“Are they true?” he asked, turning at last to
look at me.

I bit down on my lip to keep from blurting
out the truth—what would he think if he knew that Gabrielle was the
hapless twit and I Ambroise’s co-conspirator? He already seemed to
think so little of me…it seemed impossible that he could think
less.

“How should I know,” I answered. “I only know
that the sisters have become miserably restrictive. One would think
we had been sent there to take our vows!”

His attention drifted back to the table and
sketch. “I will arrange something, you just must be careful not to
give it away or inquire too much as to the reason behind the
unexpected liberty.”

“Very well,” I answered. I would have a week
to prepare for our next meeting then. He would not find me as
pliant and docile as I had been today. Finished dressing, I joined
him at the drafting table.

“You bastard!” I hissed and grabbed at one of
the sheets that showed me with my mouth pulling back from his
enormous cock, cum beading at the corners of my lips.

He caught my wrist, squeezing the nerves at
its sides until I quieted. “That is the master,” he said. “No one
will know the copies are of you.”

“Copies!”

Again, he caught my hand before I could tear
the original up. My eyes burned with tears and shame and my voice
was a squeak when I demanded he release me.

Letting go, he took the original and put a
smudge-proof covering on top of it before placing it in an envelope
and handing it to me.

“A remembrance,” he said before dismissing
me. “In case you forget next week why you were so eager to agree
today.”

And then I was at the door waiting on weak
legs, my thighs soaked with his cum, while he hailed a
carriage.

June 20, 1787

My ruin is nearly upon me—my fate all but
sealed. Although it will not be quite the fate she envisioned!
Still, I puzzle at the other causes of my downfall—too much pride
and pleasure, not enough of either?

But I get ahead of myself and there is so
little time to record this. It started with the arrival of a
carriage. Ah, that is not exactly true…it started back in April,
didn’t it? But I was too much the confident fool to suspect any
foul play. Regardless, the carriage arrived, the emblem on its side
and the invitation allowing for no refusal on the part of the
sisters. As Christophe had instructed, I said virtually nothing,
not knowing if the ruse was for tea or a funeral.

The coachman gave nothing away as well,
tucking me wordlessly into the coach and driving away at a rough
speed that quickly brought us to the country estate in question.
Instead of going up to the main house, the coachman dropped me at a
guesthouse (that eclipsed the size of most of the main houses of
the nearby estates). With an unceremonious rap on the top of the
carriage, the driver signaled me out and then disappeared with the
same haste.

I walked to the door and knocked, waiting a
few minutes before letting myself in at last. Christophe must have
hoped that the surroundings would intimidate me and they did…for I
meekly went inside, worried that I would be called out as a
trespasser. Whether he had heard me knock, I know not, but he
called to me from a room that jutted off from the main hall. The
room was octagon in shape, the walls draped in black velvet without
any windows visible and only freestanding candelabras blazing with
dozens of candles to provide light.

The stage was already set and his body
covered in no more than a robe. He motioned me into the room,
bidding me to disrobe immediately. Ah, I was so damp at the
prospect of our meeting and the mysterious coach ride I could have
starched a week’s worth of undergarments.

“You smell wet, Veronique,” he said as I
pulled the last of my clothing away.

I moved closer to him, keeping my body a
study in softly swaying hips and breasts. “Touch me and see,” I
offered, pressing my body against him and resting a hand on his
chest.

He gently moved away, keeping me at arm’s
length. “Bend over and show me,” he countered.

I did and he moved further away, off to one
of the walls. Reaching up, he pulled one of the black drapes away
from the wall to reveal a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A satisfied
smirk on his face, he moved to the opposite wall and exposed
another such mirror. Taking position behind me, he spread my cunt
lips further apart and ran his fingers through my juices.

“Wet indeed,” he agreed. “Does it excite you
to see yourself?”

Still bending at the waist, I strained to
look over my shoulder. I saw the reflection of his fingers playing
in my raw slit, saw and felt the quiver of my pussy. “Yes,” I
confessed, already having to press my hands against my knees to
steady myself as a pre-climactic tension filled my cunt like a
fist.

He motioned at the other heavy drapes. “Then
see yourself, Veronique…from every angle.”

I moved around the room in a slow tease,
whipping a velvet covering away and then admiring some aspect of my
body in the mirror beneath. I pushed my breasts together, squeezing
the nipples roughly as I spread my legs wide and looked in the
opposite mirror. Removing the pins from my hair, I freed it from
the restrictive bun the nuns had sent me out in and spread it over
my breasts. Next, I bent fully at the waist, hands on my thighs and
ass seductively high in the air. I whipped my long blonde tresses
in abandon, moaning, watching him through my slitted gaze to see if
he was as enthralled by my body as I was. Never had I felt so wild,
so free! All my other lovers had been child’s play - theatrical
vignettes, always I played a role. Here, my pretenses were stripped
away. I was a hungry cunt. Rank, family - these meant nothing to
Christophe and so I could shed them as I had shed my clothes.

When the last mirror was uncovered,
Christophe called me back to him, slapping the outside of his thigh
like he was calling a dog. When I started walking to him, he
stopped me, his voice cold.

“That is not how I called you,
Veronique.”

I felt my spine stiffen, anger igniting
within me. For a moment I wondered at his gall, remembered rank and
family until he opened his robe. The sight of his cock, erect,
painfully thick and wickedly textured with its heavy covering of
veins, was my undoing. I dropped on hands and knees and crawled to
him like the hot bitch I was.

He had made a bed of cushions and blankets on
the floor of the otherwise furniture-less room and he rested on
them, offering his rod to me with a familiar bored gesture. I
licked my lips and started my descent, but he pushed against my
forehead.

“As you did before,” he ordered and then
leaned back and closed his eyes.

I dipped my fingers into my pussy, bringing
up a rich load of cream that I smothered his cock with. Wrapping my
mouth around the shaft, I began to pull his cock in and out, each
time the engorged tip battering the back of my throat.

“Keep your ass up high, Veronique,” he
complained, his eyes open once again, his head tilted to one side
that he might see the wet red of my slit in the mirror behind
me.

Another moment of doubt flitted through my
mind at his churlish tone. Never had a man talked to me like this.
I have had lords at my feet, begging for just the taste of my pussy
and nothing more! How could I, who had spent a lifetime ordering
others around, be aroused by his rough and childish commands?

“Higher, Veronique!”

I thrust my ass higher, my knees almost
unbent, the added height forcing my mouth further onto his shaft
until my lips were pushed against its base and the head was in my
throat. I could feel the muscles in his rod begin to twitch, knew
he was ready to come and tried to hold onto him, but he pushed me
back at the last second, his seed spurting and hitting my face.

Pushing me onto my back and standing above
me, he continued to spurt more cream into my mouth and onto my
breasts. When he was done, he forced my legs apart and slid down
until his head was cradled between my thighs.

“Lick it up, Veronique,” he ordered, offering
stroke for stroke on my clit in exchange for what I was willing to
lick off my body.

I swirled my tongue along the edges of my
mouth and then smoothed his cream onto my hands, licking those and
searching my breasts for more, licking when there was nothing left
to lick so that his tongue would not stop its delightful torture of
my clit and labia. But I was done too soon and his mouth abandoned
me before release claimed me!

“I need…” I writhed on the cushions, unable
to form the words, my tongue thick with cum, my mind only
occasionally present.

“What?” he asked. I cannot even describe the
manner in which he asked it! Bored, insouciant, quietly
sarcastic?