Glass Slipper

by Abigail Barnette

  It was time. He finished his breakfast and went to her room. She sat at the little vanity, already laced into her corset but otherwise nude, carefully patting her curls into place. She caught sight of him in the looking glass and smiled. “You’re early today. Couldn’t wait to see me again?”

  He smiled back at her, but stopped himself from addressing her question. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  She turned, her large breasts spilling out of her corset with the motion. “I love your presents.”

  Indeed, she did seem to. They’d spent one particularly pleasurable afternoon teasing each other with a peacock feather he’d brought her. He reached into his coat and produced a long strand of pearls.

  Her eyes glittered with delight. “Julien, they’re beautiful.”

  Oh, the way she said his name. It sent a rush of blood to his groin. “Let me help you put them on.”

  She smiled and turned back to the mirror, lifting her hair expectantly.

  “No, not there.” He gestured absently in her direction. “Spread your legs.”

  The look she gave him told him that she knew whatever he had planned would be worth the suspense. She obediently did as she was told, revealing those tight golden curls that shielded her core. Spread before him, her flesh already glistened with wetness. Knowing that he inspired such lust in her was almost irresistible. He slid one finger over her enflamed nub and she shivered. He let that finger rest at her opening, listening as her breathing quickened. Her muscles spasmed as if trying to draw him in.

  “How do you do this to me?” she asked, her eyes fluttering closed.

  He pushed his finger in, just to the bottom of the nail. “What is that?”

  She moaned and rolled her hips, but he did not press any further. “How do you make me want you so much?”

  “Practice,” he answered, but he wondered if Philipe would bother to bring her to such an automatic response. Would he spend long, slow mornings pleasuring her? Or would he take his own pleasure and move on to the next willing woman?

  Julien knew the answer, and he did not care for it. In fact, he was coming to dislike his friend more every day. But he had not promised Henrí that he would find true love for Joséphine. He’d promised to find her a husband, a prince if he could.

  Putting such grim thoughts aside, he concentrated on Joséphine. He pressed his thumb against her bud and rolled it over and around, sliding more of his finger inside of her. She whispered his name and gripped the chair back. In the past weeks, he had come to know every sound she made, every clutch of her tight cunt, every writhe of her lush body. He would miss this. How he would miss this.

  He withdrew his finger and held it up, so that Joséphine could look down as he looped the necklace around it. He coiled the pearls, one row after another, until only his fingertip showed above them.

  “Julien?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He held the pearl-encircled finger to his lips, then slowly ran it up her thigh, letting the beads roll over her smooth ivory skin. Her breath hitched, her legs fell further apart. He trailed the pearls over her cleft, rubbing them between those soft petals until they shone glossy with her desire. Then he slipped his fingertip into her cunt once again.

  She gasped as the first row of pearls slid into her tight hole, and she squirmed to take his finger deeper. He rocked the digit back and forth, allowing the pearls to roll over every sensitive ridge inside of her. He worked the column of beads deeper into her body, where her greedy flesh grasped at them, then slid his finger out, leaving them behind.

  Her eyes, shut tight as she had neared her climax, flew open as she realized he no longer touched her. “What are you doing?”

  He stood and reached for his coat. “I have some business in the village. It will keep me detained for some time.”

  Mouth agape, she seemed unable to respond. Finally, she sputtered, “B-but what about—”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right.” He strode back to her and leaned down to take hold of the hooked clasp that dangled just outside of her entrance. He gave a tug, pulling a bit of the length out and up to slide over her own pearl. She had been so close to the edge that that was all it took; her legs trembled and the chair creaked as she held onto it, helpless to the throes of her release.

  He waited a moment, so that she would have a clear head when he attached the hook to the lace at the bottom of her corset.

  “What do you mean by this?” she asked, her cheeks still flushed and her eyes still glazed from her pleasure.

  He tilted his head to eye his work. The pearls drew a tight line across her sensitive flesh. They would tease her all day there, and the beads inside of her would slip and roll with every step she took. “I mean for you to learn a very important lesson.”

  “What lesson would that be?” She trailed one finger along the exposed beads.

  Pulling on his jacket—he needed the physical reminder that he could not spend all day in this room with her—he winked. “I’ll tell you when you’ve learned it.”

  * * * *

  The thought of Joséphine’s torment distracted Julien all day while he made arrangements for their move to court. It was a welcome distraction, for the obvious reason and because he did not like to think that their time was about to come to an end.

  You’ve gotten yourself in too far, he scolded himself as he rode back from the village. He couldn’t argue to the contrary. It was rare that he kept a companion longer than a few days, at most. His ill-fated love affair with Sybil had been an exception that had proven his personal rule. When one kept a woman around for too long, one ran the risk of growing somewhat fond of her.

  The first stop he made in the village was to Marie. He gently rebuffed her suggestion that his visit was of a less than professional purpose. Though she was beautiful and very talented, he’d found himself desiring her less these days. It was the natural way of things in his world. Eventually, every woman grew less interesting to him. It seemed strange now to imagine that he would one day tire of Joséphine, as well. But didn’t it always feel that way?

