The Diary of Cozette

by Amanda McIntyre

  François gripped my thighs, a deep groan of pleasure emitting deep in his throat as he thrust hard into me. My body shattered with his in a sweet rush that made me gasp with its intense pleasure. He thrust twice more, emptying himself with a primal shudder.

  He eased back to rest and after a moment opened his eyes. A slow roguish grin emerged on his handsome face.

  “Indeed, I think the creator will be pleased to see that his invention is a success.”

  I sat on his lap, his spent phallus inside me still. His fingers slid over my breast, teasing my sensitive nipple with the flick of his thumb.

  “Are you ready to try another position, mademoiselle?”

  His urgency, while most flattering, I found most curious, and even for a man whose sexual appetite was exceedingly strong.

  “Perhaps a glass of wine, Mr. Deavereux, to ease her parched throat?”

  My gaze snapped up and I stood abruptly, covering myself with my arms. I searched for my clothes.

  A short, dark-skinned man, his head wrapped in an ivory-colored cloth emerged from the shadows. His eyes were dark, shining brilliantly and his broad white smile pushed a bushy moustache up against his aquiline nose. He wore a high-collared tunic of the same fabric as his trousers. He wore no shoes and his accent was thick, one I could not place.

  “There is no need for alarm, miss.”

  “Cozette, meet Mr. Rasher, the creator of this wickedly delightful little piece.” François stood, plainly unconcerned by his nakedness or apparently by the man who had just viewed our coupling.

  “François.” I spoke quietly, my gaze on the unusual man. “I did not know we would have company.” My cheeks burned with the surprise that he did not forewarn me. As lenient as Miss Farrington and my mistress were with me, I simply could not afford to bring a public scandal to Willow Manor.

  François held my shoulders, staring down at me, his expression kind and completely at ease with the situation.

  “My dear Cozette, Rasher here is a man of science. This is what he does.” He lifted his shoulders in blithe unconcern.

  “Pardon sir, a man of spiritual science,” the man interjected with a smile.

  François’s gaze skipped hastily over the man and returned to mine.

  “Surely you have heard the practice of Eastern religions. He is from India.”

  “I have not had the pleasure, sir, of either traveling to India or studying its practices—whatever they may entail.” I glanced at the stranger with a measure of skepticism. He looked no more like a man of higher learning than did François. The thought gave me pause.

  My eyes darted to the man. True, he looked harmless enough, yet hardly the type of man one would expect to find using such a craft. My gaze drew to his thick moustache and a shiver went up my spine. I could not imagine what it must be like to run from place to place to watch the various mating habits of humans. However, often I understand it is done in the wild with animals. Still, I was not as much at ease with the idea as was François.

  From the shadows, the stranger handed me a goblet, beautifully crafted of hammered metal and drenched in gold. Sparkling red stones were set into the cup.

  “Drink,” he urged with his hand. I glanced at François who had turned to the dressing table and was occupied with sticking his finger into a small metal box. He ran the tip of his finger inside the container, and held the white powder to each nostril as he sniffed deeply. His gaze caught mine in the mirror as I sipped the wine offered to me.

  He then brushed the residue over his gums and in a manner meant to titillate me, he ran his tongue over his teeth.

  “How is your drink, milady?” he asked with a lazy grin that made his handsome features even more enticing.

  I confess, my insides turn to warm liquid when he calls me his lady. Warmth spread through my veins and I realized that this was no ordinary wine. The candles, flickering in the dark room, began to blur, fusing together, melting into my François’s grin.

  He turned from the mirror and plucked the goblet from my hand.

  “Not too much at once, Rasher, we want her lucid. It arouses me to have her feisty.”

  My love grinned and my heart tripped realizing how utterly entranced I was with him. Great, deep regard, I had for him, did he know? Should I tell him now?

  My senses began to turn sharp and I was fully aware of even the pores of my flesh. I lay my hand on François’s chest, amazed that I could feel his heartbeat fused to my palm.

