The Colonel's Nieces

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two women were sitting in the huge living room of one of those enormous mansions, a half-palace, with which the environs of Paris are so richly endowed. Occasionally they exchanged a few words. They were occupied with needlepoint, that seemingly endless task which was about as exciting and never ending as the many love stories which are spun out in the newspapers of Paris.

One was a beautiful brunette about twenty-five years old, with a marvelous, soft complexion, dark sparkling eyes and full, red lips which betrayed the sensual nature of their charming owner.

The other one, a blonde, seemed to be around twenty years old. Her face was like that of an angel, framed by golden hair. Her slender body, her hazel eyes, and the innocent smile completed the picture of perfect innocence. It was the sort of innocence that drives men wild and makes them contemplate deeds of which their bodies are not always capable.

That was one of the reasons why the innocent looking blonde, despite her tender years, wore the black dress of widowhood.

George Vaudrez had died attempting to give his beloved son and heir a little playmate. Though he had not succeeded, he had died happily.

That night-now almost a year ago- George's hand had searched for his young wife's body. She had responded perfectly, opened her thighs wide, and George had crawled right on top of her, deciding to dispense with the usual preliminaries. His whole frame was flushed with a pink heat. His prick had felt bloated, aching and growing to an ecstatic bursting point. His thighs and back ached with a downward pressure, and Florentine's bobbing crotch drove him into an even wilder frenzy. The drumming in George's ears — and he had been suffering from this condition lately-became almost unbearable. He tried desperately to force the explosion out his prick before there was one in his head or his chest.

His breathing had become a pitiful consumptive whine but his wife, in a state of continual spasms, showed no mercy for his tortured, pathetic state. George opened his watery eyes. In his aching head he suddenly felt the power of great emotion. His wife was so young, so passionate and so beautiful. He wanted to get her with child. Just one more.

“Oh, dear God.” he thought, “one more baby that bears my name.”

He wanted to hold her tight, but he no longer had the strength. He closed his eyes again and mechanically continued to push up and down. His prick seemed to be swelling larger and larger, more so than it had ever done in the past year. It seemed that it might never come out again. He writhed his loins against her, and sweat dripped from every pore of his body. The desire to come was intolerable and yet he couldn't quite seem to manage it. It would happen, he knew, but his head felt as if it was splitting and his chest was constricted. He fervently prayed that it would hurry.

Feebly he tensed his buttocks, felt a twinge of cramp and relaxed them again. He pressed his abdomen against hers, opened his eyes again and fixed her with a pleading gaze. Florentine understood. Without losing connection, she rolled over and George was now on his back, with Florentine riding him! She sensed from his writhing and his agonized gasps and groans that he was about to come. This unexpected situation, plus her new sense of mastery of the situation, made her unleash her body and she began to pummel him for all she was worth. She let herself be carried away by her own momentous passion.

She could feel her loins swarming as if a thousand snakes were writhing inside. She had not felt this way since that night, a long time ago, when she was stranded with Gordon, the young Duke of Herisey in the little village of Bretoncelles.

Florentine released a stream of gasping cries which broke through the blackness in George's head and revived him in a last flush of passion so that he thrust his loins up at her, mumbled painfully through dry lips, groaned agonizingly and clenched his fingers into her thighs with a last strength.

Dazed he opened his eyes again. His loins seemed to be covered with a sticky wetness amidst Florentine's moanings. His prick felt grazed, beaten, full of something that had to escape. He saw her head mistily, head thrown back, hair flowing about her shoulders. Her face was contorted, her lips curled, showing her pearly white teeth. His fingers dug hard into her fleshy thighs, then groped for the curly fleece which was keeping his member a prisoner of agonizing pleasure. The climax was near… it was on him… there! He gasped deliriously, and felt his organ explode as if in a hundred pieces. George fought for breath, fought for consciousness but felt himself losing both. He tried to appeal to her, but she was riding him in total frenzy, riding him till she had reached her own explosive climax. George slowly slipped off into, a painful darkness.

Florentine had echoed her husband's feelings with precision. The moment he dropped off in relaxation, her own climax spasmed through her body. Her flood of sensation rose up in her crotch with a dragging, delightful agony. Just at that moment his prick had seemed to be at its biggest in her, so that she felt it would smash right through her and up into her belly.

