The Queen's Consort (3 page)

The man stepped into a shaft of light that somehow snaked itself between the delicate cracks of the palace walls from some other room. This was the man. The queen's consort. He was beautiful! He looked of the things from the stories that Arabelle heard about the soldiers who have gone off to fight in the New World to overthrow the English king. He looked exactly how she pictured him in her fantasies. He was young, brawny and thick, like a hardy stallion. His hair was a beautiful chestnut-brown and was pulled back into modest ponytail at the base of his neck. And his hands…his large hands…

“You are even prettier from the front,” he whispered as he closed the space between them and reached to caress her fair cheek with the hands Arabelle so loved. It was at this moment he caught sight of the two other maids, who stood behind Arabelle in an almost cowardly, shy and timid way. “And what do we have here?”

“My friends,
monsieur.
Chrstine and Marie.” Arabelle's fingers closed around the stranger's forearm. “And I am Arabelle.”

“Arabelle.” He repeated her name, encouraging Arabelle's pussy to grow wetter. She wondered if he could smell her desire the way she could.

“And your name,
monsieur?
” Marie piped up in a giggle from somewhere behind Arabelle, who was relieved, since she would have otherwise stupidly forgotten to ask.

The man hesitated. Arabelle boldly slid her hand off of his forearm and down to the laces on his trousers. She deftly began to untie the thick, leather thongs, pulling them one by one so that his codpiece was eventually freed. “François.”

Christine and Marie both echoed his name in a swoon, “François.”

“I've told my friends about you, Monsieur François. I told them how…fulfilling you were when you stole my virginity and left me longing for more.” Arabelle's hand slipped into his trousers and around his cock, which was already hard and pressing against its confines. Her touch made François draw in an eager breath.

Like a little girl, Marie clapped her hands together and tried to peek over Arabelle's shoulder, “Oh, I want to see it, too!” One of Marie's hands unabashedly snaked down Arabelle's arm and into the consort's pants, as well. Arabelle felt Marie bite into her shoulder as she dreamily confirmed against the fabric of her dress, “Oh, it is just how I imagined it to be.”

Arabelle's gaze flickered up to François and she leaned forward to put her mouth onto his. In return, François greedily forced his tongue past her lips as he pushed his hips forward with a grunt.

Christine moved around Arabelle and carefully pulled down François's leggings and trousers, freeing his cock as it bounced in front of him and stood at attention. Arabelle could feel it hot against her skirts, which she wore less of today.

François put his large hands around Arabelle and pressed them against the small of her back, drawing him closer to her. “Christine, Marie,” he commanded as he ground his cock against Arabelle, “put me in your mouths.”

Arabelle was jealous. She was the one who was supposed to have him tonight, not them. They were just her escort! But as François began to kiss her again, the jealousy was soon forgotten. She stepped back just slightly so that the other two women had enough room to kneel down in front of François and take his aching cock into their mouths.

Grabbing François's hand, Arabelle pulled it to her, and without further encouragement, the consort roughly pulled her corset down, freeing her petite, full breasts all at once. “Ah, my Arabelle. I want to taste every part of…you.” His words caught in his throat, prompting Arabelle to look down and watch as Marie and Christine took turns pushing their mouths over his prick. Christine hand her hand cupped around his balls and firmly groped them, pulled them, then slipped down to suck them, as well.

With a shudder, François exploded into their mouths, spilling his seed over their faces and down their throats. The girls both moaned and asked greedily asked for more, but François rudely pushed by where they both knelt and pressed Arabelle against the wall. This time, he faced her as he hiked up her skirts and fell to his own knees, burying his nose and mouth into Arabelle's cunt.

“Mmm, mmm,” Arabelle moaned and fought against the urge to come immediately. He nuzzled her soft pubic hair, and when he came up for air, her juices glistened on his chin. After tasting her for a good few minutes, François urged Arabelle down to the stony ground. The discomfort was nothing compared to the feeling of his fingers on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. He touched her body all over, and Arabelle moaned louder and louder in response.

