The Marechal Chronicles: Volumes I, II, and III (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)

  The Marechal Chronicles: Volumes I, II, and III

  An Erotic Fantasy Tale

  By Aimélie Aames

  Copyright 2012 Aimélie Aames

  Cover Artwork Copyright 2012 Aimélie Aames

  Table of Contents

  Volume 1, The Path

  Volume 2, The Hunter

  Volume 3, The Prey

  The Marechal Chronicles: Volume 1, The Path

  He twined himself about her, his tongue stretching out to lap at her silky skin.

  "I'm telling you, there is something wrong," she said, as he continued to wind himself around her, golden, liquid, the fire quickening within him.

  "And, I’m telling you, that this is not the moment, darling," he said it smiling, and tried once more to catch her lips within his own.

  Their forms flowed back and forth, two shades of gold, as ephemeral as mist and as light as downy plumes.

  However, his mounting passion began to fill him and his shape took hold, rippling muscles sliding under bronze skin, his frame becoming heavy, where her own remained like that of smoke, nearly without definition.

  "You're not listening to me," she sighed, and as his insistent mouth, warm and moist sought out her own, she acquiesced and felt her own body lifting up out of the golden fire now filling her thoughts.

  His hands found the mounds of her breasts, swelling, the nipples hardening in the grasp of his fingers. He slipped his head down, the light rough of a nearly unshaven chin rasping gently across her belly, his eyes on hers before he dipped down further to let his warm breath fall upon her navel.

  She felt her legs opening and the desire he had awakened within her brought her fully into corporeal form. She lifted herself against him, thrilling at the sensation of her spine holding her body arched and willing for him.

  He moved further down, and brushed ever so lightly her mound with its velvet blond hair, before coming to rest with his mouth against the inside of her thigh. His tongue slipped out and traced its way along first one side, then the other.

  She moaned, trying to master herself, to hold herself still and not be the instrument of his will. But as his breathing deepened and his tongue remounted the swell of her leg, she felt heat between her legs, the delicious, moist ache that he had awakened in her.

  She knew he was playing her as well as any song, becoming his melody as he composed note after note, writing each with the touch of his tongue and hands.

  She forced herself down, her spine protesting, and turned herself around while slipping lower, down past him, only to come back up with her breasts pushing firmly against his back.

  He laughed and then turned himself over as well, their positions reversed, as she slipped lower, working her way down his legs.

  His penis stood rigid and proud, the erection visibly descending down through its roots. She could see the strong beat of his heart in its tumescence as she bent down to the soft skin of his scrotum. She took it ever so gently between her lips, sucking it inward and then pulling back. Releasing him, she could see his testicles turning, lifting back up to their position, readying themselves. She came at him again, this time her mouth wide and took first one, then the other, into her mouth, rolling them with her tongue and delighting in the movement that this engendered.

  Despite himself, his hips had begun to rock forward, the rhythm slow but sure. Once released from her mouth, his sack lifted up once again, this time with a delightful sensation of cool air where the wet of her mouth had been.

  She dipped her head down once more and took his tip between her lips, slipping her tongue across its surface until she found the hole, slick with his mounting desire. She felt him shift under her, knowing that it was probably too much to bear, before she fell down, taking all of him into her mouth.

  The heat of her breath, the fire of her passion, caressed him just as firmly as her tongue as she slipped up and down his shaft. The rhythm increased and he could feel himself beginning to tighten, the muscles within his thighs and those of his anus seizing ever tighter. She felt it, too, and desiring that the moment endure, ceased her ministrations.

  She moved up his body, careful not to touch his member, preferring that the furnace she had ignited within him calm itself.

  She licked his nipple and took it between her teeth, pulling it back, daring him to wince in her bite.

  Then it was his turn to come to her and his mouth found her own, his lips plump, her own full, and together they moved in rhythm, until she could stand it no more and slipped his sex inside her.

  Her velvet heat enveloped him and he gasped with the suddenness of it. She sank down again and again, each time with more force, each time pushing herself hard against him while grinding her pubis before lifting up to come down once again.

  Their hips moved in counterpoint to one another, a staccato clash finding its own rhythm, their breaths shortening and deepening, before he felt the tightening once more deep in his abdomen, while she felt herself opening and opening, the desire to take him deeper into herself driving away all thought.

  She felt it then, the tension that had been building inside lifted up and up, held itself, almost as if all her passion had washed away in that tiny instant, balancing upon a pinnacle, all held in equilibrium, before the thundering avalanche took her, her muscles fluttering deep inside with the electric sting of her clitoris, deliciously painful, pulling itself back.

  He felt her breath catch, the movement of her hips paused for just a moment, and then she groaned deeply, almost guttural in tone, as she flung herself tighter against him, her legs wrapped around him in desperation, the undulation of her orgasm pulling him onward in the riptide of her pleasure.

  He felt himself expand, all of him rock hard and rigid in urgency, his thoughts shrinking down to the pinpoint of the moment, and then the exquisite release came upon him, his body wracked with violent, pumping spasms.

