by G A Dazio
She moved in closer and kissed him softly on his lips. It was a kiss that was too sensuous to be held between a mother and a son, and too warm and long to be thought of in innocent terms. This was a sensation he did not like. She was almost kissing him as a lover might.
And when she had finished her first kiss, the Marquesa moved her lips to kiss him again. This time her behavior was unmistakable, she kissed him with a passion that couldn’t be construed in any other sense.
He couldn’t breathe, and all at once he felt her arms rising over his shoulders to hold him closer to her body. And without thought, his hands rose to hold her in return, receiving the kiss without reservation, though he couldn’t understand his cause. This was absurd, that she should kiss him so, and even more absurd that he was beginning to absolutely need her not to stop.
The kissing grew laborious and wet, as her mouth opened more and more to taste him. And try as he may, he could not keep himself from doing anything but give in to her. He felt her tongue brush him slowly and the sensation of her inside him set his whole body alive. He awkwardly felt the unmistakable hardness in his breeches. She was doing all this to him and he was powerless to stop it. Indeed, he was now assisting Marcelina in her seduction, allowing his mind to wander and his body to act of its own accord.
She broke from him for a moment and stared into his eyes, those crystal green windows gazing in sheer confusion, searching for a benign explanation for what was happening between them. Marcelina owned him now, it was etched clearly on his face, as were all his thoughts.
She reached down boldly to his breeches to find that hardness she knew must be there and relished in the strength of it against her probing hand. Dídac’s breathing stumbled when she did this; his body pushed against her, making the firmness of her rubbing intensify for him, and the heat there would be blistering if not for the fabric between them.
When she was satisfied, Marcelina backed away from him abruptly and simply looked upon the boy who was near to eruption from his madness. She turned and fastened her hand into the crook of his arm and pulled him gently into a very slow stroll to the doors of the room.
He was truly mad now, his mind racing aimlessly throughout the room, searching for something to anchor him back into the proper world. It was unimaginable that she had done this to him, he could not account for her.
But Dídac knew plainly enough what she wanted from him. Perhaps not what it fully entailed, but certainly what it was. He knew this as strongly as he knew there would be no way to stop himself from giving it to her. He could barely walk from the tension.
But she did not take him anywhere to be alone. She merely walked him to the door and called her footman for Dídac’s carriage to be brought around. When they had descended the steps successfully, she turned silently to whisper in his ear.
“Do not come back here tomorrow, but the next day. Arrive after eleven in the morning. And don’t write to Veronica at all this week. You will do as I say?” she questioned him plainly.
Dídac was dumbfounded. He whispered something of a ‘yes’ and stumbled into his carriage, finding it impossible to take his eyes off her as the driver pulled away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He could not face anyone. Dídac remained in his room the entire day without the courage to let anyone see his shame, the mark of the criminal on his face.
He had excused himself upon arriving home, citing fatigue, asking that his supper be brought to his room. It was a nightmare, this tension in his frame. He lay in his bed for hours, his body writhing uncomfortably. The pressure in his neck was terrible.
When he could stand it no longer, he threw back the sheets and pulled the dressing gown up to find his organ, which had managed to soften and re-erect itself endlessly during the long eternity he had lain there. He had been warned enough against such actions, but juvenile explorations had rendered such cautions pointless long before they had been delivered. It was only after he had relieved himself of the stress in his neck that he could sleep.
But when he awoke in the morning, he felt ill from what he had done at Castell de Amontoní. It was a bitter taste, which wouldn’t leave his mouth. And regardless of how many times he was forced to relieve the miserable stress, there was a wicked sensation in it that brought release without satisfaction.
He hated himself. It was inescapable, this feeling. He believed he had betrayed not only Veronica, but the Marquesa as well. He felt it was undeniably his own fault, all of it, and his recriminations came back to him in a chorus as he spent the entire day cloistered up in his apartment. It was no small blessing that no one bothered to disturb his privacy.
It was a simple resolution he had come to by the end of the day, when the fear and shame had poisoned his body with adrenaline. He would do as she had bid him, he would return to the castle tomorrow and beg the woman’s forgiveness for his actions. She must allow him to do that much. He did not know what he would do if she ruined his life now.
As he slept, the pain returned to him again and again. This pain was consuming, and the physical torture was outdone only by the guilt. Resolution spread over his eyes as they closed for the final time that night; he would beg the woman not to cast him out of her niece’s life.
She must not destroy him now, not when he had everything to lose.
* * *
Veronica was not in, that much seemed clear. Marcelina did not rise to greet him as Dídac was led to her sitting parlor on the third floor. She merely looked up to see that, indeed, he had come. She waited only for her footman to shut the door quietly behind the boy.
Dídac was the first to speak, though to observe his speech as anything but a mumbled stumbling would give him too much credit. He began his sentence three times before anything intelligible could escape his lips, and even then, it was an incoherent mess.
She held up her hand to silence him.
“Come, sit by me, dear. It’s all right.”
