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The Count D’Urberville’s strumpets were as requested: a comely pair, scrubbed clean and unencumbered by any kind of underwear. He reclined on the shabby hotel’s best furniture, did his best to ignore the drunken cacophony from the bar downstairs, and surveyed the naked rumps revealed by cheekily raised skirts.
“You.” He prodded one bare buttock with the cold silver tip of his cane, making the girl jump and squeak, and setting off a mouthwatering cascade of wobbles. “Attend to your friend.”
These were old favourites, they knew his games. The squeaker quickly dropped to her knees and her friend raised a foot onto a chair to allow for intimate access below.
The Count was delighted at how his evening was progressing. The room was warmly lit by fire and candles against a harsh rainstorm outside, and the girls were in such high spirits that his breeches strained fuller than his swag-bag of plunder.
He was teasing with where the cold cane might intrude next, when the rowdy bar noise below suddenly quieted; as if the terrible Monsieur Grand Feline himself had unexpectedly made an appearance.
In D’Urberville’s nefarious line of work – as the most gentlemanly of gentlemen thieves – he was a cautious man, and his room was positioned on a balcony directly overlooking the bar. He left the wenches to themselves while he took a peek outside.
He did not expect to find – framed by the front door below and looking as terrified as a chick in the foxes den – a bedraggled woman. More surprising than that, a Lady. And more surprising than even that, a beautiful Lady.
“I need a room for the night!” The diminutive flame-haired female shouted from the doorway, as if trying to persuade herself. The raucous bastards, including M. Porcine the owner, simply laughed heartily in response.
The Count strutted out onto the mezzanine and rapped his cane hard on the balustrade.
“Silence, you dolts!”
Having everyone’s attention, including – deliciously – the huge ginger-pudding eyes of Madame herself, he barked for Porcine to offer the woman the hotel’s finest suite. The plump hotelier raised his hands and blustered, “My Lord we have no more. Your room is the finest and-“
“Very well! Madame, please you must take my room. I will sleep with my horse tonight.” He executed his most decorative bow, but by the sniggers rippling through the bar, determined the Lady remained unmoved. “My Lady, please! You can trust The Count d’Urberville with your life.” He raised his voice over heckling. “Let me help a fellow aristocrat.”
“Oh yes, there,” gasped one of the girls in his room. “Yes… Yes!”
Concealing the fruity squeals of climax, the Count loudly ordered food and wine for everyone – causing considerable uproar – then shushed the girls out quickly. With their skirts down they looked half-decent as they passed the Lady on the stairs. She clutched her bag to her bosom and gave the minxes a wide berth.
“My Lady!” He greeted his guest with another gallant bow and ushered her into the room. Grabbing his hat, jacket and plunder-bag, he made to take his leave. “An exquisite pleasure!” he added floridly.
He was half way out before the young lady – looking entirely lost and alone – suddenly blurted, “Oh Sir, don’t leave me, not yet!”
He stopped with a double-take worthy of Shakespeare’s Globe, and clicked his heals. He closed the door, shutting them both in. The Lady removed her wet hood and cloak, filling the room with her perfume and revealing a shapely bodice.
“Very good M’Lady. One cannot be too careful when…” he found himself salivating already “…in the wilds!”
She flushed and put out her hand to be dutifully kissed, her fingers chilly against his lips. “Sir, I am Mademoiselle Virginie Therriot, please excuse my so rudely purloining your quarters. My coach was robbed and the drivers all fled. They say it was Le Grand Feline.”
They sat and the Count felt a squirm of delight at the ghost of his whore’s raised foot on the prim Mademoiselle’s chair. “My Lady, I would doubt it was who you say. Le Grand Feline attacks only thieves.”
Mademoiselle Virginie shrugged. “But monsieur, they were horribly scared thus…” She mimed a claw across her cheek. canlı bahis “That is his calling card, yes?”
A knock heralded the arrival of refreshments and the Count smiled broadly at the Mademoiselle, as if at a child. “It suits many men to claim they were overpowered by such a man as Le Grand Feline, don’t you think?”
The Mademoiselle’s eyes swelled at the food laid out before them. D’Urberville hoped all her appetites were as keen.
He waited until the servant had left before playing his next card, and in a hushed tone. “And well, let us just say I am intimately aware of his whereabouts.”
He let the enigmatic comment hang in the air long enough to cause a look of wondrous re-evaluation to pass across Virginie’s face. One might even say a hint of excitement.
Le Grand Feline was the greatest of scoundrels, but women gossiped only about his prowess as a lover. It would be to D’Urberville’s great benefit to hint that he might be the infamous predator. As he poured wine into the sweet girl’s cup, he fought to control his excitement. This was a far more refined and exquisite a creature than the bawdy harlots he had planned to pluck tonight.
Virginie sighed and took a hearty glug of the wine, wrinkling her sweet nose in distaste but taking another gulp anyway. This is not going to take too long, the Count surmised, refilling her glass. A flush bloomed on her and she sparkled, promising much to the expectant Count.
