The Mercy of a Sadist

[BLACK BART]

Armand

Turning to the two sisters, I accept their offer of food and drink, parched and hungry from the dusty journey. The weight of the leather bags give me a silent reminder of the common thread that binds us together, and the necessity of quickly and safely storing it.

"Thank You, sweet sisters" I reply, "But may there be a safe place I might store my masters valuables? Tis all he has left, since his persecution at the hands of men hungry for his lands and wealth"

Seeing that I had struck a chord with the hint of persecution, I pressed onward with a hint for the safekeeping of my masters belongings...

"Perhaps there be a wine cellar, which sees not much traffic, where these may be put till the time we bid our farewell? In these bags we have managed to store away all that is precious to him, all that he holds dearest to his heart. One could say, all that he holds sacred is stored within."

Staring into the sisters eyes, I hold her gaze as she ponders her decision.

 

[Merelan]

Sister Mary:

I pause and look again at this man. Is he playing with us, but I see how tightly he holds them. More likely they are the spoils from a raid. But it is not for me to judge.
"Yes, there is a place. But only the Abess holds the key. As she is busy with your "Master". Emphasizing the word, his word. "I shall store them under my bed. No one but myself goes in my cell. Then remembering what had just occurred there. "Do they Isabelle?" But seeing her flush squeezed her hand. So tunring I led him there instead, opening the door and letting him pass first. But keeping myself between them, not trusting him. I had seen the lust in his eyes and knew in her innocence she would be lost. Lookign around my cell I saw it through his eyes. Bare and cold. nyielding. But it was only my formal cell, I rarely slept there.

 

[Tornado]

Lucien

Armand was always worried about those saddlebags. I had been trying to gain access to them since leaving Paris. Certainly they contained something of great value. I damned DeSade despite myself. Obviously, the Marquis had had the foresight to secure a portion of his wealth before he fled. It had been my stupidity not to do the same. I needed to find an opportunity to remedy the situation.

I turned my avarious thoughts aside as I realized I was alone. I thought about the charming young woman I had just met. I didn't even know her name. She had looked to be only a few years younger than I, yet her innocense made her seem more so. A dark beauty like the black pearls from the far east, I pictured her ebony hair and the onyx of her eyes. Her skin had looked like it had been kissed by the sun. I longed to do the same.

The room to which I had been shown was simple in the extreme, but at least it contained a bottle of brandy on the sideboard. I walked over, poured myself a glass, and swallowed two fingers of the amber liquid without hesitation. I immediately poured myself another and on a whim, poured a second glass.

A little unsteady now, I walked out into the hall.

 

[Honey_B]

The Abbess

Give in to the pleasure and you give in to everything, her mind screamed.

This man knew all the secret vices of her senses; her breasts, her neck, her mouth, her...

Fight it... Fight him...

"Hubert!" she cried as her body responded, almost of its own volition, arching into the hard length of him. It had simply been too long since she had felt the touch of a man, too long since him.

What DeSade could not know was this Celeste Moreau was not the woman he had left so many years ago. She had metamorphosed from the compliant submissive to the dominant mistress of the abbey.

The woman's spirit returned full force as she took Hubert's face between her hands and kissed him full force. It was her mouth that sought possession of his, plundering and taking the pleasure of the kiss for her own. Vaguely, Celeste realized that never before had she kissed Hubert or any man in such a way, with such force.

If Hubert DeSade had expected meek submission, he was quite mistaken. This was going to be a battle between two wills of steel for dominance and surrender.

 

[BLACK BART]

Armand

Standing in the bare cell, I look at the hard, unforgiving surface of the bed, and the sturdy walls that surround it.

"Yes, Sister" I turn to her and say, "This looks secure enough, but forgive my impertinance in saying this, But what guarntees these bags will be here in the morrow?"

Turning to look at her face, I see a flash of fire and anger cross her eyes and cheeks, before she qualms it.

"Do not mistake me, I wish not to offend your graciousness, but what lays in these bags has more value than its weight in gold. To say they would be irreplacable would be a understatement, it is all that remains of a once large and great following."

Trying to qualm my own emotions, and also lighten my words, I try to compare the value of the leather bags contents to something she can recognize.

"If your abbess were to value but one thing, perhaps her vows, and you were to somehow destroy them, so they could not be recovered, what do you suppose would be the results? For you and the Abbess? It is that way with myself and these meager contents, of the man I choose to call friend....and master"

Standing close in front of her, I look into her eyes again, hoping to see a small amount of understanding and compassion...

