Although Marion's secret trip to London entailed great personal tragedy, it was in other ways highly successful. Working through Robert, Sir David strengthened ties in the French circle until, by 1582, he had installed a spy in the French embassy itself.
Things were moving quickly for the men who served Walsingham. Although the queen still preferred to vacillate, events in Europe were making it essential to consolidate her alliances with the European Protestants, and above all, to make the crown secure from a Catholic heir.
Even as early as 1580, the country was being infiltrated by Catholic missionaries from the continent. They had contacts not only with important exiles, but with English and Scottish Catholics, and, Walsingham was sure, with Mary of Scots herself.
Impulsive, optimistic, but also ruthlessly clever, Walsingham had built his network of spies into a huge organization. It was largely due to them that the foreign conspirators were tracked down and executed. Much of this information came to Walsingham through Sir David, who in turn received it from his secretary. In the performance of his real, rather than his assumed, duties, Robert had been nearly murdered on at least two occasions. Once, he had been attacked in the streets of Paris and had escaped only by slaying his two assailants. On the other occasion, he had got off less lightly. He was attacked as he disembarked from a boat that had just brought him back from a meeting with an agent ensconced at the court of Rome, and had been stabbed and left for dead on a corner of the dock. Somehow he had managed to stagger home, and after three weeks, was well enough to work again. During his convalescence, Sir David gave out the story that Robert had been jumped by poachers while walking in the park at his country estate. They later heard that the agent in Rome had disappeared and since his loyalty was above question, it was simple to figure out what had happened.
As the executions and imprisonment of priests and missionaries continued, cries went up from abroad of religious persecution. True, many Catholics died, but there was solid substance to Lord Burghley's claim that they died, not as Catholics, but as traitors.
Nicholas Saders, an English scholar and onetime leader of English learning at Louvain, was in Ireland as a papal legate, together with Spanish soldiers. Rome had sanctioned teaching that the murder of Elizabeth would not be a sin, and had approved schemes by Spain of invasion through Scotland and the release of Mary.
The capture of a Spanish agent on the Scottish marshes, disguised as a dentist, revealed Mary's knowledge of the Spanish schemes. In the following year, the spy Sir David had infiltrated into the French embassy led to the seizure of Francis Throgmorton who, under torture, revealed the details of yet another plan, and the Spanish ambassador was ordered out of the country.
Still Elizabeth would not act. Why she would not order the execution of her cousin when presented with so much damning evidence of her duplicity, no one could fathom, but Walsingham knew that he must obtain irrefutable proof that Mary was actively involved in the threats to Elizabeth's life and crown before the country would be rid of “the French whore.” That they must be rid of her was obvious to every one, it seemed, except the queen herself.
The year was 1584, and although Walsingham's trap for Mary was slowly tightening, there was still much work for his agents and Robert was once again in Paris. He had come to collect a report from one of his men stationed at the French court, and his business took but little of his time. The agent was only marginally useful, delivering little but general court gossip, and yet even this must not be overlooked. If less than an enemy at present, France was still a dubious friend to England.
Robert's supposed purpose for being in France was the purchase of two blackamoors. True, they could be bought in London, but the best house servants were trained in Paris.
Actually, it was Robert's intention to do just that. Although he doubted very much that his duality was known, he was in constant fear that some harm might come to Belinda while he was absent. Sir David had told him of a huge, mute blackamoor who would make an excellent body guard for his niece, and since the slave was to be sold with his younger sister, Belinda would have a hand maid, as well. She had grown tall and womanly in the past four years, and at sixteen was in need of a trained servant to care for her personal needs.
It was late in the afternoon when Robert arrived at the address Sir David had given him. The sale was a private one, and the address was that of a sumptuous home on the outskirts of the city.
Robert was made welcome by his host, and when they were seated in the lavish salon, sipping the best French brandy, the slaves were sent for.
