Count Rochefort Ch 2

Rochefort cradled her head on his chest, stroking the lemony curls of his angel's hair. Her fingers were absent, brushing along his nipples and the light muscle of the stomach. The stimulation made him hard instantly. Rochefort had learned long ago to supress his amazement for this little girl's ability to arouse him, even so quickly after the orgasm he'd experienced by being allowed to taste her again. Rochefort laughed quietly to himself and kissed the top of her forehead, smiling as she lifted her visage to him.

"Are you worried, MiLord?"

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, marring without destruction the gentle smile that had formed, " no, kitten. What reason do you have to think I would be worried?"

She blushed, confessing, " I am only wondering why you need to leave so quickly tonight."

"I am not leaving you, Constance. Why are you saying this?"

Admittedly, she looked a bit more than slightly impatient with him. "You kissed me. You always kiss my forehead before you leave."

"That is not true," he scowled.

Constance sat up slightly, only half- bothering to remember the sheet to cover her breasts, "yes, it is. You will kiss my forehead, say goodnight, and leave me, won't you?"

"No. Why would I ever do such a thing to you?"

"It is how it has always gone!"

She seemed so damned certain of it. Rochefort realized by her passion that Constance was saying something she'd been meaning to say for quite a long time. He was angered by her bitterness, but it was all anger at himself, " would you like it better if I slept here, you hot little bitch? Then your Lords and Ladies might know how you truly spend your nights."

Constance's eyes flooded with tears even as she screamed out, " you wouldn't know what I wanted from you if I wrote it all over my body! I would ask you to stay with me if there was any thought in my head that you would honor it!"

They were both sitting up in bed now, both unclothed and in such a raised mood that they were completely unashamed of it. " Why should I not?"

Her face was suffused with blushes, her voice shaking and passioned as she spilt out the one secret she had kept from him, the worry that had invaded her head since the first night. She stood up on the bed, her body miraculously beautiful and powerful above him, and the voice coming from her strained with tears and fury as she shrieked, " because it would keep you from your other whores!"

Rochefort went blind with anger. With a growl and a clenched fist he wrapped his arms around Constance's voluptuous form and dragged her back down to the mattress. A quick shake had her sprawled out across his bare lap, on her stomach, quite helpless.

Constance went still immediately; her thoughts flew wildly in her head. She had gone too far to yell at him. She had spoken of things that were none of her business, and he would punish her by beating her.

"I've spoiled you, " Rochefort growled.

"No... MiLord, please, " Constance's pleas were muffled by a swiftly placed pillow under her head. It left her much more comfortable than she had been, and in truth her cries might have died down from that gesture alone. She never wanted to believe that her lover would hurt her. Every scrap of affection she found in those moments relieved her fear.

Rochefort was still speaking: " You have no ideas the way of love, little girl. It is only to be expected. You are my punishment, you wicked thing."

"What do you mean?"

Rochefort's voice was filled with anger. She could tell that he was straining not to take his hand to her at least a little. But, beneath that, there was another emotion. There was a play, a slight laugh in all his words that poor Constance didn't understand until minutes later. He was not truly angry with her, but was playing a part. " I mean, my little one, that I have made you far too used to the gift I give you with my mouth. You've grown cool from it, I've known this for some time now. It must be fixed."

"MiLord, what are you going to do?! " Constance tried to struggle, but found his hand in the center of her back, pinning her really rather effectively.

"I am going to make you see. You selfish girl, you really believe that I would keep other women and still give you such generous attention? I suppose you would like it if I treated you the way I treated the whores I knew before you? " he sneered, " very well, My Lady. You shall feel it."

Rochefort's hand, which had been lain comfortably on Constance's round bottom, slipped uncerimoniously down the cleft of the twin globes of flesh. He pressed his fingers against the tight little arpeture of her ass, then stroked with greater care the warm alcove that lay below it. His fingers slipped into her easily, aided by the honey that flowed from such simple stimulation, and he handled her almost roughly, pressing into her walls and impatiently threatening the barrier hymen.

