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Madame Brunet (LingeringDesire & CharmSnake)

Jacquelyn went about her business, cleaning up the dishes as the men talked.

"Can we talk?" asked Tremblay.

"About what?"

"About business."

"My wife is not business."

"André, you have known me a long time," pleaded Tremblay. "Perhaps come outside and we can talk."

Brunet sighed, opened the door wider so that he could step out into the wet grass in his bare feet and close it behind him.

The two voices muttered outside. The majority of the conversation was inaudible but certain lines were clear enough.

"You have not consummated? It is not too late."

"This is not your business," Brunet raised his voice. It was a warning shot.

There was more muttering. Tremblay's lines were longer. Brunet generally repeated the word no.

"Be sensible André," Tremblay grew exasperated. "This is a good offer. You will make profit!"

Brunet spoke one more time, an inaudible statement that ended with three prominent words, "not for sale."

The door opened and Brunet entered his home with a scowl fixed to his jaw.

"André!"

"Au revoir, Augustin," he bid him. "Go home and brush your tooth." Then he shut the door firmly, latching it with disgust.

"Andre, do you need water to bathe in before I slip into bed?"

He shook his head and sat. Tremblay had put him in a bad mood. He took a long swig from his cup. He was getting drunk. That Tremblay had some nerve. Outside was silence. If the conversation would have gone much longer he would have had to beat him. If he was still hanging around outside in a few minutes he may still might have to. The whiskey was strong. He poured his fourth cup and drank some more. After a few minutes he rose to look out the foggy window. Satisfied that the unwanted toothless man was out of sight, he picked up his socks and dropped them into the laundry basket, then grabbed a large dish rag and draped it over the wire above the window frame.
 
She watched him shake his head and bit her lip. He was so quiet and it worried the new bride. Saying nothing more Jacquelyn slipped into their bed on the side that was closest to the stove. She shivered as the cold sheets touched her bare legs and feet. The fact that there might be a family of mice living below her was frightening.

Jacquelyn situated her body and watched her husband drink the strong alcohol at their table. "Andre?" She whispered softly as he rose to peer out the window. She wondered if Tremblay was truly gone. The idea that he would stand outside and listen was horrifying.

her cheeks rose in color as he covered the window. She wanted to talk, the silence was killing her. Her mouth opened wide as she yawned, her bleary blue eyes closed and opened slowly. She was exhausted, and before she could even ask a thing she was asleep. She lay on her side facing the middle of the bed, her head resting on one curled arm. Long lashes casting shadows along her cheeks.
 
Tremblay had dragged his bare feet out into the cold wet grass for that nonsense? He couldn't stop thinking about how sick he had become of men like Tremblay. Pepin was another. Men like them would never learn. They would die sick and alone out on the woods. The worst part was that they would not leave him be. Brunet was making changes. Trapping was good business, it had allowed him to buy this farm while the others would continue to drink and gamble their profits until a penniless death, but one could not trap forever. Brunet was not going to be an old trapper, strapping on snowshoes and dragging a heavy sled through the woods for two weeks at a time in bitter January and February at the age of sixty.

Jacquelyn had crawled into bed but Marc-André had barely noticed. He was drinking straight from the bottle now. There wasn't much left. He welcomed the numbness. It was dark outside. The only light was the oil lantern in the middle of the table casting shadows upon all the walls. He reached forward and turned the flame down to a low dim. It was time for bed.

The liquor was coarsing through him and was taking its toll. He rose from the chair and with steps a bit more uneven than he anticipated, walked over to the pot to relieve himself. When done he replaced the lid and stood up straight. Drawing in a breath he remembered his bride and became aroused. Sitting on the edge of the bed crate, he pulled off his clothes and tossed them into the laundry.

Standing up, he looked down at the bed and for the first time there was a wife in it. She was small and pale and all his. Sound asleep, the rising and falling of her breath recovering her body from the events of the past month. The silhouette of his erection crept over her face and his body ached for release. He pulled back the blanket and crawled in.

She slept on her side. Brunet took her firmly by the shoulders and rolled her onto her back. His hand felt for her knee and then crept up her thigh. He could easily wrap his fingers more than half way around. His arm made its way up her nightgown and to her panties. He planted a drunken kiss upon her cheek.
 