“I wouldn't be selling either of them at all, but now that my wife has been called to God, there is no longer a need for them here. The male, Jacques, was her servant from childhood, and has been well trained. My wife would let no one else dress her, and assured me many times that Lala could do more with her hair than any maid or stylist in Paris.” He smiled again. “Remarkably beautiful, as well.”
Robert sipped his brandy and returned his host's smile.
“Fine. Feminine beauty is always a pleasure, even in one's ward's blackamoor. I have no taste for ugly servants.”
The blacks, he knew, were completely tame, having been brought into the Paroux household when the female was only an infant, and her brother no more than six. However, he was surprised to see their attire when they were ushered in. The blackamoors he had seen around the English court were popularly dressed in the Oriental fashion or kept half naked. These were garbed in an entirely European manner.
At a gesture from Monsieur Paroux, Jacques stepped forward, leaving his sister waiting just inside the door. He would certainly be the perfect bodyguard, his formidable appearance being enough in itself to render protection from anything less than a full scale mob. He was well over six and a half feet tall and heavily built for one who could not yet be twenty. His massive shoulders stretched the cloth of the fine lawn shirt he wore, and though he did not, of course, wear the hose of a gentleman, his yeoman's trousers were tight enough to show off legs the size of young tree trunks. There seemed not a trace of fat on him, and when he walked he moved with the grace and silence of a stalking animal.
Robert stood up, ostensibly to inspect the man at closer range, but in truth because he felt damned uncomfortable sitting with the huge black towering over him. Even standing, he felt like a child beside its father, but at least it made the man a little less awesome.
“Jacques knows that you will be his new master. He understands little English, but if you keep your instructions simple for awhile, he will learn.” Monsieur Paroux paused. “I shall miss him. He is intelligent, faultlessly loyal; indeed, the perfect servant.”
Jacques bowed low, smiling slightly. His smile was not the servile, ingratiating smirk of most savages, but simply the smile of one who is in complete agreement with another's words. It reminded Robert that the French were inclined to treat these creatures as fellow men, no less human than any other servant. Though his own feelings were not quite so liberal, it wouldn't be too hard in the case of Jacques to treat him as he seemed to expect. One could hardly picture the proud, calm giant who stood before him dancing a jig in cap and bells or prancing around on all fours at the end of a chain.
“He will do splendidly. Perhaps you would explain to him that his duties will be much as they have been. I intend him to serve my young ward in much the same capacity as he served your dear wife.”
Monsieur Paroux spoke to the slave in rapid French. Jacques listened intently, nodded once, turned and bowed to Robert then retired to stand like an ebony pillar beside the door. Paroux then waved his sister forward.
As Lala walked gracefully and somewhat shyly across the thick carpet, Paroux watched her with affection and more than a little pride.
“This is Lala. Is she not the thing of beauty I told you?”
Robert stared. The girl's gown was fashionably low cut, and her bare arms and shoulders looked like smooth, rounded carvings of jet black marble against the soft lavender of her dress. Her bosom was round and high, rising into a slim neck and soft throat. The short, tightly curled wool formed a neat cap for the small skull, and her face was, of its type, flawless. Like her brother, she had thinner lips than most negroids, and the bridge of her nose was higher, tilting the slightly flaring nostrils upward. Her eyes were huge, slightly slanted and, though darker, as deep and gentle as the eyes of a fawn. She was so strikingly lovely that Robert wished he had been buying her as a concubine, rather than as a hand maid for his niece. Had this been the case, it would have been quite in order for him to ask her to disrobe, but under the circumstances he felt that such a request would be taken as very poor manners by his host.
The thought of the jutting buttocks, the round stomach and curved thighs that hid modestly under the silken skirt brought a rush of feeling to Robert's loins. As he continued to look at her, he could feel his cock fill and stiffen.
Noticing the bulge that had grown in Robert's tight pants, Monsieur Paroux laughed.
