The Merry Widow

by Vonnick de Rosmadec

  “Gladly, gladly,” Florence muttered as she tottered along.

  Ghislaine was already dragging her to a bench, but Florence got a hold of herself: She wanted to see how her “competitors” were doing. And she was not disappointed. In perfect sync, they raised their legs and held them pointing at the sky so that their fellow riders, but also Bertrand, Ghislaine, and Florence, could enjoy the sight of their adorable little pussies.

  For everyone’s viewing pleasure, Bertrand decided to make them climb into the saddle again; they did not need to be asked twice.

  Florence saw the amused, greedy interest the two brothers—whom she immediately decided were to her taste—showed watching their partners’ crotches. She caught Ghislaine masturbating through her dress while Bertrand’s prick went from its well-deserved rest to getting stiff again.

  He nonetheless ended this interlude with a loud clap of his hands, barking orders: “Okay, figure number three, if you please! Audrey on her mount, facing backward; Pierre inside of her, holding her steady. Begin with a trot, then start galloping; you’ll have the advantage of facing each other. Jean and Victoria will take the position Florence and myself just demonstrated. The difference is that he will enter his rider through her little hole, and not through the slit. Come on now! And I want to hear you laugh! We want to see joy.”

  He was answered by laughter. The girls got in position and their companions, already hard, complied with the instructor’s orders.

  Florence would have enjoyed contemplating these gentlemen’s cocks a while longer—and a little closer—but alas, the girls’ skirts fell down and hid them from her eyes.

  She watched the horses leave at a walk, and her eye caught the first shudders of the young girls getting humped on horseback.

  “Come and sit with me; they will be back after their little run.” The marquise put a glass of champagne in her hand. Florence drank, gazing in admiration as she watched them ride away.

  “How handsome those two young men are!”

  The marquise laid a gentle hand on Florence’s shoulder before lowering it to her behind, which she began to fondle without ceremony.

  “They will be yours when you want them to be. We aren’t a possessive bunch here at the Château des Plaisirs.”

  “Yes, but those two girls with them are so, so beautiful …”

  “No more than you! And I can promise that if you want to have both brothers all to yourself, you will have them.”

  Florence emptied her glass, feeling flushed. Already her insides needed love again and made it known by sending her delicious signals.

  Could her neighbor feel her emotion? It was likely, given how well versed Ghislaine was in matters of love. At any rate, she lay her hand on the young rider’s ginger mound and quickly found her clitoris. Mimi, who sat on the opposite side, joined her mistress and leaned over toward Florence to kiss her breasts. Legs opened wide, neck resting against the bench, Florence followed the arc of beautiful clouds across the sky. …

  But the show went on.

  “Here they are!”

  The two sets of twins were coming back at a trot. They were performing their erotic acrobatics with such youthful élan and such glee that it was truly a pleasing sight.

  They were riding with the young men’s rods deep inside their partners. They all seemed so happy—happy to be performing under hungry gazes and proud to be grown-up lovers at last.

  Since their deflowering, the twins had mostly been seen with their deflowerers, though they had also tried other regulars of the Château des Plaisirs. They had tasted a bit of Jean-Baptiste, a bit of Antonio, and even had some fun with their gynecologist, Laurent Dumoulin, and his extraordinarily agile tongue. But they were always delighted to return to the embrace of those who had first initiated them in the art of love.

  Both riders stopped their horses a few feet from the stands to end their exhibition. The small throng of admirers gathered around them. Each could see, less than a yard away, the boys’ twin members moving back and forth inside the girls.

  Beckoned by Bertrand, who was the architect of this tour de force, after all, the marquise came closer and gave a single, sonorous clap. “And now, the climax!” she ordered.

  The two couples had been waiting for this moment blessed by the god Eros.

  The boys launched into a spirited, rhythmic motion, holding their partners firmly by their waists. The girls opened their mouths, eyes closed, tense, waiting for the men’s pleasure to flow inside of them.

