"But not twice within twenty-four hours perhaps?
"Well, there is that," said Debussy. "I guess the corporal got a bit excited. Yeah, yeah, and so he suggested we put a little fun into her wine."
Sade's eyebrow, large and dark under his wig, crept up as he turned to look at the corporal.
"And pray tell, corporal--perhaps you've been having a drink or two of wine lately?"
The corporal's eyes were vacant. "In truth, sir, I generally do what the sergeant suggests."
"And the bloody sergeant suggest you keep you damned mouth shut!" screeched Debussy. He was out of sorts and all akimbo. He tucked himself up and looked up at the Marquis de Sade with respect--and perhaps not without fear. "Forgive me, my lord. It seems fortunate that you interrupted us. In truth, I was so taken by this new arrival's beauty and innocence, I could not control myself. I mean, after reading JUSTINE and your other great works, I have been a madman for sex! A madman!"
"Tsk. Tsk. Well then, Debussy. You have gotten the wrong message from my work. And I might say that I wrote it not for you, or your ilk. No, not at all."
The Marquis de Sade looked freshly bathed and manicured. He seemed dressed not in current garb, but with that wig and all, more of pre-French Revolution clothing, what with long cloth coat and such. As he approached Janice now, he exuded a kind of faint flowery smell. Far better a smell than that of a reeking dungeon and stale alcohol that lingered over this whole business.
"What is your name, child?" asked the Marquis de Sade.
"Janice," she said. "Please, just call me Janice."
"Very well, Janice. Now Janice..." He was holding a walking stick, she noticed now, furbished with a gold handle that looked like an angry wolf. He held this up and pointed it, first and at Sergeant Debussy. "Would you like me to beat this man with this stick?”
Janice shook her head. "What?"
"Would you like me to beat him?"
Debussy suddenly looked terrified. He reached around his body, looking for a knife or bludgeon or something to defend himself.
"Of course not!" she said.
"There you go, Debussy. Even after all this... after all this, the woman... the beautiful woman... does not wish harm to you."
Debussy noticeably relaxed. He even crossed himself.
"You'll help me get off this thing, then?" she said hopefully.
"All in good time, all in good time, my dear." The Marquis stepped over to her. He smelled of roses and brandy--an odd cologne, mixed with the scent in his wig powder. Almost formally, he took up his cane. With its cool wolf head, he described a line from her neck to her abdomen. Gently, almost teasingly. As he looked at her body, then up at her eyes, his own dark orbs almost twinkled. "Are you absolutely sure you want to get off this contraption immediately."
"Well, yes."
"You say you do, but--" He patted his lips pensively with the wolf's head. "Just one moment now." De Sade guided the cane head back to her naval, and then continued its descent. It slid through some stray chocolate, and then found the furry part of her pudenda. He moved it around in her pussy playfully, then pulled it back to his nostril. His nostrils quivered and his eyes closed as he took in a great heave of a breath. His eyes squeezed just. A look of delight swept over his face. He lifted his free hand and made a swirling gesture, the gesture a chef makes to bring up the glory of his dish up to his nostrils. "Magnificent! My, my! A rare perfume indeed."
"Pardon me?"
"And again, what is your name?"
"Janice."
"Janice. I am a mature man. No, no, I am an old man. I know women. And I know the scent of their excitement. Mademoiselle, your juice of love speaks a different request than your mouth. Two mouths, then in discord then, eh? An amusing medieval image. But in any case, I also sense something else." He smelled the end of the cane again, dipped in the pussy juice. "I cannot quite conjure up the full meaning. But perhaps... And you will forgive me my tardiness in obeying you, mademoiselle, but the Marquis de Sade is... in a word. Perverse."
She laughed.
A look of surprise came over his wrinkled but noble face.
She laughed and laughed and laughed.
He cocked his head. "You laugh. But you laugh at something else. You do not laugh at me. Are you laughing at Sergeant Debussy cringing and whining on the floor?
"No. I merely laugh... at myself. I believe you have a reputation, Marquis."