Christine and Marie, who had gone without coming, crawled over to where the other two were currently on the floor. Marie reached between François's legs again and urged him, “Get hard for her,
monsieur,
get hard for her.” Her fingers wrapped around his engorged cock, which once again pulsed with desire, but still needed some help. Marie started to rub him off with a persistent rhythm that soon made the consort hard once more.

Christine leaned down to kiss Arabelle, sharing the taste of François's come. It drove Arabelle crazy, and she pulled Christine down and muttered, “Let me taste you.”

At the request, Christine positioned herself so that her pussy was over Arabelle's face and Arabelle grabbed Christine's hips and pulled her down, burying her nose up against the other woman's clit. Christine cried out and immediately started to grind her cunt against Arabelle's tongue, which sought out all of the sweet places between her friend's thighs.

“Yes, ladies. Yes,” François panted, then reached down, pushing Marie's hand away from his cock, freeing him up so he could lean forward and plunge mercilessly into Arabelle's begging pussy. Despite the tight fit, François offered no respite or time for Arabelle to adjust around his girth. He anchored himself by reaching forward to hold on to Arabelle's full tits.

The sudden entrance caused Arabelle to scream out in pleasure, which in turn vibrated against Christine's pussy. Christine's grinding became increasingly more frantic until, with some urging of Marie, who was now seated beside Arabelle's face, she came, and came hard.

François laughed. “What a lucky man am I to have three beautiful ladies!” He pulled out of Arabelle, leaving her empty and desirous. “Turn over, all of you. On your hands and knees, asses towards me.”

Arabelle whimpered, since moving her legs meant that she had to rub them together. She was dangerously close to her climax, so she took care to flip over onto her hands and knees. Christine, who was still panting from her own orgasm, and Marie, who was still desperate to come, both knelt beside Arabelle, all of their asses lined up in a row.

Without warning, François first plunged into Arabelle and pumped fiercely a few times. Then, he pulled out, and with his cock sticky with Arabelle's juices, he pushed it hard into Marie, who shouted loudly, painfully.

“Ah-ha! Another virgin, I see!” François declared in a groan as he smacked his hand down on Marie's firm ass.

Marie nodded her head with a whimper, but pushed her hips back to try and fill herself more. It was a brave move, considering just how big François's dick actually was. Before she could have the pleasure of having him in her for too long, François removed his manhood from Marie and plunged it into Christine.

Each girl was equally fucked and pumped and rammed. Arabelle could tell from François's breathing that he was reaching his orgasm too soon, and after a round of the three, he pulled out and leaned down to put his mouth to each of their eager pussies instead. He used his finger to pump where he was no longer pumping with his cock. It was in this way that he made Christine and Marie come for him. They both fell to the floor in exhausted, exasperated heaps, with their bottoms still up in the air. François took care to lick the juices off their thighs and up their asses before withdrawing from the two all together.

As Christine and Marie watched, François returned to Arabelle, his favorite, and started to fuck her relentlessly once more. Arabelle's breasts bounced with each stroke, and her cries were uninhibited and loud. “Oh, yes. Yes, Arabelle. My Arabelle! Fuck my cock. Fuck my cock!”

Arabelle slammed her ass back against François's thighs. She could feel his balls slap against her clitoris as she countered his every thrust. Soon enough, her pussy clamped over his cock tightly as her orgasm seized her, forcing her to collapse onto her forearms on the ground, in the same position as the other two spent girls.

François drove himself through the orgasm and loudly came to his own. His seed spilled within her, and after a few spurts, he pulled out and let the rest squirt up into the air and onto Christine and Marie, who looked hungry with desire and ready to go again.

Arabelle was frozen with pleasure. She could not bring herself to move, and when she tried, she could feel François's seed ooze out of her pussy and down her thighs. Eventually, she managed to push herself up to stand, though she wavered weakly and needed to use the wall to hold her up.

François tucked his spent manhood, once it was flaccid, back into his codpiece and fixed his leggings and trousers so that he looked presentable. Arabelle watched as Christine and Marie both pulled themselves up to stand, as well. Her friends smiled happy, drugged smiles and complacently arranged their dresses so that it looked as if nothing had just occurred.

