Madrid is stifling in the summer. The city bakes in the sun until it becomes intolerably hot and intolerably sticky. It’s as hot in my home town of Cadiz, but there’s always a breeze from the ocean. There’s nothing like that in Madrid, only heat, dust and the stench of stale sweat. It’s not fit for a dog, much less a lady. This is why the entire court moves to El Escorial in July. El Escorial is the royal retreat north of the city and up in the hills. It’s much more pleasant there. The hills are beautiful and there’s always a breeze blowing through the pines. It smells heavenly. I love it even more than I love Cadiz. Sometimes I wish it were always summer and I was always in El Escorial.
I’ve come here for several years now by personal invitation of the king. I hardly require a formal invitation, but he is always so considerate. Even with his favor I’m not welcome in polite society. I do not have an official position in the court and the great ladies look down on me. Even so my apartments are among the finest in the complex. They are beautiful, large and spacious. All those pretentious bitches don’t have half as nice a suite as I do. It serves them right. My apartments even have a patio right beneath the pine trees. In the morning I gather with my girlfriends Juana and Maria to gossip over chocolate and bread.
“It’s so nice to be back here,” said Maria. “The Madrid sun was ruining my complexion. That never happens to you, Alejandra.”
This is a common complaint of most of the women here. I’m not sure if they think I should be delighted that I don’t turn the color of a lobster after spending a day in the summer sun. Still Maria has always been kind to me, almost like a mother, so I’d never mouth off to her. “My curls get tighter,” I said. They become unmanageable in Madrid. It’s not much better here; my maid has to work an hour every morning to give my hair any sort of style.
“That’s hardly a trial. You gypsies have all the luck,” said Juana. I’m not a gypsy; my family was Moriscos back in the time of Isabella and Ferdinand. Gypsy sounds cuter, though, and being called a Morisco could still land you in trouble with the Inquisition. It’s nonsense; imagine me backsliding after two centuries and all so I could be one of four wives. The Inquisition doesn’t see it that way, which is why Juana calls me a gypsy. A dark complexion is a rarity among the nobles, and when I’m not dressed in my finery I’m often mistaken for a servant. “Is it true that the Queen has come this year?” she asked.
“Finally after two years,” I said.
“You must be heartbroken,” said Maria. She’s the mistress of Cardinal Ximez. She has been with the cardinal for a long time, they have four children together. The cardinal is absolutely faithful to her; he never even sleeps with the maids. Maria talks and thinks more like a burgher’s wife than any sort of mistress.
“Philippe is inexhaustible,” I said. The king was raised at Versailles and still insists on being called by his French name. “He’ll find time for me.” He’s found time for chamber maids, and more than a couple woman of the court who wanted to replace me.
“It’s hard to see them spend time with their wives,” said Juana. She’s the mistress of the count of Orgaz. “I feel terrible to be jealous of her; after all I’m the other woman.”
Juana is usually fun and playful, that’s why she’s my best friend. When she was in a somber mood it put a shadow over our conversation so we sat in silence for a moment. Juana had said what I had been thinking. I hate sleeping alone. I’ve told Philippe this and he usually spends his nights with me. He’s so sweet, but with the queen here Philippe wouldn’t be spending as much time with me and we wouldn’t be together at night; at least not every night.
“I’ve heard that there has been terrible news,” said Juana.
“What?” Maria and I asked.
Juana shrugged and said “I don’t know the details but I saw some messengers arrive this morning. Later Julio was talking to some men in a low voice like he uses when he doesn’t want me to hear. He looked worried. It’s too bad, we had been having such fun since he came back from the wars.”
We spent the rest of breakfast speculating about what might have happened. That was the gossip I enjoyed, as I didn’t have to worry about my own trouble. If there wasn’t really a disaster then the idle gossip was a pleasant distraction and if there was then I was privileged to have known it first.
I didn’t have much to do after breakfast. Philippe would be busy with affairs of state until the afternoon. At least he’d tell me they were affairs of state. I might get an ashamed look from a maid later in the day, or one of disdain from a noblewoman. The maids I always sympathized with, what could they do if Philippe desired them? The noble ladies made me burn with rage, as they always looked like they thought that they would replace me. Having a noble title does not make one at all proficient in the act of love. Philippe made me turn away some of the more insistent ones; he can be such a coward when it comes to women.
