And, if he did not mean to free her, but aid Marie instead and leave her here, she would become the helpless prey of men far less polished in behavior than he; she would be ravished tortured, even!
She trembled, but her eyes remained, widened, blazing, on the couple seated before her very gaze, intent on the rites of burgeoning desire on that lush, enticing divan… the divan of a brothel!
George’s lips descended slowly, without haste, for he was savoring the delight of feeling Marie’s cool, satiny skin against his questing lips and stealthily his mouth crept down her white, shivering flesh of throat, until it reached the top of the chemise, desirous of attaining that tempting declension which announced the valley of her breasts, shielded beneath the silk.
“Oh… Georges… mon amour,” breathed Marie, “il ne faut pas… you must not… I I… am ashamed… to let you do what you have done… cesses, je t’en prie my mistress… will see…“
Her plaintive, soft, sweet voice was intensified in sensual provocation by the commingling of her native tongue with those classically familiar but ah, how evocative plaints which every young girl before the threshold of mysterious desire employs to show her hesitancy to the inculcated rites of the great god Pan!
He replied, his hands tightening on her milky, rounded forearms, “Here, nothing matters except us… your mistress-bah-as for her, she is just another temptress for the customers!”
Marcia went white with mingled shame and fury and stamped her feet in a petulant flaring up of temper.
“But, Georges, she will discharge me when we… get out of here…“ faltered Marie.
He smiled and kissed her soft, enchanting lips, replying, “In that case, mignonne, I’ll employ you as my mistress!”
Marie turned away her head, blushing furiously and her soft hands crept to his chest, gently pushing against him as if to entreat kindness and cessation of the emotional confusion he was so overwhelmingly effecting on her maiden sensibilities.
And when at last she could speak, she murmured, her eyes downcast, her crimsoning face averted shyly, “But… but… I do not even know who you are, or your real name, monsieur Oh, no, it would be impossible! Tout a fait impossible!”
“I’ll change your mind for you, mignonne,” he murmured and his hands slipped to her white, rounded shoulders and gently, but with insistent will, drew off the fragile shoulder straps of her chemise; and descended the diaphanous white garment to her waist.
Ah, what a provocative enticement thus he did reveal!
For the glory of Marie’s rounded, firm breasts was delineated within the amorous clasp of a silk and lace tea-rose-hued brassiere, against the fragile fabric of which the delicate but poutingly assertive little coral buds thrust out tautly, entrancingly! Delicious breasts, not with that sensual boldness of Marcia’s arrogant pear-globes, but beautifully rounded, resilient, velvety and firm… and the valley which cleaved their adorable Venus-saliency was endowed with the most illusive shadowy path, that demanded burning kisses and the exploration of passionate lips and gifted, virile tongue as fitting tribute to the treasures it gave access to! “Oh… oh… mon… sieur… Georges What have you done? Oh… don’t… cher monsieur… je t’en prie… laissez-moi,” faltered the lovely girl and she sought to raise the chemise to cover her tautly molded globes of young desire.
But his lips attacked her trembling fingers with such entreating tenderness that she was disarmed; and, bowing her head, blushed scarlet, her hands meshed in the filmy chemise which she had sought to raise, as with tender and imaginative persuasiveness be applied his eager lips on the glorious fissure which commenced the valley of her breasts. And now his hands rose to take. hers and lead them to her own turrets, brushing both her fingers and his against the sheath which harbored the divine treasures of her Venus-globes, so round, so proud, so erect and unashamed in their flesh-wonder at this male adoration. She succumbed to this delicious approbation and homage to her lovely treasures of femininity,… sighing rapturously, poignantly, the very picture of a properly tutored young girl who finds herself beguiled against all her inhibitions and teachings by the ecstatic furtiveness of desire.
