Part Three

He paced back and forth in front of the fire. He felt, and, he realized with a short laugh, he must look, exactly like the metaphorical lion in a cage. "What on earth have you gotten yourself into this time, Edrington?" he asked himself. He'd always known enough to trust his instincts, but this time…his balls didn't itch, damn it! How was he to know?

No itch, it was true, but damned if this place didn't unsettle him in a way he found difficult to fathom. He'd been in a woman's bedroom or two, veritable fortresses of femininity, bastioned by silk, velvet and lace, assailed by cannonades of flowers and French perfume; but never had he felt so pricklingly conscious of his masculinity as he did in this place, where the very atmosphere seemed to swirl with a hot, enveloping current of hushed, womanly air. His lower belly felt tight, flush with blood. As he paced, he imagined he could feel his cock swinging, huge and heavy, like a weighted pendulum between his thighs.

The heat was suffocating, the smell of incense overpowering. He avoided looking at the statue of Sainte Sabine, reclining seductively in her softly lit shrine, and he avoided, too, the sight of the tapestry that hung on the wall behind the red velvet couch. At first glance he had taken it for a hunting tableau, but on closer examination it had proved to be something rather different, indeed!

And he tried not to think of Sister Dominique, although it was difficult as she was the cause of his predicament. There must be no place in his thoughts, however, for the vision of the beguiling smile on that sinfully full red mouth, or for the long and lushly appointed body that moved with such profane grace beneath the irreproachable habit of a nun.

She was so plainly accustomed to command, so confident in her gentle but incontestable manipulations. She would hold a man in the palm of her hand, but such a woman, he thought he knew, held in her innermost heart a potent, secret desire to be in turn commanded, to relinquish her power and be sweetly subsumed. Oh, she would fight, she would deny, but how she ached to surrender to the man who could match her! She would never confess it, she would die before she would say the words, but in the dark and traitorous depth of her soul she craved a firm hand, and wouldn't he just love to be the one to give it to her…

Gad, the heat!

Exasperated, he removed his crossbelt and coat and laid it over a chair. Then, for no real reason he could think of, he picked up his sword and scabbard, slung the crossbelt over his shoulder, and replaced the scabbard in its sling. Resuming his pacing, he gripped the hilt of the light cavalry sword, absently sliding it, a few inches at a time, in and out of the sheath. "Damn the woman!" he cursed, ramming it home one last time. He stopped in front of the marble table and poured himself another massive goblet of golden wine from the earthen carafe. The wine was at least cool. He tilted back his head and drank deeply.

The fire crackled and hissed and radiated its relentless heat. Lowering the goblet, he tossed the last of the wine on the flames, which flared menacingly for an instant. Seizing the carafe, he dumped the entire contents on the blaze, and finally managed to douse it back to a sputter and a sigh and…

A whisper?

He whirled at the sound. The room was empty, windowless, locked. He listened, and heard nothing. He began to walk again and stopped suddenly. It was unmistakable. He looked to the tapestry where it hung on the wall. Was he imagining things, or did it seem to move slightly, as if riffled by a slight breeze? There was not a breath of air in the close little room. He took a step towards the couch. His sword clanked, and he heard it again, a soft whisper. Moving to one side of the couche, he bent and moved the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall. The whispering stopped.

Looking down he saw, just below the heavily embroidered hem of the tapestry, a full score of perfect little naked toes, prettily pink, that were attached to a foursome of dainty little feet, which were in turn connected to two sets of exquisitely turned, slim white ankles.

He couldn't help but smirk. There was no whispering now, only perfect—breathless--silence. He waited patiently.

The sound that came at last was a bit like the sound of air being forced out of the clamped opening of an inflated sheep's bladder, a rude, obnoxious noise that had amused him and his brother Hector no end as boys when they would let rip in the schoolroom, never failing to startle the spectacles off the nose of their dozing tutor. Poor old Higginbotham. Sometimes they would tie one off and leave it on his chair so when he sat down—ha ha! It was worth a few strokes of the cane to see the expression on his face! But then, the fond old boy never would put his back into it.

