Affairs D'Amour - Casanova's Adventures

La Marchionesse de Lyons


Casanova moved toward the terrace intent on air and escape form the throng of prancing dancers, the whirling colour and the raised squeals of coquettish delight. The ballroom was stuffy and hot, filled with the sweaty perfume of men and women on heat.
The terrace in darkness seemed abandoned at the further corner and Casanova made his way there, to stand in the moonless night and contemplate the world.

In the darkness a woman watched him. He was elegantly dressed as befitted his station, yet he did not appear overly handsome or young. There was she supposed an air about him, a confidence, an élan that spoke of a man used to getting his way, but she had seen that on countless men before, so why was this man so special? Why was it every married woman between twenty and sixty living in Paris wanted to bed this man?

Casanova felt the heat of regard he knew he was not alone and turning said ’Who’s there?’

‘Sir, my apologies for staring at you in the dark, your silhouette does not reveal who you are, but if you were to come closer then maybe you could also tell me your name?’ her warmly inviting voice drawled.

Casanova smiled in the darkness and bowed low before moving towards the voice ‘Madam’ he replied ‘I am at your service’
As he stood in front of the woman seated in the loveseat, his eyes sought her hand in the darkness and raising it to his lips he said ‘My name is Conte Casanova, madam and you are?’
‘La Marchioness de Lyons, Sir’

Without waiting to be asked Casanova sat in the other side of the loveseat leaning in to breathe in the woman’s perfume. In this light he could discern a woman of about thirty five, with a heart shaped face and pale skin. Her eyes in the dim light appeared as black jets, her smile was ironic and her eyebrow lifted. All of this he could ascertain from the lit candles from the room facing them.

‘Your reputation precedes you Count, the whole of Paris is a twitter with tales of your debauchery.’
‘I was rather hoping it was my lady, after all, there’s not much point in having a reputation if it cannot advertise one’s attributes and find it’s mark surely?’

He was playing with her, she was sure. Repartee was such a delicious game, she thought.

‘Are you not curious, Madam to see how accurate the gossip is?’ he whispered as he leaned in to her ear, taking hold of her hand as the wrist and rubbing it rhythmically.

Unexpectedly she felt her heartbeat skip and run playfully under his caress.
' Ohhh! 'He was good, she thought.
‘Curious, mmmmm, I’ve heard that’s dangerous for a feline, my Lord?’

‘Oh, only if you were unprepared my lady, but I sense you would know the game well and may even offer me a few surprises’ he smiled in the darkness, his breath fanning her décolleté, sending tingly shivers all over her body as he moved closer still and rained light kisses at her bosom’s edge.

La Marchioness was feeling decidedly warm for such a brief encounter and wishing to put distance between her responses and his kisses she asked

‘Do you find this approach successful with many women Count?’

‘Well of course each woman is unique and I would not treat a milkmaid the same way as a Duchess, my lady’
‘And how would you differentiate, my Lord?’

With a swift and totally unexpected movement the Count’s hand had reached under her skirts and torpedoed to her damp pantaloons, reaching past petticoats and panniers and her panicked ‘oh!’ was swallowed in a brief intense kiss to her lips.

The touch of his tongue at her lips was mimicked as his fingers torn the fine linen of her pantaloons reaching pointedly for her wet garden and inner sanctum, insistently taking his prize and then when she would have surrendered, opening her legs for more, wanting to feel his fingers, his hand all over her mound of Venus, he quickly withdrew and placed his fingers between their mouths, so they could both enjoy the taste of her.

Finally he let go of her lips and finished licking his fingers of her sacred juice and bending to her ear again said

‘My lady, a milkmaid, I treat as a princess and a lady as a whore, that way I am always delighted in their response.’ He bit her ear gently, ‘When you are ready for me Madam, La Marchioness, I will be ready to show you all that you desire but do not receive from your husband, until then adieu.’

He stood up, bowed low and disappeared into the night.

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La Marchioness almost swooned with anticipated pleasure.

