by Leia Rice
Arabelle slammed her ass back against François’s thighs. She could feel his balls slap against her clitoris as she countered his every thrust. Soon enough, her pussy clamped over his cock tightly as her orgasm seized her, forcing her to collapse onto her forearms on the ground, in the same position as the other two spent girls.
François drove himself through the orgasm and loudly came to his own. His seed spilled within her, and after a few spurts, he pulled out and let the rest squirt up into the air and onto Christine and Marie, who looked hungry with desire and ready to go again.
Arabelle was frozen with pleasure. She could not bring herself to move, and when she tried, she could feel François’s seed ooze out of her pussy and down her thighs. Eventually, she managed to push herself up to stand, though she wavered weakly and needed to use the wall to hold her up.
François tucked his spent manhood, once it was flaccid, back into his codpiece and fixed his leggings and trousers so that he looked presentable. Arabelle watched as Christine and Marie both pulled themselves up to stand, as well. Her friends smiled happy, drugged smiles and complacently arranged their dresses so that it looked as if nothing had just occurred.
“Now, if the queen has me, it will only be with you fine women on my cock first.” François pinched Arabelle’s cheek teasingly and glanced back over his shoulder. “I fear I’ve spent enough time hiding behind the walls, though. Her Highness will want me when she returns, and I need to be sure that I can perform again after using my seed on you.” He looked directly at Arabelle as he said this, then leaned over and whispered in her ear, “And you are the only one who has had it.”
Arabelle tingled with lust all over again, but before she could respond, François kissed her on the cheek, then hurried back to find the secret door that led into the queen’s chambers. Christine and Marie approached behind Arabelle and each of them took her by the hand and sighed whimsically.
“You were right.” Marie giggled and flushed at the same time. “He was good.”
“So, very, very good.” Christine agreed.
The three maids laughed tiredly in unison, then turned to head back to their chambers.
The Revolution was eventually upon them and François was nowhere to be found. Arabelle did not have the time to look for him, or ask around for him, since she was so busy running about the palace, trying to avoid disaster. The revolutionaries had marched to the courtyard the night before, demanding to see the queen who was bereft and beside herself over the matter. They blamed her. Arabelle could understand why.
In the time that Arabelle had been employed, she watched great sums of money be splurged on whatever it was that the queen desired. At first, it was alarming, but Arabelle grew tired of the financial gossip, and learned to escape the harsh reality of the declining country by spreading more uplifting and humorous gossip about which lady was being fucked in the butcher’s kitchen. Once, one of the governesses came to the maids’ room while the girls were giggling about the king’s inability to put his cock into a woman, and they were all scolded for being so oblivious and disrespectful to France’s situation. But it was just that, France’s situation, and not theirs. They just worked for the royalty, they were not royal themselves. Was François paid for his services? Arabelle wondered. Did the queen spend the bread money for the poor so that she could be fucked in the early-morning hours? How devious it was, to be the queen.
The other maids had been sent away, all save for Arabelle and Christine, who were urged to stay to prepare the royal family for their attempted flight out of the country. As the months before the revolution passed by, Arabelle learned that she was with child. She touched her stomach and mischievously smiled in secret when no one was watching, since she decided that it was not worth the stress of saying anything about her condition. Emotions were heightened, and Arabelle didn’t want to be threatened with the possibility of facing the guillotine for using the assumedly paid consort of the queen. Despite this, the secret drove Arabelle to want to find François in hopes that she could run off with him to some safer place that wasn’t so angry and charged.
As she flittered through the halls, dragging bags of the queen’s plainest clothes to take to the escape carriage set up outside, she scanned the few dozen people who roamed through, saving or quietly pilfering what possessions they could. Arabelle thought that they were smart. Why not take from the royal family, when they took the people’s funds from them? At the same time, a part of her felt sad as women ran by her carrying the royal dress of the children. Surely, they were at least innocent. Arabelle laughed wryly to herself and wondered aloud, “When did I become such a revolutionary? Perhaps if she had spent more time worrying about her people and not about her cunny, none of us would be in this situation.”
François was nowhere to be found. It was much too chaotic. Arabelle worried that she’d never feel him inside her again. Her body yearned for him even more, now that she carried his child. Now that he was no longer attached to the queen. It was as if her body was telling her that she could not live the rest of her life without him and their lusty, impassioned fucking. A steward ran up to Arabelle, ripping her from her daydream, and he hefted the luggage she carried from her and under his arms. “Hurry, mademoiselle. We haven’t much time! You must get to the queen!” And then he was gone around the corner.
Much time? Arabelle did not understand. Where did the queen go? And where was Christine? The rioting outside was becoming even louder, so much so that she could hear it through the halls, despite the fact that she was nowhere near the courtyard. “Christine?” Arabelle called frantically for her friend, but never heard a reply. She was supposed to go with the queen, but she had lost the royal family sometime ago while wandering through the halls searching for François. They would realize she was missing, and if the revolution was unsuccessful, she would surely lose her head for abandoning them. Arabelle hesitated mostly at the thought of her own fate, and secondly at the fate of the queen.
Just as Arabelle decided to step forward to break away from the scandalous court that she served and make her own escape, a firm hand grabbed her by the arm, almost forcefully so. François leaned over Arabelle and kissed her here in the palace hall, unguarded, free for all to see. Arabelle passionately kissed him back, and as she parted from his lips, Christine peeked from behind François and smiled as she exclaimed, “Look who I found!”
Arabelle smiled in return and looked up at François. “François, I am with—”
“Yes, I know, ma chérie. Your Christine told me as we ran around the palace looking for you.” François wrapped his arm around Arabelle’s waist possessively and pulled her in for another heady kiss. When the kiss ended, he whispered urgently, “Come. I know a way out of here to a man who will get us somewhere safe. It pays to be the queen’s consort.” A devilish grin pulled at François’s lips then. “And a revolutionary spy.”
Christine giggled somewhere behind François, since nothing royal could be taken seriously with the revolution hanging over the French people’s heads. “Ah, he is dangerous and mysterious, as well, Arabelle. You’ve caught yourself a fine, fine Frenchman.”
Arabelle smiled sweetly up at her François and pressed her fingers against his lips. “A spy? I fucked a spy?” She laughed dangerously. “Oh, the poor, lust-starved queen. What she did not know.” Pressing the tips of her fingers into François mouth, Arabelle whispered, “Now I can be your queen. And Christine shall be our consort.” The former lady’s maid smiled back at her friend, who giggled once more. “And we can both have you when we please, without any worry of taxes and royal accounts, or sneaky, handsome spies peeking up our skirts and threatening us with the guillotine.”
“Vive la révolution,” François mused, and then kissed both of the women fiercely as they turned to flee the licentious palace of Versailles, leaving behind the heads of less careful lovers to roll.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-7885-5
The Queen’s Consort
Copyright © 2011 by Leia Rice
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