A moment later the jig was up completely as the toes began to wriggle and the tapestry to undulate and the silence was at last irreparably shattered by peals of helpless, girlish giggles.
 
Calmly, Edrington reached up, seized one edge of the hanging, and with a single, firm yank, brought it down in a heap.

Stanley had said they were two of the prettiest girls he had ever seen and Edrington could almost agree, only, he wondered if one might make the argument that the phrase should be "two of the prettiest girl", for while it was true there were two, and they were pretty indeed, pretty and fresh as a flower still tight in the bud, pretty and pure as new snow in a churchyard, yet still there was only a single image, repeated in perfect duplication, like the stamp of a coin.

Two pair of round blue eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes regarded him with a mixture of mischief and curiosity, and a beautiful brace of surprised rosebud mouths stood open in a silent duet of pink and perfect "o"s.

Edrington could well imagine how abominably hot it must have been, hiding in the close space between the woolen tapestry and the wall, for the short linen shifts the girls wore (had they just come from their beds?) were drenched in the dew of their succulent little persons, leaving the already flimsy fabric in an all but transparent state, and clinging in a most agreeable fashion to taut, round little bellies and plump, shapely thighs. Very little, indeed, was left to be imagined, but he could do it easily enough, deciding that beneath the cascades of silky dark hair that flowed in tight, shining ripples---like a horse's mane with the plaits unbound after a hunt---were concealed a bounty of bosoms as well-fleshed and tasty as the rest of the bird.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselles," Edrington said, cocking an eyebrow, and then bowing slightly at the waist.

"Mons-" one of the two dipped in a short curtsy, and then elbowed by her sister, they both burst into a fresh start of giggles before she could get out the rest of the word.

"Don't, Jussie!" she, in turn, scolded the other, and nudged her back. Struggling to compose herself, she regarded him with wide blue eyes and barely maintained solemnity.

"Pardon, Monsieur. You will forgive, sil vous plait?"

The three English words were thickly accented and halting. To apply one's skills appropriately when and if they are needed was a rule he lived by. It served no purpose to disclose the full extent of one's arsenal at the outset and it had come in useful and amusing on the tedious voyage for the French to think him insensible to their conversation, but now Edrington saw no need for reservation, and so responded in fluent French.

"Forgive, mademoiselle?" he inquired silkily. "I am a stranger here, so you must tell me, is it true in France, as it is in England, that it is bad manners to spy on a guest?"

"Oui, monsieur," demurred the first girl, whom Edrington deduced must be Juliette, for she had called the other "Jussie", which could only be short for Justine. She lowered her eyes in most charming contrition, "It is bad to spy, but—"

"We were not spying, monsieur!" cried Justine.

"Jussie, don't tell lies, naughty girl!" admonished Juliette. "The gentleman is going to spank you!"

Justine's eyes opened even wider. "Oh! He isn't!"

"Oh, yes he is!" insisted Juliette, tossing her dark mane and throwing a look at Edrington that sent an instantaneous rush of blood to his nether regions. Lord! What was it about this place? He felt he could no more control his responses than he could stop his hair from growing. At the thought his scalp began to prickle and he itched to tear at the black ribbon of his tightly bound queue and give his head a good, hard shake.

"Mademoiselles—" he began, and hearing his voice, found it oddly tight. He started to clear his throat.

"He is going to spank you, for you are a bad, bad girl! That is why he has come!" Juliette went on tormenting her sister, and it seemed to Edrington she was warming quite happily to the task. "We were wicked to go down the hill and tease the poor soldiers, and now we are going to be punished!"

"Pooh!" scoffed Justine, giving Juliette a good shove. "He can spank you! I want Lieutenant Stanley to spank me! Lieutenant Stanley is lovely."  she said, turning to Edrington and fixing him with her wide, cerulean gaze. "Lieutenant Stanley brought me home on the front of his saddle and his big cock was poking my bum the whole way! It was so nice, I wished he would put it right up inside me!"

