In the Forest of the Night & The Barmaid and the Blacksmith

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “I thought I told you that the facts of a woman’s virtue, or lack of it, were a private matter,” I reminded him.

  “But we are in a private place, miss. And I’m dying to know if you’ve really been schooled in the fine art of experiencing this inner fire.”

  I walked away from his attentive presence, and turning, stared squarely at him from a couple of feet off. “What would it matter to you?” I asked. “I would never give my affections away easily.”

  “And I would not want you to. No. I find your virtue worthy of respect.”

  “So you respect me?”

  “Mais oui.”

  He bridged the distance between us once again, coming so very close to me that I could easily detect the scent of his morning coffee on his breath.

  He took my hand and then brought his mouth down to mine. It was a bold kiss for a first one, and I did nothing to stop it for several seconds, until I got my wits about me and backed away.

  “Sir!” I was not half as shocked as I was befuddled. The instantaneous response between my legs jarred me. I immediately thought of him planting his penis there, and I shuddered. I could tell by his face that he detected my arousal, and that worried me. I wasn’t ready to throw myself shamelessly at any man, but the truth was, after having experienced many sexual moments with Will, I now felt denied the pleasure that I knew my body deserved.

  “Perhaps I should knock at your door, tonight at midnight?” he proposed.

  “And you’ll wake me, because I’ll be fast asleep then.”

  “Then you’ll give me your key, and I’ll slip into bed beside you,” he offered again.

  “Phillipe!” I exclaimed, as if I was shocked by the idea. Perhaps I was shocked, but I certainly wasn’t offended, even though I should have been.

  The Frenchman’s eyes sparkled wickedly, as he watched my chest heaving. My heart raced, my breathing was shallow. It was very immodest, giving myself away like this.

  “I pledge myself to you, Isabella. You have my fullest attention. I’m profoundly enamored with your fine graceful bearing and your gentle wit. I don’t mean to offend you by my forward remarks.” Such a formal gesture of gentlemanly honor. It was a little silly coming from him, though he was certainly pretending to be sincere.

  That night there was dancing in Meg’s small salon for the eight of us there. We began with the insipid old fashioned waltzes, but later one of the men put on some American music, that Meg’s older brother Vincent had brought back from the States. It was positively lewd, the dancing steps Vincent showed us.

  I watched laughing, while Phillipe showed us his expertise with all the modern moves. And while he performed, he didn’t take his gaze from me the whole time, his soulless shifting eyes had me hypnotized.

  When he pulled me to the dance floor with the others, he pressed himself to me body to body, groin to groin. It was a scandalous dance, but no one seemed to care. There was lots of laughter in the room, and I imagine too much after dinner sherry. It was a fine oblivion that seemed to take us all away for those few hours.

  One glance at Meg, and I thought that she looked as undone as I was, she looked so lustily at her beau. I wondered just what was happening in that intense relationship. Everyone seemed aroused in a way young English ladies and gentlemen rarely are. This atmosphere befit my mood of abandon. I was really enjoying myself for the first time since William vanished with my soul. Maybe it was being reclaimed.

  We all ended up roaring with laughter and drunken exhaustion, tumbling to the couches, practically falling on each other in a raucous wantonness that could have led many places. I could see Meg’s beau with hands groping places I doubt she’d ever been touched. And I could feel Phillipe’s hand on my rear end, giving it a playful fondle, which I did not shake away.

  But our fun was soon interrupted by a reprimand from the housekeeper, Mrs. Gibbert, and we were all sent to bed with a harsh reminder to mind our manners, lest we wake Meg’s parents. We trotted to our respective beds, I don’t think there was any bed jumping that night, though I couldn’t be sure as cozy as a few of Meg’s guests were.

  I was just drifting off to sleep that night when the knock came at my door.

