The Princess Of Cleves 09

Rosalind had been cold to her husband and the Chevalier since that night. The two men consulted one another, and decided it was best to be patient with her. Until the time she became sociable again, they continued with their private experiments. The Duke was only able to gaze upon her and waste. Princess Mary's eyes always lingered on her wrist, looking for the bracelet she had given her. Even Monsieur d'Anville and Anne could not cheer that gloomy woman.

The only one who enjoyed his relationship with Rosalind was the Marechal. Using familiar techniques, he stoked the flame of friendship within her until it was large enough to warm his hands. They did not meet privately again, as their tryst upon his return had caused quite the scandal. Diana demanded an explanation from him. She laughed as the Marechal had stuttered and blushed, giving an account of their time together. She had approved of his handling of Rosalind and their correspondence. She offered him advice for guiding the girl, and recommended he keep the Duke from her, and the Chevalier as well.

Rosalind was uneasy. Her husband lost interest in her once it became clear that one night had been a fluke. Every attempt he made to coax her to orgasm failed. More often than not she simply turned him out of her room.

One night as she lay in her bed reading, someone knocked on her door. Without waiting for a reply the Prince and Chevalier entered, wearing masks and cloaks as if for Carnival.

"What do you want?" she asked. The way they stood looking at her made her nervous. "I know who you are. The Prince de Cleves is in a bear mask, and the Chevalier de Guise has chosen a dog."

They dropped to their knees, and growling, crawled to the bed on all fours. She did not know what to do when they jumped onto the bed, and began nuzzling her until she smiled.

"Stop it. I'm not playing games with you two."

They did not listen, but instead flipped their masks up and pretended to gnaw on her. They were both snorting and snuffling her sides and in spite of herself, she began to laugh. She could see their arousal, and she began to grow warm. They did not touch her breasts or sex. Their tongues traveled her throat, her ears, her shoulders, until she reached out to touch them.

A soft rustle of cloth, and their breeches fell to the floor. They left on their masks, hiding their faces when they were not tasting her. When the Chevalier began to rub his sex on her thigh, she quickly moved beneath him. He rubbed himself against her flushed petals, then took her. The Prince was crouching behind the Chevalier, caressing his anus and testicles as he labored over his wife. Rosalind and the Chevalier came together, and when he finished the Prince took his place.

He was about to slide himself into his wife when he saw her eyes fixed on the wall in a blank stare. Taking off his mask, he covered her in kisses. He looked at the Chevalier, and he joined him, stroking and caressing his wife, her slender limbs, the fullness of her hips and breast. They started to nip at her, gently at first, then harder. At first she squirmed beneath them; with a moan her teeth found the Chevalier's neck and her husband's ear.

The Prince pounced on her, his sex darting inside her. She held him, moaning into his shoulder while the Chevalier watched. This night, when they traded her back and forth, she reached out to touch the man who rested. The Prince's blue eyes were fixated on her mouth as the Chevalier ran the head of his sex back and forth, in and out, her pink cheeks swelling with the length of him. When it was the Chevalier's turn, he placed her phallus against her lips, and swelled as the thought of her tasting the Chevalier's sperm.

They fell asleep together, the Princess nestled between the two men. The next morning the Chevalier was gone, having slipped away in the middle of the night, taking the masks and cloaks with him.

The Prince and Princess smiled at each other than morning as they ate their breakfast.

"I heard the Princess Mary wishes to have another private audience with you," the Prince teased, smiling as she blushed.

"I do not think I will be able to accommodate her," Rosalind said. She hoped she had not been foolish last night. It could have simply been a ruse to seduce her, although it had not felt like that to her. The way they touched her, it was like they were apologizing for their crude behavior during her first seduction.

The Prince reached across the table to take her hand. "What is troubling you?"

"Why, why did you come visit me last night?" she asked.

"I felt bad about the way things were between us. I thought maybe if I could make you laugh, you would be happier. I cannot take credit for the idea," the Prince said.

"That does not surprise me. What will you and the Chevalier be doing today?"

"We were going to, we have a meeting this morning. We are free in the afternoon. Would you like play tennis with us?"

Rosalind smiled. "Thank you, maybe after my walk with the Marechal."

