The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (9 page)

Hearing Louis with the two footmen in the corridor outside, Clarice snapped at her mistress, "Pull up those covers, my lady. You don't need to go showing your wares like them two others downstairs! After all, these ain't paying customers."

Marguerite almost laughed aloud, but she restrained herself and meekly drew the coverlet up to her chin.

The three men staggered into the little bedroom, and emptied their buckets into the bath.

"Another trip will do it," Louis said to his wife.

"No need," Clarice replied sharply. "My mistress can wash in what you've brought. Now get out, all of you!" She hustled them to the door and, closing it behind them, bolted it tightly. "Don't trust those two scurvy footmen," she said irritably. "Come along now, madame, and let us get the stink of that duke off you."

"How do you know it was the duke?" Marguerite asked as she climbed from her bed and into the little tub.

"He made it quite plain that he would be the first," Clarice said. "Ohh, the shame of it! That the daughter of the noble Comte and Comtesse de Thierry should fall so low! There might have been a time when he offered for you, my lady."

"Never!"
Marguerite told her servant. "The de Thierrys were noble, but the duke has royalty in his ancestry. Besides, I am not even certain that I like him. Now give me the soap, Clarice, and see that my night garment is warm."

Afterward as she lay in her bed, clean, dry, and warm, Marguerite realized that she had come closer to the truth than she had expected. Of course she didn't really know César d'Aubert, but she had already decided that while his manners were flawless, and while he was certainly handsome, he was also arrogant. His only interest in Marguerite was in being the first to possess the body of a respectable widow brought low. He wanted nothing more of her than that. For a moment she felt a curl of anger, and then she laughed to herself in the darkness. A woman in her position didn't fuck a man for love. She did it for money. And sometimes perhaps for her own pleasure. Only now, at this moment, did she fully comprehend the sacrifice Renée had made for her.

She would make that same sacrifice for her daughter, and pray to God that Emilie would never be put in their position. She was wide awake, her thoughts tumbling about her head. She finally understood how she was going to bear this. The men who would use her body didn't matter. She would care nothing for any of them. Whores, and her mind recoiled from the harsh word,
courtesans
, she superseded the former colloquialism with the more elegant word, courtesans did not have emotions. Giving herself to a variety of gentlemen was merely a professional duty. And until she became bored like Leonie and Josie, and even her dear Tante Renée, she would enjoy what she was doing when she could. And her elegant breeding and background would but add a piquancy to her actions.

To her surprise, when she finally slept she awoke late, and it was her aunt who aroused her.
"Bonjour, ma petite,"
Renée greeted her as she sat herself upon the edge of the bed. "What a naughty minx you were, or so both Josie and the duke say. What made you change your mind?"

"Josie suggested it would be easier the first time if I was with a friend. She was right,
tante
. It was. And since this is the life I have chosen, it seemed foolish to further delay my debut."

Renée nodded. "Very wise,
chérie
. The duke says you show great promise. He will arrive tonight, and has requested that you keep him company for the entire evening. What do you think?"

Marguerite nodded. "Tonight, yes,
tante
, but after that I wish to join you and the others in the salon. I have no desire to become the exclusive possession of the Duc de Caraville. While I may lack experience, common sense would tell me that there is only so much he may teach me. I am curious to experience the others."

"Yet if César wanted to take you for his mistress,
chérie,"
Renée mused, "would that not be better for you? You could maintain your dignity as his mistress."

"I should rather follow in your footsteps,
tante
, than ever again be at the mercy of one man. I know Charles loved me, and that he thought he was protecting us, but he wasn't. And then I foolishly trusted the village
avocat
, and then my stepson. Now I will trust no one but myself,
tante
. Last night I lay in the arms of a courtesan while I allowed a man, not my husband, to make love to me. There is no going back for me now. I have set my course, and I will follow it."

"Very well," Renée said. "Now,
ma petite
, I have chosen a bedroom for you on the floor below. When I have gotten you up, I will show you. Come! Come!" She took her niece's hand and pulled her from the bed.

