The Birthday Present. Alison Richardson
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palace well, but Robert took me on a circuitous and aimless route, as if to make it harder for me to retrace my steps. Finally, when we were somewhere deep in the east wing, he stopped in front of a closed door.
“Here we are,” he said.
He paused and gave me another sly smile. “Before you enter, Anna, you must make me a promise.” He pulled a long strip of black satin out from his doublet and held it out to me. “You must put on this blindfold, and you must keep your eyes covered for as long as you are in that room.”
“Why?” I asked, not sure that I would accept these terms. I wanted to see the present that waited for me behind the door and could not imagine any reason why I should not be allowed to do so.
“It is a condition of the gift,” he said simply. “I cannot explain further. If you won’t wear the blindfold, you can’t go inside.” He gave the dark piece of fabric a shake, taunting me to take it.
I snatched the black satin from him and held it in my hands for a moment, running it through my fingers. Then my curiosity overwhelmed me and I fastened the material over my eyes.
“Can you see?” Robert asked, and I shook my head. The blindfold was broad and thick enough to block all light. I felt Robert pull at the back knot, testing it to make sure the material was tight against my eyes.
Next came the slight creak of a door being pushed open. Robert led me forward several paces. I stumbled a little, awkward in my blindness.
“Well?” I demanded eagerly. “What have you gotten for me?”
“The thing you want most in the world,” he answered, speaking those words as if he were saying something dry and witty, then he let go of my hand.
It was hard to imagine that any gift could live up to such a promise.
The door closed softly behind me; my cousin had gone. As Robert’s footsteps retreated through the next chamber, I heard the soft click of another door opening off to my left.
Someone entered the room. I heard the low sound of an indrawn breath and stood expectant in the darkness, unmoving, waiting for some further sign of what was to come.
A warm, large male hand settled onto my shoulder and stroked firmly down my bare arm.
“Good evening,” I said, but the man did not answer me. He just unfastened the first button that held my gown secure and made his way slowly down my back. Then he pushed the gown off my shoulders; the thick brocade fell to the floor with a low rustle.
I have never been prone to nervous excitement, but I was suddenly near fainting. The man pulled hard against the strings of my corset from behind, tugging me close against his chest, and through my underclothes I could feel nothing but warm skin against my back and my buttocks. The unseen stranger behind me was completely naked, and already fully aroused.
I wondered for a brief moment if Robert had hired a male prostitute for my use, but this man did not touch me like someone who made a living being submissive and pleasing. He touched me like a man who was the master of his life, someone bold and without fear. His hard, hungry mouth was now against the skin of my throat, his hands gripped my breasts, crushing them within the satin cage of my corset, and I felt almost too overcome to stand.
The man loosened my corset strings and pulled the stiff garment from my body with a tug that smacked of impatience.
“What is your name?” I murmured.
“Shhh” was the man’s only response, and the brush of his breath against my cheek made me sag against him.
He noticed my weakness; he picked me up and carried me a few steps farther into the room and then set me down upon a soft surface that I knew must be a bed.
With the same impatient tugs he had used with my corset, he pulled what remained of my clothing from my body.
I lay there naked for three deep breaths, waiting for the man to touch me again. For a long moment I felt nothing but the cool air of the room against my skin.
Then the man grabbed my wrists and stretched my arms up over my head, pressing them down into the mattress so that my chest arched up off the bed. His breath tickled against the skin of my shoulder and my breast; he licked my nipple and took it into his mouth to suckle, teasing it with a quick, strong tongue, and he did not stop until I cried out and writhed on the bed, straining to free myself from the constraints of his hands.
And then his strong tongue was plunging into my pussy, and his hands were gripping my trembling thighs instead of my wrists.
Suddenly I had little more life force than a puppet; I lay there, my legs hanging limply off the edge of the bed, as this unseen stranger ate my cunt and, had he been a man for hire, he could hardly have done it better. A skilled mouth that knows how to pleasure a pussy is, I have always thought, an indispensable quality in a lover, and based on this single performance, I would gladly have given this unknown man a place in my bed every night.
After he had my pussy so slick and swollen that it almost screamed out to be fucked, he draped my legs over his thighs and pushed inside me, holding my hips with his powerful hands, guiding my body to take his cock deep and hard. He was quite large, and after my long abstinence my sex felt as tight and narrow as it had at sixteen. I felt no pain, just an intoxicating stretching; he worked my cunt until it was loose and open, and when I came for him, he climaxed, too, with a low, choked cry that was only the second sound I had heard him utter.
I lay still and spent for a long time, but as soon as I could move, I reached to remove my blindfold. Surely now…
“Tu as promis,” the man whispered, and captured my hand.
I was not surprised to hear that he spoke clean elegant French, with only the slightest trace of an accent. I had guessed that the man must be an aristocrat, and any noble German speaks French as well as his native tongue. “But why can’t I take it off?” I demanded.
The man trapped my wrists again in his strong hands, and it was impossible for me to escape.
“Because then you would know who I am,” he answered.
That voice was strangely familiar, and for a confused second I thought I had guessed his identity. But the man who had come into my mind spoke appalling French and was, furthermore, a longtime adversary of my cousin Robert, so I rejected the idea out of hand.
“I want to know who you are,” I insisted.
He was silent for a moment, and I thought at first that he was going to give in to my demand.
“Au revoir, Comtesse,” he said.
“No, please,” I protested as he moved to leave the bed. “Stay. I won’t take off the blindfold. Don’t go.” I reached out blindly into the darkness and my hand fell against a muscular flank. Gripping hold of his body, I brought myself up to kneel on the bed.
“Please stay,” I asked again, and pressed a kiss against the warm plane of skin closest to my mouth—his chest, I could tell with further exploration.
The man remained standing, but came no closer. In a silent plea to keep him near, I pressed kisses against his hard torso, moving tentatively down in my blindness. When my hands found his dick, he was already half-aroused. I cradled his balls in my hands and fondled them with a careful, kitten’s mouth, I sucked on the tip of his cock and licked at the shaft until it was hot and stiff under my tongue.
“Fuck me again,” I begged, still pressing kisses against his groin. The man stood immobile and mute while I caressed him, and I was afraid that he still meant to leave, no matter how hard his cock had become.
“Please fuck me again,” I pleaded.
The man growled at my request, like a hungry animal offered a piece of meat from an unfamiliar hand. He wrapped my hair around his hand and pulled my head backward.
“Tu me veux, Comtesse?” He kissed and bit at my neck with a new, barely contained violence.