La Roque: The Visit

This being the second tale of Sebastien and Cosette. The first was The Collaring, posted in an earlier entry. They are best read in order. ~~~

It was dark in the carriage as it jarred and creaked its way down the mountain from Chateau de La Roque. Within, behind the drawn, rich velvet curtains, Cosette fingered the patterns of intricate lace at her wrists. She wondered where she was going. She wondered why he had given her the dress...

Her new dress, all cream-white satin and delicate filigree, was breathtakingly beautiful and shamefully immodest. The corsetry, while at times uncomfortable, embraced her in a way that made her more aware of her femininity. The spider-work lace trimming the bodice did little to veil the rose-pink of her nipples riding the soft swell of her breasts. Her master had paid the tailor extra for that.

Her master...

Marquis Sébastien La Roque sat across from her, his gloved hands crossed over the pommel of his cane. Though it was too dark for her to see him, she could feel his presence. She could feel it in the weight of the steel collar, his collar, around her neck. It served as a constant reminder that she was his slave, and Cosette reveled in that knowledge.

The carriage rattled on for an hour or more before Cosette marked the sound of the horses' hooves changing from dull thudding on the packed dirt highway to ringing hollowly on paving stones. They had arrived. But where?

They sat silently in darkness, waiting for the driver to attend them. Cosette nervously toyed with a long, sable lock of her hair. As the door opened to the moonless night, the Marquis leaned in close to her, "You are to speak to no one here," he whispered.

"As you wish, Master," she replied, her curiosity piqued all the more at this. Following him out of the carriage, she stepped down into the paved courtyard, which appeared to be flanked all around by small, single room hovels built against a stone wall. It wasn't until she turned that she saw, on the far side of the carriage, the high tower and steeple of Clairvaux Abbey.

"Come," her master said, setting off toward the chapel. Cosette fell in behind him, her thoughts awash in confusion. She was acutely aware of the salacious irreverence of her dress. It was improper attire in secular company; but here... here it was blasphemous! Still, she dared not try to conceal herself. It was his wish that she wear it, and his wish that she come with him to this place.

From the shadows of the chapel, they were met by a monk in grey robes and a dark cloak, the hood drawn far forward, completely obscuring his face. No words were exchanged between the two men, but the Marquis placed a note in the abbot's hand and was given a scroll in return.

Cosette flushed scarlet as she felt the priest's eyes on her.

Pausing to bow to the Marquis, the abbot then led them both to the chapel door. The heavy wooden door opened to a long, spacious sanctuary. The vaulted ceiling, supported by great stone arches, rose thirty feet or more overhead. The light from the candles at the altar became lost in the shadows of its upper reaches. Along either side of the sanctuary, polished wooden benches served as pews. At the front of these, six to a side, stood other monks, each in the same robe and cloak as the abbot.

Cosette could hear them chanting, their voices deep and sonorous. She found the sound somewhat sinister at first, but as she followed the abbot and her master down the aisle, the tone began to feel somehow... soothing.

When, at last, they had reached the far end, her master indicated that she should kneel on the small cushion on the floor before the altar. Crouching behind her, the Marquis reached to her hands, placing them together before her, in the position for prayer. Thankful that in this, she could at last hide the shameful display of her breasts, Cosette silently blessed her master for his mercy.

The Marquis pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stepped away from her. She could hear his footsteps echoing down the aisle. Her heart raced as the door boomed closed. She shifted uncomfortably on the cushion as the abbot's voice joined the chorus of his brothers.

Cosette tried to recall the prayers she was taught as a girl, stumbling through what bits she could remember, but the monks' chanted litany wove its way into her mind, stealing her thoughts from consciousness. It seemed closer to her now, and echoing to her from all around. Her prayers were lost in its baritone melody. She became drunk with it.

Within the haze of this intoxication, she felt hands placed gently on her shoulders, helping her to her feet. The abbot turned her around to face him, though the hood still hid his face from view. The other monks pressed in around her, their chant continuing unchecked, drawing her deeper under its spell. She felt dizzy. The abbot offered his hands to support her. She accepted, stepping into his embrace.

She could feel more hands on her now, fingertips tracing the line of her shoulder, others tugging at the lacing of her dress, releasing the restriction of the corset. She nearly protested, but then remembered the word of her master, "Speak to no one here," he had commanded. And why resist? She couldn't deny the familiar warmth of lust growing between her legs as the hands wandered and groped her flesh.

