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.And as Gislane reached her belly, her breathing began again, slowly, building up, as was his own.And Gislane's song grew louder, as she worked.Up from the belly, to caress the ribs, to seek the breasts, to leave them and stroke neck and armpit, before returning once again to stimulate the nipples into erection.Now Cartarette panted, and her ankles strained at the buckskin cords as she attempted to bend her knees.And still she stared at Dick, mouth wide, tongue circling her opened lips.Gislane stopped, sitting astride Cartarette's thighs, and threw back her head, and gave a gigantic shout, and then leapt up, as if she were the girl.'Now,' she screamed.'Now, now, now.'Dick obeyed.Could this be different? Cartarette had never once attempted to resist him.She had always lain beneath him, in perfect submission.She could not possibly be more submissive when secured.Except she was no longer secured.For even as he reached his own climax her legs came free, to wrap themselves around his body, as a second later her arms came free, the cords loosed by Gislane, to allow her fingers to close on his back, to eat into his flesh.Harriet Gale had screamed her ecstasy.Cartarette d'Estaing reached hers in silence, but her entire body tightened on his, seeming to suck him against her.And her arms remained tight.'I love you,' he gasped.'I hate you,' she whispered in his ear.'Oh, God, how I hate you.'Dick raised his head, to gaze at Gislane, kneeling at the head of the bed.Gislane smiled.'What news, man? What news?'Dick Hilton leaned over the wall above the main gate, looked down on the patrol.They lacked the sparkle he had come to associate with black men, exchanged no humorous sallies with the sentries, rather drooped on their horses' necks.The uniforms of which they were so proud were dirty and untidy.So no doubt they were tired.He had not known men that tired.La Chat made a signal, and Dick left the battlement and ran down the steps to the courtyard.His aide dismounted, heavily, spoke in a low voice.'We were fired on.''You? Imperial troops? Where was this?' La Chat pointed at the forest beyond the wall.'Not fifteen miles from here.''Fifteen miles? But good God, man.''Aye, General,' La Chat agreed.'It is as you feared.'Dick gazed at him for a moment, chewing his lip.For better than three months now there had been no word from Christophe.His supply column went down to Sans Souci and Cap Haitien every third month.Last time, the Emperor had been away, and they had brought back rumours, grumbles of discontent with the burden Christophe was imposing upon his people, the unending war, the incessant labour, the increasing taxes required to maintain the edifice of empire.Petion was dead, but his successor, Jean Pierre Boyer, continued the struggle to establish a republic in the south.But there had been rumours ever since he had first landed in Haiti, six years ago; these had not caused Dick any concern.The absence of the quarterly letter from the Emperor had.Yet he had waited, another three months, before despatching La Chat and his patrol.'And you turned back?''They were in great force, General.Black men, not mulattoes.'Dick pulled his nose, looked out through the gate once again at the mountains, at the forest.'Feed and rest your men, La Chat,' he said.'This evening we had best decide what should be done.''Our orders are to hold La Ferriere, General.''Aye,' Dick said.'For the Emperor.It follows that we would not be obeying orders in allowing the Emperor to be destroyed before he can reach us.This evening, La Chat.'He walked across the courtyard, his sword slapping his thigh.Perhaps life had been too easy, these last two years.He practised his weapons daily; he was proud of the skill Gislane had given him.Because it was Gislane's skill; he still thought of her every time a pistol butt nestled in his palm, every time his fingers wrapped themselves around a sword hilt.But he had not fired a shot in anger since the taking of d'Estaing's village.And in every other respect, this last year had been nothing but happiness.Cartarette waited for him now, as became his slave and his mistress.She still acted the prisoner.Her pride would let her do no less.She even still pretended to mock him, constantly.'News from the coast, monster?' she inquired.But there was less hate than affection in her voice.When he put his arm round her shoulders, her head instinctively rested on his chest, her red-gold hair mingled with the braid on his tunic.No doubt her emotion was mainly loneliness.In all this dark world in which they existed, he was her only friend.Without him her life would be too terrible to contemplate.'No,' he said.'And there is my cause for concern.The patrol was fired on.' He sat in his armchair, leaned back his head.She knelt before him to drag off his boots.Often, when he sat here, he thought he was dreaming.The room was comfortable, rather than elegant.This was a fortress, not a palace.But he had secured a charcoal drawing of her, done by one of his own troopers who had burned wood in the forests below La Ferriere before Christophe's net had sucked him up.The drawing was framed on the wall opposite him.And the artist had been skilled.He had caught her expression, the eagerness of her half-parted lips, the dart of her wide-eyed gaze, even the sheen of her hair.But in black and white he had not been able to secure the colour, of her hair no less than her complexion, for she seldom risked herself in the sun.Just as he had not been able to catch the scent of her perfume or the tinkle of her laugh.She, and her painting, added lustre to the plain wood of the room, the simple furniture and the lack of carpets or drapes.'Then your Emperor will have a cause for shedding blood closer to home,' she remarked, removing his right boot.'My Emperor wishes only to see his people at peace,' Dick said.'Do you believe that?''No,' she said, removing his left boot.'He is a savage, as his people are savages.When he has no one left to fight, and maim, and kill, he will die of frustration.'Dick leaned forward, and her head came up.However she had grown to desire, and perhaps even to need, his sex, she had still always an initial revulsion to overcome.And yet, she was not miserable, he was sure of that.Perhaps she waited for better times [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.And as Gislane reached her belly, her breathing began again, slowly, building up, as was his own.And Gislane's song grew louder, as she worked.Up from the belly, to caress the ribs, to seek the breasts, to leave them and stroke neck and armpit, before returning once again to stimulate the nipples into erection.Now Cartarette panted, and her ankles strained at the buckskin cords as she attempted to bend her knees.And still she stared at Dick, mouth wide, tongue circling her opened lips.Gislane stopped, sitting astride Cartarette's thighs, and threw back her head, and gave a gigantic shout, and then leapt up, as if she were the girl.'Now,' she screamed.'Now, now, now.'Dick obeyed.Could this be different? Cartarette had never once attempted to resist him.She had always lain beneath him, in perfect submission.She could not possibly be more submissive when secured.Except she was no longer secured.For even as he reached his own climax her legs came free, to wrap themselves around his body, as a second later her arms came free, the cords loosed by Gislane, to allow her fingers to close on his back, to eat into his flesh.Harriet Gale had screamed her ecstasy.Cartarette d'Estaing reached hers in silence, but her entire body tightened on his, seeming to suck him against her.And her arms remained tight.'I love you,' he gasped.'I hate you,' she whispered in his ear.'Oh, God, how I hate you.'Dick raised his head, to gaze at Gislane, kneeling at the head of the bed.Gislane smiled.'What news, man? What news?'Dick Hilton leaned over the wall above the main gate, looked down on the patrol.They lacked the sparkle he had come to associate with black men, exchanged no humorous sallies with the sentries, rather drooped on their horses' necks.The uniforms of which they were so proud were dirty and untidy.So no doubt they were tired.He had not known men that tired.La Chat made a signal, and Dick left the battlement and ran down the steps to the courtyard.His aide dismounted, heavily, spoke in a low voice.'We were fired on.''You? Imperial troops? Where was this?' La Chat pointed at the forest beyond the wall.'Not fifteen miles from here.''Fifteen miles? But good God, man.''Aye, General,' La Chat agreed.'It is as you feared.'Dick gazed at him for a moment, chewing his lip.For better than three months now there had been no word from Christophe.His supply column went down to Sans Souci and Cap Haitien every third month.Last time, the Emperor had been away, and they had brought back rumours, grumbles of discontent with the burden Christophe was imposing upon his people, the unending war, the incessant labour, the increasing taxes required to maintain the edifice of empire.Petion was dead, but his successor, Jean Pierre Boyer, continued the struggle to establish a republic in the south.But there had been rumours ever since he had first landed in Haiti, six years ago; these had not caused Dick any concern.The absence of the quarterly letter from the Emperor had.Yet he had waited, another three months, before despatching La Chat and his patrol.'And you turned back?''They were in great force, General.Black men, not mulattoes.'Dick pulled his nose, looked out through the gate once again at the mountains, at the forest.'Feed and rest your men, La Chat,' he said.'This evening we had best decide what should be done.''Our orders are to hold La Ferriere, General.''Aye,' Dick said.'For the Emperor.It follows that we would not be obeying orders in allowing the Emperor to be destroyed before he can reach us.This evening, La Chat.'He walked across the courtyard, his sword slapping his thigh.Perhaps life had been too easy, these last two years.He practised his weapons daily; he was proud of the skill Gislane had given him.Because it was Gislane's skill; he still thought of her every time a pistol butt nestled in his palm, every time his fingers wrapped themselves around a sword hilt.But he had not fired a shot in anger since the taking of d'Estaing's village.And in every other respect, this last year had been nothing but happiness.Cartarette waited for him now, as became his slave and his mistress.She still acted the prisoner.Her pride would let her do no less.She even still pretended to mock him, constantly.'News from the coast, monster?' she inquired.But there was less hate than affection in her voice.When he put his arm round her shoulders, her head instinctively rested on his chest, her red-gold hair mingled with the braid on his tunic.No doubt her emotion was mainly loneliness.In all this dark world in which they existed, he was her only friend.Without him her life would be too terrible to contemplate.'No,' he said.'And there is my cause for concern.The patrol was fired on.' He sat in his armchair, leaned back his head.She knelt before him to drag off his boots.Often, when he sat here, he thought he was dreaming.The room was comfortable, rather than elegant.This was a fortress, not a palace.But he had secured a charcoal drawing of her, done by one of his own troopers who had burned wood in the forests below La Ferriere before Christophe's net had sucked him up.The drawing was framed on the wall opposite him.And the artist had been skilled.He had caught her expression, the eagerness of her half-parted lips, the dart of her wide-eyed gaze, even the sheen of her hair.But in black and white he had not been able to secure the colour, of her hair no less than her complexion, for she seldom risked herself in the sun.Just as he had not been able to catch the scent of her perfume or the tinkle of her laugh.She, and her painting, added lustre to the plain wood of the room, the simple furniture and the lack of carpets or drapes.'Then your Emperor will have a cause for shedding blood closer to home,' she remarked, removing his right boot.'My Emperor wishes only to see his people at peace,' Dick said.'Do you believe that?''No,' she said, removing his left boot.'He is a savage, as his people are savages.When he has no one left to fight, and maim, and kill, he will die of frustration.'Dick leaned forward, and her head came up.However she had grown to desire, and perhaps even to need, his sex, she had still always an initial revulsion to overcome.And yet, she was not miserable, he was sure of that.Perhaps she waited for better times [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]