At the moment, Ghislaine’s pleasure was taking a pounding from her protégée without losing sight of the dueling titans in the Chambre des Fiancés.
It looked like the giantess was now taking charge of the situation. She shook her partner who, after his wild ride, seemed on the verge of giving in to gentle drowsiness.
“Hippolyte dear, don’t tell me you’re falling asleep for pity’s sake!” she said, exasperated. “I want you in me again and again, and everywhere! My holes are yours; honor them! Stick your sword inside of me, down to the hilt! Plow me hard! Cover my face in your cum!”
Pâquerette seized her Hippolyte bodily and threw herself on her back, bringing his jousting lance between her unbelievable breasts. His buttocks held firmly in her hands, she moved him go back and forth as she would have done with an inert dildo. Our officer of the court was now fully awake and accompanied the rhythm imposed by his partner with vigorous thrusts, pushing his staff all the way to her mouth. Raving, she pumped his lance as it came and went—but it was not enough; she wanted to swallow this impossibly huge, impossibly beautiful cock. She pushed him back onto the bed in a frenzy, grabbed hold of the monster, and decided she would never let go, taking it into her mouth as far as it could do. “I’m making you come with my mouth,” she enunciated between two pumps with some difficulty.
Content, hands behind his head, Hippolyte watched her pump his handle. Pâquerette was going at it furiously, taking his balls in her mouth, sucking his shaft with vigor. She pulled the improbable member out of her mouth again to lick its entire length before stroking it even harder. “Oh, I think it’s coming, sweetie.” He had the nerve to call her sweetie!
“Me, too, my darling! I’m on fire. Do you hear me? I’m burning up!”
His tone suddenly changed.
“I can hear you, you big minx, I’m on fire, too and I’m going to explode. … Aaaahhh, here we go, I’m coming, I love you, my big fat sow, my big fat goddess.”
And he came. He let out a kind of long snarl as he ejaculated powerfully all over his partner’s face, and she came as well, howling and smearing his cum all over her face.
“Our desires exploding make a fireworks display of reciprocal pleasure!” she cried out, no doubt quoting some sappy romance novel. “I gave, I took, we surrendered,” she went on grandiosely. “Thank you, thank you for restoring my faith in love and pleasure.”
Their phenomenal exploits had sent Mimi and the marquise to the peak of passion. While the two monsters of love rested, exhausted and spent, both women also experienced the great thrill. Mimi’s pounding brought her mistress to the highest reaches of rapture, and Ghislaine showed her gratitude by going down on her servant girl with skill and tenderness.
As for the officer of the court and his giantess, they swore, in an embrace, to meet again and again in Château des Plaisirs, where they had found each other, to lose themselves again in ecstasy.
Trot, Trot, and Above All … Gallop!
“What do you mean? No saddle and no panties either?”
“Yup, bareback and bare-assed. You’ll see just how good it feels to rub your little pussy on the back of your horse. You’re going to feel it ‘for real.’ … All right, meet me at the arena at four o’clock, pretty Florence.”
Florence had come to the Château des Plaisirs for an eight-day course, but the wild dalliances she had encountered in this enchanting place had persuaded her to prolong her stay. She was also intent on participating in the great summer festival the marquise and her entourage were feverishly preparing for. The show was meant to start with a parade organized by Bertrand—and an unusual parade at that, seeing as … But let’s not spoil the surprise, young Florence did not yet know her assigned role. All she knew was that her riding instructor had asked her to wear a navy blue pleated skirt and a white blouse today, and to tie her hair in two braids like a 1960s Parisian high-school student. He had also been adamant that she wore absolutely nothing under her blouse or under her skirt. “We’re going to practice for the big day, you see. We’re going to blow them away, and I’m going to blow my …”
He had stopped talking after that, which she had been thankful for. She did not like his slightly contrived vulgar speech. She did not find it funny, unlike so many others who simply loved being called every name under the sun by their darling riding instructor, depending on his mood. Among his menagerie of appellations, one could find birds, hens, chicks, quails, doves, but also little does, little bunnies, puppets, vixens, fillies, and so on. Granted, his role as barn manager made him, as per French custom, quite coarse in both language and manner with his feminine flock. His students here at the Château des Plaisirs did not take issue with his attitude, quite the opposite: The young and less young alike enjoyed having their backsides slapped as he called them his mares or his little fillies. Most of them even came to the arena with their asses trapped in super-tight shorts. But over the past few days—in truth since Bertrand had made the tall, gorgeous redhead his new favorite—each and every former student of his, each of whom had been his occasional mistress, were vying to win him back. And so the most jealous of the bunch came to him wearing extremely short skirts with an almost nonexistent thong underneath. The aim was to mount the horse, raising one leg up for a moment too long so that Bertrand could admire the inner thigh thus presented to him. The handsome horseman would often laugh, unable to resist giving a quick caress here or a gentle pinch there.