“You know Monsieur, the… ladies that left your room…”
“Ah? Yes, the maids…”
“Oui, yes the maids. They must have worked very hard. They seemed quite out of breath and very… pink of cheek!”
The count cleared his throat. “No, they were slovenly, My Lady, as you can see!” He gestured to the room, curling his lip. “You mistook a touch of influenza perhaps?”
Virginie tore off a piece of bread and smirked. “Maybe… Yes I recall I heard one… sneezing earlier. Oh, I hope I don’t fall foul of their predicament tonight.”
The Mademoiselle shot a sagacious glance at the count that made him re-evaluate his prim companion. He relished the thought there might harbour some Madame in this Mademoiselle. He sipped his wine and decided to stoke the pretty flames in those eyes.
“My Lady I will be blunt. Le Grand Feline did not rob your coach, because I am he, and I have been here all evening. Entertaining.”
Virginie blushed; her hand went to her mouth. Fight or flight little starling? He mused. It was with some delight he realised her hand was hiding not horror, but a smile.
He stoked again. “You must understand that for a man such as I, Le Grand Feline, with such… appetites. I have to find sustenance wherever I can. I can only apologise for my bestiality, and now I will remove myself from your presence.”
Virginie held up her hands. “Monsieur. Stay where you are. I can think of no better protection tonight.” Her voice seemed to have dropped an octave, was it the wine? She shook her empty glass at him. “Fill me,” she purred.
With intentions writ clearly in the air between them, they relaxed, ate and talked freely, eager to know more about each other and teasing themselves with the inevitability of the pleasures to come. Virginie was very curious as to how someone of the Count’s social standing should end up so dastardly. He was happy to spin his yarn for her.
“Darling Mademoiselle, I cannot bear the inequity in our world, we rich have so much and the poor, they are starving. I give as much as I can in my position, you understand, but it is not enough. If I could, I would steal from my fellow rich dandies directly, but I would soon be recognised.” He took a hearty swig from his glass. “However, if I can steal from those thieves that plunder the fattened geese of the aristocracy then so be it. They are fiercer prey but I relish the fight! “He shook his fist lustily. “Then I can offer them up to the authorities, redistribute the wealth to those that need it, and everyone is happy, yes?”
Virginie was wide-eyed, and the Count could not help but notice the little tremble in her hands. How restless her fingers had become with the stem of her glass. He waved his monologue aside.
“Forgive me, dear lady, but I have been bahis siteleri making speeches! Tell me, what land is it that breeds such beauty as yours! I am embarrassed we have never met!”
Virginie sighed and sipped her wine, her ears flushing pink. The Count savoured it spreading over her cheeks as he stroked his fingers lightly at hers, making her giggle girlishly and quickly nestle them in her lap. He stifled a wolfish grin as she shifted in her seat.
“My life is uninteresting, Sir. I was an orphaned child found on a ship bound for the orient, adopted by the crew and then schooled in the east by monks. Before a merchant found me and shipped me here for my finishing as a lady. I am no-one, just a traveller.” She flapped her hand. “Terribly dull. What I would like to know is what magic you employed to get those young ladies so decent so quickly! When you had been caught in flagrante delicto!”
The Count basked in this admiring attention. This is just where he wanted the conversation to be. “You are a little imp I sense, come to taunt me!”
“Well it is not every day I meet so infamous a romantic figure. There are songs written about you and your exploits monsieur! Come, give me some titbits to tell my girlfriends.”
The Count stretched out, crossed his boots and clasped his hands behind his head. “However politely dressed they appeared, the girls were not quite so decent beneath their dresses…”
Virginie laughed. A throaty – almost rude – chuckle. The Count wondered if he might fall in love here, tonight. She leant toward him, her voice a whisper. “Ah, but we are all naked under our clothes no?” She chirped, then frowned “But I definitely heard one of them… peak did I not?”
“You did, My Lady. They were warming up.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh how exciting! And you were watching them I hope!”
“Mademoiselle! The eccentricity of your upbringing has made you very direct.”
She was unashamed, staring at him. Her eyes drew him out, they wanted more.
He gestured to her chair. “Well one was standing, there, with a foot on your very seat.” He expected her to be shocked by this, but her lips parted and she leant toward him once more. He wondered if this was an invitation to kiss.
“Holding up her skirts, no doubt, to reveal herself?” she said.
“Ah, yes. Her friend was knelt between, and…”
“Teasing mussels from the shell, yes? Oh how delicious! That must have been quite a sight. They were very pretty girls. You are a lucky man Monsieur. And I bet that cane was to be put to good use, no?”
Now the count found his hands trembling. This woman was surely a fantasy, the face and manners of an angel, and the mouth and mind of a harlot. Again she laughed lasciviously, letting it fade as she stroked the stem of her glass once more. When she spoke again it was with her lustrous voice. To his lap.