She concluded this speech, which he found to be quite remarkable in his experience, by bowing her head and saying rather solemnly, "But that place is only for husbands, monsieur." Then, brightening considerably with sudden inspiration, she added. "Julie! I am going to marry Lieutenant Stanley!"

Lucky Stanley, thought Edrington, amused in spite of the utterly bizarre and decidedly unsettling reality of his situation. Even more bizarre was the conversation which then ensued, seemingly without regard for his presence, and which he found himself, for a number of reasons, entirely unable to interrupt.

"Well, it is true you should not let him fuck you until you are married," Juliette agreed, nodding her head. "But that is only because you might have a child."

"But he could put his fingers in there," said Justine.

"Yes, that would be lovely," opined Juliette.

"Yes, lovely, and I will be so slippery and wet, because I love him so much, and he can rub my little button and give me the most delicious feeling!"

"Or…" Juliette reached for her sister's hand and gazed into her eyes. "He can go between your legs and lick you with his tongue!"

"Oooh!" squealed Justine. "Lieutenant Stanley! That would be so nice! But won't it make him want to put it in me all the more? What must I do?"

Juliette giggled. "Put it in your mouth, or course! It will be delicious, like a big, fat, sweet boudin! And if you are very, very good, he will squirt you full of cream!"

"Or…" Justine lowered her voice a bit, and Edrington thought he saw her eyes flick for a moment to his. "He might---"

"If he knows how—" continued Juliette.

"And he is very, very careful---" went on Justine, warningly.

"And only after he's caressed it and caressed it—"

Justine shook her head, "It might not feel very nice at first. It doesn't really belong there, you know--"

Edrington couldn't bear it. "Young ladies!" he interjected at last. "Sister Dominique will be returning shortly, I am sure. She has gone to fetch you, and when she finds that you are here, I shall tell her that you have apologized most sincerely for your trespass and have been forgiven. In fact, I shall tell her most truthfully how well I have enjoyed your charming company." He meant to smile, but by God, he'd never felt so tightly wound! He was certain it looked more like a pained grimace.

 He strode to the door hoping against hope that he had been mistaken when he'd first tried the latch. No. It was still locked. And just where was the abbess?

"And I most certainly have no intention of spanking anyone!" he declared firmly.

"Oh, but monsieur is angry!" cried Juliette, crossing the floor and falling to her knees before him. A trifle over-dramatic, he thought, as she gazed up at him with stricken blue eyes. He could see right down the front of her shift, as well, and saw that they were a pretty pair of birds indeed, perhaps even more so than he had imagined, snow-white and luscious and ripe as soft pears.

"We are bad, monsieur!" Justine ran to join her sister. "We are such wicked, naughty girls! Tell him, Julie!"

"Bad! Oh yes!" Juliette nodded vigorously. "We cheat in our lessons!" she declared. "And we steal sweets!"

"We pick our noses, monsieur! We are nasty, dirty girls! We run away all the time, and we make up stories, and we tease the cats and we, we---"

"We play with ourselves, monsieur!" giggled Juliette, falling against her sister, who began to giggle as well.

"Silly! There's nothing wrong with that!" Justine said breathlessly. "Sainte Sabine has taught us—"

"Stop!" Edrington roared, rediscovering at last the voice of command. "For God's sake, go and sit down and be quiet, both of you!"

The twins were sitting on their knees, side by side, kneeling before him on the hard stone floor. They looked at each other.

"He is angry," said one. He'd lost track of which was which, and it could hardly matter.

"I think he does want to spank us now," said the other.

"I think he wants to fuck us! Look!" the first covered her mouth and pointed.

"Jesus!" Edrington swore, quickly turning his back on them and damning his inconvenient flesh. No sooner had he turned when he felt a tug on his crossbelt and realized that his sword was being pulled from the scabbard. At the same time, his head jerked back as someone yanked at his queue, and he felt the ribbon come away, freeing his unruly blonde locks. He whirled, a split second too late to seize the thief who scampered away with his sword. The long, shining blade flashed in the light of the wall sconces as she danced away from him, twirling and spinning it over her head.

