The French Affair Boxed Set

by Natasha Sparks

  "A simple message. If Nature did not mean for us to have friends and lovers, it would have surely allowed us to scratch our own backs."

  "Ah, a homily if I ever heard one."

  "Indeed, and homespun, I assure you.

  "Soothing indeed," said Murat.

  "It must be very stressful, dealing with the temper of a man such as Napoleon Bonaparte."

  "Stressful? I suppose," said the general. "He is a fair man, and can be good company when the time is right. We have shared more than one cup of wine in good spirits. And oh--he is inspiring. I would not be who I am today without him." Murat sighed. "But oh--he is driven. He is consumed with ambition. Which is all very good for me, for France--for the world, ultimately, for he has a vision, a great vision for changing the way that civilization itself operates. However, as a friend, I confess, I worry about him. That is why I have staged all of this. I have countless--ah--diversions and peccadillos that are, shall we say, hobbies. I play with my hobbies, and I relieve the great stresses I must endure in order to be courageous and brave for my men and my country. I only wish that I could bring the relief it brings to me to my friend! My friend, Napoleon Bonaparte. He does not see this. He thinks I am merely a degenerate..." Murat laughed ruefully. "Well, perhaps I am just that. However, I seem to operate well in this course, and as I say, I think a little degeneracy might take much burden off the shoulders of our great leader, so that, ultimately, he does not fail in his vision. You see?"

  "Selfless Murat!" said Janice.

  Murat looked at her and a deep humor glimmered in his dark eyes. "I do speak that out well, do I not? I believe that comes from the lessons I have learned from such as Talleyrand. We French are becoming marvelous at diplomacy! However, it is true. But, as you point out, I do find the task very amusing."

  "And perhaps you enjoy annoying the pompous little tyrant?"

  "You might think so. I couldn't possibly comment."

  "May I have the pleasure of kissing the lips through which such pearls of diplomacy have passed?" She said this in a deep, sultry voice, reaching around with her hand and tugging at Murat suggestively.

  It was not an onerous task to pull him toward her.

  He said nothing. He zeroed in on her lips with his own with a soldier's aim. The lips opened and devoured hers, moving against them with skill but also with passion. At first they were hard, but when she responded with her own heat and movement, they grew soft and they danced with hers. Under their hardness and softness, she found herself opening to him, and soon his tongue was in her mouth. It was a large and eager tongue, and it traded parries with her own. It moved in a clever way, a way that intrigued her. How would these lips work with other lower lips, she wondered.

  "Oh Murat. You are such a man!"

  "If I am a man, I know it fully in the arms of such a woman as you."

  He held her close and they kissed longer.

  It was an easy business to remove her robe, and soon it was gone, letting her breasts spring free. Unable to contain himself, Murat lifted up and then dived down upon the right one, licking and sucking on the nipple hungrily.

  "I confess," he said, "a fetish for female nipples. And yours are lovely and sweet."

  "Bite it," she said. "Bite it, general."

  She pushed him against her breast. Suddenly his lips grew teeth. They took her nipple and played with it, then bore down.

  His teeth were perfect and so was the bite.

  The pain sank down to deep in her chest and then yet deeper into her stomach. He stopped and the residue of the sting stabbed around, swirling up pleasure in its wake.

  "Ah," said Janice. "Perfect. Now. The other."

  His lips traveled wetly down a peak and then up another, landing at the rosy peak of her left breast, already hard and distended with anticipation. She had stem-like nipples, nipples teeth could get a hold of, and almost instinctively Murat knew what to do. Biting, at first gently, then a bit harder, he let the pressure increase and diminish, giving her a cascade of delightful tingles. He wore some sort of hair lotion and it was strong and feral in her nostrils, a bit bitter and manly. He was on top of her in a demanding way, and she felt small and supplicatory.

  "Harder," she said.

  Murat bit harder. This time, it was sharper, sterner--more confident. Gates of pain opened.

  She gasped.

