The French Affair Boxed Set

by Natasha Sparks

  He began to unbuttoned his vest, impatiently.

  "You!" he said, his voice husky with need. "You as well."

  "Yes, of course. If you do not care to do that for me."

  "Woman, I will tear the clothing off of you if you do not start. I do not think that Murat will approve of that."

  "Ah. How do you not know..." She was going to say 'How do you not know that Murat would not do the same’, but stopped herself. “How do you not know that there are more pleasurable ways to take off clothing."

  By now, Napoleon had doffed his breeches. A long white shirt hung down over his underwear. He removed the underwear as well, and cast it toward the side of the bed.

  But as he did so, his eye caught sight of something. He slowed his hurry, and walked up to the top right post of the bed. He lifted something up.

  "Ah yes. I have heard of your interesting pleasures." He lifted up the leather belt with its braces and hand restraints.

  "I do enjoy being tied down from time to time."

  "Why?"

  "Why do I have dripping pussy, my lord? I do not know. I only know of the beating of this woman's heart... And the need for a man to take me in a masterfully manner!"

  Napoleon's eyes were glittering now. "Take you? Ride you like a proud steed into battle?"

  "Yes. I think the simile is appropriate."

  "Hmm." He walked down to the bottom of the bed and pulled up another leather restraint. "For your leg, I presume."

  "Or yours, my Lord."

  He laughed. "You think me as decadent, as degradable... as--"

  "I think nothing in the bedroom. I only feel."

  "Seductive words."

  "I'm sure you've heard more seductive words than those. I only try to speak the truth."

  "Do you mind if I tell you that I am... I am a bit put off by these... elements?" he waved the leather restraint.

  "Do you mind if I tell you that you are the one who pointed them out. I had no intention to. I had heard that... Well, no matter. Please, kiss me again. Kiss me harder. Oh my lord, that was, in truth, the best kiss of my life."

  Bonaparte didn't seem to hear that. "I pointed them out, yes." He squinted at her. "But you heard... What?"

  "It does not matter. Please, kiss me."

  "You heard what? And where?" Napoleon Bonaparte demanded.

  "Why... that your lovemaking was like your dinner habits. Ravenous and satisfying but simple and over very, very quickly."

  "What!"

  "What difference does it make? Take me. Kiss me. Ravish me quickly if you like. This is no matter to me. Have your way!"

  Napoleon was turned red. "My lovemaking... My lovemaking is the subject of talk in Paris?"

  "Oh my Lord. Only those, I imagine, who listen to Josephine."

  Napoleon took a deep breath. He was clearly calming down a bit. He laughed. "Well, my goodness, that's a relief! Why, the world knows I was mad for Josephine. The British intercepted my letters when I was in Egypt! Why, I believe they were published in the rags they call newspapers."

  "You see. No problem. Now kiss me."

  "A moment," said Napoleon. He fingered the restraint. "So. Murat ties you up with these and has his way with you?"

  "Yes. He fucks me, my Lord."

  "Odd. Odd. Very odd indeed." Napoleon flapped the leather restraint against his lips thoughtfully.

  "My Lord, the hour speeds!" Janice began to unfasten the stays of her underwear.

  Napoleon held up a hand. "An hour in my Paris, nay, my France... nay... my world... lasts as long as I want it to."

  "Ah well..."

  "But surely..." Napoleon said. "I mean--what pleasure do you achieve when this... this happens to you?"

  "I know not. I only know it feels as though I am released."

  "Released?"

  "Yes, my lord. I grew up in a religious family. My... pussy and my needs were evil. The stuff of the devil."

  "Hmmm."

  "I do not feel this in my head. I feel it deeper down, however. I fear... I fear it is true. But when I am tied up. I have no control! I am a good girl, attacked! Attacked and ravaged. I am an innocent, and I can give myself... No, I do not need to give myself. I am taken!"

  "I see. Well. And you have other instruments of... of this odd nature."

  "I do. With no intent to use them with you. I only wish a kiss."

  The truth and sincerity of her words came through clear as a bell. In fact, she'd never want anything more than the way she want a simple thing.