“I thought you would approve of her,” he said, dryly. “She is not virgin, having warmed my own bed, but I must ask that you do not take her by force. “He sighed, looking fondly at the slim, black figure. “I am too old to do her justice. Though shy, she has deep wells of passion into which I may only peer with longing, wishing that I were younger- more able. At any rate,” he said more briskly, “I promised her brother that if he were sold, she would go with him.”
Robert could see that it bothered Paroux to picture the blackamoor in the embrace of another and hastened to assure him that he had no intentions along that line. His true thoughts, however, stood out in bas relief against his pant leg, and Monsieur Paroux laughed again.
“One part of you, at least, has great intentions along that line. Ah well, it is something you can work out between you.” He looked up at the girl. Her eyes were demurely on the rug at their feet but as Paroux watched, she stole a soft glance at Robert; a glance filled with confusion and, most certainly, something else. “I should say,” he chuckled, “that my Lala will not prove too unwilling.”
He spoke for some minutes to Lala, a quick stream of French most of which Robert could not understand. She asked some question, and Paroux replayed at length. During their exchange, Robert grew determined to have the wench, and as soon as possible. He had never tupped a black ewe, and the chiaroscuro intrigued him almost as much as the exotic sensuality of the girl herself.
When Paroux had finished speaking, Lala came and knelt before him, head bowed.
“Masser.”
Robert lifted her up, feeling his desire increase at the velvet smoothness of her bare arm under his hand, and for a moment she looked him over as frankly as he had inspected her. She dropped her head again quickly, but not before Robert had seen his own desire reflected in those enormous, black eyes.
The blackamoors were sent from the room to prepare for their departure. Since they were being sold complete with wardrobe, this preparation would take a little time. While waiting, Monsieur Paroux and Robert completed the financial side of their transaction, then partook of more brandy and talked of the colonies that both countries were establishing in the new world. Although this was a subject that generally fascinated Robert, he found it difficult, on this occasion, to give his full attention to the conversation. His mind was much too occupied with Lala. Since they would be staying in Paris until the following noon, he had every intention of possessing the girl that very night.
At least he was able to take his leave, and the new acquisitions were ensconced in his hired carriage, Jacques seated in silent dignity beside the driver and Lala inside the closed coach with her master. In London it would have been unheard of for a black slave girl to ride inside a coach with a white of any station, but this was Paris and how a man chose to seat his servants was strictly his own business.
He had, nonetheless, no intention of making an exhibition of himself by pawing the blackamoor in public, so during the ride back to his inn he contented himself with looking-and thinking. His thoughts soon had his clothes disarranged again, and fire burned up his thighs and into his crotch as his gaze went from the smooth, sweeping line of arched neck and shoulder to the high, jet globes of her breast. Her nipples would be dark, of course; deep purple instead of the pinks and browns he was used to. He wondered if her sex would be the same colour, sweet and dripping and shiny purple like a fat bunch of Spanish grapes. Soon he would know.
He would spread-eagle her on his cool white sheets and inspect every part of her; her breasts, her sex, even the inside of her rich, pouting mouth. He would inspect her first with his eyes. Then he would touch her, smell her, taste her.
The heat that was scalding his guts caused him to shift with discomfort. His cock pressed painfully against his leg, and looking up at Lala's face he saw that she was staring at the thick bulge, whether in fear or fascination, he could not tell. Since the coach in which they rode was closed, only their upper bodies could be seen through the window, the lower half of their torsos being completely obscured. In spite of his resolve to leave the girl strictly alone until they were much more secluded, Robert reached out and took her hand, placing it over his distended penis. For a moment he held it there, then, feeling the stiff little fingers relax and take hold he moved his arm back. Her hand remained where he had put it, gently kneading the swollen flesh. His fingers itched to investigate the dark V between her thighs and see if she, too, were aroused, but since they were almost at their destination he had to be content with less certain indications. She was breathing quickly, her breast rising and falling like the flutter of a bird, but this could possibly be fear. Mad as he was to have her, he remembered his promise to Paroux to use no force.