I walked the grounds for a bit and then went to Philippe’s chamber. There I read the Book of the Hours while waiting for him. My maid once remarked that it was strange that I would do penances and read religious texts. I don’t think it is. I’m just Rachel to the queen’s Leah. The padres don’t usually see it that way, but I would bet there are far more queens in hell than there are royal mistresses. I was meditating on that when the king burst in. He didn’t say anything, but was pacing as he does when he is upset.
“What is it, caro?” I asked. When I get too upset to talk I wouldn’t answer Philippe if he were to ask me that. Of course when I get that upset it’s because of something he did. In his case he seems to want me to ask.
He stopped pacing and said, “Oh, kitten, I have worries. The treasure fleet sank in a storm.”
The treasure fleet had been held up for years because of the war. The nation was on the verge of bankruptcy. To lose it was a catastrophe. Already the army was on half pay and the feasts were no longer so grand; I shuddered to imagine what this might mean. “Oh, caro, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, it’s not such a problem. I don’t want to worry you. It went down near the shore and divers are working to recover the silver plate. It’s just that the Queen’s trousseau was on one of the ships and they haven’t been able to recover it.”
“Maybe you should give them time,” I said. I tried to look concerned but I was delighted. The queen had demanded her trousseau before she would consent to consummate their marriage. Philippe would do anything for intercourse so he readily agreed to such a ridiculous condition. Like a spoiled child the queen had demanded an enormous trousseau with rosaries of pearls, diamond rings, enormous gold crosses and much more. Some women had demanded an exorbitant price from Philippe for their favors before which Philippe always readily agreed to. For a wife to behave that way was shocking; but Philippe was so besotted by desire that he readily agreed. All the jewels and treasures she demanded were made in the orient and in the Americas, but there had been no way to get the treasure across the Atlantic because of the English and Dutch pirates during the war.
“She said she’s leaving tomorrow and she wants two more pearl necklaces before she’ll even look at me again.”
He looked glum and I began to feel angry. What a mercenary bitch. How dare she hurt poor Philippe so? Her one duty is to produce offspring for him, and she can’t even do that little. If only I could put her in her place, but I couldn’t. I did know how to cheer Philippe up. I stood up and said with a smirk, “Maybe you could give me a pearl necklace too.”
“Now Alejandra, I’m hardly in the mood… Oh,” he said as he realized my meaning when I knelt before him. I quickly unlaced his breeches. “My wife is right next door,” he hissed, but his cock sprang straight out conveying his real thoughts. That’s always a delightful site, I’m proud to see it hard just for me.
I kissed the tip then ran my tongue down his shaft tasting the heavy, salty essence of male. It’s pungent but it’s Philippe’s taste, so it’s delightful. I placed the tip of his shaft in my mouth. I couldn’t fit all of him, and I had to work his base with my hand. He put his hands on my shoulder and his breathing grew heavier. He always does that when I’m doing a good job. His hips began a gentle thrusting; he does that when he’s ready to climax. I was getting to swallow his spunk. The pearl necklace had been just a little joke; Philippe appreciates having his seed swallowed.
Just then the door flew open. It was the queen. She was still in a rage. She said, “And another thing…” but then stopped short at the site which greeted her. She turned bright red. I winked at the queen, what else could I do? The combination of my ministrations and getting caught by his wife proved too much for poor Philippe’s member. He pulled out of my mouth in a hurry, but it was too late. He shot his spunk all over me. It came out in a torrent all over my face and down upon my breasts staining my dress. Luckily I still had on my mantilla. That stuff is impossible to get out of my hair.
The queen stormed out without another word and slammed the door behind her.
“Oh, I’m in trouble,” Philippe muttered. “You should go back to your chambers.”
I was not going to let that witch ruin my day and I especially wasn’t going to let her ruin my night. Getting caught had made me feel breathless and moist in my most secret recesses and Philippe was going to do something about that. “You’re not planning on leaving me unsatisfied?” I asked.
“Well, I…” he stammered.
“After I tried so hard to please you, how could you be so cruel?”
“That’s not fair, kitten,” he said.
It wasn’t, but leaving me unsatisfied wasn’t fair either. “Besides, I can hardly go back to my room like this.” I waved my hands to indicate his stains on my dress.
“No, you couldn’t, kitten,” he agreed.
I looked at my face in the mirror. It was coated with his heavy white seed. We make love every day; I don’t know how he could have saved so much of that stuff in him. “Look at me,” I said and I reached dabbed a cloth in the basin of water.
