Title: Lustfully Yours
Summary: Esmeralda too, suffered from unholy thoughts. Unfortunately for her, they're occurring at the most inappropriate time! Frollo/Esmeralda. Lemons abound. Post-movie.
Genre: Humor/Romance
Rated: M for lemons, swearing and solo pleasure
A/N: Yes, apparently I am not dead. College is over for now and I've been struck by divine creativity. Now, I've gotten countless reviews about my other chapter stories. Unfortunately, I really have no idea how to continue them due to boredom and because I've just lost interest. Hopefully, really hopefully, this story gets off the ground and actually goes somewhere! If you like mindless Fresme smut, Esmeralda frothing at the mouth and Phoebus being the oblivious idiot that he is, this is the story for you so come on!
Chapter 1
The Cathedral
Esmeralda scoffed. Sanctuary. She scoffed even louder at that inane word. If this was a sanctuary, she'd rather face Hell. Not meaning to offend the Holy Mother of course, but the free-spirited gypsy just could not see herself having to seek refuge here. Within these stonewalls. Walls where he was often found in. Then again, she had no other alternative. The minister was obviously displeased by her crusade. She muffled a snicker when she remembered just how easy it had been to rile him up. How satisfying it was to show that pompous ass where his place really was when it came to her. It did not take a genius to know why the minister was so determined to find her. Esmeralda again, let out another scoff. She was beginning to enjoy doing that. Men were all the same. Dance around in a skin-skimming, translucent red gown and even the most powerful man would drool like a ravenous hound.
As she continued to mull over the hopeless, power-hungry creature, she soon felt a presence behind her. A dark, foreboding presence. A disdainful sigh escaped her crimson lips. She was not surprised; after all, this was so hopelessly predictable of him. It was not long before she felt her arm being twisted back-painfully, she should add-and a hand clapping her other arm like an iron vise. Dear lord, he was infuriating. Esmeralda rolled her eyes and began to struggle. Might as well play her role well.
"You're becoming far too predictable," She muttered, trying to shake off his cloying, spidery hands. Goodness, he was actually quite strong for an old decrepit. One could not blame her for now wondering what exactly was beneath all those unflattering, shapeless black folds. Frollo merely answered by pressing his face against her rambunctious curls, inhaling their exotic aroma. Esmeralda bit her lip with a rueful smile. Pervert!
"You were expecting me? Expecting this?" His other hand slid down and gently cupped her through her white shirt. His fingers sought her rosy bud, playfully pinching it. The dancer gasped and stiffened. She had not expected that. He chuckled against her ear. Esmeralda nearly whimpered at such a sensuous sound. It practically resonated throughout the empty cathedral. It seemed far too perfect that, while they were now engaged in such sinful acts, there was not one soul to witness it. Not even the Archdeacon who would have dragged Frollo out by the ear like a punished schoolboy if he caught them. "You dirty old devil. I thought you did not wish to associate yourself with us common, vulgar people. And yet, here you are fondling a gypsy dancer's breast as if you were fiddling with prayer beads."
He chuckled again, the sound thunderous and this time echoed throughout Esmeralda's frame. It had a mocking edge to it and yet again, his only response was of a physical nature. He pressed himself closer against her and she could not repress a squeal at feeling a hot protrusion digging into her rump. He was certainly going somewhere and Esmeralda knew the cards were all in her favor. It depended whether she dealt or folded. Taking advantage of his delighted invasion of her shirt and hair, she broke free and glared at him from a safe distance. Though she had to admit, after having repelled and rejected the most dangerous man in Paris, she could very well be in China and still be in the danger zone. Holding his heated gaze in a tremendously tense air, the gypsy backed away slowly. Each step was like walking on flames. In fact, it was as if the cathedral walls had melted away and in reality, they were now staring each other down in Hell itself.
"So typical of you, my dear," Frollo whispered, coming forward. Esmeralda did not budge. She had dealt her hand and now was more than ready to collect her winnings. He closed in, purposefully making her back up against one of Notre Dame's supportive pillars. A slim, broad palm came forth to caress her bronze cheek. His whole frame soon joined that affectionate hand though it had more than just affectionate intentions. "So typical of you to cloud my mind with such unholy thoughts and bewitch my body to commit unholy acts." She wanted to scoff at him-goodness, she really was enjoying that today-at his clearly hypocritical words but was stopped short. How exactly was she to do that with the good minister's slippery, warm tongue barricading her throat?
