The Birthday Present. Alison Richardson

stranger gave me what I asked for with a raw power that shocked me; I did not understand the violence of his lust, but it satisfied me nonetheless.

      This time when we were done the man took me in his arms and lay down close against me on the bed, gentle after his second assault. He teased my lips with soft kisses and caressed my throat and my breasts with the tips of his fingers, and we lay quietly like that, neither of us speaking, for some time.

      Despite his silence and my blindness, I knew without question that the man holding me was strong willed and powerful, someone whose name must be known throughout Germany. He appeared in the guise of a servant tonight, coming at my cousin’s bidding, but servant was a role he never played in daylight hours. The only clues that I had to his identity were what I could feel with my hands, and I twisted my body to nestle against him, caressing the backs of his well-formed legs with the soles of my feet. As he kissed my lips, I dug my fingers into his chest; the brush of his hair was rough under my palms and I rubbed my hands against his skin to better feel it—tough masculine hair and firm, erect masculine nipples and always, wherever I slid my hands, the taut ripple of trained muscles, with no hints of a soft life.

      “I want to watch you ride my cock, Countess,” he murmured finally in my ear. Grabbing hold of my thighs with both hands, he pulled me across his body so that I was straddling him.

      In my blindness I was unsteady in this position at first, unsure of my balance, but he guided his dick to the mouth of my pussy and held me firmly in place while I slid down on top of him. I took this man inside me a third time with more eagerness than I have often felt at a first coupling, and my enthusiasm amused him. I heard him chuckle underneath me sometimes at my petulant, whimpering moans.

      I was, I should say, very happy with my birthday present. After two years of nothing but dildos, one is fully able to appreciate the charms of a real man. The warmth is the most telling difference, and the strength of the thrusting, which no hand can simulate. A real cock is not a loose, artificial appendage; it is firmly attached and can be pounded and gripped without fear of dislodgement and, as you fuck it, very hard, the man attached to it will groan and kiss you with great enthusiasm—as this unknown man did now—and the entire ensemble has no equal, at least not in any toy I have ever possessed.

      I was so drowsy after this exercise that I barely felt the man leave the bed; as soon as I sensed that he was gone I sat up and called out for him, though I did not know his name. When no answer came, I ripped off my blindfold and saw that I was alone in one of the small palace bedrooms. Moonlight struck the floor through two large windows, and my gown lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from the bed. I hurriedly dressed myself again, as much as that was possible without the aid of maid, and a few moments later Robert appeared at the door to take me through a servants’ entrance to our waiting carriage.