Jacquelyn sighed in her sleep as the lamp light went nearly out. She barely felt his wait shift her a bit on the makeshift bed. She was cold and tired. She was awake the moment he grasped her thin shoulders, on her back she stared at him. "please..." she whispered. But he said nothing and continued on his adventure.

Her breathing changed when his hand touched her. Her skin quivering beneath the surface. "You are in no mind to have me... please... wait until you are sober... the morning." She tried, feeling his warm fingers on her thigh and toward the thin panties she wore. Her lower lip quivered and her fingers dug into the skin slightly at his shoulders.

She could smell the whiskey, heavy on his breath as his lips pressed to her cheek. It shouldn't be like this. not with him forcing it. If he asked she'd give gladly, it was her duty as a wife. But now, he was too drunk and she was too tired. She wished to enjoy the moment she became a woman in his bed, their bed. "N-not like this, please." She begged one last time.
 
"You are in no mind to have me ... please ... wait until you are sober ... the morning."

"I am sober enough," gruffed André and proved his point by pressing the length of his hot solid shaft against her thigh. He continued to tug at her panties and managed to work them down her hips and past the smooth curve of her buttocks. His other hand slid further up, over her sunken tummy and the bumps of her thin ribs to her right breast. Groping savoringly, he gathered up the flesh and pulled on the nipple. She was so thin, but she would fill out soon enough.

"N-not like this, please."

"You would deny your husband on your wedding night?" he asked rhetorically and stuck his tongue in her mouth. As far as he was concerned this really wasn't a negotiation. He struggled to work her panties down her thighs as his cock strained for satisfaction.
 
The heat of his shaft against her, startled her. She didn't struggle and didn't want to deny him, but it shouldn't be like this. His hand grasped her breast, the orb was swallowed by his hand and the touch, despite his outward drunkenness, was gentle. Her eyes found his, her hands on his bare shoulders.

Unable to answer she only lay there as he pulled her panties the rest of the way off her body. Giving him a hard shove she screamed around the tongue in her mouth. He'd backed up and she pulled away. "Please... I've never.... and I w-want you gentle... please."

Biting her lip she stared up at him. "I won't deny you... please. Andre..." Her fingers slid down his torso, she wanted him but not like this. Fear gripped her, her hands shook on his shoulders as she lifted her legs for him to peel her panties away. "My gown?" She whispered sitting up slightly.
 
She shoved him when he kissed her and he gripped her firmly, but then as she looked up at him and spoke he realized that she was giving in. She even lifted her hips to help him remove her underpants. He did so, and then at her suggestion he also worked her nightgown up over her head, tussling her dark gold hair, and tossed it to the foot of the bed as if it were a mere annoyance.

She was naked now. Both of them were and he settled in on top of her with a grunt of relief. His arms wrapped beneath her and he could feel her trembling hands around him as the end of his cock nudged her entrance and slid up over her mound.
 
Arms lifting she felt the fabric of her gown move off her small frame. Her eyes gazed up into his before settling bare on the bed beneath him once more. In the dim light he looked massive. Jacquelyn gasped as she felt his hardness drag along her core. There was no pain yet, someone had mentioned pain. Biting her lip she wasn't sure what to say or do. "Andre, am I doing it right?" she whispered. Her fingers moved over him, feeling and testing his hard warm flesh.
 
"André, am I doing it right?"

He wondered what there was for her to do, and a bit perplexed by the question could not reply.

He tried again, his glans straining on the stalk of his erection prodding at her entrance but her flesh would not yield. She was not ready. He eased his grip on her body and reached back between her legs. Softly he traced her lips and flicked over her clitoris. Then he dipped the tip of his index finger inside her and retraced her entrance in an attempt to moisten her. His mouth found her breast, the same one that he had fondled previously, and suckled broadly, finally taking the nipple between his tongue and teeth. He repositioned his forearm beneath her, supporting her entire ribcage and lifting her gently to his mouth. He handled her with almost no effort at all, she was so slight. Her flesh was succulent and real and got the adrenaline mixing with the alcohol in his blood. Digging his erection into her inner thigh, he pressed down on the hood of her clitoris as his mouth worked on her breast.
 
She felt him push against her again, she blinked up at him. He was so wide, she shuddered to feel him against her and wanting to get inside. Gasping as he touched her nether lips and began to caress her clitoris. His wide finger dipped into her and tickled the outer ring, "Oh Andre." she sighed as his head dipped. Feeling his lips wrap about her nipple, everything felt so new and amazing.

he repositioned her, her body arching to his hand and mouth. Her legs opened wider to him her fingers taking through his hair. Her leg shifted to rub against his erection. Moaning as he toyed with her Jacquelyn felt her entrance become wet, her fingernails trailing along his back in passion. Whatever he was doing, she wanted him to keep it up.
 
