The Princess of Cleves #11

Princess Mary noted Rosalind's pink cheeks. She had already been vexed by the Queen's messengers asking for the letter. Ostensibly, that jealous woman believed the letter to belong to the Viscount de Chartes, her favorite. Mary had sent them away with some thin excuse that the letter was in the clothes she wore yesterday, which had gone abroad with their keepers. She knew what really was on the Queen's mind, that there was some affair between Mary and a nobleman. If she said she gave the letter to the Viscount's niece, the Queen would be think she was somehow mixed up in the matter.

So, she had been impatiently waiting for Rosalind, only to have her arrive pink and flushed from her husband's arms. It made her only more beautiful. That Rosalind had chosen to wear the bracelet she gave her bore ill augury. Whatever she had to say to Mary, it would not please her.

"What has kept you? I have been waiting two hours for you to report to me. Did you bring the letter?" she demanded as Rosalind curtseyed. The color drained from her face, and Mary knew her news. "What has happened to the letter, tell me quickly."

Rosalind gaped for a moment before she formed a story. "I am sorry your Highness, but my husband has given the letter to the Duke. I gave it to the Prince to read. When the Duke came to beg me to get it from you, my careless husband revealed to the Duke we had the letter." She looked at Mary, and knew that she saw through her lie, that something else had happened. "The Duke entreated my husband to give him the missive, and he yielded. I don't know what you shall do, as I do not have the letter to give you."

"Now what will I tell the Queen? She will be convinced that the Viscount de Chartes is my lover and she will give me no peace." Mary gave her a hard look. "As it was I who gave you the letter, did you not think it appropriate to return it to me?"

"I grieve to see you so distressed, but it was not my fault, it was my husband who gave the Duke the letter," Rosalind said, staring at the ground.

Mary knew she was lying. There was no doubt in Mary's mind that the Duke had charmed the letter from the girl. "What woman includes her husband in every petty intrigue? It is your fault, your's alone, and even worse you blame it on the Prince."

"Of course you are right, pardon me. Perhaps it is best that we focus on how to mitigate the consequences as opposed to speaking of who is to blame," she replied.

"Spoken like one who is at fault." As angry as she was, Mary could not resist stroking her mahogany hair. "You must reproduce the letter from memory, and in a hand with which the Queen is unfamiliar." She leaned down to whisper into Rosalind's ear, "And I will expect you at six o'clock. Our agreement did not extend to circumstances which you are almost my ruin." She blushed and her breath came shallow and fast. "Go find your husband, and have him help." Mary waved her away, and she ran from the room, her face red with shame.

* * * *

A step behind Rosalind was the Marechal. Everyone noticed how he was Rosalind's shadow as she moved about the court. He took her arm, and did his best to hide how her present state was affecting him. The Duke had somehow gotten into her room, and he'd taken her. There was a subtle peace to her movements, when normally she was agitated. She had to pull her lips down in order to frown, instead of lifting them up in a hollow smile. He wanted to throw himself in her path so she could trample on him. As he thought of it he shivered, his sex painfully throbbing against his breeches. He turned to look at her, and she was staring back. She nodded, and he started. When she smiled at him, she showed her little teeth.

The Marechal wracked his brain for a place to take her, somewhere that would be empty, where they would not be seen. Two turns and they would be at his chambers; if no one saw them, he could simply lock his door and tell her she must be quiet. Looking around, he saw not a soul, and he dragged her to a trot. Slamming the door behind them, he dropped his keys. He had to catch his breath before he locked them into the room.

Rosalind flopped down onto the Marechal's bed. He crawled over to her, and began to kiss her feet, slipping them out of her shoes.

The smell of sex overwhelmed him as he began to move his mouth up her legs. She slid her groin closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs as he buried his face between her legs. Her lips were hot and swollen, and the Marechal licked them lightly. He flicked his tongue over the opening of her sex, consuming the liquid that oozed from her, the trace of her and the Duke's love, as she quivered. He moaned, and she moaned, grinding against his face. He rubbed her asshole, and pressed his tongue inside her. She fluttered on his mouth and whimpered as she came.

He rubbed his cheek against her thigh. With one finger, he felt her little bud throb. She lifted up one foot, stuck it on his chest, and kicked him out from under her skirts.

