Blessed by Nature

"French Empire? Why would I want to exchange the tyranny of Westminster for the tyranny of Versailles? What an odd reason to be expelled from the land of one's birth!" Nicholas stood up, and as he did so, Rose-Marie gasped. He was a tall man, but not exceptionally so. His chest was broad, his skin was brown, but shiny from the thick layer of sun cream that covered it, and between his legs, Rose-Marie just couldn't help peeking, it was such a huge piece of meat, the foreskin not quite joining over the eye of his glans, the head of which she could glimpse, and testicles proportional to the penis they served.

With difficulty, she averted her gaze and looked into Nicholas's light blue eyes. This was the first time she'd ever properly seen his face. The curls of his hair covered half his ears. Freckles covered his round cheeks and his smallish nose. And his teeth were broad and white, but smiled without too much humour. Rose-Marie struggled to defend her opinions. "I just don't understand what you mean by 'independence'. Every country in the world is in one of the big empires. British. French. German. Ottoman. Dutch. How else could it be? In the modern world, no country can be strong enough to survive unless it is part of a stronger more powerful economic and political unit."

"Nonsense! It's just the Europeans running the world for their own benefit. None of the empires would exist if it weren't in the interests of the Europeans. Taxing the colonies to finance the huge navies and the armies of civil servants. The world would be a better place if the colonies and the provinces of all the empires were independent and governed for themselves."

"But there would be war and chaos. The European empires have kept peace for more than two hundred years. There has been no major war since the Wars of Religious Freedom…"

"Except when the Germans invaded Japan and Korea. Or when the British and Germans divided up the last remnants of China. Or when the French massacred the rebels in Haiti. Or don't these conflicts count?"

"Well, no. They don't. No Europeans were killed. Well, not many of them."

"I see," sniffed Nicholas. He shook his head as if in despair. "I thought you Edenists might be a bit more enlightened. All this back to nature thing. The tradition of Rousseau and Thoreau. But clearly, more than being Edenists, you are just French Imperialists. Now, excuse me. I have work to do."

Nicholas knelt down by the flowerbed, and busied himself with his trowel. Rose-Marie stood by, feeling hurt and embarrassed. This wasn't right. Servants don't behave like that. Even if they did come from the British Empire. She hovered there, her skin burning hot from inside. Hotter even than it would have been from just the Caribbean sun.

"You can't just talk to me like that," she struggled to say, to keep her dignity intact. "My father wouldn't like it!"

"The fuck what your father likes!" Nicholas exclaimed in English, a language Rose-Marie understood perfectly well.

"He'll go mad if he hears how impertinent you've been," snorted Rose-Marie. "Servants don't talk like that. It's not right!"

Nicholas sighed. He rolled his eyes slightly and wearily stood up. Again Rose-Marie's eyes were drawn towards that penis of his. And, she wasn't sure, but didn't it twitch a bit? "Look, Rose-Marie de Rouen, let's not be silly about this. In Virginia, things are different to here. There aren't servants. There are employees. It's a free country. Where everyone can vote. Even if the majority of the population are so misguided as to prefer to pay their taxes to a government in North West Europe. It's not easy for me to behave in the way that your servants do."

Something melted inside Rose-Marie. The combination of this man's impertinence and the authority he managed to command despite his lowly status, and the sight of his penis, nearly twenty centimetres of flesh, and still not erect. And dominating her vision wherever she looked. And somehow rooting her to the ground when she knew she should just leave. And telephone her father. And get him to dismiss this insolent foreigner and his radical ways. She attempted to say something; to articulate something through the cloud of her confusion, when, without knowing how or really what caused it, she suddenly broke into tears.

"Oh! For heaven's sake!" Nicholas swore, in English again. "Stop crying, will you. It's not as if I've hit you or anything."

Rose-Marie sobbed. "I don't know why you talk to me like that. I only wanted to speak to you. I didn't want to…"

Nicholas's voice became softer. He put a consoling arm over her shoulder. "Look, come on. Perhaps I was a bit harsh with you. You French. So damned emotional. Come over here. Let's sit on the bench."

Rose-Marie heard Nicholas' words, but nothing was clearer to her senses than the sensation of that firm strong hand on her shoulder. So warm. So powerful. And then the two of them were sitting on a bench, facing out to sea, past a view of palm trees and scrubby bushes, punctuated by the chirrup of cicadas and the rustle of leaves in the warm sea breeze. And as Rose-Marie's head was bowed, an arm around her silently heaving shoulders, she was looking directly at Nicholas' penis. And yes, it was twitching. Only a little. But it was firmer. Stiffer. And visibly larger.

"What is it like in Virginia, where you come from?"