Laughing, Marguerite slipped her feet into her slippers and followed Renée downstairs. The room her aunt had chosen for her was at the corner of the house, and overlooked the gardens. The wooden floor was covered in a floral Aubusson carpet in shades of cream and gold. The painted panels on the walnut walls showed scenes of erotic play that featured ancient gods and goddesses sporting with their nymph and satyr companions, as well as exotic birds and beasts. The moldings about the panels were painted gold. The warm walnut furniture was decorated in cream and gold leaf. The centerpiece of the room—a great bed with a padded headboard of cream and gold striped silk that matched the bed's draperies—immediately caught Marguerite's eye.

"Lie on the bed a moment," Renée said to her niece.

Marguerite complied, and looking up, she saw the wooden canopy was painted with a wickedly sensual scene. Across a turquoise ocean with its cream and gold tipped waves, Neptune, the god of the sea, rode a great silver porpoise while a golden-haired mortal female in his grip sat facing him while being vigorously used by the god, even as he bent forward to suckle upon the girl's plump rosy breasts. Mermaids and their mermen swam about them, encouraging their master in his love play. "It's beautiful," Marguerite said, "and very suggestive,
tante
, as it is undoubtedly supposed to be." She sat up. "I think black satin upon the bed. It will accentuate my fair skin, don't you think?"

Renée nodded slowly and then she said, "What has happened to you,
ma petite?
You are suddenly almost callous."

"How should I be,
tante?
Did you really enjoy all the men that you have ever had over the years?"

"No, of course not," Renée replied, "but I assure you that each one believed he was the best lover I ever knew, Marguerite. You may play the cold-hearted madame in the salon, but in this room you must be all fire and excitement so that each man who makes love to you believes that he, and he alone, was able to breach your defenses to reach your heart," the older woman advised. "And there will be times when a man amuses you, or gives you real pleasure. You will be grateful for those times. You must never, however, feel guilty,
chérie
. Now, tell me, how did you like the duke?"

"In comparison with Charles, more vigorous, and I was indeed surprised by the emotions he aroused in me. Or perhaps it was Josie's gentle seduction. I do not know. However, whether I like him or dislike him, I cannot be certain," Marguerite admitted frankly.

"You need do neither,
ma petite,"
her aunt said. "Trust me when I tell you he is an expert lover,
and
he will never be cruel. Some men you will find care only for their own pleasure, but César gains equal pleasure from giving pleasure to the woman he is with. You could not have a better tutor. Now, I am starving! You are to remain here. I will have Clarice and Louis bring your possessions downstairs. They may continue to live where they now are. I shall have a
petit déjeuner
sent up to you immediately. You are much too thin,
ma petite
, and a gentleman likes a woman with a little meat on her bones."

"When will I be able to see Emilie?" Marguerite asked her aunt.

"On Sunday,
chérie
. We will both go to visit the convent. On Sunday we do not, as you may recall, receive visitors," Renée replied. Then she hurried from the room.

Marguerite now began a thorough inspection of her new bedroom. There were marvelous draperies of gold velvet at the windows. There was a huge armoire and a bureau to match the bed. There was a loveseat in cream satin sprigged with gold fleur de lis, several tables, and side chairs. The lamps were crystal, Irish, she thought. Curious, she opened the armoire, and discovered to her surprise that there were several beautiful gowns in it, including the gown she had worn the previous evening. There were matching slippers as well set neatly beneath the skirts. Investigating her surroundings further, she pulled the drawers of the bureau open to find exquisite silk corsets, drawers of both silk and fine lawn, house robes folded neatly, beautiful stockings, and a whole array of garters.

Clarice entered carrying a tray, Louis in her wake with his mistress's small trunk, which he placed by an elegant dressing table. Then bowing, he backed from the room.

"Come and eat your breakfast, although this is an odd time for a breakfast," Clarice said. "Louis and me ate hours ago."

"We will keep odd hours now, I fear. Where are the rest of my things?" Marguerite asked her maid.

"Madame instructed us to bring only the very personal items, my lady. She said you had all the clothing you would need here. I packed everything away in case we should need it someday. I brought your jewelry, Mademoiselle Emilie's miniature, your combs, brushes, and the like." She curtsied.