Mimi had gone one step further with this kind of provocation: She had recently started proselytizing, encouraging the more daring students to imitate her new riding style; wearing only her usual white lace pinafore, she paraded, showing everyone her ass and swearing it was the best thing in the world. “Riding bareback and bare-assed, bare-assed and bareback, it’s unbearably good!” she would exclaim, very proud of her catchphrase, calling out to her fellow riders: “Come on, girls, do it! It’s just lovely to feel your pussy tingling against your mount’s coat!” She had found herself four disciples in the shape of two sets of twins. All four of them now rode entirely naked. Well, to be more accurate, the two brothers had reverted to the arguably wiser choice of wearing cups to protect their precious male attributes from the rough motions of their horses, which had proved necessary after a few nasty bruises. Bertrand was so pleased with this turn of events that he had decided to stage a naked equestrian show for the marquise’s festival taking place at the end of the week.
In collusion with Mimi—who had become, lesson after lesson, an excellent rider—he prepared a secret routine, both acrobatic and hedonistic, which he had not yet mentioned to Florence. Did he fear a potential spat with his beautiful redhead of a mistress? No, since their sizzling first lovemaking session culminating in sodomy, they had both had other partners at the Château des Plaisirs. And yet, Bertrand knew from experience that in spite of their great sexual freedom, the younger residents could suffer a bit from seeing a man of the club take too diligent care of a rival—and that was a good thing.
Thus, on this bright and sunny day of June, Florence joined Bertrand in the arena. He was alone in the stables, taking care of two horses. “You look positively lovely, honey. You really look like an innocent, well-behaved schoolgirl who’s just become a woman. I have some friends who will be delighted. They like fresh meat, you see! They’ll have their hands full with you!”
As he complimented his student, Bertrand installed two pairs of stirrups on the back of Capucine—a four-year-old mare, strong and purebred, with a deep tawny coat —held in place by a peculiar system of straps circling the horse’s belly,
Florence thought for a moment that her outfit was distracting her riding instructor. “Why are you putting two sets of stirrups on Capucine? I don’t think I have four legs!”
“It’s on purpose, darling Florence. We’re caracoling in tandem today. For this sort of act, you’ll be riding in front of me. I’ll be right behind you.”
“What kind of act are you talking about?”
“
Wait and see, wait and see! Come on, let’s head to the arena. Some people are in the stands already. We’ll do our show there. But wait, this is important: You’re not wearing anything under there, right?”
He slid his hand under Florence’s skirt and groped her ass. “Ooh, yum-yum. I could just eat you up!”
Florence gave her instructor’s crotch a cheeky pat. “And I would sure like a lick of this big lollypop.”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
He led the mare by the bridle and stopped two hundred yards further on, along the grandstands reserved for the spectators of outdoor performances. Around twenty people were crowded around the marquise, who sat by Mimi in the first row.
The riding teacher and student were greeted by cheers and applause.
Florence did not know until then that she was supposed to perform for an audience. And what a performance it was going to be!
Bertrand presented Capucine’s right flank to the crowd, placing his student on the left and motioned her to mount. Florence placed her foot in the stirrup and rose, raising her other leg and causing her skirt to fly, revealing her sex to her instructor’s gaze as he watched intently. He then announced, in a stentorian voice, that the ladies and gentlemen present were about to be treated to one of his lessons he had titled “The ABCs of Acrobatics, or the Appearance of a Beautiful Cunt.” He then addressed his student as if they were the only two people present.
