Poirier

The Ambassador would not quit talking. Going on and on about this "excellent opportunity" that most women would "die for". In the French court everyone was always so . . . dramatic. The hair, the makeup, the over-frosted cakes, even the orgasms had to be so over the top it was hard to take them seriously most of the time. We continued to stroll through the courtyard past the pear trees and the rose bushes. When I was younger, I would pick one of the pears right off the tree and eat them. But I was not allowed to do that now.

I had traveled to France from Greece, a small town outside of Athens called Lavaedia, where my family were modest aristocrats. We were given our title and lands years ago not for being erudite Athenians but for being war mongers (that won I must add) aka Spartans. Now we were pseudo-aristocrats. We had money and a little land. But no training. A marriage match would have been lackluster back home to say the best. So I was sent to French court where I would learn the art of being a lady. Not just any lady, but the mistress that have both men and women wanting what I had to offer.

The Ambassador had been in charge of overseeing my training. A fellow Greek, and good friend to my uncle, he would ensure that I learned all there was to know and make an excellent match.

"Are you paying attention mon cheri?" The Ambassador asked.

I wasn't so I did what any lady would do. I looked at him demurely and waved my fan about my face implying that I knew exactly what he was talking about but really had no idea.

He abruptly turned around so fast on his heels that his jacket spun with the ferocity of a tornado and as he grabbed me buy the shoulders. I could smell his breath he was that close.

"Were you in another court, people would look at your past indiscretions and you would be spoiled. Not even a farmer would have you. But you mon cheri, are in France. Where women with experience are more valued than beginners who wouldn't know what to do with a man let alone a man and a woman at the same time. At least we won't have to worry about that with you. Thank fucking God we didn't send you to England as your father had wished".

Yes, Father had wanted me to study under the English but well, I was already a bit too advanced for them. My good friend Anne who was in my dancing lessons was from England. She always talked about how dreary it was there. I am not sure if she meant the people or the weather. I like to think she was talking about both.

The Ambassador and I stopped at my favorite tree, poirer, I would learn it was called in French. Even after two years, my French was not the best but I was accomplished in dancing, embroidery (which enabled me to make my own money), and the art of private entertaining.

I lifted my hand to pick the fruit when the Ambassador angrily smacked my hand.

"What are you doing? This is no time for fruit. We are preparing you for the evening" he spat in my direction.

I indignantly whirled around and looked him boldly in the eye, pear in one hand and fan dropping to my side in the other.

"You, Ambassador, need to worry about trades and agreements. My area of expertise is elsewhere. I am sure you would agree."

And with that, I polished the precious fruit but I did not eat it as much as I wanted to. No this pear was going to be much more valuable.

We reached the end of my walk where The Ambassador begged me not to do anything too stupid which with me was not an unreasonable request.

The Queen's maid of the household was waiting for me.

"Come this way Mademoiselle, their Royal Highnesses are expecting you."

I walked through the hall which was quite cool considering it was the end of summer. As I walked I admired the tapestries and then I realized my maid had not tied my corset quite tightly enough. My breasts, while full and perky were nowhere near where I liked to wear them. Next time. Hopefully there would be a next time.

We stopped at the doors. Imposing, wooden, emblazened with a golden coat of arms. And as the maid knocked, my heart skipped a beat. I had done this before. Many times in fact. Just, never with them.

The door opened and I was ushered into the King's private chamber. Candles flickered and there sat, her . . . the Queen. She looked at me with both anger and fear in her eyes. She didn't want to be here. Her attendance was clearly required.

The King walked towards me and caressed my cheek.

"I have heard of you from my friends on the hunt. I would love to be entertained as well. Unfortunately, the Queen has many objections to tonight's itinerary, might you have any suggestions?" Clearly he could rule the country, but I could rule a bedroom . . . also a bench, a carriage, a fountain, you get the point.

So I walked over to the Queen and bowed with one arm lifting elegantly towards the ceiling and the other towards the floor. My breasts almost spilling out of my dress. I looked up slightly to see her watching them too. I rose and walked towards the chair she was sitting in.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the poirer (pear) and offered it to her. My hand outstretched, I seductively whispered into her ear

"My Queen this might make you more comfortable this evening."

The King looked intently on, stroking himself through his pants.

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle, I do not care for pears." the Queen retorted defensively.

I came to the table where a small blade was laying. I began to core and slice the fruit. I cut it into small, thin slices, and placed them on a silver tray. Both the Queen and King looked on wondering if I was serving them dinner or what they had ordered . . . dessert.

Walking behind the queen where she was still seated, I caressed her shoulders and licked her neck . . . I felt her body quiver. I moved my hands to reach over her bodice and then under it. I cupped her breasts and ran my fingers over her nipples, trapping them between my index and middle finger giving them a slight squeeze while rubbing her breasts with the others. She moaned and as much as she didn't want to, she liked it.

"I still don't like poirer". She breathlessly whispered.

I pulled her to her feet from behind and walked her towards the bed. The Queen attempted to turn and lie down but I bent her over instead and grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck. I jerked up her dress and felt underneath. Good she was already wet. Dripping wet.

I looked at the King and motioned for him to bring the plate of pear slices.

As I moved my fingers over her clitoris, she quivered and arched her back for more.

"My Queen, the poirer was not for you to eat. But rather for me and His Royal Highness to eat. Is that ok with you?"

She nodded furiously as I rubbed her clit faster.

I took each slice of pear and inserted it into her all while she was arching and moaning as I furiously rubbed her. And just when she was so wet and moaning so loud I would move my hands to somewhere else. Just above her clitoris . . . her inner thigh . . . underneath her ass cheeks.

I had finished inserting the last slice of poirer, I looked at the King, grabbed his hand and pulled us both to our knees. Where we both ate the poirer while the Queen moaned in pleasure.

The servants attending that night tried not to watch but I nodded the approval for them to not drop their gaze. And they didn't as the moans from the Queen as we licked and slurped the fruit out of her vagina culminated in one eruption of pleasure.

I have always been fond of the poirer no matter what the Ambassador thinks. The Queen and King agree.