  For Napoleon Bonaparte to just kiss her again!

  He nodded. He went to her. "You are an interesting woman. You are beautiful in a way that I have never experienced before." He sniffed her hair. Then he lifted her arm. "How odd. Do all Americans shave their armpits?"

  "Only we females. We young females."

  "Why? This is odd indeed. This is where a woman collects her scent! Her woman smell!"

  "We Americans are merely... different."

  "Well. No matter."

  "Do I smell bad, my lord?"

  "Not at all. I am just not used... I talk to much."

  He grabbed her up and he kissed her again.

  This time, the fierceness was toned down some, and was replaced by a curiosity, an exploring. His tongue did not invade her mouth. It danced with her tongue. And it was delightful.

  She was lost for a moment in a fugue. She wished she could have turned on some make-out music. What would be good. Barry White? Bryan Ferry? But the fugue was gone soon as she found herself caught up in the moment of his kiss.

  Soon she found herself sprawled on the bed. Again, Napoleon was kissing her all over. Her ear. Her neck. Her breast. Her nipple. And then, suddenly, he was there, at her nipple, and sucking at it. Sucking at it hungrily as though to draw milk.

  "Ooooh," she breathed. "That feels so... Ooooohh."

  For his part, he did not seem to hear her. His sucking soon turned into a tonguing. It was though he were lost in wonder over her breast. He was sucking it then, pulling it into his mouth.

  "Oh yes, yes," she said. "Harder. Harder."

  He did not seem to have any problem about obliging. The pain and sheer sexiness of it all was astounding. It felt as though Napoleon Bonaparte was trying to devour her heat. His small mouth got more and more and more of her breast in it.

  "Bite it!" she cried. "Bite it."

  He bit. The stab of pain was transcendent. It seemed to shoot sensation into every nerve of her body. Sensation that sounds turned to overwhelming pleasure.

  He lifted his head. "Your heart is beating so fast!"

  "Oh yes, oh yes," she said.

  "You like it when I bite you."

  "Yes, my Lord. Yes."

  "Hmm." He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a small round nipple. "Do suck mine for a bit. I am curious."

  She laughed. "But of course!" She rolled over and pushed him onto his back. He laughed as she took hold of his white linen shirt and pulled it back to allow access to his nipple.

  She delicately and tantalizingly licked it. Kissed it. Nibbled it just a bit.

  "So far so good?" she asked.

  "Why yes, it rather tingles. Excellent."

  She licked it again. And then suddenly she bit it. Not too hard, but hard enough to inflict pain.

  "Oww!" he said.

  "Oh my lord. A low pain threshold?"

  "Why, I did not feel pain at all," Napoleon said. "I was merely surprised."

  "Did you like it?"

  "Well yes, as a matter of fact. I rather did."

  She pushed the shirt further aside. She licked the nipple. Bit it gently.

  "Please, my lord. If you will just close your eyes and stretch your arms back, that will give me better access."

  "Oh? Very well." He put his left arm back and it touched the restraining leather. "I am rather curious what this fuss is all about. Why don't you just put my wrist in this. Loosely, mind you."

  "Why of course. And the other?"

  "Why
not?"

  Pleased and excited she did as she was told. Bonaparte's wrists were now bound to the bedposts.

  "Are you frightened now my lord?"

  "Frightened? Of course not."

  "But you are helpless. I have you in my power. I can do wretched and perverse things to it."

  "Well, that's stuff and nonsense. My man..." He paused. Then he nodded. He lifted his arms, struggling a bit. "Oh yes. I see what you mean. I do feel... at your mercy."

  "Oh, but my Lord. I am merciless."

  She licked one nipple. Bit another. Then she started at nipple level and let her tongue slide down to his naval, where she buried it for moment, and then bit his abdomen.

  He had but a normal penis, but it was swelling already in its thatch of hair, swelling with great urgency.

  She let her nipples drift over the rising penis, then let her mouth hover over the erection.

  She did nothing. She got up and kneeled by his side, sliding a palm up and down his side.