“Your bedchamber will be beside mine. Come to me after the other guests are sleeping,” he paused and added, much against his will, “if you want to.”
She looked up at him quickly, no more than a flashing glance Robert had been sure he read a need.
He called to the coachman to take the next turning to the right and halt at the corner inn, and Lala sat up, taking her hand from his body. Before she moved away she gave his aching rod a hard, lingering squeeze, and Robert knew that it was just as well they had arrived. Much more of such titillation and he would have been unable to contain himself.
Robert retired early. The landlord showed no surprise at his request that the blacks be given accommodation in rooms adjoining his own. It was quite understood that a gentleman would want his servants nearby to take care of his personal needs. Robert was given a large, airy chamber with two smaller rooms adjoining. Since, in France, it was assumed that one of a gentleman's personal needs, was a warm body to share his bed at night, Lala was given the middle room and her brother the cubicle beside her, farthest from Robert, yet still close enough for him to hear, should his master call.
Robert undressed and got into bed. He intended to read for awhile but found it impossible to concentrate. What was keeping the girl? Had she not understood what he said in the coach? He knew her English was almost nonexistent and certainly his French was far from perfect, but he had spoken slowly and carefully, and surely she had understood. Had he been wrong in his interpretation of the message her eyes had flashed him?
Damn the wench! Did he not own her, soul and body? Was she not bought and paid for? What caprice of honour had made him tell Monsieur Paroux that he would not take her without her consent? He had never been attracted by the idea of rape, but his body's need for this girl was such that it gave him no peace.
After much tossing and turning and pounding of feather pillows, he threw his book aside and fell into a restless sleep. Some time later he felt someone slip into bed beside him. He opened his eyes and looked up into the little, black face that was peering down at him. The candle had burned down quite a way, but there was still light enough to drown a man.
Lala was partly under the sheet, leaning up on one elbow so that she could watch him. She had seen that he was sleeping, and when he opened his eyes, she looked at him inquiringly.
“Masser?” she asked in her deep, soft voice. “I stay? You wan'?”
He reached up and stroked her slim neck. He was glad now that she had been late. The sleep had calmed him and he could now take his time with her. He smiled, pulling her face down to him.
“You stay. I want, Lala.”
He kissed the full lips lightly, feeling them part under his own. He ran his lips up her cheek, kissing the girl's eyelids, her tiny ears, winding one finger in the furry wool that clung to her head.
She murmured and squirmed against him, her body as lithe and pliant as a cat. Her skin felt like warm silk against his chest and thighs, and hot blood started flowing through him again.
He stopped caressing her, so abruptly that she looked up in confusion. He kissed her again, gently, smiling to reassure her, and got out of bed. There was something he wanted to do before he actually took her.
Pulling the night table closer to the bed, he placed another candle beside the one already there, so that that the light was strong. He contemplated adding yet another, but the steady flame shone on her body, making it glow like clean, dark water and he decided that there was illumination enough for his purpose.
He turned the girl on her back, spreading her legs and she began to look confused again. His head was bent so she could not find the answer in his eyes, but looking lower she saw that he was hard and erect, so at least he was still interested in her.
Having placed her as he wished against the white sheet, he sat down on the foot of the bed and gazed at her, thinking that so lovely a picture looked almost unreal.
While he was filling his eyes with the vision of glowing, jetty skin on a background of white silk, the watcher was also being watched. A slave learns very early how to peer up from under down cast lids, apparently seeing only the floor but missing nothing, Lala's only experience with white bodies had been that of her elderly mistress and, more intimately, that of her equally elderly master. This strong, virile and obviously aroused male filled her with desire. She swayed her hips against the sheet and opened her legs further, pulling one leg up slightly.
