Distant Minds Ch 03

Chapter Three - The Duchess

'I don't understand. It was nothing like any dream I've had before; it was clearer and the details were complete. It was real and I was that woman. Yet I can't believe it was true - that it was what you expected.'

'Take your time and tell me about it.'

For several minutes Bina stares at her hands where they rest folded in her lap then, her tone low and faltering, she starts to recount the story of the night. Peter, troubled by her tale, reaches out to cover her hands with his. As she comes to an end he leans and takes her in his arms, comforting her.

'My poor dear. I never imagined it would be like that. No wonder you're upset.'

'It's not so much upset as confused. I was taken and enjoyed in ways I'd always dreamt of, ways I'd prayed for a man to possess me. Yet it wasn't what I'd imagined. It was fine when I fantasised it, but as reality it was odious, although I still wanted it. Perhaps because I felt powerless to stop it - I had no choice but to submit. I'm no longer sure of what I want. . . . and now my mind tells me I should be satiated with sex, yet my body says nothing has happened to it. It's aroused, it's waiting, it wants to be used.'

'I don't know what to say.' To cover his uncertainty he gets up and moves to the cabinet in the corner. 'I think this calls for a drink. Brandy all right?'

'I guess so.'

As she stretches an arm and takes the drink from him she looks deep in his eyes. Then, almost bemused she looks at the glass, throws her head back, drains it in one gulp and sets it on the small coffee table.

'Make love to me Peter. Hide the memory. Make me new.' Standing, automaton like, she starts to undress. First her blouse, then her bra fall to the floor in front of her. A quick thrust down and her slacks and thong join them on the carpet. Naked she falls back onto the couch, reaches out and grasps the waist band of his jeans with one hand while with her other she cups and gently squeezes his balls, before sliding her fingers up over the edge and down inside to find his bare flesh.

'Wait.' His cock is hardening within her caressing grasp as he undoes the belt and lets his pants fall around his ankles. Twisting to the side he sits next to her.

Does he really understand her need - her need not just to be given reassurance and affection, but to be in control of events. It seems he does. Without saying a word he leans forward and fastens his lips to hers, his hand gently cupping an uptilted breast. Lightly his fingertips stroke the soft swell, move to its rigid point and trace the large brown aureole. His lips move lower to graze on her firm flesh, replacing his hand which glides down to the fine bush between her legs. Then he is kissing her breasts, licking and biting her nipples. She pulls his head to her, suckling him like a baby. Abruptly he moves lower still to place kisses around her pussy and down her inner thighs.

'Now, take me now.' She spreads her arms and grips the back of the couch. He briefly licks her clit then his mouth is back pressed against her closed eyes as he gently pushes the tip of his cock into her tight tube.

Wrapping her arms around his neck Sabbina happily moans and lifts her hips to take him deep. The feel of him filling her, kissing her, gently loving and arousing her, brings contentment and slowly eases her trauma. He leisurely, almost languidly, pumps in and out bringing her to climax after climax as her body gradually harmonises with her mind. By the time he finally comes she feels complete and whole again. Comforted and reassured she lies in his arms.

'Thank you, Peter darling.'

'It's no more than you deserve. I asked a lot from you, and I'm going to ask again. You're worthy of all I can give.'

'You want me to try again?'

'Please. If you feel you can. But if you can't I'll understand.'

'For you I'll try once more. But not tonight, let me have a night off to recover.'

'Of course. We'll go out to dinner and after you can come back and spend the night in my bed.'

-ooOoo-

Whether it is consideration for Sabbina, or whether it was his anxiety to make the experiment a success Peter is not sure, but he lets a couple of nights go by before accompanying her back to the mirrored chamber.

As the electrodes are again fastened to her scalp she is nervous, apprehensive that she will find herself once more subject to the demands of the Duke's secretary. Ready, she shuts her eyes and wills herself to sleep. Imagines herself again in the arms of the Bastard Duke. Imagines ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The priest intoned the familiar 'ashes to ashes' and Serena let the roses fall from her hand onto the coffin. Furtively she wiped away a tear. It was not proper for a Duchess to be seen to weep for a servant, even one as close and solicitous as Lucia had been.

'Mama, where's Lucia gone?' Her young son, the Bastard Duke's heir, tugged at her other hand.

'Shush, Guido. Not while the priest is praying.'

Unheeded the words flowed over her as she recalled the years Lucia had stood beside her, a constant comfort and wise companion; the years since the Duke first took her and she found herself with child, with the son he craved. The son who so resembled her lost Markko yet for whose production she was rewarded by being made wife and Duchess.

The years since that fateful day when she was raped by the secretary - a usurpation for which he was executed. Not formally, Lucia had advised against that, but by being left to bleed to death on the butcher's slab after the Duke's knife had separated him from his cock and balls.

The tumultuous years during which the Duke had guarded her, made her his favourite. Oh, he had other women - her maids had informed her of many - but always he came back to her. Would that he was here now; he had been gone too long on the summer campaign. She ached to be filled with his mighty pole.

Not, of course that she had been starved of male satisfaction. If the Duke would campaign away and neglect her then she would take lovers, though circumspectly. Society decreed, logically given that inheritance flowed through the male line, that it was one thing for the man to sow his seed widely but that a woman should ensure her offspring were all of her husband's making.

Perchance it would be politic to present the Bastard Duke with another son. However since it appeared that he could not father a boy - apart from Guido she had given him but a brace more daughters - he would have to again be cuckolded, this time deliberately. He was due to return in a week or two, so if he were to have no reason to suspect it was not his, now would be a good time to beget a boy.

The service was drawing to a close. Serena dropped a last flower on Lucia's coffin and looked for her attendant. 'Take my son to his tutor. I shall pray in the chapel.'