The Marechal lay on his back, looking up at her, and wriggled. If he moved like a worm she would know that he wanted to be crushed like one. She rose, and prodded his leg with her toe. She did not put her little slippers back on, but instead stepped onto his thigh. The Marechal reached up to give her his hands, to help her balance, and she slapped them away. She carefully curled her foot over his femur, transferred her weight, then planted the ball of her other foot in his groin. He wanted to writhe against her foot, but instead peeked at her through his half closed eyes. There was a wicked smile on her face, and he almost came.

She shifted more of her weight onto his groin and he susurrated when she placed her foot in his chest. He reached up to touch her legs, and she smashed her foot into his face. When she stuck her toes into his mouth, he nibbled at them. Giggling, she almost lost her balance and he grabbed her hips to steady her.

Rosalind felt silly then, locked away in a room, standing on some man. The Marechal could read her thoughts in her wide uncertain eyes.

"What is it Rosalind? I know what's put you in a good mood, but not why you're frowning," the Marechal said, seeing her expression change.

"There's all that intrigue about the letter. The Duke is in the middle of it."

"The Duke, it does not surprise me, that man is prone to intrigue. Surely only a very naive woman would fawn over such a man." The Marechal tried very hard not to smile as he spoke.

Her lips pulled down in a moue and she put her foot over his mouth. "You, you are not to speak. You are far too clever. I want you kneeling in front of me." When she stepped off him he scrambled to his knees. "Is that your riding gear?"

The Marechal looked at her, and then at the pile of clothes in the corner, from which the handle of his riding crop peeked out. He licked his lips as his heart began to throb.

"Strip." The Marechal was thrown into confusion as he undressed. As soon as he revealed a patch of bare skin, the Princess would trace his flesh with the crop's leather tip. He blushed furiously under her eyes. Removing his breeches, she massaged his sex with the whip. When he tried to kiss her hands she took his hair in her hand and pulled so he was down on all fours. She started to hit him lightly, against his shoulders and the meat of his buttocks, quick fiery stings. Growing bold, she hit him harder and he gasped. There were hot licks on his ribs, his thighs; she would reach down and pull his hair, rub his genitals with the crop. She beat him, each blow inflamed another, a fiery network crisscrossing his skin until he came.

The Marechal wept on Rosalind's feet.

He dressed quickly and took her to the King's court. The serenity with which Rosalind moved filled the Marechal with pride. He was her confidante, his body bore the marks of her inner fury. Each step agitated his tender skin, a delicious pain. He could not stay at court, but instead shut himself up in his room to touch himself, dreaming of Rosalind pinned beneath the Duke.

* * * *

The Prince frowned as his wife hurried to him. She looked satiated, carefree, despite the fact that the Duke had intimated to the Prince that whatever business he was about, it was of dire importance to her uncle.

His frown deepened as he realized how stupid he had been--he left his wife alone with the Duke in her bedchamber. Now he understood her mood, she was in love. That was why his rivals always had a tinge of pity in their eyes. He even saw it when the Princess Mary looked at him. The humiliation should have crushed him, all these people manhandling his young wife, sometimes at his bidding. It only made him aroused.

He barely paid any mind to what she whispered to him, he was picturing the Duke fixing her with his devilish smile before pressing her onto the bed, the same bed he and the Chevalier took her. The Duke conquered what neither the Prince nor the Chevalier had been able to bend to their wills. They could make love to the Princess, but she would not make love back to them. She would touch them, but lust guided her caresses.

Today, this very morning, as he had stood about the King's court, she made love to the Duke. He must tell the Chevalier; they must find out the schedule of their trysts. He would watch the Duke take his wife, and then he and the Chevalier would... Rosalind gave him a queer look as he shivered. He needed to focus his thoughts elsewhere, he was only exciting himself in public. It did not help that he felt the Chevalier's eyes on him as he walked past.

It was only after they arrived back to their chambers did he understand what was wanted of him. "It will be easy dear. I will send for the Duke and we will just copy out the letter. We'll have a light meal and write it out together." While the Prince was smiling as he spoke, the thought of sending for the Duke his innards in turmoil.

First, he leaves the man alone with his wife to seduce her, and now he was fetching him to spend the afternoon with them? It was undignified, but so were his desires. If only there were an excuse to bring the Chevalier into their confidence, that way they could each have a lover present.

The thought startled him. He drank his wine to hide his confusion. It was true though, the Chevalier was more his lover than his wife's.