So adept were his suave hands as they gently forced hers that now she unknowingly cupped her own bosom-globes and thus proffered their taut, silk and lace-kissed glories to his lips- which, having tasted the regalia of the satiny and intimately woman-perfumed flesh of her breast valley, now sought to gauge the resilience and elasticity and ardent firmness of the globes themselves… brushing the silken sheath with questing, fleeting lips, while he murmured soft words of enchantment: “Marie… my beautiful adorable Marie… pigeonne enchantante mignonne adore’e… laissez-moi t’adorer. Je te veux avec tout mon dйsir… tout mon amour…”
And Marcia, wide-eyed, trembling and writhing against her fetters, found her apprehension and anxiety increasing with every instant of this titillating scene. Who was this man, surely no brutal frequenter of a marketplace for women’s flesh? His manner, his knowledge of Marie’s own tongue, his science art of wooing-all these signs bespoke an identity she must know. For surely so intrepid an amorist would not be ungallant enough to leave her to her doom in this terrible house of evil!
But that burning insult still rankled her-that she, Marcia Thomaston, rich, beautiful-more beautiful than a host of insipid blonds such as Marie-should be callously ignored and that so suave a gentleman should prefer the tasteless charms of a domestic to her own perfumed and desirable body-ah, she knew she was desirable. Had not the eyes of a thousand men, in all walks of life, in every place where the elite gathered to be seen, told her so?
Marie’s golden head sank to rest on George’s chest… Mutely, submissively, trustingly, she yielded…
He bent his head and applied his mouth hungrily to her parted, quivering lips, drinking in the sweet moisture of her petaled mouth…
Again he took her lips… desirously. now, asserting his will and she sighed plaintively, trembled and her agitated fingers moved against his, plying caresses against her own bosom and thus affirming her unconscious acceptance of this carnal tribute he bore for her beauty in its exciting dishabille.
Gently, he drew down the chemise, till it flowered, white and fragile fetter of love’s awakening, around her hips… baring her waist… her silken-soft, satiny white belly, her tender, rounded sides… and his hands clasped her waist and he drew her toward him, her head sinking back, her lips parted, her eyes closed, her chiseled nostrils palpitating in her reverie of emotion, in her ecstatic trouble of surging response which all the teachings and warnings of her mind could no longer deny.
His lips set their burning caresses on her chin… her throat, her shoulders, her forearms… his hands laved her sides with stroking, assuaging caresses … and now rose toward her bosom, coming together to cup those sheathed globes of love with eager palms… and then, with a prolongation of attainment that made Marie tremble and sigh in her confusion, applied his fingers in curving, amorous arcs over the salient, rounded turrets of those heaving globes.
“Oh… Georges… I beg of you… je t’en prie… no… no…“ murmured the young girl, half swooning in this ardent lover’s sage embrace.
“I adore you, little Marie,” he replied and took her lips, this time hotly, crushing her to him in a spasm of desire that swept the twain, she partaking and learning of his mounting ardor for the perfection of her young, ripe body.
“I… I… must not… oh… I cannot… help… myself… Be kind… to me.*. Georges,” she moaned and, in a wave of shame and delicious girlish trouble, buried her scarlet face on his chest, her arms linking round his neck like two lianas of white, serpentine beauty.
His hands slowly moved around her back… gently… gently… and suddenly she trembled and her eyes opened, humid, dilating, her lips forming a moue of the most amorous submission conceivable.
And as she raised her head and swayed, leaning forward as she had been, the filmy wisp of silk and lace descended from its protective salient and fluttered to her lap.
And to his gleaming eyes, there appeared the reality… the magnificent fulfillment… of the secrets of her breasts!
Naked, all their promise of rounded globes and satiny flesh and delicate, pert coral buds capping those exquisite, girlish, fresh turrets fulfilled and more than this in their effulgence!
At once, crying out in alarm, Marie covered her breasts with her hands and turned away her head and her body shook as~ with weeping.
His hands set on her naked shoulders, he turned her slowly, insistently, to meet his gaze. And it was true: glistening, slow tears descended from her widened eyes, so blue, so soft, so piteous… his lips drank those tears, those girlish tears, allaying their bitter salt of woe and shame with the counterattack of ardor and male desire and sensual worship of her body’s pristine, milky, enchanting beauty.
