The Red Rose and the White

Mitzi1776   July 04, 2019   | 11939 Views
And he would have her. Luxury

Despite the light and music and plentiful women (whose morals became progressively looser the richer they were), François Devaux was utterly bored. He was not royalty nor nobility, but a very wealthy businessman. A businessman whom held the purse strings of a great many of the nobles who were now dripping in the very same jewels his loans helped them to keep. That alone would have given cause for his invitation to a royal ball. It was for his devastatingly handsome face, perfectly sculpted body, and a reputedly sinfully, experienced mouth that kept the invitations continuously flowing from shamelessly expectant hostesses.

His current hostess, the unfortunately plain Madame Le roux, the first cousin of the King of France, was all but plastered against him as he waltzed her around the dance floor. Each step he took was done with all the grace and elegance his royal partner did not possess. To all those watching, he was an attentive partner - smiling and gracious as he responded to her questions with poetic ease - yet his mind a million leagues away. So, when the song ended, François bowed low and excused himself from Madame Le roux's none so subtle hints and poorly executed flirtations.

Desperate to get away, he snaked through the crowd before the woman could suggest they retire to one of the dark niches that was so thoughtfully provided for the guest's convenience (not to mention their impatient lusts).François snatched a glass of champagne from a wandering servant, downed it in a single gulp, and took another. This one he nursed as he leaned against a wall. The tangy taste of the wine bubbled and snapped in his mouth while his golden eyes languidly surveyed the revelers.

Everyone was having a good time eating delectable food, drinking expensive wine, and dancing to fine music. It was a party for the rich and powerful, and though he was now both, he did not feel as one of them. He remembered a time of cold and hunger; a hunger that none of these puffed up popinjays could ever imagine. The old fears he held as a child continued to haunt his dreams, though none would ever believe it of the exceptionally self-possessed man he had become.

François inwardly grimaced at himself, at the way his thoughts had turned. Here he was in high society, and all he could think of was his pitiful past. Suddenly determined to drown that past in the man he had become, he cast his critical eye about the courtyard for a suitable candidate.

There, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the advances of Madame Le roux's portly husband was the answer to his prayers. She was small - more than a head shorter than he - and exceptionally exquisite. Her waist was so tiny François imagined that he could easily circle it with his hands. Delicately pale skin was flushed from her attempts in keeping the large, sweating man's hands off her breasts. Those breasts, François noticed, were rather large for her small stature, and they rose invitingly from the low bodice of her fashionable gown in soft ivory swells. He could not blame the hideous man for trying his hand at her, but François wouldn't have it. The moment he laid eyes on her, every nerve in his body cried out: mine.

And he would have her.

He made his was to the couple, ignoring the hands and eyes of women (and a few men) that caressed him as he went, so intent was he on obtaining his woman.

"Monsieur Le roux, I do believe your lovely wife is looking for you," François said in an amused voice, watching as the man snatched his hands off the woman as if her lovely curves could burn. Not out of guilt that his wife might see him with another woman, for both husband and wife enjoyed the flavor of variety in lovers, but that he was going about it in such an indiscreet and reckless manner. As the King's cousin, it would shame the Madame Le roux to have her husband so scandalously blatant in his infidelity.

"Ah, yes, thank you Monsieur Devaux," he turned towards the woman, bowed, and hastened away to find his wife. The now very relieved woman faced François , and he could now see that her face was just as tempting as her body.

It was a small oval of porcelain, with green eyes commanding the center. She had a small nose and a forehead that rose till it gave way to ebony curls. Plump red lips parted and a sweet voice spoke; "Monsieur Devaux? I am very much grateful for your timely rescue."

"Not at all, Mademoiselle..."

"Madame Rousseau. Élodie Rousseau." She stressed emphasis on her married title, and offered him a charming smile and a small hand. It fit neatly in the palm of his, and he curled his fingers around hers and whispered a kiss along the satin smooth skin.

"And I am François. You are quite enchanting, Élodie," he said, addressing her by her given name, though propriety required otherwise. Instead of being insulted, he received another smile, so continued; "You took my breath away from across the room."

Instead of giggling foolishly like the other women, Élodie raised a perfectly curved eyebrow, "My, my, such compliments. This can only mean you want something."

Not just a little taken aback,François stared in surprise before he broke out in laughter. Never before had he met such an intelligently brazen woman. She had accurately summed up his intent in less than five minutes into conversation, delighting him with the realization that he would actually have to work for this conquest rather than have her falling into his arms like all the other woman of Paris. So, instead of trying to deny what was so obvious to them both, he said, "Am I that transparent?"

