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I introduced the character Madame Elvira Beauregard-Wilmotte in A DECADENT LIFE: MARTY TREMONT. You may remember that she was a seventy-plus-year-old woman who collected men. Her thing was sucking cock.

She wasn’t always that old. At one time, she was an eighteen-year-old virgin, who was stunningly gorgeous. The problem was that she knew it and carried herself as if everyone was beneath her.

The Beauregard-Wilmotte family lived in Switzerland; they’d lived in Switzerland since they fled during the French Revolution. In France they’d been courtesans serving the King.

The family, as far back as anyone knew, were always Beauregard-Wilmotte.

Switzerland was always a place where displaced royalty could find refuge. Many of these royal families fled with the Crown Jewels and as many other valuables as they could abscond with.

It was the forty-seven-year-old Prince Harold of some small principality who seduced young Elvira.

The prince fawned over her for months, and Elvira reveled in the attention. “A prince, perhaps one day he’ll be king, and I’ll be his queen.”

The fanciful dreams of a teenager. She didn’t find herself being a queen. Instead, she found herself on her back with Prince Harold on top of her. “Yes, your Highness, take me, I’m yours. It is my gift to my love.”

Elvira may have been in love; the prince was in lust. Lust for this beautiful dark-haired beauty.

Like most men, Prince Harold was full of himself. “I deflowered the most gorgeous woman in the country; perhaps all of Europe.”

That wasn’t enough for Harold.

The next time he saw her, Elvira was more than willing. The prince had other ideas. “Elvira, the way to a man’s heart is on your knees.” She may have no longer been a virgin, but she was naïve.

From then on that’s how eighteen-year-old Elvira Beauregard-Wilmotte pleased her prince. He lavished her with expensive gifts which she flaunted; her nose high in the air. “A gift from my prince,” showing off a bejeweled ring and matching choker.

The prince dressed her in the latest fashions, and insisted that she wear a bright red lipstick, which he bought for her by the case. She needed that much because almost daily the prince was training her in the art of fellatio.

The naïve girl didn’t know that the bright red lipstick was a sign that her preferred way of intimacy was with her mouth.

A few years later when she realized that it was a symbol; she proudly wore the brightest red lipstick she could find. She wouldn’t say it, but I will: Mademoiselle Beauregard-Wilmotte was advertising.

Rarely did the prince mount her.

She loved it; couldn’t get enough of his manhood; eagerly swallowed every drop of his manly cream and begged for more. It was a craving. “Your Highness when will you be ready for more? My lips are anxious to please your manliness, again.”

What Elvira Beauregard-Wilmotte did not know and could not know was that this hunger for the prince’s man juice was deeply embedded in her DNA.

TO BE CONTINUED

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