His breath caught in his chest as the carriage pulled to a well-practiced stop before the elegant, vine-wrapped gates. The rising beat of anticipation grew, every sound a flutter, every sight a surging pulse. His hands clenched once against his legs, then relaxed. Only once. Decorum dictated at least a façade of nonchalance.
A gloved hand swung the carriage door open as another figure opened the gates. The rider launched himself out of his seat, his eyes locked on the painted door ahead. The air outside was cool and restless, and a storm was brewing overhead. He paid it no mind. Stewardesses bowed as he passed, offering him greetings he returned, his eyes never leaving the door. It too swung open for him before he reached, courtesy of another stewardess.
He felt the warmth spread from within as soon as he stepped onto the intricate marble inside. Expectation mingled with serene contentment, and he smiled. Gentle hands took the collar of his coat, peeling it off his arms. He turned to see Isabelle, head stewardess of the Château. She raised her eyebrows, awaiting his usual command.
“Have a hot meal and an even hotter bath prepared. For after,” he said.
“Yes, Duchess,” Isabelle said with a slight curtsy and a knowing smile.
“Thank you Isabelle,” he said.
Duchess… he thought. Almost.
As the other stewardesses filed into the Château, he crossed the entry and mounted the curved stairs, one hand idly caressing the rail, the other resisting the urge to tap impatiently against his leg. So close…
The chandelier shone crystalline orange, throwing dancing spots of light over the wide, open hall. He stood just below it as he reached the upper landing, his steps hastening as he neared his chamber suite. With no one to see his unseemly rush, he dashed the last few feet, tumbling inside and closing and locking the door with a resounding click.
He leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut, taking in the familiar smell of the place first, not daring to move. Lush, delicate perfume scented the air. Vanilla, citrus, and a hint of something stronger. The spice of cinnamon. His nostrils flared, and his back sank further into the hard timber. His eyes still closed, he heard the first soft taps of rainfall on the window to his left. A perfect return, he thought.
He opened his eyes to reveal the chamber, just as he remembered it. Soft light seemed to spill from every angle, bathing the pale lavender and sheer white fabrics in an angelic glow. A chaise lounge under the mirror sat laden with cushions and blankets. A writing desk next to the door bore enough ink and paper for several volumes. The centrepiece was where his attention lay, however.
The four-poster bed was enormous, its lilac covers so soft it made his lids sag just to see them. It waited for him, inviting him. In the midst of the mass of fat, fluffy pillows, someone had left a letter. Curious, he crossed the room, plucked it from its place, and prized it open.
‘My dearest Duchess,
Welcome home. We are always pleased to have you. You have a new addition to your wardrobe, a courtesy of the Lady Eva.
I am certain you will enjoy it.
Head Stewardess Isabelle.’
His eyebrows rising with intrigue, his heart leaping at the mention of Lady Eva, he tore his boots free from his feet and rushed to the boudoir’s side door. The carpet felt like a cloud beneath his feet, and the wardrobe beyond felt like a temple. He felt a stir in his loins as he entered, his mind conditioned from so many past trysts.
Before him lay a veritable treasure trove of clothing. Racks upon racks of dresses in every length, cut, style and shade. Hangers full of outfits, tops, skirts. Rows of lingerie; lacy, silken, sheer, severe. Drawers filled with panties of every material and pattern, with matching bras, complete with a dozen different pairs of stockings and garters. Shelves full of shoes and boots, some with dizzyingly high heels, others made to hug all the way up to the thigh. In the centre of it all, a glossy black box on a bench, with a note stuck to it. He couldn’t help it. He bit his lip as he took in his vast horde.
He bent down to read the note, already knowing what it would say.
‘Do not open until I say, darling Duchess. This is for my eyes only.’
The stirring between his legs intensified, and he grinned at the box, his imagination running wild. The task at hand was more important now, however. He pondered the clothing for a moment, spoiled by choice. He ran his fingers along the delicate lace of a blue bodysuit, moving on to a pleated skirt, before stopping before his final choice.
“Perfect,” he said, taking the dress on its hanger and laying it on the long bench.
It was a tight, short, white mini dress with a cowled neckline. The material sparkles like moondust in the light, and he knew just what to pair with it. Wasting no time, he stripped off, leaving his travelling clothes in a heap on the floor as he dashed around the wardrobe gathering what he needed. He took off his hat, shaking his long, dark hair down around his shoulders. He felt his desire mounting now.
First, he took his hat, clasped the white bra around his smooth chest, the firm strap a comforting grip on him. Next, he rolled white thigh highs up his hairless legs, every inch like the touch of a lover, creeping upwards. Next, he slid the dress up, savouring the way it squeezed over his ass, until he was fully enveloped by it. The tight embrace of the fabric across his hips and stomach made him sigh with relief.
Last, he raised the panties. Silky, soft, and frilled at the edges, they were brilliant white with dainty pink roses dotted across them. Slowly, reverently, he slid them up his legs, dragging them over the thigh highs, until they reached his ass, stretching across it, covering his cock, which twitched and grew at the ritual touch of the garment. The touch drew an aroused shiver and a longing moan.
Fully dressed now, Duchess Andrea stood tall and examined herself in the closest mirror. She was a vision in pearlescent grace, her dark hair looking midnight black against the white of her dress and legs. She turned, admiring the way the dress hugged her curves, the way it barely covered her ass when she bent over. The panties grew tighter, bulging out, and she grinned. With a satisfied nod, she swept back to the boudoir.
Fire within her renewed in strength as she entered her domain. First things first, she thought, I must contain this unruly beast.