  All came in unison, greeted by cheers and applause.

  “Talk about a hot, hot show! What a show!” Mimi cried gaily.

  Jean-Baptiste gave her a nudge. “It’s our turn, lovely Mimi. Let’s show them what my horse-cock is capable of.”

  “Ah yes, of course, I almost forgot. Let’s go, let’s go!”

  She took the black man by the hand and set off toward the starting line.

  Behind the thicket where the previous riders’ effects lay strewn, they found Capucine, left there by Bertrand during the twins’ performance. Mimi undid her ever-present white lace pinafore and, as Jean-Baptiste freed himself from his white polo shirt, she helped her basketball champion get undressed. Crouching in front of him, she lowered his shorts—and out came the formidable shaft. At once, she took it into her mouth, crooning. “God, it’s beautiful, Jean-Baptiste. Still so beautiful!”

  As soon as his staff was stiff, they settled on horseback. Quite uncomfortably, it must be said. He sat facing forward and helped Mimi sit facing him. She leaned and took his rod into her mouth again. “Onward?”

  She nodded and they set off at the walk, before trotting past the stands.

  “Gallop, gallop!” a few voices cried out.

  Mimi pumped and pumped away, wiggling her ass to show her enjoyment.

  As they reached the end of the run they bypassed the thicket. Mimi stroked Jean-Baptiste’s member vigorously. The man grimaced in pleasure and stuck his organ back between the lips of Ghislaine’s little helper. “All right, galloping this time!”

  She lowered her eyelids in assent.

  The rider spurred Capucine, and Mimi managed to find the rhythm to her acrobatic fellatio by following the horse’s pace. They passed the stands a first time holding this daring posture. Applause rang, and admiring whoops were heard. They came back at a slower pace, and the champion pulled the reins to place the mare in front of the gaping audience. “Come on, Mimi, suck it! Make him explode!” Bertrand barked.

  She did not need to be told twice and set to pumping with increasing frenzy.

  “What a gorgeous picture!” Ghislaine exclaimed, ever with the artist’s eye.

  It was true that this stark-naked couple on horseback made for a beautiful sight.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming, stroke it!” Jean-Baptiste roared.

  Mimi pulled the enormous member out of her mouth and, smiling, obeyed.

  Again, a crowd of voyeurs packed around them. Some were getting serviced by their neighbors. Others, solitary, fondled themselves as they watched the lovers.

  The big black man came in bursts and aimed his weapon at Mimi, covering her chest. She let out a cluster of small cries as she climaxed, too. Ghislaine responded with a growl. Florence felt Bertrand push his rod against her. She turned around and kissed him full on the mouth.

  The marquise could be proud of her Château des Plaisirs, which always brought such joy to her guests.

  The Initiation of Georges and Georgette

  “A funny-looking couple, madame. She clucks like a mother hen, and he looks like he eats mush for breakfast. It didn’t matter how many times I’d lean forward to show him my ass, he just kept his eyes on the ground. There’s one who doesn’t use his dicky bird very often. But trust me, I’m going to make his dicky bird sing, rise, and fly up all the way to his belly button! I mean, come on! I won’t stand for any indifference to my charms, or to the fleshier parts of my divine body.”

  Once she was done ranting—with man
y grand gestures and exaggerated faces—Mimi burst out laughing, and her mistress joined in as she got ready to welcome a pair of visitors to her office: a married couple, potential members of her pleasure club.

  The marquise regained her composure, checking that her raw-silk robe—under which she was naked, as per usual—displayed enough cleavage to tempt even the most pious goody two-shoes ever to cross her threshold. She slipped on her glasses—which she maintained were cosmetic and not corrective—and affected the stern demeanor she reserved for newcomers.

  She glanced at her chambermaid, noting that she, too, was as indecent and arousing as could be, clad in her customary short, white lace apron that barely reached her mid-thighs. It was a bit strange, come to think of it, that Mimi had been unable stir the gentleman sitting in the waiting parlor.

