‘Many minutes,’ Eloise admitted. ‘I could not stop myself for the pleasure of it, and . . . and . . . touched myself as she did it . . .’
‘Enough,’ Henry gasped, unable to hold himself any longer. ‘There is only one remedy for this . . . this abhorrence. You must be beaten, and immediately. Now step outside and kneel before the statue of the Sainted Denis with your skirts lifted high enough to screen your head, that you may absolve your sins.’
‘Beaten, Father?’ Eloise quaked.
‘Beaten!’ Henry responded firmly, only with an effort maintaining his mode of speech.
‘But, Father,’ Eloise wheedled, ‘might I not redeem myself in some more seemly manner? Perchance I would benefit from a penance more suited to my sin?’
‘No!’ Henry stated flatly. ‘You are to be beaten, and beaten as God intended, with your posteriors naked!’
‘But, Father!’ Eloise pleaded. ‘I would be willing to give much, even the comfort of my mouth, even . . .’
‘Silence!’ Henry thundered.
‘Yes, Father,’ Eloise squeaked and an instant later Henry heard her rise.
Holding his furiously erect cock in one hand, he forced himself to count to fifty, then rose and pushed open the door of his side of the confessional. Eloise, as ordered, was facing towards a niche in which stood the statue of the patron saint of France, the only one he had been able to remember on the spur of the moment. She was kneeling, face down, with her head and body entirely concealed beneath a sea of cloth. Skirt, petticoat and no less than three underpetticoats had all been thrown up, leaving her lower body naked except for her stockings, garters and slippers.
Henry swallowed, his eyes locked on the enchanting sight, taking in her dainty feet and slender calves, her well-formed thighs, the flare of her hips from her tiny waist, the full bulge of her pear-shaped bottom, the rich growth of red-gold curls between her legs, the puckered brown ring of her anus and, best of all, the juicy, swollen lips of her cunny. She was shivering slightly, and waiting so obediently in her exposed position that Henry wondered if her real priest wasn’t in the habit of taking advantage of her. Indeed, both the stains in the confessional and her responses suggested that he was.
Transferring his cock to his left hand, he pulled his belt from his breeches. Flipped over and doubled up, its weight felt satisfying in his hand, the buckle providing a convenient grip while the remainder formed a thick strap some two feet in length – ideal for taking to a girl’s bottom. Standing somewhat to the side, but not far enough to deprive himself of the full view of Eloise’s charms, he hefted the belt and brought it down hard across her quivering buttocks.
She jumped and squeaked as her bottom bounced under the belt, then began to mumble something in Latin, her words tumbling out with an urgent haste. A broad red stripe now decorated the whiteness of her bottom, running down at a low angle over the fleshiest part of her cheeks. Henry licked the dryness from his lips and again lifted the doubled belt, then brought it down with a ringing smack across Eloise’s behind. Again she bucked and squealed, then went back to her prayer with even greater fervour.
Resisting the urge to plunge his cock into her clearly receptive vagina, Henry went to work on her rear, taking out all the discomfort and alarm of the long journey to Burgundy on the shivering, excited girl who had been the cause of it all. Ten more times he brought the belt down across her bottom, leaving the cheeks criss-crossed with red welts. She was shaking hard, and still praying, while the pleasure of beating her had in no way diminished. Yet as the strokes had fallen and as the sharp cracks of leather on girl-skin had rung out around the little chapel, the visible signs of her arousal had increased dramatically. Her cunny was a soaking, swollen hole, its juices running down into the hair of her mound. At the heart of her vulva, her clitoris stood proud from its hood, like the head of a minute cock. The brown ring of her anus showed clearly in its nest of hair, swollen and puffy with the blood that her confession and the beating had brought to her hindquarters.
‘By God, I’ve got to fuck you, you wanton little baggage,’ Henry swore, hurling the belt to the floor and dropping quickly to his knees, ‘and now, or I’ll spend in my hand!’
He had spoken in English, and loudly, yet Eloise showed no signs of alarm, merely raising her posterior in mute acceptance of penetration. Henry put the head of his cock to her vagina and pushed himself in with a grunt, feeling her wet flesh engulf his length as it slid inside her.