“Oh… oh… what have you done… oh, Georges… I… I… am so ashamed please… do not… force me… oh no… I could not bear it…“ sobbed the sweet young blond and she bowed her head, helpless, a prisoner of love in his arms.
“Darling, as if I could hurt you, sweet as you are… do not be ashamed. You are lovely… desirable… your body was made for poets to praise and lovers to worship, Marie… gentle Marie… so unlike your selfish mistress…”
Marcia, choking against the gag of silk, sought to protest vehemently against this insult; the cord around her neck menacingly denied her effort at freedom.
Nor was her gesture of furious humiliation and arrogant wrath noticed in the slightest… no more than if it had been the pipes of Pan, playing from afar, while lovers took their joy of one another in the summer night.
He took her hands away, bared those heaving, rounded, resilient young globes, those rounded, adorable globes of milky loveliness and, bowing his head, holding her hands captive, doves of fluttering confusion in his own, he began to kiss the summits of those twin sisters of Venus-bliss.
“Oh… oh… please… Georges… dear… sweet Georges… no… oh…
I feel so ashamed… no more… Georges, ooooh…“ sighed the lovely blond, her head turning from side to side. And now, overcome by the titillation of his burning lips, by the excitement engendered by his savoring, lingering kisses-which now descended to attack her pretty swelling buds of bliss-ecstasy-she bent her head over his and her parted, palpitating, moist red lips brushed his hair.
Marcia flushed, feeling herself cheapened by being forced to behold this wantonly… oh, Marie should be flogged till her blood ran to the floor!
She groaned… the sound was stifled… and, indeed, it was echoed far more amorously by Marie’s sighing plaint, for now he began to mouth and suck her nipples, gently pressing his teeth against their sensitive buds and her winsome face was contorted by an emotion that was not shame… surely.
The unveiled loveliness of Marie’s torso was intensely appealing: her undulating, palpitating sides, flexing with soft and subtle tremors, her heaving breasts, now delectable captives in the amorous mouth of Georges, her quivering rounded shoulders-all were endowed with a perfection of esthetic molding that was stimulating to the sight and to the touch. She swayed against him, her lips still brushing his hair, allowing herself to be thus adored with humid, half-closed eyes, her nostrils palpitating deliciously and sensually.
His hands stroked her forearms, then the sides of these globes whose fragrant, intimate firm buds his lips savoringly paid homage to and her soft plaints were exquisite to hear-save to Marcia, whose flaming face, breathless anguish and revulsion and tensing limbs betrayed the price ~t cost her pride to witness this prelude to the chalorous nuptial bed of feverish ecstasy.
“I want you, Marie,” he murmured and Marie closed her eyes, overcome by her puritanical distress, feeling herself reviled by association with the scene of amorous posturing.
“Oh… mon amour… mon trйsor,” sighed Marie, “I… want you… to… I cannot help myself… you are… ‘too’ sweet oh… mon cher amour, mon Georges puisissant… prends-moi… oh… je me cиdeаtoi…
And she blushed, swooning in her paroxysm of maiden yielding.
He rose and held her in his arms, drawing her to his chest to crush her parted, moistened lips with his hot, eager mouth… she let her arms fall to her sides, her head tilted back, her eyes closed and the chemise fluttered to her ankles and she was naked, save for her sandals and the molding stockings of diaphanous flesh-toned mesh… and the sheath that shielded her girlish treasure of libidinous acceptance from his eager gaze.
Marie wore dainty white silk panties, very brief and cut so that the entrancing vision of the base of her posterior was partially divined in its revelation of naked, white, rounded and enticing flesh. Attractive and coquettish rosette garters of a pretty pink shade held the stockings high on her firm, rounded thighs, kept that impeccable sheathing from mar or wrinkle on her delectable legs, accentuated the full sinuosity of her firm, alluringly plump calves and the feminine grace of her beautiful, resilient thighs.
He plundered the nectar of her yielding lips with hungry, burning kisses… her fingers clenched and writhed at her sides as she gave herself up to this newly found ecstasy and Marcia, who happened her eyes again, trembled with a shame for her own sisterhood, to think they would submit thus passively to the bestial lusts of the male.