The Colonel's Nieces

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“And when will we see each other again,” he had asked, just before Julia went toward the carriage.

“At my home, when I receive guests.”

“Fine! But that is not enough!”

“Of course not. If you would like to come to the little chapel of St. John in Montmorency Forest, I will be there at ten in the morning.”

“And what if it rains?”

“Then you can expect me to knock at your door.”

When the day drew near, Michael prayed for the worst weather Paris had ever known. He wished it to rain cats and dogs, but unfortunately the sky was cloudless, the sun brilliant, and the breeze warm.

“Stupid sun,” the young man exclaimed, “have you no heart at all?”

But at ten o'clock he was near the chapel, and his heart quickened when he saw Julia. She was happy about the beautiful weather, and enchanted that her newfound friend had come all the way to stroll with her through the woods.

Even though Michael would have infinitely preferred to have Julia in his home behind locked doors, he enjoyed the idea of a stroll in the woods and a picnic later.

Unfortunately, the young man had not counted on the wiles of mother nature. Normally, Michael was rather shy and chaste. He would only fall in raptures when the woman inflamed his artistic nature first. It had very seldom happened that he went out to look for a woman simply to get rid of a physical need. Now that he was in love, it was impossible to control himself. He noticed the effect first when he kissed the hand Julia held out for him.

“For God's sake, Julia, don't look at me that way.”

“Why?”

“I am about to commit a crime.”

“What?”

“Please, don't ask me!”

“You scare me. I want to know. What crime?”

“Despite all these people walking here, despite the policemen who are riding around on their horses, I am going to rape you in the first clearing I see!”

“What gets you so excited all of a sudden?”

“All of a sudden? Darling, all I really want to do is hop in bed with you. I cursed this beautiful weather this morning, because I had hoped to hold you in my arms all day and night. But you can trust me, darling. No matter how much I want to throw you down in the first clearing, I shall contain myself. I do not wish to ruin something which is so beautiful-namely, our relationship.

“But please, please, darling,” he pleaded, “come home with me to Paris tonight.”

“Your home?”

“Yes!”

“And what would the venerable Jonathan say to that?”

“Him? I would tell him to keep his mouth shut!”

“And if anybody would see me enter at such a late hour. What would people think?”

“If you care about that, my darling, I will tell them that I am painting your portrait. I won't tell them that like the labors of Penelope, I shall never finish it. Please, Julia, you do love me, don't you?”

“Of course, my big boy. And to prove it to you, I am going to do something terribly silly.”

“Now you are making sense.”

“But, dearest Michael, you must give me your solemn promise that you not remember tomorrow what is going to happen tonight!”

“I promise anything, darling. What is your plan?”

“You go back to Paris, as you planned. But be in front of St. Paul's church at nine o'clock.”

“The one in the Marais district?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“You'll see… or are you afraid?”

“I am only afraid never to see you again.”

“I swear to you that I will pick you up.”

“Then I will go now and practice patience.”

* * *

Nine o'clock. The sonorous bells rang out the time, and Michael was standing on the steps of the church, his heart pounding. At the same time a simple cab halted, and a heavily veiled woman came out, walking toward him. He ran toward her, grabbed her hands.

“Well, is this punctual enough?”

“I thought it would never become nine!”

“Come,” she said, taking his arm. She led him through a series of dark and dank little streets.

“Where on earth are you taking me in this God forsaken neighborhood?”

“Why there,” and Julia took a little key from her pocket, opening a heavy gate.

They were in a huge garden.

“Wow! You seem to know your way around here!”

“Possibly.”

They crossed the garden and soon, as the reader undoubtedly has guessed, they were at the foot of the huge stairs which led to the mansion on the Rue Charles V. The lanterns were burning but there was no servant in sight.

“It seems to me as if we are in a magic palace,” Michael finally said.

“Yes, we are in a palace of love.”

“That's right, because we are here.”

Suddenly, as if she had come out of the ground, Dorothy stood in front of her mistress. “Oh, it's you Madame,” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, and what is so surprisingly about that? I did not expect you to be here. Why are you?”

“Madame Evergreen asked me. Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Light my room and help me dress.”

Dorothy disappeared and a few minutes later Michael Lompret found himself in the boudoir of Madame Pomegranate Flower, being the first to see her without her mask.

He was too much of an artist not to notice the almost lascivious-though extremely tasteful-decorations of the place.

It would be untrue to state that he was happier here than in his own studio, which was simple compared to the sumptuous surroundings of the little palace on the Rue Charles V. Something had been added, though.

He no longer was confronted by a woman who desired nothing but to be subdued. He found a female who gave herself freely, enthusiastically, who screamed at the peak of her highest lust, who squirmed, kissed and bit, who was well versed in every possible passionate position, whose body was feverish with lascivious desire and who knew precisely what to do to make a man drunk with lust and love.