At the mention of his name, the Prince frowned. They said very little after that, and parted at court, kissing one another's cheek. The Prince and the Chevalier talked. Rosalind was in love, and the only candidates were the Marechal and the Duke. The Duke repulsed her, no doubt because of the man's reputation of womanizing, while the Marechal she favored with her time every day at court. They would have followed the pair, but of all the courtiers, the Marechal was shrewd enough to detect them.

The Duke was eavesdropping on the pair, and found himself inclined to agree with their assessment. Rosalind would never give her heart to a man as faithless as him. If only the Duke could see the flash of jealousy in her eyes as the court discussed the English Queen Elizabeth.

Princess Mary had a portrait fetched to show Rosalind, and the handsome Queen displeased her. "I have never seen a portrait of a Queen that was not beautiful. This artist flatters very well," Rosalind quipped.

Mary grinned. Rosalind had been vexing her, and she could not resist the temptation to repay the favor. "No, it is said this Queen is quite beautiful. Both her and her sister Mary were in love Lord Courtenay, but Mary knew she held no charms besides the vivacious Elizabeth. Her mother, Anne Boleyn, was raised in the French court, and was said to be a woman of great wit and charm." Mary was pleased to see the young woman frowning. Later, in Anne's bosom, she repented her cruelty.

* * * *

The next day Princess Mary's court was full of excitement. She thought to please Rosalind by having their portraits sent to England to display the beauties of the French court. She fussed over Rosalind's toilette and jewelry.

Rosalind sat first, so the painter would not be fatigued. Mary's efforts made look like a dark haired Venus. Her demure expression, her delicate hands, everyone came to whisper the lady's praises as she sat. The Marechal lingered in a corner, watching those who watched Rosalind.

The Prince brought a portrait he had of his wife to compare to the new one. Looking at the two, Rosalind made the painter fix her headdress in the older portrait. The Prince's picture was set on a table to dry. The room bustled as the noblewomen primped and waited for their turn.

Although many encouraged the Duke to go rest, he slumped over on a stool until someone installed him in an armchair. His face was not as thin as it had been, but his eyes still had the glossy look of a fever, it's color mottled. The King had sent his doctors to tend to him, but they could find nothing wrong with the Duke.

Mary held Rosalind's hands, sitting on her bed. If she could not have a private meeting with Rosalind, she was determined to take what liberties she could in public. The young woman fidgeted as Mary touched her face and hair.

Everyone was distracted, and the Duke came to stand near the table with Rosalind's portrait. He glanced around, and as no one was looking at him, he slipped the portrait into his jacket. Rosalind saw him at the table, and when she perceived what was missing, she became distraught. Her heart stopped as she felt Mary's eyes on her.

"Tell me Rosalind, what has caught your attention?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied. Her stomach back flipped. To demand her portrait from the Duke publicly would reveal her as the cause of the his sickness. To do so in private would only be worse, as it would give the Duke an opportunity to speak of his love for her, and it would be difficult for Rosalind to conceal her emotions.

The Duke turned to see her looking at him, and realized he had been discovered. When she went to stand at the window, he came near to her and whispered, "Please be so kind as to feign ignorance, Madame, of what I have taken, that is all I ask." He went away then to closet himself with the image of his love. He found Lignerol and began to kiss him.

His favorite had been much neglected since the Duke had first fallen in love. Lignerol wondered why he bothered stinging his fingers with lemon, keeping his hair platinum and erasing his freckles. Though he saw the portrait of Rosalind on the Duke's desk, and understood that this ardor was not for him, he did not care. He kissed his Duke, who was so sick with love. The Duke's hands were trembling as he caressed Lignerol. He lay back on the bed, and Lignerol began to undress him. He kissed the Duke's throat, and mourned how dull his glorious skin had become.

"When did you last eat?" Lignerol asked as he rubbed his phallus against the Duke's.

"I know you are concerned for my health, and you are right that I have been neglecting my meals, but, it is becoming irritating," the Duke said, pulling off Lignerol's breeches.

"If you wish for me to stop, then eat so you are not weak." To illustrate his point, Lignerol took the Duke's wrists and pinned him to the bed. The Duke struggled against him, but as slight as Lignerol may be, he was stronger than Duke.

The Duke sighed. "I never thought there would be a day that you could overcome me. I am a fool to think Rosalind would want such a weak man."