  He licked and sucked, but there was no apology. In the aftermath of the pain in her breasts, she felt a waterfall of pleasure.

  She felt it--deep down... Down past her trembling stomach and deep in her secret places.

  She shivered. He was big and demanding over her and she felt helpless.

  Was this the one? Was she wrong? She knew from the bottom of her being that Napoleon Bonaparte would be the man who was capable of giving her that special push into what had been denied her so long--orgasm beyond imagining. But was General Murat also capable?

  In fact, that had not been her plan. The plan had been to get closer to Napoleon by seducing Murat thoroughly, enchanting him, giving him his secret needs so that she could gain entry into Napoleon's circle. Now though, a fresh wrinkle was rising in the scheme of things. And it was not a wrinkle that Janice disliked at all.

  "Enough of this play," said Murat. "You drive me mad. I must have you and I must have you now."

  He had started seductively himself, but now he was the rampaging beast. He tore off his fine shirt and struggled with his belt. She lay back on the bed, smiling up at him, licking her lips. Seeing that he was watching her, she moved her hand down to her pussy, her gorgeous pussy and dallied her fingernails in the tufts of pubic hair. Then her fingers went deeper. "Oh, Murat. I am already wet for you."

  As he fumbled with his pants, she played with herself. Her labia was swollen and her clit was standing tall, delicious and sensitive, ready for anything.

  "Dash and confound it," said Murat. "You've made my cock so hard I can't get my pants down. There--ow... damn it. Caught me-self. Damnation!"

  He tripped and fell off the side of the bed with a solid thump.

  "Ouch," he said.

  "A good ouch or a bad ouch."

  "A bloody bad ouch. Damn things." He struggled on the floor where he finally managed to rid himself of the pants. When he got up, he flung himself on her and she laughed. Her legs were open wide and ready for him. She reached out anticipating a charging bludgeon--but found a limp hose.

  She tugged it a bit encouragingly and he pushed himself against her. But it was no good. He'd lost his erection.

  "Argh. I hate it when this happens," snapped Murat. "Sometimes the blood’s up so high, the damned bastard drowns in it. Loses his way, don't you know."

  "Oh, I know indeed. I know. Let me help."

  Gently she pushed him over and then mounted him. She rode his cock for a bit, then smoother herself down the length of her body, licking his skin as she went. Lick, lick, lick... And then, she had an idea.

  "Good for the goose, good for the gander."

  She licked his right nipple.

  "Goodness woman. That's a useless damned appendage on men."

  "Wait a minute. Let's see."

  She started biting it. It had been wreathed in hair, but her tongue had burrowed down into the nest and pulled it out, a small thing. Then, licked up hard, she let her teeth have their way. It was more love nibbles than the hard knowing bites she'd received. At first Murat just watched her, bemused. But then, when she moved her hand down to his limp penis and gribbled it firmly between her fingers.

  His nipple tasted salty. She liked the taste. She bit harder. She tasted a copper hint of blood. She liked that better.

  "Zounds, woman! Do you want to bite it off?" he said, sounding worried.

  "Shush, shush, my darling. Lie back. Relax. And think about what's happening... elsewhere."

  Elsewhere, of course, was on his relaxed shaft. Relaxed? Not quite relaxed now, it would seem. No, not relaxed at all, but under the steady and insistent ministrations of her stroke
, stroke, stroking, the thing was... rising. Rising again. She could feel it and she laughed as she hurried over to his other nipple, pushed her face into the springy hair and nibbled that.

  "By God, woman. Are you a witch? Have you some venom in your teeth? The sword is drawing itself once more. And saluting. By God, and splendidly... and..." He paused, gulped a breath. "It's taking a beating like a man. Beat on, beat on, witch. Ouch, ouch, ouch indeed."

  She bit him again gently, playfully, this time drawing no blood at all but just exerting some teasing pleasure.

  "Now, general," she whispered. "I shall bite elsewhere."

