The French Affair Boxed Set

by Natasha Sparks

  "Yes, yes," continued de Sade.

  But as I was saying, the most interesting part is toward the end. Let's just say it involves priests, nuns and monks and other such rabble. I took the bother to mark a good place for you to begin. I promise you it makes for very relaxing reading in the bath. Oh, and if I fall asleep, do avail yourself of that couch outside. I put a blanket and pillow there. I promise I shall not molest you--" He raised his eyebrows. "Although perhaps that is the result of my advanced age rather than my other nature, for you are a charming and beautiful woman with clearly good taste in literature."

  He bowed courteously, and then left her alone, closing the door behind him.

  And so here she was, in a bathtub with one of the Marquis de Sade's books to read by candlelight in a warm luxurious bath.

  How nice!

  She opened the book and started reading.

  It was really pretty outrageous. Instead of taking the righteous path of her younger sister, Juliette is counseled by a nun of all people to go in the opposite direction and become a prostitute. After she makes much money she falls in with another woman, Clairwil, and the two become lovers--and not behind closed doors either, or alone. For along with crime after crime, the two participate in orgy after orgy. In fact, Janice found herself paging through the orgies, because they really weren't that erotic at all. And that was the thing about de Sade, even in Justine--there was a lot of wanton sex of all perversions and varieties, it wasn't there to titillate so much as to shock. It seemed to pour out of the man's pen! In the section that the Marquis himself had connoted, for instance, it got positively surreal and phantasmagorical. Juliette and Justine co in a Friday service which involves a mass orgy at a Carmelite convent. Huge cocks and dildos are everywhere, wielded by all manner of Catholic clergy and acolytes. Soon, they meet a huge Russian named Minsky who is able to ejaculate his semen twenty feet. The wild Russian has his own guillotine, but his wildest furniture is a room full of naked women, forming a couch, and table and chairs. Needless to say, there was much copulation in these scenes.

  Janice shook her head. She rubbed her eyes. She wanted to finish the section, but she was getting tired.Oh yes. The water was so nice, so warm. She wanted to read more, though, and she really didn't want to move yet, so she just stayed put and placed the book down on the wood. Just a rest. That was all. She'd close her eyes, meditate some on what she'd read and then open them, read some more, get out of the bath, dry herself. And then quite simply she'd go to the bed that the Marquis de Sade had made up for her and have a good night's rest. Then, on the morrow, she could figure out what was going to happen next.

  She closed her eyes.

  She fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  And dreamed.

  Of course, as with us all, Janice did not, at first, know she was dreaming.

  What she knew was that she was standing in front of a large church. A bell announcing evening song was in the air, bellowing across green meadows. There was the smell of May flowers in the air, and fresh hay--and horse dung. But then the smell of horse dung seemed everywhere here in France, as well as less savory sorts of dung, so she paid it no heed.

  She looked down. She was in a fresh, clean peasant dress of the time. There was a bonnet on her head. Both of these seemed the color pale grey, although the blouse she wore was a deep blue. She noted the tops of her bosoms--her décolletage, mounded provocatively from the blouse and its interior stays.

  Even as she was staring down at her breasts, a huge wooden door opened. From the door appeared a man in a robe of some holy order. He had a sash and wore various medals and emblems. Obviously, he was a priest.

  "Ah, Juliette..." said the priest. "I, Father Guillume of the Holy Roman Hoo Haas welcome you to the Church of the Everlasting Orgy. I believe that you have been sent here by our good friend, the Marquis de Sade?"

  "Juliette? No, no my name isn't Juliette. It's Janice!"

  The priest seemed to ignore what she had to say. "Please. Step this way. Our Russian friend has been saving up the whole day. Today he will ejaculate and hit a target forty feet away."

  "Oh. Yes. That's the fellow with his own private guillotine," said Justine.

  "He only uses it for special occasions, I assure you. Oh yes, the monks have much mead and beer to foist. You can even swim in the wine vat, if you like." A tongue whipped out of his mouth, licking, as he admired the succulent treats she presented. "Or nuns, if that is your habit. Ho ho!"

  "You know what? I have certain fantasies, I suppose. But I was never into priests or nuns or Russians."

