Читать книгу The Birthday Present - Alison Richardson, Alison Richardson - Страница 3

Like every woman of sense and discernment, I know the dangers of celibacy. No state of life is less conducive to health and happiness, and one only has to look at the wan features of an obedient priest to see the effects of this disastrous practice firsthand. My enlightened readers, then, will no doubt be surprised to learn that on the day of my thirty-fourth birthday, I had not taken a lover in over two years.

One’s tastes grow more refined with age, and this fact is the only explanation I can offer for my lengthy and unnatural abstinence. For some time, I had found no man who was to my liking and, being of the opinion that cheap country wine is no substitute when what one really wants is champagne, I had been unwilling to compromise.

But I should explain further. At this point in my life, I had made my home for several years in Munich, and since my arrival in that city my house had become, if modesty will permit to me to say so, a center of the city’s literary and philosophical life. The intelligent and ambitious men who assembled around me had their uses; the erotic possibilities of my circle, however, left much to be desired. Most of the regular visitors to my salon were either distinguished old men or energetic young artists and scholars. The former held no interest for me for reasons that should be obvious, and the latter, if more appealing in physical form, proved equally unsatisfying when consumed as a regular diet. The new, romantic generation was far too high-strung and sensitive for my tastes—young men bored me, though they clustered around me like gnats and, after a few years in Munich, the thought of spreading my thighs for yet another adoring and submissive young poet was enough to make me cry with frustration.

For over a year, my life in Munich had been further spoiled by the presence of my greatest rival, a clever and arrogant Scotsman by the name of James McKirnan. I was, unfortunately, indirectly responsible for his arrival in Bavaria, for it was my fault that he was not safely settled in England. Many years ago, when I was visiting a cousin in the British Isles, this objectionable man had tried to force me to marry him, and in retribution I had started a rumor about him so vicious that after it had spread he was never again accepted into polite society, either in London or in the countryside. Seeing all avenues of social advancement closed to him, he was forced to come and try his luck again on the Continent. The previous King of Bavaria had met James in Paris and, convinced of his philosophical and technical acumen, had taken the ridiculous step of appointing this lowborn Scotch mechanic as president of the Royal Bavarian Academy of Sciences.

So now James, my greatest enemy, was well established in the same city as myself, and he took full advantage of his strong position at court. He made a habit, for example, of luring young men away from my salon, which I would not have minded so much had he not always chosen the most attractive and talented as his targets—just the ones, in short, who might have made passable lovers. It was, in short, largely James McKirnan’s fault that I entered my thirty-fourth year in a state of unusual melancholy.

The year was 1799, and the rest of Munich society, as it happened, was touched with melancholy, too, as everyone waited anxiously to see how Maximilian Joseph, the new king of Bavaria, would wear his crown. In fact, my thirty-fourth birthday fell on the day of Maximilian’s first court ball.

I arrived at the palace in a sober mood, expecting little from the evening ahead. Maximilian was a great soldier, but also a man of stern and serious character, and his court was not likely to offer the same diversions as that of his predecessor, Karl Theodor, who had had well-developed tastes for art, actresses and adultery. Given the new king’s character, I could not help but wonder if Bavaria was about to enter a period as pious and dull as the one through which Prussia had suffered under the heavy hand of Friedrich Wilhelm I. The fact that the king, recently widowed, was currently in negotiations for a new queen added a small point of interest to the new court, but so far that had been the only source of gossip surrounding our abstemious new sovereign.

As it turned out, Maximilian’s first official ball proved a night of great importance in my life, a night that finally broke my long spell of abstinence and brought me to a new juncture in my career. I owe this change, and my current happiness, entirely to my beloved cousin Robert, who had, without my knowledge, found an admirable solution to the dull monotony that plagued my life at the time. He chose the occasion of my birthday to unveil his plan.

But before I tell you about Robert’s ingenious birthday present, I should tell you a little more about my mood and situation earlier that night.

The evening did not begin well. As soon as we had assembled in the ballroom and the orchestra began to play, I felt a firm hand on my elbow.

“Come and dance with me, Countess,” said a familiar, unwelcome voice.

Well-mannered men pose this request in question form; James McKirnan had issued it as an order.

James, as I have mentioned, was an enemy of long standing, and over our lengthy acquaintance this man had done a great deal to earn my dislike—to name only one example, he had once tricked me into sucking his cock before an entire Parisian salon. That had been many years ago, and he had gained more subtlety with age. Now he preferred smaller humiliations, such as forcing me to dance with him before everyone at court, knowing, of course, that the differences in our standing—at birth he had been the basest kind of commoner—made such displays abhorrent to me.