"Give that to me, you little monster!" he ordered. "That is not a toy! You'll bloody kill yourself!" And that would be all I need he thought ruefully. Court-martialed and accused of running through a baby nun.

"Come and get it, monsieur!" the girl squealed, and he decided it must be Juliette, She seemed to be the bolder of the two. Again, the absurdity of the events of this night impressed themselves upon his brain, but he was caught up, as one was caught up in the stream of battle, and there was nothing to be done but fight through it, fight to reach the other side.

It should be a simple matter to catch a girl in a tiny, locked room. Heaven knew, he'd done it before, but always before, he had to admit, they really had wished to be caught. The two of them were dancing round him now, giggling, their silvery laughter echoing off the walls and the high, vaulted ceiling. Juliette brandishing the sword, and Justine, spinning, the long, black ribbon of his queue trailing from her fingers like a maypole streamer.

He lunged for Juliette, who slipped from his grasp as easily as a greased shoat at a village fair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Justine dance behind the velvet couch, and he saw her reach up with her hand and smack a place on the wall that had been hidden behind the tapestry.

Juliette ran to the corner, where St. Sabine reclined in her shrine, pleasuring herself obliviously while madness whirled around her. The candles flickered frantically in the disturbed air as Edrington rushed at the girl and she shrieked, ducking beneath his arm and racing toward the opposite wall. There was a heavy, grating noise, and suddenly Edrington stopped. He felt a rush of cool air lifting his unbound hair, chill on the skin of his sweating forehead. He looked and saw an opening in the wall where the tapestry had been. The outline of the doorway was uneven, so when closed, the edges of the secret doorway would appear as merely spaces between the stones of the wall.

"Come, Julie!" Justine was already through the doorway, and in an instant Juliette was behind her, and Edrington followed. By the time he was through they had vanished around the first turn of a steep, spiral staircase. He could hear them racing ahead, their bare feet slapping softly on the stones, their giggles floating down to taunt him.

"Fuck!" he swore, and started after them. "Fuck! Ah! Fuck!" he slipped on a narrow stair and fell, painfully banging his shin on the edge of stone, sharp even through the leather of his high boots.

Getting to his feet he pressed on, taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear them running ahead, panting, too breathless now to giggle, and once or twice he caught a flash of white as a wisp of hem disappeared around a turn.

"So help me, when I catch the little minxes—" he grinned to himself, thinking, at this moment, he would very much like to give them exactly what they seemed to be asking for.

The staircase ended abruptly, and at last, and he emerged through a low, arched doorway that opened onto a dimly lit corridor, and looking left he saw two little white shapes scurrying away, vanishing into the gloom. He sped down the corridor as fast as his long, thoroughbred legs would carry him, his booted footfalls echoing loudly as he ran, and he wondered where all the rest of the nuns might be, as no one seemed to have been alerted to the commotion. He ran, and he closed quickly on the twins, who squealed merrily as they squirted from his grasp, and he saw the tip of his sword strike the stones, sending up a little spray of bright sparks. They shot through another low, wooden door, which they tried to close behind them, but he threw his weight against it and it flew open, crashing into the wall behind it.

The room was a bedchamber. A high, wide bed in the center hung all about with diaphanous, white fabric took up a goodly portion of the space. A small fire burned, and numerous candles were massed on a deep stone sill, giving a soft light that diffused through the filmy white, giving the effect of walking inside of a cloud.

Juliette crouched in the middle of the bed, clutching the hilt of the sword to her heaving breast. She grinned at him, her cheeks flush with exertion.

"Now, enough of this nonsense," Edrington said sternly. "Give me my sword. I do not wish for you to hurt yourself."

"Come and take it, monsieur," she said sweetly, holding it out to him. But just as he stepped forward she turned and threw herself face down upon the bed, the sword beneath her body.

"Why, you little---!" he growled, and began to clamber onto the bed. Her shift was hitched up to the tops of her smooth, white thighs, and a bit of the fabric was caught between the temptingly round, high cheeks of her bum. Her head was turned to one side, and he could see her teasing little half-smile, the gleam of excitement in her eye. He sighed. Very well, very well, little one, he thought to himself. Shall I play your little game then?