Upon the big bear rug in front, and later upon the blankets of the enormous bed, Michael Lompret went through a battle of love such as he had never experienced in all his born days. Protected by heavy walls, secure in the knowledge that there would be no possible distraction, the refined comfort, and an enchanting beautiful woman… who could possibly have said that Michael Lompret was not the happiest man in the world.

He was barely alone with his girl friend, had barely satisfied his curiosity glancing around the rooms they went through when Michael again felt the same desire which had so unexpectedly taken hold of his senses that morning in the forest. And, to be perfectly honest, Julia had similar desires.

Even though her memory of the night with the Count de Paliseul was not one of her happiest, the marvelous hours she had spent in Lompret's embraces had wiped it away. She had found in Michael's arms that physical ecstasy which once only Gaston Saski had given her. And, since Michael was stronger and younger, it was clear to her that it could only be better than ever. Especially since they knew each other already, there was no need for hesitant preparations, drawn out preliminaries and all the other niceties which had made her feel like a rutting courtesan and which, obviously, had been the thought of Raoul. Oh, could she ever forget that miserable rogue!

Dorothy helped her change quickly.

She looked charming and enticing dressed only in a Chinese kimono made out of extremely thin, sheer silk which covered her light chemise. Her naked feet were kept warm by fur lined slippers. Michael swept her off the floor and held her in his strong arms. Then he sat down and held her on his lap. The entire atmosphere had made it abundantly clear to him that his woman was very experienced, and therefore he did not bridle his own unlimited imagination.

His hands wandered quickly across intimate paths, caressing the slender alabaster columns at whose top the love grotto awaited. He felt around in the thickets which covered it and did not hesitate to separate the finely curled pubic hairs to look at this beautiful, rosy slit. He feverishly took off his own clothes and showed himself to the young woman in the full glory of his young manhood. With an exclamation of joy, Julia threw herself on his chest and he lifted her high in his arms as if she were a little child. He held her behind up higher than her head, kissing the marvelous buttocks wildly. Then he put her down upon the bear rug, keeping her in the same position because he was going to penetrate her from behind. No sooner thought than done-and his expert fingers played around with her clitoris. She had a long, shuddering orgasm almost immediately — a double exclamation of joyful ecstasy, because Michael, too, could no longer hold in and his hot juices squirted with enormous strength deep into Julia. The two lovers rolled around upon the carpet. For a moment they thought they were going to die, but soon their pounding hearts subdued, and consciousness returned Michael was not wild with lust and desire. His nerves were taut, overstimulated; he had long been waiting for this exercise. He realized that this woman fully matched his own hot temperament and his attacks doubled and tripled in any possible way his wild imagination could think of. Their lips ground together, his hairy chest mangled Julia's ripe breasts and both thought they would die of sheer happiness.

Julia's eyes ranged over her lover's body. His broad, muscular shoulders and arms, his curly hair, well defined chest, his flat belly and narrow waist, hard buttocks and long, muscular legs. His large, dangling testicles were half lost in the shaggy covering of blond hair. She began to stroke them and soon his rod jutted out over her again, thick and straining.

Michael quickly lay down against her once more, running his hands in fluid movements over her body so that she began to quiver and tremble. He caught her hand, pulled it against his penis and she closed her fingers around the stiff, bursting flesh. Michael's whole body was alive; he had to do it again.

Picking her up from the floor, he threw her upon the huge bed. He moved one leg over Julia, lowering it between hers, and moving his body onto hers he drew over his other leg in the same movement so that his hips were between Julia's thighs. He drove into her again.

His body again was one great yearning, a hot, jellied feeling concentrated in his loins.

He began to grunt, his breath grating in his throat. He held Julia with all his force, crushing her, rendering her body helpless. He reached down, drawing her legs apart and up around him, plunging deeper into her love nest. There was nothing gentle about the union.

Julia's hips wriggled and swayed under him, crinkling the flesh of her belly in little ridges. Her thighs held him clasped as if she wanted to hold him there forever. Her moans became the deeper, fuller moans of accepted challenge. Her eyes were closed as her fingers stroked down over his cheeks and drew his face onto hers for his mouth to make an outlet for her searching, moving tongue.

With quick, furious movements of his hips, Michael thrust into her, pulled out all the way and thrust into her again, regulating his speed to make sure that Julia would be fully satisfied. His prick seemed to be burning as if it were on fire. Amazingly, Julia's channel was still as tight and tender as that of a virgin. It grasped him as if it were a tight fitting, warm glove. He was always pushing against a slight force which agonizingly forced back his skin, contracting around his knob in exquisite agony.