He took his time with her, plundering Constance's treasures in ways she had never even imagined. Rochefort was being so rough, so brutal, but he did not once cause her even a moment of pain. Each little stroke was given perfectly so that she could feel fear that it might hurt, but then be pleased in a most thorough way.

"Do you like that? " he whispered, still rubbing. Constance did all she could to keep from crying out in urgency, but he finally drew the sound from her by pressing his fingers against her clitoris. She meiowed out a helpless affermation, nonsyllabic and short, which she was punished for with a pinch to her sweet bottom.

"Tell me."

Constance's whole body shook when he touched her like that. This feeling, this frighteningly potent desire that coursed through her now was something she'd never experienced... No. She had experienced it. This was the same apprehension mixed with need, the same terrible sexual want that he had made her feel that first night. That night she had known, just as she knew now, that he would show her things she had never dreamed.

"Yes, " she panted, " I like it. I like it."

Rochefort's free hand found hers, and gripped it tightly as he grew still more forceful in his dance. He knew just how to bleed an orgasm from her, no matter how unwilling she was, and he performed this talent with vigor. He clutched her hand as she came, giving her the contact, the tenderness she needed to keep from feeling helpless afterward, and when it was finally over, Rochefort stroked her back and her sides gently. He waited like this, with only minimal affection showing, until he felt that her breathing had died down. In an instant, he had Constance sitting on his lap, her legs thrown around his waist. His erection was arrogantly pressed to her, throbbing against her belly.

"What are you going to do to me? " Constance's voice came out on a gasp. She was in a deep state of pleasure, there was no questioning it, but she was terrified.

"I'm going to love you, " he whispered, " the way you should be loved; as a woman, taken by a man."

She squirmed without reserve, mewing, " no. Stop it, Lord, please. I'm sorry for what I said, I take it back."

"This isn't a punishment, my love, " his voice was growing quieter now. The last word was nothing but a strained breath, that she could have mistaken it for one which carried less guarantee with it.

Rochefort bent his head and tasted the swell of her breast, " I need you, Constance. I need you so badly.... Let me have you, " he whispered. The words came as though he were embarassed, as though the admission of such tenderness would shatter his frightful appearance.

Constance's voice was as delicate as a bird's, as shrill and passionate. She whispered out the permission, a confession of her own desire for this consummation, " I have been yours, since that first night I have been yours, you know it."

Rochefort's fingers led her own to his shaft, encircled her timid hand around him, " I don't want to hurt you."

She stared up at him, her eyes hard and determined, " I want you to hurt me. Do it, my Lord, please. Do it."

He eased her down to the bed so that she was laying on her back. Constance's gilt hair lay over the blankets in a thousand curly strands, all glowing strong as moonlight, and this halo lit her face and showed off the blush that his attention created. Rochefort kissed her throat, licking and nibbling the deliciousness there. He kissed her this way while his hand made her feverish for the third time in such short succession, and he did not stop until she began to get restless, until her own palm found his erection again and gripped it to show him that she was ready. He guided himself into her with his hand, slowly, gently, and stopped when he felt the barrier against him. Rochefort was panting, moaning with the enormous pleasure that had teased, had eluded him for a month now. She was almost screaming.

"Do you... " Rochefort was stopped in mid-sentence. Constance touched her finger to his lips to silence him, then replaced the finger with her own mouth, and kissed him with such genuine love, such absolute tenderness that it left him harder and more desperate than before.

"Don't stop, My Lord... I beg you, don't. I want you to have me. I want you to own me."

"Just as you own me, " he whispered. His body moved forward, piercing the hymen and rushing to fill her tiny body in the way that it was meant to be filled. Constance shrieked in pain, begged for his embrace- which was given in an instant- and wept out a curse before she was still, before he could be invited to begin thrusting inside her.