 

[Merelan]

OCC Just a reminder, Isabelle id with me still. no way Sister Mary is leaving the young beauty alone with a man. Sorry.

Sister Mary:
I relaized I had no reason to doubt him. Habit had meade me distrust men.
"Yes. I see. There is one place. But." Judging him by what I could see. "The chapel has a locked closet for the sacramemts. They are no longer kept there so I have the key and could hand it to you. Then would you feel safe?"

 

[ariosto]

Her lips were still lingering on his when with a violent rending tear, his hands twist into her dour garments and rip them down from waist to hem.
Without giving the Abbess time to react, de Sade lifts her from the floor and swings her onto the huge oaken table. Only a thin white chemise and petticoats stand between her and the nobleman's lust.

He leans over her, teeth bared like a wolf...

"Will you make the sign of the cross, Little Mother? can that deter me?"
His powerful hand closes on her left breast, squeezing it until he feels the soft flesh, rising through his splayed fingers.
"It won't you know.
It won't my dear sweet Celeste. How long since you've had a man in you, a real man, not some tallowed wick you play with when the pressure gets too strong."

His fingers were digging channels into her. She felt her nipple stiffen, trapped under the
pressing heel of his palm.

De Sade swept a two foot brass candle holder from the desk, molten tallow flew and burned them both.
He held it close enough to turn her face the color of flame...fire danced in his eyes.
"My cock is like this, hard and made of brass, with a burning tip that will pour fire inside you.
Are you ready to dance before we die?"


The candle fell to the floor, guttering out as it rolled away.
DeSade, has opened Celeste's last shredded
undergarment and not giving her time to reply, is ravaging her breasts, taking her nipples and the soft flesh around them deep into the hot sucking chamber of his mouth.

 

[BLACK BART]

Armand

Facing the two sisters, I look into the older sisters eyes, as she finishes her offer.

"Yes, Sister" I say with honest relief "That would be more than adequate, and free you and your sister of any responsibilty for these bags, once the keys are in my hands"

In truth I was releived, I had witnessed more than once the ability of DeSade to unleash his anger, when provoked.

"Let us both be free of this responsibility, and then we can take the offer of a meal in hand"

Smiling gently at both, I can't help but notice the sweet curves underneath their robes...

 

[Marigold]

Isabelle

She had followed Sister Mary like a faithful puppy, looking to the two men with apprehension. They did not seem dangerous or even unfriendly, but still...there was something about the situation that made her cautious. Perhaps it was just the fact that they were male, and it felt wrong to have them in the abbey somehow. Isabelle made an effort to be polite, though. It would be unfogivably rude to show the abbess's guests that they made her uncomfortable. Yhe one called Armand settled on a place to store his belongings with Mary's help. Isabelle wished she could be half so confident as Mary sounded. She seemed not to be the least bit ruffled by the sudden events. Isabelle could not say the same. First there had been the strange interlude earlier, now this. All she wanted to do was go to a corner somewhere and think. It was all quite overwhelming.

"Sister?" she asked Mary in a whisper, her eyes darting to the man with the saddle bags nervously, "Perhaps I should retire for the night? I'm a bit weary..."

Weary was not exactly the right word, but she longed to pray quietly and escape the confusion. Perhaps God would help her know what to feel.

 

[Merelan]

Sister Mary

Isabelle slipped up to my side and whispered...

"Sister?" And turned to watch the man hiding the bags in the closet."Perhaps I should retire for the night? I'm a bit weary..." No, not alone. I couldn't let her be alone. She must be frightened and scared, and confused. besides. i could not truest the way the men looked at her. She was to sweet, and so innocent. Without thinking I stroked her cheek.

"Can I not have your help in feeding our guests first? And finding them a quiet corner to rest in?" Then snatching my hand away, hoping he had not seen.
"Are they not friends of our Abbess. Who we must obey?"

 

[queen-mab]

My thanks to the gracious Honey_B for inviting me

Oriane d’Aubigne de Saint-Severin

OOC:
A wealthy orphan, Oriane has been left by her guardian under the protection of the nuns. She has been contracted to marry an elderly magistrate at the end of her education in virtue and household arts. Her dark hair is worn in masses of curls à la Reine. Her eyes are grey. When we first meet her, she has just been praying alone in the abbey church; a nightly vigil of hers which has been getting longer and longer as the strange noises she often hears in the abbey do not permit her to sleep.