  "If you must. Remember, though, I have ten fingers and ten toes. But only one cock. It's done its duty, for certain, and I would like to have it buried with me!"

  She chuckled. "Such a tongue. Let me now show you mine."

  And so...

  Down and down and down and down and down she went.

  On the way, there was a lick here, a rub there. And further, perhaps another light bite or two. Meantime, her relentless but controlled stroking was keeping that spire bright and arisen. She reached it, she got a nose full of man musk--surely the musk she most favored--and set upon her task.

  She held it up and examined it. "I shall mark you for life," she said. "But not upon this flesh."

  "Oh thank heaven."

  She lowered her head, and enveloped him in her mouth. Just the top of his penis, though. Just at first, just the top. She sucked it gently, and it tasted again of sweat, but a more meaningful sweat. Her snake tongue darted wantonly beneath the crown. Yes, as she was noticing again now, it was an uncircumsized cock, and the foreskin slid back and forth beneath her mouth like some kind of fleshy sex toy. Beneath her movements she could feel him tremble.

  "Oh, now. Now, surely, spare a bite woman. But have a care."

  She lifted her head. "A care, at the very least, my lord." Lowered. Licked playfully. "But when... When shall I bite woman!"

  "Blast it. Damn you! You are... ah!"

  Lick.

  "You are playing with me!"

  Stroke.

  "When--"

  She bit.

  With her teeth, she bit down. She pretended it was a jumbo hot dog, this erect French cock. The mustard had just been licked off. And she'd eat it soon. But for now, she just wanted to savor a bit of the texture, the feel of it, and maybe just a hint of the tender juice, the tender hot juice that she knew lay within.

  "Ooooooh," he said, and twisted.

  She was prepared, however. For while she bit down, she also used her other hand to push him down to prevent too much movement. And she used her strength.

  She removed her mouth, counted up to three, then caught him again in her mouth. She felt relaxed now, much more relaxed, and she was able to push her mouth down quite a few inches onto the large cock's shaft. Then, gently, sweetly, she drew her mouth back, letting her sweet and lubricated lips glide along the shaft with skill and sensitivity.

  Murat shuddered. He shivered.

  "You are an angel or a devil and I care not which!" he said.

  He was trembling some. She thought he might start spurting in her mouth any moment. No, no, this was not part of the plan, and far too sudden a halt in the proceedings. Murat hardly seemed the type to want to cuddle in an afterglow. No, he'd head out and share some brandy with his friends to celebrate, leaving her alone.

  "Don't come," she said, and managed to lift her head for a moment. "Not yet."

  "You make that difficult."

  She bit his penis again.

  "Owwww!"

  "Now then," she said, stroking the hard cock. "Let us put this to proper slave use."

  Lithely, she hopped up on her legs and squatted over him. She guided him into her pussy. She was big and slick for him already, and it was hard, once she got the head in, to slip down only a bit, just a bit onto the shaft.

  Oh, yes.

  It was a thick thing, that penis and it hit all the right spots.

  Hovering over him, she was still for a moment.

  "Oh heavens, Murat. Oh heavens. You are such a great man!"

  "You will not bite me now, please!"

  She sighed and laughed, groaning in between. "I have no teeth there."

  "There are male legends, you know."

  "There are many male legends. But there are also male truths. Provable truths. Let me show you one now."

  Slowly, slowly, then a little faster, faster she began to lift herself up and down on his shaft in her squatting position. She started to moan as she did so, and it was no act. It felt delicious. It felt wonderful.

  She collapsed upon his chest, as he began to thrust up and into her.

  "There," he said. "You have returned my sword to me. Observe how I can use it."

  Suddenly, powerfully he heaved up and rolled over. Somehow he managed to keep his long cock inside of her. Janice gasped at his strength. The world spun round and round, and then abruptly it was Murat who was on top of her, pinning her down like a nail in a butterfly.

  He wasted no time. He thrust into her and began to pound her.