  She felt his climax inside her own, her inner thighs fluttering in response, and the heat of him flowed outward, his cock filling her and filling her. His movements, become animal in nature, instinct and pleasure intermingling in the embrace of her legs, called forth an echo of response and she felt herself tighten once more before falling down the other side of deep muscles thrumming in heat and rhythm and spent passion.

  They lay together, warmth and light encircling them. The bodies of man and woman falling into gold, into copper, as what was solid and human dissolved.

  They returned to their incorporeal states, golden fire twining around each other, bathed in blinding light, at once that of searing heat and of numbing ice.

  "So, you say that something is wrong, my darling...?" he asked.

  "Can you not feel it? The fire feels tainted in some way, as if some of it has gone out of our realm, " she replied, hesitating.

  He waited a moment, searching about him, tasting the flavors of their shared magic.

  "Yes, there is something. And as to that, I can only pose a question...where is your brother?"

  The color of her fire dimmed then, as if she doubted or was ashamed.

  "I don't know. None of us do."

  His voice grew hard then, his flame taking on deep russet tones.

  "That there is a risk of corruption seems clear. It shall be sought out and eliminated," he replied. "Woe to your kin if he is at the heart of this, hiding as he does outside our realm with his little friend. It will avail him naught."

  Her colors fell cold, tinged in blue. Her voice small, she asked, "What shall we do?"

  "We shall do nothing. I, on the other hand, am
calling forth the Evangeline."

  To this she had no reply except to shudder and turn away....

  She leaned close to the rippled glass window pane. There, at the forest's edge, she saw it again, a light that moved back and forth in broad, beckoning motions. Melisse could not imagine how a person might manage to swing a lantern so slowly and so widely. Instead, she watched it, a glowing pendulum of warm, inviting light, golden hued like that of a beeswax candle. Except that the distance was too far to make out a candle. Even a lantern of rude oil would be drowned in the unfurling darkness of sunset.

  She watched it, fascinated by its glow and the way it seemed meant just for her. A light meant to lead her away. A light meant for better things.

  Her breath misted against the glass and Melisse shook herself. Her mother would have told her to remember her place, her duty as chambermaid. She turned away from the window and rushed to the fireplace.

  Melisse pumped furiously on the bellows, desperate to see the embers in the fireplace whiten in intensity. The two cauldrons poised upon the hearthstones were still barely steaming, little more than tepid in the chill air of the demoiselle Helene's bedchamber.

  A light voice hummed a gentle melody in the next room, a sound that mingled well with the splashing of bathwater.

  "Melisse! I must have more hot water, girl. The bath cools and I fear catching cold!"

  "I'm hurrying, M'lady," Melisse called back, still working the bellows as hard as she could. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead, slipping down to sting her eyes as she pumped away.

  The demoiselle was in an adjoining room, a great claw footed bath of hammered copper dominating the space. Her father had had the thing made in a city to the north and brought here at great expense after his daughter had heard of the new mode, that people bathe more often than at the two key moments of their lives, at birth and at death.

  Melisse had to admit that it seemed sensible to her, although washing down with cold well water while standing upon her own two feet did not seem less efficient.

  However, it had always been Helene's way. If some means of luxury were within reach, she would whine and mope about the manor until her father took notice. He then never failed to meet, if not exceed, his children's wishes.

  Helene was a beautiful young woman, with thick blond hair prone to escaping her coiffure and tumbling down in a way calculated to entice the regard of others. Her pale skin and hour glass form simply completed the effect.

  Melisse's own hair was black and drawn back severely in a haphazard bun, all the better to keep it out of her way as she worked. Her own skin was just as pale as that of Helene, her house maiden's life sparing her from the sun, but her figure was heavier and more thickly boned. A servant's body.

  "Never mind the hot water, Melisse", Helene called out. "Just come and help me scrub my back. I can't reach and I want to be sparkling clean to greet my father's guest this evening."

  Melisse sighed. She knew Helene enjoyed her games, and amusing herself at Melisse's expense was one of her favorites.

  Steeling herself, Melisse left her iron pots at the hearth and in passing the window with its blurred glass panes, she saw the light in the darkness once more. It seemed as familiar as a friend to her, bobbing with a warm glow, deep in the forest. She would have liked to look more closely, to puzzle out its meaning, to tease away some purpose apart from her days in the manor. Instead, she walked into the next room.

  Helene was in her bathing chemise, woven in a sheer linen and if meant for propriety, in water it turned instantly transparent.

  The demoiselle was reclined, only her head and neck above the waterline, a thin trace of soap floating at the edges of the water. Hearing Melisse, Helene tilted her head back to rest against the bathtub, at once sighing and lifting her chest into view.

  Melisse turned her gaze away, but not before seeing light pink nipples studding the fabric of Helene's bathing shirt. Seeing the scrub brush leaning against the tub, she seized it.

  "M'lady, if you'd like me to scrub your back, you'll need to lean forward," Melisse said as she went to her knees. Her voice was nearly a whisper, her tone timid.