For some seconds afterwards, still excited and hardly knowing that she had come, she had swayed about on his prostrate body and then she had flopped down on top of him. It took her almost five minutes to collect her wits.

The first thing she realized was that George Vaudrez was not just lying still through exhaustion. She tried to kiss him, but his lips were turning cold. She lifted an eyelid and death stared at her. With a terrifying scream the young wife leaped off the bed. A servant was dispatched to call the doctor. He could do nothing but declare that his good friend had died happily.

Her sister, the brunette, Donna Julia de Corriero, also wore mourning. She, too, had becomes a widow at a very young age, though in not as stormy a manner as her unfortunate, younger sister. Her honor and reputation had been saved by an old friend, the General Don Jose who in his dotage had offered his hand, heart and fortune to Julia. The girl had gratefully accepted because Count Gaston Saski, whose mistress she had been, had jilted her upon the orders of his aunt who held the purse strings in the family. Don Jose had treated her like a beloved daughter, and not once had his thoughts strayed to the possibilities of carnal pleasures with the luscious and vivacious Julia. The fact that the General was well in his nineties might have had something to do with his courtly behavior.

When he left this vale of tears, it was not because of any undue exertion. Don Jose de Corriero died peacefully one sunny morning in his sleep, leaving his enormous estate and title to his dearly beloved Donna Julia.

Pine-scented air wafted through the open window and the two young women breathed deeply. Ages ago the Vaudrez family had built their castle at the edge of the Montmorency forest, incorporating it and the few farms and villages that went with it into their feudal estate.

“Isn't springtime marvelous?” asked Florentine, the youngest of the two sisters, now mistress of all the Vaudrez possessions.

“Yes,” answered Donna Julia with a barely stifled yawn. She was visiting her sister because family, friends, acquaintances and above all society, expected her to do so. After all, it takes a lady time to recuperate from the sudden loss of one's husband.

“You don't sound very convincing to me,” said Florentine.

“Listen dear, I don't exactly know what is wrong with me, but I haven't had anything but headaches lately. I feel miserably depressed and, what worries me most, I cannot find a single earthly reason for the way I feel.”

“Julia, dear…”

“No, I mean it. And you must admit, it's rather silly. After all, I am young, beautiful, rich, sought after and here I sit in a silly room, doing needlework and I am just plain bored stiff!”

“Are you grieving because of a lost love?”

“Oh, come on…”

“Well it is possible, you know.”

“No, Florentine, as far as my emotions are concerned, I have had my share of entanglements. I gave all the love I had to give to Gaston, Count Saski-and he was not worth it. I have completely forgotten about him. Don Jose I loved, but in a different way. No, it is a feeling of complete emptiness and uselessness. How about you? Don't you feel the same? After all, it is two years now since you became a widow. Tell me, doesn't this fresh breeze, the smell of young pine and the sparkling sun do anything to you? Doesn't your flesh sometimes ache for companionship? You don't really believe that woman was created to just sit and pine away in loneliness? I sometimes reach the point that I don't care how rich and well respected I am. I am not asking for a big love affair, good heavens, no! But there should be some solution to this problem of physical loneliness, and I don't seem to be able to come up with one. It's driving me completely insane!”

Florentine was quiet for a while, after her older sister's unexpected outburst. Then she said, softly. “You are right, I frequently feel the same way. But don't forget that I have a young child!”

“Oh, I couldn't forget that. But you only have to worry about him during the daytime.

Your nights are free while he is asleep. Or do you sleep well, too, by any chance?”

“No, not at all, and you?”

“I have nights that I have to bite into my pillow or I would scream. Often I toss and turn and dream that I am being possessed by a wild and wonderful man. My hand will automatically go to my crotch, helping out my fantasies. The illusion makes me temporary forget the miserable reality, though sometimes my own fantasies frighten me as much as the realities.”

Florentine blushed when she heard her sister talk that way.

“There is no reason for you to blush, dear,” Julia said, “because I have a very good memory.”

“What do you mean by 'very good memory'?”

