CHAPTER TWO.

YOU ARE MINE.

Armand Jean du Plessis very much missed the company of a beautiful woman. It had been a while. Mistresses had come and gone. Marie; he had been fond of her, but she succumbed to the smallpox, as did many at the time. Louisa; had to be sent away to the country, when she was found to be carrying a child, and had died in childbed, a great shame, but there it was. He was in need of a new plaything.

For Minette, her first night in the residence, was a restless one. The maidservant clearly had instructions not to let her out of her sight. The harness she wore, whilst not exactly uncomfortable, was a constant reminder, she was aware of it at all times. Which was, of course, the point. It was odd that, not being able to touch herself, made her think about wanting to do just that.
The carriage arrived for her the very next evening.
She was ushered into the privy chamber as before.
Richelieu, apparently writing, looked up as she entered. Laying down the quill, he rose slowly from the chair, and advanced towards her.
At first she held his gaze, steadily, but as fear overtook her, she cast her eyes downwards.
With one finger under her chin, he raised her head slightly.
"Are you afraid of me?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Good! You should be."
He bent his head down and kissed her. The kiss was not harsh, as she'd expected, but warm and deep. She found herself leaning into him, so that when he pulled back, she almost toppled forwards.
"Undress."
As before, she disrobed. He watched, eyes roaming over her body as she revealed herself. He released her from the harness, and pulled her closer to him, his hands travelling over her bare flesh with practised ease.
Pushing her a few steps until her backside came in contact with the desk, he bent her backwards, until she lay almost under him.
"Open your legs." He barked, his voice a rasp, filled with desire.
She obeyed, and she felt his hand against her, fingers exploring. Gasping aloud at the sensation, without thought, she clasped the front of his leather jerkin, with both hands. Throwing her head back, as a wave of heat rocked her. She could feel his own arousal, but he did nothing to sate it. Her mind became filled with the rhythm of his hand, she could concentrate on nothing else, her own hands still clutched his tunic, thighs trembling, breathing ragged, she was close...so close...then he stopped abruptly. Leaning to kiss her again, he released himself from her grip and backed away, leaving her panting and confused.
"Get dressed."
Sitting up, she looked at him questioningly, afraid to speak.
"Your Eminence...?"
"GO!"
Gathering up her dress and petticoats, legs still weak with desire, she hurried from the room, where her maid, fastened the belt around her and helped lace her corset.
All the way home in the carriage, she burned. Why had he stopped so suddenly? Had she disappointed him in some way? The ache lasted for several hours, before, through sheer willpower, she damped it down.
The following evening the carriage arrived again.
Minette did not consider herself a shrinking violet, but the power this man exuded, cowed, yet excited her. It aroused her senses, so that she was already wet with anticipation before she reached his apartments.
On arrival, she did not wait to be told to disrobe, but loosened her clothing immediately. The Cardinal was seated on his large leather armchair. He was dressed in a long silken dressing gown. A glass of wine at his elbow. Once naked, and without any signal from him, she knelt at his feet, head bowed. A ghost of a smile played across his lips, as he unlocked her, beckoning to her with a curl of one finger, she crawled into his lap. She could feel him hard, through his robe, and she encircled is neck with her arms, nuzzling against him.

Yes, she was going to do whatever she could to please him, her very life depended upon it, he held the power to give or to take. Somehow she would endure, she would survive, and preserve the life she was not willing to relinquish, she would hold on to it tenaciously. This was the reason she'd been sent to court; unwanted by everyone, despised by her family, starved of affection, a burden. In search of a wealthy benefactor. Against the odds, she had secured one, it was in her best interests to hold on to that for as long as she could.
Reaching down, she touched him lightly, just the merest of brushes, but he bucked beneath her, and made a whimpering sound.
He leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, lips slightly apart, as her fingers slid inside the gown, she took him in her small hand and pleasured him. Her own arousal was deep, but she tried to ignore it.
When his release came, he groaned, reaching to kiss her hard on the mouth.
Pushing her away from him, he made to rise and repair to his garderobe, but she stayed his hand.
"Let me, Your Eminence," she said softly.
Pouring water into the basin, from the pitcher, she wetted a cloth, easing him out of his robe, so that he stood, naked, before her, she began to cleanse him, the act almost reverential. He watched her movements carefully, enjoying the sight of her, humbled, as she performed this office.
For a man of his years, his body was taut and muscular, he was pleasing to the eye. Minette was a pains to make the ritual as sensual as possible. She wanted him to remember how good it felt.
Drying him off, she helped him into fresh clothes and poured him a cup of ruby coloured wine.
He took the proffered goblet and drank.
"You have done well." He said.
"You may go."
She was about to protest, but the look in his eye forbade her, so she remained silent.
Once more she was dismissed unfulfilled.

A whole month or more passed, with increasing frustration and desperation for her own release. Locked in chastity day and night, apart from her visits to his rooms, or when she bled. Constantly denied, bought to the edge of the abyss over and over again, until she was ready to fall on her knees and beg him, plead with him to give her relief. Seeking only his own pleasure, touching her with his fingers only, not using his mouth or tongue on her, never once had he taken her or seemed that he might. He liked her to bring him to orgasm, using her hands or sometimes her mouth, and she obliged willingly, many times, in the hope of her own reward, but he always teased her with the promise of what he did not give. As the weeks passed, she began, more and more to relish her visits, his presence became everything to her, all encompassing. He was the only one permitted to touch her, and she ached for him, so on edge was she, that the merest stroke of his hand made her light headed with lust.
It was Trinity Sunday, and Minette was alone in The Cardinal's privy chamber, awaiting his arrival. All day, she spent in anticipation, she felt emotional, tearful even. Just the thought of his hands on her, caressing her body, stroking him, her sex swollen as it was, the kernel of fire inside her had become an unbearable pain.
Moving to his private altar, she lit the candles from a taper and knelt before the icon, hands clasped in supplication. Head bowed, eyes closed, tears on her cheeks. She prayed fervently, earnestly, before crossing herself and preparing to rise.
Richelieu entered the room behind her, unheard and unseen, he saw her there, on her knees. As she stood, genuflecting in silent thanks, he stepped rapidly across the floor and lifted her off her feet, before she even knew what was happening.
Carrying her towards his bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His lips were on hers, hot and eager, his breath came in gasps, rapid and shallow. Almost throwing her down, he was on her instantly, tearing at her clothes, one hand lifting her skirts and feeling for her, while unlacing his own breeches. He forced her legs apart, still kissing her hungrily, as he found her entrance and ground himself inside her. She cried out and he sheathed himself fully, a guttural sound in his throat. He took her roughly, thinking only of his own pleasure and release, but she would not be denied this time. The feel of him, his hands, his mouth, was overwhelming. After so long without, her climax was like a volcano of fire, she arched herself, to take his maximum length, crying out, saying his name,
"Armand..."

"You are mine...do you hear me? You are mine and mine only." His voice savage, in her ear.

He spilled his seed inside her, and they rode the waves of passion, until spent. Then they lay together, he still above her, she weeping silently, with the ecstasy of finally being allowed relief.
On this occasion she was not immediately dismissed. Instead she was allowed to cleanse herself and don fresh clothes. He poured wine for her and she drank. Neither of them spoke.
A bridge had been crossed. Before leaving, and keen to show her gratitude, she fell on her knees before him as he towered over her, she took one of his hands in hers and pressed it to her cheek, kissing it many times, wetting it with her tears. Before he tugged it away.
"God bless you, my Lord!" She whispered.
That evening she returned home unharnessed.
He had broken her in.