Chapter 15

Paris
2003

THE NOBLEMAN OPPOSITE dismissed the sommelier with a tiny nod of his head, and then raised his eyebrows and smiled at Romily.

‘Have you tried this?’ he asked, lifting his glass.

She picked up hers and sipped a little of the cold Puligny-Montrachet. ‘Delicious,’ she said.

‘Yes. It has a fine, clean, mineral taste, has it not?’ He smiled again.

He’s so handsome, Romily thought admiringly, even if he is old. And he has so much to teach me. The marquis had grey hair shading into white, and his face, although lined and well-worn, was tanned a youthful golden-brown that made his eyes seem bright under his slightly too-bushy eyebrows. He was turned out in perfect smart dress-down clothes: Ralph Lauren trousers with a knife-edge crease, an Armani shirt, and a blue cashmere jumper slung round his shoulders. On his feet were Gucci loafers. Everything about him was discreetly expensive.

They had met at the Crillon Ball where Romily had made friends with his daughter. The girls had spent a happy afternoon together, preparing for the ball and comparing their ravishing gowns, and in the evening Clothilde had introduced Romily to her father. The marquis was charming, sophisticated and polished. He obviously found her delightful company. He had rung the next day and they had met for lunch, and soon they were lunching together most days. She had quickly guessed that he wished to introduce her to the arts of love. Then he had changed an afternoon engagement to an evening one, and she’d known for sure that she was being seduced.

Getting ready for the evening she had been extra careful, showering slowly and making up her face with more attention than usual. She’d gazed into her own brown eyes, thinking with nervous excitement that when she next saw herself like this, she would no longer be a virgin.

Now, facing him over their table in the Brasserie Lipp, she felt daring and ready, eager to be initiated.

He leaned towards her slightly. ‘My dear, I have a question for you. I don’t think it will come as a great surprise.’

‘Yes?’ She blinked innocently but inside she was jubilant.

‘I will come straight to the point: I wish you to become my mistress. You are young, I know, but I’m sure we will have much to enjoy together.’ He sounded as suave and relaxed as though he were simply asking her if she liked vanilla ice cream.

She tried to stay calm and cool. ‘What a very … interesting … invitation. I take it your wife will have no objection?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, no, none at all. She is very happy with her own lover. Several of them, I believe. Neither of us believes in denying the other the pleasures of life. A happy marriage depends on the fulfilment of both. What use is it if we both become bitter and dried up, denied the necessity of making love with whoever it is we are attracted to? No, we have a very civilised arrangement, as do most married couples.’

‘Do they?’ Romily was surprised, but now she considered it, perhaps it was a sensible arrangement, if old people no longer loved each other. It was not something she could imagine for herself, of course. Whoever she married would be the love of her life, her grand passion, and she would never tire of him. ‘Well, that’s good, I suppose.’

‘So, what is your answer, Romily?’

She hovered on the brink and then said, ‘Yes. I think I would like that very much.’

He took her to an exquisite little flat in St-Germain-des-Près, in a honey-coloured stone building shut away from the street behind enormous green doors with great brass lions’ heads on the front.

‘Have you had many mistresses here?’ Romily asked, feeling nervous for the first time. It seemed the place was a shrine to love: antique erotic prints on the walls, small nude sculptures on the cabinets, daybeds, pillows and cushions everywhere.

The marquis smiled. ‘Of course. But I was faithful to each one.’

He went to her and gazed into her eyes. ‘You’re very beautiful, my dear, do you know that? Not simply in your body. As soon as I saw you, I recognised your soul. You may be young, but you have a natural maturity and understanding. I knew at once we would be a perfect fit.’ He bent his head and put his lips to hers. They were cool but then he opened his mouth and the next moment she was tasting his warm mouth, feeling his tongue turning around hers. He tasted male, with a faintly bitter edge. Perhaps that’s because he’s so old, she thought, and that was all she was able to think before her body’s reactions became her only concern.

He took her into the tiny boudoir, a room that was almost all bed, and slowly removed her clothes, kissing her all the time. Somehow he also managed to strip himself and then they were both naked, her soft ripe body with its small brown-tipped breasts pressed against his rangy lean one, with the grey thatch of hair spreading out over his chest. His erect penis was pressed against her thigh, distracting her with its radiating heat and purposeful hardness.

The marquis meanwhile was interested in nibbling her rose-brown nipples, grazing them with his teeth and sucking them hard, which was making her groin contract with excitement. His fingers were roaming around her pussy, touching and stroking, teasing her unbearably. She could feel that she was wet and swollen, everything in her preparing for the moment when he would enter her.

‘Are you protected, my dear?’ he muttered.

She shook her head, sighing and gasping as his thumb rolled over her bud. It had not occurred to her. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Did this mean they would have to stop?

‘I thought not. That is something you must address. But today is for your pleasure, not mine, so I shall make the sacrifice.’ He rolled over and took a foil packet from the ebony casket by the bed, and a moment later had deftly sheathed his penis in the condom. ‘And now,’ he whispered, ‘I think it is time.’

She opened her legs to him and he rolled on top of her, finding his position. He brought the tip of his penis to her entrance and rubbed it there for a moment, making a growling noise in his throat as he looked down at her, her breasts and smooth belly, the small thatch of dark hair on her mound and the wet, open lips of her pussy. ‘You do me a great honour,’ he said, his eyes glistening darkly, ‘and your beauty is overwhelming.’

She felt deliciously desirable and hungry for his cock inside her. ‘Now,’ she whispered, with a touch of pleading in her voice. ‘Please?’