Robert moved closer and ran his hand lightly up the slender column of her thigh. She sighed, her eyes closing to slits. He continued up over the flat belly and cupped one high, small breast. It was as firm as a melon, and quivered under his touch.
His breath coming quickly, he bent and took the fat nipple between his lips. He could almost encompass her little breast with his mouth, and as he sucked avidly he heard her whimper with delight.
His great shaft rubbed against her belly and the muscles in his buttocks jerked with passion. Breathing fast, he ran his tongue over her whole body, tasting the light sweat of her desire. He probed deep into her mouth, feeling her teeth close lightly on his moving tongue.
Moving down in the bed, he spread her legs and slid his hand over the mound that was clothed in the same tight wool as her head. His fingers felt as if they had been poked into a ripe peach as he stroked and petted her, sliding his hand up and down. She arched high, so that no part of her body touched the bed but head and toes and Robert moved between her legs. Spreading the lips of her sex with his hand, he saw that although the outside lips were as dusky as the rest of her body, the inner lips were lighter, more ruddy, and the entrance to her belly was as red and dripping as the inside of her luscious mouth. He put his tongue deep inside her hole, tasting the clear fluid as it ran into his mouth.
Lala groaned and writhed on the bed, twisting her arched body into convulsions more apt for a snake than a human being.
Robert's passion was pounding up his thighs like a spring flood, fed by the sucking, licking, tasting of his tongue and lips. She did taste like grapes; sweet, honeyed, sun-warmed grapes. He rose up over her, and taking her by the waist, pulled her body onto his turgid cock, fitting it to him like a garment.
Her cunt was tight and slippery, and he drove into her with a will. He had to hold her fast, as her hips worked under him with such abandon that he was afraid he would loose her.
Crying and whimpering like a young beast in pain, the girl succumbed completely to the desire that swept through her. As she felt the great, hard shaft surge into her like a steel rod, she was pulled deeper and deeper down into the whirlpool of her desire. She was very fond of Monsieur Paroux and he had given her body pleasure when she went to him, but she knew that it was now that she was being used as a woman was meant to be used. All her primitive instincts, all her femaleness gathered together into one compelling need to mate; to give and to receive.
As she felt Robert's movements quicken and heard his breathing loud in her ear, her hips stopped circling and thrust backwards and forwards in a rhythm matching his. He knew that she was very near her climax and that there was no need to wait. As he clutched her to him, both their bodies stiffening, he pressed his mouth hard on hers and felt the flood of their combined juices slowly quench the raging fire that had built up in his loins.
Lala curled up tight beside him and Robert held the shaking body while the sobbing breath calmed to the deep, even breathing of sleep. He, however, was unable to join her in the lap of Morpheus.
Most times, when a man is sexually drained, he wants nothing more than to sleep; but there are other times when the rush of seminal fluid seems to clear his brain as well as his testicles. There is a limited range of things a man can occupy himself with in the rented chamber of a strange inn in a foreign country, late at night, so Robert lay thinking, holding Lala to him.
Was it her color, her build or the girl herself which excited him? Probably all three. At any rate, he certainly hadn't been disappointed. She compared admirably to a white woman-to most white women. Marvellous as she was, she didn't burn him out soul, mind, and body the way Belinda did, but then who did? At times she was almost too much.
She had grown into a woman over the past four years, and sexually, their desire for each other had grown in proportion. They were too often apart, but each knew that the other would soon be there, wanting more than ever. They weren't faithful to each other during these separations. Neither expected the other to be. Even when they were both at home, they had their separate affairs. Lindy thought about sex much as a man did. If anything, she was even less prone to moral scruples on the subject than most men.
