The Passion of Agnes Part 1 - Sex Stories

The Passion of Agnes Part 1

... perpetually bloodshot and rolled like jellied eggs in their tiny pits. He was coarse and spoke a vulgar gutter-French patois. But, as my father pointed out, he was rich. My father feigned obliviousness to the horror and repulsion which this man inspired in me revealing a side of himself hitherto unknown to me, a disappointing one. To my observation he had always possessed a noble, selfless, giving and independent spirit. But now in front of this man whose only "virtue" consisted in the possession of vast amounts of cash he appeared a slavish lickspittle, only too eager to barter my maidenhood and my future happiness for the sake of wealth, lands, chattels, security. Soon the dreaded day came when my father and M. Beautoix announced to me with smiling complacency that the matter had been settled. I would marry M. in the Spring and we would thereafter retire to his estates at Rouen to live out our lives in wedded bliss. I have alluded to the grace by which God made me immune, or so I thought, to the temptations of the flesh, even with respect to the comeliest and ruggedest lads of our village. So reader guess my fear, my anxiety, my terror, the disgust, poisoning the well of my soul as I pondered the prospect of lifelong fidelity to this chancre of a man. A man who judged me as he judged all else in life, as a commodity, as one whose beauty and spirit was only precious insofar as it could be purchased and owned. I will not describe my wedding, blessed by God and the Church. ...

... I will spare the reader details of that night and other nights to come. My only solace during this period was the presence of my chambermaid Cordelia. But for her I was isolated in M's enormous dreary castle apart from everyone I had ever known and loved. But M. had allowed me to bring her, my dearest friend from childhood, to be my attendant. It was she into whose arms I flung myself when M. became too much for me. It was she who comforted me, she that dried my tears and held me, she who talked me through as I struggled to find a reason to stay alive. She was a sweet bright peasant girl like myself blessed with a pure untutored goodness of heart. Of fair, fresh and voluptuous appearance she was famous as one of our villages great beauties. Fresh, ruddy and irrepressibly optimistic with blue eyes and golden waves of hair. That was my Cordelia. I had not been long eighteen when my namesake St Agnes appeared to five young girls at the famous mineral cure at Rouen. The children stated that Agnes had materialized above the mineral waters as they were playing nearby one day. She was described as an intensely beautiful woman with radiant skin that glowed like gold. She told the children that these waters would help the pregnant, hysterics, ones who had been abused or violated. It was to be a special cure for distressed women. New reports of miracles were coming to me through my ladies-in-waiting by the day. A woman had been cured of leprosy, another had received a labor that was ...