  With Marie’s help, he ordered a new wardrobe for Joséphine. He could have asked for her input, of course, but he wished to surprise her. Imagining the look of delight on her face when she opened her trunks and found glittering, sumptuous new dresses was almost as pleasing as imagining her squirming through her lessons with Madame Brujon today. It was less pleasing helping to design what she would wear to Philipe’s notorious birthday party. There was no doubt in Julien’s mind that the prince would single out Joséphine for his companion during that event.

  “Julien, if I didn’t know better, I would say you don’t like the thought of this girl leaving you,” Marie cooed.

  “I enjoy her, but I’ll enjoy other women,” he said, then quickly turned his attention back to the sketches Marie’s talented hands had produced.

  After his business with Marie was completed, he visited the letter writer. Though he could read and write on his own, for correspondence he preferred the practiced letters drawn by a professional hand.

  He paced the letter writer’s small stall as he dictated his travel plans, adding, “I will arrive in time for your birthday, and I will bring an appropriate present.”

  “Shall I make sure this goes out on the next post then?” the letter writer asked.

  If he sent the letter, that would make it final, wouldn’t it? Julien almost wished he could tell the man to forget he’d ever come. Instead, he said, “Yes. It is of the utmost importance.”

  As much as he enjoyed Joséphine’s company, he owed it to Henrí to do what he had promised. Even more, he owed it to Joséphine to help her find her happiness.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Stop fidgeting!” Madame Brujon barked, and the slender reed she held cracked down on Joséphine’s red knuckles.

  Joséphine swore under her breath. It was bad enough having to try and present a stoic face when she was constantly tormented by the pearls that rubbed against her aching bu
d and slid over and around themselves inside of her. Every now and again another bead would slip from her, and the sensation would cause her to bite her lip to stifle a moan. But she never came, and she feared that was what Julien had planned all along.

  “Are you listening to me, girl?” Brujon slapped the reed on the table. It seemed that even the books on the table were terrified of her.

  Taking a deep breath, trying desperately not to concentrate on the pearls pressed into her flesh, she nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  But it was terribly difficult to pay attention when her cunt ached and her thighs were wet with the evidence of it. She desperately wanted Julien to return, to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bed, where he would make her cry out with pleasure until her limbs were limp and her skin dewy with perspiration. She thought of how it would feel to have his magnificent cock inside of her, to feel the flex of his hips as he pounded her against the mattress.

  Her cunt tightened around the pearls, and she gasped. Realizing that Brujon’s ever watchful eye was upon her, she feigned a sneeze.

  “Very ladylike,” Brujon snapped. “Perhaps you’d like to wipe your snot on your sleeve.”

  “Good afternoon.” At the sound of Julien’s voice, Joséphine’s heart leapt. It had a disconcerting habit of doing that every time he entered a room, but today, especially, it was happy to see him. Her heart and some other parts, of course.

  “By all means, interrupt. Your protégée can’t manage to remember even one name of the house of LeBeau, so good luck when you get to court.” Brujon closed up her books with as much noise as possible, which was good, because as Joséphine stood to greet Julien another pearl slid from her and it took all of her control to gag her moan down to a pathetic mewl.

  “The weather is so pleasant, Joséphine,” Julien said, the look on his face telling her that he was very much enjoying her torture. “And my horse is still saddled. I thought it would be a fine day for a ride.”

  “A ride?” Her jaw dropped. Just the motion of standing had nearly forced her to climax. If she tried to stay in the saddle, she would come until she passed out from the pleasure of it.

  “Go on, get changed into your riding habit.” He waited until she had taken a few torturous steps and called, “Oh, and leave my gift where it is. And don’t finish anything I started.”

  By the time she had made it to her room, she was so aroused that every step was agony. The stairs, in particular, had been a cruel obstacle. It took all her concentration not to come, her body working against her all the while she dressed herself and tied her hair back in a braid. If she didn’t move, if she didn’t do anything but sit very still, she might…

  Oh, she couldn’t fool herself. She would likely climax the moment he laid a hand on her to help her into the saddle. His touch, his scent, everything about him seemed designed to arouse her. She wanted more of him, and when she got it, she wanted more still.

  She wished she had never made him promise to leave her virtue intact. Though he would likely be happy to be rid of her once she was married off to the prince, she doubted she would feel for Philipe anything close to what she felt for Julien. She wanted to have him always, even if only in her memory.

  Her reflection in the looking glass showed a single tear rolling down her cheek, and she swiped it away. Well, such morose thoughts certainly cured her of her desire, pearls or no pearls. She hurried down the stairs, determined to show a brave face. Once she saw Julien waiting for her, all thoughts of putting on false cheer fled. She did not need to pretend to be happy when she was with him. She truly was.

  * * * *

  Her happiness with him became irritation as she clung miserably to the pommel, gritting her teeth as another intense wave of pleasure gripped her. A low moan slipped from her lips. Riding side saddle required hooking her thigh around the pommel, and every bump and jostle caused her to squeeze her legs tighter together to retain her seat. The same motion caused darts of sensation to shoot through her cunt, growing in urgency until she was sure she would die if he didn’t grant her release. “Please, Julien.”