‘Oh, yes, Father,’ Eloise groaned. ‘Enter me, do it in me, deep in me!’
Henry came, feeling his sperm flood into Eloise’s vagina as the blissful sensation of orgasm swept over him. She moaned, pushing herself back on to him as he drained his cock into her, then started to mumble broken thanks into the floor beneath her face.
‘A pleasure, my dirty little puppy, any time it pleases you,’ Henry puffed in response as he pulled his cock slowly from her vagina.
Eloise froze, then suddenly threw herself to the side and grabbed for the folds of cloth that hid her head. An instant later, her face appeared, the eyes and mouth open wide in amazement amid flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair.
‘At your service, mademoiselle,’ Henry said, inclining his upper body in a slight bow.
‘You . . . you . . .’ she managed weakly, then groaned, rolled on to her back and spread her thighs.
‘One is obliged, I suppose,’ Henry remarked to the detached head of Saint Denis and then leant forward to bury his face in the moist openness of Eloise’s vulva.
She came quickly, holding Henry’s head and moaning out her passion as she climaxed under his tongue. Even as he was wiping the stickiness from around his mouth, she had jumped up and demanded to know how and why he had arrived.
‘How, you know,’ Henry responded, ‘and I’ll not bore you with the details of the long and tedious trip from St Nazaire to here. As to why, I would have thought that would be evident; I am here to rescue you.’
‘I do not require rescue,’ Eloise replied stiffly.
‘What?’ Henry demanded, immediately piqued that, instead of being grateful for his presence, she seemed to regard it as a nuisance.
‘I mean to stay here, in my home,’ she went on. ‘These peasants have no right to treat me so, and presently all this will blow over and justice will be visited on the whole treacherous bunch of them!’
‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ Henry replied warmly. ‘Indeed, some of the things we saw on the way here suggest precisely the opposite.’
‘Ha!’ she retorted. ‘They can do nothing; they wouldn’t dare!’
‘Wouldn’t they, by God?’ he answered. ‘Let me tell you something, my girl. In Gien, we heard of an infernal device that lops men’s heads off at a single blow. It resembles the old Scottish maidens, yet is said to be the invention of one Dr Guillotine.’5
‘I know,’ she snapped, ‘and I also know that he will rot in the lowest pit of hell, along with the rest of them!’
‘For God’s sake, girl, have some sense!’ Henry snapped back. ‘Do you want to die? I mean, how old are you – twenty, twenty-one?’
‘I am nineteen,’ Eloise told him, ‘but I am the daughter of a count, and I would rather die the daughter of a count than live in exile!’
‘Dam’t, it’s not worth it!’ Henry blustered.
‘What do you know of such things?’ she sneered back.
‘What?’ he growled. ‘Who in hell’s name do you think you are? My family hold land, too, you know – have done since the middle ages, 1209, in fact – so I do know how you feel, but I tell you, it’s not worth letting some bastard of a peasant lop your knob off!’
‘Ha!’ she yelled. ‘You have no pride, no feeling! I do, and I’ll not leave!’
‘By God, but you will!’ Henry swore as his temper finally snapped. ‘I’ve not tramped the breadth of this rotten country to go home empty-handed!’
‘Never!’ Eloise spat. ‘Never! This is my home! My land! My people! I’ll not leave, n
ot if a thousand spade-faced peasants come to my door! Not if ten thousand!’
‘You’ll come willingly or you’ll come across my shoulder like a sack of potatoes!’ Henry shouted back. ‘Look, you fool woman, they’ll kill you! Don’t you understand? They’re not your people; they never were! They’re a bunch of down-trodden brutes who’ve finally plucked up the spunk to fight!’
‘No!’ Eloise screamed. ‘It’s not so! Not here!’
‘Why are there two village men at the gates with muskets, then?’ Henry sneered. ‘I suppose they’re there to protect you, eh? Let me tell you, your lot are no better than the rest: worse than many.’
‘No,’ Eloise retorted, but more quietly. ‘It is not so. They are simple peasants, fired to hatred by bourgeois agitators. Presently all will be calm and my life will begin again, with rides and balls and friends and . . .’