I could see in the mirror that Philip had a broad grin as I was washing copious fluids from my face. “It’s not funny,” I said sternly. I thought I was angry, but found myself giggling. The whole situation, the mess that Philippe had made, everything seemed funny. We were giggling like children as he disrobed me. He threw me on the bed and we kissed, but only briefly. We were both too excited. He placed his mouth upon my womanhood and with little preliminaries attacked it. Philippe had told me that his first wife had been much inclined towards cunnilingus. She’d forgive him all manner of indiscretions after a bout of oral sex; and Philippe, being Philippe, had given her much to forgive. I wished I had that power over him; since Philippe performed beautifully every time. My giggles soon evaporated into shrieks of passion. I’m not usually quiet, but knowing that witch was next door listening made me especially loud. I wanted to let her know the pleasure of being a woman. I wanted her to be beside herself with jealousy. I was the one her husband loved, who could love a frigid witch like her? You might as well love a marble statue; it had a more pleasant personality. Philippe, oh Philippe deserved so much better I thought as he drove me crazy, leaving me upon the brink of orgasm time and time again, only to back off at the last second. I couldn’t take any more. I grabbed his hair and thrust my hips against his mouth and fingers until he finally drove me over the edge. I felt nothing but bliss and I collapsed into a puddle.
I could have lain like that all day. Philippe had other ideas, though. My moans must have triggered an animal frenzy in him. As I lay in my sweet reverie he disrobed and mounted me. I was so wet that he easily slid into me. It was heavenly to feel his large member pounding deep within me. It was so good that I rolled Philippe onto his back and drove my hips down embracing the fullness of his manhood. I felt his hands gently kneading my breasts as I bounced up and down on him. The bed groaned and creaked each time I drove down my hips. I hoped the queen could hear this all. I could imagine her fingers upon her womanhood trying to get the slightest fraction of pleasure her husband was giving me. All too soon Philippe tensed up and bellowed. Feeling his warm, masculine essence splashing against me set me off again. I tossed my head back, gritted my teeth then came with a groan. Then I collapsed onto his chest utterly exhausted. I felt his body against mind as his spunk slowly running down my thighs. He put his arm around me. I felt cherished and loved. I reveled in the feeling of his penis slowly deflating.
Gossip travels at the speed of lightning throughout the halls of El Escorial. I could tell Juana and Maria had heard everything the next morning. They were waiting at the table whispering to one another and giggling as I stepped out on my patio. They grew quiet and composed when they saw me, but before I could even greet them Juana said, “We heard you got caught in the act by the queen.”
I’ll never be ashamed for loving Philippe, especially not in front of my girlfriends. “She was furious;” I said, “You should have seen her face. I thought she was going to explode.”
“Were you really using your mouth on him?” asked Maria. She sounded tentative at that, like she didn’t want to hurt my feelings by asking me. I felt defensive at that, as though I needed to save myself from their judgment.
“Philippe likes it,” I replied.
“Oh,” said Juana as she wrinkled her nose, “You still do that for your man?”
I knew what she meant. Those first mad days of love you want to do everything to please your man. In time that goes away. When we first were together, when we fell asleep like spoons I’d wake up and feel his erect manhood on my rump; so I’d wake him up with oral sex. I don’t do that much anymore, though we still sleep that way and he’s still hard in the morning. It’s just more effort than it’s worth, especially before chocolate, but just a usual bout of oral sex is fine. “There are a hundred women in El Escorial alone who would gladly do that for Philippe,” I said. “I’d rather be the one to give him pleasure and besides Philippe is more than willing to reciprocate.”
My girlfriends both nodded. “Diego hasn’t done that in a long time,” said Maria. “Still I don’t know if I could put that thing in my mouth. I used to, but it just got tiring after a while.”
It can be a chore, but Philippe always makes it worthwhile. If he didn’t I don’t think I’d be so willing to perform on him. I knew one way to make sure he would, though. “You can do it together,” I said. “Lie on top of him the opposite way of normal.”
“I don’t think I could,” she said, but not so definite this time. She looked like she was thinking. I would bet that Cardinal Ximez was in for an unforgettable night.
The conversation moved on to the disaster with the treasure fleet. Naturally we had all guessed the nature of the catastrophe. Juana thought that the English would sail their fleet from Jamaica to steal our silver. We all agreed that you cannot trust the English; they were worse robbers than even the Dutch.