  Helene opened her eyes then, searching for those of Melisse, except that Melisse's gaze was turned down, as if she found the stone floor more interesting...or less frightening.

  "You know, Melisse, if we put your hair up correctly and got you out of that potato sack you're wearing, I think you'd be surprised at how pretty you could be."

  Despite herself, Melisse looked up and into Helene's eyes, finding a smile there. The green color held her and she let Helene take her hand with the brush in it and guide her to the water.

  Helene held the brush to her belly, her breasts lifted fully into view, and said, "Just there, my dear Melisse. Scrub there, but do it gently."

  Melisse began scrubbing and turned her head away. Helene sighed and began humming the melody once more.

  Her grip was too light in her efforts to be gentle and the handle of the brush turned in her hand. Helene hissed and seized Melisse's arm.

  "Pay attention, dullard! You can't do it right while staring at the wall."

  Helene clamped her hand over Melisse's and directed the brush back to her stomach, saying, "I'm going to show you, just this once, how one should brush clean the delicate skin of a noblewoman."

  Her hand still holding Melisse's and the brush together, Helene began making circles against her belly and with each she descended lower and lower until the brush began to touch her thighs.

  She said, "Oops...let's change the technique, shall we, dear?" And began moving it up and down in long straight movements that soon dropped down fully between her legs.

  She opened her mouth just a little and Melisse could see how red her lips had become. The tip of Helene's tongue slipped out to moisten them and Melisse saw that its color was exactly the same as her nipples, clearly visible through the taut linen shirt.

  Deeper down the brush went until Helene began to slide down into the water with it, her eyes closed and making little mewling sounds, reminding Melisse of a hungry kitten.

  "Now...just don't...stop," Helene gasped while letting go of Melisse's hand.

  Melisse continued the long stroking motion of the brush and did her best to unfocus her eyes, looking for some means of distancing herself from her mistress in the bath.

  The water had begun, in truth, to turn quite cool and sloshed about as Helene moved in time against the brush in Melisse's grasp.

  "Please, m'Lady, I'll go get the water now. I'm sure it's quite hot," she said, dropping the brush and pulling back her hand as if the cool water had just scalded her.

  Helene's eyes flew open and Melisse saw there a raw flash of emotion, one that she knew little of, yet recognized all the same. Even the lowest dog in the kennels would recognize it and understand in its most basic sense...hatred. Burning hate that flashed like an ember bursting in the hearth, before dimming as quickly as it came. Helene was of noble blood and had learned early what it is to cover one's thoughts as quickly as need be.

  "Oh, my dear, "she said, mastering herself and smiling. "Look at the color burning in your cheeks. Have I done something to spark such heat?"

  She languidly took up the floating brush and began the same long strokes down her abdomen with it.

  "Yes, m'Lady...I mean, no, " Melisse stammered, backing away.

  Helene held her eye while the strokes of the brush took on a stronger rhythm. The vicious glint was back in her eyes as she said, "Or, is it not me, then, dear Melisse? Perhaps your color is from thinking of my brother while helping me to bathe? You were imagining him here, his handle in your hands as you stroke it up and down, deeper, and quicker..."

  Helene's breath had changed. It came in short, shallow bursts. She dropped the brush then plunged her hand down in to the water between her raised thighs, her knees rocking in time with her arm.

  Her gaze held Melisse unflinching as the words left her and light whimpering sounds slipped b
etween her lips. She didn't blink as she rubbed herself steadily and Melisse could not break away.

  Her lips were suffused in rich red and Melisse watched as Helene clenched her jaws. She drew her lips back in what might have passed for a smile in any other occasion, but only reminded Melisse of a mad dog. The skin of her cheeks was pulled tight, held in her grimace, and then her hips lifted up, nearly out of the water, holding still an instant before falling down slowly in small stuttering movements.

  Helene let her breath out in one long sigh, slipping down into the water once more.

  "Don't just stand there, you fool. Fetch my hot water."

  Melisse did not wait to be told a second time.

  The Marechal de Barristide watched the nobleman pace back and forth before the row of windows that ran the length of the room. His steps were measured and stiff. When he turned around to come back in the Marechal's direction, he turned on his heel with all the precision of a military man who had not forgotten his days upon the battle field.

  He stopped once, before a window with a view onto what must be a rose garden, although to the Marechal's eyes it seemed a dying thing. The flowers had long since fallen with the coming of the cool nights of autumn.

  "My apologies, Marechal. The attention to detail of our house servants is not what it once was. I've been too lax. If my father had ever had to wait on a carafe of wine, why the entire lot of them would have been turned out to the horse yard and whipped until he was sure they were, each and every one, wide awake and attentive to their duties."

  Lord Perene turned on his heel once more, his hands clasped behind him and his hooked nose seeming to cut the air before him as he paced.

  The Marechal watched him a moment longer, then said, "Even if the road was long, Lord Perene, my throat has been drier than this. I'll not die of thirst, I assure you. At least, not today."