"Thank you, Clarice." Marguerite sat down at a small table and, lifting the napkin on the tray, suddenly realized she was very hungry. The tray held two perfectly poached eggs in a sauce flavored with dill, several flaky croissants, a little crock of sweet butter, and another of raspberry jam. And there was her aunt's favorite Turkish coffee. Marguerite smiled. She had never really been able to get used to the India tea her husband so loved. She set about to eat her meal with enthusiasm.

"Glad to see your appetite's back," Clarice noted approvingly. "You've been real peckish since his lordship died, and come to think of it, you didn't eat a great deal at all in his last months. I may not approve of what you're doing, my lady, but being with your aunt again is good for you."

"She says gentlemen like a woman with meat on their bones," Marguerite giggled.

"Well, if anyone would know what a man likes, it would be Madame Renée," Clarice agreed. "She's certainly made a success of knowing what a gentleman wants."

Marguerite finished her meal, and decided to nap. The house was very quiet, and they would not all meet until early next evening. And at ten o'clock the guests would begin arriving. The duke would expect his latest plaything to be ready, and waiting. Tomorrow she would join the others in the salon, she had told her aunt. She hoped that she would be ready for such an adventure. She must learn all she could tonight from César d'Aubert.

Opening the door to Marguerite's bedchamber, the Duc de Caraville stared appreciatively at the tableau that greeted his dark eyes. The budding courtesan lay sprawled and naked upon her bed; her milky white skin in sharp contrast to the black satin covering beneath her. Her black hair tumbled about her shoulders. An equally thick thatch of dark curls adorned the mont between her shapely thighs. About her slender throat was a narrow band of blood red velvet. The entire room was bathed in a golden glow from the many candles that burned. More candles than he had ever before seen. The air was heavy with the scent of summer lilies.

César d'Aubert closed the door behind him. A slow smile lit his handsome face. He nodded his approval as for the first time he got a really good look at Marguerite. She was absolutely exquisite, and it seemed a shame to him that a woman of noble breeding should have come to this. She was not tall, and she was very daintily made, but she had wonderful breasts as he had previously noted; generous, though not overgenerous hips; a neat little waistline; and slim feet. She was, he thought, as perfect as any woman could be.

"So this is why you did not come to the salon," he remarked, walking over to the bed and seating himself next to her.

"I thought it unnecessary to be there tonight," she replied in cool measured tones. "After all, everyone knows of your arrangement with Tante Renée, monseigneur, and I wanted to prepare a little surprise for you alone,
my first lover
. Are you pleased?"

"The effect is quite satisfying," he told her. "Now,
chérie
, spread yourself open for me, using the third and fourth fingers of each hand. Then with a single second finger you will play with your little love button while I undress. We have a long night ahead of us." He stood up and began to disrobe. First he removed his black evening tailcoat and set it aside, loosening his white cravat to lay it atop the coat. "You are not playing with yourself,
chérie,"
he scolded, his voice slightly disapproving. He unbuttoned his black and white brocaded waistcoat.

"I have never done it before," Marguerite slowly answered him.

"There is a first time for everything as you will soon learn,
ma petite
. Now, obey me!"

"And if I do not?"
she demanded of him, her look both curious and defiant.

The duke lay the waistcoat on the chair with his other garments. "Marguerite, this is not a battle of wills between us. You wish to become a courtesan, and so it is your duty to please me in any way that I request. Now take your finger, and begin. You will not be ready for the next step until you do."

Hesitantly she touched herself, never imagining that she could actually do such a thing, but she did.

"Don't watch yourself," he instructed her. "Watch me, and let your little finger have its way." He undid his pleated-front white shirt, putting it with his other things. Then he sat down to remove his shoes and stockings.

She watched him, both fascinated and repelled. A tiny tingle of excitement was beginning to arise from deep within her. The duke stood up and undid his trousers. He had a broad smooth chest and a narrow waist. Beneath the black trousers he wore white silk drawers, which he also removed. His buttocks were firm, and when he turned about, she saw again his male member. Even at rest it was large, and long.
No
. Charles had not been either as large, or as lengthy.