Several weeks had passed since the encounter with La Marchioness, although Casanova had of course been not without ‘l’amore’ during that time and had even espied La Marchioness at various functions they were both expected to attend, but tonight was for him. Alone, to be with his beloved books, his thoughts and more manly pursuits. It was a cruel night out, bitter winds and blinding rain and he was glad of the quietude, the glass of wine, the book and chair drawn towards the warmth of the fire.

A knock at the door surprised him, as his manservant should have been preparing for an early night as well.
‘Come.’
‘My Lord, there is a woman at the door.’
‘In this weather? Madre Mia! What woman, Aldo?’
‘The woman would not give her name Sire, but she said to assure you that you would know who she was once you had agreed to see her.’

A silence fell between them as Casanova tried to think who such a woman might be and Aldo well aware and even an accomplice for some of the adventures of his master filled the silence with assurance.

‘She does not seem dangerous or inclined to histrionics, my lord, in fact she seems calm and dare I say it in control of herself.’
‘Hmmm. Very well Aldo, you can show her in. Please prepare a supper tray for us both and then you can retire’ he instructed, turning to replace his book and stand in front of the fire.

‘Very well, my lord’ Aldo replied with a slight bow, closing the door behind him and going in search of the lady.

He returned moments later, crossing the vast vestibule and leading her up the staircase to the library.

La Marchioness was anxious to get in front of Casanova. She had been planning this evening for sometime and even though she had not been sure whether Casanova would be at home, she was willing to be a mysterious night visitor had he been detained elsewhere. Although she was in a hurry to see him, to speak with him and indeed to see what he might know that would be more than her husband’s skill, she had years of training to rely on and this kept her resolutely calm and disciplined. Her step on the stair was calm, reassured and emotionally disciplined.

She had taken time with her hair, her bathing, her dress and yes even her petticoats.
Her husband was conveniently on business in Prague and her time was her own.

She nodded her head briefly as the manservant opened the door for her to precede him into Casanova’s presence, and as her eyes feasted on him as she entered the room, her heart fluttered in anticipation. She had not realised how ready she was to go ahead with this assignation.

Aldo left the room quickly and the woman and Casanova were alone.

‘You came calling my lady, on such a night, with no invitation? What matter is so dire as to require this urgency, this step from protocol?

He turned and looked at the woman. Ahhh! La Marchioness de Lyons, he remembered and inwardly smiled. He had momentarily thought he was losing his finesse, but no, here she was as he had anticipated.

A lesser woman would have been nonplussed by his scant regard and imperative manner, but La Marchioness was practiced with this nonchalant disregard, for her husband treated her thus with less reason.

She laughed lightly.

‘My lord, I thought that a night such as this would have precluded you from visiting others and on a whim, thought to visit you on the off chance that I was proved right
And you would indeed be ready for a visitor.’

He smiled then.

‘Please my lady, come close to the fire and warm yourself. I am delighted that you take so much effort with your attire for someone who came on the off chance,’ he said smoothly.
He handed her into the seat opposite the one he was to sit in and poured her a glass of wine.

This moment gave her time to compose her self as she devoured him with her eyes on his back, lowering them swiftly at his approach.

She decided that boldness was her best action and thanking him for the wine continued with ‘My husband is currently in Prague, my Lord and I find myself with time on my hands. You know how society wishes for all good wives to be at home with their servants at such time, but I am bored for company and thought you might be willing to entertain me with yours.’

He smiled and bowed. So she thinks she is ready, does she? He thought, we will see about that. ‘Well, I hope my company can be scintillating my lady and entertains you as you desire.’

He entertained her with conversation and wit. As they ate their supper they discussed society, mannerisms and gossip. He enjoyed her clever and astute take on many of the men and women they knew in common and the time passed easily.

At times he would look hotly at her and then look away. There hands touched as he passed the plates to her and their knees nudged each other under the table, but other than that he made no move, in fact he was the most polite of companions, urbane and intelligent and so frustrating that La Marchioness was close to tears with unexpressed desire and wanted to stamp her foot in exasperation!