Now Lignerol was cross. The Duke's pining he could endure, but this self-effacement was loathsome to him. "What is weak about passion? While I would not say you are wise, you have the strength to sustain your love for someone who has not given you sign of any similar feelings." Lignerol kissed him fiercely, then sat at the edge of the bed, pointing at the floor. "You have been insufferable lately, I demand retribution."

The Duke smiled. He loved it when Lignerol made demands. With all that he did for the Duke, the Duke was overjoyed to show his appreciation. He took Lignerol's sex into his mouth, and ran his tongue and teeth over the silken skin of its head. He pressed Lignerol as far into his mouth as he could, rubbing his tongue to the underside of Lignerol's phallus. Slowly, he began to move his head back and forth, pushing Lignerol's phallus deeper into his mouth each time.

Lignerol sat on the bed, his hands behind him, he head tilted back. He could feel the Duke's saliva dripping down his testicles. There were tears seeping from his eyes that he wiped away. The Duke pulled him closer to the edge of the bed and Lignerol fell back as the Duke began to rub his anus. He slid the tip of his finger, wet with his spit, into Lignerol's ass. The Duke was taking quick gulps of air before taking Lignerol deep into his throat. He worked with his finger and mouth in a quickening rhythm. As the Duke felt Lignerol's phallus surge, he began to caress its head with his tongue. Lignerol grunted a few times, then moaned as he came. He pulled the Duke on top of him and tasted his seed in the Duke's mouth. The Duke was rubbing his phallus against Lignerol's, lubricating himself with his own saliva. He touched Lignerol's face, kissing him, as he gently pressed his phallus into impatient Lignerol. If the Duke did not hold his hips down, he would arch his back, and take the Duke's full length into him.

By the time he worked himself into Lignerol, he was limp beneath him. The Duke whispered in Lignerol's ear, "I love to take you like this, to hear you whimper at my slow strokes." Pinned between them, Lignerol was growing hard again. He clutched the Duke's buttocks, and the Duke told him, "You know I love you."

Lignerol wept. "I know, but you are cruel."

"I am sorry. Please, don't cry," the Duke said, and began kiss away Lignerol's tears. They came together, the Duke murmuring promises he would never keep. Lignerol did not care that he lied, but he hoped that the Duke's passion for that woman would be spent. Rumors obsessed him. He wanted the courtiers slavering for the name of his great love, the woman to whom he dedicated all this misery. Lignerol was forced to embroider upon the already great variety of pieces of gossip available.

* * * *

The search for Rosalind's portrait proved fruitless. The Prince teased his wife, saying she had given it to a lover. She only blushed and became distressed. The Prince did not press her. He had arranged for the Chevalier to spy on them, and he wanted his wife to be in a good mood. He did his best to amuse her with idle gossip, then tried to sooth her for the loss of her portrait. That night in bed he found her stiff, and with much coaxing was able to get her to accept his advances, but she would not climax. It was not very inspiring.

Rosalind's mind was whirling with the mournful look in the Duke's eyes. She wondered if she should confess to her husband her feelings for the Duke. The sincere tones of his voice when he had professed his love of honesty tormented her. The only thing she could do to honor him would be to show her heart to him, yet she would not.

Her husband would carry her away if he knew of her love of the Duke? Away from the court, the Chevalier, the Marechal, the Princess Mary, the Duke. But she did not want to leave, and sit in a country manor, and speak of the court like her mother. She did not want to raise bitter daughters for unhappy marriages to men who deserved better. She wondered what all her lovers would do with her gone? Seek one another out for comfort? Compose poems about her? It's likely they would forget her and love someone else.

The Chevalier in his hidden corner found the Cleves lovemaking dull. There wasn't the thrill of seeing a secret moment, no fear of getting caught. The Prince would likely stop to chat with him on the way back to his chambers. Bored, the Chevalier focused on catching what glimpses he could of the Prince's body. His thin pale buttocks, the ridges marching down his spine, his hair curling over his neck, the Chevalier memorized these things.

The Chevalier thought he had been in love with the Rosalind, but now he realized it was her coldness that he loved. His feelings for the Prince frightened him. He wished for the Prince to tangle his fingers in the Chevalier's hair like he did in Rosalind's. He pitied her for being unable to love such an excellent man; otherwise, he would have burned with jealousy. If there was a way to steal the Prince from her, he would be the happiest man alive.