“What a sight! Did you know that every time I see a woman get on a horse wearing pants, I regret that I can only imagine her treasure at that precise moment. But now, thanks to Mimi’s little campaign, I really can’t complain. I have a wealth of not-so-secret gardens at my disposal. Would you be so kind as to do it again, please? If you could raise your leg higher and a little slower, that would be wonderful.”
Florence graciously obliged and went through the motion several more times, showing the inside of her legs to her instructor, but also to a few onlookers grouped around the horse to better see her red-haired pussy in motion.
Florence was surprised by the unsettling pleasure she felt in exposing herself this way. She could feel her pussy opening up, “unfolding” as she liked to put it, and felt herself growing hot. But her greatest pleasure was seeing that desire also rose in Bertrand’s loose shorts: His cock looked like it was trying to burst through the fabric. Bertrand was getting hard just watching her. He spoke to his student as if no one could hear them. “You see, our friends will be behind me in the grandstands, and I am quite sure some will come up close, like they are doing now, to better follow your takeoff. As such, you will do this motion again, keeping your leg up nice and high for a few moments so they can observe your naked ass and cunt at leisure. The audience has to savor this moment, which is only an introduction to our show.”
Florence complied graciously yet again and dismounted. Then, really taking her time, she threw her free leg high up in the air and kept that posture for a good ten seconds. Her good-girl pleated skirt had fallen around her waist like the petals of a corolla. “Great, bravo. You could even leave your leg up for a few more seconds. Now, let’s get down to business. Well, I say business … but there’s pleasure, too.”
He leaped nimbly behind his student and set the mare to a slow pace around the arena. He pushed his torso against his student’s back and cupped her breasts. His hands then slid under her pleated skirt and began to dance from her ass to her crotch.
She leaned her head back, consenting. He pushed his lips on hers. Between two kisses, she began to laugh. “Capucine’s coat is tickling my snatch!”
He authoritatively bent her forward over the horse’s neck, her arms tied under the mare’s head. “Raise your behind, as if we’re trotting.”
She obeyed, presenting her ass in all its glory, and suddenly understood he had just released his cock when she felt it, hard and hot, against her skin. He pushed a finger inside of her; she was soaking wet. He pressed his left hand down on her back until she was fully arched. He then got hold of his cock, presented the crimson tip at the entrance of the little forest dripping with sap, and pushed. “Oh yes! Oh, come on, push it in! I love it!”
He gritted his teeth to stem the flow of his pleasure. “I love it, too. Your hair is tickling my balls as well. Can you feel me in you?”
“Oh, yes, I can! Don’t you dare go anywhere!”
“I have no intention of doing any such thing. But hold on, we’re going to break into a trot. Are you ready?”
A stifled laugh was her only answer.
At the walk, her instructor’s stake already felt amazing, moving inside her in sync with the beast’s swaying pace—trotting had to be incredible. …
“Let’s go!” He slapped the horse’s rump and drove his heels into its belly. Capucine obediently launched into a trot, and the incredible ride began. Bertrand’s staff slid in and out of Florence, as she cried out in happiness.
He expertly let go of the reins, unfastened his partner’s skirt, and threw it toward the stands as they passed them again.
Her breasts were bare, pressed against Capucine’s back.
They trotted this way for another two hundred yards, and Bertrand led them behind a thicket. “My turn to get naked! I’ll be right back.” He dismounted and deftly took off his shorts, throwing them into a bush. “Let’s get rid of all our clothes, and undo your braids. They’ll want to see us completely naked when we pass the stands again. Naked, and … galloping as well!”
“Galloping?!” She turned around and grabbed his member. It had grown a little softer.
“Don’t worry! Bend over again and show me your holes. Which one do you want it in this time?” He pushed a finger into her ass, hesitating a moment—then, rejuvenated by the sight of these two young, tight holes, he stuck it in her pussy and launched into a panting rendition of a bawdy old hymn extolling the virtues of a specific kind of balling titled “In the Saddle”:
To ride a lass at a gallop,
You will need a good hard rod
And a tight-cunted trollop
With both hands at the hilt,
Else off the saddle she will tilt.
