The Mon Ambrosio

This is (kind of) a fanfiction involving the characters in Matthew Lewis' novel "The Monk". Ambrosio is a monk who is seduced by Matilda into carnal pleasure and other crimes.

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Out of the darkness tolled the bell thrice. Ambrosio started from his sleep and opened his eyes at the stone wall before him. Behind him, Matilda slept lightly and was roused only by Ambrosio's quitting of the bed.

He rubbed his forehead, pulling on his trousers quickly. Matilda's round, voluptuous form sat up on the mattress. She wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"Where are you going, Ambrosio?" Though modesty wasn't needed between them, she pulled the linens around her chilling breasts.

"The bell has just tolled three." He took care not to sound so, but Matilda knew he was disgusted with her.

"Cannot you stay longer?" He looked upon her naked body, stretched out in wanton invitation. Her full coral lips begged for his kiss. The moonlight crept over the windowsill, illuminating the tiny cell, gracing her cascading blond curls with a golden halo. Her creamy skin resembled polished white marble and she posed in the perfect attitude so that his mind might paint the moment as a memory. He furled his brows, dead-set on refusing her advances.

"Will you not come to bed, my perfect love?" She narrowed her green eyes, the sparkle within them entirely lascivious. She patted the bed beside her.

"I haven't the time," he argued. "I must return to my own cell. Matins will begin soon."

"You know they will not begin for at least an hour or two," she said, finding instant error in his design to leave her. She understood in the depths of her heart, why he would not rejoin her.

"Matilda..." he had turned away from her, trying to summon the words to tell her he no longer wanted to sleep with her... that he now wanted someone else. However, no sooner had he begun to express his feelings than was he put to silence by two creamy arms wrapping around his trunk from behind. His chest was still bare and Matilda took full advantage of his nakedness. The expanse of his tight muscles, carpeted with thick black hair, rose and fell beneath the expert motion of her fingertips.

"My love, Ambrosio," she addressed him. Her voice was deep and rich like melted chocolate. It dripped in his ears as she commenced seducing him. "My body is afire," she whispered. Her fingernails grazed his nipples and trailed lightly to the waist of his pantaloons. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and it was as an endorsement of a spell. "I've ne'er desired you more than I do now." She pressed her fingers under the band of his trousers. He felt the cloth grow tight around his groin. "How you possess me," she whispered in his ear. "The embers in my soul are igniting, my Ambrosio." He felt her eyelashes flutter on his shoulder-blade as she dipped her small nose against his spine.

She gripped his manhood tightly in her small hands. "My Ambrosio," she cooed as she stroked him into full rigidity. The deliciousness of her actions kept him from moving. In hushed whispers, she promised excellent release, turning him around to face her.

"Come with me Ambrosio. Enjoy my body. Let me possess you as you possess me." She looked into his eyes, the green glinting with fire. And though he hated her, though he wanted nothing more than to apply his monk's robe and quit her chamber, he found himself insensible of even his own desires -- and unable to comply with the logic of his mind. He dove on her as a bird might scoop up a field-mouse, pressing his lips to her lush ones.

As they partook of the sacrament of their sin, she pushed away the restraining cloth of his abbot's costume to the floor. In the moonlight, he ravaged her mouth, turning his tongue against hers. Both sighed with lust as the bed cushioned them. He lifted his face away from hers, looking into her impassioned face, her cheeks a deep scarlet, her lips swollen, her green eyes soft and reflective of the deed taking place. He saw himself in her eyes, a confused man of thirty, hard-bodied, his eyes glowing with lewd inspiration.

Just two weeks before, Matilda had been Rosario, his youthful charge, a friend, and no more than a young boy. Had Matilda only striven to hide her sex from him... had only she not begged so earnestly to remain by his side... had only she not sucked the poison from his snake-bite so that he might live. If only he hadn't been betrayed by his hot-blooded, earthly desires... his honor might still be intact. He might not now be fucking her. Nevertheless, he was...

Matilda spread her legs beneath him, angling her hips up to accommodate his large frame. His impatient cock buried itself deep inside her sheath. He was lost in the fume of their mingled breath, consumed by the fire that coaxed him to plunge deeper and deeper still into her, until he was driving himself into her very womb. The wet music of his transgression against God echoed in the cell.

"Yes, my lover... my Ambrosio, yes, my delight!" she cried out to him. "Never cease, my exquisite love!" The empty poetry spilled from her lips as he thrusted into her helpless body. Her muscles clapped around his hardness, juices evidencing her arousal, wetting the linens beneath their clashing bodies. He ground his teeth at the divinity of her channel, the manner in which her body conveyed her pleasure to him, the muscles vibrating alongside the praise of his lovemaking.

Her passion came to violent peak, the walls of the bower seeming to shake at the fruition of his efforts. Sweat pooled on his brow, some of it had dripped onto the white globes of Matilda's chest. He collected himself, taking no joy in bringing her to the height of pleasure. His thoughts once more turned on his disgust of her. Sensing the revival of his distaste, she pushed him onto his back, the action nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. He took a deep breath, feeling her hot kisses fanning over his stomach. Not too soon after, she swallowed his manhood, her lips sliding to the hilt with no trouble.

The softness of her fingers pressed to the crisp curls at the tender sack beneath her oral conquest, pressing the orbs until bolts of electricity shot throughout Ambrosio's body. For these moments, he couldn't remember his dislike of his seductress. He only knew the charms of her unholy mouth, the exquisite wetness of her tongue, the unrelenting and fervent clamping of her throat around his manhood. He swore aloud, the bountiful sack in Matilda's fingers tightening, drawing closer to his body.

"Spill your seed into my mouth, my Ambrosio," she begged quietly. She stroked him, whispering delicate indecencies on his manhood, looking into his eyes, making licentious request after another... renaming herself a whore, a wanton, a slut for his pleasure. "Let me taste thy hot sin on my tongue," she entreated.

A roar ripped from his lungs, the thick object of her desire evacuating its hot organ and splattering her breasts and face, splashing into her hot mouth. She at length cleaned from his cock and her face that which she could. The bell tolled four and Ambrosio detected movement in the courtyard outside. In and out of sleep, he felt Matilda's familiar body sidle up to his, her slightly sticky arms and hands creeping over him in a gentle embrace. Her dewy face laid on his shoulder as his eyes opened at the ceiling.

How he hated her. If not for the needs of his body, he might not have come to see her at all. Fancifully, he recounted the last time he had seen the true object of his desire, the inspiration for his visit to Matilda.

If only she could be Antonia.

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To be continued...