She opened the top drawer of her dark wood dresser and removed a small, pink, plastic cage. With a slight struggle, she stuffed her shrinking cock into it and locked it shut, sealing it off from her touch, from her temptation. The action made her tingle all over, and when her limp, caged cock was safely tucked into her panties once more, she felt right. Ready.
She fell onto the bed, lying on her back. She took one hand and used it to trace the length of her body, all the way down to her thighs, while the other ran through her hair.
“Yes…” she breathed. “I’m home.”
She teased herself through her panties, tracing over her restricted, frustrated cock, and down to her ass. She quivered as she brushed it through the fabric, every soft touch sending ripples of pleasure through her. One hand still lightly rubbing between her legs, she drew the other down her neck and to her chest.
She thought of Lady Eva as she stroked, her fingers growing more insistent as visions of their previous encounters burst across her mind’s eye. Rain battered the window now, a steady barrage of soothing drops. Within the chamber, Andrea’s moans filled the room, echoing and escalating.
Her breathing coming harder, her desire unchecked, she could wait no longer. She slicked her finger with her tongue and pulled her panties to the side. She gasped as she wet her hole, the sensation like a shock to her system. She dragged her finger in circles, moving her hips in rhythm with the motion.
“Fuck,” she said. When she put the tip of her finger inside herself, she had to grip the sheets with her free hand. “Fuck!”
In and out, she pushed herself against her hand, her tight hole clenching around her finger, her dextrous experience finding her prostate and deepening her satisfaction.
“God, yes,” she groaned.
Writhing in pleasure, relishing the squeeze of her dress, the ache of her caged cock, she slipped another finger into her ass. The sensation reminded her of Eva, the dark-eyed woman kneeling over her, holding her against the bed with one hand, the other exploring deep inside her. Biting her lip, she forced herself to stop. With great effort, she took her hand away from between her legs and rushed to the dresser again.
The dildo she snatched was not huge, nor overly special, but it had given her countless hours of pleasure. Along with a bottle of lube, she crawled back onto the bed and lay back down again, lifting her knees as if to accept a lover. She slicked the dildo with liberal amounts of cold lube, then pulled her panties aside again and positioned its tip at her opening. Recoiling slightly against the cold, she forced herself to relax, then gently pushed.
It slid into her, inch after inch, until it filled her so completely, so totally, she thought she might cry out. Whimpering, adoring every agonising second of sweet fulfillment, Andrea worked the toy in and out. Slowly, she stretched and fucked her hole, moaning every time it rubbed against her deepest spot. She wished Eva were the one inside her, between her legs, but for now the facsimile would do.
She thrust the dildo faster, every impact shaking her body, sending a tingle through her forgotten cock, making the folds of her dress ripple around her collarbones.
“Wait, not like this,” she said, bringing her motion to an abrupt stop. She knew how she wanted to cum first, and it wasn’t lying on her back. She wanted to cum like a Duchess.
She pushed herself to her knees and placed the dildo on the bed, sitting upright, its tip waiting for the warm confines of her desperate ass. Exposing her hole again, relishing the feeling of her panties wet with lube, she positioned her hips over the toy and lowered herself onto it.
Sweat beaded under her dress, across her thighs, on her flushed, exultant face. Rain lashed the Château, a rising tumult that echoes the increasing volume of Duchess Andrea’s involuntary moans. The perfume in the air made her dizzy as she rose and fell, filling herself with the dildo, her ass yearning for the constant stimulation, hungry for every inch.
A wet patch formed on the front of her rose-patterned silk panties, where her caged cock had begun leaking from the pleasure. She ignored it, focusing instead on the feeling inside of her. She rocked her hips back and forth, grinded in a circular motion, rose and fell. She closed her eyes to better lose herself in the pure, utter pleasure.
It felt raw, wrong, perfect, and impossibly beautiful all at the same time. She arched her back as she rode the dildo hard, driving a steady rhythm, needing the feeling to last. The dildo hit her spot again and again, sending aching spasms of bliss through her whole white-clad body.
She felt it coming. It built within her as her pace quickened. She clutched at herself, revelling in the feel of her undulating body. The room seemed to shrink until she was the only thing in it, Andrea and her toy, her thoughts of Eva spurring her on, wishing she could feel the intoxicating woman beneath her.
With a desperate joy and a slamming motion, she took the dildo up to the hilt over and over, and the wave inside crested. She let out a high-pitched squeal and kept riding as her sissygasm forced her eyes to roll back, erupting deep in her ass and spreading to send waves of electric ecstasy all over. It lasted longer than she ever thought it could. Her legs quivered, and her moans turned to whimpers as her caged cock leaked hot cum all over the inside of her panties. When it was over, her hole clenched hard over the dildo, and she almost didn’t want to remove it.
She knelt on the bed, panting. She leaned forward, her hands grasping at the sheets as she let the toy fall out of her. The emptiness was stark after being filled so thoroughly, after cumming so hard. She gave a contented sigh and smiled. If only Eva were here to help me clean up, she thought.
Enjoying the afterglow of her orgasm, she slid a hand into her panties to feel the sticky warmth within. She raised her fingers to her lips and licked the cum off them, savouring her own taste.
“A delicacy for a Duchess,” she said, then she giggled.
When her legs felt strong enough, she crossed to the window and threw it open, letting droplets of water splash against her hot, sweaty body. The cool breeze and rain felt like a rejuvenating breath of life as she stared out of the window.
Still feeling the tight squeeze of her thigh highs and dress, still enjoying the ache in her pleasured ass, still oozing cum into her pretty panties, she smiled, proud of her homecoming. Duchess Andrea of Châtaeu de Femme was always proud of her exploits.