If all our riders in Paris
Could learn these sweet ways
Parisian lovelies by the thousands
Would cuckold their dear husbands.
O, how jolly and beautiful,
To be humping in the saddle.”
She laughed and squeezed him tight inside of her to show him how happy she was with this arrangement. Her ass and pussy seemed to recognize those peculiar sensations she had known since childhood—when she would ride bareback, scantily dressed, at her grandparents’ estate in Brittany. Had that been the nature of the tremor she felt back then? Eyes closed, she pictured herself riding with her older aquaintance Albert, feeling him go hard against her ass when he held on behind her. She remembered her precocious teenage thoughts, her crazed internal monologue as his forearms wrapped around her hardening little breasts: His cock is rubbing against my ass. Oh, I know, I know his dick would really like to get inside my little love hole. I’m wet, oh God, I’m so wet!
How old could they have been? She counted the years. Fourteen or fifteen. Yes, fourteen, and he had been sixteen. As they galloped, he held her tighter and tighter, and he would kiss her neck, a flurry of little kisses. She had pretended to be shocked, blurting out a “Albert, you are crazy!” even though she only wanted one thing, that he keep holding her and keep rubbing his cock against her young, firm ass.
He had answered, “Yes, sweet friend, I’m mad, mad about you!”
She had shrugged, asking him not to hold her so tight. “You’re smothering me, Albert!”—instead of shouting what she really felt like and what she really wanted— “Me, too, Albert, I’m crazy about you, too, and I want your lips on me, all over me, all over, do you understand?”
She left her adolescent memories behind as Bertrand explained what they were going to do next. “Right, we’ll start with a light trot. Once
we’ve got the hang of it, we’ll launch into a gallop. We’ll pass the stands at that speed before coming back at a walk for a well-deserved standing ovation. Let’s go, beautiful Florence, and don’t be afraid! It’s quite a thrill, you’ll see!”
They exited the thicket and began their lap of honor. They were completely naked, and Florence was able to enjoy the delight of this shaft “trotting” along once more, before getting the breath knocked out of her when Bertrand set Capucine to a gallop. Oh, that transition from trot to gallop! Florence got to discover it with an oh-so-virile member stuck deep inside of her! Judging by his confidence and skill, her instructor must have practiced this move already, with students both young and less young. He grabbed her hair as it danced and flew in front of him, with force, almost furiously, making her arch her back all the more.
She pictured herself aboard a yacht rising and falling on powerful waves. She sailed on a long swell with a tiller stuck deep inside of her. Encouraged by Bertrand, she sat up. He circled her breasts before sliding a hand down to her clitoris to arouse her even more. To be perfectly honest, this gesture was somewhat superfluous given how excited her little organ already was by the motion of the animal’s back; her nipples were swollen as they had never been before, and almost painful. He whispered in her ear. “We’re going to climax when we’re at the stands, are you ready?”
“Oh yes, yes, I’m going to come, I’m coming …”
“Scream as much as you want! Shout!”
So she cried out, she screamed, she almost lost her senses and fell. He held on to her and slowly put the horse back into a trot before pulling the reins. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!”
He jumped off nimbly and caught her, panting with happiness, in his arms.
An ovation rose from the stands. As Florence, naked, leaned on her lover’s shoulder and slowly came to her senses, she saw the marquise running toward her for an embrace, followed by two very young girls who were the spitting image of each other, also wearing a navy-blue pleated skirts and white blouses. Two men, each holding a horse by the bridle, were walking alongside. In her disoriented state, Florence wondered if she was seeing double. Ghislaine cleared the matter with some introductions: “Florence, meet our twins: Audrey and Victoria, and their twins, Pierre and Jean. They’re going to participate in our equestrian games, but they are a few steps ahead of you as they’ve engaged in these very acrobatics—those you’ve just performed with such gusto—a dozen times. So come, sit with me, it’s your turn to admire the act.”
The Merry Widow Page 4