  “Come in,” I called out, too sleepy to even bother about asking who was there. I was sure it was Meg, all in a titter about her young man. There was talk of an engagement and it wouldn’t surprise me to find her sharing the details of a midnight rendezvous with Jonathan.

  When I turned over, expecting to see Meg’s excited face, I was shocked to see Phillipe Gordot’s piercing eyes staring at me with a lusty glimmer.

  “So you left the door open for me?” he remarked.

  “I did not!” I replied.

  “I’m just acting on your wishes, Mademoiselle Isabella, your ardent seduction of me has me burning with need.” He was opening my covers, his tall form slipping into the bed beside me without a protest uttered. I was too shocked to object.

  “Please sir … “ I finally managed to speak, but I wasn’t allowed to finish my complaint for his lips were attached to mine, his hands making a fast journey to find my breasts, clothed only in my nightgown, so little protection from his insistence. It felt as if I’d been abducted. And yet charmed by my abductor, I was resisting his advance so little, I wondered at my morals—those same morals that had eagerly encouraged my deflowering at William Sage’s hands. I struggled earnestly for a few moments, trying to back him off, sputtering words when he set my mouth free. But my resolve was weak and my sexual excitement so rapidly engaged, I didn’t want to stop him.

  “You have me in such a state, my dear one,” he purred into my ear. “You’re shameless the way you’ve taken my heart and inspired my loins with that dance of yours.” I remembered us dancing, slightly drunk. I was still slightly drunk, to allow this now, but I was thinking, perhaps I was guilty as charged for the crime of seduction. Though Phillipe was certainly taking no offense at my transgression.

  Underneath the covers, he was undressing himself, and removing my nightgown from me. He was lying atop by body, his not so heavy as William’s had been. And yet, lifting himself from me, and drawing the covers away, he stared at my exposed breasts, and then brought his lips to them, showering them with affectionate and bold kisses. I was grinding my groin against his, feeling his penis begin to stiffen until it was firm.

  “You’re a shocking woman, Isabella. I should want to make you my mistress, the way you keep me aroused.”

  “What have I done?” I asked with a faint wonder.

  “Undone me with this body and this passion of yours. This is exactly as I suspected. You’ve utterly bewitched me.”

  He bewitched me with this talk. I couldn’t understand this fierce woe that came from him, along with his savage pawing of my form. I would have thought if he was going to have me, he’d impale me right away. But he was thorough with his hands first, and then with his mouth. I felt every inch of my body being kissed and fondled. He made a sumptuous feast of my navel, tonguing it eagerly. He discovered the wisps of hair between my legs and with a ritual grace and a trace of awe, he eyed that most private place, even as he parted my thighs, and bent my knees, so that I was spread out like banquet for his senses. His mouth descended reverently on my swollen pulsing clitoris and began to flick it with his tongue.

  “Ah no!” I screamed in a muted voice. It hurt what his mouth was doing, an attentive suck, then the pulling away. His eyes caught mine as he held the tender bud in between his lips, and then let go.

  “A morsel worthy of a good night’s pleasure,” he smiled, seeing just a little fear written on my face. “Was it ever as good as this?” he asked. I’m sure he suspected that no man could match this daring assault. Though he’d not met William. He would have no way of knowing that I had been abused and loved and taken by a man far better than he was. And still …

  William Sage was gone from me.

  Phillip Gordot was in my bed making love to me. I could let the comparisons lapse. />
  I didn’t answer his question, it was rhetorical anyway. He continued pleasing me with his tongue lapping at my juicy hole, until I was shrieking. Just little whimpers, mind you. It was the middle of the night, and I would never want to wake this household; but I couldn’t hold back the lusty whimpers that accompanied this unexpected and welcome taking.

  He drew up on me, practically sitting on my chest, while he offered me his full erect penis. Rising up higher on his haunches, he insisted that my mouth pleasure him, and I accommodated him readily. Opening my mouth wide, I practiced the lessons that William gave me. He tasted bitter at first, then the sweetness followed. I ran my tongue about the head, teased the rim, and massaged the shaft with an expert’s grace.

