Glass Slipper by Abigail Barnette

Marie’s tight channel, stroking and curling it the way she had done.
    “Very good,” Julien whispered, taking up instruction for Marie, who groaned and writhed under Joséphine’s mouth. “Now, don’t let up. She is so near her climax. Can you feel her pulsing around you, getting wetter and wetter?
    Joséphine did. She increased her tongue’s pace, swirling around the surging bud faster and faster, all the while pumping and stroking her finger inside Marie’s cunt. The thighs on either side of Joséphine’s head trembled and clamped down, the seamstress’s sunken belly tensed and quivered. Joséphine felt a gush of wetness over her hand, and muscles rippled around her fingers.
    “Well done,” Julien congratulated her, gently lifting her face from the other woman’s mound.
    “Very well done,” Marie purred approvingly. “You have learned very well.”
    Joséphine glanced over at Julien, still holding his stiff member in his hand. “But how will that help me to please the prince? Surely I should have practiced on you, instead.”
    Marie laughed and clapped her hands. “She is quite the find, Julien. From what you’ve told me of the prince, she will be a good match for him.”
    Jealousy burned through Joséphine’s veins, shocking her with its intensity. It bothered her more than she would like to admit to herself to hear the seamstress talk with such familiarity with Julien. Of course, they had been lovers before. She was so beautiful and slender and self-assured, what man could resist her? Or what woman, for that matter? Joséphine’s cheeks burned with shame at the thought of what she had just done, though her core still ached for release once more.
    “She is an astounding pupil,” Julien agreed. “And I believe she deserves a reward.”
    Marie smiled and reached for her, but he clucked his tongue. “Your talents are required elsewhere.”
    Shocked, Joséphine watched as Marie slid from the high bed. She knelt obediently on the floor beside Julien, and he stood, allowing her to take his organ into her hands. Joséphine made a noise of protest she had intended to keep to herself.
    “Come to edge of the bed, Joséphine,” he urged her, a bemused smile on his face. He shed his jacket and stood before her in just his shirtsleeves. When she wiggled to the edge of the bed, he gripped her legs and pulled her so that her bottom was flush with the edge of the bed. Then, he knelt between her spread legs.
    It was so startling, she almost pulled away. To have Marie touch her was one thing. Marie didn’t frighten her so, didn’t make her long for the forbidden the way Julien did. That was a mark of Julien’s reputation as a master seducer, Joséphine decided. He exuded lust, and made other people dangerously lustful, as well.
    He pressed his mouth to her core, already puffy and wet from Marie’s attentions. Joséphine sighed despite her trepidation. This was what she had wanted the night before. She’d wanted him to give her pleasure, though she hadn’t known at the time exactly how.
    His face was rougher than a woman’s, and she realized that he hadn’t shaved off his whiskers this morning. Had he intended to do this to her all along? She thrilled at the thought, and squirmed under his lips, which pressed delicate kisses along her folds. She lifted her hips, almost demanding that he grant her relief. Still, when his tongue stroked over that sensitive pearl, it was not the relief she sought, but more torture. He groaned against her flesh, and she remembered Marie on the floor, stroking him with her hands. The thought brought a tide of lust to her already soaked channel.
    Julien pressed at the entrance of her body with one finger, gently, for his hands were larger than the seamstress’s had been.
    “Be careful,” Joséphine urged him quietly.
    He lifted his head to murmur, “Of course,” before nibbling the tender, pulsing bud with his teeth. His finger slid inside, stretching her, and he did not