Beatrice — Ann Vremont

Each Rococo Single is part of an erotic collection (available as Rococo) from the final days before the French Revolution. The entries reveal the hidden lives of several of France's well-born daughters -- Beatrice, a willful noblewoman in lust with her mother's groom; Gabrielle, a virgin who surrenders to a masked lover; Lucille, a brazen temptress playing the repentant sinner; Veronique, a master manipulator betrayed by her own desires; and Candacis, one third of a forbidden love triangle. (Visit annvremont.blogspot.com for reading order.)



About Beatrice



From spoiled to spanked to ruined, Beatrice is a willful noblewoman lusting after her mother's groom. Louis's reluctant disciplining of Beatrice becomes something more, pushing him slowly toward insanity. (8300+ words)



Excerpt



At the top landing of the stairs, I opened the curtains on the small window that looks onto the back courtyard. I could see that the lanterns were still lit in the stable despite the late hour. Was he avoiding Maria? Drinking? He did so, I knew, after my punishments. Was he doing so again?



From further down the stairwell, I could hear the sound of Maria doing the dishes and cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. It was a muted, somber sound, and the plain black livery mother demanded the servants wear since father's passing took on a new meaning in my imagination. I could see Maria in my mind's eye, clothed in the color of death -- the death of her marriage, of his tolerance (and mine!) of her presence, of the barrier between us that she had been but no longer would be.



Pressing my upper body against the window, I watched for Louis to leave the stables.



Would he look up? He had to. Not just because it was his nature to look over the house before he entered for the evening, but because I willed the act. My heart beat faster, pounding against my ribcage when I saw him barring the stable doors for the night. In the low light of evening, I stared at his back, watched the strain of muscles as he lifted the heavy slat of wood and set it in place. He turned, his gaze going first to the kitchen entrance to the house before traveling higher.



He stopped at the second floor, his attention focused on the window opposite my bedroom door. So different the view must be now that he'd sunk his shaft deep into me, felt me squirming in delight along its length!



Higher! I willed him, almost tapping at the window to make sure he would not miss me. But I didn't need to. His gaze caught mine a heartbeat later, his dark brows rising in inquiry. I brought my hands to the front edges of my robe in answer, parting them slowly to reveal my breasts to him.



Louis looked around at the yard -- I imagine to make sure no one watched our dirty little exchange. How I wanted someone to see it even though I half-feared the world's hypocrisy and retribution should they find out. (I pictured myself like Mdm. Bilodeaux, confined to the company of women such as my mother with their pretentious attempts at reforming my soul.)



I didn't let the fear stop me. I pulled the robe's edges farther apart and cupped my breasts, offering the tender tips to Louis like the rare delicacies they are.



Then I backed away from the window and waited.