The clock struck the hour and Count Casanova rose signaling the end of the evening.
‘Let me assist you with your coat, my lady and send you to your driver’ he said, allowing her no opportunity to detain him further.

He led her down the stairs, through the hall to the front door, where her carriage stood, assisting her to climb inside. When she was comfortably settled in her fur blankets, he took her hand and raised it to her lips in salute ‘Good night my lady, until next time, Adieu.’

He closed the carriage door and stepped back with a slight smile, a nod and then
turned and went into the house. The carriage and horses sped through the night as a disgruntled and frustrated La Marchioness de Lyons sat in her carriage wondering what had happened that evening and what game Count Casanova was really playing.
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Some days later, La Marchioness de Lyons was in bed, settling to retire for the night. The strange misadventure or should she say non-adventure with Count Casanova had still not settled into the past, rather it sat as an undigested fish bone in her gullet. A reminder that rankled for she had miscalculated regarding Casanova and her temper had been ‘most foul’ as her maid Marcienne could attest to.

She had not previously contemplated adultery even though it was the ‘de rigeur’ of the day. It had been a mind tussle to get her to accept that her curiosity about Count Casanova’s remark ‘I will be ready to show you all that you desire but do not receive from your husband,’ was worthy of her forsaking her marriage vows. While her first encounter with Casanova had been brief, she suspected that she would find far more satisfaction with Count Casanova than her politically absorbed husband, whose career in diplomacy seemed to merit far more attention than she did!

For La Marchioness, her thirteen years of conjugal bliss had successfully borne 2 sons and a stillborn daughter. After which she forsook motherhood, allowing herself the obligatory requirements of a husband, whom she had realised from the gossip of her friends, did not possess a particularly strong libido.

The wind rattled the French doors to the balcony and then was still.

La Marchioness turned sleepily to face the curtained doors and then opened her eyes completely alert as she sensed she was not alone. Before she let out a scream the figure loomed darkly above her, covering her moth with his hand and her body with his, pinning her body and hands into position.

The man breathed lightly, as though not exerting any energy and whispered softly but clearly
‘Madam La Marchioness, you were so much keener for me to treat you as a ‘poxie doxie’ the last time we met, surely you have no object to being trussed and stuffed, have you my lady?’

His voice though a whisper was ironic and knowing.

‘Milady, I’ll make this easy for you. Let me have my wicked way with you, a stranger in the night and you will be satisfied and your virtue will remain intact – what more would a woman in your position require?’

His eyes sparkled with devilment.

‘Nod my lady, if you are in agreement and I will release your pretty mouth, otherwise I may just have to ravish and rape you anyway, for I think it is I that has the upper hand, hmmm?’

La Marchioness nodded and Count Casanova removed his hand from her mouth, but otherwise had her body pinned under his.

‘You sir are no gentleman! Release me at once!’ La Marchioness hissed her displeasure at the Count’s brutal assault.

The Count laughed softly ‘My Lady, you have not in all the moments I have shared with you ever asked for a gentlemen, a poncing fool, you can have that for free from your husband! You, My Lady want, nay, need most desperately a man and tonight you shall receive your heart and body’s desire!’

Coldly, La Marchioness stared at the Count.

‘You, Sir are sadly mistaken. I do not want, nay need a brute and you shall leave my boudoir immediately or I shall raise the servants, the peasants, nay the whole city of Paris to ensure your removal from my home!’

Count Casanova looked at the heightened excitement clearly visible in La Marchioness’ eyes, felt the flush and pulse at her neck and with one swift movement pulled back the bedcovers from her slight frame, tearing her fine cotton nightdress in the process.

His hand again placed over her lips, he whispered in her ear ‘Let us see My Lady just how mistaken I am, shall we?

La Marchioness was in shock. She had not expected her midnight visitor let alone her nightgown to be torn and the unexpectedness of it made her still. She waited for his next move.