After a night like last night what could I do but go to confession? I didn’t have a regular confessor like the king. Since I am a wicked woman I found it better to keep anonymity. I couldn’t well change my ways, so I just ended up saying Aves and Pater Nosters until my throat was dry. Many priests are very lonely men, and many padres grilled me on the details of my last encounter. Some would ask me to repeat specific details of the encounters as they spoke in a dry, parched voice. I always wondered what they were doing in there as they did. Some of the men sympathized with me; they probably had mistresses of their own. Others gave me an excessive penance. Philippe would have it worse, as he was committing adultery rather while I was just fornicating. On the other hand maybe the padres realized that men were like dogs and really couldn’t help themselves. Philippe certainly couldn’t. I wished I could be enough woman for him, like Maria was for Cardinal Ximez. I was musing that on my way to the chapel when I came upon the queen. When she was sure that I saw her, she stuck up her nose and glared at me. I tried my best to look somber but I’m sure my happiness showed through. It felt so good to be one up on that frigid bitch, even though I knew that there would be trouble. It came that evening when I was again waiting in the King’s chamber.
Philippe entered and said, “Alejandra,” tentatively. He almost never used my first name; only when he was gravely serious. “The queen spoke to me about what we were doing last night.”
I could imagine what she said, but it wasn’t worth the effort to take her view on the subject seriously. “It was delightful wasn’t it, Philippe?”
“Yes, but the queen didn’t think so. She wants me to send you to a convent.”
I was shocked for a moment on hearing that, but then I became angry. I fly into rages sometimes and this made me feel like doing just that. I stood up and spat, “What a bitch, what a petty bitch, no man fucks her so she can’t stand to have any other woman getting fucked. We all have to suffer her miserable chastity.”
“Dear please,” Philippe said.
“Please, what? Could you imagine me in a convent? It’s not like you’d keep it in your breeches if I wasn’t around.”
“Look, dear, you’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry. I’m furious. I want to march right into her chamber and claw her eyes out. You told her no didn’t you?”
“Well, I…” he stammered.
“Philippe,” I said with exasperation. He lets women walk all over him. I know that, but I’m his mistress. I’m the one who should be doing the walking; not some woman who’s never even seen his cock.
“I told her I’d think about it,” he replied
“What’s there to think about?” I asked. “Honestly, Philippe she won’t even let you touch her.”
“Well, yes, but she is my wife.”
“Some marriage,” I replied and sighed. I know Philippe is weak, but I wish he could stand up for me once in a while. I know she’s the wife, but I love and care for him and she doesn’t. Shouting at him wasn’t going to get anywhere, though; nor was breaking things, though I’ve done that in the past. Reasoning wouldn’t either, he laughs at what he calls my woman’s logic. He might really go through with this if I didn’t do something. I knew one way to make him forget about the queen and her silly demand. I said, “Why don’t you forget about trying to please her and let me pleasure you?”
“I’m hardly in the mood,” he said.
I knew that was a lie; Philippe was never not in the mood. Even being emasculated by his wife wouldn’t keep him soft for long. I ignored him and continued, “I’ve seen the way you stare at my bottom.”
“Yes… I,” he stammered.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him, “You are my man after all, but I was wondering,” I turned red. “I mean sometimes I get to thinking, well would you like to stick it in?”
It’s hard to ask that question without sounding like a wanton slut. I must have done a passable job, though, for Philippe hardly looked disgusted. Instead his jaw dropped. “You don’t mean it,” he said. All thoughts of his wife vanished in an instant. His member grew so rigid that I could see the veins through his breeches.
“Well, only if you want to,” I said. I knew very well that he wanted to, but a little hesitation greatly increases Philippe’s desires.
“My God, Kitten,” he breathed. He was mine, all mine.
“I have a jar of olive oil in the lower drawer.” I had known that one day I’d need to use this trick. That’s why I always kept a jar of olive oil in my chambers and in Philippe’s wherever he went. He was like a child who had been promised a treat. His excitement was overwhelming and couldn’t wait. He undressed me so quickly that he tore a number of hooks off the back of my dress. I wasn’t worried, he’d have a new one made for me. In a moment he was naked too. He took a generous amount of oil and rubbed it onto his member and then put some inside me. It felt wonderfully strange and exciting.