She broke off, sniffed and then suddenly burst into tears, flinging herself on to Henry’s chest as her inner terror and hurt broke through her rage. Henry’s own anger dissolved on the instant and he put his arms across her back, patting her head and hugging her as she screamed out her pent-up emotion into his chest. For a long time he held her, saying nothing, until her cries faded to broken sobs and finally stilled altogether.
‘We had best hasten,’ he said gently. ‘Does the boy who brings you bread at midday also come in the evenings?’
‘Yes, but what are you going to do?’ Eloise asked uncertainly.
‘Leave everything to me,’ Henry replied cheerfully, finding his confidence unexpectedly high from the experience of holding the trembling Eloise in his arms. ‘Peggy Wray is here on the cliff top, and my man Gurney. We’ll have you out and away to England in a trice.’
‘How?’ Eloise demanded. ‘And what of Natalie, my maid?’
‘Essentially the plan is this,’ Henry explained, ‘a fine compound of my spirit, Peggy’s imagination and Gurney’s practicality. First we use a rope to lower Natalie from the eastern battlement, also as many supplies as she can carry. She is slight and it should be no great feat. Then, when the boy arrives, I lump his head with a bottle, or some such convenient implement. We unrig him, bind and gag him and dress you in his clothes. I then leave with you close behind, passing the guards, and so away. By the time the guards get suspicious, we’ll be well gone.’
‘The boy is a surly brute who only dumps his basket at the door and turns back,’ Eloise objected. ‘He is tall and lank besides.’
‘You must call him inside on some pretext or other. He’d not believe it of you, perhaps, but should Natalie flash her tits for him, I’ll be bound he’d come in fast enough.’
‘You are mad,’ Eloise answered him. ‘It’s a stupid scheme, bound to failure.’
‘Trust to luck,’ Henry answered, ‘or I could lower you and Natalie both; yet, with all that fine flesh you carry, I’d not trust to the strength of my arms.’
Eloise threw him a dirty look but made no further objection, instead leading the way from the chapel towards the upper storeys of the Château. Natalie was in the bedroom that Eloise and she had taken to sharing, working nervously on a piece of embroidery. On seeing Henry, she was as surprised as Eloise had been, but expressed none of her mistress’s doubts or determination to stay. Instead, she threw herself wholeheartedly into the preparations for their escape, frantically gathering supplies while Eloise and Henry argued as to what was and was not a necessity.
Finally, her assertion that she could not possibly travel with less than six dresses came up against her equally blunt refusal to actually carry anything herself. Henry, likewise, was forced to reduce the number of bottles of fine old Burgundy he considered appropriate for the journey by Natalie’s physical inability to pick up the bundle they had prepared. Finally, they reached a compromise, with their stores wrapped in two of Eloise’s dresses while Natalie wore a third, and the portable wealth of the Château was piled in a heap on Eloise’s bed.
As dusk deepened to the point where the east face of the Château was cast into black shadow, Henry and Natalie climbed to the battlements. Soothing her with hearty reassurances of his strength, he pulled what had recently been in service as a bell rope around her chest, looping the end back through the eye. Then, with Natalie tight lipped and trembling, he picked her up and began to lower her down the side of the wall. As his arms took the strain, he found himself profoundly grateful that he was not going to attempt the feat with Eloise, and by the time the maid touched the ground, his muscles were burning with pain and his hands sore and red. The bundle followed, lowered with the same care as the girl to avoid the risk of breaking any of the three precious bottles packed within.
No sooner had Natalie given the gentle tug that signalled that all was well than he saw the light from the supper boy’s lantern coming slowly up the road from the village, as he had been told to expect. Pulling the bell rope quickly up, he ran for the stair that led down into the Château.
In the great hall, he met Eloise, dressed in only a diaphanous shift that displayed more of her breasts than it concealed. His smile of appreciation was met with a black look and a gesture at the open doorway, through which the boy’s lantern could be seen approaching. Energised by both the tension of the situation and the sight of Eloise déshabillée, Henry found himself grinning as he took his station just inside the doorway. The boy would come in, he was sure of it, but there would be only one chance to land a telling blow.