She of course couldn't tell him of the reputation he had through the ages. Or that a word had been coined from his name. And that name had nothing to do with ‘Marquis’.
He puffed a bit. "Yes. And a literary reputation, as well! Have you read my books?"
She hadn't. But she'd read a summary of JUSTINE, so she thought she'd risk faking it.
"Only JUSTINE. I suppose I find myself resembling the innocent heroine."
He held up the musky cane. "This scent does not say, ‘Innocence’.
"Oh no. Of course not. But no woman who can love is truly innocent, Marquis."
He cocked his head in another direction.
"I take your point. In any case--We have an interesting potential here. And I'm sure General Murat would not mind my investigation. Especially since it would benefit him."
Stunned, Janice could only give a bemused look at him. "Pardon, sir?"
He ignored the question. "Debussy. Might I have the use of your corporal."
Debussy, still obviously recovering, simply nodded.
"Corporal," said de Sade. "You seem to be under some sort of spell at the moment. Is that true?"
"I obey orders, sir."
"Indeed. I have heard Doctors speak of a system whereby patients follow suggestions. I suggest there's something of that here." He raised his neat eyebrows at Debussy. "I also suspect an odder relationship which I will not go into. In any case, corporal. Were you enjoying yourself when you were making love to the mademoiselle."
"Oh yes indeed, sir."
"And obviously Janice here was enjoying herself." He tapped his nose. "The nose knows. The scent of love was not for Sergeant Debussy, I think."
"Don't I get a say in all this?" asked Janice.
This is not a matter of free will. You do not know what is good for you."
"I know what's bad for you. And the last time the corporal was licking me it was a prep for Captain Hook."
"Captain Hook! An excellent name," said de Sade. "Perhaps I shall use that sometime in my literary efforts. No, no, my dear. Just stay calm. Or come to think of it, don't stay calm if you like. It's all one for my purposes. Now corporal, if you'd be so kind to start from the top!"
The corporal stood up. Standing up, his tendons stood out on his neck and all his muscles stood in relief. He had what they called in the 21st Century a six-pack ab. He was incredibly handsome and sexy, naked with his curls all aglow around his head like some devil's halo.
He went to her. "I am sorry about this Janice. I shall try and be gentle."
"Gentle!" said de Sade. "The woman doesn't wish you to be gentle. Get a little vim in your vigor, man." With that the Marquis gave a slap to the corporal's hindquarters. A bit of glee came to his eyes. Pure sadistic glee from the master, thought Janice.
With a start, the corporal jumped forward. He gave a puzzled look back at the Marquis--and in that look Janice did notice a look of hatred for a bare moment--and then back to work as ordered.
He kissed her neck. And this time it was a really good kiss, and the presence of his perfect nakedness in front of him absolutely shattered Janice.
She moaned and arched into him in supplication.
Again his lips travelled down to her breasts. This time he stroked the back her buttocks and her thighs as he first nibbled, then bit into her left breast.
"Yes, yes," said the Marquis approvingly. "Women do like their breasts played with. Good, good. Now smack that rump. Hard."
The corporal did so.
Smack.
Even though the blow was telegraphed by th
e order, it came with a suddenness and ferocity that shocked her. She felt as though she were hollow and it was reverberating through her whole being, like a bell ringing.
The Marquis bent his head back, a look of exquisite pleasure passing over it. "Oh yes, I heard that. A nice fleshy, refreshing sound, eh Debussy?"
"Could you not bother me. I am in considerable unpleasurable pain down here!"
"Forgive me. But somehow a bit of pain inflicted on a woman is so much more delectable than a lot of pain upon an oaf like you."
"I'll remember that, de Sade."
"Now corporal. She is almost primed. I want you to suck your thumb. Like a child. Do it."
The corporal stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked.
"Good and wet now, yes? Excellent. Now, I want you to ram the thumb up her cunt. Hard."
Janice braced herself. The corporal knelt, positioned his thumb--and then rammed.
But it did not hurt. Not at all. In fact, it was an amazing feeling, simply amazing. Hard and demanding, and yet full of sensuality and command.
"Take it out, corporal. Take the thumb up. Let Janice smell the thumb."