Bracing himself, one arm on either side of her, the duke leaned down and found Marguerite's mouth. He kissed her slowly and deliberately. She could feel the heat from his big body as his tongue began to play with hers. She suddenly realized that her fingers were wet with her own arousal. It was at that moment he thrust two fingers inside her, murmuring against her mouth as he did, "Do not stop playing with yourself while I frig you a bit,
chérie."

Marguerite felt his fingers thrusting within her even as her own fingers teased at her excited flesh. A low moan escaped her. She moved her hips in order to facilitate his actions and her own enjoyment more. His lips moved to her ear, and he murmured to her, "Little whore! How you are relishing this, aren't you?"

"Yes!"
she admitted, and then protested as he removed his fingers and, pushing her hands aside, pinched her love button sharply.

"You do not come,
chérie
, unless I allow you to come," he said in a stern voice. Then sucking suggestively on his fingers a moment, he rolled over onto his back saying, "You must learn to pleasure me in a similar fashion, Marguerite. Put yourself between my legs now. I shall teach you to lick my balls and suck on my cock. Your aunt is quite skilled at that pursuit. I hope you will be too. Come,
ma petite
, and if you do well, I shall give you your first fucking of the evening, although it shall by no means be the last."

She did as he had asked her, getting between his long legs, but she looked at him for further instructions.

"Kneel forward," he said to her. "Lift my cock with one hand to hold it out of the way, and use your tongue on me. Ahh, yes,
chérie
, that is nice.
Very nice!
How warm your little tongue is."

He was faintly hairy there, but the task was not entirely unpleasant, Marguerite decided. In fact it was rather exciting to be using her tongue on such an intimate male part. Daringly she opened her mouth, and took his pouch in between her lips. Her tongue flicked relentlessly about the flesh, feeling most distinctly the round twin spheres contained therein. She could feel his male member within her hand growing larger and throbbing between her fingers. He groaned but the sound was one of distinct pleasure.

"Mon Dieu
, you little bitch! Who taught you so well? Let me free before I waste my cream," the duke ordered her, gasping to restrain himself from exploding with excitement. "I thought you had never done this before."

"I haven't," Marguerite said, and unable to help herself, she swept her tongue up his now rock-hard love lance.

César d'Aubert shuddered, yet he somehow managed to hold on to his vaunted control. "You have, it would seem, a predilection for this sort of amusement,
chérie,"
he said through gritted teeth. "I shall tell your aunt.
Mon Dieu!
Cease this moment! I cannot wait, and I must fuck you now!" He pushed Marguerite onto her back, and was upon her in an instant, entering her body in a single smooth move.
"Ahhh!"
he groaned, and he began to piston her enthusiastically.

Marguerite wrapped her arms and legs about the duke, closing her eyes as she did so. My God, she thought, I am already bored with him. Is this how it is to be with all men now? I suppose it must, for I feel no love in my heart any longer, and I never again will, but he must be more than satisfied if I am to be a success. She moaned convincingly, crying out his name,
"César!"
Could she come? Yes, she could, and that made it all the more convincing. He had engaged her body nicely, and Marguerite shuddered with pleasure as he poured his juices into her, gasping with his own pleasure.

Rolling off her, the duke closed his eyes, and within a minute he was asleep, exhausted from their efforts. A lover, obviously, was not much different from a husband, Marguerite thought. Of course, in the duke's case he would awaken and want more. Josie and Leonie were right. There was very little to this profession she had chosen, but her aunt was right too. What would set her aside from the others would be her breeding and her charm, which she was certain the duke would share with the other gentlemen. She closed her eyes, but she did not sleep. Remembering Josie's advice of the previous evening, Marguerite arose and, finding the basin and pitcher, bathed herself so that she would be fresh and ready for the duke when he awoke.

Hearing a faint tap at the door, she went over and opened it. Both Josie and Leonie were outside. They put a finger to their lips and beckoned her. Not considering her nakedness, she followed them down the hall to Josie's bedchamber. Inside she found both the count and the baron.

"Marco and Ernst have to leave Paris tomorrow," Leonie explained.

"And they wanted a little taste before they departed," Josie continued. "It will be months before they come back, Marguerite."

"But the duke has arranged with my
tante,"
Marguerite began.