  “I knew you weren’t some undefiled maiden. Who’s had you Isabella?” he asked.

  I hoped he wouldn’t be angry with no answer, because I was not going to give him one. I was rather happy doing this, but not recalling my past for him.

  Drawing back from my mouth, he pulled back down on my body again and caressed my breasts, until I couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Sensing my clamoring need and his own, he fell to my side, turned me so my rear end was at his groin and parted my thighs. Finding my pussy from the backside, he planted his cock squarely in the center of my once well worked sex.

  He held my body to his very tightly with hands on my breast, and then straying to my cunt where he played with me. I couldn’t see him in this position, and I dearly wished I could gaze into his eyes this first time. It diminished me to be taken for his pleasure alone, without the intimacy of eyes, in just a wordless silence. And yet, it was a deafening roar of surrender that filled me, a surrender to the desire that had mounted in me for months and needed this release. Then, I was almost glad I didn’t have to pretend I loved him. He was taking me for sex and sex alone. My reasons were the same.

  I gave Phillipe everything. My churning body, my willingness, every bit of my stored, repressed desire. I would make love to him all night long without an ounce of love felt, just pleasure, and feel very good about it.

  My first orgasm came right in the middle of his, but he didn’t stop with one. For my second climax, he insisted that his tongue bring me off, while his fingers gently squeezed the little erect nipples at my breasts, sending a welcome surge of pleasure shimmying down my torso to my cunt.

  “Hush my darling,” he warned me when I cried aloud.

  When I came, I was pressing myself to his face, as two of his fingers were inserted like a prick in my wet pussy.

  “You’re a fine whore,” he murmured when I found that he was hard and ready for me again. This time, I let his cock spend its frothy cum on my face and chin. And I didn’t even balk at his bawdy assessment of my character.

  “I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said.

  I was lying back after our lovemaking, while Phillipe continued to kiss my belly and fondle my breasts.

  “How would you know that?” I challenged him.

  “I can see it in a woman’s eyes.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Just a little word play, and it all comes abundantly clear what a woman knows of being in bed. It’s an understanding they have. Whoever was your secret lover, he was good to have schooled you so well in the baser arts. I didn’t even need to instruct you in fellatio.”

  “What is that?”

  “Sucking penis.”

  “You take such terrible liberties with me,” I told him, as I thought of my reckless sexual lust.

  “Yes, but it was only at your insistence,” he said to remind me.

  “I don’t understand why you’re making that claim.” I found myself annoyed. I couldn’t comprehend how he thought this was my idea.

  “Don’t be coy with me, Isabella, you’re far too much a woman to be indignant over this. Tell me, how did he get you to lower the standards of being a lady?” he asked.

  “Why would I tell you?” I teased him.

  “Because I’ve been kind to you, bringing you pleasure without the judgment you’d get from other men. Actually, I think you and I are very much alike, libertines that we are. So tell me, how did it happen?”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.

  “I would never give a lady’s secret away,” he assured me. “What you reveal in bed is sacred, like the counsel of a priest.”

  “Is that your solemn oath?” I asked.

  “My dear, I am, above all, a gentleman, first schooled in the art of being one, long before I was schooled in the art of love. On that I cannot help my good breeding.”

  “Then first, you tell me when you lost your virginity,” I said.

  He smirked, as his dazzling eyes looked down at me, almost as if he was pleased I asked.

  “Would you believe a countess had me?” he asked.

  I looked at him circumspect. “No,” I retorted.

  He smirked again. “You are a wise woman.”

  “So, the truth for truth, an eternal secret,” I prompted him.

  “Truth for truth, your secret to my grave. I visited a whore in Paris. A very fine whore, but I paid to shoot that first load into a real woman. And, there was not an inch of that woman that didn’t know me, by the time I was finished.”