He slipped his finger into her once more as she became pliant. A moan dislodged itself from deep within her chest siphoning tension. His thumb pressed down on her clitoris while his finger probed her, then the finger withdrew and rubbed her wetness all around her entrance.

His mouth left her erect nipple and made its way to her neck, kissing ravenously under her jaw as she arched back. As he did so, his cock slid up her thigh and up against her mons. Both of his hands slid down to brace her hips as he shifted into position. His glans found her entrance and tried to nudge in. There was resistance. He pressed again, but her virginity denied him a second time.

Steeling his whole body with determination, he braced her hips fast and attempted to pierce her. He still could not enter but he maintained his stance. Her virginity squeezed his glans, but then began to abate. Then she gave way and his hard length slid in with a deep groan.
 
Jacquelyn whimpered as his finger withdrew and rubbed the liquid around her core. Gasping she turned her head to allow him room at her neck as he began to move along her body. His hardness slid up her thigh and he began pressing to her entrance. Blinking up at her husband she waited, unsure of what she could do. Fear he would hurt her even worse.

Twice her body rejected his, relaxing she braced herself. He wouldn't hurt her more than he had to, she was his wife. Once she relaxed enough she felt the head of him press further, her channel squeezing him until he slid in, breaking through her virginity.

Crying out as he broke through every part of her body jolted, tears running from her eyes. The groan let her know it was good for him, perhaps it would feel good for her soon too. Her fingers dug into his back, it hurt but was coupled with something that felt different. "Make it stop hurting Andre... please." She whispered into his ear.
 
Everything about him was big and everything about her was small. Her discomfort with the fit prompted her plea. Now that he was in, he released his grip from her hips and got more comfortable wrapping his arms beneath her body.

He withdrew slightly and before her tightness could squeeze him back out he made the next push, lodging his length deep within her. Another drunken groan passed from his lips to her ear. he paused and savored the moment, hot wet flesh around his cock - his wife's flesh. It was his. He had earned it.

Tightening his grip around her washboard ribcage he pressed into her again, slowly but deeply and firmly with another grunt of satisfaction, but he knew that he could get deeper. She needed to raise her thighs more. He reached his left arm back and lifted her thigh, exposing her pussy at a better angle to his thrusts. He pulled back and sank in again.
 
She felt him adjust, moving his arms beneath her and pulling her closer. her fingers caressed his back trying to let go of the pain and feel something more. Jacquelyn felt him nearly retreat and reenter again. She gasped as he groaned, it felt so different.

He paused and held her close to him, his hot breath ghosting over her neck and collar. She felt him adjust her legs and open her more to him. Something that made his thrusts easier on her, his body brushed against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.

Moaning into his shoulder, her lips brushed along his neck as her fingers squeezed his upper arms. "Andre... please..." she whispered, so unsure of what she was even begging for. Probably more of the pleasure that jolted through her from her clit as he thrust into her, forcing her clit to rub along his shaft.
 
Burying his face next to her ear, he clutched her tightly and began rocking his hips. His length now fully enslickened by her could move within her in a rhythm marked by the sound of the shifting straw beneath them. She was a warm tight fit. André probed her depths thoroughly and savoringly, a slight grunt accentuating each thrust. Pulling back required almost no effort as her virgin flesh attempted to squeeze him out from where he entered each time.

After a few dozen strokes he stopped and let go of her thigh to grasp her body once more. He worked his arm back beneath Jacquelyn's ribs but in the shifting of bodies his shaft slipped out from the tension of her young stressed walls. Not before smearing some of her juices upon her mons, he reached back, realigned his cock with her entrance and tried to reenter her. It didn't work as planned. Partly due to the wet sheen on his shaft and partly to the whiskey, as he rewrapped his arms beneath his wife's frail body, they became misaligned once more.

With a huff of annoyance, André reached back again and straightened the coupling, this time holding his cock in place until it wedged halfway in. Then he resumed enveloping Jacquelyn's body with his brawny arms and sunk in the rest of the way until his pelvis ground against her mons.
 