He enjoyed the way her sapphire eyes roamed over his physique, hesitating ever so slightly in the general vicinity of his growing desire, before meeting his golden gaze. When she dryly answered, "So it would seem," he threw back his head and laughed again.

"Madame, would you do me the honor of the next dance?" He offered an arm, and she promptly took it.

"I would be delighted."

He led her out onto the dance floor, took up a fragile hand into his large calloused one, and then wrapped the other around her waist. As the music began,François led her into the steps of the dance. Though her back was rigidly straight, she moved like flowing water beneath his hands. She drifted into each turn with soft little footfalls, keeping her face diverted just so that her profile was presented to him. The column of her throat was long, the skin so fine that he could see the light, steady beating of her pulse.

"Where is your husband, Madame?"

Élodie turned her head slightly so that she could see his face, "Oh, he's over by the buffet table with Madame and Monsieur Le roux."

François lanced over and saw a tall man speaking with the hosting couple. He was old - nearly sixty years in age - and looked every minute of it. His face sagged with age, his hair, still fully black, was nothing but a wisp that was combed over his age spotted skull. Though François had never actually met the man, he knew that Monsieur Rousseau was reputed to be a ruthless man in business, yet impeccably pious in the church.

"My dear, you have my complete admiration."

"How so?"

François brought her closer to the opposite side of the courtyard from her husband's prying eyes. "That you are able to speak of your husband without the slightest sign of revulsion. I commend you."

Élodie laughed, stunning the cynical Luc Devaux with the beauty of her unabashed amusement. She stood on the tips of her toes, and breathed in his ear, "A great deal of money is a fantastic incentive to marry such a nauseating old man. I don't suspect he shall live much longer."

"I dare say you are correct." He had long since given up being shocked by her behavior. She was as cold-blooded as a man, with the beauty of a goddess. Such a formidable creature she was. 

François made sure that the Monsieur Rousseau's attention was elsewhere before he tugged Élodie off the dance floor. He was about to speak - to make certain she understood - when she pulled him behind the inadequate shelter of a large bush. Knowing now that they were of the same mind, he hauled her up against his hard body. Without hesitation, he plundered her mouth with his. Élodie's lush lips parted willingly beneath his, and she slid her tongue alongside his. The friction was so erotic as they twined and caressed with only their mouths, nipping and tasting ferociously as if they were battling. François groaned when she rubbed a hand over his hard, throbbing shaft.

"Oh no, now this won't do," she mumbled into his mouth, "everyone will hear you."

He broke away from her, chest heaving with the effort of controlling himself just long enough to get her into a somewhat secluded place. After a moment of looking around, he took Élodie by the hand and strode into the grand house of Le roux. All around were couples looking, as they were, for a bower where forbidden lusts and cravings can be assuaged discreetly. Yet all the rooms that were not taken by guests staying overnight were taken by incestuous lovers.

Unwilling to wait, they went out onto the balcony that rose directly over the courtyard where the party was taking place. From there, they could see everyone. Likewise, everyone could see them if they stood by the balcony wall.

"What are we going to do up here?" Élodie sounded exasperated as she leaned against the half wall and found her husband still standing by the buffet table.

"Not what are 'we' going to do, my dear," he said from behind her as he ground his erection against the cleft of her derriere. They then both waved at her husband who had just spied them from their perch, "but what I am going to do." 

Hidden by stone, he lifted the heavy folds of the front of her gown up to her waist and quietly commanded her to hold them in place with her body and the wall. Then he dropped down at her feet when Élodie's husband was excusing himself from the Le roux's company. Monsieur Rousseau strode closer to the balcony and called out to his wife, "Where now did Monsieur Devaux run off to?"

"I believe he went home, husband," she answered clearly, despite that Luc's tongue had just then slipped between the lips of her womanhood. Jessamine widened her stance just enough to provide him better access to her without looking suspicious to her self-righteous husband. When François's rough fingers spread her delicate folds, exposing the sensitive core to the cold air and his hot tongue, she gasped slightly at the unbelievable sensations that assaulted her body.

Suddenly her nipples hardened into tight nubs, and they rubbed with painful pleasure against the fabric of her gown. Her hips rocked unconsciously with each lapping of his tongue, her body silently pleading François for more, more, more.

"My love, are you well? You seem a bit pale"

Élodie could barely hide her distaste at the man whom she was pledged to love until death. Only her hope that his death would come soon made her face and answer a pleasant; "Very well, sir. Just getting some fresh air and a lovely view."

"Would you like some company, now that Monsieur Devaux is gone?"

Just as her husband said the word "gone,"François drove two fingers into her dripping wet well. He continued to work her with his mouth, nipping and lapping at her until Jessamine thought she would scream with pleasure. Instead, she managed; "Of course not, husband. Do not concern yourself with me. I may very well go home soon anyway. Stay and enjoy your friends."

