Marie-Jeanette Arceneau (18th Century Historical Roleplay).

Marie-Jeanette Arceneau (Open 18th Century Historical Roleplay).

Author's Note: Please don't be too harsh on me. This is my first time -ever- writing erotic fiction in public. I'll try my best not to make it too boring.

Marie-Jeanette Arceneau had lazily yawned as she had made her way through the bodies at the royal court. She was invite by the Count of Toulouse to the event, and had waited for nearly over an hour for him to show up. The Count was usually late to these things, but Marie had always held out hope that someday, at one of these gatherings, he would show up on time. Instead, she found herself listening to fat, old, and drunk courtiers trying to offer her a few écus to spend the night with her. This, she thought, was the downside of being a courtesan. The Count had found her in the streets of Marseille, selling her innocence to him when he had noticed the girl from his carriage begging on the streets. He had favored her enough to give her a small maisonette after their arrangement, with the condition that she must accompany him anywhere he wanted her to at the last minute. Although he was a generous man, he was far from a kind one, or even an particularly attractive one. Nonetheless, she was given the opportunity to mingle among the rich and blue-blooded at many parties, elevating her social status to heights she had only dreamed of.

Sighing, fanning herself with her large elaborate and lacy dark red fan (the Count's favorite color), she delicately shoved through the pack of nobles trying to vie for the King's attentions and affections today. She had moved briskly across the marble floor, her panniers bumping against many an annoyed court reveler, until she finally reached a soft upholstered chair. Tonight was no different from any other night at Versailles, and while at first she had marveled at the overwhelming gold-detail, the marble everything, she had grown accustomed and bored to the Salon de Mars she now sat in. While the court musicians began to play, she had watched as couple after couple had now started to dance. She peered out of the window awaiting the Count, her gloved hands cupped over the fogged window as she peered out into the night's cold darkness, peering for the dim blue lantern of her Master's carriage.

(Ok, so, the roles I am looking for:

Louis Alexandre de Bourbon, comte de Toulouse ((The Count.))

Augustin Gustave de Rouvroy ((A companion of the Count.))

This story will be 40% plot, 60% erotica. If you are interested in either one of these roles, please PM me!)

(Some more info about the characters: http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=33606755&postcount=154)

((Bump.))

Salon de Mars: the object of his desire on this night, Augustin Gustave de Rouvroy had decided, when he was informed by the comte de Toulouse that he would be rewarded for his most recent service to him if he would only attend the Salon on this particular night. In his service to the Count these past couple of years, Augustin had never been "rewarded", and so his curiosity had piqued. The service he had rendered, Augustin thought, was far from worth being rewarded over. He was never one to turn down a gift, especially when it came to his work. And what work was that, he wondered to himself; the poem he had submitted to the Count was mediocre at best, he had decided. At the age of twenty-five, the young French poet, in service to the Count as his personal biographer, had decided on the first day of his service that he would never submit to Louis Alexandre de Bourbon his best work, but to instead finance the publishing of his works privately and under a different name. He was content to merely record the old Count's life as it was dictated to him, and from there, he would dictate it onto paper--it was as simple as that, and he made a pretty livre on that alone. More than enough to sustain his lifestyle. The Count provided for his living quarters. Poetry at this time, he'd observed, was being overshadowed by the libertines' novels, and the philosophers that demanded "social contract", thanks in part to none other than an Englishman. None of this interested him; only the composition of poetry, and to a lesser extent, song, could captivate him for long enough to produce anything worthwhile, or so he thought.

And so, having donned his long bottom wig(something he was not fond of wearing outside of any function) that was white in color, and an elaborate costume he had been given as a gift by the Count for royal functions, he made his way through the expansive courtyard Palace of Versailles. The heels of his boots clicked audibly--at least, for him, as the courtyard was full, as usual, of other noblemen and women congregating--as he approached the main door. After identifying himself with the pair of guards stationed at the entrance, he made his way through into the grand foyer. Looking about, he realized something--he'd never been here before! The young man brazenly took aside the first person that brushed by him, a middle-aged noblewoman who was quite drunk, and demanded directions to the Salon in question he was headed for. Incidentally, she was headed in the same direction, and so, following after the occasionally swaying and stumbling noblewoman, he eventually entered the grand Salon de Mars. Instantly, the room, comparatively small to many others in the Palace, overwhelmed him with the sheer amount of people present. Some sort of ball must be going on, he concluded. He also concluded he should get some more information about where he's headed before actually heading there. His black eyes narrowed as he scanned the ballroom, and after procuring a drink of an unknown, but undoubtedly alcoholic variety, he set off in no direction in particular.

