Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER SIXTEEN part 2

Of course, Charity had been only too delighted to do her utmost to please Madame Natalie. Oh, where was she? And where was the golden nectar? For now winter-drawn shadows were assuredly creeping along the window-sills, throwing part of the bed-chamber into anticipatory shade. Charity twitched. A small spasm. 

Where was her beverage? And the sweetmeats which she had requested? The servant was late in bringing them. 

Charity became aware of a chill of dewy drops upon her brow and with a languid movement, throwing up her hand, she moved the abundance of her breasts so that one large melon of flesh slipped over the rim of her gown. Her lips felt parched and there was an unpleasant feeling about her tongue, as though she needed moisture badly.

She hearkened as she caught the tread of footsteps approaching. A rattle of a key inserted into the lock and there was no servant but Madame Natalie herself! She looked radiant this afternoon, in a whispering symphony of rose-pink satin and gauze which netted across her bosom, with delicate floating streamers of swans’ down flowing off the edges of her sleeves. Her lips were tinted pink to match the shade of summer roses. 

She had caught Charity in mid-pose, so that as the girl moved to restore her hand to its former resting position in her lap, the large breasts shook again and the escaped fruit remained lapping over the rim of her gown. Madame stood with the tray containing refreshments, a tongue, wet and strong, flicking over the pinkness of her lips. 

She all but tip-toed to where Charity reclined, spread-eagled in the chair. “Ah, ma petite! How very good to see you! I have brought you your afternoon snacks. Maybe I can share some of it with you?” 

Her eyes were shining excitedly as she lowered the heavy silver tray onto a footstool. Deftly she moved to close the partially-opened door and drawing again the key, she inserted this in the lock and turned it. Firmly. She retraced her footsteps to where Charity was seated and proceeded to pour the amber coloured fluid into two, thin-stemmed green glasses. 

“Here, my lovely. I daresay you are needing this, as I,” she lowered her voice, all but speaking to herself, “need something else!” Then, with a playful notion, she proffered the glass towards Charity, then - as quickly - removed it. Charity looked shocked, mortified. “Now, my little petite amour: perhaps you had better start to earn your rewards, eh?” 

Madame Natalie pushed the glass with one hand behind her back, a wickedly playful smile hovering about her lips. Charity twitched uneasily in her seat. 

“But...Madame d’Esprit – Natalie ... I must, simply must...have...IT!" 

“You shall have it in good time, my luscious one. Now, why don’t you let Natalie help you to relax? Let me massage you, chérie? Perhaps starting about the neck and throat. Oui?” 

“If it pleases Madame,” Charity sniffed petulantly.

The older woman manoeuvred her to the bed, drawing the coverlet of white fur down, not completely however, so that they rested on a portion of it. Then she loosened the overgarment which Charity was wearing and let it slip with a satiny gush over the side of the bed. It landed with a soft plosh! - shaping a flower-like pool of material upon the floor. 

“Turn upon your stomach first,” she commanded.

Charity rolled onto her stomach. Madame began to smooth the bunched muscles in Charity’s neck, moving skilled fingers, refining the tension, so that it began to ebb away. Next she moved her hands to Charity’s throat. Charity was still aware, however, of the cool sweat upon her brow. Slowly, she felt herself relaxing. 

Madame d’Esprit worked that way for some minutes, sitting astride Charity, her dress rustling and rubbing as she busied herself with her manipulations and administrations. “Turn!” she ordered. Charity moved to face towards Madame Natalie, feeling both strangely taut and relaxed at the same time...if only, she thought, she might have a sip of the drink.... 

Madame was beginning to breathe more shallowly now. She pressed cool finger-tips to the points just below Charity’s ears, noting the marbled paleness of the girl’s skin. Down she drew the fingers gradually, down, so that at length they ran along the rim of the collarbone. 

She could all but feel the heat rising from the still flimsily-enshrouded breasts. With a wild rush, she had her fingers about those breasts and was pummelling hard, her lips now swooping to the points below Charity’s ears. With a snail-stream of warm saliva, she had removed those ardent, firm lips and had placed them about the rosy teats of Charity’s huge breasts. She was sucking hard upon the teats, her breath rasping and panting as she did so, wriggling her whole length upon the girl.

Soon she was throwing off her own clothing, her mount of Venus pressed firm against Charity’s own not insubstantial hillock of hair, flesh and bone. Charity knew only one thing. She needed the nectar and needed it badly. She would do whatever she had to, if it meant that her craving would be appeased the sooner. 

Madame was now off her breasts, moaning meanwhile lowly to herself, reaching behind her with her right hand, searching for Charity's passage-way to love. Madame de Esprit threw herself abandonedly back atop Charity, pushing the breasts beneath her own body, rocking to and fro. Suddenly, she became still and quiet.