When he watched the Prince's face closely, the Chevalier understood he was considered a confident and playmate, nothing more. He had taken to kissing the Prince when they met, but the Prince shirked away when the Chevalier reached for his sex. Sometimes he would allow the Chevalier to touch his anus and testicles, and the Chevalier licked his neck and ears as he caressed him.

The Prince opened the door, surprise on his face at seeing the Chevalier seated on the floor, leaning against the wall. The Prince motioned for the Chevalier to follow him back to his chambers.

They sat next to one another on the bed. "Is there something troubling you Chevalier?" the Prince asked.

The Chevalier reached out to take the Prince's hand. "I will be honest with you Prince, I prefer spying on people who are not aware of my presence." As the Chevalier spoke, the Prince idly played with his hand. "Would you be cross with me if I said I found my love for your wife fading?"

The Prince laughed. "What a queer thing to say." When the Chevalier frowned the Prince squeezed his hand. "Do not look so morose. Don't you find it strange sometimes, our friendship?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we became friends again because I caught sinning by yourself in a room one day, and our friendship grew because we were both in love with my wife," the Prince said.

"I guess I don't really think about it," the Chevalier replied blushing. More often than not his thoughts were preoccupied with the Prince. He sighed, and leaned his head on the Prince's chest.

"I do consider you a close friend, and that will not change if you no longer wish to, ah, play with my wife and I," the Prince said, putting his arm around the Chevalier's shoulder.

The Chevalier turned to the Prince and kissed him. He could feel the Prince's lips curve as he smiled. Wrapping his arms around the Prince, the Chevalier pulled him close, then pushed him back onto the bed. Never before had they been alone together like this. They were either furtively playing with one another at court, or with the Princess.

The Prince was pleasantly surprised to find how much he enjoyed the adoration of the Chevalier. Although they had not known one another for long, he found it hard to picture life at court without him. Several times a week, the Chevalier would take the Prince with him to go spy. At first, the Chevalier only showed him lovers. After a while, he began sharing with the Prince his favorite things to spy on. He loved to watch ladies primp, and eat, and play cards. He liked seeing the men dress after a tennis match and write letters. He told the Prince he once he saw a man burning a whole casket full of letters; it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. He had never been so lucky as to witness such an event again, and he was very sorry the Prince and he had not been friends then.

The Prince was not excited by these scenes, but he did find his blood warmed by the Chevalier's excitement. He would find it hard to describe his emotions for the Chevalier. He rubbed his groin against the Prince's body. The Prince pulled up the Chevalier's shirt to caress his back, and the Chevalier shuddered. He became wild: the Prince was frightened as the Chevalier ripped his chemise apart and began to bite at his shoulder and neck.

If the Prince did not send the Chevalier away, he would compromise himself in some way. No, as the Chevalier ground himself against the Prince's hip, he knew the manner in which he would yield. He would let the Chevalier take him, if only to know what it was like to be loved.

Reaching up, the Prince laced one hand into the Chevalier's hair, and with the other gripped his ass, urging the Chevalier on. The Chevalier undid the Prince's breeches, his mouth working down the Prince's chest, pinching the flesh between his teeth. Underneath him the Prince writhed, twitching as the Chevalier nipped his skin. The Chevalier stroked his thighs, regarding his sex, unsure of what to do. He could see the Prince's phallus jerking as he stared at it. With his tongue, he touched the tip of the Prince's sex, just above the ridge that ran along the underside. Looking up, he could see the Prince staring at him with a tender warmth lighting his blue eyes. The Chevalier shuddered as the Prince reached down to touch his face. He took the head of the Prince's sex into his mouth, suckling it.

The Prince's breath jerked in and out of him. It was worse the he feared; there was a pleasure that surpassed the simple venal joys of being touched. The Chevalier continued to use his mouth to explore the Prince's sex, placing his teeth on either side of the ridge and running them up and down, caressing the Prince's anus and testicles as he ran his tongue around the crown of his phallus. The Prince took his shoulders and pulled him up to join their lips. The Chevalier discarded his clothes, the Prince clinging to him as he undressed.