Because of just quite how young he is, Augustin is a relative unknown in the French court of this time. However, there were a couple of faces he recognized, and even fewer faces that recognized him. The young man concerned himself more with the former; as men hailed him he merely walked by, pretending not to have heard, his full-cut coat skirt rudely brushing by women and men alike as he headed toward the one woman in the Salon he noticed: Marie-Jeanette. Confident with himself, as always, he approached her from one of her blind spots. With the hand free of his drink, he placed a hand on her nearest shoulder, leaning down slightly enough to speak the words:

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Arceneau. I daresay you look quite bored in this room full of surely--or so I would hope--interesting individuals. Now, why might that be?"

Marie jolted slightly at the stranger's touch. Upon the sound of his voice, Marie breathed a sigh of relief, smiling devilishly at the young poet, soft laughter breaking the awkward moment.

"Ah...Monsieur de Rouvroy, a pleasure to see you again.", Marie curtsied. Her powdered chested had heaved up and down with excitement in her tight deep crimson bodice, the flesh so constricted in and above the frame. She flashed her pale green eyes at him as an knowing smile crept up upon her lips. "Have you come with le comte de Toulouse?", her eyes turn back towards the dark expanse of the road outside, searching for the count's tell-tale blue light. She lingers for a moment when she realizes that Louis is not with him, slapping Augustin playfully with her fan on his chest. "Ah, you know why I am bored, Monsieur de Rouvroy...", she bows gently in mid-sentence, swooping up a glass from a gold-plated tray held by an eager servant and continuing softly, "...le comte is late, as always...he leaves me in the company of fools and old men...." She fans herself delicately, a lock of russet colored hair poking out from her elaborate powdered wig.

After a heady sip from her glass, Marie looks tempestuously at the young man, her eyes seemingly hiding something. "Monsieur de Rouvroy", she manages to wheeze out, "did le comte tell you why you are here tonight?" She stares at him, waiting for his reply, her fingers nervously running under her tight pearl choker on her creamy neck.

The young French poet awaited her reply as any gentleman might; sipping his drink, maintaining eye contact, giving every intention that he is, in fact, listening. Something he'd mastered in his two years at court. This time, however, he was listening. The corners of his mouth tug back into a grin when Marie curtsies, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. At this time, he allows himself a bow of sorts, drink in one hand, the other pressed against the fabric of his coat over where his heart might be--he was never one to pass up the opportunity to meet formality with even more formality. When his patron is inquired after, his grin, earnest in nature, wavers slightly into a look of minor distaste. He is quick to disguise it, however, with the bottom of a spirits glass. He decides his silence is enough of an answer, and it is, as Marie soon deduces that he has, in fact, come alone.

His rakish grin returns, however, when he finishes his drink and is simultaneously assaulted upon his chest with the woman's fan. "Oh, do I now?" he inquires as she accuses him of knowledge otherwise not ascertained, and when Marie-Jeanette continues on as to the reasons why, he mouths the nouns aloud, though not loudly enough to interrupt her speech, "Old men," he says, in a soft, almost distraught tone, "Fools?" he continues on, adding a slightly offended tone to his voice. After which, he merely laughs, "As you can see, I am neither old, nor a fool, so it appears I will be your savior on this night. As for le comte, you and I both know his attendance record. Give him another hour," he says, swirling the tiny amount of liquor left in his glass, "and he shall be here, no doubt."

The poet's gaze had been drawn toward the many other revelers until she spoke once more, Marie's question piquing his curiosity. His black orbs focus upon her, attempting in vain to make sense of her question before having to do it verbally. Alas, even he, a wordsmith and relatively learned man, cannot, bested and taken by surprise by her inquiry. He hides it well, however, as he offers his cool reply, "As a matter of fact, no, he did not. I was told I was to be rewarded for my service to the Crown, and more so, to him. As for the reward," he snorts lightly, finishing his drink with ease, "I was not informed."