  He continued gazing out at the scenery, a serene expression on his face. “Not yet, Joséphine.”

  She gritted her teeth. The bastard! To think she had shed a single tear for him.

  “See that ridge up ahead?” He nodded toward the spot he indicated. “We’ll stop there. There’s some lovely shade.”

  There could have been blistering sun and flies, and she would have been just as grateful. “Finally!”

  “We could canter up there, if you’d like,” he suggested.

  “No!” She wasn’t sure she could remain in control of her horse if she did succumb.

  “I would have thought you would have jumped at the chance.” He cocked his head. “Jumping, there’s something we could try.”

  Through clenched teeth she hissed, “Someone has commanded that I stave off my satisfaction.”

  “What a wicked man he must be. You mustn’t judge him too harshly.” Urging his horse into a brisk trot, he left Joséphine no choice but to follow suit.

  She groaned with each bounce of her bottom against the saddle and gripped the reins tight in her fist until she was sure that her leather riding gloves would crack at the knuckles.

  “I’ll know if you come,” Julien warned cheerfully. “You’re always so wet after you come. And tight. I can barely get my finger inside after.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to rid her mind of his words. There was no doubt he knew exactly the effect they were having on her.

  “And if you disobey me, well…” he sighed heavily for great effect. “I suppose there will have to be a punishment.”

  Normally, she loved the games Julien thought up for them to play. Today, however, the joke had worn thin. She fought hard against the building pressure inside of her, tried desperately to set her mind on anything else. But the constant stimulation proved to be too much. She rocked against the saddle and held on tight as her climax slammed into her like waves onto a shore. As quickly as it passed, another gripped her, and she cried out.

  They had reached the ridge, and Julien drew up beside her to take the reins from her helpless hands. The horses walked placidly to a stop, and Julien lifted Joséphine from the saddle. She collapsed against him, limp and trembling, and didn’t care that she wasn’t some graceful feather of a woman. Julien would be able to carry her.

  He stopped at the base of a gnarled oak tree and sat on the ground, in the space between two roots, and Joséphine sat up in his lap. His cock was hard and eager beneath his clothes; at the least the ride had been torment for both of them.

  With a hand caressing her neck underneath her golden hair and another hand at the small of her back, he gently urged her lie across his lap, face down. She supported herself on her forearms on the grass and shivered in anticipation as he lifted her skirts. The cool air struck her wet, intimate flesh and she whimpered. His fingers slid over her bottom, slipping toward her puffy sex, toward the pearls that had given her such delicious torture all day. It would feel so good when he removed them, slowly, teasing her to another climax. His hand lifted, prolonging the suspense. Perhaps he would make her come with his mouth first.

  A stinging slap landed on her bottom, surprising her so that a startled cry escaped her lips. “Julien, what are you doing?”

  “I warned you,” he said with a chuckle. “There would be a punishment.”

  Another slap. Joséphine’s face flamed with indignation. “Let me up! I am not a child!”

  “Not a child, but you disobeyed, didn’t you?” He kissed the burning spot on her rump, then landed another slap.

  “I cannot believe you!” She tried to wiggle away, but his forearm at the small of her back held her in place, and her position, with her bottom raised up on Julien’s lap and her legs resting on the gnarled root beside them, gave her no leverage. His broad, warm palm gently caressed her burning flesh, slipping into the cleft be
tween her cheeks and lower, to finger the pearls that hung, dripping with her juices, from her cunt.

  “Yes,” she urged on a hiss, but all she received was another smack on the bottom.

  “You’re very wet.” He rubbed his fingers against her cleft, then touched them to her burning skin, spreading her cream in a lazy circle. “Have you been disobeying me all day?”

  Joséphine ground her sex against his knee, but the angle was wrong and offered her no satisfaction. Another slap pulled a startled moan from her throat.

  “Why should you have pleasure now?” he asked, dipping his finger just past the entrance of her cunt. The pearls left him precious little room there, and the delicious stretch was almost too much to bear. “What have you done to deserve it?”

  She bit her lip. She couldn’t think of a reason, though she desperately wanted to. “I’ve wanted it all day.”

  “Have you?” Another smack, and she shuddered. Julien chuckled. “Wanting something isn’t the same as deserving it. How do I know you haven’t been coming all day? Sitting at the table during Madame Brujon’s lessons, squeezing your thighs together? Did you come before our ride, Joséphine?”

  “I didn’t,” she swore desperately.

  “But you wanted to?” He rolled the captive string of beads between his finger, and they rotated against her hard nub. “You wanted to touch yourself, to bring yourself relief.”

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned, trying to push herself against his hand. She was rewarded for her efforts with another slap. Her bottom tingled, and the thought of what she must look like, lying exposed across his lap, her white skin marred with red handprints, was strangely exciting.

  “Are you enjoying this?” he asked, feigning astonishment. He spanked her again. “A good girl would not enjoy her punishment.”

  “Perhaps I’m not a good girl, then,” she groaned. “Please, Julien.”

  “Please? When you’ve already admitted you don’t deserve it.” His wide hands gripped her waist and he flipped her over, her legs spread across his lap. “Very well.”