Robert smiled as he thought of her. The little witch took great delight in regaling him with long, detailed descriptions of exactly what she did, and with whom. She never mentioned bedding down with Sir David Cassen, and Robert had never asked her, but he felt that in that one case, she would have lied to him even if he had asked. It wouldn't have annoyed him. In fact, he, himself, had set up several opportunities for them to be alone. He was proud of her and had told his friend often of her exquisite qualities. She, however, would have no ethics whatever about having any number of sex acts with his friend, but she would have a great many ethics about letting him find out if she thought it would hurt him.
She cared damned little about her reputation, but because she knew the loss of it would affect him, she was usually the soul of discretion.
Only once had she come close to serious trouble.
Through the good offices of Sir David they had attended a ball, graced not only by most of the famed and noble personages of the court, but by the queen herself.
Large tables had been set up in the great dining hall, loaded with the finest and most exotic food and drink. Wine, meat, the finest of French brandies had rendered the gathering gay and lively. Many, including the queen, danced for hours in the huge ballroom, wearing out three relays of musicians.
Sometimes during the evening Robert had lost track of Belinda in the throng. Brandy, perfume and a sea of brilliant gowns had made him a little too dizzy to distinguish one whirling female form from another, and he didn't make too great an effort. He had seen Lindy dancing with a very handsome young lord, and knowing her proclivities, he suspected that they were off in some dark corner arranging an assignation.
An hour or so after Belinda disappeared, it was noticed that Elizabeth was decidedly out of sorts. Her royal temper was only too well known, and the whole gathering was getting nervous. When he heard that Raleigh, who was Elizabeth's great favorite, was also missing, Robert went white. Surely Lindy wouldn't be such a fool?
Fortunately, the missing courtier reappeared, and, gallant that he was, managed to sooth the royal ruffled waters.
Dancing and gaiety resumed, but the moment Robert caught sight of Belinda coming through the door of the ballroom he dashed over to her. She looked at him and smiled so slyly that he looked around him, horrified. Surely anyone else who saw that smug, impish grin would know at once what rare sport had kept Sir Walter from their company for so long.
He had hustled her out of the house with as much haste as he could, and tongue lashed her all the way home. Didn't she know how Elizabeth felt about the young ladies who dared to dally with a man she had marked for herself? Was she really eager to lay her pretty neck on the chopping block? He knew she was scatterheaded, but had she suddenly had some sort of fit that robbed her of even the least vestiges of sanity? What the bloody hell did she think she was doing?
She saved her reply until they were safely settled in her bed-room.
“Uncle, I am sorry. I meant no disrespect. The queen must be at least seven years older than God, and they say she's still virgin, so I hardly thought she'd mind if I stole an hour with her friend.”
The fresh diatribe this speech drew forth was stemmed by her laughter as she threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, Uncle, don't, don't be angry. I know it was stupid and I truly didn't think of the trouble it might cause. I swear to you I'll never take such a foolish risk again. I swear!”
Somewhat mollified by this declaration, Robert allowed himself to be calmed. He had had a damned bad fright, but he never could resist his niece.
Later, after they had cemented their peace in a wild half hour on the bed, she had opened the subject again.
“Just think, Uncle,” she said dreamily, “I fucked a man who has fucked a queen-and right under her nose, too.”
Robert's mouth dropped open. “Good God! That's a hell of a thing to say, even to me! Aside from the fact that your language is worse than a dockhand's, you said yourself that the queen was virgin.”
Plumping up the pillows behind her, Belinda leaned against them. “Maybe, but if he isn't exactly poking it up her vagina, I'll bet he's doing everything else. He's such a pompous, vain creature that I couldn't imagine her keeping him around for his company. Of course, he's awfully pretty.”
Still a bit indignant, Robert snorted. “Isn't pretty an odd choice of word to describe a man, and a hardened solider at that?”
“It's a good thing he's better in battle than he is in bed,” Belinda giggled,” or even God could not keep England safe. If the queen is, indeed, being deprived of his services as a cocksman, she isn't missing a great deal.”
Before he could answer, she slid down on the bed and rolled on top of him.