It was some sort of salvation, this invitation. It meant for him to be allowed to die while sitting down, his balance being one less burden in the final moments.
He sat beside her awkwardly, unsure if he might even sit back in the chair opposite her. His body remained as rigid as possible.
“Can you tell me why you’re here?” she asked easily. There was no hint of malice in her tone, merely that of an honest curiosity.
“My lady, forgive me. I came today that I might have the chance to atone for my behavior with you. I was... It was inappropriate for me to have taken advantage as I did... I behaved unforgivably...”
He was at a loss, there was nothing he could do to focus his words. The pain of this moment was worse than he had foreseen it.
“That’s enough,” she stopped him. “It isn’t necessary, my dear.”
She allowed a great deal of time to pass after she said this, leaving Dídac to suffer immensely from embarrassment. It was only of little comfort that she understood him, that she was not yet ready to banish him from the house and call off his engagement with her niece.
Through all these moments, Marcelina sat quietly and observed him, his inability to look at her or to sit still, his inescapable need to hold his hands.
“I am not a woman who possesses the sort of patience that’s somewhat of a requirement in this situation, so I will make myself bluntly clear. I have requested you here because I have come to find that I require your obedience in my current venture to provide Veronica with love and happiness. And having once been a young bride, I can tell you that I know, for all the charm in the world, an eighteen-year-old boy does not yet have the resources to provide for such things.”
Dídac was sure he understood the Marquesa’s words, but it seemed unbelievable that she would think to go as far as this to insult his family’s position. They might not live in a castle of these ridiculous proportions, but they were by no means without standing amongst society. He could not understand for the life of him why she would ever think to disparage him in this manner
.
Dídac felt he must leave the room immediately. If this was over between them, if he had gone too far, he would not stay a moment longer just to appease her vengefulness.
“Has your father yet taken you to the house of his mistress?” she asked plainly.
This was outrageous, he thought. Who was she to say this to him? He was suddenly filled with rage at her effrontery and gripped the armrests of his chair too strongly.
“Marquesa?” he uttered, the moment blinding.
“A bordello, señor, the house of his prostitute… Have you yet been with a woman?”
He could stand for no more and rose to his feet without thinking.
“You will excuse me, Marquesa, I must leave here,” his racing heart was absolute fury.
“Sit down,” she said, looking up to display for him her eyes. They were without malice but deadly serious. “I am not finished yet.”
He was without bearing as she spoke, he slowly fell to his seat against his better judgment. Dídac could not stand to look at her. He was so angry, so embarrassed and ashamed by her words. He felt he might begin to cry at any moment. Yes, there, he could feel the tears begin to fight their way out. He fought them with all his strength; he would not give her the satisfaction of his defeat.
“Well? Have you or not?” she prompted again.
“No,” he whispered in pain. It was the same miserable pain of the past day, but it was of a far richer substance now, and he could feel himself being dragged through the mud by her.
“So there, you see? How is it that you think an eighteen-year-old boy has any right to propose marriage when he has not even received the slightest instruction on the conjugal needs of a woman?”
The words meant nothing to him, he did not even hear her voice anymore. Dídac simply let her continue as he sat utterly defeated. The tears now were past the breaking point and he felt the slightest relief as the warm water fell to his mouth where he shamefully tasted the fresh salt.
She had not meant this to happen, she did not even know why her words held such pain for him. And look at him, tears in his eyes! Perhaps, she went about this too indelicately. He was, after all, only a boy, manly charms or not.
Marcelina rose from her sofa before Dídac and pulled him gently to his feet.
He would not look at her, not through his tears; his body trembled.
“It’s all right, dear. I’m sorry. Don’t be ashamed.” She embraced him, holding him gently.
He hated her, but the overwhelming part of him was relieved that she was ending this. He did not know what he would’ve done had she let it continue on much further. It was devastating that he could feel such anger and then such love for her so soon together.
“It’s going to be fine. Shh! Dear, don’t cry,” she repeated.
He thought it funny that she was trying to quiet him when he wasn’t making the slightest sound; it was comforting, nevertheless.
The Marquesa pushed aside the tears lovingly with the back of her bent fingers. She wanted him to look at her, but he wouldn’t.
“Listen to me, I will teach you all of this, it will be all right. But from now on you will only listen. You will listen to everything I say and do exactly as you are told. Do you hear me, sweet? You will not speak one word when I am teaching you, and you will follow my instructions exactly. Do you understand? Don’t be frightened.”
Pushing back the tears, which still came, she reached her lips to his and kissed him sweetly. “There, dear. That’s enough, child. Stop your tears now.”
She took his hand and led him through a door hidden in the sitting room wall that brought them within the inner chamber of her bedroom. Dídac could not hide the look of shock disfiguring his face upon realizing where she had brought them.
Marcelina closed the door behind her and turned to kiss him again. This time, she did it without modesty, consuming his delicious face as he gave himself to her without a sound, his hands still lifeless by his side.
He was brilliant, she thought, he was both ashamed to the point of tears, as well as completely giving and malleable. It was exquisite to touch someone so helpless.