"He always sleeps for two hours afterwards," Leonie said. "There is time, and he needn't know, nor Madame either, unless you wish to tell her tomorrow." She smiled her pretty smile.

"Will we get in trouble with my
tante?"
Marguerite asked.

"Non, non,"
Josie said, and then she explained, "The baron and the count pay Madame a yearly fee, like all of the gentlemen who come here do. It is like a club, and as no money exchanges hands on a daily basis, Madame cannot be accused technically of running a brothel. It also allows Madame to pay her bribes promptly, which keep the authorities from our door."

"What of guests like the duke's cousin, the American?" Marguerite asked.

"Guests are rarely allowed, and must be preapproved by Madame. She insists on meeting them for luncheon in the Bois, and then always asks when they arrive if the rules have been carefully explained, and if they will abide by them," Leonie elucidated.

"A paid member of Chez Renée can visit as often as he chooses," Josie said. "Now, will you honor Marco and Ernst? Oh, do not say you will refuse them," she pleaded prettily.

"I am still very new at this,
messieurs,"
Marguerite said, but she was eyeing both men speculatively. Each had a little quirk, if Josie and Leonie were to be believed, but if they stayed with her, she wouldn't be fearful. "You will remain?" she asked.

"Of course," Josie said. "We don't want Madame to know that we've been naughty until after the fact."

"Were you naughty with the Duc de Caraville,
mademoiselle?"
the baron questioned her. He was an attractive man of medium height, blond, blue-eyed, and stocky.

"He seemed to think so," Marguerite answered, lowering her gaze.

"Tell me," the baron purred, slipping an arm about her and drawing her close by his side. "Whisper in my ear." A hand fondled her breast.

Marguerite leaned over and murmured softly in Baron Amalhardt's ear. When she had finished, she licked the ear provocatively.

The baron smiled a slow smile.
"Ach du lieber, fraulein
, you have been very naughty indeed. I regret that you must be spanked." He removed his coat.

"Oh, baron, must I?" Marguerite said, pretending to be afraid.

Josie and Leonie looked at each other delightedly. Marguerite was behaving exactly as the baron would wish, as they had carefully explained to her this afternoon.

The baron sat down on Josie's bed, dragging the seemingly reluctant Marguerite with him. "Over my knee with you,
fraulein!"
he said briskly, and then his big hand descended onto her bottom with a loud smack.
"Gott in himmil,"
the baron cried in delight. "This is a
derrière
worthy of me!" He smacked her again, and yet again.

Marguerite wiggled her hips and cried convincingly, but her companions had not lied when they said it really didn't hurt, but her flesh was certainly being well warmed by the baron's hard hand. As he spanked her, Marguerite could see from her slight vantage that Leonie had undone the count's trousers and was kneeling before him. His cock between her rosy lips, she suckled upon him.

And then the baron was standing up and pulling Marguerite with him across the room to bend her forward over a round marble-topped table. "Spread your legs,
fraulein,"
he growled in her ear, and when she had, he entered her love sheath from behind, and began to pestle her with his thick, hard member, while his hand fondled her two breasts. She came three times in quick succession, but then the baron withdrew from her. His place was taken by the count. In that brief moment Marguerite remembered that the Italian nobleman preferred Sodom's portal to Venus's.

She turned her head and gasped to him, "You will be the first there,
monsieur
. Be gentle, I beg you!"

He nodded, understanding, and she felt him rubbing her rosy fundament with oil. His hands pulled her buttocks apart as Josie brought his lance to the ready. The count pressed forward.

"Ohhh,"
Marguerite squealed. He gained a slight entry, and it felt very, very big in that place she had never considered a woman would entertain a manly cock.
"Ohhhh!"
He carefully pushed further, and his hands suddenly clamped about her hips to steady them.

"Arch your back," he told her.

Marguerite complied, gasping as the count sank his love lance to the hilt within her tight rear passage. She wasn't certain she could breathe, but then with slow and majestic strokes of his weapon he began to move upon her, sliding almost out, and then grinding his way back to her again. He was careful, but it was nonetheless uncomfortable. She didn't really like it at all. Finally with a groan he stiffened, and she felt him spurting his juices within her. The count finally withdrew from her with a satisfied sigh.