  “Show our newbies in here, and stay quiet; sit facing Monsieur Broomstick-Up-His-Ass with your legs wide open to reveal that pretty kitty of yours.”

  Knowing the young lady’s rather spontaneous nature, she bid her not to take any initiatives.

  “Above all, do not intervene, whether orally or physically, until I’ve given our little signal. Understood?”

  “Of course, Madame la Marquise!”

  Mimi couldn’t refrain from turning her back to her mistress and, in lieu of a curtsy, leaning forward to show Ghislaine her butt.

  “With compliments of the artiste, Madame la Présidente!”

  Ghislaine, who loved her little maid’s propensity to mischief, struggled to keep a straight face.

  The female half of the couple was perhaps a little too plump for the standards of glossy magazine cover models, but her face exuded a certain joie de vivre. The marquise, as soon as she saw her and heard her speak, guessed that this lady loved being tickled, and no doubt cried out in small gasps of happiness that would delight even the pickiest audience. Her husband, however, remained stony-faced no matter how many times Mimi tried to show him her little pussy.

  “May I ask what brings you to my Château des Plaisirs? But first, tell me your names; I am Ghislaine, and my secretary, so indecently seated, bears the sweet nickname of Mimi.”

  The woman fidgeted in her seat, tugging at her skirt to cover her knees.

  “I’m Georgette, and this is my husband, Georges.” She giggled. “We immediately felt attracted to each other, what with our names being so similar … but that attraction didn’t last, to be honest. So we thought, maybe, to rekindle our passions …”

  Ghislaine nodded as though it went without saying. At that moment, she thought she glimpsed a flash of desire in the man’s gaze, now directed between the legs of her secretary. She affected outrage and scolded her accomplice.

  “Mimi! For God’s sake, show some modesty and close your legs, you’re shocking our friends!”

  “Not at all, not at all!” protested the supposedly stuck-up visitor. “I find myself … deeply touched by this demoiselle and her charms.”

  He began to laugh, shoulders shaking, leaning forward to get a better look. His wife pretended to be shocked.

  “Well, Georges, that’s rather unlike you! You’re quick to get an eyeful. I’d never have thought that you, ordinarily so reserved, so prudish, would suddenly become …”

  “An ordinary man?” Ghislaine asked, smiling knowingly.

  “But I never thought he’d be capable of this kind of … indiscretion! Things like this are quite rare,” Georgette stammered.

  “And isn’t that precisely why you’re here?” the marquise asked, seizing the opportunity.

  “Well, yes, I mean, no, well …”

  Georgette quite obviously wanted to talk about sex but was still reluctant. She began to speak and then stopped abruptly.

  Ghislaine came to her aid.

  “Come now, Georgette, speak plainly; these walls have no ears. You can say anything to Mimi and me—anything, do you understand? What is it you hope to find in my Château des Plaisirs?”

  Suddenly freed from her embarrassment, this pretty, plump little lady dived in, punctuating her confession with many cooing sounds. She wiggled her behind, signifying to her hostess that she was already getting excited.

  “Well … pleasures, actually! We’d like to discover a more … complex kind of loving. To bring us out of this rut in our marriage.”

  “Would you both be inclined to try collective lovemaking? That is to say, with several people at once?”

  Georgette almost jumped on her seat and spoke excitedly.

  “Yes, that’s exactly it! We’d like to experience that sort of emotion. We’re so tired of making love while fantasizing about other people. … Georges, about some girl like Mimi, for instance, and I …”

  She giggled again.

  “I’d like a man, a real man … a real beast, you know? Who would crush me, force me, take me roughly, you understand?”

  “Oh, I understand you perfectly! Helping newcomers clarify their needs and desires is, in fact, one of my duties. I could introduce you to one of my gentlemen whenever you desire. They would be delighted to help you blossom into a gorgeous rose while Mimi—the flower of our establishment—or one of her colleagues takes care of your husband’s needs?”