“I remember a certain slip of the tongue you made the day after your wedding. And good Aunt Briquart had to show you why you were still a virgin, even though you had spent your wedding night. You said, 'But dearest aunt, how could I possibly be a virgin after I have experienced such delights? Surely no one else but a man can give this to a girl?”

“Oh, yes… now I remember. But how come you know about this? Where were you hidden?”

“I was in the other room, admiring your trousseau. The door was slightly ajar and through the mirror I could see what Aunt Briquart did to you as an explanation of how to enjoy the marital delights without any help from a man.”

Florentine blushed deeply. Julia looked at her in a strange way, half smiling, half blushing. Then she threw her arms around her sister's neck and said softly, “Why don't we go to your boudoir, and I will show you how that indiscreet mirror was placed.”

Florentine got up from her needlepoint work and the two sisters went into the room where the Colonel's wife had shown the young Madame Vaudrez the difference between fingering and fucking, And, undoubtedly because they figured that it would be senseless for the mirror to reflect what was about to happen in that boudoir, they carefully bolted the door.

“Fate must be smiling upon you,” Julia said to her sister. “The memories of so many happy hours are soaked up by the walls of your home. You can spend a lifetime dreaming about them. My ecstasies have been experienced in practically every hotel on the Continent.”

“Aren't they buried in your heart? Isn't that enough? Maybe you are right, I don't know. But it seems very unlikely to me that our romantic lives are already at an end. Yours has been romantic from the start and I must admit that quite often I was very jealous of you.”

“Yes, the hours of drunken passion in the arms of Gaston Saski were truly indescribable. But so was the rude awakening!”

“You must forget everything you did not like, and remember only the happiness,” Madame Vaudrez told her sister, trying to get Julia out of her dark mood. “Come here, close to me, little foolish sister of mine, and I will pamper you like a baby.”

And adding her deeds to the words, Florentine pulled Julia closer to her, covering her ears, eyes and lips with tender, passionate kisses. The tender scene was reflected by the mirror opposite the couch.

“Look, Julia, and see how harmoniously your dark hair blends with my blonde,” Florentine sighed.

“You are right,” her sister said, removing combs and curlers deftly from her sister's coiffure. Florentine was equally as adept at unfurling Julia's dark tresses. The dark and the blonde hairs fell down the women's shoulders, and combined into a lovely frame for the two beautiful faces that were hugging one another.

“Ooh, look at the cute birthmark you have here on your neck,” Florentine exclaimed, unbuttoning Julia's blouse, undoubtedly to get a better look at it. She kissed it tenderly. “I never knew you had one there.”

“I know of one that a certain Madame Vaudrez has, but it is very cleverly hidden by two beautiful velvety globes,” Julia said impishly, meanwhile feverishly trying to unhook her sister's bodice.

“Why don't we compare?” Florentine had gotten into the spirit and quickly unhooked her bodice and corset, revealing two marvelously formed breasts. Her sister exclaimed in admiration, “Oh, my! I have never seen such beauties! You are as blonde and gorgeous as I think our Mother Eve must have been. Please let me look at you in the costume she wore before she was tempted by the snake!”

“I would love to do that, but it must be mutual. In our natural costume and before the mirror. Then we can look at one another and take any position we please.”

With this and similar exclamations the two young women had begun to strip. First their bodices, then their blouses fell upon the carpet, quickly followed by their corsets, underwear and stockings.

And the two beautiful female bodies in all their glory stood mother naked before the large mirror. One was the ideal blonde, the other the most perfect brunette.

“Oh, you are so beautiful!”

“You gorgeous creature, you!”

For a moment the two women looked at each other like two wrestlers who are about to start their bout. Julia put her arm around her sister's slender waist, and began to kiss the girl's neck with tender kisses, her lips touching Florentine's soft skin, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Florentine shivered with delight and the rosy tips of her breasts began to swell.

“Ooh, look how cute!” Julia exclaimed. “Just wait, you two, and I'll teach you some manners!” She took the tips playfully between her passionate lips and rolled them around, one after the other, in her warm mouth. Florentine sighed happily. Julia's tender kisses slowly became more firm and passionate, her hands cupping one breast and then the other, squeezing firmly while her pearly teeth nibbled the engorged tips. The younger sister was squirming wildly under her strange lover's caresses. Julia picked her up and carried her to the couch.

