The wide salon doors swung open and a vision in lilac satin appeared. Her heart lurched into her throat but it was not him, just another of the court hangers-on who aped his fashions whilst uniformly lacking his innate grace to quite carry them off. The fop stepped towards her and Cécile instinctively shrank back, attempting to lose herself in the puffed silk cushions for fear she should be engaged in conversation.
He bowed deeply before her, a needless extravagance of motion that simply embarrassed her all the more. Extending one powdered and perfectly manicured hand he pressed a folded paper into her palm, smirked in an oleaginous fashion that repelled her, then turned on his heels and left the room.
Cécile fell back against the chaise, her breathing shallow and rapid. The hand that held the missive trembled uncontrollably as she sought to unfold it and reveal its contents.
'Ma chère Cécile,' she read, her heart thumping wetly in her ears as her lips silently mouthed his words. 'I regret I must be the bearer of ill tidings, but it seems I cannot honour our rendezvous this morning. If you would make yourself available to me in the Orangerie after supper, I shall amply reward your patience. I remain etc, V.'
In a sudden fit of pique she crushed the page in her hand, hot blood rushing to her face, but she instantly regretted her violence. She smoothed the paper and gazed hungrily at the flowing lines of his hand, a deep well of longing erupting within her. She knew all too well what delayed him, though she dare not dwell long upon it – bitter experience had taught her that jealous outbursts merely aroused his contempt.
"Then I must wait, M'sieur," she whispered, holding the letter to her breast and bowing her head. "I must play your game, as always..."
The Orangerie, lit only by faint moonlight, was an eerie place, and Cécile was glad of the candle she had brought with her. Tiny and almost ineffectual though its glow was, it offered at least some fragment of reassurance as she felt her way through the fragrant boughs of the fruit trees.
"M'sieur," she hissed, terrified at how loud her voice sounded in the quiet of the hothouse. "M'sieur de Valmont." A waxy frond of leaves slithered across her cheek and she cried out, dropping the candle, which was instantly snuffed out on the tiled floor.
At that moment she thought she heard a soft footfall, the faintest click of a man's heel upon stone. "M'sieur de Valmont!" She turned about as the sound seemed to echo from all corners at once: the gentle pad of careful steps, the whispered susurration of silk brushing against silk.
From the darkness came a muted ironic laugh; a laugh she recognised instantly as his. How often had he mocked her with that sound? "M'sieur, I do not care to be teased so," she said, trying desperately to sound more in command of herself than she felt at that moment, trapped in the darkness with a man whom she knew to be the worst of predators. "Show yourself sir, if you think to call yourself a gentleman."
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and then the long slow sigh of amusement that always prefigured some new mischief in him, and suddenly he was upon her, springing from between the branches and pulling her abruptly against him. One strong arm pinned her close to him, his other hand snapping lightning-fast across her mouth to silence her shriek.
She looked up at him across his hot fingers and almost fainted at the devilish intensity in his sparkling, moonlit eyes. Yet even as the shock and terror of his attack swept over her, she felt too the dreadful hunger he inspired in her every time he touched her, the impious longing that burned and consumed her at the sight of his ravenous eyes.
His dark lips curled in silent mirth as he watched her gaze widen, felt the unmistakeable shift in her from modest resistance to shameless submission. "My little Cécile," he purred, approving of the breathless moan that caught in her throat. He bent closer to her, so close that he could smell the heat of her skin and almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He rested his lips on the skin of her throat and breathed in her arousal. "Dear little girl."
His breath crawled across her skin, sending hot shivers of wanton need writhing down her back. Her spine arched up in ecstasy as his kisses rounded her throat and sought refuge in the crook of her shoulder, and she cried out despite his hand over her mouth, a low urgent moan that brooked no restraint.
"Has it been so long then, Cécile?" he whispered wryly. "Have I left you starving for so many weeks?"
She gazed imploringly up at him, wanting him more than any decency should have admitted. She was painfully aware that it had been but a few days since their last illicit meeting; that yet again he was teasing her for her eagerness. Yet how could she care? Though he asked for her very soul she would give it gladly to taste once again the indulgence of his passion.
"Sweet child," he mused, all too aware of how his very breath upon her skin tormented her. "I did promise you would be rewarded for your patience." He released her mouth from its captivity and slid his hand around the soft curve of her throat, rounding her shoulder and dropping his head to follow his touch with light kisses.