Rosalind decided not to notice her husband's sudden change in mood. Instead, she refilled his glass and day dreamed of the Duke. She was not left with her thoughts for long, as the man was soon there, his crooked smile lighting his face.

"Prince, Princess, to what do I owe this honor?" the Duke asked, bowing.

"It is necessary that we copy the Viscount de Chartes' letter and give it to the Princess Mary," the Prince said.

Rosalind sat there, gazing at her new lover, oblivious to the fact that her husband's blue eyes were churning with emotion.

The Duke frowned. "I have already given it to the Viscount, and by now I believe it's in the hands of Madame Themines."

She snapped out of her reverie. "What? You no longer have the letter? What now?"

The Prince shrugged his shoulders. "We shall reconstruct it by memory. By the way, what did you say to Princess Mary when she asked for the letter?"

Rosalind stared at the floor, chewing her lip. "I told her that I had given it to you to read, and that when the Duke came to ask for our help in retrieving the letter, you told him we had it, and gave it to him."

The Prince gave his wife a hard look and the Duke had to swallow his laughter. "That was a very bad lie. Do not frown so Prince, you wife does such a poor job with deception, you should be delighted."

Rosalind automatically smiled, but when she thought about the meaning of Duke's words, she became uncomfortable as did her companions.

Realizing the implications of what he said, the Duke began to tell amusing stories, setting both of the Cleves laughing. As they worked, he kept them diverted with bits of gossip and rumor. The Prince kept looking from one to the other, seeing how their eyes met, then broke away. His jealousy twisted together with his desire, making his stomach sour. They had a deadline, the Princess was to meet Princess Mary at 6 sharp.

The Prince was grateful when at 5 he was able to interrupt their nonsense. Soon, he would be free from their claustrophobic desire. It seemed to him that his was reluctant to go meet Princess Mary. When the Duke offered to escort her, he urged her to accept.

Once they were out of hearing from the Prince, the Duke turned to Rosalind. "Is there something troubling you? You have laughed less and less as the time grew closer to your appointment."

Rosalind snuck a glance at the Duke, uncertainty painted on her features. "The Princess Mary has," her head flicked around making sure no one was near, "Expressed an interest in me. I thought we were done with our trysts, but it seems my mistake requires I attend her again."

The Duke stumbled. The thought of Princess Mary forcing herself on Rosalind made his joints loose with lust. "It seems you have been cursed to join a court with good taste. There is no one here who does not wish to love you." She did not respond as the Duke wanted, frowning instead of smiling. "Do you wish me to accompany you? Mary does not look upon me unfavorably."

She shook her head. "No, the error was mine, I will deal with her."

The Duke kissed her cheek. "Really, the fault was mine, I should not have taken the letter. Your uncle is grateful though, and I find your attitude about Mary's anger very gracious." She blushed and smiled. "We are here now. I will see you two nights from now," the Duke said, kissing her cheek.

She held him close for a moment, the Duke inhaling deeply to savor her rose fragrance, then took the copied letter from her pocket. They had done a very poor job with it, and it was unlikely to fool the Queen. She would have be careful to please Mary. Standing in the hall, she took a moment to collect herself.

* * * *

Mary looked at the letter Rosalind gave her, and shook her head. She knelt demurely in front of her, eyes cast upon the floor. When she snuck a glance at Mary, her lips tightened. Mary reached down to stroke the her mahogany hair. "It seems you can do nothing right today my love." Mary dropped the letter, then hiked her skirts up. She pressed Rosalind's cheek to her thigh. "Will you give me kisses, to say that you are sorry?" Mary slid lower in her chair. Rosalind began to rub her soft lips back and forth on Mary's thigh. "You are lucky you're so charming, you've failed me twice today."

Rosalind sat back on her heels, staring at Mary's sex. Pushing her legs apart, Rosalind was able to see her glistening nether lips. She opened her mouth to taste the Mary's body. Mary touched her face, urging her on. Rosalind began to lick her, spreading her apart with her fingers. She took the Mary's hidden bud between her teeth, sucking at it, probing it with her tongue. She began to undulate her hips, and Rosalind pressed her fingers inside of her, stroking the slick wet skin inside her body.