  “What was in the wine?” I lifted my eyes to his as he lowered his mouth to mine.

  “Only a little something to help you relax, my dear. You don’t think I would let any harm come to milady?” he murmured, tracing the tip of his tongue over my lower lip, tempting me for a kiss.

  I gave in to him, curling my arms around his neck as he lifted me to face him on the high curve of the chair. He pushed between my legs, dipping his head to capture my pink breast in his mouth. Pleasure darted straight to my waiting jewel. Every pore of my skin took flight as I held his head firm to my breast, lost in a watery haze.

  He leaned me back over the curve, supporting me like a giant hand, offering my sweet garden to François. I lay tranquil, my legs spread, held upright by François, as I watched the shadows waltz across the dark ceiling above aware only of his magnificent member moving slow and thorough inside of me. My body responded with each determined thrust, the position so pleasurable to my aching quiver that I whimpered from the ecstasy of it.

  “Sweet heaven,” my François ground out between clenched teeth, his hands gripping my calves as he pumped into my slick folds.

  I sensed his body one with mine, unable to determine where my body ended and his began. The dark-skinned man appeared at my side, staring down at me with a studious joy radiating on his face.

  My delight was his, and I smiled, suitably agreeable that we were as one delighted. I reached out and touched his cheek even as François continued pushing into me with greater force, the pleasure of his instrument playing a divine symphony to my attentive quiver.

  “Yes,” the man whispered, his dark orbs sparkling in the flickering candlelight.

  He held my hand against his cheek, my gaze locked to his as my body broke free of its sweet imprisonment.

  “Delightful, this is wonderful,” he said with a grin. “Indeed.”

  François, lost in his own rapture used my tight sheath around him to increase the speed of his thrusts.

  “Now you, Master Deavereux, release your seed,” the odd man prompted.

  My body peaked with François’s movements drawing forth another wave of pleasure.

  In my clouded view, I saw as the man reached between us, and felt his fingers cup François’s sac.

  François’s head lolled back, his body stiffening as with a final thrust his hot seed poured into me.

  “Wonderful, indeed, I must find my pen. Yes, this is good, very good.”

  The man scurried away to the corner where a writing desk held several books and notepapers. His head bent to his writing, he’d quite forgotten us entirely.

  François pulled me upright to face him and kissed my forehead. The simple gesture was one of such sweetness, that I hugged him, as would a wife.

  “We are not required to include your friend?” I asked, resting my head on his strong shoulder. His musky scent wrapped around me and for a moment, I wished he would take me to his bed, so that I might awaken to the sun in my face and him sleeping satisfied at my side.

  François grinned, his brow cocking as he looked toward the busy man. “Unless you’d like to give it a try, Rasher?”

  The dark-skinned man returned the smile, waving his hand in dismissal. “I must stay focused in order to document this study.” His gaze darted to mine. “Not that you aren’t most desirable, madam.”

  I curtsied, for I knew not how to respond, either to his compliment or to François’s overt offer.

  “Didn’t I tell you she’d be perfect? Then indeed, you are pleased so f
ar?”

  “Most certainly sir, I am most grateful. When you are ready, and you as well madam, may we then proceed?” His eyes glittered with excitement, but not arousal. He was a most strange little man.

  “He will not tell anyone, or use our names. I have your word, milord?”

  François laid his hand against his chest, a large jeweled ring twinkled red and gold against his perfect fingers. “You have my word, milady. Our meeting is of the utmost secrecy.”

  “Thank you, François.” I stepped forward, dismissing the presence of the guest in our midst, and trailed my finger down the hard plane of François’s exquisite torso.

  “We should be ready soon, Rasher.” He grinned, pulling me close.

  Later, fully clothed and riding leisurely back to the manor, my body delightfully sore from its many contortions, I asked François about his bargain with the man. “Was it part of the cost, milord, to have the man view firsthand the use of his invention?”

