Countess de Chambord
The countess lay for a long time afterward, gazing out the open window to the accompaniment of his snoring. It would have been the same this time, if not for the dark silhouette outside the window. The countess shuddered and was about to scream, but the stranger leaped through the window and was beside her. A hand in
a glove softly covered her mouth.— I beg you, not a word…
It was the Chevalier Oliphant, a young and handsome officer. She had seen him for the first time at yesterday's ball and… she had no chance of passing him by. He was tall, slender, and black-skinned. He hailed from somewhere in equatorial Africa, having been enslaved as a very young boy. Traders sold him to the Turks, and the Turks gifted him to the elder Chevalier Oliphant, who was carrying out some important mission in Constantinople. The old and childless chevalier grew to love the clever boy like his own son and bequeathed to him all he had: a small estate, a noble title, his old, trusty sword, and a pile of debts. The newly minted chevalier became a frequent guest at the most refined receptions and enjoyed considerable success due to his exotic appearance and the most exquisite gallantry.
All evening the chevalier had not taken his eyes off her, persistently following her. She granted him a full two dances; when they sat playing cards, the countess quietly slipped off her shoe and lightly ran her foot along his leg. Oliphant was seized by a tremor. The countess's foot, meanwhile, rose all the way to his groin and pressed against something firm and enormous. They both froze, looking into each other's eyes. The countess was astonished by the size of the weapon; the chevalier could not move from the piercing pleasure that ran through him. For a first day of acquaintance, this was more than enough. But for the audacious Oliphant, it was not enough. He begged for a rendezvous, and so tonight he had infiltrated her bedroom.
— You are mad, Chevalier…
— It is because I am hopelessly in love.
— But my husband is here…
— He is sleeping soundly, do not worry.
— You will ruin us both…
The chevalier pressed a passionate kiss to her lips; the countess drew him to her. A pleasant tremor seized her, her legs buckled. She no longer cared whether her husband woke or not. She wanted only one thing: for the enormous, black, firm serpent to penetrate her womb, to fill her to the brim with its sweet poison.
The chevalier covered her neck with kisses, descending lower and lower. The countess ran her fingers through his wig. She sighed quietly, afraid to make a sound. The old count snored, lying on his back. Oliphant's hands, meanwhile, were already caressing the countess's enormous breasts. The chevalier gently stroked them through her thin nightgown. His lips left wet traces on Lillian's delicate neck. The count unexpectedly stopped snoring and said something indistinct. The countess shuddered; a burning wave of fear rolled through her body from the tips of her toes to her very heart. She held her breath. But her cavalier was calm. He lowered one hand down, to the special slit in the countess's gown. This slit in the gown at the groin facilitated the entry of the old and flaccid count's member into her womb. Now, the chevalier's mischievous black finger slid there. It moved from top to bottom, from clitoris to labia. Lillian shuddered; fear lent the sensations a special sharpness.
The old count turned onto his side and began snoring again. Oliphant knelt, lifted the edge of the gown, and hid his head beneath it as under a canopy. His agile tongue parted her labia and penetrated inside. The countess covered her mouth with her hand to hold back moans. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg over the chevalier's shoulder. He penetrated her with his tongue, and then, wetting a finger in the flowing love-juice, carefully inserted it into her lower opening. Lillian bit her own hand to keep from crying out. Oliphant continued to play with her in this manner for some time. The countess was dripping with juice, her face contorted, the tips of her toes twitched slightly when the chevalier's agile tongue touched one of the walls of her womb. His finger slid easily in her anus. Lillian was burning all over. She wanted only one thing.
— Chevalier… — she said in a breaking whisper — I beg you, take me. Plunge your victorious sword into me… I implore you… do not delay.
Oliphant rose from his knees, with a swift motion tore the countess's gown in half. She stood before him naked. A lush white body, enormous rounded breasts with swollen pink nipples, golden pubic hair, a pink womb with plump lips. Lillian de Chombard was the most beautiful woman in France, and indeed in all the rest of the Christian world. The chevalier dropped his breeches and his giant, black, gleaming member stood before the countess in all its glory and battle-readiness. The countess sighed with admiration and anticipation.
Oliphant began to rub the head against her lips, teasing Lillian. But she was in a serious mood. The countess grabbed the chevalier's buttocks, spread her legs, and decisively guided him into herself. With her other hand, she failed to cover her mouth in time and cried out loudly when that enormous monster crawled into her cherished cave. The count stopped snoring and said:
— Where is that damned Marie? You can never summon her…
The chevalier and the countess froze. The old count, not waiting for an answer, began making whistling sounds again. Oliphant withdrew his member, but only to enter again to its full length. Lillian restrained herself this time, yet her nails dug into the chevalier's buttocks, leaving scratches there. Oliphant began to move rhythmically. The countess had never experienced such acute lust and pleasure. Never before had such an enormous guest been inside her. He penetrated her most cherished depths, reached her most secret point. Oliphant, too, had never dealt with such a deep cave, capable of accepting him entirely. Time seemed to stop. There was only the handsome black man, the beautiful, lush, white-skinned woman, and his member sliding with a slight, wet sound.
Oliphant unexpectedly stopped and withdrew his member. The countess, who was close to the greatest orgasm of her life, hissed like an enraged cat. But the chevalier had stopped only to lift Lillian and turn her back to him. Then he penetrated her again; he was even larger, penetrated even deeper. The countess managed to bury her face in the pillow to stifle a cry. Oliphant quickened his pace. The countess realized she was no longer in control of herself. He filled her completely, he pierced her through; she growled quietly into the pillow, tore at it with her teeth. She was no longer human. She was a lioness during mating. Nothing existed in the world except this piercing pleasure and primal lust.
When the mighty sword struck her once more in her deepest depths, Lillian exploded in a firework of pleasure. Her head pulsed, her womb convulsed, her lush buttocks jerked. Her vagina sprayed juice, a crimson veil clouded her eyes. Lillian let out a low, guttural cry and lost consciousness. At that moment, the inflamed Oliphant reached the peak of pleasure and released a hot stream of seed into her.
The count jumped up in bed.
— Ah! What is happening?
He looked around dazedly. The countess was coming to, lying on the bed. Oliphant was gone. Only the wind in the garden rustled the trees.
The count sank back onto the pillow and again fell into oblivion. The chevalier quietly crawled out from under the bed, put on his breeches, and slipped silently out the window. In the lightening sky, the stars quietly disappeared, one by one.