“So the petit Grand Feline has been pent up for quite a while now. He must be fit to burst.” She nodded at his breeches and he actually gulped. “Would you not be more comfortable if you unleashed him from his cage?”
“Madam, it would be inexcusable manners for me to disrobe alone don’t you think?” The count leant forward to plant a kiss to those pert lips, taking her hand. She pulled away and stood up.
“If monsieur insists,” she said in a sing song tone, and reached up her skirt. Watching him coolly she slid out of her undergarments. “Bon!” She said waving the swathe of Chinese silk with a flourish and letting them drop. She turned and with a rustle of layers pealed up her dress and petticoats “So now I am like your whores, yes?”
The count felt almost faint at the pretty sight, the room lurching around him in the extraordinariness of the situation. This could not be! Someone like this did not- would not- But Virginie’s display was spellbinding, her naked buttocks swelled between the tops of her stockings and the tail of her corset. She laughed again, looking over her shoulder.
“Oh Monsieur, your face! You look like you may weep! Do I upset you?” She opened her legs and swung her hips, her treasure still in the shadows but her dance tantalising him with glimpses of downy folds. “Does this not make you want to be naked for me now, no?”
“On bahis şirketleri the contrary Madam.” The count said with a bravado that was fast fleeing in the face of the sexual power of this girl. He leapt to his feet, tearing off his clothing in under a heartbeat. With a cavalier flapping and flashing of cloth, he stood proudly revealed before the Mademoiselle, his breeches around his ankles.
She smiled at his hairy musculature and engorged readiness, and bit her lip.
“Monsieur our meal has left me very hungry below. But-” She pressed a hand to the Count’s matted chest as he lunged toward her- “your story has left me needing to be eaten too?” She ran her fingers lightly underneath his rigid manhood, curling out her tongue as she lifted her foot onto the chair.
The count dropped to his knees before her as if punched, or to the only waterhole in the desert. He pushed his face up between her thighs, under her buttocks, and reprised his girls earlier, moaning and gulping in pleasure at the Mademoiselles tender parts. She sighed and settled on him, rocking a little at his tongue and steadying herself as the Count became increasingly eager.
By slow degrees, the count found himself pushed lower and lower by the hips of the mademoiselle as she sought her release, her sex engorged and slippery and all but overwhelming him as she ground it at his mouth.
She kicked away the chair and, the fine muscles of her flanks aquiver, sank to her knees. She trapped the Count in darkness beneath her skirts, as he did his best to pull out the pleasure she demanded of him.
A delicious unease tautened his manhood further, being so intimately trapped to his task. Virginie’s thighs seeming suddenly hard as a carthorse’s and her hungry weight on him, immovable.
She lifted her skirt to watch him wedged between her legs, his face chilled with her wetness, licking and sucking her almost in a panic. She panted encouragements to him and, twisting over her shoulder to see his bouncing rod, sighed as he took it in his hand, making a display of his weapon to her.
“Oh yes! Yes!” She shuddered. “Like that, brandish your sword for me, my love!” He manipulated himself vigorously for her and she splayed herself even wider onto his face, dropping her skirts again and plunging him back into liquid blackness as she appeared to commence her ascent into orgasm.
He was sunken and drowned in her lustful pleasure as Virginie urged him faster and harder, forever on the precipice of a higher peak, clamped to his face. When she cried out and ground to a halt he could hold back no longer. His orgasm ripped through him, flapping him like a fish tossed onto the bank. Warm ropes of release spurted and flopped over his fist and belly.
Then the mademoiselle stood.
He hadn’t finished, still pumping over his hand and so delirious he didn’t notice that the Mademoiselle was laughing. But this was not the soft enticing chuckle of earlier; this was a hearty mocking laugh.
She clapped and ignored the confused be-splattered twitching form on the floor. She seemed to be looking for something, rootling through his clothes… his bag… his plunder!
He leapt to his feet and staggered dizzily toward her, his unremoved breeches all but tripping him up. The mademoiselle wrinkled her nose in distaste and with an adroit – shockingly powerful – flip of her hand collapsed him pathetically to all fours like an empty bag. The blow left him dazed and gasping for breath, he thought he might black out.
“I am Le Grand Feline you buffoon.” She glared at him, taking his money and stuffing it into her bag. He spat curses, his limbs shaking. She stalked around him, looking down at him as if at a disobedient child.
“Sir. Mine was a lean upbringing. There are very few things that oriental monks can do for a female child.” Her hand searched for something inside her bag. “I was expected to adopt their way of life. A martial artistry so elegant you could not even pronounce it.” She pulled something out. It took all the strength he had to raise his head, to focus.
She settled on her haunches in front of him, pulling something onto her hand. He felt nauseous, his vision closing in. A set of blades stuck from her knuckles like golden claws, glittering across her fist. She surveyed his naked form, and smiled, her voice a soft growl.
“Now, where shall I mark you Monsieur? Which cheeks would make for the most embarrassing scar, hmm?”
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