Soon, all thoughts of protest dissipated into the echoing euphoria of the endless chant. The monks had worked their way under her dress, their hands cupping her breasts, exploring her hips and her ass. Others slipped her arms free of the satin sleeves, then pulled her dress down past her hips to pool around her feet.

The abbot pulled her close to him as the monks disrobed her, leaving her stripped, exposed to them all. As she raised her lips in offering, the abbot met her lips with his own, kissing her deeply. Feeling the growing evidence of his cock pressing against her belly, Cosette yielded entirely to her lust.

Her hands began to wander now, as three of the hooded men surrounded her. She felt the abbot's heart beating in his chest. She turned her head to rest her face there as another monk grabbed her hips, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against her firm and tight ass. She arched her back in response, pressing back against him. The other monk cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, gently kneading them as she rocked back and forth against the cock behind her.

Outside of their circle of fornication, the nine others formed an outer circle, continuing their chant... waiting.

Cosette's fingers trailed down from the abbot's chest to graze over the rigid swell of his cock. The monk attending her breasts had begun gently flicking his fingertips over her very sensitive nipples. She could feel her pussy flooding with the yearning that was summoned by that sensation. The abbot parted his robe to reveal that he was naked beneath it. His cock fell into her grasp and she immediately leaned in to slip the head of it into her mouth.

Hungrily she devoured it, sucking it deep into her mouth, then pressing more, forcing it into her throat. The monk behind her had freed his cock as well, running the engorged head of it between the cheeks of her ass, then pressing it just barely between the lips of her sopping pussy, wetting it in her lust. She tried to press herself back onto that rigid spear, but was denied as the monk pulled away.

Moaning in titillated frustration, Cosette continued working on the abbot, feverishly at first, but then calming down as once again, she became enthralled by the steady rhythm of the chant. As she relaxed, she once again felt the hard cock between her legs. She whimpered softly around the shaft in her mouth, begging him to relieve the want that burned inside her. Mercifully, he obliged.

Cosette's eyes rolled back as her cunt was filled. The cock wasn't terribly large, but definitely sufficient. For a man of the cloth, the priest certainly seemed to know how to use what God had given him. His fingertips dug into her hips as he rocked her back and forth against his thrusts, guiding her ministrations on the abbot's rigid member as well.

She had disliked pleasuring a man with her mouth when she was learning, but as she grew into full womanhood, she had come to enjoy it immensely. She felt both empowered and supplicant in that act; giving, yet controlling the pleasure given. Cosette opened her eyes as the abbot's cock left her mouth. He was joined by another monk. Both of them stroked their hard shafts in front of her face. Cosette eagerly extended her tongue to each, leaning in to suckle the head of one, then the other as she was rocked forward on the cock buried inside of her.

The two in front of her stepped closer, allowing her lips and tongue complete access. As the monk behind her picked up the pace of his persistent thrusts, Cosette gorged herself on the cocks before her. She sucked, greedily, while their fingertips played on her nipples. As she felt her ass and hips shudder each time the priest pounded his cock deep into her wanton cunt, she felt more and more brazen in her lust.

The cocks were all fucking her now, one for her mouth, then her pussy, and the other for her mouth again. She was taking it... taking it all...

She felt like a slut...

The monk's fingernails dug tiny crescents into her hips as he unleashed a flood of cum deep inside her. Cosette squirmed against him, as her own orgasm sent contractions through her cunt, milking his cock completely.

Like a whore...

No sooner than he had pulled himself out of her, he was replaced by another. The monks were in line, taking their turns pleasuring themselves. She was their fuck toy, their harlot... and she loved it.

One by one, the monks of Clairvaux Abbey used her. Some of them came in her mouth. She contentedly swallowed all that they offered. Others came all over her face. She rubbed their seed into her skin with the heads of their cocks. Others came deep in the well of her womb. Those, she enjoyed the most, relishing the deluge as it washed over the walls of her soaked pussy.

She never saw their faces, never knew their names, but she knew the taste and feel of each one of them. Over time, she would come to know them very well... as once a month, the Marquis La Roque would visit Clairvaux Abbey to pay his tithe.