Cécile clutched at him, scratching her nails urgently into the fine brocade of his frock coat in her desperation. His kisses scorched her skin as they trailed lower across her bosom, and she ached to feel his hands upon her, hungrily plucking at the ribbons that were all that stood between him and what little remained of her dignity.
With practised ease he made light work of her bodice, and fell roughly upon her breasts, still scored with faint bruises from his last vigorous feasting upon them. He squeezed the ripe mounds of pale, pampered flesh until he felt her wince, and admired for a moment her generous nipples standing out a profligate scarlet against the swollen dusk of the areolae. A scent of lilies caressed her skin, pricked with the sharp tang of the oranges fattening around them in the hothouse.
He bent to taste her, his tongue lashing mercilessly across her nipples though she wriggled in a barely even half-hearted attempt to break free. Her breathing told him the true state of her emotions; it was just a part of her little ritual, to make believe to herself that she had at least tried to resist his cruel advances. He almost pitied her that she still clung to her conscience, though her body had already been so sorely tried in its wilful abandonment to his lust.
He pulled her away from the path, deep into the shadows in a verdant corner of the Orangerie, and devoured her breasts once more, his teeth as unforgiving in their violence as his tongue had been. Cécile moaned and twisted but bore his attentions without remonstrance, just as he had taught her to do, and he knew besides that she loved it even though it frightened her.
The taste of her pain and her excitement was nectar to him, and he drank deep of it, feeling his cock thicken at the sound of her cries. Her tiny hands were fluttering helplessly against the fabric of his frock coat still, anxious and overwhelmed by the sudden onrush of her desire, a little afraid perhaps despite her familiarity with him.
He coiled one hand around the modest pompadour of her hair and pressed gently on the back of her head. Her eyes snapped open, wide and shocked, as she realised his intent, but she fell willingly enough to her knees all the same, a covetous smile upon her full rosebud lips. He watched avidly as her hands performed their fumbling dance with his breeches, and could not help but smile in smug appreciation at the gasp of pleasure that escaped her lips as she found what she had sought.
She looked up at him, her eyes fever-bright, the tip of her tongue unconsciously poised on her lower lip, moistening it in readiness. "M'sieur...?" Her voice was deep and expectant, heavy with longing and just a little irony.
He laughed. "Teasing me now, Cécile?" His grip tightened in her hair and he pushed her harder, closer against him, until he could feel her rapid breathing on the tip of his cock. He clicked his tongue impatiently. "When did I give you permission to play the tease, Mam'selle?"
She veiled her eyes demurely, but the smile that played on her lips was pure wickedness as she nudged against him, her lips barely grazing his hardness. She took his length in one delicate hand and sighed aloud, her breath hot and sweet as it enveloped him. She hesitated a moment, glancing up at him with an implausibly seductive smile. "Then do I have your permission for this instead, M'sieur?" she asked in a curious tone that jarred somewhere between the innocent maid and the debauched harlot.
He moaned aloud, surprised by her boldness. She had always been the ingénue, the guileless child, and even while he had been content to corrupt her it had never appeared obvious before how deep his depravity had begun to flow in her. To hear the first trace of decadence in her voice amused and strangely intrigued him. He had to admit that it added a frisson to their liaison, and one he had scarcely anticipated when he had first set out to seduce her. "You need no licence to licentiousness, Mam'selle," he laughed. "I thought that had been proven by our first lesson."
She bowed her head, inching closer still to him, deliberately taunting him now with her closeness. 'I too can play at your games, M'sieur le Vicomte,' she thought, sensing her petty victory over him. 'You allowed me to learn from a master of such arts.'
She massaged his generous tumescence in her hand, adoring the silky hardness of it, the raging heat of it. Licking her lips slowly, exaggerating the motion – knowing instinctively that he was watching her – she placed her mouth gently against his cock, and slowly eased it between her moist lips. Groaning with pleasure as his hot flesh filled her mouth, she stole a quick glance up at him and caught the spark of fire in his eyes as just for a moment he lost his perennial composure and surrendered to the primal frenzy of feeling without recourse to satirical observation. Just for a moment the man was stripped away to reveal the animal beneath, before – conscious of her scrutiny – he once again donned his impenetrable mask.
