Annette’s dark hair tickled his thighs where it dangled and fell through his flies, but he was focused far more intently on how ardently the eager young whore sucked his cock. She had grasped the shaft of his prick with her left hand, whilst using the right to continuously brush her wild strands of hair out of her face so that he could witness the resplendent sight of his cock pushing into and out of her mouth. Annette studiously checked to ensure that her actions were pleasing by the simple expedient of watching Edward’s expression — but he doubted she would find anything amiss there. Her dancing tongue, so much more deft than Lady Trey’s unpracticed sucking, delighted his enflamed cock while her hand steadily pumped him towards a creamy oblivion.

“Is monsieur enjoying himself?” she asked, hospitably, when she had taken him to the brink of rapture — and then stopped. “Annette is not like English whores — she does not rush you to the petite morte, thinking of nothing but money . . . she takes her time and enjoys the meal!”

“Vive la France!” Edward, agreed in an intent whisper, as her lips and tongue descended once more the torment his prick with pleasure. He felt her other hand steal under the waistband of her pantaloons — the little brunette tart was frigging herself! “Let me see?” he asked, placing a hand on her head to slow her motion. She was startled and gave a yelp around his prick, then embarrassed for being caught by her patron, but when she realized Edward wanted her to continue, she jumped up to fetch something from her handbag before returning to her submissive pose between his knees.

“If you do not care to fuck me, monsieur,” she asked, a wicked grin on her face, “then perhaps you will allow me to pleasure myself with my new vibrateur. . . all the girls are mad for them right now!” she confided, with teenaged enthusiasm.

Edward was intrigued. “Might I see it?” he asked. She nodded vigorously, and presented the instrument for his inspection with all the ceremony of a feudal ritual. He was not unfamiliar with the French passion for dildoes — nearly every lady wife and her chambermaid in Paris had one of the illicit instruments tucked away in her bedding — but this was something else entirely. He saw that the head, a simple design that did not try to mimic the variations of the male member beyond the most elementary form, was of highly polished brass, while the body of the engine was beautifully finished rosewood, sanded and varnished to a glass-like smoothness. At the base there was an elaborate brass fitting, as ornate as a music box.

“It works like this,” Annette explained, after he examined it. She turned the base several times, producing a small clicking sound, before it was wound enough, and then she activated a switch on the base. The faux phallus immediately produced a small whirring noise. “It is . . . how you say? Rouage d’horloge . . . clockwork! Oui, it is a clockwork vibrateur . . . the most amazing, wonderful contraption the French ever invented!”

“So . . . what do you do with it?” Edward asked, failing to see the device’s purpose or utility beyond that served so admirably by an ordinary dildo.

“Well, monsieur,” Annette confided naughtily as she pushed the instrument into her pantaloons and, he assumed, against the slit of her cunny, “When I place the baton just so . . . and activate it . . . OH!” Annette yelped as she flicked the switch with her thumb. “It produces the most divine vibrations against my . . . my clitoris . . .” she gasped. “It makes the work go much more quickly!” With that the randy young tart returned to her duties servicing Edward’s prick. The familiar motions were now punctuated with gasps and moans as Annette pleasured herself, a situation which Edward approved of heartily — never had he seen a woman become as aroused as the little whore had with her device. And the sensation of her expressions of lust while employed sucking his cock produced a delightful sucking which, if erratic, was none the less welcome for its novelty and renewed enthusiasm for the task.

In fact, Annette had worked herself into such a fevered pitch with her wand that she nearly reached a climax — which Edward had intended upon sharing the moment she arrived — when the clockwork mechanism that inspired her so wound down and had to be attended to.

“It only works for about ten minutes or so,” Annette lamented as she hurriedly turned the base, her face flushed with excitement and exertion. “Then you must rebobinage! It can be so frustrating!”

“No doubt!” Edward gasped, entirely in sympathy with Annette. The randy little whore had brought him — again! — to the very precipice of pleasure before being interrupted, and it seemed as if his loins seethed with the expectation of release. Annette wasted no time in returning the vibrateur to the valley betwixt her thighs, and then once again returned her plump lips to the tip of his rampant cock.

This time, there were no interruptions. Edward was so close to exploding that he could only survive a dozen or so breathless strokes of fair Annette’s lips, and the whore in turn was on the verge of a cataclysmic release as the little device tickled her cunny to the point of distraction and ecstasy. Edward put a steadying, guiding hand on the back of her head but the whore was enrapt in her own erotic world, pumping his shaft between her lips as she humped against her intimate engine. Just as she abandoned herself to the throes of joy, Edward made his own contribution of an exquisite torrent of sperm, which Annette hungrily consumed as she returned to the mortal plane.

Edward allowed Annette to continue her licking and cleaning as long as she was game, and only reluctantly returned his flagging cock to his trousers as she finally stood — daintily belching from the exertion and consumption of his robust load.