Suddenly Julia's whimpering became a more prolonged and consistent moaning. She grabbed at his thighs where they pressed at the undersides of hers, pulling them furiously against her. Her whole tender frame began to writhe and twist in agony, and in the rushes of air which burst from her throat, Michael sensed, rather than heard, whispered pleadings for more speed.

Her tiny hands clutched him with the force of a madman, digging into his broad shoulders. Her knees stretched back, her buttocks wriggled under his strong thighs, her face contorted and then her whole body was wracked and tormented in a series of unending convulsions. Her soft passage reached the extreme sensation and the liquid juices exploded as the breath was drawn from her body in a furious aching sigh. Michael had won!

As he felt the channel grow big around his penis, he forced himself deeper into Julia, holding her firmly, pressing and grinding against her without jerking his hips. His head swayed in ecstasy and then he withdrew, thrust slowly in again-and again-and with a last deep surge, his love juices broke through, spattering in swift spurts high up in Julia's body. He rammed into her, gasping, until the very last of his emotions had been drained from him. He settled slowly down on her hot, soft body and lay, crushing her breasts and belly with his weight until they both fell asleep from complete exhaustion.

When they awoke in the morning next to each other in the wide bed, they barely looked human.

A cold bath and a heavy breakfast with lots of coffee revived them quickly. Nevertheless it took several days before they had completely recuperated from that night. It had one advantage; Michael could set up the painting he was going to make of Julia without any interruptions other than a kiss, or a meal taken together. During those sessions heart and mind won out over pure lust and passion, thus weaving their lives together in such a way that only catastrophe could have separated them.

Dorothy did not particularly like the new friend and Julia had a lot of explaining to do. It was very important for her that Dorothy would like Michael, because Julia had decided to take her lover to La Bidouze castle, and she would have suffered if the separation would have had to be a painful one.

La Bidouze was a beautiful castle on the banks of the river by the same name in the Pyrenees. It belonged to the General's inheritance, and Julia had long ago decided to restore the old building and to live there several months out of the year. And nothing was more obvious to explain than the presence of a painter.

As always, Dorothy undertook all the preparations, and she was slightly mollified by the idea that she was still indispensable to her mistress. She had been terribly miffed because Julia had not used her sphinx intrigue to come up with the one and only. She consoled herself however, by pooh-poohing this affair with the thought that it was only a passing phase.

Before he left Michael asked, “Darling, where are we?”

“At my home.”

“Your home? I thought you lived on the boulevard St. Michel?”

“Officially, yes. This is my Buen Retiro, my little love nest.”

“Little! Is this the place where this Polish Count of yours…”

“Michael, dear… your jealousy is showing. No, it is not!”

“How do you explain that this whole place is designed to receive a lover?”

Julia knew that Michael would form his own opinions unless she told him the truth. She spared him a few lurid details-and also forgot to mention the Count de Paliseul-but she did tell about the terrible loneliness that she and her sister had felt after both had become widows as such a young age. She told him about her incestuous affair with her sister, and how Dorothy, her trusted chambermaid, had joined in the lovemaking. Then she told him about Dorothy's plan to buy this home, and the intrigue with the sphinx.

“You are two terribly perverted sisters.”

“I think, my dear, that in the past few days you have gathered enough proof that you are wrong. At least, as far as I am concerned. I prefer the real thing infinitely above all these artificial means.”

“You are right. I was only kidding, because I see absolutely no crime in a method of preference. It's about the same with people who prefer champagne over burgundy. Both are very heady, but the taste is different. But I am glad you have told me, and I promise that you can count on my complete discretion.”

“I don't doubt that for a minute, Mister Lompret, and I would call it an honor, if you, kind Sir, would show up at my next reception. I will be glad to serve you personally.”

“And I, dear Lady, am equally as honored to accept your kind invitation.”

* * *

No one was more curious that afternoon of Donna de Corriero's reception than her sister, Florentine Vaudrez. She almost burst with curiosity, nearly jumping up from her seat when the servant announced Michael Lompret.

She saw a man of the world, extremely good looking, who greeted the lady of the house with mannered, formal politeness. Even Florentine, who knew all the details of their love bouts, would never have guessed that Michael Lompret and her sister knew each other intimately.

After he had left, the two sisters looked at each other.

“A well brought up young man, your Michelangelo,” Florentine said, slightly spiteful, adding hastily as Julia's eyes flared up, “Who knows? Maybe fate works better than our hideout on the Rue Charles V.”

“I think it does, though our love nest is a brilliant invention.”

“Isn't it, ladies?” Dorothy was eager for praise. “Neither one of you has been bored since we started this.” And she emphasized the word “we.”

“You are positively right, my dearest girl,” Julia said, glad that Dorothy did not seem to be angered, “and since you have helped your mistress above and beyond the call of duty, I bequeath to you the complete wardrobe of Madame Pomegranate Flower, who just last week, had to return to her social duties in far-away Andalusia.”