The Breast Divine: Classic Erotica
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by Dominique Le Fouchat, Eleanor Tremaine
Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: Newly Discovered Erotic Classic! According to its translator, Les Loloches Divines or The Breast Divine is the third English translation of a great work of French Erotica published under the name Dominique Le Fouchat in 1879. The Breast Divine is supposed to be a true story based on the life of Agnes Sorel, an actual mistress of King Charles VII of France. Many consider this seductress, possessed of all the erotic secrets of Eve herself, and she is still thought of in France as the most beautiful woman who ever lived. At the beginning of Le Fouchat's novel, Agnes discovers her destiny "is to rule a great nation." To do so, she must learn to give sexual satisfaction to many men, while remaining an intact virgin. In the book's opening section she does precisely that. Next, Agnes makes herself the Kings's mistress in one of the book's the most erotically charged chapters. The sexual encounters between mistress and king that follows are the true center of the tale. Here is a masterpiece of erotica in the mode of Fanny Hill and My Secret Life.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: May 2005
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [318 KB]
Reading time: 203-284 min.
Charles VII had been sexually active since the age of thirteen, when he was still the dauphin. His sexual experiences with the starry-eyed nymphets and experienced courtesans who were at his beck and call were actively encouraged by his mother, the queen, Isabella of Bavaria. Her sexual appetite was legendary. Indeed, it was her promiscuity that prompted her husband, the mad King Charles VI, to disinherit the dauphin, claiming he was not his legitimate heir. Mother Isabella often even chose the companions for her teen-aged son's bed. And Dauphin Charles, having inherited his mother's taste for sexuality and luxuriousness, was an avid pursuer of all things amatory. He learned sexual technique from some of the most sophisticated women in Europe. At a young age, he was a very accomplished lover.
When he was ten, Charles was betrothed to Marie d'Anjou. And when he was fourteen, he was sent to Anjou to be raised by his future mother-in-law Yolande of Aragon. He was a precocious lad, and continued his course of libidinous studies at the Court of Anjou. He did not extend his lusty endeavors to his betrothed, who not only was closely watched by her ever-present mother, but was not endowed with the libido of her future husband. She simply found no interest in anything of a sexual nature. Though they loved each other as if brother and sister both before and after their marriage, Charles and Marie never had sex with each other for other than dynastic and ritualistic purposes.
Charles VII had wider experience than Agnes in the practice of lovemaking, and was not adverse to helping her extend her knowledge in that department. Agnes had honed her own skills, and had a few things to teach to His Majesty as well.
Following the arousal kiss, the couple took each other by the hand and proceeded directly to the silk sheets that adorned the bed.
As they sat next to each other on the edge of the bed, Agnes instinctively cupped her hand behind the king's neck to draw him into an embrace.
"Wait, my love," Charles whispered with a soothing tone of voice she had not previously heard from his lips.
She looked at him with wondering eyes.
"Before we relax into each other's embrace, I want you to know that I am aware you are a virgin."
"I have saved myself for you, my lord. I am, indeed, a virgin."
"It would have been all right with me if you weren't, you know. My sister-in-law told me you were virgo intacta. Yes, I did ask her. I hope you don't mind."
"I am honored that you inquired about me at all, Sire."
"As you are aware, when either lover is still flowered, it behooves the other to take that into account. So I will not hurry our night of love. You will find I can be very gentle. So I hope you will not be tense."
"I understand, Your Majesty. I assure you, I am quite at ease in your presence."
Charles felt this was the time to clarify how he would like his lover to address him.
"Outside these doors, it is right and proper for you to call me 'Your Majesty' or any of my other titles. Within the walls of your chamber, the titles feel a bit ... stilted. Wouldn't you say so?"
Agnes could only nod her head. Sitting on the side of a bed, next to a naked monarch, and discussing how he should be called, was outside the pale of what she had considered an imaginable situation.
"And likewise," Charles continued. "Outside that door, in that other world we inhabit, I will, of course, continue to address you as Demoiselle Agnes. But here in our privacy, I would prefer to call you Beauté. Would that be satisfactory?"
Agnes regained the use of her voice.
"Yes, that would be pleasing to me. But then you must tell me how you would like to be addressed, here."
"Very few even know the pet name I am called by my intimates. I would like you to know that name and call me by it in our intimate moments. The name is Chatz. My mother was Bavarian, you know. And she always called me that as a term of endearment."
"The name is already dear to me, Chatz," she said, and encircled his neck once more, drawing him into a lingering kiss. As they kissed, she softly brushed her fingers across his naked chest, having learned from practice that such a stroke was pleasing to the male body.
"If you would please me now, Beauté, you will rest languidly stretched out on the bed as I become acquainted with you by feel and word."
Surprised again, Agnes stretched out as directed. She realized her previous experiences and experimentations had not prepared her for a skillful royal lover. At this point, the awkward young men she had seduced were clumsily groping for her breasts, or her Venus brush, or, among the least adept, directly for her treasure box. This lover could not be said to grope at all.
Chatz had spotted the cup of unscented oil that had been placed on a table next to the bed. He smiled. The beauty was not altogether naive concerning a night of love. He dipped his fingers into the oil, and began to very, very lightly touch her skin, starting with her face. The gentle touches, around the cheeks, on the earlobes, behind the ears, over the lips, under the chin, and around the neck induced a sexual sensation totally new to her.
"I love to give, and to receive, the sensuality of the pattes d'araignée (spider legs)," he whispered. "It is so satisfying to allow the finger tips to become acquainted with every inch of skin as lovely as yours."
As he brought the pattes down her left arm and into her armpit, he lowered his face into the pit as well.