"Oh Rosalind, for that mouth, I would forgive you anything," Mary moaned. She had an orgasm, trapping Rosalind between her thighs and her body convulsed, but she was not done with her. She pulled Rosalind onto her lap, tasting herself on the girl's lips. "I wish you would change your mind about our relationship." Mary pawed at her bosom, rubbing her face against the swell of Rosalind's breasts. Working one hand up her skirt, she soon had Rosalind twitching on her lap. She was surprised when a gush of liquid washed over her hand. "What have you been doing today?" She touched Mary's wrist, trying to still her hand. "Whisper me your secrets little one, and I will let you rest."

Rosalind pressed her cheek to Mary's, her lips moving against Mary's ear as she whispered. "I had a private meeting with the Duke this morning."

"And what did you talk about?"

"The letter, and then we were done with talk."

"Is that why your cheeks were so red this morning?"

Rosalind nodded.

"Is that all you've done today?"

Pulling away from Mary, Rosalind shook her head.

Mary recalled the Marechal following Rosalind from the court. "You went on your walk with the Marechal today, did you not." Instead of answering, Rosalind looked down, and Mary began touching her again. "Did he touch you?" Now Rosalind was moving against her fingers. "He did...Did he taste you?" She reached down to rub herself, and Mary slapped her hand away. Licking her fingers, she could taste the seed and spit of the men who touched her.

She smothered Rosalind's neck with kisses as she coaxed her to a climax. She could feel the Rosalind's womb twitching on her fingers, and she stroked her deeply. Rosalind hooked her leg around the chair to leverage her body to thrust her sex against Mary's hand. Again she came, this time with a little grunt. She collapsed against Mary, wrapping her limp arms around Mary's neck. When she felt the Princess's sweet lips touching her throat, she clutched the little woman close to her, her heart swelling.

"Perhaps you would like to meet me again, my little Princess," Mary said, stroking the Rosalind's pale shoulders. When she nodded, tears of joy sprang to Mary's eyes. "I will give you another private appointment soon, in a few days."

She didn't say anything, but sat back enough to kiss Mary. Her tongue ran along between the Mary's lip and teeth before darting into her mouth. It was a hot kiss, still full of voluptuous lust. Mary knew what she felt, the languor that came from being glutted with love. She put her hand on the back of the Rosalind's neck, not allowing her to withdraw. When Mary turned to kiss her face, Rosalind's mouth followed her. It was necessary to hold her chin to trace those delicate features with with her mouth. She kissed Rosalind's closed eyes, her soft skin fluttering under her lips. Now she was rubbing her face against Rosalind's neck and chest, running her tongue across her skin.

"I must send you away, it is getting late, but first, a little present for you." Mary pushed Rosalind off her lap. She took out a broach set with a giant pearl surrounded by a host of glittering diamonds and smaller pearls. She pinned it to Rosalind's dress, and kissed her. Shaking her head, she pulled away. "I could spend all night with you, but I must go." She laughed. "Well, you must go."

Rosalind wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist, such a childish gesture, with lips so full they looked sullen. Mary wanted to put her in carriage and ride far away, her, the Princess, and M. d'Anville. It would be the greatest scandal ever. Someone would come and drag them off to the Bastille.

* * * *

The Chevalier and the Prince were standing before Rosalind's door. When she let them in, the Prince pushed her onto the bed. The Chevalier knelt at her feet, taking off her boots, and caressing her thighs as he removed her stockings. The Prince teased the head of his sex against her mouth, stroking her face. The Chevalier finished, and they rolled her over. Together undid the back of her dress, their hands touching as they unlaced her corset. Taking her in his arms, the Prince stood her up, and the Chevalier pulled at her clothes so they pooled at her feet. Together they lifted her onto the bed and now she was pinned between them.

She could feel them, touching each other over her. They had removed their boots and jackets, but they wanted to torment her, rubbing themselves against her. Everyone's skin was tingling with anticipation. The Chevalier lay in front of the Princess, sucking her nipple as he caressed her thigh.

It was strange, but after she blossomed under the Duke's touch, he loved her again with the same feverish passion he'd first felt. As he touched her sex, he thought of the Duke touching her, and knew she thought of the same thing. He gripped her buttocks to his groin, then felt the silky head of the Prince's sex. He ground his hard sex into her pubic mound as the Prince took her. Freeing himself from his breeches, the Chevalier rubbed himself against their joined bodies. Lifting one leg, Rosalind was able to reach down and stroke him, but soon she was only holding onto him as her body jerked with the Prince's thrusts. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth open, giving little gasps.