“Now, if the queen has me, it will only be with you fine women on my cock first.” François pinched Arabelle's cheek teasingly and glanced back over his shoulder. “I fear I've spent enough time hiding behind the walls, though. Her Highness will want me when she returns, and I need to be sure that I can perform again after using my seed on you.” He looked directly at Arabelle as he said this, then leaned over and whispered in her ear, “And you are the only one who has had it.”

Arabelle tingled with lust all over again, but before she could respond, François kissed her on the cheek, then hurried back to find the secret door that led into the queen's chambers. Christine and Marie approached behind Arabelle and each of them took her by the hand and sighed whimsically.

“You were right.” Marie giggled and flushed at the same time. “He was good.”

“So, very, very good.” Christine agreed.

The three maids laughed tiredly in unison, then turned to head back to their chambers.

 

The Revolution was eventually upon them and François was nowhere to be found. Arabelle did not have the time to look for him, or ask around for him, since she was so busy running about the palace, trying to avoid disaster. The revolutionaries had marched to the courtyard the night before, demanding to see the queen who was bereft and beside herself over the matter. They blamed her. Arabelle could understand why.

In the time that Arabelle had been employed, she watched great sums of money be splurged on whatever it was that the queen desired. At first, it was alarming, but Arabelle grew tired of the financial gossip, and learned to escape the harsh reality of the declining country by spreading more uplifting and humorous gossip about which lady was being fucked in the butcher's kitchen. Once, one of the governesses came to the maids' room while the girls were giggling about the king's inability to put his cock into a woman, and they were all scolded for being so oblivious and disrespectful to France's situation. But it was just that,
France's
situation, and not theirs. They just worked for the royalty, they were not royal themselves. Was François paid for his services? Arabelle wondered. Did the queen spend the bread money for the poor so that she could be fucked in the early-morning hours? How devious it was, to be the queen.

The other maids had been sent away, all save for Arabelle and Christine, who were urged to stay to prepare the royal family for their attempted flight out of the country. As the months before the revolution passed by, Arabelle learned that she was with child. She touched her stomach and mischievously smiled in secret when no one was watching, since she decided that it was not worth the stress of saying anything about her condition. Emotions were heightened, and Arabelle didn't want to be threatened with the possibility of facing the guillotine for using the assumedly paid consort of the queen. Despite this, the secret drove Arabelle to want to find François in hopes that she could run off with him to some safer place that wasn't so angry and charged.

As she flittered through the halls, dragging bags of the queen's plainest clothes to take to the escape carriage set up outside, she scanned the few dozen people who roamed through, saving or quietly pilfering what possessions they could. Arabelle thought that they were smart. Why not take from the royal family, when they took the people's funds from them? At the same time, a part of her felt sad as women ran by her carrying the royal dress of the children. Surely, they were at least innocent. Arabelle laughed wryly to herself and wondered aloud, “When did I become such a revolutionary? Perhaps if she had spent more time worrying about her people and not about her cunny, none of us would be in this situation.”

François was nowhere to be found. It was much too chaotic. Arabelle worried that she'd never feel him inside her again. Her body yearned for him even more, now that she carried his child. Now that he was no longer attached to the queen. It was as if her body was telling her that she could not live the rest of her life without him and their lusty, impassioned fucking. A steward ran up to Arabelle, ripping her from her daydream, and he hefted the luggage she carried from her and under his arms. “Hurry,
mademoiselle.
We haven't much time! You must get to the queen!” And then he was gone around the corner.

Much time? Arabelle did not understand. Where did the queen go? And where was Christine? The rioting outside was becoming even louder, so much so that she could hear it through the halls, despite the fact that she was nowhere near the courtyard. “Christine?” Arabelle called frantically for her friend, but never heard a reply. She was supposed to go with the queen, but she had lost the royal family sometime ago while wandering through the halls searching for François. They would realize she was missing, and if the revolution was unsuccessful, she would surely lose her head for abandoning them. Arabelle hesitated mostly at the thought of her own fate, and secondly at the fate of the queen.