In a previous post, I promised to post excerpts of work in progress. This one is for Trent, who voted for pony girl content.
This is as yet unpublished work. Please protect my long hours of hard, lonely work by not posting any part of this chapter elsewhere, although you are welcome to link to this page. Hopefully people who might otherwise not find it will come and look and maybe go to the book page and buy some of my published work. Some, like Decade of Discipline and A Teacher’s Dispatch, are hard to find on Amazon because they’re labeled “adult.”
Here we go — hold on tight!
The Stable Girls of Maison Jolie
By Alice Liddell
The idea that made me the richest woman in Paris, or at least the richest woman in the Paris demimonde, came with a suddenness such as I had never before experienced . It struck towards the end of a meeting of my Board of Directeurs, which is to say a night with my lover and patron, the Marquis de Beaubourg. He was at my side, propped against the headboard with satin pillows at his back, contentedly smoking a pipe. At the time he wore nothing upon his superb body save riding boots and a long black cape. His magnificent prick was draped languidly along one muscled thigh having itself a well deserved rest.
“The stable!” I cried, so affected by this flash of inspiration that I struck the bed with my fist.
The resultant shaking of the mattress disturbed Colette, who had been fast asleep at our feet. She raised her head and blinked her big brown eyes sleepily before returning peacefully to her slumber, curling herself back around Angelique’s familiar body. That little pussy cat had not stirred in the least.
The Marquis turned his head towards me and studied my face with great seriousness. “You, my darling,” he said after some moments, “are the most beautiful and diabolical woman I have ever met.” He smiled and allowed his eyes to travel the length of my nude body before settling one hand affectionately between my legs.
It was difficult to tell whether this was in response to what I had just said or was simply a general declaration of his affection for me. The Marquis is a perceptive and highly intelligent man, and I think the world of him, but he is understandably not at the height of his mental acuity after a long night of fucking and hashish.
“I wonder if you heard me,” I pressed gently. “I have decided to use the stable for our expansion.”
He frowned slightly. “Do we have a stable?”
“Yes, of course. It’s part of the carriage house.”
“Ah,” he said, closing his hand so his middle finger was exactly atop the centre line of my still slick nether lips. I shifted my hips accommodatingly so his lovely long finger might slip right inside. He made an appreciative noise. Then continuing our conversation, he said, “I thought Cook lived out there.”
“She does, and my outdoor man, too,” I confirmed, unwilling to let the topic go despite his distracting ministrations. “But they live upstairs, in the quarters I had built for them last year. The area of which I now speak is on the ground floor. There is an open space big enough for two carriages, if carefully parked, and stalls for four or five horses.”
He closed his eyes and seemed to consider, although perhaps his attention was drifting elsewhere: with his middle finger planted firmly inside me, his thumb was now circling my pleasure pearl.
“Do I understand that you intend to refurbish the space in order to create a few boudoirs d’amour for our working girls?”
“We’ve run out of space in the house. I would never ask a girl to rush her art in order to turn a room faster, but neither should I like to keep a man waiting when he’s holding his prick in one hand and his wallet in the other.”
“Just so,” the Marquis said. His eyes were still closed. He had not ceased the delicious motion in which his thumb was engaged. It was becoming a tad difficult to keep my mind on business, but the Marquis continued the discussion unperturbed.
“Your clientele,” he cautioned, “may not take kindly to paying your usual prices for being entertained in a barn.”
“They shan’t pay my usual prices,” I said, unable now to keep a touch of triumph out of my voice, for we had come to the kernel of my plan. “They shall pay more.”
That got his attention nicely. For all his inherited money, the Marquis has a nose for business and nothing arouses him quite like a profitable scheme. He opened his eyes and withdrew his hand, and turned on his side to face me. He was now miraculously alert, his elbow on the bed, his chin propped in his palm, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“More, you say? Truly? Expound, my dear.”
So I laid out my plan, describing it in exquisite detail, for if there is anything at which I excel it is painting a pretty scene. I have always had an instinctive feel for what to put before a man’s eyes, and how to control that image to feed his arousal. It is one of the secrets of my success.
As I spoke I kept one eye on his member, taking careful observations. I noted exactly at which point it jerked awake, as well as which specific words brought on subsequent thickening and lengthening. Nothing in its response surprised me. It reacted exactly as I thought it should, and judging from its size and state by the time I had finished, my idea was not only sound but inspired.
It was time to wake the girls. I gave them each a good nudge with my foot and told them to come up the bed and get back to work. Colette woke with an appealing little yawn and crawled towards us on all fours, and it was a pleasure to watch the lovely roll of her haunches as she did so. She settled herself, as I instructed, between the Marquis’s legs. Angelique, meanwhile, wiggled up between mine, sighing contentedly as she slipped her small hands under me to cup my curves and draw my body closer to her sweet mouth.
Copyright Alice Liddell. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce or repost but linking is fine. Thank you! I hope you enjoyed it.