Free The General's Mistress by Jo Graham

“Say, ‘I am a whore. I am a whore and I want you to make me come.’”
    “I am a whore and I want you to make me come.” The pressure was almost unbearable. I felt suspended, timeless. I was nothing but a knot of craving.
    “I am not going to stop until you do,” he said calmly. “You need not worry that you will be unsatisfied. I am going to watch you squirm and writhe with my fingers inside you until you finish.”
    I screamed and came against his hand. Lights flashed and my head swam, my entire being locked in a convulsion that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. I lay back against the arm of the divan. I could hardly see.
    And then he thrust into me, into tissues already overstimulated. My back arched and I almost fell, falling, falling out of the world, sealed together, my body moving against him.
    He came hard and lay across me, discipline pushed to the limit. His soft dark hair was against my face, his forehead covered in sweat, our bodies still joined.
    I took one breath and then another. And then another.
    He stirred, and for a moment his eyes were half-veiled.
    “My God,” I said.
    He smiled, and it was the same mocking poise again. “I doubt if God has anything to do with it.” He got up carefully. Despite his best efforts, his clothes were in some disarray.
    I tried to sit up. My back hurt from the uncomfortableposition, and my body felt more than sensitive. I moaned involuntarily as my swollen nether lips touched the divan.
    Victor looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “That was quite something.”
    “Yes,” I said.
    He leaned over me again, parting my legs and touching the tender skin that had just brushed the cloth. I leaned back against his arm.
    “Again,” he said, and his hand moved on me.

    I awoke the next morning in the Blue Room. I stretched luxuriously on the heavy linen sheets. I was stiff and sore, but completely, utterly relaxed. I turned my head. Light came in under the curtains, enough to tell me it was full daylight. The fire was dead and the room was a little chilly, but not cold. Or perhaps it was just that I was naked.
    There was a knock. I sat up, pulling the sheet and duvet up over my breasts. “Yes?”
    A young chambermaid carrying a bucket of water bobbed a curtsy in the doorway. “Madame, the general thought that you might like a bath.”
    “Come in,” I said. “I would like one very much.” The prospect was absolutely delightful. Even more delightful was the idea that he had thought of it, that he had considered my comfort. I looked for my hairpins. I heard the splashing as she poured the water into the tub in the dressing room. “Is the general still here?”
    She came out with the empty bucket. “No, Madame. He said that he has a great deal of work to do today. But he told us that we are to do anything you request, and he left a purse with Marcel if you wish to go to the shops today, since your clothes haven’t arrived yet.”
    A nice sensibility, I thought, to leave the purse with the valet for shopping, rather than handing it to me as though it were my price. But I really did want some clothes, at least a clean chemise. My trunks might take three or four days yet. And besides, as he had said, many of my clothes were rather modest.
    While the chambermaid finished filling the bath, I looked around the dressing room again. There was plain soap, but no scented soap or oils. For some reason, this pleased me enormously. If women stayed here, it was not often enough to leave their things. Or else Moreau had fastidiously removed them.
    “Is there anything else you would like, Madame?” she asked.
    “In three-quarters of an hour, I would like coffee with cream, with bread and butter and jam,” I said. “I will take it in here. Also, please brush and hang my dress.”
    She nodded. “Of course, Madame.”
    I settled into the warm water gratefully as she left. I did not love him. I wasn’t sure if I even liked him. Yet twice this morning he had thought of