The corporal pulled the thumb out, lifted himself up from his haunches, and then stuck it under Janice’s nose.
It was musky and wet that thumb. Yes, it smelled of her, smelled of the lust she was starting to feel, uncurling inside her like a hungry octopus.
"Now, before it dries," said the Marquis. "Ram it up her ass."
The corporal obeyed. This time she felt the pain. She felt probed, invaded... She bucked against her restraints.
"Good. Now, Janice. The corporal is about to ram himself into you. Which orifice do you prefer?"
"My ass," she said. "Oh fuck my ass."
The Marquis laughed. "Do nothing of the sort, corporal. Put that hardening cock into her cunt, and try to reach her mouth with it."
Janice smiled inwardly to herself. She'd fooled the bastard! She didn't want anything up her ass! But the perverse fellow would naturally give her the very opposite of what she requested.
The corporal positioned his penis with his hand. First he slapped her pubic hair. Thump, thump, thump. As though knocking and knocking again, demanding entrance. Then, he put the unfolded penis head into her slick pink opening
It was, quite simply, like nothing Janice had ever felt before. The corporal's thick cock absolutely pushed her apart, expanding her in countless dimensions and then pushing forward, pushing, pushing... then just when it seemed at the point of almost pain, pulling out.
She screamed.
"Ah. A sound I love to hear. The scream of absolute ecstasy!" said de Sade. "Oh. Nightingale of the evening. Do give more voice."
The corporal thrust harder and pushed deeper. She could smell his sweat and feel his returning ardor and she answered with another shriek.
"Excellent. Excellent!" The Marquis clapped his hands together. Then he took up his whip again. "I think we need to rouse the corporal to new effort. He lags a bit, I think."
With a speed that belied his age, and a fierceness that was full of enjoyment, the Marquis snapped the whip.
Snap.
Janice couldn't see it, but it sounded as though it hit square on fleshy buttock. The corporal reacted as though struck, and his forward momentum pushed him just that much further into her. His long cock didn't reach up to her mouth the wrong way, but it certainly felt as though it was giving it a good try
Shaken up, she gasped.
At first she wasn't sure she could take any more. And there were no ‘safe’ words in the dungeon of the Marquis de Sade.
She prayed for unconsciousness. The roughness, the demand was simply taking over her body and mind.
But then, somehow, things changed. The ravishment became not a ravishment at all. Nothing against her will. She moved into him, pushing back at him, swerving her own buttocks so that on the beat she was grinding into him, and not he into her.
Janice became consumed with the natural rhythms of fucking. In and out, in and out. She pressed against this hunk of beefcake, and suddenly, even though she was tied down, she seemed to be riding him, riding him, demanding, urging, going into a faint tailspin of lust and flesh. Twhuck, thwuck, thwuck came the sounds.
They echoed through the dank dungeon, punctuated by the snapping of de Sade's whip against the corporal's backside. De Sade, however, seemed to have lightened the snap quite a bit. His enthusiasm continued, with his eyes blazing wide. But the stripes dealt seemed more encouragement and participation in this frantic copulation than in any way to create pain.
For seconds and seconds, minutes and minutes, this fucking continued. Even Debussy seemed to be able to throw off his aches and pains and join in with round goblin like eyes peering up, and hook pulling up at some invisible second whip to Sade’s, joining the feral gallop toward lust's total chaos and destruction.
He began to sing a French soldier's song.
Was this it? wondered Janice, her awareness merely a tiny part of her whole maelstrom experience. Was this the road? Would she finally make it? An orgasm? Her very own Magnificent Éclair?
Oh, that delicacy! That confection! There it hung before her like the sword in front of Joan of Arc? She reached for it, begged for it, fought for it, found herself in a pyre lit by the English for it--
And then the corporal gave out.
He came quickly, with a shudder and a sputter. She couldn't even feel him coming inside of her. His eyes just sort of rolled back in his head, he staggered back. And so quickly, he tumbled directly onto de Sade.
They both went over, the corporal's penis still erect and spurting its copious fluids into the air, including a hefty splash upon the face of the Marquis de Sade.