  "Marvelous. Marvelous," Napoleon said. "Oh but God, don't leave me in the lurch!"

  "Bonaparte?"

  "Yes. Yes, my beauty."

  "You've been very naughty today, haven't you?"

  Smack.

  She slapped him across the face. Not hard. But hard enough to bring a bit of sting.

  "Gods! What was that?"

  She did it again, with other hand and the other side of the face.

  "Does that hurt?"

  At first, his red face showed a flash of anger and frustration. He pulled at his bindings to prevent her from delivering another blow, but then, of course, was stopped by the leather bindings.

  She smiled down at him, then licked her hand and let it rest down directly on the shaft of his penis, stroking it perfectly not only to keep it erect but to extract the most sensation.

  "Ahhhhh!" he said, bucking.

  She could feel a trembling in the shaft. She pulled away for a moment, then let her hand drift down to his tightening ball sack, which she tickled, carefully watching his face.

  "You are a demon!" he cried.

  She pulled her hand away long before he could have any ejaculation.

  "A fallen angel, perhaps!"

  "I must have you! I must have you. Untie me!"

  "Just a moment. As I say, you have been naughty. And besides, I have been waiting far longer for this than you."

  She scooted up to his face, then pulled a leg over him.

  "Can you smell me? Can you smell my lust for you, Napoleon?"

  He said nothing. He looked a bit drugged.

  She pulled her pussy up and waggled it a bit before his face, then stuck it into his mouth and nose.

  "Lick me. Lick me!" she said. "I demand it!"

  He didn't seem to be listening. Napoleon was on some kind of different wavelength. Somehow he didn't seem surprised at all. He immediately began to attend to her as he had to her nipple, licking all around her pubic area.

  "No. No. Here."

  She was astonished! Here was the soon to be Emperor of Europe, who knew his way around a cannon and a rifle--and yet not a simple female pussy.

  With her fingers, she guided his tongue onto her engorged clit. Once he found it, he instinctively went to work. She leaned into him, groaning.

  "Lick it, suck it, lick it, suck it... oh my god, oh my god!"

  He obviously felt as though she were addressing him as her god, because he kept on sucking her. He was rough and unaccomplished, but she was able to make up for that by heaving back and forward on his face. Soon, her inner juices combined with his spittle was spilling onto her thighs and his face.

  "Yes, yes, yes," she said, pushing herself into his mouth.

  Then, when she felt in her heart the time was right, she pulled herself away from him, and crawled down squatting down just short of his erect cock.

  "Inches away. Inches."

  He thrust upwards, but she pulled up, and his hard cock only grazed her cunt. Still, it felt unbelievable.

  "Damn you woman. Damn you!" he snarled.

  "You are not fucking me, do you hear me, First Consul." She said. "I am fucking you. Now... beg for it. Beg!"

  "Please... please... Woman... woman." This was not the Napoleon in formal dress with the romantic haircut and statuesque stance, hand stuck into his vest.

  This was someone younger. Younger and out of control.

  "Beg."

  "Fuck me. In the name of God... I can stand it no longer! Fuck me!"

  She could feel her juices dripping on his cock. She gently and accurately lowered herself. The glans of the immensely swollen member touched her labia and slid into the entrance of her vagina.

  She shrieked.

  It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. No man's cock had ever sent such power through her. She shivered and shuddered, bending her head over so her long hair dripped down toward his face. Her breasts were sharp and hard and they grazed his chest as she maneuvered herself onto him. Slowly, slowly, tantalizingly slowly.

  "God have mercy!" he cried. And then he began saying something in another language. Corsican... Yes, the Corsican dialect of Italian. He was saying something, moaning and thrashing his head about.

  She felt tight. She felt her cunt folding about his cock, devouring it as an octopus descends upon a mollusc. Deep, deep she pushed herself, into unbelievable sensation.

  She took a long deep breath, and pulled up.

  She started slowly, a cadence, a dance of nature, to an ancient rhythm. Fucking him, sucking his essence out--and yet, she knew, somehow flowing something, something vital back into him.