  He smiled down at me, his eyes glinting most wickedly. “It was, to be truthful, my suggestion. Are you angry with me?”

  He touched his finger to my lip, rubbing the tip of his thumb over my mouth. I have no reason to understand what power he possesses over me, but my body reacted anew.

  “It is not an entirely unusual request, milord, though one I would not frequent. I admit to a measure of excitement at his presence, but I am quite astounded he did not seem in the least aroused. How is that possible?”

  He chuckled. “I cannot for the life of me begin to understand how any man can look upon you with no clothes and not spring to life, mademoiselle.”

  “You flatter me, milord.”

  “Indeed, I speak only the truth.”

  We rode in silence for a few moments, together watching the first dredges of dawn peek over the lush green hills. It was a comforting moment, though peppered with an underlying sense of something deep in my gut. I shoved it away, not wanting my unfounded concerns to spoil the moment.

  “Milady, I wonder if I may speak openly on a matter most concerning to me.”

  “Of course, milord,” I replied, shifting in his embrace.

  “You see this land stretched out as far as the eye can see?”

  He swept his hand in an arc, as he emphasized his point.

  “Indeed, it is quite beautiful, especially this time of day.”

  “You speak the truth well, and yet look closer, what do you see?”

  I narrowed my gaze, sitting taller in his saddle searching the horizon. “I’m sorry, milord, I do not see anything. What is it that I miss?” My eyes continued to search, hoping to see what he wanted me to see.

  “Precisely, my dear woman, there is nothing. Nothing at all but acres of land, wasted, unused and untouched. It is rich with potential and yet, it remains barren and useless.”

  My gaze followed his, but I saw no wasteland, only a dense forest of trees, and glens of open meadow, thick with wildflower. To me, it was paradise just as it was.

  “This land is like you, my sweet flower, untamed and wild and yet under the proper hand it can become a thing of wondrous beauty, full of discovery and adventure.”

  Unsure of what his poetic rhetoric was leading to, I tried valiantly to wash away the cold dread in the pit of my stomach. I knew plainly and without question, that his interest was in my master’s property. How he thought I could help him in that endeavor and further still, what interest I might have in doing so, puzzled me exceedingly.

  “But milord,” I responded demurely, lifting a sultry gaze to his, “is it not the unbridled and untamed passion that you find most alluring? If I were refined and controlled, would you not find me a trifle boring?”

  Having seen his heated gaze most of the evening and into the wee hours of morning, I most readily detected when his eyes turned cold.

  “Passion quite often has its price, my sweet cunt.”

  I suppose his veiled threat might have rattled another, but I had just performed sex several times over in front of his dark-skinned little scientist. What threats could affect me?

  “I would despise the thought that your persuasive nature, to a gain other than pleasure, lured an innocent young girl to your chambers. And I daresay, the news would not settle well with my mistress.”

  His mouth curled into a half smile.

  “You are cunning for one so willing to please me with but a snap of my fingers.”

  He closed his hand over my breast and I held my breath. It was true that he could control my body of its needs and he knew it well. What he fell short of in his reasoning was the depth of my loyalty to my mistress. This was her home, and despite all else, it was mine as well. He clearly underestimated to what lengths I would go to protect what I held most dear.

  He dropped me at the gazebo, far enough from the manor, hidden by the tall boxwood hedge along the path to the back door.

  “I’ll come for you tonight.”

  I glanced up at him, and smiled. “I regret that Miss Farrington has insisted my help in her canning this evening.”

  “Cozette, we need to talk. There is much I want to share with you, ideas I have, things that I wish to invest in.”

  “Passion, milord, has its price. I suppose if my thoughts on such things are urgent to your decisions, then you can be patient. Patience can be a powerful aphrodisiac, don’t you agree?”

  I ran my hands over my hair, and purposely held his gaze as I ran them over my covered breasts.

  His eyes darkened as he stared at me from atop his great black horse. “Do not toy with my power, Cozette. I get what I want.”