"Let me tell you, my lovely Beauté, there is nothing excites a man like the perfume emitted from your cassolette (perfume container). Check just inside your coffre de trésors (treasure chest) for moisture. Go ahead. Do not be embarrassed."
Agnes dabbed her index finger with her personal perfume.
"Now, dab some of that behind your ears, in your armpits, on your navel, on your brosse de Vénus (Venus brush), and on your toes. There is no perfume in the world like a woman's natural scent."
Agnes did feel a bit self-conscious in doing so, but knew in her heart her lover was right. Nature certainly would provide the perfect scents for lovemaking.
As Chatz nuzzled into her newly perfumed armpit, he inhaled deeply.
"Ahh! The female armpit in itself is an aphrodisiac. But when enhanced with the aroma from the cassolette, it is excruciatingly heady," he sighed.
After having lovingly licked each enhanced armpit, Chatz continued with the pattes across her chest, giving special play to her strawberry pink nipples. When they were maximally turgid, he lavished tongue-laps over the aroused tips. Agnes had never known any experience quite like this. But she was exquisitely aware she liked it.
Abandoning the loving lavage of the nipples, Chatz's pattes continued to the other armpit, and another erotic nuzzle with his face to inhale Agnes' excruciatingly tantalizing female scents.
Agnes could not lie still. Her hands caressed her lover's flowing hair. She grew so excited she gave a fierce pull to his hair. She tugged his head up to her lips, and they engaged in a kiss so passionate that both were left gasping.
When she released him, Chatz continued the pattes down her body, lingering at the navel and at the inguinal creases. He followed each crease down to its meeting place at the crotch.
Abandoning the pattes, he rubbed his cheek against the softness of her brosse de Vénus, lingering there to enjoy its full fragrance. Then, to Agnes' startled reaction, he embraced her nether mouth with a probing kiss, consuming the essences of her cassolette. He left as much of his own moisture as he withdrew.
Having taken his fill from her honey pot, he addressed himself to her bouton d'amour. Slowly, at first, then with increasing flickers of his tongue, he brought her to a series of éphaphanies that wracked her entire body with pleasure. She had self-induced épiphanies there before with her finger, but this exceeded those pleasures many fold.
Satisfied he had given her pleasure, Chatz engaged himself with her gorgeous feet. Enraptured, he kissed each foot, sucking each toe, then licking the soles.
The king had been master of the engagement until then. But Agnes knew if she were to be this man's mistress, she must begin to take charge herself. She withdrew her foot and eased around so she could reach down to caress his royal scepter. The throbbing she felt alarmed her somewhat. She did not want her lover to achieve his épiphanie too soon. The idea was to make the acts of love last as long as possible.
At her prompting, his head came even with hers for a full mouth-to-mouth kiss.
"Chatz," she said soothingly. "You have regaled me ... royally. If you would give me more pleasure, do so by lying docile while I enjoy the mysteries of your body."
"As you wish, my dame de beauté. From the flavor of your honey cakes, and my reaction to them, I am aware they were redolent of chanvre. So it is unlikely I will arrive at my épiphanie prematurely. I invite you to explore at will. France is at your mercy."
Encouraged by his assurance of staying power, she began at his ears with the lavage doux she had practiced scores of times on her swains. Her tongue traced a path from behind his ears to his neck region. He reached out to caress her breasts as she did so. Her tongue trailed from under his chin to his armpits. She had never before reveled in the scent of the male armpit. Her tongue as well as her nose took in the musky flavor.
Quick flicks of her tongue led to his nipples, which she licked, sucked, and encircled to utterances from her lover that might not have sounded regal.
Her tongue continued its pilgrimage southward, missing not an inch of the king's sensitive skin surface.
As her tongue found a lovely spot just behind his scrotum, she made two discoveries. One, that the male scent there was even more delightful than at the armpits. The second was confirmation of what she had intuited the meaning of Joan of Arc's secret revelation to the king to have been. The sovereign had a birthmark there. And the mark was very similar to the form of the fleur-de-lys.
She smiled as she raised her face to gently kiss the king's petit coeur. As she did so, she inserted a saliva moistened finger into his derrière, gently massaging his prostate gland. The effect on the king was electrifying. He experienced the petit mort. He had bedded many a woman, but had never experienced such ecstasy.
From her mouth, she spread the mixture of his essence and her saliva over parts of his body and massaged them into his skin so the scent would continue to excite her when they resumed.
When he recovered, he embraced her tightly.
"Are you all right?" Agnes asked.
"Better than all right," he replied. "I have died and been reborn a new man."
He looked down at himself. "Well, I will soon be a new man, anyway. With another of your wonderful honey cakes, I will be revived down there to a point where we may begin again."
And, it was true. In less then ten minutes, the apparently dead member was again ready for action. This time, the couple engaged in a basic act of love.
With Chatz mounted above her, face to face, she inserted her tongue into his mouth. With the thrusts of her tongue acting as a director for his actions, he measured his own lower thrusts in exact time to her lingual directions. With a sigh from both of them, Agnes yielded to her king that which she had preserved and reserved for this moment ordained by Destiny. The simultaneous épiphanies delighted them enormously.
The nuit d'amour continued on, hour after hour. The king was inexhaustible. As was his lover.
At one point during the night, Agnes whispered into Chatz's ear. "The fleur-de-lys lies hidden beneath the crown jewels of France."
The king realized at that moment this was the second woman who had come into his life to save both France and himself. The night of love was an experience to remember. But the words of the Maid of Orleans uttered by the most beautiful woman in the world was more than an experience to remember. It was a signal to him that Agnes' life was meant by Destiny to be entwined with his.
The date of their coupling was February 14, 1434. Valentine's Day. And Agnes, age nineteen, knew the moment she had waited for had arrived. She would rule a great nation.