"Why does it hurt? " she asked. The question was that of a child's. Rochefort felt, at that moment, the most overpowering sense of a father taking care of his baby. And she was, in many ways as innocent as a child just now, as ignorant and naieve.

He stroked her hair and kissed her nose, " it won't soon, My Lady. It won't soon."

"Promise me, " she begged.

"I swear on my life, sweet Princess."

Rochefort held Constance in his arms and slowly, ever so very slowly and gently, and with so much care it startled her, he began to lift her torso up. She held onto his neck, her head buried against his shoulder as he continued to pull her, and finally had her again in the position of sitting on his lap, and facing him, her legs around his. Rochefort began to let her slip, and his cock slid deep into her, all the way inside her. He held tight, hushing her cooes of pain and pleasure with potent words of love. He told her the truth that he had felt for so long; that he was drunk with the sight of her, that she was the most beautiful and the most charming woman he had ever known. His words alone added to the blushes his penetration caused, and soon, without even moving, Constance was on the verge of an orgasm.

Rochefort stroked her clitoris until he felt her shuddering. The pressure on his cock was too much to ignore any longer. As she was still convulsing, still crying out like a dove from his gift, he lay her back onto the mattress, propped his weight away from her and began to stroke in and out, to thump inside her with a sure, strong rhythm. Her hands, her fingers were on his chest, scratching and touching. They moved to his thighs, his back, and she caressed him as if she were in rapture from the touch of him, she was so in love with this body, nearly as much as she was with the soul inside it. He fused his mouth to hers, and still while he was fucking he began to tickle her clitoris again, unmerciful until the very end. She shrieked, feeling another orgasm wash over her, but the pleasure of his cock and his fingers and his tongue wasn't stopping. She scratched him in delicious agony, whimpering into his lips incoherently and recieving more, always more for her action.

Rochefort roared like a lion when he finally came inside her, his spine arching as the great beast wounded with an arrow. It was as if this one orgasm carried with it the force of all the others that he had experienced without ever touching her in this way. It seemed to last for full minutes, long, drawn out minutes of release. When he was finally spent, when the tremors were dying, he slowly moved out of the body of his lover and lay next to her, with one hand on her breast. His fingers brushed against the soft flesh, dewed with heat and throbbing still from her pleasures, and she winced against him in some helpless try to free herself of the blanket of desire.

"Constance, " he whispered. The sound bled into her ears, a thick, passionate whisper of a name that seemed so inappropriate now. She felt so big, so voluptuous- so unlike the girl she had been before, the girl with that name. The word lusty flitted into her brain. The negative connotation it had been spoken with when she first heard it was gone. She liked this word. Lusty. It was how she felt. Constance ran her hands to her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, her tiny waist and full hips. In a delicious moment of selfishness she imagined herself a lion, and the word seemed to tack itself onto that image. Lusty. She was lusty, capable of making a man a slave while still feeling the wonderful feeling of femininity, of helplesness.

He gazed at her as if he were trapped in some elysian dream. The silly, delicate smile on his face made her giggle, " you are so very handsome, My Lord."

Rochefort turned her sweet face to his and kissed her, " you steal my words as swiftly as my breath, you most beautiful of Pixies. How can I ever give a compliment that would be deserving of describing how you've enchanted me?"

Constance smiled, blushed, closed her eyes. She felt a kiss on her lips that made her want to moan. When she opened her eyes, Rochefort was much closer- was hugging her, actually, and his head was snuggled in the pillow of her hair.

"My Lord?"

"My Princess, " he teased.

"Did I please you?"

He gazed into the bright green eyes before him, filled with as much apprehension and curiosity, as much innocence as they had been the day he first showed her of his desire, " yes, little one. You pleased me."

That was all that could be said. Rochefort was too gruff, too sure of himself to go into the flowery words that he felt in his heart. Horror of horrors, when he looked in this little girl's face he convinced himself night after night that she did not feel for him the love that he barely admitted feeling for her. He made himself believe that she took him only for the pleasure, for she had never asked to please him back, as any warm-blooded woman in love would have done.