"Juliette," he said gently, placing one hand in the small of her back, pressing her down into the softness of the mattress. "I would like you to give me my sword. I do not want to have to take it from you. I will ask you once more. Will you be a good girl and give it to me?"

He looked for a moment to Justine, who stood at the corner of the bed, her hands behind her back, watching, breathless too, it seemed, with excitement.

"Juliette?" he spoke again, quietly, reasonably, and slowly he pushed his knee against her side, and he felt her yield, almost imperceptibly, allowing his knee to slide beneath her body, raising her hips, and causing the shift to climb a little higher, revealing now just the beginning of the bottom curve of those, firm, white cheeks. The velvet thighs were slightly parted, affording a shadowy view of her dark, softly furred cleft.

"Monsieur?" she answered him, her breaths coming quick and shallow.

"You know what I ask," he said, and keeping one hand in the middle of her back, with the other he took hold of the hem of her shift, and began, slowly, slowly, to raise it still higher.

"Will you give me my sword?" he asked again.

"No, monsieur, I will not!" she said defiantly, raising her head to look at him. Her dark hair spilled across her shoulders and onto the white bed linens.

"I think you will," he said at last. She did not resist him as he pulled her onto his knees. Her body was pliant and warm across his thighs. The sword was, in fact, no longer in her grasp. He could feel the blade flexing beneath his shins, pressing into the mattress, where it could do no harm.

Her bare bum quivered as he ran a hand over it, and she could not help but clench her cheeks a bit in anticipation of what she must surely believe was coming. What a perfect, splendid bum it was, too, Edrington thought, as he took the pleasure of examining it. He leant forward, letting the curling ends of his long, blonde hair tickle the sensitive skin. Twin globes, perfectly curved, and as firm and smooth and white as the flesh of a boiled egg. Frankly, he'd as soon bite it as spank it, it looked so very tasty. But spank it he believed he would. This is madness, he thought for a moment, exquisite, impossible madness.

"Ooh!" exclaimed Juliette, as hard flesh met yielding, once, twice, three times in measured succession. He meant only to smack her softly, and yet she seemed so surprised. She arched her back and her head flew up, eyes wide.

"Oh! Oooooh!" He held her gently, one arm over her back, giving her a few more light smacks, and noting how very dainty she must be, for already a pretty pinkness was spreading over the soft, white flesh that bounced and quivered as it received his tender blows, and grew steadily warmer beneath his glancing palm.

"Ow!" she cried desperately, beginning to kick her plump little legs, and he realized he may have laid on a trifle hard, for the resounding smack seemed to reverberate off the walls, and he looked to Justine who caught her breath and stared, her hand across her mouth. Well, its supposed to sting, and she did ask for it, he thought, but still resolved to remain in control, even though his blood was up in a way he'd never quite known before, and he could scarcely imagine how he was going to get rid of the raging erection that he swore would strain his breeches to failure, and that was now pressing urgently into the softness of Juliette's lower belly, which she ground against him each and every time he spanked her.

"Will you give it?" he asked her again.

"No, no, no!" she cried, shaking her head from side to side, clutching handfuls of linen in her tiny fists, and she squealed again as he landed another, middling-firm smack.

"Oh, oh, Julie!" cried Justine suddenly, and Edrington looked up to see her bursting into tears. A second later she had crawled up onto the bed, and only a moment after that, she had hoisted up her own shift and thrown herself across his lap, on top of her sister!

"Spank me, monsieur! I cannot bear it! I cannot let my darling sister suffer alone!" wept Justine, her virgin, as yet un-pinked behind wriggling temptingly before him. Edrington shook his head. They'd never believe it at White's. Then he merely shrugged and smiled.
How many men, after all, would ever have the opportunity to spank a perfectly matched pair of beautiful French nuns? Surely the odds were astronomical. Carpe diem!