IC

The young novice, when she ran to the chapel to get me, was ruffled and screeching like a scared goose. I would have laughed, but her hands were tearing at the fragile point de France on my sleeves, and she propelled me along the corridor before I could get from her even half her disjointed story.

Horsemen ringing the bell after midnight. A man who had kissed her and another who had threatened to skin her alive. Precious saddle-bags and two young nuns taking a guest into the locked sacristy. Her words tumbled all over each other in their eagerness to get out. She was flushed and clung to me as she finished her tale.

A nobleman, she said, was waiting alone in the vestibule still. Who could it be? I scolded Sister Marthe for not attending to this third guest, and sent her to the kitchens for wine and cakes, wondering where the Abbess was.

The laws of hospitality do not change. There is comfort in that. With wine to pour and cakes to serve, I could face a dragon. And this was only a man.

I could hear a glass smashing on the kitchen floor. Sister Marthe was clearly beside herself. These nuns do not see men ever. That must be why they live in such awe of them. All of their romantic fancies are woven around the images of saints : Lawrence stretched on his bed of hot iron; Sebastian with his young body bleeding from the wounds of a hundred arrows.

Much in this abbey is strange. I have been here scarcely a week, and have yet to resolve its mystery. The arrival of unexpected guests in the dead of night is only the latest of the incongruities I have noticed. There are strange sounds that I hear at night sometimes. And none of the sisters have had their hair shorn.

Despite the late hour, I am presentable. My dress is of gleaming grey silk, and my quilted petticoat is rose-pink. My hair is modestly covered in a veil of lace so fine and soft that it reminds me of the breath of angels. As I wait for Sister Marthe to return with the tray, I let the lace fall down to my shoulders, shrouding the polished white skin of my breasts. Composed as always, I let Sister Marthe lead the way to the vestibule, praying that she will not drop her tray.

I can see the man’s tall shadow falling across the tiled floor as I approach. Sister Marthe stays back in the shadows, suddenly shy. My wide skirts brush against the frame of the door as I cross the threshold. I enter alone, my eyes lowered, and curtsey deeply without seeing his face.

When I lift my eyes, my cheeks flush darkly. I can feel the blood pounding beneath my skin. I can feel my heart contract beneath the tightly laced corset, the lace and the pearls. He is...scarred and beautiful. His face will haunt me tonight. His hands, long-fingered and strong, send a shudder through me that I cannot explain.

I will marry an old man, in a city far away.

My body is a traitor, to course and throb with life because a young man’s eyes have captured mine.

"I am Comté Lucien Reynaud de Beziers," he says. His breath reeks of brandy. He steps close to me, and I feel its heat on my cheek. He is looking me up and down, and I can hear the sardonic edge on his voice. "Well, well, well. A peacock amongst the pigeons. Who are you, madame?"

http://www.mythagoria.com/oriane2.jpg

 

[BLACK BART]

Having locked the bags safely away, I tie the key to a gold chain, worn always around my neck. Leaving the small room, I drop it into my shirt, and getting a waft of my own body, am reminded of how long it has been since a bath...

Coming from behinfd the two sisters, I smile at the too affectionate caress of her hand on the younger womans cheek.Hearing Sister Mary's last words, in form of a question, I step into the conversation.

"You must obey your own instincts, of your body and your soul" I answer Sister Mary, smiling as she spins around, guilt on her face.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Sister Mary" I console her "It is common knowledge, what occurs in the manner of pleasure behind the walls of the abbeys"

Before she can reply, I press forward taking the advantage.

"It is a sin to lie, is it not, Sister" I query of her "Do you deny, that in the absence of men, you give pleasure to your sisters, in the sanctuary of your own walls?"

Seeing the question strike home, I give them both a knowing smile and proceed.

"I would dare hazard, that at the youth of your partner, you have just begun her lessons in the earthly pleasures that one woman can give to another. And I would dare challenge you both, for each pleasure a woman can grant another, I am able to give you two! Now I beleive it is time you both play the good hosts, and take me to my supper, and then a bath."

Having spoke my words and seeing the shocked expressions on both their faces, I crossed my arms and smiled, waiting for the explosion...

 

[Honey_B]

The Abbess

The candle, the wax, the molten heat...