  For a moment she thought he could not possible last very long this way. But then he stopped, breathing hard. He looked down at her, and in the candlelight she could see his distended nostrils, flaring like an angry bull's.

  "There," he said triumphantly. "I will show you who controls her."

  He grabbed her wrists with his hands and held her down fiercely.

  She expected him to grunt and start ramming again, and that seemed fine. The erotic proceedings were starting to make her feel faint and she was losing track of time.

  He surprised her, however.

  Instead of pounding again, he started using his penis as though it were a thick, exploring finger. He poked and prodded, enjoying the process as much as she.

  For her own part, she was sweating. The rich smell of their mingled scents, along with a newly awakened perfume arose about them in a miasma. She felt the salt of him in her mouth, and her own need.

  "Enough of this," he snapped. He pulled out. His penis waggled in front of him as he scooched back. "Turn over and kneel so that I can have your rear, slut."

  "Yes, Master."

  The words thrilled her even as they passed through her mouth.

  She spun around and quickly bent down, face on the bed sheets, knees beneath her and derriere propped up, offered to him obediently.

  He grabbed them, and positioned himself.

  "Slap me," she said. "Master, I have done wrong and need discipline. Smack my behind."

  She soon felt the touch of his flat palm against her butt. It did not hurt at all, as it was on the meaty part of her, and she was used to this in sex play.

  "Harder, I beg you. Punish me. Hurt me."

  He hit her again, this time harder, and this time she felt a sting.

  The sting resounded within her, overwhelming her senses. So when he entered her, it was a surprise of demanding pressure and pleasure amidst a tingling. She almost lost her breath. She felt faint again. And then, holding her sides as he might hold the sides of a charging steed he barebacked, Murat rode her. His thrusts in this position were harder and deeper, and he punctuated them with slaps on her behind without her request. He apparently had been taught a trick that he enjoyed.

  This went on for a quite a time, this in and out. How long, Janice did not know. A delirium, a fog grew over her mind.

  Finally, she managed to fight herself from it.

  "My lord Master," she gasped. "Hurt me. Hurt me more. Take my hair. Take my long hair. Pull it."

  "What?" he said, huffing and puffing, in full fucking exertion.

  "Pull my hair."

  It took a moment for the request to register with him, but finally she felt heavy hands grab up her long mane. He gathered the strands up and he pulled. She could feel her head snap back, and when it hit its limit, the pain in her scalp was alarming and shocking.

  "By gad, this is like being on the bac
k of young Bessie my mare!" he chortled.

  "Harder, my lord. Please, harder!"

  And he pulled harder, and kept up the movement.

  She was almost there!

  She could feel a huge, silent dark wave erupt up and up from depths she did not know she had, subterranean depths--and then suspend itself, surrounding her like the tentacles of some overwhelming hunger and need.

  "Aghhhh!" cried Murat suddenly. "Oh, oh, ooooohhh!"

  He was no longer stroking and pushing against her, amazingly deep. She fancied she could feel his semen spurt like something out of a newly unleashed firehouse, pouring into her, filling her.

  For long seconds he was paralyzed, and then he collapsed upon her.

  The deep and dark eldritch creature that had almost broken surface--her orgasm--had disappeared however.

  She had been so distracted by the power and immensity of Murat's orgasm--he had grunted like a bull and flailed about like some whale stuck with a harpoon--that her own had slipped away.

  Of course there was nothing new with that. Zero new. It was the story of her life. She loved sex. She loved the whole idea of two people getting together and playing games that made them happy. She loved the energy that sex gave her. Sometimes, when at the Sorbonne University, and she was feeling a bit blue and sad about this or that, she would read some history and realize that other people had worse lives than her. And being in Paris, France, she would inevitably think about the lover of the fabric of her existence, Napoleon Bonaparte. She would think of him on top of her, praising her, thrusting, conquering her as he conquers the Germans, the Italians, the Poles and so many others--think of him. True, not coming, not getting close to that total release...