She lay on the bed, legs sprawled, arms coiled around the warm body of her lover. She had never imagined it would be like this. She felt like flying. Franca’s eyes rolled back as she let out another moan. She liked this. This was good.

It was her right.

This was not her first time, but it was the best one so far.

A beautiful Duke, tall and handsome had caught her attention. Deep blue eyes like the Mediterranean sea, dressed in his military uniform, a thin scar crossing his cheek, symbol of the battles he had served in. He was as rough as she had imagined, and she as soft and plump and ready as he had envisioned in his mind.

She could just imagine him charging into battle with the same vigour he now opened her legs, no need to coax her into wetness with his fingers: she was already wet, her core clenching and unclenching like a damp fist. He put his rod against her folds without even asking, without even saying anything: she was too beautiful, too beautiful, too desirable. So much she had stolen his breath and his word.

He pushed deep inside her and she groaned, arching her back and presenting him her breasts, the full, rounded oranges the Voice had grown for her.

A little creases passed on her brow. It was not the time to think about the Voice. This was her day and her day only. She yelped as he put his rough, wide hands over her chest, mauling her breasts, just like she was an object for his pleasure.

She liked it this way. He pushed deep, back and forth, back and forth, making the bed trembled with the strength of his blows.

“Yes yes yes,” she cooed, closing her eyes and pulling him closer. She kissed him, and he poured every drop of passion into kissing her back. Franca’s thick lips were never satiated by just one kiss. She laughed into the kiss as bliss spread through her body. She felt like flying. More and more and more.

This was the life. This was what had been taken away from her for far too long.

Sure, she had to pay for it eventually, but…

“More,” she groaned against his ear. It was not the time to think about anything else. She wanted pleasure! She wanted to be used, she wanted to make sure he enjoyed himself to the fullest.

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So that he’d come back.

So that he’d never forget her.

So that she’d stay with him…

“More! Ahhh… more!” She cried out as he picked up the pace, lifting her lithe body. One hand and an arm under her back while with the other caressed her breasts, flicking her nipples. Yes. He was so rough. And she welcomed him inside her with such pleasure. He pounded inside her, producing low slick noises and wave upon wave of golden pleasure. Her breasts wobbled each time, her hair fell in a black cascade behind her, spreading over the bed like a black shroud.

She was so beautiful. She was perfect.

“You… are… you are amazing… my lady Franca…” he sputtered between one pelvic movement and the next. She tittered.

“You… are so kind. Use me! Make me your…” something still hesitated inside her, the last rings of a long-rusted chain. “Make me your bitch!” She yelled and the one remnant of her morals and her upbringing was lost.

Pleasure doubled as she accepted completely what she was here for.

She was in this world for pleasure. And if she was willing to share, men like the Duke would always been far too eager to provide her with everything she desired.

She was beautiful.

“Ahhh, right there!”

“Lady F-Franca!”

She was unforgettable.

“Make… make me…”

Maybe it had been her pleading tone, maybe it had been the fact she squeezed her thighs against his member, but he went off like a sail growing taut under a strong wind. He arched his back, she arched hers and he came inside her.

This was her right. Nobody would take it from her ever again.

Franca shook with the strength of her own orgasm. She floated through air and through the thick pleasure that invaded all of her senses. Her mouth opened in a happy groan as she let out one long lusty moan, coiling her toes as she was used like she was supposed to be.

Ought to be.

She was, after all, every man’s desire.

-

And it was not just boasting. Over the course of the seasons, she accrued suitors like she accrued pearl necklaces, or rings, or vacations, or gifts, or beautiful ballgowns.

Still, it would not be enough. Whenever she stepped out of her home, whenever she looked out of the window, the forest was there to meet her gaze.

The Old Country.

But she had a solution.

She left the island on a clear December night, stepping on the boat that would carry her to Rome and from there all the way to Paris. The handsome, tall, rich Prince helped her aboard with a large smile and a knowing glint in his eyes, confident in his charm. At last she would find an occasion to show off her French.

As the boat paddled its way through the Channel and north towards the open waters, Franca held hands with her gracious host, looking back towards the island.

Can’t get me now, she thought. A grin spread over her features.

The halogen lights of the boat and the strings of golden light coming from the coast seemed to say the same thing: she was now in the world of men, in more than one sense. She had stepped away from old tales and old fears. She was a free woman, and the thing in the wood would not catch her.

Not now, not ever.

Franca looked into the night and laughed.