Though their private chapel was small, when finally complete its sumptuous baroque ornamentation and pictures would make it overwhelming. She found Christofani, the artist brought from Florence to decorate the walls, at work on a high mural of the Madonna. At barely one and twenty he was young to be a master and compared to Giotto.

Serena gazed up at where he stood on the scaffolding, an errant shaft of sunlight gilding his tow coloured hair. The bulge in his hose was reassuringly large. She could already feel the dampness between her legs.

When newly arrived it hadn't taken him long to engage the affections of her youngest maid and, as evidenced by her joyful mien and the swelling of her belly, satisfy the primal demands of her cunni. Serena coughed.

The artist turned. 'Ah! It is Your Grace who so gracefully graces my humble presence.'

'Leave that. I require that you work on my portrait. Now!'

'As your Grace decrees. And would it be only your portrait that requires my artistry?'

She ignored his hint. 'Attend me in my chamber.'

In her room the partially completed painting stood on an easel before the bed. A small image intended to accompany a traveller, it showed her nude, lying on one side, her back to the viewer, looking over her shoulder, hopefully suggesting the joys her lush body could give a man. When finished she would present it to her husband. Perchance, when campaigning, it would remind him of what was on offer at home and quickly bring him back.

Swiftly she shed her robes and when the young artist appeared was already posing on the bed. Even after providing the Bastard Duke with a son and two daughters her body was still a young, ripe invitation to lechery. Wet nurses to suckle her progeny had ensured her breasts remained high and her buds unchewed.

'Come get me in the mood.' She ordered.

With only a shirt and breeches to remove he was quickly ready to serve her need. Not just an artist with the brush, he also took pride in his talent for pleasing and satiating women. His tongue went directly to her clit, massaging then sucking while his hands found her boobs. His strong, slender fingers caressing their abundant glory, his thumbs rubbing her stiff nipples. She sighed as he struck a nerve sending a pulse of pleasure direct to her cunni. She arched her back and surrendered her mound to his attentions, clenching her teeth as the first spasms shot though her. Oh, he was good. She barely restrained a scream as the first climax hit her.

But just being fucked was not enough. As the Duke dominated her so she, in turn needed to dominate this youth. She pushed him on his back and straddled him. Leaning forward she presented her breasts to his lips for him to suck and taste. Oh, the joy of his titillation. Soon he was hard and long between her legs. Raising herself she felt for him, position him at her slit and with one swift thrust of her hips impaled herself upon him. To ride him and ride him. To come again and again.

Suddenly he sat up and swung them both around. Now he was above her, deep between her legs. Pumping into her, giving her his full length. Her arms wrapped around his back, her nails dragged across his skin, but he didn't flinch, even when she dug them in deep, just arched his back and unloaded into her, filling her with the seed she so desired. The seed to make another boy.

She had done it. The Duke's second son was growing in her belly. She knew, oh yes, she knew. They said there was no way a woman could know until she started to swell, but she knew.

Christofani kissed her lips, her hair, her breasts. Ran his tongue down to her thick bush and sought her clit. Yes, she thought, that time was for her husband, this time it's for me. She put her hands on his ears and pulled his face between her legs.

The banging was urgent. The artist barely had time to climb off her when the door was thrust open and her maid rushed in.

'By what right do you intrude?' Serena was furious.

Discomfited Christofani looked at the girl, her belly swollen with his child. 'My darling, what is amiss?'

Ignoring her lover the girl fell to her knees before the naked couple and blurted out, 'Oh, Your Grace, there is news. Dreadful news. The Duke has been thrown from his horse. He is feared dead.'

Serena felt her body chill, despite the breeze that blew warm from the open window. It was the one thing she had always ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

'Are you awake?' At his words Sabbina stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Peter stood beside the bed awkwardly holding a mug of tea.

'I think so. Wait a moment while I get my bearings.' She glanced around at their reflections in the mirrored sides of the pyramid.

'And did anything happen this time? The instruments only showed you dreamed a bit. Nothing else.'

'Oh! Yes. It was . . . not unpleasant . . . acceptable . . . no, interesting. Let me get up and I will tell you.'

'Do you want to go back to the flat again?'

'Um, yes. If you don't mind my being troublesome.'

-ooOoo-

Back at the flat Sabbina disappeared into the shower while Peter prepared breakfast.

'Don't take all day. It's nearly ready.' He shouted.

She walked into the kitchen rubbing her hair with a corner of the bath sheet, the remainder carelessly draped around her curves. Little was left to the imagination.

Peter smiled in admiration, feeling his cock stir, but resisted his desire for her and cautioned, 'If that's a broad hint that you want me to fuck you again, you'll have to wait until after we've eaten and you've said your piece.'

Sabbina laughed, 'Of course, master. It's your kitchen so I bow to your command.'

'That'll make a change.'

Peter hardly tasted his food as he listened to Sabbina recount her experiences of the past night. When she had finished he asked, ' What is your assessment? Was it real, or just a dream?'

'I'm sure it wasn't a dream, but how can I say it was real? What supporting evidence do I have?'

'That's the problem, we still don't have enough facts to say one way or the other. And certainly nowhere near enough to get funding to investigate further.'

'I suppose you want me to try again?'

'If it's not too traumatic.'

'Not this time. Even the sex was more to my liking. If nothing else I'm learning about myself.'

'Fine, then have another go tonight.' He pushed his chair back. 'Now I reckon you've earned a reward. Come here.'

Rising, Peter grasped the towel and pulled it off her then, hands on her shoulders steered her to the bedroom. By and by the flat resounded to her moans and cries of pleasure.