She felt a pushing at her entrance, and let her legs open even wider for him. A few nudges and then he was in her, and she was stretching to accommodate him as he moved slowly upwards, pushing gently and filling her up with the most extraordinary and pleasurable feeling. She sighed, shut her eyes and lifted her chin, concentrating only on the sensation of his cock sliding up within her, making her replete.

The marquis opened his eyes and said with surprise, ‘I’m fully in. Are you sure you’re a virgin, my dear?’

‘Yes,’ she said, momentarily anxious in case there was something wrong with her.

He smiled. ‘Then you were made for love. I’ve never known such a painless and unencumbered entry.’ He began to move, pushing up inside her until she wondered how she could take him any further, but the sensation of his movements was delightful. Each upward thrust took her breath away and each small withdrawal caused a delicious friction. They moved like that together for a long time, Romily luxuriating in what she was feeling. I never want to stop this, she thought, high on the pleasure. Then the marquis began to pick up pace, thrusting harder into her, making her cry out as he hit his mark. He kissed her and nipped at her neck and earlobes as the power of his fucking began to overtake him, and then he groaned, shuddered, pushed into her again and stopped, his face contorting as he came. When it had passed, he lay down next to her.

She wrapped her arms around him as happiness surged through her. She had made him climax. She must have done it right. And, oh, it had been lovely.

He looked at her solemnly. ‘I must apologise. I was overtaken by my desire for you. You haven’t tasted the fruits of love.’

‘What do you mean, the fruits of love?’ she said, laughing, although she liked his flowery language.

‘I mean, you haven’t made your sacrifice at Venus’s altar.’ He smiled at her. ‘Can I be any clearer than that?’

‘Perhaps a little.’

He neatly removed the condom from his prick and disposed of it by the bed. ‘Have you ever had an orgasm, my dear?’

Despite everything they had done, she was embarrassed. She felt her cheeks burn. ‘Only … only by myself.’

‘Excellent.’ He rubbed a fingertip over her nipple, where it was stiff and sensitive. ‘Then you know what to do.’

She looked back at him, not understanding.

‘Touch yourself,’ he urged, his voice mellow and hypnotic.

She hesitated, feeling shy.

‘Do it. Don’t be embarrassed. It is utterly natural.’

Delicately, slowly, she pushed her fingertips on to her clitoris and massaged it lightly. It was already swollen from the recent activity, still pulsing with desire, and it responded with a quiver, sending small waves of pleasure through her.

‘That’s right. A little more. Relax, my love. You have nothing to be ashamed of, you are beautiful and everything you do to yourself is right. And …’ his voice dropped even lower … ‘you are exciting me greatly.’

This made her breathe harder, and rub a little faster, picking up the delicious nerve endings with each circle of her fingertips. She dipped downwards into the depths, oiling her fingers with her own juices, before returning to the bud.

‘Yes.’ His voice was low. ‘Open to yourself, darling. Let me see you. God, you are amazing …’

She let her knees fall open, parting herself to his gaze. The pleasure was building in her, her breath coming faster. She began to move unconsciously, arching her back and twisting her head from side to side, responding to her own incessant touching. Then she couldn’t resist it any longer, rubbing harder and harder and then crying out as the delightful shiver took hold of her, shuddering along her limbs. ‘Oh! Oh …’

The marquis smiled, pleased with her, then took her hand and placed it on his stiff rod. It felt huge, smooth and warm under her hand, rearing up from its nest of coarse curly grey hair at the base. ‘You’ve warmed me up again with that little performance. Now, my darling, a few strokes and I’ll be able to join you in bliss.’

She rubbed the hot flesh, moving it up and down the shaft. ‘Harder,’ he whispered, and folded his large hand over hers, moving it up and down with firm, fast strokes. ‘Yes … that’s it, that’s it …’ He gasped, and his cock jerked under her hand. A small fountain of white fluid gushed from its tip and down over her knuckles.

The marquis was still for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he sighed and looked at her. ‘Thank you, my dear.’ He passed her a silk handkerchief. ‘You have given me great pleasure. I hope we will be able to please each other like this many times.’

‘So do I,’ she said, thinking, I’ve done it. Now I really am a woman.

In the weeks that followed, she and the marquis spent many hours in his little flat as he tutored her in how to make love. He adored her body, and while he was happiest simply gazing at her and caressing her breasts and bottom, or lying between her slim thighs, his penis thrusting hard into her until he came, he also took his duties as teacher seriously. He taught her how to please him with her mouth, and did the same for her, showing her how to draw out her pleasure by slowing down her ascent. He made her bring him to the peak of orgasm and then allow it to fade away, so that when the climax came, it was all the stronger and more necessary for the delicious wait. ‘Never hurry,’ he insisted. ‘That is the worst way to make love.’ He would spend the first hour of their time together kissing, massaging and stroking her, sometimes bathing her or using aids to warm her up and open her to her erotic nature. Then they would use new techniques or practise what he had already taught her. She revelled in the luxuriousness of sex, and delighted in what she learned about her own body.

I don’t know why anyone does anything else, she would always think as she crossed the Seine and headed home. But I suppose not everybody has the luxury of time, the way we have. And she remembered what the marquis had done that day with the pair of cold jade balls, and shivered with pleasure.

Romily sent a postcard to Imogen from the palazzo in Venice where she was staying in advance of a society wedding.

Dearest Midge,

You may be at Oxford – and having a wonderful time, I hope – but I am also expanding my education with the help of a lovely new friend. Can’t wait to see you. Can you come and see me this summer? Please say yes. Now I have to have my hair done, such a bore. Tell Allegra I love her and miss her too.

Lots of love, R

P.S. MG4E