The French Affair Boxed Set

by Natasha Sparks

  "If I only knew that all I had to use to make you cooperative was wine... ah, but women have secrets and we must only get them to yield them," he said playfully. He poured again, and again offered. This time, Janice took the tilting glass in her mouth slower, savoring it a bit more. But still, it went down very quickly, and with very satisfactory results.

  "Very nice," she said. "You mentioned Preparation. Well, this is the kind of Preparation I enjoy."

  "As do I, my dear," said the General. "And you shall have more soon, very soon... but first, I think that all of this may have sidetracked your attentions. And so I have prepared for your Preparation... and my own amusement as well, I suspect, a small show."

  She could feel the wine already singing in her veins.

  "Well thank you very much General, but I'd very much like to know exactly what I'm being prepared for."

  "Oh, but that would spoil the fun."

  "Fun for who? For me? For you?"

  The General sat by the bed. He tested the silk bond on her right hand. He tested the silk bond on her left hand, reaching over as he did, dragging his hands across her displayed breasts. Now a bit tipsy, she found this not at all invasive, but very pleasant, even friendly.

  "For us all," said the General, finally and curtly. "Now then, let's get on with it, shall we?"

  "I think you must be a homosexual, General. You have not truly taken advantage of me!"

  The General stood up straight. He glared down at her and quickly slapped her across her face.

  "That was not meant for pleasure," he said.

  She felt genuinely frightened. "None taken," she said.

  "You are a stranger. Be grateful you are not a dead stranger. You survive merely at my whim."

  "I understand."

  "Very well." The man was clearly a vain peacock. He had a nice florid haircut and doubtless preened before the mirror in his military outfits. Janice had ruffled his feathers. She had to remember that he had that vulnerability. It could come in handy.

  "I hope the mark on my face is part of my Preparation."

  The General colored. "Is there a mark? " He looked. "No, a bit of redness. It will fade soon. I drew no blood."

  "But go on, General. And please, go on with my sincerest apologies."

  The General said nothing at first. He merely took the glass and allowed his prisoner to drink some more.

  Another few drinks from the glass, and the smart on her face was forgotten. She was getting more and more curious about what lay in store for her in this so-called Preparation. She was getting eager to know what she was being prepared for. Could it be? No, it could not possibly be, surely...

  The General walked briskly to the door and clapped his hands.

  "Michele. Franco. Please," he called.

  He stepped back and folded his arms, awaiting the result of his call.

  Into the room walked two fantastical creatures, straight from Janice's dreams.

  The man--presumably Franco--was dressed entirely in rough black leather. It was an executioner's outfit. Or a torturer's outfit perhaps. A black hood with eyeholes was over his head. Black straps crisscrossed the man's huge, muscular chest. His waist was narrow and tapered and he stood upon powerful legs. His looks were black as sin.

  In one hand he held a rope, and he pulled another behind. It was a woman--presumably Michele. She was blonde and buxom and naked. Leather bonds held her hands, and it was through these bonds that the man in the black executioner's hood had looped the rope with which he pulled her.

  "The wall," said the General. His eyes gleamed in anticipation. He snapped his fingers twice.

  Quickly the man in black untied his prisoner, and tied the beautiful woman up to the wall using links that Janice had not notice before. She was tied so that she faced the wall.

  "Excellent. Now, if you'll be so good as to start the show."

  The man in the black hood nodded. From a side belt he drew out a whip--Janice recognized it as a cat o' nine tails.

  The hooded man positioned himself, braced himself--and let rip. He flung the whip onto the woman's naked back.

  The blow was more artful than brutal. The ends of the whips snapped, the woman cried out, but they did not draw blood, and when the woman looked behind her, she did not seem at all upset at this sort of torture. Rather, her eyes were glowing and she was licking her lips. General Murat applauded. "Very good, very good!"