A hundred candles, two hundred maybe... Their boudoir glowed with the flickering light of more candles than she could count. Hubert picked up just one. Celeste was spread out before on the damask ivory coverlet of his bed, wrists tied to the polished ebony headboard. Naked, her skin glowed in the candlelight.

To the young woman, the single flame that Hubert brought closer shimmered hotter and brighter than all the others, dancing before her eyes.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

His voice, when he spoke, filled her mind, "You are bound Celeste, but not tightly enough to force you to lie there. Pull hard enough and you will be free. I tell you this because I have to know that you want to stay. You have to know it too. The knowledge that you choose to stay bound, will set you free."

The words tumbled through Celeste's mind but before she could make sense of them Hubert held the candle above her heaving chest and tilted the burning taper. The wax dribbled over her delicate nipples, hardening almost on contact.

Celeste moaned and closed her eyes, not so much in pain as in ecstasy. At the same time he had poured the wax, Hubert had thrust his finger into the moist cleft of her sex and slid them against the silky slick nub of her clitoris. Her back arched and she opened her legs.

"More..." she uttered is a breathy voice.

"Of the wax or my caress, my little Celeste?" Hubert asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Both," she cried, then begged "please..."

"Are you ready to dance before we die?"

Memories and the man himself made the Abbess feel like her control was slipping. She would have ripped the undergarments from her body if DeSade had not.

She surrendered to his mouth, opening herself to him. He took possession of her nipples and she clutched his head to her breast, desperate for him to continue.

Once again, I am yours, Hubert.

Out loud, she only gasped.

 

[Tornado]

"Who are you, madame?" I ask of the extrordinary vision who has appeared before me.

"Oriane d'Aubigne de Saint-Severin," is her reply as she drops into a graceful curtsy.

It is difficult to reconcile the appearance of the woman in a place such as this. Elegant and refined, I knew that I instantly wanted her. She was like a memory of Paris before the revolution and I wanted to drink her in.

"I see that you have brought one of the little nuns with refreshments. How can I ever thank you?" I said taking one of her hands into mine. I bent low to brush it with a kiss, letting my lips linger on her soft skin, breathing in her scent. Was it roses?

 

[Merelan]

Sister Mary

I spun as he spoke. "You must obey your own instincts, of your body and your soul" My whole body flushing. How did he know?

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Sister Mary" he went on. "It is common knowledge, what occurs in the manner of pleasure behind the walls of the abbeys" But before I could speak he continued. I gripped Isabelle's hand, feeling her trembling. her hand crept up my arm, squeezing it tight, as if afraid I would leave her.

"It is a sin to lie, is it not, Sister" Again i started to protest, knowing if the truths were known we would be executed. "Do you deny, that in the absence of men, you give pleasure to your sisters, in the sanctuary of your own walls?"

"I would dare hazard, that at the youth of your partner, you have just begun her lessons in the earthly pleasures that one woman can give to another. And I would dare challenge you both, for each pleasure a woman can grant another, I am able
to give you two! Now I beleive it is time you both play the good hosts, and take me to my supper, and then a bath." I was beet red, and flaming. Furious, worried, frightened. yet when he folded his arms and stood there all I wanted...
Slap.
"How dare you say such things. What occurs here is no concern of yours, or of any mans." Spitting out the word man as if cursing. "I have extended hospitality to you as a gift. Do not make me regret this." Pulling Isabelle with me and hoping he would vanish or be shamed. But instead he laughed. A roaring laugh. Who was he to laugh at me, I swung again, but this time he stopped my hand mid air.

 

[queen-mab]

Oriane d'Aubigne de Saint-Severin

Long ago, in a shop in a dim arcade, I was shown a dagger from Damascus. Its every surface was ornamented and polished; flowers and arabesques etched into deadly steel. And this is how I see le Comte Lucien as he bends over my hand. His silk garments do not masque the coiled strength of his body. His lace and his gold do not hide the raw instincts of his heart.

Even I, so innocent of the ways of the world, know that I must be careful of this blade, lest I prick myself and bleed.

His lips are hot and dry. The way he inhales my scent, I am reminded of the hunting-dogs in the woods who will burst their hearts before letting their prey escape them. We crushed rose petals today under the direction of the Abbess; her rosewater is famed in all Paris. Now I am grateful for the labour I had wanted to shirk, for the heavenly perfume seems to make him unwilling to end his kiss.