Then her anchored lips removing themselves from her recent placement upon the swollen nipples, through her slim strong fingers she again cradled and pummeled them so that she was bearing towards the triangle of fur basing Charity’s torso. With a flick of her tongue, she began her earnest investigations of those parts, seeking to stimulate the girl to a premature ecstasy. 

Charity began to move in paroxysms of pleasant, yet taut, sensations, thrusting towards Madame’s questing tongue. 

So it continued and continued, but lick, pull, suck, as she might, Charity seemed unable to succumb to the manipulations of the temptress’s tongue: her probings only making Charity slide father and farther up the molten hillside of desire with that summit ever receding as she approached it.

As though realising that she was, for her part, not achieving the desired result, Madame d’Esprit raised her head, her eyes glassy with implacable lust, her breath low, her voice hoarse, a faint pungent aroma rising off of her: “Ma petite amour: why are you so cold towards me?” 

She snaked herself back, to lie recumbent upon Charity once more. Looking down upon the girl, she realised the reason for Charity’s non-complicity. 

“Ah, so you need the amber fluid and so badly! Well you shall have some! Go and fetch it.”

Madame glanced at her own self in the mirror heading the bed. She turned her gaze to where Charity now walked, her gown dragging slovenly behind her. Madame d’Esprit felt a fresh thrill of anticipatory delight as she saw the extended nipples, rising in frozen molten pink points from Charity’s ample bosom. 

Yes, she would have this little pigeon yet! And before any of the men had the chance to savour her! She studied herself in the mirror, frowning slightly. The wig had come slightly adrift from atop her head. She pulled it closer to the scalp. For underneath it she was all but bald, though her face was as delightful as ever with its flushed expression. So deft was she with the cosmetic arts that nothing had smeared. Her body too, with its small, ardently pointed breasts and the arching longing of her lean back, coupled with the strong, slender flanks of her inner legs, was more than adequately desirable. There was a score she wished to settle with her old lover, Fitzroy, Lord Rispian: therefore her plan was to seduce the girl fully, before he had a chance to mount the unbroken filly. For Madame had guessed accurately that this was Charity’s status. 

She smiled to herself, the slant of her pale blue eyes giving a vaguely Asiatic slant, a cat-like glance, to her face. 

“I shall join you in supping, my dear Charity!”

   Madame was considering to herself that she must, if needs be, try a new infusion on the English rose. This one was not allowing either of them to take the pleasure she so arduously worked towards. She would consult Countess de Gris immediately: she was bound to have the knowledge Madame could use to make a more erotically-stimulating brew. Yes! She eyed the girl now happily drinking from the glass: there would be something to make the girl more ... demonstrative. 

“Perhaps you would like to take a rest for a short while, Charity. That might help you to put yourself in a better frame of mind?” 

Madame’s voice was low and conspiratorial. Charity flashed her eyes open, for so intent had she been on savouring the nectar that she had closed them. Less than ninety per cent alert, she glanced towards Madame. 

“Oui, Madame.” 

“Yes, chérie. I should very much like you to do that. Have a little rest and then, say at eight of the clock, I shall send the servants to help you prepare your toilette. I shall come along myself at a little after that time, to help you to get ready for a rather special event which I have planned for this evening. Do you remember what I said to you about my tableau? Tonight I am having a modest gathering and I shall want you to participate. Oh, no my dear, you shall not be amongst the guests! So, will you do as I ask?"

She smiled seductively. 

“Yes, Madame Natalie,” replied Charity - only too eager to please, now that she had a throatful of the golden fluid. “Bon!” 

Madame sat with her own drink, which she had poured for herself, and was reclining now on the chased silk of the chaise longue, her eyes downcast, a strange almost mocking smile playing about her features. “Good. Then we shall proceed as I have planned.” 

She smiled to herself, anticipating what she knew would be her most important victory – so long as her cooling lover, Lord Rispian, didn’t appear. She expected him any time now, and she didn’t want him spoiling her fun! 

Did she have the means to distract him should he put in an unheralded arrival? She pondered in her mind. There was of course, the new fille from Bordeaux and there was the West Indian girl.

She was unusual and energetic. Yes, she concluded, in direst necessity, it could be achieved with slight manipulative powers involved!

She continued sipping from the glass, still smiling sardonically to herself: why, she was proving herself to be a better man than any of them! Finishing her drink, Madame replaced the glass on the table, then straightening the gown she had hastily thrown about herself, she made to leave Charity. As she passed her, she touched her lightly on the shoulder: “Don’t forget, Charity: nine tonight, I shall be here to supervise your costume and make-up. Don’t disappoint me, will you?” There was a veiled threat in the sentence which gave Charity a cold feeling. 

“Oh no Madame Natalie. I shan’t do THAT!” 

Charity’s tones were beseeching and reassuring at the same time. “Until tonight then my dear. Au revoir.” Madame d’Esprit glided soundlessly towards the door, unlocked it and left.