  “How beautifully put! Yes, I can’t wait to be wooed—for a stranger to just … pluck my petals without ceremony. Oh, that would be so exciting! We’re both bakers, we run a boulangerie.”

  Well, no surprise there! If those two bakers ran a shoe shop, that would be a little more original! Mimi refrained from saying out loud, asking herself why this woman absolutely wanted to tell them about her business.

  The lady of the manor nodded along to the baker’s speech and, reeling her in, promised her an endless supply of lovers.

  “Once you’ve taken your first lover under my roof, I will introduce you to others—many others. As many men as you’d like, and you’ll get to tell them what you desire, whatever your fancy.”

  Georgette was once more squirming excitedly on her seat. How easy it all seemed when you spoke to a specialist of the marquise’s standing! Since she had first decided to knock on the doors of the Château des Plaisirs, the lady baker had repeatedly thought, I’ll never dare, and yet, I want to, I want it so badly! And now, she felt her false prudishness slipping away. How good it felt, saying and hearing anything she wanted, using crude language if necessary. The marquise abruptly opened a folder then stood and laid it in Georgette’s lap. It showed a photograph of a tall hunk who looked like a statue carved out of muscle.

  “What do you think of this one? This is Sergio—he used to be a weightlifting champion in Italy. And as you can see, he’s bulging with muscles. Would you like to meet him?”

  Georgette studied the athlete’s naked body with a hungry look in her eyes. She was quite obviously fascinated by his beautiful, large cock. She bit her lips as though stifling a cry of pleasure.

  “Would I like to … Would I like to meet him? Oh, God, yes! I’m feeling all moist just looking at him. It would be too good to be true! But, do you think this … gentleman would want me? I’m not exactly a young lady anymore. …”

  “How old are you?” the marquise asked coolly.

  “Forty—I mean, forty-two. …”

  “And that is a fine age to explore this kind of thing; or rather, it’s high time you finally had the chance to have your dream lover. As for your concern—don’t worry. If I’m offering to introduce you to Sergio, it’s because I know him and I know his tastes. He is quite fond of full-figured women—and, like many southern Europeans, he’s completely crazy for blondes. They make him hard as a Roman column, if you’ll pardon the expression. Your hair is a lovely golden color, but are you a real blonde?”

  “Well, yes, yes, I am!”

  “Let’s check.”

  Ghislaine took the folder from her visitor and beckoned her to stand so she could explore her body. She discreetly motioned for Mimi to join her, and the chambermaid busied herself with Georgette’s breasts, freeing one from her bra, and be
ginning to suck at it with authority.

  Stunned, Georgette did not dare resist; all she could do was stand there awkwardly.

  “But … it’s the first time I’ve been kissed by a woman. … I want a man. …”

  Without bothering to reply or to accommodate her reluctance, Ghislaine raised her dress to the waist. She studied and then caressed, Georgette’s chubby behind.

  “Oh, I’m quite sure many men will appreciate this pretty caboose of yours. It’s nicely rounded, quite firm … and now I wonder what your pussy looks like. Let me inspect your front. Do you mind?”

  With Mimi and her mistress taking such good care of his wife, Georges stood and walked a few paces around the trio, a naughty gleam in his eyes; he was plainly delighted.

  Ghislaine, who could notice the swelling in his pants, called upon her faithful servant. Mimi immediately let go of the newcomer’s breast and came to rub herself against the husband, fiddling with his fly.

  The marquise turned Georgette around, holding her by the waist, and lifted her dress again.

  “Hold your dress up, if you please, so I might get to know your cunt a little more comfortably.”

  Georgette obeyed as if in a trance and watched her hostess kneel before her as she gently slid down her hemstitched white panties. The marquise clearly had quite a bit of experience with this type of thing. A moment ago, Georgette had considered making for the door when she thought she had stumbled into some sort of radical lesbian commune—but when she saw Mimi stroking her husband through his pants with such enthusiasm she understood that this was simply some sort of obligatory rite of passage.