Despite the man’s many crimes I could not afford to be rude to him in public, given his sway with the royal family, and he knew this. That was why he was now leading me to the very center of the room with such confidence. Accepting the inevitable, I followed him, though with bad grace.

Many of the women in the room might have considered me fortunate to have James as a partner—he was, after all, a vigorous man in the prime of life, confident and masterful in his bearing, well-formed in every physical detail and also an excellent dancer. His reddish-blond hair was as thick now as it had been when I had first met him as a young man of twenty-five, and his figure as straight and as powerful as it had been then. He was, in fact, much admired by the impressionable young ladies of Munich’s court and, try as I might, I could not honestly find fault with his appearance. He was, without question, an extremely handsome man.

Still, in my eyes he was an abomination.

“Will I ever get anything but frowns from you, Countess?” James had just asked me in his usual light, mocking manner. He was leading me through the first steps of a complicated rondeau.

I told him coldly that if he ever did anything to earn a smile from me, I would certainly not withhold it.

James seemed poised for more of this sort of banter, when, as had happened so many times before, my cousin Robert appeared to rescue me.

“Excuse me, Herr McKirnan,” Robert began politely, and then explained that I was needed in another part of the palace.

James gave my cousin a look of resentful dislike—they were old rivals, too—but otherwise acceded without complaint.

At first I assumed that Robert had only meant to free me from McKirnan, but it turned out that he did, in fact, have someplace else to take me.

“Come,” Robert said, clasping my hand and leading me away from the dance floor. “I know this crowd bores you—I’ve arranged for something upstairs that you’ll find more entertaining. A present for your birthday.”

“What is it?” I asked, intrigued by the sly smile on his face.

“A surprise” was all he would say, and he pulled me through the crowd toward the more private chambers of the palace.

At the top of the stairs I demanded again to know what was waiting for me—I have never been a patient woman—but Robert answered that I would see soon enough and refused to say anything more.

I knew the royal 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. Both his hands were buried in my hair now, and they were shaking.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I want you. Please, I want more of you.”

He took hold of my hips again with bruising force.

The stranger gave me what I asked for with a raw power that shocked me; I did not understand the violence of his lust, but it satisfied me nonetheless.

This time when we were done the man took me in his arms and lay down close against me on the bed, gentle after his second assault. He teased my lips with soft kisses and caressed my throat and my breasts with the tips of his fingers, and we lay quietly like that, neither of us speaking, for some time.

Despite his silence and my blindness, I knew without question that the man holding me was strong willed and powerful, someone whose name must be known throughout Germany. He appeared in the guise of a servant tonight, coming at my cousin’s bidding, but servant was a role he never played in daylight hours. The only clues that I had to his identity were what I could feel with my hands, and I twisted my body to nestle against him, caressing the backs of his well-formed legs with the soles of my feet. As he kissed my lips, I dug my fingers into his chest; the brush of his hair was rough under my palms and I rubbed my hands against his skin to better feel it—tough masculine hair and firm, erect masculine nipples and always, wherever I slid my hands, the taut ripple of trained muscles, with no hints of a soft life.

“I want to watch you ride my cock, Countess,” he murmured finally in my ear. Grabbing hold of my thighs with both hands, he pulled me across his body so that I was straddling him.

In my blindness I was unsteady in this position at first, unsure of my balance, but he guided his dick to the mouth of my pussy and held me firmly in place while I slid down on top of him. I took this man inside me a third time with more eagerness than I have often felt at a first coupling, and my enthusiasm amused him. I heard him chuckle underneath me sometimes at my petulant, whimpering moans.

I was, I should say, very happy with my birthday present. After two years of nothing but dildos, one is fully able to appreciate the charms of a real man. The warmth is the most telling difference, and the strength of the thrusting, which no hand can simulate. A real cock is not a loose, artificial appendage; it is firmly attached and can be pounded and gripped without fear of dislodgement and, as you fuck it, very hard, the man attached to it will groan and kiss you with great enthusiasm—as this unknown man did now—and the entire ensemble has no equal, at least not in any toy I have ever possessed.

I was so drowsy after this exercise that I barely felt the man leave the bed; as soon as I sensed that he was gone I sat up and called out for him, though I did not know his name. When no answer came, I ripped off my blindfold and saw that I was alone in one of the small palace bedrooms. Moonlight struck the floor through two large windows, and my gown lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from the bed. I hurriedly dressed myself again, as much as that was possible without the aid of maid, and a few moments later Robert appeared at the door to take me through a servants’ entrance to our waiting carriage.