French Whore

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." he swallows a long pull of whiskey and answers hoarsely.

"What have you done, child?" His lips are numb from the whiskey. Kneeling there with her hair down and her nude body wrapped in crimson silk makes her look more a pagan priestess than a confessing Christian harlot. The profanity inflames him.

"I've had carnal pleasure from another woman." his throat and his cock tighten together when she utters the words.

"How many times have you done this?"

"Too many to count." his breath comes short.

"Tell me the first time you were with a woman this way, child."

"When I was ten I caught my maid in the stable with one of my father's grooms. Her bodice was loose and he had his hand under her skirt, and I watched them."

"You watched them what?"

"I watched them kiss and rub one another, then the groom was called away. After he left she fixed her bodice and said 'Well, what did you think then, little mistress?"

"and what did you say?"

"I told her she looked a proper whore. That night she slept with me as she always did and when the candles were blown out I told her to kiss me the way she kissed him, with her mouth open."

"And did she?" He's feeling tripped by his own snare, stumbling down a path he doesn't care to see the end of but is helpless to escape. Each confession she makes is like a sharp stone under his foot, and yet he hangs from every word and wants her all the more for every sickening detail.

"She laughed at first, but I just waited. I could hardly see her in the dark, but all of the sudden her hair was tickling my face and I could smell her soap. She opened and closed her mouth against mine and touched her tongue to my lips. I opened my mouth like she did and she pushed her tongue in and rubbed it against mine."

At ten, he'd still blushed furiously when the livestock dropped their cocks to piss, and the only kissing he'd ever done was upon his mother's cheek. How revolting that a whore's true colors would show even before she'd left childhood behind. His next question sounds a little strangled to his own ears.

"When did you begin to do more than kiss, child?"

"When I was thirteen my bedmate began to move and make strange noises beside me one night. I asked her what she was doing and she laughed. 'Don't you know?' she asked me."

"What was she doing?"

"She was rubbing herself with her fingers. Pleasuring herself." The mere fact that women would do such a thing to themselves makes him uncomfortable.

"What did you do then, child?" she laughs at his obvious turmoil and raises to her feet. He moves over only fractionally, leaving a narrow margin of the mattress for her to stretch out on. She manages to hold herself primly away from contact with him, despite the valley his weight creates.

"I kissed her the way I'd learned. She groaned and kissed me back and kept rubbing herself, harder and faster, until she went stiff and shook with climax." he groans and it makes her skin prickle. Emboldened, she goes on.

"I asked her how she did it and she showed me, rubbing her fingers against my little mound through my shift until I sobbed into my pillow." his breath is coming in shuddering gasps now and she only stokes his lust more when she pets his chest soothingly. He's reminded of the maid she brought with her when they were wed, a petite young woman with full breasts who had served his wife for several years before marrying a country squire.

"Was that the same maid you brought when I married you?"

"Mmm. Mary, Mary Collins." She savors it like a fond memory and he feels a pang of jealousy.

"Is that all? Only kissing, only some petting between maids?"

"It was until I went into confinement."

Confinement. When she was carrying their son.

"Then you stopped." she laughs and he flushes to his ears. She is making the most repulsive confessions, absolute filth is flowing from her mouth and all he can think is that he doesn't want it to be over yet, he hopes there's more to tell, and yet every hot coal she piles on his groin is being pulled from the smoldering remains of his faithless marriage.

"As my time neared I had lusty thoughts all the time. My breasts tingled and ached. I was warm and wet and breeding your pup and a bunch of pompous old fools and witchy midwives had you convinced you couldn't come near me." She sighs deeply and goes on softly, "If you had, I felt I could've taken you a dozen times and not been sated."

"We had to abstain... for the health of the baby..." She tuts scornfully and it seems she's rubbing her thighs together almost imperceptibly. Her right hand rests over her womb and her left idly strokes her the silk of her robe over her ribs.

"Nonsense. Peasants share a bed and mount their wives until the very end and god knows they don't lack for children. If it weren't for Mary I'd have gone out of my wits in that stifling chamber." His conscience devils him with flashbacks of her time in confinement, when he'd only had to sit with her for a quarter of an hour before he could be off charming maids with trinkets and tumbling a whore in the back room of a gambling den. His wife seems to have turned inward, and her next statement startles him like a stone thrown through the glass of his thoughts to drop heavily in his gut.

"That was when she started to use her mouth."