"I am here, Monsieur le Comte, as a student of the nuns," I tell him, and cannot quite understand the look that crosses his face when at last he releases my hand. What can he be thinking? What does he know?

"How to make candied orange peel," I continue. "and...remove stains from silk. And prayers, of course."

Behind his eyes there is a vista that I cannot see. Not of the nun’s scrubbed kitchens, not of the church. He is hearing my words as though they were a code for something else. He looks at me with a gleam of complicity in his eyes, as though we are sharing a secret.

But if there is a secret in this place, I do not know it. And I feel suddenly that I must run away at all costs. I feel that something dark is crouching just behind the door, waiting to spring.

"Sister Marthe," I command, falling back on my old discipline. "Kindly serve the Comte refreshments."

But she has disappeared.

She has left me alone.

I know I was hungry to be looked at by a man’s eyes. And he is so beautiful, the scar of the sword marring nothing of his noble face. But what I see in his eyes now is not proper. My foolish fancies have led me into a tangle of thorns.

I will lock my door tonight. I will confess tomorrow the sin of vanity that made me show myself to him.

But now I must get away. Blessed Mother, let him not touch me again.

http://www.mythagoria.com/oriane2.jpg

 

[ariosto]

With a single sweeping gesture de Sade cleared the broad table of everything. Books, papers, candlesticks, goblets all crashed to the floor as he lifted her off her feet and laid her down on the dark stained wood.
She lay on the torn remainder of her clothes and all that was left her was a thin shift that barely covered her breasts and fell far short of her ankles.
DeSade began pulling the remnants from under her, throwing them to the floor.

"You are remembering other times aren't you Little Sister. Times when you lay naked before me chained to my will and content to be the tool of my pleasure. Enjoying your humiliation, your helplessness...your pain."

With another searing tear the shift is stripped away and the Abbess lies naked on the cold hard table. Her pale flesh in stark contrast to the aged wood.

"Oh yes Celeste, my Celeste. Your body has ripened wonderfully.
You've grown full and rounded in the sweet places that I love to play with."

He reached out and she watched his long aristocratic fingers touch her nipples, press them, rub them, flick them with clean short pointed nails and then grasp them between thumb and forefinger. Grasp them, pinch them...pull them...OHHH YES!...tender buds in deSades vise.

She cries out! He smiles and leans forward, his tongue runs deep into her ear, swirling inside, dislodging thoughts, insistant, commanding...her nipples stretching out, pulling her breasts behind them.
She hears his laughter...

"Oh God Hubert!"

 

[BLACK BART]

Armand

The explosion came, her fury lashing out in the form of a physical blow, a denial of what I have taunted her with, and now know is the truth...

At the beginning of her second swing, I raise my hand and almost carelessly catch her wrist, stopping the blow.

"I answer to many names" I inform her, my eyes boring into hers "Braggart, lover of women, drunken fighter, loyal friend..."

Pulling her against me, I wrap my free hand around her waist, feeling her soft, heated curves press against me.

"But I have never answered to liar, and when sober, never FOOL" I continue, forcing her arm down and behind her "Do not insult me by calling me either for I speak what is plain to my eyes, not as a jest or insult"

Holding her close to me, I quickly bend my head, and press my lips against hers. For long seconds I feel only resistance, then a sudden response, her soft full lips opening and returning my kiss.

Pushing her back, I break the kiss and look at her scarlet colored cheeks.'

"That was for the blow, for which I not deserved" I softly told her, a smile on my lips. I will take no more affection from you, until it is offered. Shall we now go to dine, or do you wish that you and your sister here, aid me in my bath first?"

Admiring her form, I note again how her clothing cannot disguise her womanly form, nor hide her heaving breast as she fought for air...

 

[Tornado]

Comté Lucien Reynaud de Beziers

Could it be true? The girl seemed completely innocent of the wicked play of the nuns, or was she only putting on a wonderful performance. It mattered not. I had decided the girl would play the mouse to my cat. The thought actually made me smile. I could not remember meeting a woman who less resembled a mouse.

Like the feline teasing its prey, I was prepared to let her think she could get away.

"The hour is late and proprioty says that you should not be with a man, alone." My eyes shifted up and down the hall for emphasis. The little nun had deserted her.

Oriane begins to move away.