But Marcelina was already certain he knew nothing important.
She undressed him slowly, starting with his coat, which she veritably pushed off his shoulders, allowing the soft garment to land on the floor at his heels. She then unbuttoned his tight burgundy silk vest, tailored so flawlessly for his chest, and pushed it off him in the same manner. Then, she loosened his scarlet silk tie to open his shirt, button by button, until her fingers found their way to his bare skin.
His chest burned like a furnace. His whole body underneath these clothes was on fire, scorching the blond white skin that was flawlessly young and bare, with only the slightest hints of golden down. His chest was smooth but without a boy’s want of definition, the exertion of his fencing studies having had already invented the beautiful outline of a man’s form. His burned, pink nipples were large and soft with the heat.
She found no trouble coveting the boy, he was truly everything she had hoped he would be.
His hands finally came to life as he tried to stop her from unfastening his breeches.
“No,” he whispered. “Don’t, please...”
Marcelina’s eyes rose to meet his face again and placed her finger gently to his mouth.
“You remember what I said? You will be silent and do as you are told.”
He was powerless against her, feeling certain that the tears would rise again if she exposed him.
Her stealth was swift and merciless as she reached to remove the breeches, allowing them to fall to the floor over his boots and reveal that he was not erect. His penis was very short but unusually thick, barely hanging down over his tightened scrotum, though hiding it under its heavy shadow.
She thought it beautiful, perfectly suited for a boy of his frame, and she loved him all the more for his tears that came again. For her, the shamefulness of them became the most beautiful thing of all.
The Marquesa kissed him gently and swept the tears away once more, tasting them as they mingled and evaporated on his lips. She was falling more and more in love with Dídac, this child who wept in her arms so full of fear.
Within moments, she had guided him in helping her remove her dress, until she was as naked as he was. Free of the heavy garments, she brought him to the side of her bed and sat him in front of her, bending down on her knees to bury her face in his lap. Her soft hair and hot breath summoned his organ to life quickly, so that within moments she could handle it to her satisfaction.
His sex was shorter, even when she had brought him to complete erection; only a small length longer than that of her clenched fist wrapped firmly around the girth of his shaft. What surprised her was how thick his cock was, so deliciously fat that she gave a small laugh at the unusualness of it. The more she explored his body, the more he satisfied her.
She drew his cock into her mouth, bathing it lovingly, absorbing the mass of it completely. It did not reach far beyond the threshold of her throat and she could receive it without any discomfort, but its immense girth was such that she struggled to open her jaw wide enough so as not to hurt him. Though she tried to prevent it, her teeth brushed against his shaft repeatedly. The sensation, however, seemed to delight him, a response she had only ever encountered with one other.
The Marquesa suckled him only for a few moments to help him achieve his maximum firmness, and then overtook his body with kisses to his abdomen and chest, delighting in her teasing of his nipples, torturing them until they were sharp and hard.
He did not have the capacity for thought any longer. He had abandoned his reason in her sweet kisses, resigning himself to let this all happen as it would. It was the most sensuous experience he could have ever imagined, and he feared nothing when she kissed him, nothing but that it might end all too soon.
But she would not stop her worship of the boy. She squeezed his shoulders, delighting in their hardness, the shape of t
he muscles, which had already drawn the figure of man. Marcelina loved that his skin was so unweathered and smooth, so much like a woman’s.
She guided Dídac so that he laid lengthwise on the bed, and then positioning herself on top of him, straddling his abdomen and gathering his hands to hold her breasts.
Dídac loved the feel of her. These were the objects of which he had dreamt of in bewilderment all his life, and at last with the moment to possess them, he felt as if sheer silk could somehow take on a lovely thickness and hot warmth. He moved them to his own rhythm at first, reveling in the novelty and sheer beauty of them, paying close attention to her various responses, subconsciously calculating the strength with which she wanted them handled.
Marcelina loved the manipulation of the boy’s tempered but delicate hands. Bursts and waves of pleasure rushed through her when he squeezed her just a little too hard. Closing her eyes, she guided him with her hands throughout, demonstrating her preferred method of attention, the way in which she liked her nipples pinched and breasts held and then caressed all at once. And when he did this to her satisfaction, it was worth everything she had struggled over, just to arrive at such a moment.
Instinctively, Dídac reached his mouth up from the pillow to suckle them between his wet lips, concentrating on her nipples until they were a deep shade of scarlet.
Marcelina released a moan that she did not even notice, but which excited him beyond reason.
She abruptly stopped him from turning his suckling into something over-wrought and frenzied by reaching behind him to cast away the pillow from under his head. She pushed his shoulders down onto the soft bed so that his head lay firmly against the cool linens. Grabbing hold of the bed post, she supported herself, moving her body as if intent on straddling his face. It was incredible, he thought, that she might go to this measure to control him. With her free hand, she rubbed the small mound of flesh between her legs, hovering over him and commanding the boy, as if to use his tongue to bathe herself.