The Magnificent Éclair folded up its cream into its pastry and puffed away into the night.
Janice collapsed.
"Good heavens!" The Marquis de Sade laughed. "Marvelous! How amusing! What a show." With a lace sleeve he wiped the come off his face, and pushed at the dead weight on top of him. "Oh, come on, you big oaf. I'm not ready to be crushed to death quite yet!"
The corporal stirred. He came to and blearily hefted himself off the Marquis. Shaking his head, he tried to get off, but then collapsed into a heap and a stupor.
Discarding his whip, and with the help of his cane the French nobleman managed to hobble himself up and back to his feet.
"There now," he said, still a bit wobbly, but all in all, upright. "That's better. Now then, I'd better see to our guest."
"I think he killed her," said Debussy.
"Ah, yes, and there are worse deaths to be had than that one, sergeant. But please, allow me to ascertain her health.
He waddled over.
She could hear him coming.
For Janice's part, she was in some kind of coma. Or she felt like it. And although she had every reason to feel disappointed, she did not. No, not at all.
"Now then, child," said de Sade with a sympathetic tone in his voice. "Are you well?"
She said nothing.
He leaned closer.
She said nothing.
With a hand he reached out under her nostrils to check for breath.
When his fingers were close enough, she stretched forward and clamped onto them with her teeth.
And bore down, biting.
"Owwwwww! Owww. Owwww!" cried the Marquis de Sade. "Sacre bleu!"
She let go her grip and he tore his hand away. Horrified, he brought it back to examine it and there he saw toothmarks and redness--but no blood.
He glared at her for a moment and he lifted his cane.
"That's right, Sadie. Get her!" encouraged Debussy.
He began to laugh again. "My, my. We have a feisty bitch here, sergeant."
"Now will you let me fuck her too?"
In answer, the Marquis de Sade nimbly went over to Debussy and kicked him hard in the behind. "No. No. No."
With each no, he gave a kick.
"All right, all right,
I get it!"
"What you will do now, sergeant, is to find the keys to her bonds while I speak with the girl."
"Yes, Marquis."
The sergeant scrabbled to obey,
This time, keeping a respectful distance the Marquis approached Janice again.
"Now my dear. I wonder if we might speak in a civilized way once more?”
CHAPTER THREE
Well, here it was.
Suddenly she was frightened.
What was she doing?
She'd hired an actor/prostitute for three hundred dollars.
She'd hired him to portray Lord Horatio Nelson and the fuck her with his stump.
Of course, it had taken a lot of work. A lot of work indeed. To begin with, she’d had to find an actor who didn't have a right arm, just a stump. And the stump, for certain, had to be right.
But then, this is New York City. True, she was a professor at Fordham University, in the Bronx. But she was young, and she had chosen Fordham for a very particular purpose.
"Oh, Lord Nelson. If you please, fuck me."
"Madam, I will, as you request. I do enjoy pleasing women. However, I have to say my arm in numb. Perhaps you might inspire other parts."
That, fortunately, was indeed in the script.
They were on track! She was thrilled!
"Well, Lord Nelson. Perhaps if you present me with your mast, I may pull it up to full appointments."
Here, Lord Nelson smiled. And he smiled grandly. He smiled the smile of centuries. And as she looked up at him, she could tell that she had here not so much an actor, or prostitute, or whatever, just a simple guy with a hard on who wanted to get sucked.
"Behold, maiden, I bring up my mast."
"Admiral. Thank you."
Fortunately, this one was no monster. As Lord Nelson unzipped his pants and brought forth his penis, it was indeed a result that was neither huge nor odd. Here, indeed, was a very normal male penis--and properly erect for the purposes involved.
"Oh Admiral," she said. "Oh thank you." And thereupon she pushed her lips upon his penis.
This was nothing new. Her lips and mouth and tongue were not virgin to the touch and taste of penises. She was no whore! God forbid! But, after all, she lived in the culture of the 21st century, the hook-up culture and it seemed perfectly natural to suck a guy's cock.
The French Affair Boxed Set Page 12