  "Oh. My dear! How could you turn this down?"

  Father Guillume of the Holy Roman Hoo Haas lifted his robe. He was naked beneath. What flashed before her was an immense penis, erect, thick and nothing short of two feet long.

  She held up her hands. "No. No. Not for me."

  She remembered that most of her experiences so far in France had involved getting tied down. And now, she thought, was not the time to get tied down. So she turned tail and ran.

  "Oh. But Juliette! You have no idea of the fun we have here at the Church of the Everlasting Orgy."

  "God bless us all, Father!"

  She ran faster. She found herself on a road. Somehow (as it is in dreams) Janice found the scenery around her changing. The road was now in a pleasant light forest with glens and bowers and earthy smells and such, and it was opening up into grassy fields again. Now she found herself in front of a farmhouse. It was a big farmhouse, and beside it was a big barn.

  She was tired, so she went up to the door of the farmhouse, hoping for a drink of water.

  "Yes?" the door opened. Standing there in a nightgown, looking a bit sleepy, was none other than Napoleon Bonaparte.

  "Napoleon!" she said joyfully. "I am so happy to see you!"

  "Do we know each other, mademoiselle?" the First Consul, soon to be Emperor of France, answered politely.

  "Yes... I mean, no... I mean... well, I am confused. I was traveling by and was hoping for a glass of water."

  Napoleon seemed to be waking up and noticing not only that his guest was a female, but a very comely one at that and provocatively dressed. She was glad her breasts were sticking up this way. He seemed to like them quite a bit!

  "A glass of water? I, who can clean, load and fire a cannon or any rifle in the French Army with skill and precision, I, Napoleon Bonaparte..." He smiled. "Can get you a glass of water. Or wine, perhaps? A sausage? A bit of cheese and a bit of bread? You look hungry, my dear." He stepped back, beckoning her in.

  He guided her to a kitchen table, where he provided her requests.

  The next thing she knew she had a large glass of wine in her hands, but didn't question it. This was France, after all. In waking and dreaming here, there was wine.

  Napoleon Bonaparte looked good. Somehow he seemed a bit taller (though he wasn't really ever THAT short, according to historians). Somehow the strange yellow complexion that vexed him all his life was now... well, now the healthy tan a Brad Pitt might sport. His hair was gorgeous, long and in curls, like in his early portraits. He was muscular and trim, and seemed, to Janice, nothing less that a kind of demigod.

  She sighed as she gazed at him.

  "You sigh as you gaze at me, mademoiselle," said Napoleon. "I am not unflattered."

  "Call me... Janice."

  "How odd. I do not like that name. Like my wife, I shall change your name. I shall call you--Juliette!"

  "Oh my god."

  "You do not like that name?" Those handsome features bent in a pout. "I am so sorry."

  "Oh. No, no. For you... Yes, yes. J. J. J. I am your very own J. I am Juliette."

  His face brightened. He clapped his hands. "I am thrilled. Thrilled! Moreover, I am now awake. Take up you wine. Come back to my quarters." He gestured enthusiastically. "There is much to talk about and I will introduce you to someone of great moment."

  Great moment? Did she get the French right on that one.


  No matter. He was smiling, Napoleon Bonaparte was. Smiling and happy and awake. That, it seemed was enough for her.

  He led her back through a corridor.

  Nor was it just any corridor, however.

  The bending, slanting hallway looked like a scene out of the Cat and the Canary, the old silent horror movie. And somehow, it had overtures also of other corridors in other movies.

  Movies with paintings hung, like dioramas, in those corridors.

  At first she saw pictures, old pictures, of chubby 18th century folk having chubby explicit sex. Thus was what many of the editions of old French pornography she'd encountered offered. But then, suddenly things got more surrealistic. The sequence of pictures showed a woman with curly hair. It showed her in 21st century dress, speaking with a man in a tri-cornered hat. From the look of him, he was a British man. A man of rank. Captain? No! Admiral!

  What was a woman of her times doing speaking to a man in British uniform? An admiral’s uniform. And there was something wrong with this man. Something deformed.

  "Come, come, now," said Napoleon. "Hurry along. We are almost there."

