Josiah Stubb: The Plains of Abraham by C. W. Lovatt

Author:C. W. Lovatt [Lovatt, C. W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing
Published: 2018-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

Still later that evening,

on the road from La Canardière to L’hermitage,

the country estate of Intendant Bigot.

The coach swayed gently on the uneven road. Lately it had been subjected to much traffic by the military, and was badly in need of repair. However the evening was a fine one, and Bigot was in no hurry, so it was not a hardship to direct the coachman to proceed at a moderate pace.

There was a gentle breeze coming from the west, and their cavalry escort was trotting along in the rear, so he raised the shutters to let in the country air, without undue worry about the dust.

“What a horrible man,” Madame Péan sighed. The moonlight coming in through the window shone like silver upon her skin. The evening was so pleasant that Bigot had decided that he had waited long enough, and had unlaced her bodice, setting her breasts free at last.

Kneading one affectionately, he asked, “Who is a horrible man? If you say that it is me, then I must agree wholeheartedly.”

She laughed, making no move to slap his hand away, or otherwise offer a protest. “No, François, it was the general I was referring to.”

The cool night air whispered around her nipple, causing it to swell. He tweaked it absently between his fingers, smiling faintly when she gasped. “Ah, our general,” he murmured, “a man beset with worry.”

In a quavering voice, she asked, “Do you think that there is a reason for worry?”

Bigot eased her dress from her shoulders, before pushing her gently onto her back. Nuzzling into her neck, he said, “The general is a soldier, my dear. It is good for him to worry. It keeps him alert. As long as he is alert, there is nothing to fear.”

“But the English…”

“The English will keep him occupied, leaving the mice free to raid the larder, no?” Nudging his breeches down to his knees, he lowered himself on top of her, and she could feel the hardness of him prodding against her inner thigh. Reaching down with a practiced hand, she guided him inside her. Feeling his thrusts gaining in tempo, she moaned appreciatively, and thought the gentle swaying of the carriage a novel experience.

Panting now, Bigot whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “Now imagine a fat piece of cheese, my little mouse, and squeak for me, for the larder is full.”

In due course she did, and that most obligingly.

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