It isn't easy to remain self-righteous when an abandoned young lady is rubbing her choice, naked body all over you while burying her tongue deep in your ear, and on this occasion Robert quickly stopped trying.
She did keep her promise, though. The hot-tailed little minx probably wriggled happily under half the men of her wide acquaintance, but she was sufficiently indiscreet that Robert heard nothing that bothered him too much.
Lala sighed deeply, and Robert became once more aware of the sleeping girl curled against him. Her cropped, black head and silken arm gleamed darkly against his hairy, white chest, and again he admired the beauty of the perfect example of chiaroscuro the tableau created. He stroked her back, tracing with his finger the line from her shoulder to the deep indentation of her waist. He ran his hand over the sharply protruding little buttocks, and his penis started to thicken as he imagined how beautifully that plump bottom would present itself, if angled right.
He continued to stroke her, and Lala moved in her sleep, throwing one leg over him. Her action made the front of her crotch as accessible to his hand as was the back, and his fingertips lightly over the dark, outside lips. She had very little pubic hair compared to a white woman, and what she had was so tightly curled that is was not much more than a gesture-a half-hearted attempt by nature to leave the traditional outward mark of her mature femininity. He slipped one finger between the fat lips and found her clitoris. As he rolled it lightly under his finger, Lala murmured in her sleep and lifted her leg higher. Her knee now rested on his chest beside her arm, and Robert marveled at the girl's agility. Her form seemed to be quite without bones, and she moved into impossible positions with all the ease that a dowager might settle into an old armchair.
He continued to titillate, and Lala moved under his hand, arching her pelvis upward. Though erect and ready, Robert was in no hurry to mount the girl. It was wonderfully pleasant to lie and fondle her, enjoying the smooth, moist feel of her sex; the novelty of her dark skin and exotic shape.
He dabbled experimentally in the wet pool at the base of her triangle, and run one finger inside her, feeling the ridge of muscles that lined the tight channel.
Lala moved again, and he moved his hand back till once again it rested on her bottom, cupping one firm cheek. He had known steatopygous women before, but Lala's behind was like a little shelf that had been added to her body as an afterthought.
Feeling a gentle pull on his hirsute chest, he realized that Lala had awakened. Still twining a strand of his hair around her finger, she looked at him, smiling and bright eyed. He smiled back and, encouraged, she leaned up and kissed his lips softly. He continued to run his hand idly over her body and when he reached her ribs she stopped kissing him and giggled. He tickled her again and she squirmed away from him, laughing, and sat up. He grinned at her, and she squatted on her haunches on the bed. Cocking her head on one side, she looked him up and down. Then she jumped off the bed and pulled the table with the candles on it a millimeter nearer. At first Robert was at a loss, but he soon caught on to what she was up to.
This ritual performed, Lala squatted on the bed again. She waved her hand over him, her smile half-playful, half-serious.
“Now Lala. Now me see you. Oui?”
It would certainly be churlish to refuse, and it was rather a compliment that she thought his body worthy of inspection, so Robert gave his assent.
“If you like. Oui.”
She leaned forward, still sitting on her haunches, and Robert noted that she looked like a pretty, black grasshopper, with her feet together and her knees stuck out behind her shoulder blades.
For some minutes she stared intently, her eyes taking in every detail from his toenails upward. Slave or not, it gets a bit disconcerting to have one's body subjected to such scrutiny by a woman, especially a beautiful one, and unconsciously Robert tucked in his stomach and turned slightly, showing his lean flanks, his broad chest and shoulders to their best advantage. Her silence, the detached objectivity in her eyes unnerved him sufficiently that he was in danger of losing his erection, a thing no gentleman would wish to do in the circumstances, when she reached out her hand and touched him.