  Janice watched, fascinated. This was out of one of her erotic dreams! Was all this she was experiencing just in fact a dream? But what about the sensations, the pain, the taste of the wine, the smells? They were all so real. Surely this was real as well. And the snap of that whip! Crack! Crack! Leather on flesh. It was real. It was very real indeed.

  After a few licks of the cat o' nine, the masked man paused. He leashed the whip to one of his sides and then unbuttoned his tight breaches.

  "A moment, sir," said the General. "Come over here and let's have a look at this new weapon."

  Obediently, the man strode over to the bedside. From his pants he had pulled an enormous penis. Why the thing was a foot long if it was an inch! The hooded man was working it expertly between his sweaty hands.

  "We have here a guest who doubtless would like a closer display. She has also been difficult and perhaps deserves punishment."

  The hooded man grunted.

  Suddenly, he jumped up on the bed.

  Janice shrieked with surprise.

  The hooded man ripped off the sheets that she'd pulled over her. He positioned his erect penis and began to bring it down upon her left breast. Whack! Whack! He brought it down expertly and he brought it down hard. The penis looked like a raging horn, bent and ugly but hard as a twisted nail. The head seemed to bite into her nipple like a snake.

  "Enough," said the General. "Now back to Michele, if you please."

  The hooded man just grunted again and slipped off the bed, taking his enormous erect penis with him.

  Janice found that she was breathing hard. The effect of the wine and the excitement and the sensations were overwhelming and again, she felt like she was in an erotic dream.

  She felt an amazing surge of deja vu. Hadn't she been here before? God, it felt as though she had!

  Breathing hard, she watched as the hooded man directed his wiggling penis back to the woman tied to the wall. Instead of taking out his cat o' nine tails whip, though, he stood for a moment before the woman's outthrust behind, and then struck it with an open palm.

  Swack, swack!

  "Do it! Do it!" begged the woman.

  The man picked up his long penis, positioned himself and then, with no loving preparation, simply impaled the woman with his stiff sword.

  She screamed.

  He pushed the penis in deeper, deeper, to its hilt. And then he pulled it out, only to thrust it back in.

  Janice could almost feel the thick rod of meat going into her!

  The duo starting looking more like some machine than a pair of human beings. The hooded man worked like a piston, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting--but the woman met each thrust with a receptive push. The hooded man pulled out his whip and from time to time he managed to sneak in a whack across her plundered buttocks. He was sweating and grunting so much he didn't notice hitting himself.

  The two worked at this for some moments, working and working toward mutual, screeching, cataclysmic orgasm.

  The thwuck, thwuck, thwucking of their fucking and the slap of whip on flesh filled the room.

  The frenzy upped and increased to the point that they seemed they would either finish or simply explode into a cloud of blood and veins and ricochetting limbs...

  When suddenly the door opened, banging back and a demanding voice entered the room.

  "What is going on here?"

  Somehow, despite the frenzy, the moment the hooded man heard the voice at the doorway, he stopped thrusting. He pulled out his penis, rapidly stuffing it back inside of his pants.

  "Is anyone going to answ
er me? What is going on here? Murat! Murat! I smell your sick heart here. I smell it!"

  "Your honor," said the General, snapping to attention.

  For a moment the figure just stood at the doorway, outlined against a spill of light from beyond. The light mixed up with his tousled hair like a halo.

  Janice simply gazed on him, amazed.

  The man, first and foremost, was short. He was not a dwarf. Indeed, he was slender and perfectly formed. However, he was, in a word, short. He had an odd yellowish complexion, much unlike the ruddy Gallic complexion of General Murat. His features were handsome and well cut, with strong eyebrows and a noble brow. He wore a simple outfit, breaches and a blouse covered in a quilted dressing coat--but he cut a remarkably fine figure. Not much past thirty, he was muscular without being bulky. And his eyes. Dark, Mediterranean and intense, those eyes swept across the room, taking everything in.

  In her heart of hearts, Janice knew exactly who he was.

  No question.

  No doubt.

  Napoleon Bonaparte.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "So Murat," said Napoleon Bonaparte. "You play. I had thought you were preparing something for me," said the man. He enunciated the French words sharply. His voice was full of sheer danger.