  I stared at him, his challenge clear, and his purpose more so. He made no excuse that he’d used me in hopes to further his gain. A dull ache left my ears ringing, but I would not let him have the pleasure in thinking he could so adversely affect me. “Perhaps milord, but do not underestimate mine.”

  He studied me for a moment with a gaze most menacing and as if the cares of the world had been lifted from him, he eased back in the saddle and gave me a charming, handsome smile.

  “Let’s not quibble, milady. What we have together cannot be denied. Indeed, Cozette, you and I are very much alike. We would sacrifice much for our passion. Good day, milady.”

  He nodded once and reined in his anxious steed in the direction of his lodge.

  I watched him ride away, staring after his coattails that flapped wild as he flew across the field. Had I been naive of his intent? I believed in the intensity of passion between us that was clear as the ache betwixt my legs even now. Nevertheless, at what price? I must find some time to ponder his words and what possible intent he has for me, in the bigger view of his plans.

  ~Lady C.

  November 15, 1873

  It is my eighteenth birthday. Lord Deavereux sent his messenger with a note that he had something very special to give to me. I am instructed to leave the kitchen door ajar, and to close Miss Farrington’s chamber door so we can have our privacy. Though we’d last parted on less than amiable terms, I admit my body still burned for François. In hope that he feels the same, I will comply with his wishes. Perhaps he has missed me as much and can now plan to tell me so himself.

  ~Lady C.

  Later, November 15, 1873

  As instructed, I left the back door unlocked. Lord Deavereux slipped in well after midnight and snuck into my chambers. His face, illuminated by his lantern, revealed his wicked grin as he pressed his forefinger to his sensual mouth. He wore his shirt loose and his tight riding breeches left nothing at all to my vivid imagination.

  He eased shut my door and set the lantern on my writing table. Without a word, he made haste to undress and I was struck dumb. What an exceptional man, with a toned body, and a patch of dark hair that spread over his torso thinning to his muscular stomach. And below, what exquisite form! My breasts tingle even now when I think about him.

  “Have you anticipated our meeting again, milady?”

  He offered me a sly grin as he neatly folded his pan
ts over my chair. His dark hair, tied in place with a strip of black ribbon, splayed down his muscular back. His lean waist gave way to well-molded hips and a firm ass.

  “Surely you know how I delight in your presence, milord?” I sat upright, balancing on my arms, my breasts tight with arousal.

  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned as his gaze bounced to the competent erection jutting between his muscular thighs.

  “And my desire is clearly evident, milady.”

  “Quite clear. Come, I have missed you.” I held out my arms, unable to pretend that I had not ached for him these many days since we were last together.

  The bedsprings creaked in alarm as he placed his knee at the end of my bed. I giggled quietly, placing my finger to my lips as he crawled toward me, his predatory gaze adding to my arousal.

  “I have thought of you every night since last I buried myself in your sweet rose,” he whispered.

  My hands found joy gliding over his muscular shoulders as he nibbled the base of my neck. His strong arms bulged with sinewy strength and his stomach rippled hard as my washboard gave way to the prize below. Urged by my curiosity to touch him, I slipped my hand between us, but he grabbed my wrist, kissing the tender spot of my pulse as his chuckle rumbled against my chest.

  His face inches from mine, his gaze was yet unreadable, but his intent was clear against my thigh. Is this the unspoken passion between two lovers?

  “Remove your gown,” he quietly ordered.

  He shifted back and straddled my thighs, his cock thrust upward in proud display. “As you wish, milord,” I teased with a smile.

  I sat up, drew my gown over my head and dropped it to the floor. “Is this my special birthday gift, milord?” I held his gaze, letting my fingers glide lightly down his staff.

  He sighed, taking delight in the skill of my hand. “Indeed, this and more, my cunning vixen.”

  He held the hair from my face as I tasted his smooth tip glistening now with his arousal. The salty taste mingled with the sweetness from my last cup of tea before retiring.