The light caress of her long, slender fingers acted like fuel to his dying fire, and he no longer had to concern himself with the condition of his member. For a long time she played over his body, stroking his skin, kneading gently, tracing the curve of his ear, his lips, his eyelids. As she prodded his stomach lovingly, she felt the muscles under her fingers tighten. Robert enjoyed to the full the sensuality of her fondling, but her touch had stroked the fire in his loins to the point where sensuality was being liberally laced with a strong lashing of plain, garden variety lust. By the time she reached his groin, lifting his tight bullocks, running her hand up the crease between his buttocks, and finally, enclosing with her fingers the hard, thick column of his penis, a clear fluid had started to trickle from him.
He couldn't see her face clearly and she was too far away for him to check between her legs, but he knew that she was aroused. She crooned to herself, a mixture of French and African that Robert couldn't understand, but even though the words were unintelligible, their meaning was clear.
He lay on the bed listening to the erotic music of her deep voice. As she continued to stroke his burning cock as lightly as one might stroke a wild bird, he knew there was one thing he wanted from her very much. She was a slave, true enough, and as such he had only to order her to take his swollen cock in her mouth and suck on it with those thick dark lips until the cream poured out of him into her throat, leaving him spent, but the very fact that he had this right to order, robbed the idea of any attraction it might have held. He wanted her to put her mouth on him, alright. He wanted to lie there, eyes closed, and drown in a sea of pleasure as that wet tongue washed him, as she licked and sucked and finally drained him, drinking every drop of his come as her checks and lips pumped it from him. But even more than that, he wanted her to want to.
Perhaps this was a form of lovemaking into which she had not as yet been initiated. Heaven knows, it was popular enough among the French and her tutor had been a French gentleman, but one could never be certain. Robert was about to put his hand on her neck and give her head a slight push downward by way of a hint, when Lala flattened her body at right angles to him and buried her face in his stomach.
To say she was pleased with her new master would be an understatement. The thick, hard masculinity of his body was something to be held in awe; touched with reverence and a sense of deep gratitude that she was allowed this intimacy, allowed to give pleasure to such a God-like being. As she touched him she could feel her body glow like a newly lit brazier and warm, thick liquid oozed from her and ran down her thighs. Not sure how many liberties she might safely take, she tried to contain her desire, but in an ecstasy of adoration she threw her face on him, running her tongue over his stomach and deep into the creases at the top of his thighs.
She looked up at him, passion and worship showing clearly through the anxious look in her eyes.
“I may kiss? Non? Oui?”
Robert tightened the muscles in his thighs so that his cock jerked upward, hard and throbbing. He wanted her so badly it took all his control not to grab that cropped head in both hands and drive his rod deep into her throat.
“Oui, Lala,” he panted. “All you want. Oui.”
She turned quickly and he spread his legs as she clutched his thighs, her warm, dripping tongue darting over his testicles, licking between the cheeks of his behind, sliding up his shaft to lick the drops that covered his purple nob. At last she moved over him and took him deep into her mouth. He groaned with desire and put his hand on her head, ramming upward as she moved her head over him. She was no expert, but the joy she took in what she was doing made up for any technical inexpertness. As her mouth pulled lovingly on his cock, Robert felt a great surge in his belly and heard her whimper with ecstasy as his come gushed into her mouth, his penis jerking hard with each hot spurt. She continued to hold his spent cock in her mouth until it began to soften. Then, lifting her head, she kissed it gently, kissed his stomach and climbed up in the bed. Her face was relaxed and contented and when she cuddled close to Robert he knew that the black girl had derived as much pleasure from sucking him as he had.
He put his arm around her and began to drift off into a sound, satisfied sleep. He was very glad this little creature was to be part of his establishment. He was fond of her, responding to her as one does to the adoration of any animal that thinks you are the God of all creation. The fact that her daily tasks would keep her more in Belinda's company than his own would keep her from becoming a nuisance, and it was pleasant to know that all that passion and whole-hearted whoreship would be in the servant's quarters, awaiting his convenience.
He rolled over sleepily and snuggled her closer with both arms.