She gasped, choking slightly as his tongue plundered the whole of her mouth. His dark, thin lips marred her juicy, red one, almost directing them to battle. A burning heat was coursing through the gypsy's body, ordering her nipples be erect and her demon awakened down below. It was almost too wrong that a man so stiff, so rigid could possess such passionate, sensual know-how about the art of kissing. The hand once forlorn on her cheek had now journeyed up to wreak havoc in her hair. It tangled and rooted itself into those wild tresses, pulling on it slightly. She moaned through his invading serpent, her own hands exploring his silver coif, successfully mussing it. There was no verbal exchange; there was no need for one. There was just feeling, touching and consuming every bit of each other's anatomy.
He pressed even farther up the pillar, making an entrance for him to wrap his frustrated arms around her heaving frame. Her breasts, that he had not too long ago fondled, were forcefully melded against his broad chest. They were defenseless to his ravenous kisses, nibbling and sucking the sweet, mounded flesh. Esmeralda had her head lulling to one side, helplessly supported by the pillar. His other hand was bunching her ruffled, layered skirts around her hips, clawing at her thighs. Between them, the minister could feel a savage heat, a tropical wetness and it was not long till that hand went down to explore such a heavenly paradise.
"Ooh! Isn't that unholy?" She managed to find her voice through his plundering appendage. It soon gave rise to yet another plundering appendage that was now making itself known against her inner thigh. He scoffed-she gasped; that sounded delicious-at her obvious jab as his lips fell to her neck, leaving marks that would no doubt have Clopin in an absolute tizzy. While doing so, she could definitely feel a most insistent pressing up against her hot core-damn; she should've worn some form of undergarment-by something very hot and hard. Goodness, when did his undergarments disappear?
It was inside her before she knew it. Oh sweet lord. Well, it's no wonder it was always rumored that the judge was an imposing figure, banging his powerful gavel. With each hard, slick and well-aimed thrust, Esmeralda felt her head cracking against the pillar. Her hands were now practically fisting his hair, tugging it hard. This provoked him to bite square on the small of her neck as his hips rammed against hers. The gypsy reveled in each glorious movement within her sopping cavern, particularly when he rubbed against her tingling bead. How could there be no one to hear his or her frantic fornication? Her head lulled to one side, allowing him more leverage to nibble on. She could already feel those tremors that alerted her finale.
"Ah! Oh, fuck me! Harder!" She screamed, her walls contracting and convulsing as all her blood ran down south, making her even more sensitive and hot within. His length was now sliding in and out of her furiously, driving her crazy. His thirsty lips sought the tops of her breasts as he growled through the sensation of her climax. "Witch. Resistance is futile. Let me save you." He breathed huskily, his thickness scratching itches Esmeralda did not even knew she had.
"Oh yes! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
"Esmeralda…. come…Esmeralda, my angel. Esmeralda. Esmeralda. Esmeralda." All evaporated into nothing but pure ecstasy for the gypsy at that point. She threw her head back and screamed for the high heavens, knowing full well that those from other countries could hear her as well.
At least, that was what she thought. In reality however, the obviously sexually frustrated and excitable gypsy was now writhing beneath her cotton blanket, in her tent and her fingers certainly busy between her perspiring legs. And if that was not enough to get her hot and bothered, someone decided to intrude.
"Esmeralda! Esmeralda! OH MY GOD!" A rather plump, rosy gypsy girl came barging in with her brown wavy hair plastered against her cheeks and was now covering her eyes and mouth with her fat palms. The guilty gypsy girl in question sat straight up at the intrusion, blushing profusely. Hurriedly, she grabbed for the blankets and wrapped them tightly as she could, almost hoping it would pass off as an adequate shield for the barrage of questions that was sure to follow. However, thankfully or perhaps dreadfully, the gypsy girl just laughed.
"Oh, Esmeralda! Can't you be patient? It's only going to be a matter of days till you're married to Captain Phoebus. Wedding night's not too far off either. Oh well, since it seems you're busy, I'll come back later," And with that, the giggling woman left Esmeralda to her own devices. Reality was like a bucket of cold water dousing out the stubborn flames of her fantasy. With that, she slowly slid back down into her bed and pulled the sheets way over her head.
And screamed.
Yes, this was exactly what she needed. Five days before being married to the man she loved dearly and she was starting to have deliciously sinful sex dreams about the long deceased Judge Claude Frollo.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg of horrible things that was to happen.