Cécile smiled wantonly as she sank down upon him a second time, her mouth hungry for the taste of him, and palpably excited by the danger inherent in their meeting. The thick waxy leaves of the fruit trees shielded them from being seen by any stray passer-by, but there was still the chance that some other couple on a secret tryst might stumble upon them unawares. The damage to her reputation if this should become public knowledge would be irreparable, but as she glutted herself on his thickly rampant cock she could scarcely have cared less.
And she had learned her lessons well... dear God, she had learned well! Valmont leaned back against the wall and surrendered himself to her tender mercies, needing now no guiding hand to show her how best she might pleasure him. He closed his eyes and let sensation engulf him: the muted wet paddling of her lips working on him, slowly, deeply; the moist warmth of her tongue sliding serpent-like around him even as her lips held him tightly inside her mouth and sucked. Damn, how zealously she sucked!
He looked down at her, watched her sliding hungrily back and forth, devouring him, taking him as deeply as she could into her pretty child's mouth. Hard to imagine that a sennight ago she had never so much as seen a cock, let alone tasted one... a worthy pupil this; if a little prone to flutter and sigh too much, she was at least keen when it came to learning new arts.
One hand stroked his length even as she sucked upon him, her cool, delicate fingers masterful after only a few attempts at this, and when she curled her other hand beneath him and took one finely manicured finger to his arsehole he was hard-pressed to contain himself. He groaned his approval and succumbed briefly to the indulgence of her attentions, before pulling himself back from surrender once more.
"Cécile," he whispered hoarsely, twining his fingers in her hair and feeling the delicate web of it buckling beneath his touch. Her soft golden tresses tumbled about her shoulders, setting off the perfect oval of her face in a way that made him start with surprise. He smiled down at her, enchanted by the way she paused mid-suck to meet his gaze, her tongue still flicking in soothingly slow circles around his rigid cock. "Regrettable though it would be to have you desist from sucking me now..." He allowed himself a wry smile at the alarm in her eyes suddenly – the fear that he would just leave her, alone and frustrated amidst the fruit trees, to find her own entertainment. For a moment he considered doing just that, but such a punishment would be crueller to himself than to her, and he was nothing if not conscious of the pursuit of his own pleasure.
He took her by the shoulders and drew her to her feet, his hands flowing liberally over her exposed breasts and toying aggressively with her rosy nipples. He bent to kiss her there, his tongue working rapidly to draw out her cries. He grabbed her about the hips and turned her to face the wall, lifting her skirts with a feverish hand.
Cécile moaned and wriggled, another token protest that would avail her nothing. The heady scent of citrus oil filled her senses, swamping her nose and throat in decadent perfume, as she was pushed unceremoniously against the brickwork.
Valmont slid one hastily moistened hand between her pert buttocks and worked his fingers quickly inside her juicy slit, chuckling to feel how aroused she already was by the mere process of indulging his satisfaction. Hot liquid fire oozed about his fingers as he thrust them inside her, and he drew his other hand across her mouth as her cries intensified suddenly. "Hush, child, do you want to wake your mother?" he teased. "Think you that it would amuse her to see you like this?"
She stared back at him with startled eyes, her pupils dilated and hypnotically deep.
He smiled and nuzzled into the nape of her neck, inhaling the scent of hothouse fruit and virginal lilies that now rose from her fallen hair. "Fret not, my love," he soothed. "She shall not hear of this. I am discretion itself." He nipped the flesh of her ear between his teeth, and she arched her back out to press against him. "But there is a price on my silence, a boon I must demand of you."
She smiled into his fingers, even as her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of it. "A boon, M'sieur?" she managed to whisper breathlessly. "What if it should be beyond my power to grant it?"
He stabbed another finger inside her with a short laugh. "In this matter I'm afraid I really must insist," he said solemnly.
His lips burned her throat as he kissed her, and she felt again the sharp, intense prick of his teeth. "You must let me fuck you." She exhaled raggedly, a sigh and a groan mingled in one delicious sound that made his cock thicken yet further. "I see the prospect does not entirely displease you," he murmured silkily, caressing the tender skin of her throat with his lips.
He nudged closer to her without giving her leave to respond, and roughly thrust his cock inside her, grunting with approval at her succulent tightness. He hooked one hand in her tumbled hair and pulled her head back, grabbing her mouth in his and kissing her aggressively, his tongue devouring hers. She ground back against him, forcing him deeper inside her until she flinched, her little fingers reaching back to hold onto him, to gain any purchase she could.