"Why did you wait so long, Jeami? " she held him tighter now. " Is it because you don't... I mean, I could understand if..."

"Constance, " he whispered kindly, " say it. You sweet angel, stop trying to be polite and just say it."

"Did you wait because you do not find me beautiful enough?"

He kissed her nose, " only a woman could be so confusing. I have loved you, haven't I? And you, my little one, are very beautiful."

"Then why did you wait?"

Rochefort realized the confusing nature of his own situation as he tried to explain himself correctly, " I was under the impression that the advances were unwanted."

"Oh, goodness. I didn't make you think that, did I? How?"

A sheepish smile added to the silliness, " you have never shown me that you are willing for it."

"I haven't?"

"Not in any action, Constance."

"But.... " she murmured now, blushing, " I thought that when a man can make a woman... well, when he can excite her, that it is a sign of her wanting him."

"Why have you never tried to reciprocate my affections?"

"What do you mean?"

It was becoming clearer now. " A woman can love a man with her mouth, as I have done, Constance. Don't you know that?"

"Oh, my... " she blushed, " no, Jeami... I didn't. Oh, my."

He kissed her in an immediate apology, trying to stifle the frustrated laugh, " oh, princess..."

"I'm sorry. Oh, Jeami, I'm sorry... I didn't know."

"It's all right, Constance, it's all right. Don't be sorry over it."

"I feel so selfish."

"Not even for a moment."

"How on earth does a woman do it, though? Men don't look anything as women do."

Rochefort held her hand in his for a long moment before he brought it down to his abdomen. He formed Constance's fingers again around his shaft, and let her feel how the touch made his flesh warm and swollen, " feel the shape of me."

"Goodness... " she was awed.

"All a woman must do is place her mouth around it as she would a finger, " and now his thumb brushed the bow of her lower lip, and she kissed it. He gently pressed her for access, and she opened her mouth a small bit, letting him slip inside to be suckled on,

"do you understand?"

Constance nodded silently. Her eyes were half-shut, and Rochefort couldn't tell if it was from tiredness or desire. Her hand was holding him a bit more tightly.

"Do you like the way that feels?"

This time, she seemed shy as her chin tipped up and down, signalling that she was happy with the feeling. His mouth easily replaced his thumb, and she suckled on his tongue as he offered it to her slowly, " I'm so afraid that I might say something to make you think poorly of me."

"Constance, do you think after I've had my tongue inside you that I might blame you for any desire you admit to me?"

She giggled, " if I asked to do that to you, Jeami, would you go slowly? I'm not sure I know how to do it."

"I will teach you, Princess, " he kissed her softly, " I wish I could say how proud I am to have the chance."

"I cannot think of anyone else that I would want to be with me right now."

"Constance... Contest it if you wish, but I am afraid that at this hour, we should both find sleep."

"You are right."

Another kiss, and he whispered, " you have given me so much tonight, little one. Thank you. Thank you."

"Jeami?"

"Yes, little one?"

"Please do not leave me tonight, " Constance's timid voice flitted to his ears, " I won't bother you, I'll only sleep, I-"

A kiss shut her up so easily, Rochefort mused. He drew his mouth away, licking at her lip as he said, " this is as our first night. Do you remember? I won't leave you, Constance. Not even if you wished it."

They lay back again, cuddled as tightly as possible, all the blankets tucked in around the bodies which touched intimately but with only slight lingering arousal. He kissed her neck, and she his, and their eyes closed at that same moment, each settling slowly into a deeper blanket, a blanket of sleep and peace.

"Constance, " he whispered furtively.

She responded with a sleepy little, " ermph, " of affermation.

"I will move my bed within your room, if it is your wish.... " another kiss and he added, ever so quietly lest she was conscious enough to hear it and react, "I have already given my soul, what could a room matter?"