The carriage rocks gently on the way home. Satisfaction pulses through me, mingled with a twinge of unease. Pure bliss with those two women earlier. Yet I dove into it without hesitation—a stranger and my maid. Elodie dozes on the bench, exhausted. Young, pretty, heads turn for her. Her budding affection troubles me deeply.
The coachman pulls into the stables. Elodie wakes, smiles softly. We descend. The tack room hits me—intense leather scent, gleaming saddles, harnesses, straps. Echoes of what we wore at Madame de Marans’. Dusk falls. As agreed, I deliver the sealed letter to Mother. She’d kill to know its contents. Mother reads, smiles mysteriously, reveals nothing.
The Privilege
Down to the dining room. Elodie serves exquisite dinner—refined flavors, worlds from Brittany’s plain fare. Post-meal, in the small salon, we finally chat. I share Rennes gossip: servant’s wedding, new priest, parties. Mother recounts Paris, Court splendor, high society. Exhaustion weighs my eyelids. Tomorrow, Versailles. Rest, she insists. She leaves me to my chamber.
En route, questions swirl. Mother’s ties to Madame de Marans? Lovers, surely. That package screams intimacy. Madame knows Elodie biblically. Trios their habit?
Soft knock at my door. Elodie. ‘Mistress, I waited.’ ‘Time for bed,’ I protest. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ ‘Be reasonable.’ ‘Don’t you want Madame’s letter to your mother?’ ‘You saw it?’ ‘I took it.’ ‘Where?’ ‘Find it.’ ‘Give it.’ ‘Come take it.’ Her eyes sparkle mischief. Irresistible vixen. I grab her. She giggles, feigns struggle. Pin her on the bed, straddle. Bare her pert breasts. Knead them firm. She sighs victory, eyes shut. Pinch nipples, roll, stretch. She quivers. My tongue invades; we devour, tongues duel, saliva mixes.
‘Where’s the letter?’ ‘Maybe lower.’ Lift her skirts. Hot pussy scent. She’s soaked. Resist diving in. Snag letter from her petticoat belt. Open. Read:
My dearest Friend,
As requested, I welcomed your daughter. Couldn’t resist deeper interview. Delicious. Mistake her innocence? Youthful, tart fruit. Remarkable talents—your sexual gift inherited. Happy to continue her education.
Your Elodie: deliciously wicked. Envy you; keep that pearl. You use her well, no secrets left.
The Excess
Thanks for the gift. Eager to enjoy. Share her?
Your devoted friend.
My stallion at your disposal anytime.
Fold it. Stallion? Not horse. Hung man—husband? Son? Servant?
‘You wonder the stallion?’ Elodie teases. ‘You know?’ ‘Guess.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Soon enough. Horse talk—want a show? Follow.’ She adjusts, leads to stables. Night cloaks us. Leather, hay, horse musk thrills. Tack room. Caresses saddle. ‘Love this. Harnesses, straps, whips—erotic.’ Lifts skirts, mounts saddle. Grinds hips on shiny leather. Breath quickens. Frees breasts, fondles. Silent solo show.
Aroused, I hike skirts, finger my slick slit. Noise outside—voices approach. Elodie hushes, drags to hay pile. Hide. Lantern glow: the hung valet from morning hall, and new woman—Denise, laundress—enter.
Denise: older, blonde chignon, plump curves, pale milky skin, huge white tits, pink nipples. Hands on wall, thighs spread, ass arched invitingly. Valet strips. Cock swells huge. ‘Hurry, your dirty talk soaked me.’ ‘Excited filly?’ ‘Fuck me hard.’ ‘Show.’ She sways hips, spreads pussy lips. ‘Dripping, clit swollen.’ ‘Shameless—punish?’ ‘Yes, harness me.’