“I will make you a bet,” Julia said, “that no one has ever done to you what I am about to do.”

“And what's that?”

“Just look in the mirror, dear sister, and you'll see!”

Florentine looked and she saw her sister, kneeling on the floor, while she spread Florentine's thighs with nimble fingers. Her face disappeared into the golden curls of Florentine's crotch, expertly searching for the little tickler.

“Ooh,… what are you doing?”

“Nothing special… not yet… but before I am through you will have died with passion.” Julia licked her sister's rosy, twitching clitoris and then her eager tongue disappeared deeper into the love grotto. Florentine no longer uttered mere sighs of deep satisfaction but began to stammer loose, voluptuous words.

“Ooh… my dear God… what is that… deeper… I couldn't… any longer… please, quicker… ooh!.. I never knew… what delight… it's marvelous… quick, quick… deeper… more… harder, please, now… Ooh, God… My darling… darling, please, don't stop… oooh!”

“You just wait, my little dove… you haven't felt anything yet,” Julia said, licking her lips. Then she put her head back burying it deeply into Florentine's golden fleece, her fingers parting the moistened curls. Florentine's clitoris grew more and more rigid, as Julia's head bobbed quicker and quicker, her tongue penetrating as deeply as it could. Julia's hands strayed over her sister's belly, slowly squeezed her thighs and disappeared under her buttocks. When she felt that Florentine was about to come, she firmly squeezed one finger deeply between the crack of Florentine's buttocks, penetrating the little hole. At the same time she managed to get the clitoris into her mouth, sucking it wildly. Florentine screamed out loudly, spasmed wildly and flooded copiously.

With a deep sigh Madame Vaudrez' head fell back onto the pillow and she did not even answer when her sister embraced her with passionate kisses saying, “Well now, look… don't fall asleep, my dear little egotist!”

But no matter how hard she needled her sister, Florentine did not react and remained limply on the couch. Julia was torn between two different feelings. She was worried about her sister's odd behavior, and she also wanted a release from her own pent-up feelings. She began to shudder and wanted to get up. But she could not. Two strong hands had taken a hold of her hips and she felt a caressing tongue trying to worm into her crotch.

“Oh, my God… who's that!”

“Please, dear lady, don't move,” answered a familiar voice. “It's only me… Dorothy, your maid… ooh, I cannot tell you how badly I have always wanted to do this… only I never dared…”

“It seems to me that you have finally made your mind… and since you have gotten off to such a good start, it would be a terrible shame to have to tell you to stop,” said Julia, bending over her sister's charming breasts, at the same time giving Dorothy an opportunity to admire her firm, well developed buttocks.

Dorothy, no longer afraid of her mistress, began to try and excite Julia with the mastery of her agile tongue. It did not take long for her to succeed.

Her tongue seemed to be all over. Now here, now there, once soft and tickling, another time strong and firm. She played the crotch and crack of her mistress as if they were musical instruments. And it must be said that Dorothy was a virtuoso. And her fingers, too, did not remain idle.

Such a beginning was bound to have an effect. And indeed, Julia began to squirm and groan. Florentine was staring at this strange scene which developed before her eyes. Suddenly Dorothy played her big trump. She lifted her skirts and produced a marvelous male member of fantastic proportions.

It seems that she was very well acquainted with its use, because suddenly she introduced it into Julia's dripping fleece. The whole thing disappeared while Julia let out a scream of pleasure and surprise. Dorothy really knew how to imitate the natural movements of a powerful prick with her giant dildo.

“Oooh… aaah!” Julia exclaimed, seconding every movement. “It's killing me… I'm dying of happiness… what heavenly delight… who is flooding me with this warm jism? He's killing me, but I love every moment of it… aah… eeeek!”

Dorothy saw that her work had reached its completion and dropped her skirt. Then she caught her mistress just in time and bedded her down, next to Florentine, on the couch.

One could have heard a pin drop in that room. The three women used this moment of silence to regain their composure.. Then they looked at one another…