He spanked until his arm ached and his palm stung, and both behinds were blushing pink as his Mamma's best China roses. And when he thought he could do no more, he pushed them away from him, like a man pushing himself away from a table, having over indulged in the feast. The blood was pounding in his ears, and in his cock, which was now so rigid and over full as to be nearly numb, and he vowed he could strike it with a blacksmith's hammer and not feel a thing but the pounding blood. The girls sprawled on the rumpled bedclothes, limbs entangled, their creamy cheeks streaked with tears, and he suddenly felt a horrible pang of remorse.

"Oh, my poor poppets," he whispered, and as he moved towards them, they rose, and came so sweetly into his arms, sobbing softly as they climbed into his lap. "Dear little things," he crooned as plump little arms wound themselves around his neck and waist, and soft breasts pressed against him. He felt hot breath in his ear, and he turned his head to kiss the gently parted lips that yielded like soft butter, and he let his tongue slide into the slippery, silky depths. His hand slid between a pair of thighs that opened for him like flower petals in the rain, and his nostrils were flooded with the rich scent of femininity. His fingers slid, like hot water over ice, along the sweet little crack, and he heard a soft sigh as he stroked and stroked it, a breathless gasp as his fingers plunged, as far as he dared to go. He didn't know which one he was kissing, or which one he was stroking, who had her tongue in his ear or who was rubbing herself up and down on his thigh. It was all one lovely, squirming, sighing, soft, warm tangle of silky hair and shifting limbs, and he was utterly lost, and he knew he would never leave here, not ever, no, nor did he care.

"Sir?"

Now who on God's green earth would be calling him "sir" at a time like this? Fingers were twining in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Sir!" There it was again! Well, dammit, if this was a dream, he bloody well wasn't about to wake up now! He fell back onto the mattress, and they fell on top of him, kissing him, caressing, pressing their hot, delicious bodies into his.

"Sir, its me, Stanley!" the voice sounded more than a little panicked. "Sir, what's happened? Are you all right?"

Edrington sat up. The twins tumbled away from him languidly, as befuddled and love-fuzzed as he was.

"Stanley?" Edrington blinked. "What the hell are you doing?"

Out of habit, the young man snapped to attention, his sword in hand. He could scarcely keep his eyes front, however, as the sight of two barely dressed beauties, all a-flush with passion, and his battalion Major, with a hard-on the size of a howitzer, was a thing more unsettling than anything he'd yet to encounter.

"Sir, I came as quickly as I could. Sarn't-Major got back hours ago, and I was worried. It seemed to me there was just something queer about this place. Came up here to see if you needed rescuing. I've got a dozen men outside---" His pale eyes flicked from the girls, to Edrington's crotch, to the bed hangings, and a flicker of a smile crossed his damnably straight face. "Devil of a time finding you, sir!"

"Ahem," Edrington shook his head and cleared his throat, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Standing, he picked up his sword and sheathed it smartly.

"Where is the abbess?" he asked.

"Don't know. Sir. I never saw her. Just busted my way in here, and tried to find you." Suddenly the boy looked downcast. "It probably wasn't the cleverest thing to do, was it, sir?"

Edrington came forward, slightly bent at the waist, and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Stanley," he said. "Take over for me here, would you?"

"Oh! My Lieutenant Stanley!" exclaimed Justine, coming off the bed and flying into his arms.

"Yes, sir!" Stanley stammered, dropping his sword as the girl wrapped herself around him like the colours around a flagpole.  "Thank you, sir! But…where are you going now, sir?"

"I have a last bit of business to see to," Edrington said, running a hand through his lion's mane. He smiled at the boy. "Enjoy yourself, Stanley! But not a word to the men, is that understood?"

Stanley nodded solemnly.

"We are officers. Greater responsibility, greater reward, eh?"

"Yes, sir!" Stanley tried to keep his eyes on the Major as one girl unbuttoned his coat and one was dragging him by the hand over to the bed.

Edrington passed through the doorway, his hand on the heavy, wooden door, about to close it behind him. "Oh, and Stanley?"

"Sir?" came a muffled voice from beneath the pig pile of squirming bodies.

"Congratulations," Edrington said, "I hear you are to be married!"

Go to Part Four