Jacquelyn moaned into the air, his actions feeling good to her body after the initial shock. Her hips moved against his getting his large cock deeper within her tightness. Over and over he plunged before attempting to readjust, she felt him leave her. A whimper of need left her lips as her pale eyes flitted over her husband. she could smell the alcohol and his sweat combined with her own natural scent.

Each correction caused his cock to stab at her wet pussy, each time missing until he figured it out by holding himself on her. His arms wrapped about her, forcing her breasts up and her hips down. He sank in a bit easier this time and she gasped as it was entirely pleasant. Her own hips lifted and ground back on him. "Yes Andre... please... more."

Something in her was spiraling out of control and filling her with pleasure. Sparks of heat wound there way in her body until she felt ready to explode. "Please... please..." She begged him, desperate for that feeling as he ground himself into her, her clit being stimulated by the grinding of his pelvis against her mons.
 
Her body was so light in his arms. He felt her ribs against his as her clutched her. Each time he ground against her clitoris her moans escaped into the air and surrounded him. As he repeatedly pressed his hips down onto hers, she began to sink into a hollow in the straw.

André's left arm snaked beneath her back and up around her shoulder. Then with his right hand he grabbed hold of the edge of the bed box, the closest resemblance they had of a headboard. With the new found leverage, he wedged his glans as deep as it would go and held it there a moment, releasing with a heavy sigh. Then he repeated this new thrust commencing a crescendo within him.
 
Jacquelyn felt herself sinking, but she wished for this to end so she could sleep. She was exhausted and though it felt good she wasn't sure she was truly in his plan. Her job as a wife was to give him release and NOT the other way around.

Though as he gripped at the bed and onto her body she felt him trying to give her pleasure, or maybe it felt better to him. She honestly wasn't sure about it. She felt him pause and thought he'd peaked, she wasn't sure. Then he moved more and it confused her even more. She whimpered and moaned beneath him, waiting for it to be over and for him to let her sleep again.

She was rather curious about what the day would bring.
 
Her whimpers and his grunts scattered about the tiny cabin with the low flickering of the lantern flame. With a firm grip of the headboard and of his wife, he pressed down deep into her with a faint groan. Then releasing the tension he repeated the process, squeezing himself into her, wringing the drunken lust from their union, each thrust held a little longer, each groan lingering just a trifle more.

Then with a brief pause, he regripped her slenderness with both of his arms and quickened his pace. His buttocks rising and falling rapidly for a few short strokes, the tension uncoiled from within him in one final lengthy shuddering moan, and his cum pumped forth into her.

Slowly his body began to relax on top of hers with easy deep breaths. For several still moments he remained as they sank slowly into the straw beneath the blanket. Finally, as if catching himself from slumber, he rolled towards the wall, partially off of his bride and promptly passed out.
 
Jacquelyn did not understand what the man was doing, she felt him shit and press down to as far as he could go. She winced and whimpered a bit louder, if he was trying to stretch her out then he was succeeding. He paused, giving her a short lived reprieve before pumping himself into her rapidly.

She gasped. Feeling him tremble and quake she heard his long moan and knew he'd reached his release. The heat of his cum reached high into her depths and she panted. The sparks of desire she felt were left kindled and burning.

He melted into her smaller form, pressing her into the straw bed beneath. She wondered if he would kiss her again, some small token of thanks for having him, but nothing. It was as if she was only there to please him. biting her lip she turned her head away from him as he fell to the side and faced the wall.

Pulling herself out from under him the rest of the way she turned her back to him and cried herself to sleep. This was not at all what she wanted for herself, HE didn't seem to care that it had been her first time or that she was even his wife. If only he'd pulled her close and held her to him, but no, he rolled over and began snoring.
 
His mouth was dry. Thirst awoke him. The sunlight already filled the room through the foggy window. It would be a late start to the day. André lifted himself from his wife's small body and admired her golden locks, strewn this way and that. Her skin was pale and her cheeks on the hollow side. She was a bit grey under the eyes, but she was quite pretty. With a little color into her complexion (and a little flesh on her bones) he reckoned that she would be quite fetching, perhaps even the envy of these parts. He fixed the blanket over her, crossed the room to the water pail and drank from the ladle.

There were things to do. The pantry needed stocking, the garden needed tending, and one could never chop enough kindling. Slipping on a shirt and pants, he cracked open the door to assess the elements. The fresh air barged through the doorway and the smell of spring blossoms consumed the room. Brunet raised his wrist to shield his eyes from the morning sunshine and breathed it in.