"It is only that I had hoped to gaze upon the loveliness of your face for a moment longer." I closed the distance that had grown between us as I spoke. I raised my hand, gone coarse from the months of struggling to survive, and stroked the delicate pink of her cheek.

"I frighten you, do I not? Perhaps that is as it should be and it will make you leave..."

That did not appear to be her intention, however. Her eyes had closed at my touch. The girl seemed powerless to move while my touch was upon her skin so I moved closer.

Close enough for her to feel my breath on her face as I said, "Or maybe frightening you will make you stay. I must confess, Mademoiselle, that I am dangerous. I have struggled to survive and all for the memory of this..."

I lowered my head as I said the words, looking deeply into her eyes which were wild with the battle between fear and wanting to know more. My mouth descended upon hers. The kiss when it came, began with all the gentleness of a spring breeze. My tongue took advantage of her surprise to tease apart her lips and I drank in the sweetness that was her mouth.

 

[Merelan]

Sister Mary:

I stumbled as he let me free. Almost falling into Isabelle. This time it is she that hold me up. My breathing shallow, yet deep. And I cannot seem to catch it. Swallowing, or trying to with my dry throat. Then speaking, the voice not sounding right even to me.
"We shall be in the room off where we met you, with food and wine." Speaking quickly so that I might leave.

"Come Isabelle, we must prepare his food, unless Sister Martha is still up." Her eyes wide at what she had seen and heard. My poor sweet darling, what she must think, and how confused she must be.

 

[Marigold]

Isabelle

She wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She watched the heated interplay between Sister Mary and their outrageous guest and stood by, not knowing weather interference would make things better or worse. By the time she had sort through her indesicion and decided to step in, the brief episode of violence was over. The man released Mary, who stumbled into Isabelle and seemed incapable of holding her own weight for the breifest instant. Isabelle held her with concern, but Mary straightened her spine.

"We shall be in the room off where we met you, with food and wine," Mary said to the frightening man. To Isabelle, she said, "Come Isabelle, we must prepare his food, unless Sister Marthe is still up." Isabelle merely nodded, feeling bewildered and more than a bit afraid. They left the room, heading for the kitchens and Isabelle leaned closer to her mentor.

"Sister Mary, that man...he wasn't nice to you at all. If you'd like, I can get his meal and arrange for a bath to be drawn for him. I don't like the way he looks at you, don't like the way he looks at any of us, really. I'd never forgive myself if any harm came to you because I was too cowardly to help." Isabelle's large eyes gleamed earnestly in the soft torchlight. She was ashamed of her earlier instinct to run and leave Mary alone, and wanted to make up for her unintended slight with all her heart.

 

[queen-mab]

Oriane d’Aubigne de Saint-Severin

He speaks to me of propriety, and for a moment I am almost deceived. He is of a good family; the richness of his clothing reveals as much, though admittedly some of it shows signs of hard living.

But beneath the most scrupulous politeness there is always something else. With the Comte Lucien, I sense, nothing is as it seems.

When he raises his hand to my cheek, so potent is the tension between us that I do not, at first, even consciously realize he has taken a liberty. My eyes close, and I become aware only of the sensation of being touched. His skin is roughened and calloused from the chafe of leather reins and the grip of a sword. Whatever he had been born to once, it has been cast off of him now. Revolution, the great leveller, has rubbed away much of his gilt.

Every whorl of his fingertips must be sketched now on my skin, burned into it. My pulse seems to beat only to follow the trail he has blazoned with his touch. I know my cheeks are aflame, and my hand reaches out to the doorframe to steady myself. He is the first to touch me. And like a banquet set before someone starving in a wilderness, the first taste only makes me ravenous for more.

Holy Mother of God, let me feel this no more! Let me betray myself no further!

His eyes are peeling layers and layers away from my soul. One corner of his mouth is upturned in a kind of crooked half-smile. If he had caught me stealing an orange from a poor woman’s stall in the market square, he would look at me with just that expression of having found me out.

Between my thighs I am wet. Each nipple is burning like a hot coal.

Often it has been like this, often when I am alone. I have tried to exorcize the demon of fleshly lust from my soul, but each night it seems my prayers avail me less. Saint Cecilia, help me! Can he see this stain of sin in me? Can he smell the kindling of my blood?

"I frighten you, do I not?" he says, and in his voice is an undertone of amusement. He moves close to me, and I smell the endless roads he has travelled, the smokey inns on the banks of rivers, the dark forests where wolves run in the shadows.