  Up down. Back and forth. Theirs was a mutual world of moans and groans.

  But then, when she could feel him at the periphery of eruption, she stopped cold. She leaned down and pinched his cocked.

  "No," she said.

  "What?" He struggled in the leather restraints.

  "I said no. You will not come yet."

  "Oh God, oh God!" And he began to curse in Italian. She leaned over and smacked him... harder than before--across a cheek.

  "You will obey me," she said. "And do not consult a God. Consult me--your goddess!"

  Then, slowly but with great authority, she began to rock back and forth, then up and down again into nature's rhythm. Over and over again, when he threatened to come, she stopped. Waited. Then started again.

  She leaned down, realizing far from being in control, she was so far away from control... She had no control. None whatsoever. She pushed and pushed against his cock, over and over again, ravishing it, demanding it sink deeper...

  And deeper.

  She could start feeling some majestic raging of torrential feeling, like an overwhelming current from deep in some mystic sea, pulse upward inside of her. Lights seemed to flash on and off in her head and the surge turned all smells into other sensation. She was the pound of the ocean against the shore, the surge of sunlight against the Earth, the unbounded possibility and transcendence.

  "Yes!" she screamed. "Yes, oh yes, oh my god!"

  Then she could feel him throb beneath her. Napoleon gasped and cried something in Italian and pushed up and up and up...

  She exploded.

  Lights danced around her and she spasmed and twisted and fell.

  And then in a blaze of fulfillment, the lights went out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When he came to his senses, Napoleon Bonaparte realized that the shrieking woman had simply toppled off him and onto the floor and lay now, crumpled on the floor.

  He tried to rise but could not.

  He was tied up. The damned restraints!

  He called for his man.

  Instantly, the door burst open and the dark man came in. He took one look at the scene, drew out a knife. "She has tried to kill you!" he said, and rushed to bury the knife in the prone woman.

  "No, you idiot! Nothing of the sort. Just--"

  The dark man stopped, confused.

  Others of the retinue stepped
into the room. They also froze, astonished at the sight of the first Consul, naked with a detumescing erection--and tied up, with a sweaty naked woman by the bed.

  For a moment, the scene seemed to freeze.

  And then, behind them, an older, corpulent man stepped in. He was smiling broadly. "Pardon me, I am a neighbor. I heard a disturbance and I thought I might help and--oh my!"

  He looked down at the prone body on the floor. "Has someone killed this woman?"

  "Are you a Doctor?"

  "Well, as a matter of fact--"

  He bent to the woman on the floor. He reached into one of the voluminous pockets of his coat and drew something out.

  Meantime, Napoleon yelled to his man, "Well, don't just stand there! Get me out of here."

  With no more pause, the dark man stepped forward. Quickly, with powerful strokes, he slashed the leather restraints. Napoleon hurriedly threw on some clothes, then returned to the man bent over Janice.

  The man was holding a bottle underneath the naked woman's nose. He passed it back and forth beneath her nostrils.

  She stirred.

  "Thank God, she's alive!" said Napoleon.

  "Please, if you would," said the man. "Help me get her onto the bed."

  Napoleon snapped his fingers. The dark man dipped down and scooped up Janice.

  "Gently, please. Gently," said the older man. He supervised as Janice was placed in the bed, and the bedclothes were drawn up to cover her nakedness. "There."

  Janice took a deep breath, and resumed breathing normally. And, Napoleon could see, it was a normal, healthy breathing. She was asleep.

  He turned to the man. "Good fellow, I thank you. I trust... as a neighbor, I can have your confidence on this matter?"

  Napoleon extended a hand.

  The man nodded and took up the hand. "Of course, of course, First Consul," he said.

  "You recognize me."

  "Naturally. I support you!"

  "Good. Good. And who, pray tell, are you?"

  "Just call me..." said the man. "Citizen Charles."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Janice woke up to a world of peace and a quiet.

  She felt, she realized, wonderful.

  She looked up from where she lay. She was, she realized on a bed and it was soft and pleasant. It smelled sweet too--sweet and flowery as though with some delightful memory.