Casanova was enjoying himself, he knew that the fight had now left her and he would be able to start the erogenous assault, seducing and pleasuring her beyond reason. His touch became less firm, more exploratory and more seductive as his hands stroked her neck, pressing gently at the giveaway pulse at the base of her throat. His lips followed.

La Marchioness closed her eyes so that her senses could follow his lips across her heated flesh. He moved down to the swell of her breast until his lips locked on her taut nipple, suckling her as though a child searching for sustenance. He moved his body and nudged her legs apart with his knee. She opened them without resistance, her eyes closed, intent upon the wet mouth still attached to her nipple.

His hand slide the length of her body passed the slight mound of her childbearing hips to the forested vee between her open legs. La Marchioness squirmed with pleasure at his assured touch as with a practiced hand Casanova fluttered lower fingering her pebbled pearl, hidden in the lips of her orchid.

She stiffened at his touch, her eyes shot open and she held her breath, ‘What are you doing?’ she asked hoarsely.
‘You do not know my lady? Your husband has never touched you like this?’

Barely moving, her eyes filled with tears, but otherwise she was mute.

Casanova moved his lips to her mouth kissing her gently yet maintaining both the rhythm and the pressure against her nub. And men wondered why he was so contemptuous of them he thought. A woman loved was like a jewel, beautiful and giving in her response. He shook his head to clear the thoughts that had flooded in and went back to the task at hand, moving his fingers passed the barrier of her orchid lips to her centre where she was heated and wet.

He trailed his lips across the mounds of Venus and Persephone and flicked his tongue in exploration. A short, sharp ‘Oh!’ was the only comment from La Marchioness as she forced herself to remain relaxed and calm as Casanova continued. She wanted him to continue, she liked the sensation that his lips and tongue were creating but at the same time she was scared. Scared of what her body would do and scared of what God’s wrath might be like as she became the wanton she was forbidden to become.

If this tussle was happening in her head her body knew nothing of it and for the moment the body ruled.

Casanova continued his enjoyment of her wet orchid. She was surprisingly sweet, like grapes at the end of the season and he enjoyed her lushness as he continued licking, sucking and flicking, feeling the tension building within her. Suddenly she was over the edge and now he had trouble keeping her still as she bucked and moved away from the intense feelings of her orgasm. Her cry was totally spontaneous and uninhibited. Her body convulsed with the strength of her delight, here eyes tightly closed, her body flushed, her cavern cascading wetly, her hands grasping the pillows seeking to hold on and in this state he kissed her nipples and finally her mouth edging her to greater heights of orgasm by allowing her to taste the juices of her first orgasm.

When she had calmed a little, he eased from the bed to undress. La Marchioness was still unable to speak although her eyes followed his every movement, settling on his hard manhood, proud and ready for action.

He joined her on the bed and she found her hands caressing up his chest, his back as she opened her legs waiting for his to enter her. He did not disappoint. With a steady thrust he impaled her deeply, holding his phallus within her until she was comfortable and then slowly, exquisitely he withdrew. This slow movement steady in, slowly out he maintained until she could bear the action no longer and met his thrusts with her own. Only then did he pick up the pace, lifting her legs high to his shoulders and filling her with each forward thrust.

La Marchioness came alive under his tutelage and now he had a vibrant, willing and erotic lover, who having found her stride, was willing to give back generously. As his breath became more ragged she lifted her hips and rolled them around his member, grinding her buttocks against his seeded sacs increasing his pleasure so that suddenly he was the one losing control, releasing his shot totally into her waiting cavern before slumping against her breasts damp with sweat and exertion.

He lifted his head, his eyes cheeky with devilment ‘Well my lady, was it worth the tease, the wait, the frustration?’ he asked.

La Marchioness was silent, but her action spoke volumes as she sought the blankets to cover them both, pushing him on his back, so she could begin an exploration of her own.

For her the loving had just begun.