The Queen's Consort Read Online Free PDF Page A

only be with you fine women on my cock first.” François pinched Arabelle’s cheek teasingly and glanced back over his shoulder. “I fear I’ve spent enough time hiding behind the walls, though. Her Highness will want me when she returns, and I need to be sure that I can perform again after using my seed on you.” He looked directly at Arabelle as he said this, then leaned over and whispered in her ear, “And you are the only one who has had it.”
    Arabelle tingled with lust all over again, but before she could respond, François kissed her on the cheek, then hurried back to find the secret door that led into the queen’s chambers. Christine and Marie approached behind Arabelle and each of them took her by the hand and sighed whimsically.
    â€œYou were right.” Marie giggled and flushed at the same time. “He was good.”
    â€œSo, very, very good.” Christine agreed.
    The three maids laughed tiredly in unison, then turned to head back to their chambers.
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    The Revolution was eventually upon them and François was nowhere to be found. Arabelle did not have the time to look for him, or ask around for him, since she was so busy running about the palace, trying to avoid disaster. The revolutionaries had marched to the courtyard the night before, demanding to see the queen who was bereft and beside herself over the matter. They blamed her. Arabelle could understand why.
    In the time that Arabelle had been employed, she watched great sums of money be splurged on whatever it was that the queen desired. At first, it was alarming, but Arabelle grew tired of the financial gossip, and learned to escape the harsh reality of the declining country by spreading more uplifting and humorous gossip about which lady was being fucked in the butcher’s kitchen. Once, one of the governesses came to the maids’ room while the girls were giggling about the king’s inability to put his cock into a woman, and they were all scolded for being so oblivious and disrespectful to France’s situation. But it was just that, France’s situation, and not theirs. They just worked for the royalty, they were not royal themselves. Was François paid for his services? Arabelle wondered. Did the queen spend the bread money for the poor so that she could be fucked in the early-morning hours? How devious it was, to be the queen.
    The other maids had been sent away, all save for Arabelle and Christine, who were urged to stay to prepare the royal family for their attempted flight out of the country. As the months before the revolution passed by, Arabelle learned that she was with child. She touched her stomach and mischievously smiled in secret when no one was watching, since she decided that it was not worth the stress of saying anything about her condition. Emotions were heightened, and Arabelle didn’t want to be threatened with the possibility of facing the guillotine for using the assumedly paid consort of the queen. Despite this, the secret drove Arabelle to want to find François in hopes that she could run off with him to some safer place that wasn’t so angry and charged.
    As she flittered through the halls, dragging bags of the queen’s plainest clothes to take to the escape carriage set up outside, she scanned the few dozen people who roamed through, saving or quietly pilfering what possessions they could. Arabelle thought that they were smart. Why not take from the royal family, when they took the people’s funds from them? At the same time, a part of her felt sad as women ran by her carrying the royal dress of the children. Surely, they were at least innocent. Arabelle laughed wryly to herself and wondered aloud, “When did I become such a revolutionary? Perhaps if she had spent more time worrying about her people and not about her cunny, none of us would be in this situation.”
    François was nowhere to be found. It was much too chaotic. Arabelle