Buried deep inside her juicy cunt, Valmont mused on the success of this particular seduction. True, it had been won far too easily for a man of his reputation, but he could overlook the simplicity of the task in the light of her enthusiasm. While there was a certain perverse enjoyment to be gained from the coercion of an unwilling victim, there was infinitely more pleasure in seeing the walls of a virtuous maid's good intention crumbling gladly beneath his unrelenting assault. And this little thing... he gripped her about the hips and pulled her harder onto him, silencing her squeals with another voracious kiss that denied her breath.
Cécile relented, falling irresistibly into his embrace, faint with the ecstasy of his frenzied penetration. His size tormented her, hurt her even, yet was there not in such pain a form of pleasure? To feel herself filled by the force of his desire was to surrender what tiny fragment remained of her virtue, and to care little at the losing of it. The taste of his cock always melted her resistance, the feel of it pounding inside her broke her will, and she was his entirely.
They rutted like wild animals in the undergrowth, the teacher slamming harder and faster into his willing pupil's arousal-slick body, his hands and mouth mauling and devouring every inch of her. She clutched at the wall, grasping firm stems of ripening fruit in her elfin fingers as the force of his lust became too much for her, almost howling with the abandonment of it. Valmont held her tight, pushing her against the wall, stifling her mouth again, and hearing as she struggled the sudden snap of her perfect nails. Even at that moment he found himself amused to wonder how she would explain such a thing to her mother in the morning...
Suddenly she was grasping at him, her wet cunt contracting sharply, almost painfully, around him, and it was all he could do to hold her upright as she cried out desperately, trembling at the abrupt ferocity of her climax. Breathlessly she wept and moaned in his arms, and he held her close, pacifying her with slow, hungry kisses, but never for a moment letting up on his fucking.
So tight was she now, so tight and so deliciously wet, that he knew the game was all but over, and though it pained him to do so he withdrew himself from her spasming, heaving cunt and turned her around. The sight of her, all flushed skin and wild eyes and trembling lips, and distressed waves of rumpled mouse-blonde hair, aroused him more than ever, and he was grateful when she crumpled to her knees in front of him, for he had scarcely the mastery of himself to even push her there.
And no sooner was she bent before him than he was coming, even as her hands reached out to stroke him, to agitate him in the final frantic moments. He was coming, and all he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears as he saw her eager mouth open to receive his tribute. He emptied his seed into her with a triumphant groan of satiation, and stood for a moment trembling, watching her as she licked him clean and sucked the last drops from his spent cock. He reached out one finger to wipe a rogue sheen of his juice from her cheek, then fed her with it, smiling as she suckled at that too with a grateful moan.
He raised her to her feet with a sated sigh, rearranging his clothing and helping her back into her bodice. "Well, Mam'selle, it seems you have learned your lessons well. I wonder if there is anything left to teach you." He stroked her cheek, enjoying her hectic flush at the thought of this being their last meeting. "Don't you fret, my little Cécile, I'm sure you and I are not entirely spent yet." He laughed dryly. "But for now I must bid you goodnight."
Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears to be dismissed so abruptly. "..."
He set one finger across her lips before she could speak. "Good night, Cécile, and sweet dreams. You are quite the most delicious pupil I have tasted in a long, long while. I shall send word to you when you should next make yourself available to me."
He bowed deeply, his eyes burning into hers with biting, sardonic amusement at her distress and confusion. But he was the Vicomte de Valmont – how could he possibly stay with her now, making love to the girl like some moon-eyed fool? It was all a question of priorities, and there were other, more worthy beds in which to stray tonight.
"Soon, Cécile," he breathed as he slid out of the Orangerie, leaving her standing amidst the trees still in a state of beautiful disarray.
Cécile sank to her knees again, her conscience returned with the departure of his corrupting influence, and wept into her hands. Could any pleasure, however transitory, be worth such a cost to her honour, her soul, her heart, even her very life...?
She looked up suddenly and smiled, her tears quite forgotten. The taste of his seed upon her lips reminded her that no matter what the price, it was a sacrifice she would gladly make time and time again. And as he had told her at the very start of their liaison, education was never a waste...
[22nd November 2000]
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