“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?”