  The final portrait was of a ship. And close by to this ship--a British frigate sails aloft and looking lively, was a figure.

  A figure falling from the sky.

  "Ah. Here we are, mademoiselle," said Napoleon Bonaparte."Come back here. There is more wine. There is a fireplace--for I always insist upon a fireplace with a warm fire flaring at the hearth in all my rooms. Now then, Please, Juliette. come in, come in. We shall have a nice time."

  A nice time indeed! Oh my goodness! Here, before her, was nothing less that her dream date. Napoleon Bonaparte.

  Dream date did she say? Well, that made it all sound rather rank and foul. No, it was more than that. She realized, now, in her dream, that it was more than a dream date, or orgasm giver--no. He was... Napoleon Bonaparte was...

  Her soul mate.

  And somehow across time, across space, across the ages--here he was now.

  "Juliette. Welcome to my boudoir," he said. "If you need more wine, help yourself over there. I do not permit servants in here, so you must to it yourself."

  "That's fine, that's fine," she said. "But... is that a bed."

  "You noticed the bed. Yes. And a huge bed it is, no? And look upon the bed board. What does the bed board proclaim, Juliette?"

  "It's a... It's a huge N. The emblem... The emblem of Napoleon Bonaparte."

  "And it is beautiful bed, is it not?"

  "It is."

  "And it is... an Emperor’s bed, is it not?"

  She took the cue.

  She knelt. "You are my emperor, sir."

  He seemed pleased. "Good. Good. Now, will you refresh your wine?"

  "I think I have enough."

  "I said refresh your wine..."

  She went over to where he pointed. Simple enough. A beaker filled with red. She filled her goblet.

  "Excellent! Thank you, Juliette." He gestured. "Now come over here."

  His arms were open. She obeyed,

  "Please take a gulp of your wine and put it down upon that bedside table."

  Nervously, Janice did as ordered. She, in fact, drank more than half the goblet because the more she drank, the wider Napoleon's smile got.

  “Excellent. We have very good wine here in France, do we not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you have similarly excellent wine in Virginia?”

  “Well. I think the drink there is stronger.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Whiskey.”

  “Whiskey! Why, it just so happens...” He marched over to one of the many cabinets that ringed the bedroom, opened it.

  “I just so happen...”

  “Whiskey?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “British?”

  “If you like.”

  “Uhm—perhaps American.”

  Napoleon took down a bottle.

  Examined it.

  “Well, it says ‘Kentucky’.”

  Now she was confused.

  “Oh yes, that’s American whiskey.”

  “Kentucky is a state?”

  “Yes. I mean... It will be.”

  “You are so certain of things.” Napoleon examined the bottle.

  He shrugged.

  He took out two glasses.

  He poured amber liquid into both.

  She drank it down.

  “We shall definitely have to take some time to get to know each other. I have given this whole business some thought. Bondage and such. And I am happy to say that I have decided to go along with General Murat and give it a go. Just look here!"

  He flung open cabinets, wardrobes and closets.

  She took in a breath of surprise. There were Ball gags. Ball locks. Bit gags.

  There were bondage harnesses, bondage belts, bondage hoods, bondage tape.

  There were bondage yokes, breasts binders. She glimpsed a butt hook here and over there: an ass hook.

  There were chastity belts and clingfilm, cock rings

  "Oh yes," said Napoleon, reaching out and snagging one. "I've been looking for these."

  There were collars of all sizes and descriptions, mostly in black but some set with jewels. There were corsets (black, black and black), D-rings, Dental forceps. There were diapers and elbow harnesses and Janice even caught sight, out of the corner of her eye, a funnel gag.

  Her head was spinning. But then, as it happened, she spotted nothing less than a head harness! (Black. Leather. Leather, as much of this stuff seemed to be. Black leather.)

  "Where did you get this stuff?" said Janice.

  "What? I am ruler of France! I got it from France. I raise my hand--beckon--and my people help me. They help me achieve what I seek. And so I raised my hand and ask for items of BDSM. That stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism, by the way."

  "Oh, thank you Napoleon."