"As you will." And with that, he turned and went back to his friends, not sparing his lovely wife another glance.

With his back and attention turned away, Élodie could focus completely on what François was doing to her. His fingers were no longer buried in her, his teeth no longer sending jolts of wicked ecstasy through her body, his tongue no longer slipping between her lips that were pulsing with anticipation. Instead, he was tickling that spot that made her want to melt with the very tip of his tongue, and though it felt exquisite, Élodie's body craved to be filled with this man.

"More." Her whisper nearly undid him, nearly forced him to bend her over the wall and pound his need into her body in front of her husband and the fancy world of Paris. But he managed to chain the monster that demanded to take, and delved in again into Élodie's heat to give.

She tasted of the sea; hot and salty. He ran his tongue over the little nub before drawing it into his mouth. He wrapped his lips around it, bit down gently, and sucked as hard as he could while he swirled his tongue around it. The small, muffled cry of surprise made him feel like a god.

He ran his hands up the insides of her long silken legs, his thumbs leading the way to the very core he was feeding upon. When they reached the apex of her thighs, he slid his two thumbs inside as deep as they would go. Then, in tandem with his violent sucking, he thrust his fingers into her body. Élodie rocked her hips back and forth with each thrust, absorbing the impact of the deep penetration with wordless rapture. Only the heavy rise and fall of her breasts could give her away to those below. Otherwise she was the picture of silent contemplation.

He continued to push her higher into wild abandon, until he tasted a sudden gush of salted wetness, and felt the sudden clench of her muscles on his fingers.François, high on the musky pheromones of her orgasm, jumped up and dragged her just out of sight from the eyes of society. Élodie's legs were weakened from the force of her release, so he picked her up, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

One hand loosening his breeches, the other holding onto her derriere,François pressed his woman against the closed glass door. He freed his cock, and, without hesitation, plunged wildly into her still convulsing body. Again and again, he lost himself in her wet fire. Her hands were grasping at his shoulders; soft little whimpers urged him on. He paused a moment long enough to free a breast from its confine, and ravished it with his mouth.

While he bit and kissed and sucked her pebble hard nipples, his hands caressed the insides of her thighs. He spread the cheeks of her plump ass, and stroked the line from the hilt of his cock to the base of her spine. Each time his fingers brushed lightly across the puckered hole between her cheeks, her body jolted. 

Everything that François did to her was a lot sinful and a little depraved. He didn't hide their affair behind closed doors, but flaunted it before an unsuspecting audience. Instead of rising over her, like most men, with gentle needs, he punished her with pain all while soothing it with pleasure.François touched her body in places that were forbidden even to her; so much so that she would not willingly tell him to stop or continue. And oh, did she want him to continue.

With each thrust of his hips, his thick cock dived deeper and deeper. It filled her up, caressing her walls all the way to her womb. As he pulled back, Élodie felt his smooth thickness of his shaft swelling to the hard edge at the head of his cock, give way to emptiness, just before he plunged back in again and again. There was nothing she could do but hold on, and let him ride her till they both exploded from the intensity.

They rested there for a moment, against the cool glass doors, his forehead pressed against Élodie's. His hand that had been stroking between her thighs, made one last careless caress. When her body quivered with one last orgasm at the touch of his hand, he grinned naughtily.

"Like that, do you?" When she tried to deny it, he dragged his fingers more deliberately over the tightness, eliciting an involuntary convulsion of her muscles around his deeply imbedded manhood. "Oh yes," he moaned, "you like that a lot."

François pulled himself from her warmth, air hissing from between clenched teeth from the cold that softened his desire. He let Élodie slide down his body till her toes touched the ground. She arranged her skirt so that it fell again to the floor, yet a breast still hung enticingly from her gown. Before she could tuck that in, his big hand covered it.

He massaged it, twisting and swirling her nipple between his expert fingers, as he looked down at her as if absorbed thought. Élodie watched as his big tanned hand elicited little sparks of desire that ran straight to the core of her, wondering how she could possibly want more of this man after everything they had already done.

Then he seemed to come out of his musings. "Yes, " he said, as he slipped the breast he had been fondling back into its place, "I think we should do something about that."

He tucked her arm into the crook of his, opened the glass door they just made love against, and swept her back into the house.

"Do something about what?" Élodie asked.

He opened the front door for her, and when she moved to precede him out the door, he stepped up close behind her. "About this," he said, discreetly rubbing a hand over the cleft of her derriere. When Élodie blinked up at him in surprise, he laughed delightedly. He finally had shocked the woman. "Shall we away, then, to my home? This is no place for such a lesson!"

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