  “And how old were you?” I asked.

  “Sixteen,” he admitted.

  “Then you’ve been taking women for nearly eight years,” I said amazed.

  “It’s been my pleasure. And I did have a countess, but that was much later.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about her.”

  “But first your confession, Isabella. Your secret, your defilement?”

  “And you promise you’ll not tell.”

  “Why would I?” he said.

  “But still …” I was insisting.

  “On my honor,” he agreed.

  “Well, he was a commoner, a very sensuous one at that. He caught me in a brief moment of impropriety with myself …”

  “Oh?”

  “I was enjoying my body in a place I used to go to sun myself, naked.”

  “Outside?”

  “Of course. By then, my natural womanly inclinations had become too much to contain, and I asked him to take my virginity away,” I finished off boldly.

  “Asked?” Phillipe was amazed.

  “Yes asked. In fact I insisted when he was reluctant. I told him I didn’t want this useless virtue. It was a nuisance to have some ridiculous purity that no man really respected, if they respected the woman.”

  “You believe that? That a woman’s virtue is useless?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  “And you’re not afraid of a besmirched reputation because of it.”

  “My reputation is already blemished. If you heard rumors, then likely the whole circle of friends I revolve in has their suspicions. Besides, I really don’t care for any man that’s bothered because I’m missing a small flap of useless flesh.”

  “I admire your courage.”

  “Thank you, but it doesn’t seem to be much to be admired for. I’ve enjoyed my passions fully, nothing more. And I think it’s silly to be a priss about such things. Life’s too short, don’t you think?”

  “A woman after my own heart. We are very much alike,” he said amused by me. I didn’t really care. He liked the way I’d pleasured him, I know that; and I liked the way he pleasured me. Though I had no illusions that there was real caring there, even when he said there was.

  He made love to me again before morning, then slipped out just before daybreak, so not to be noticed.

  I took my breakfast in my room the next day, thinking of the night, the long sumptuous night of pleasure. I wondered if we would do it again. Certainly my body would love it, but it was different than with William. I wasn’t sure the real substance of the difference, but it was there nonetheless. I gave Phillipe so many of my treasures and my secrets, I wasn’t sure what was left that he would want, such a man of the world he was.

  I decided
to play bashful with him, and see his response.

  At lunch I ignored him almost completely. We were dining on white fish and mushrooms, trying to make the most of a gloomy gray day. The sun had decided to take a holiday from its springtime ritual. There was a lively conversation between Megan and her guests, while Phillip tried furtively to catch my eye. I was content to give him no attention at all; and he was a little surprised that I was being so rude to him.

  Meg was still all aglow about a potential announcement of her engagement. Though there was still no official declaration.

  “I know he’s about to ask me,” she whispered to me, when we walked through the drawing room together after the meal. “But he is shy.” The lively blonde Meg was certainly a good catch for any man that wanted a generous body, mellow wit and a sense of good fun. I often wondered why such women always attracted the most sullen sort of husbands. Of course these men initially doted on their sweethearts, showering them with gifts and affection to woo them. But I wondered what they were like in bed. Were they efficient lovers or creative ones? I hoped for the sake of their wives that they’d have some substance that would make the bedroom a place of carnal surprise. But, I’d decided long ago that the opposite must be true, when I saw such marriages fall into common patterns. The men only became more stodgy, while their wives turned into conniving and sometimes downright controlling shrews.

  Poor Meg. My assessment of her fate was so fixed, I doubt she would have much happiness at all.

  “Are you sure he’s the man you want?” I asked her.

  Meg looked at me shocked. “Why ever would you say that?”

  “How well do you really know him?”

  “Why Isabella, we’ve been together much since last fall, and I’ve known him for years really.”

  “What about in bed?”

  “Isabella!” she was shocked.

  “I just wondered about you, barreling into a commitment that you have to live with all your life, and not knowing how the man will treat you in bed.”