  She looked and looked again. As she looked, she realized that the wardrobe (which definitely led to no Narnia) was much bigger inside than might be suggested by the walnut box frame. And so much stuff!

  There was a hobble skirt, a human pony harness. There was a humbler, and an inflatable gag. And, oh my god. Leg spreaders! Or were those called spreader bars.

  Well, she wouldn't need those with Napoleon Bonaparte.

  Yes! And what else? A lip loop! Medical restraints! A monoglove! And doubtless for when she talked to much (her beloved already knew her so well! there was a mouthguard gag and mouthguard gags. To say nothing of Panic Snaps!

  "Napoleon?" she asked. "Is that--?" She pointed.

  He raised his eyebrows and followed her finger.

  "Do you mean the penis gag? The penis displays? The posture collar?"

  "I mean the all of them. The penis gag. The penis displays. The posture collar."

  "Yes!"

  She shook her head in wonder as her eyes explored further.

  There was a ring gag. There were ropes. (Of course, ropes!) There were shackles and fetters. And what were those? Sleepsacks? There were stocks, straitjackets and suspension cuffs.

  And...

  "And I can see even deeper. Deeper into this wardrobe, Napoleon."

  "Ah, yes indeed. My magic box. But yours, I think, is more magical!"

  "You've got a whole room... of... of furniture back there."

  "I do."

  She stepped inside and looked around.

  There was, in this other room, an a-frame. There were ankle and wrist stocks. There was a bondage bed and bondage bed. And, of course, a bondage chair.

  "Do you see the bondage frame, my dear? I thought you'd like that. Or perhaps the bondage stool?"

  Mouth agape she saw the bondage table there, and the bondage wheel. Here were box stocks, fisting slings and swings. Genital stocks.

  And oh my

  "A grope box!" she exclaimed.

  There was (and here things started to get quite surrealistic) a gynecological stool an
d a gynecological table.

  And look there. A hoist! An inversion table.

  "Oh dear... Normal massage tables."

  "If you want normal massage, my dear," said Napoleon Bonaparte. "You may have normal message."

  There was a queening stool. A rack. Some Saint Andrew's Crosses. A sawhorse.

  A hoist. A seated cross. A smotherbox. A spanking horse. Stocks and pillories.

  And naturally, an x-cross--just like she had been on in that dungeon.

  "See the blindfolds?" said Napoleon. "But of course I should not want to use one of those if I am making love to you! I should want to look at you!"

  There were bondage hoods. Gas masks.

  Gas masks? Wasn't that anachronistic? But then, things swirled unsteadily here, and phantasmagorically, and she did not question their reality.

  "Perhaps one of these you might need for my ugly visage?" said Napoleon, pointing at the bondage hoods.

  "No. No, please!" she answered.

  Floggers. Nipple clamps. Spanking paddles.

  Her head spun.

  "Perhaps you should select a negligee... here... And then come and join us."

  "Us."

  Even as she said the word ‘us’ she was jolted.

  It came from nowhere. The wind! The wind from between the stars! It curled around her and tossed her into a land of mirrors. She looked in the mirrors, and there, splashing back in a shocking vision was.

  The woman was brunette. Long hair, but very, very curly hair. Dark, deep, eyes. Dark and deep boring eyes. And she was falling, falling.

  "Lord Nelson," she gasped. And the gasp, Janice could tell was a gasp of that near thing for Janice--an orgasm. "Lord Nelson."

  And the women fell and fell--and was swallowed up by the swell of an ocean. Morning was breaking. There. The bright furl of a ship, sails gleaming pearl in the rising sun.

  Salvation.

  "Yes, of course us. Now hurry. Hurry! My erection cannot stand at alert all day!"

  "Oh, of course not, my lord," she said. She scurried, and soon she was dressed in the negligee.

  "Take my hand, my dear," said Napoleon Bonaparte.

  Janice did so and found herself being led into his boudoir.

  It was fabulous. There were cherubs with arrows and swaddling clothes in blues and whites amongst amazing clouds. There was a portrait of Napoleon himself, rising high amongst them, his arms extended in a sign of peace. And, at the base, were swirls and swirls upon whirls and virginal maidens in white, worshipping their hero.