He watched as Eloise stepped forward, her body back-lit by the torch in the hall to show her gentle curves through the shift. It was a sight that Henry knew he would have been quite unable to resist, and, as he had guessed, the boy was no less subject to his natural urges. At Eloise’s soft request to enter he came boldly forward, giving a snort of lust and perhaps contempt as he crossed the threshold.
The candlestick in Henry’s hand caught the back of the boy’s head, sending him sprawling on the floor. Instantly Henry was on top of him, ramming a wad of cotton into his mouth as he set his knee into the centre of his victim’s back. Eloise shut the door and no challenge came from the guards at the gate, Henry’s elation growing yet stronger at their success.
Dragging their captive down to the cellar, Henry made short work of stripping and then binding him. Just as the work was being completed, the boy groaned and opened his eyes, his expression turning to terror as he saw his assailant.
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ Henry assured him. ‘Lie quiet and you’ll come to no harm. Eloise, get his farting crackers on, and the coat and boots; with the hat, that should suffice.’
Eloise made no response, but quickly peeled the shift up over her head. Henry chuckled as the boy’s eyes grew round at the sight of Eloise in her glorious nudity, then swallowed himself as her breasts lolled forward with the motion of picking up the boy’s breeches from the floor.
‘You need not watch quite so avidly,’ she chided him as she slid a foot into one leghole.
Blowing his breath out, Henry turned to make an inspection of the ranked bottles in the bin closest to him. The slate at the front bore the legend ‘Corton – les Languettes 1771’, which quickened Henry’s interest. However, with the edge of his vision including the entrancing sight of Eloise struggling to pull the boy’s breeches up over her thighs, it was hard to concentrate. For a moment, he was torn between the urge to find a corkscrew and that to watch Eloise, but finally lust won out.
He paused from his inspection of the bottles to watch, chuckling at Eloise’s efforts to pull the leather breeches up over her well-fleshed bottom. The belt had caught beneath her buttocks, lifting them into chubby prominence and for an instant parting them enough to afford Henry a teasing glimpse of the hair in between. She turned at the sound of his laughter, threw him a burning look and, with renewed force, managed to tug the breeches up over her bottom. With a final wiggle, she succeeded in pulling them up to her waist.
As she fastened them, Henry found himself licking suddenly dry lips. The display of her nudity while she
stripped and dressed had been enticing, yet the humour of watching her attempt to put a thoroughly feminine figure into clothing cut for a boy had been sufficient to delay his lust. Now it was different. Eloise’s bottom resembled a pear wrapped in leather, the twin spheres beneath stretching the hide out to glossy balls. The breeches were also tight around her thighs, with little ridges of tension showing where the fullness of her bottom tucked down between them, as if they were about to burst. By contrast they were slack at the waist, serving to increase the impression of a leather sack with two heavy spheres inside.
His cock was a rigid pole within his own breeches. With no more than a glance to the cellar stair he had reached forward and seized the twin leather-clad balls in his hands, drawing a yelp of surprise from Eloise. Staggering from the unexpected assault on her rear, she went forward over a barrel. For a moment Henry was presented with a yet more magnificent display of her bottom, with the seat of the breeches stretched taut across it.
A ripping noise signalled the end of the garment’s unequal struggle to accommodate Eloise’s bottom, the rear seam bursting to show slices of buttock, thigh and the plump lips of her vulva. Henry came forward with an oath, tearing at the buttons of his breeches, and reached Eloise before she could recover her balance.
‘Imbecile!’ she squeaked as his cock bumped against the soft flesh that was bulging from the rip in her breeches. ‘Stop! This is not the time!’
She made a half-hearted effort to get up and then moaned as his erection found the moist hole of her vagina.
‘Idiot!’ she managed weakly as her vagina filled with penis.
His only response was a grunt as he began to hump her over the barrel. Each push made her bottom-cheeks bulge and increased the size of the rent in her breeches, until the full length of her cleft was naked and a good six inches of creamy cheek was spilling out to each side. Delighted by the view, he took hold of her buttocks and pulled them open, exposing the well-furred depths between, the dull brown dimple of her bum-hole and the pink ring of flesh where his cock disappeared into her vagina.
The Rake Page 11