We are so close now that our shadows on the wall are one. He whispers, "I must confess, Mademoiselle, that I am dangerous. I have struggled to survive and all for the memory of this..."

This. My mouth is taken, and I feel myself sucked down into a vortex that is hot with his need, and with my own. His fingers have drifted from my cheek and have coiled into my hair. His other hand cups my chin, but not gently. My lace veil falls from my shoulders to pool upon the worn leather of his boot, and I struggle with him, with myself, finally wrenching myself away.

"Sir, I think you forget yourself!" I cry out with as much dignity as I can muster. I can hear the breathless quality in my own voice. It infuriates me the more. Oriane, you forget yourself! The devil has you by the womb!

He says nothing. My veil tears as he strides over it, his eyes never leaving mine. He kicks it away.

Before I can cry out for help he has crushed me against the wall, my mouth once more the prisoner of his. His hand briefly, audaciously caresses the skin above my breasts.

And then with a sickening sound of rending silk, tears my gown from neck to waist.


http://www.mythagoria.com/oriane2.jpg

 

[kitsuke]

Comté Lucien Reynaud de Beziers

OOC: Je suis des soleil pour mon audace. Tornado has asked me to take over Lucien due to time constraints. I hope I can be a fitting replacement.

IC:

The feel of her milk-white breasts under her chemise was intoxicating, and before I knew what I had done with her up against the wall it hung it tatters off her arms. Stroking the delicate skin of her neck and collar, again I invade her mouth with mine. To merely conquer her now would be easy, I think as her breathing becomes more rapid. Perhaps I should see if she has control over her own compulsions.

Kissing and nibbling gently on her neck, I cup a breast in my hand. The bud hard against my palm I grin knowingly.

Abruptly, I pull away, "You are correct, Oriane mon chere. I forget myself. I humbly beg your forgiveness." bowing a low, courtly bow I look into her eyes with undisguised desire smoldering.

"I take my leave of you now, I shall be in my provided quarters should anyone....need me." I say this last in a most inviting fashion adn stride off down the hallway.

Besides, if the little girl does not come.... it will make the hunt all the sweeter.

 

[BLACK BART]

Armand

Standing alone, my mind digests the information her reactions to me and my words have given me. Licking my mouth I again taste her lips, and smile at the memory of her body against mine.

Walking slowly, I follow her directions to the room she described, and enter quietly. Both sisters are busy over the table, setting a meal as I walk in, bolting the door behind me. At the sound of the heavy bolt sliding into place the younger sister's eyes quickly dart towards me, then the door, then her mentor.

Walking towards her, I ask her name, having not been properly introduced, and repeat her name as she speaks it.

"Isabelle, Isabelle, a pretty name for a very pretty lady" I say pleasantly, watching her quiver with each pronunciation ohf her name.

"So, Isabelle" I query of her "Perhaps you would like to speak of what I have asked of Sister Mary? Or do all sisters hide behind these walls, pleasuring each other in defiance of their vows, and shunning all men who come here?"

Sister Mary, hearing my words to Isabelle comes around the table, as if to aid her. Her face is a warning to leave the young lass alone, as I reach out again and pull her to me. Grasping her firm ass thru the robes cloth and pinning her arm behind her, I press her against the wall and speak so both can hear me.

"I think it is time we three speak plainly" I say gravely "Since you will not deny what I have spoken of, I now assume it to be the truth. A serious charge, bearing serious penalty, I would think. One I would feel obligated to report to your mother superior, unless you both can sway me to do otherwise"

Bringing my hand from her ass, I blatantly cup her full breast, feeling for the nipple with my fingers.
"Perhaps as good hostesses, you will share the pleasuring you have so far kept between yourselves" I suggest with an evil smile
"And in the middle of this pleasure, I might be able to forget my obligations"......

 

[Marigold]

Isabelle

Armand grabbed Mary roughly, and Isabelle cried out in horror. As the man spoke rudely to her friend, she stepped forward and laid an entreating hand on his arm.

"Sir, please, please don't. Let Mary Catherine go. You-your food is getting cold. Sit and eat your meal, please."

Her large, dark eyes shone with tears as she begged him to desist and her small hand tugged on his sleeve a bit. She was frightened of this man and his commanding ways, and wished fervently she could think of something to make him leave them alone, but all she could think of was to ask. Weather or not he paid attention to her pleading was anyone's guess.