"The skies they go on forever. They're blue and clear. With little fluffy clouds. And the clouds catch the colour of the light. You don't see that here." Nicholas stared towards the distance. "And there are lots of stars at night. It's so beautiful. The most beautiful skies in the world."

Rose-Marie placed a hand on Nicholas' thigh. He was clearly moved by his memories. She could feel the brush of his penis against the back of her palm. The light hairs on her arm rose slightly, even though it was very warm. Her breath became shorter and her heart beat violently in her chest.

"Why! You're shaking, Rose-Marie. What's wrong with you?"

Rose-Marie shook her head. She wasn't at all sure what she could say. She let Nicholas hold her more closely against his chest, feeling the brush of his hair against her skin. And then, with an impulsiveness that surprised her, she put her hand on Nicholas' penis and squeezed it.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Nicholas asked, but not resisting her.

"I don't know. I don't know. It's just… It's just… Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" She pulled herself onto Nicholas' face and showered it with kisses.

At first Nicholas was obviously puzzled. His penis was being stroked and tugged, while lips and tongue were wetting his face. His eyes looked around him with some disconcertment. And then his natural decisiveness reasserted itself.

"Rose-Marie. Not here. In the copse."

"Yes. Not here. Not here. What am I thinking?" murmured Rose-Marie, but continuing to cover Nicholas' face with the saliva of her tongue. And her fingers rolled beneath the base of the penis and grasped Nicholas' testicles. So hard. So firm. Exactly like the shape of two hen's eggs. Soft and unresisting. Hard and pliable. And pulsing with sexual potency.

"Into the copse! Hurry!" Nicholas breathed, standing up with difficulty as his huge penis stretched out in front of him, twitching and struggling into life, pulling the foreskin clear of the glans, at an angle now almost perpendicular to his waist and still growing. The skin pulling and pulling, so that his testicles were dragged along the penis's length, away from the hairy base and the soft hairs of his anus. Rose-Marie let herself be guided by Nicholas' guiding arm across the lawn and into the shadow of the copse, speckles of light coming through the dense imported leaves, onto the soft mossy ground.

And it was on this ground, surrounded by the debris of discarded tree-bark and pine needles and slightly damp moss and ferns, that Rose-Marie lay spread out, conscious of Nicholas' tongue and lips and teeth chewing and licking and sucking on her labial lips, her clitoris and entering her lower mouth. While her tongue and eyes concentrated on Nicholas' powerful manhood. Now fully erect. Forty centimetres or more in length. Full and erect. The glans itself almost as big as many men's penises were when limp. She could get her lips around the purple bulging pulsing glans but not far down the rest of the penis. The bluish veins pulsed against her tongue and the insides of her lips, as she pulled her mouth up and down on its length, feeling it brush against her tonsils, almost making her cough. So hard. So warm. And so powerful. And now so slippery. As her spit slid down its length, spotting the reddish brown pubic hairs.

And eventually, and only when Rose-Marie was ready, so very ready, her vaginal juices spitting out like fat from a fire, a dribble of saliva worrying its way into her anus, then, and only then, as she gasped, delirious with passion and desire, Nicholas penetrated her vagina. And it slid in, at first, so easily. In. In. Slightly out. In. In. Slightly out again. There was a strange sucking, slapping, slurping noise as the body fluids that lubricated the genitals slid and slobbered against each other. And then, slightly at first, and then increasing, a slight worrying and then escalating dull pain, as Rose-Marie lost a new virginity that she hadn't known she had.

Rose-Marie didn't know in the confusion of her passion, where time dissolved into desire, where her senses enmeshed with her desire and ecstasy, what it was that made her cries of passion so loud and vocal. Was it the pain? Was it the pleasure? Was it even really pain she felt, but just a heightened pronounced feeling of passion. And she exploded into orgasm once. Twice. Thrice. And then how many times? At first minutes between each peak of passion. Then more rapidly. More frequently. Like a concertina of ecstasy. And then even after she knew that Nicholas had released as much sperm as he could. And his penis had shrivelled inside her, but still large enough to stay there. Even then, when she knew it should be over. One more time of passion. And orgasm. And then another. And then collapse. Perhaps even a brief loss of consciousness.

After this, Rose-Marie never spoke to Nicholas again. It would not be right. His dangerous opinions. His insolence. And of course she was betrothed and had no wish to harm what would soon be a successful marriage by any foolishness. But whenever she strode the garden, her parasol up to keep the skin cancer at bay, hand in hand with Yves, puffing away at his cigar, she would glance at Nicholas, his penis swaying as he strode across the lawn, a rake and a shovel over his shoulder and a pannier in his hand, she would always feel that warm, familiar passion between her thighs. A passion that often took Yves by surprise, but curiously seemed to cement their love.