Alouette - Sex Stories

Alouette

... her mouth before arching into a perfectly feigned orgasm for the royal guard. The Prince’s thrusting already frenzied, Alouette leapt off his manhood and spun round, quickly taking the twitching organ in her mouth. He cried out in surprise and climax and she closed her eyes again, desperately evoking Rock’s thick, hot pulses as she consumed the next frantic moments. Later, the Prince’s servants dressed him. Madame smiled sycophantically, but proudly, and stroked Alouette’s head like a prized animal. Unfortunately, the Prince was impressed. “Madame, this beautiful little songbird will come with me to the palace. You must name your price.” Alouette dug her fingers into her thighs. No! This was a death sentence! Worse! Nevertheless, she bit her tongue, and let Madame speak for her. She had trusted this woman all her life, after all. Madame knew Alouette only wanted to sing. Her guardian’s hand stopped stroking. That halting caress chilled her. “Your majesty, Alouette is priceless to me. She earns me over a thousand a year I could not – ” “Very well. One hundred thousand it is then, good day.” Within the hour, Alouette was speeding across the icy hinterlands in the last coach of the Prince’s entourage, tossed about with the other treasures claimed on his travels. Unlike the courtiers and servants, she travelled in a goods carriage, with a barely adequate, light canvas roof. She clung tight while trying to calm her shivers at the bitter cold, her tears freezing on her cheeks. ...

... It had been a tough love between the women at the brothel, but it was still love. Her erstwhile sisters had wailed from the windows while she was put into the carriage, as if into a grave. As they embraced, Madame would not let Alouette see her face, somehow making the betrayal even worse. Another heaving jolt threatened to toss her from the coach, the horse’s hooves thrumming like the devil’s own heartbeat, and she scrabbled again for purchase. Then it occurred to her, what was she saving herself for? A life as a concubine? Her songs reduced to the foreplay of a sexual slave? She would stand better odds against the winter... Her sobbing stopped, her limbs relaxed, she knew what she needed to do. She let go. # It was dawn when Cephas – hauling his own laden cart to the village – was surprised by an unfamiliar outcrop on the road. “Oh, not now…” He cursed in a thick plume of breath. If he didn’t sell the season’s last crop today he would have nothing to see him through the rest of the winter. No seed for next year either. But he knew he was be too dim-witted to pass a soul in need. Approaching, he surveyed a bundle of red silk suspiciously. He prodded it with his boot, as if it might unfurl and strangle him, hoping it was just a body. He had not expected to be shocked, and melted, by the sweetest song. Whatever it was, it sang as well as any bird. He stooped and dusted away snow, it was a woman, not much more than a girl; her head folded in her arms and singing as if her life ...