  "Your grace," said Murat. "This is the Preparation."

  Bonaparte placed his hands behind his back. He marched over to where the woman was chained. He stood for a moment beside the half-naked hooded man, who stood in quiet attention. He looked at them both again and shook his head, scratching his nose. "I see. Well."

  "Something a bit different, and of note. You see, I have found the perfect woman for you, my grace," said Murat.

  The perfect woman! General Murat thought that she was the perfect woman for Napoleon Bonaparte. Why hadn't he said that before! Oh my God. Oh my dear God. But Janice was frozen in place, merely staring with awe at this new arrival.

  "This woman here?" said Bonaparte, pointing at the woman chained to the wall. "I see. And I shall have sloppy seconds... Or thirds perhaps? Or, are we all to be whipped by this fool in the hood here?"

  "Atmosphere, your grace," said Murat. He had reared up to his full imposing height, and had somehow managed to regain most of his poise. "No, of course not. I was simply... priming the young lady in question for your arrival. I know that you work 18 hours a day, and so your breaks must be brief." He smiled lightly and playfully. "And lubricated. The woman in question is right here, upon this bed, ready for your pleasure, literally, come to think of it."

  Napoleon Bonaparte looked at Murat.

  "I have seen the lady upon the bed," he said, his voice tense.

  "She is beautiful, is she not?"

  "She is tied to the posts. Is she of some danger?"

  "No. I sense..."

  Bonaparte started screaming. "This is an outrage! An outrage, do you hear me! I will not tolerate this kind of attitude, this kind of treatment. Release her. Immediately!"

  "But your grace. It is all in the service of pleasure."

  Napoleon Bonaparte's eyes grew wild. "Murat. I have heard of this of course, and I know of the decadent practices of the aristocracy. Whether or not this... this... perversion... brings pleasure is not for me to say. But I do not wish to think that a woman must be tied down... Tied down... In order to be subservient to base animal needs. The very notion is abominable! To think that a woman would have to be tied down--TIED DOWN!——to be available to the conquering force that is the greatest man in the world, Napoleon Bonaparte!"

  The dark eyes glowed fiercely. He trembled with barely contained anger.

  Really, thought Janice. Really, I don't mind...

  "Murat, what do you take me for?" Napoleon continued on his rant. "An ugly private in the back ranks, scurrying like a rat behind the troops, hoping to pick out a piece from the dead bodies after a town has been looted and burned?"

  "No, of course not, your grace. Of course not! That is absurd! But, if I can just get a word in, it is well known that in the most sexually bountiful of young women, light bondage releases some kind of instinctual urge for coupling..."

  Napoleon clamped his hands over his ears. "Silence! Silence! I will hear no more of this absurdity!" He went over to Murat and stared up at him. His arm was flat palmed and by his side and looked absolutely primed for a proper slap across his General's face. He would have had to reach up quite a bit, but the way Napoleon resembled a squashed spring ready to go, there would no problem about that.

  Somehow though, an iron will clamped down.

  "Murat, you are a fool sometimes, but you are no idiot."

  "Thank you, your grace."

  "I appreciate the sentiments here. But I never wish to see this kind of outrage again." He gestured. "Please release this young woman immediately. Is there wine?"

  "Yes, your grace."

  Napoleon sniffed the cup. He threw it against the wall, finally finding a way to physically vent. "Vile vinegar! We have far better. Go and get something better the minute you have released the young lady."

  "Yes."

  Quickly and efficiently, General Murat attended to the complex knots of the silk rope, and with astonishing swiftness, Janice was freed.

  "And also bring back suitable garb." The little man swiveled to the naked woman and hooded man, still at attention. "And you two! Just get out of my sight!"

  The two bowed and quickly left, obviously grateful for release.

  Janice immediately gathered up the sheets around herself. She hoisted herself up against the back of the bed, dramatically massaging her wrists as though they were in pain. In fact, she felt fine. In fact, she felt better than she had in her entire life.