It had been raining for some time until the other day. Now the weather was turning, the season had changed. The ground was very soggy from the spring thaw and all the rains. It was the perfect breeding ground for the mosquitoes and they began to alight on his ankles. He shut the door and swatted them away.

"Jacquelyn," he called, not to loudly but not too softly, "Bon matin. Time to rise."

She could serve the jar of plums that he had purchased the night before for breakfast. He blew out the lamp and checked the stove fire. It was out but the ashes still had some warmth. The fire would not be needed until lunch. The day was fairly warm, heating the house would not be necessary. He fetched his last pair of clean socks and took a seat at the table. The laundry would need to be done too. He began to pull on his socks as he waited for her to rise.
 
Jacquelyn lay naked next to her husband on the cloth covered straw, her virgin blood smeared between her thighs. She was so cold, even next to him. She didn't hear him leave but curled onto her side after he left the bed. Curling into the covers and drifting deeper into sleep. Somewhere off in the distance she heard a male voice calling to her, "No..." she whimpered, it was too early.

"I've not had enough sleep... please and I am very sore..." she whispered. It didn't seem like he cared and expected her to still rise. With a wide yawn, the female sat up. Long unruly hair cascaded every which way, two small hands came up to push it out of her way. A soft shy smile caressed her lips, "Bon jour," she said before rising on shaky legs to seek out the pot. With her back to him, she relieved herself. using the lukewarm water and a rag she washed up, wincing as she washed between her legs.

The stiff muslin she put on swirled about her legs, hiding her body from him. the long hair she pulled back into a braid. Under her skirts she slid on a pair of cotton panties. Rubbing her tired eyes she turned to face him. She knew breakfast was in order, but what to serve was another issue. Last night was a fiasco, today had to be better.

Melting some of the lard in the pan she mixed up a batch of the bread he liked last night and fried it in the fat. She placed plates on the table with the jar of plums and a knife. "Will you open that for me Andre?" She asked softly, a hand motioning to the jar. Before long she was serving him and then herself. Slipping into the seat she smiled at him, forgetting to make the coffee.
 
André watched his wife rise onto thin wobbly legs and begin her day, taming wild hair into a nervous braid and qickly throwing a dress over her skeletal frame. It was his first sober look at her tiny pale body in full length. A slight jiggle of her bottom as she pulled on underpants showed that there was indeed some flesh on her.

His fishing rod and line was against the wall behind the snowshoes. He fetched it, checked the hook at the end of the line and set the apparatus down next to the front door.

Sitting at the table, he palmed the morning stubble on his jaw as she went about the stove making more of that bread that seemed to be the staple of her cookbook. She set the table.

"Will you open that for me André?"

He looked at her sideways while he reached forward and flicked the wire hook seal and flipped the lid open on its hinge. It was not difficult at all.

Breakfast was served.

"You did not sleep well?" he asked and began to eat.
 
It wasn't that she didn't know how to open it, it was for the fact that she was busy. The bread fried up quickly, thin crispy but fluffy disks sweetened slightly by the plum jelly. She smiled at him, still sore and a bit angry at him for the way he'd taken her the night before. But he was drunk and she couldn't find fault with him for that if he was out of his mind.

She watched him, taking a bite soon after he had. Chewing the bread and jam she sighed, only to hurry and swallow so she could answer him. "No ... I did not sleep well at all." She confessed.

It wasn't that the bed was lumpy or she was sharing with him. It was merely for the fact it was new, she was sore and she'd been left wanting something more from him. That first experience was harsh and she held expectations of it and those she had didn't seem to fit the bill. She imagined a man taking her into his arms and loving her gently, with soft touches and words, not just taking it and forcing himself upon her like he had.

She turned her head down to her plate, tears falling from her lashes as she cried about the experience. "D-did you sleep well?" She asked after a moment, quietly.
 
"When one does much paddling one sleeps well," André answered his wife.

Plums on bread was better than the plums alone that he had expected. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed, wondering what other domesticities she knew, and where she came from.

A tear rolled down each cheek, one fell and left a darkened moist streak on the left breast of her dress as she sat across the table from him. The buzzing of a fly outside the window stood out in the silence.

"Does lack of sleep always cause you to cry?" he asked. His quiet, even tone betrayed the query's honesty.
 
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