  Here he was, in all his glory, right in front of her--and her half-naked in bed.

  Napoleon Bonaparte.

  Oh, how she had dreamed...

  Life could indeed be magic!

  "Are you all right, mademoiselle?" asked the little Corsican. She couldn't believe her eyes. His right hand had slipped into the side of the vest-like night robe--the signature Napoleon stance!

  "Yes, yes, I think so."

  "I beg your forgiveness... for this charade!"

  She just nodded, trying to look shell-shocked, trying to hide her enthusiasm over the whole business.

  "I apologize for my people, my overenthusiastic staff. I assure you that all women... indeed all men... are treated with equal respect under my benevolent rule."

  "We are slaves to your greatness, my grace." She bowed her head.

  For the first time, Napoleon Bonaparte smiled. "Nicely said. Prettily said. And I am intrigued by your accent. You speak French... and yet, where are you from?"

  It just came out in a splurge of pure genius.

  "I am from the United States of America!"

  And as she said it, she noticed that she said it with a huge pride. It clearly showed in the display of her chest. She looked down and was startled--humorously so--to see that she was pushing out her ample corn-fed Kansas breasts with a knowing female pride.

  "Indeed!"

  The declaration had caught Napoleon Bonaparte like a blast broadside from a British cannon on a frigate. He actually smiled.

  "And what part of the Americas, pray tell?"

  "Virginia."

  Safest and most original really. Also a lovely name, come to think of it. Much nicer than Kansas. Virginia, after all, was named after the Virgin Queen, Queen Elizabeth the First. The very whiff of the name 'Virgin' before a proud, haughty, horny man's nostrils was like red flag before a bull.

  "Ah, ah. Virginia," said Napoleon Bonaparte.

  Before, he had seemed mostly interested in getting back to scribbling the Napoleonic Code. Now, he seemed honestly more interested in her. "However, citizen of the United States, do you find yourself first in France, and then tied up by the evil likes of the most conceited and perverse of my generals, General Murat."

  "It is a long, long story, First Consul. May I call you that now?"

&nbs
p; "That is my title."

  "And you deserve so much more."

  "You know how to flatter."

  "I know your history. I know your intent. You deserve more. As an American of education and intelligence, I confidently say--I know so."

  She smiled at him and winked.

  He stared down at her, astonished.

  "You Americans--you are indeed odd folk!" He laughed.

  "You think so? But how can you say that? You have not visited the United States, have you?"

  "I have not."

  "You are more than welcome, are you not?"

  "I should think so, as France itself was instrumental in those colonies liberation from the vile British yoke."

  She said, "I think that the United States appreciates that. You would be much celebrated would you be so inclined as to visit."

  "Too far. I have too much to do here."

  She shrugged. "And France owns so much swamp! Surely you would like to wallow a bit in your Louisiana swamp."

  Napoleon Bonaparte laughed. He laughed heartily. "You mock me! You mock France!"

  She shrugged again. "Can a truly great nation be mocked?"

  He laughed. "Of course not. But, quite seriously, I must say--now is not the time for a visit from the First Consul to the Americas. Perhaps at some later date, true?"

  She sighed. "It is our loss."

  He turned away. He looked at the bottle of bad wine that stood by her bed. He poured some into a fresh cup. He tasted it.

  "I was wrong. This is not such bad wine, I think. And I find myself thirsting."

  He poured. Napoleon Bonaparte poured out the wine.

  Janice watched.

  It was delectable.

  Here was her imaginary lover, with an exquisite flow of red coming out of a pitcher. This indeed was some incredible Hermes, no Cupid--this cute little monster, this powerful homunculus who had changed history itself...

  Caught in her eye, pouring out wine into a cup! For her!

  He finished, and then he took the cup up.

  "You have no idea how hard I've been working."

  He sipped.

  "Hmm. Not too bad."

  He sipped again.

  "In fact, good or bad, it certainly works."