Marie stared at him in slight amazement for a moment. He must have not been told by le Comte why he was there, although Marie herself had barely known what le Comte wanted himself. He would always play little games with her, she thought, and surely this might be one of them. Normally the Count would not lend out her...favors...to many men. There was once a beady-eyed dignitary from Italy that he had brought over to her apartment. She was a bit surprised that the usually possessive Count would lend her out to anyone, and was even more surprised when she discovered that he wanted to join in. She pleased them both, the Count and his gourmand of an associate, with a slight reluctance. Although the Count was far from being in the prime of his life physically, his pure sexual energy and endowment more than made up for it. Yet here she was now, a second time, wondering if indeed when le Comte had instructed her to "treat him hospitably" she was to please the young man with the striking dark eyes before her the same way. She figured that the Count must have.

"Monsieur de Rouvroy", she said calmly, "please, follow me." Marie extended her un-fanned hand to him as she guided him out of the crowded room. Paintings of angelic figures and Roman Gods adored the ceiling as she lead him down a hall painted in soft-red. Golden framed paintings of many monarchs and their associates lined the long corridor, which contained no less than eight rooms on either side before going off onto the next section of the beastly palace. Marie lead Augustin to the third on the right, the light roar of the salon behind them slowly dissipating as they approached their room. A drunken couple scampered off ahead of them, the woman giggling as she spotted Marie, clearly remembering her from court gossip. She laughed and snickered at Marie as the drunken young man with her draped his arm over her shoulder and balanced himself, walking steadily towards the next salon, her head turned back at the young courtesan. "Don't tire the poor boy out, Mademoiselle Marie", the young drunken woman with the crooked teeth said to Marie. She merely blushed, gently turning the crystal knob of the dark mahogany door, pressing in with a gentle force.

As his hand was seized by her, there really wasn't much he could do in protest. The young man really didn't care for court politics, and some fresh air, he figured, would do well for him. Despite his usually overly-bold nature, at least, when it came to women, he honestly had no idea what was coming next. So, just in case he didn't manage to find his way back inside--assuming that was where he was going, after all--he snagged another glass of liquor from a nearby serveur, beginning to imbibe rather quickly as he is lead along by the Count's mistress.

As he was something of an art connoisseur himself, Augustin began to admire the portraits of his former monarchs, when he wasn't stealing a glance at the back of the woman only a few steps ahead of him. He found himself more and more willing to keep up as they began to draw closer to the room she had in mind, shortly after realizing that outside, was indeed the opposite of where she had intended on bringing him. As they both come to a stop in the corridor, and are accosted by the drunken woman, Augustin could thereby confirm what it is she had in mind--the Count wanted him to do what with her?!

A little drunk, and mayhaps even a bit horny, now, Augustin found himself wandering forward into the chambre with a slight stumble, meandering forth across the room in order to deposit his now empty glass upon a table's top. A slow, roguish grin spreads upon his lips, and he begins to saunter over to the woman as she begins to close the door, reaching her just as she turns the doorknob shut. His gloved hands fall to her hips, and he leans forward, the smell of alcohol on his breath as he whispers into her ear, "Why don't you make yourself a little more comfortable?"

Marie's large pale eyes stared at him for a moment for longer than what was considered polite. Her eyes darted back and forth between his as she felt the hand slide down her side, finding a slight flare of flesh where the tops of her hips began. She then slowly planted her kiss, long, lingering, yet undoubtedly sensual upon his lips. Hands landed on breasts, necks, and arms as they embraced. Slow, drunken fumbles became firm, hungry grasps as he pressed her up against the dark lacquered door she has just shut behind them. A grazing of her bright pink nipples, now on full display after he roughly pulled down her corset, freeing her once so confined breasts, while his thumbs pursued them. After a muffled and heated gasp into his mouth, Marie breaks the kiss, stating that perhaps he should get comfortable as well. With the skill and ease of only a seasoned courtesan, Marie starts to slowly untie her elaborate maroon silken corset. Her large pale breasts already on display as she eases it off of her thin yet curvy body. Once removed, she slides down the remainder of her dress and then hikes her panniers high over her white-wigged head. Her large, full breasts crowned off with nothing but a pearl choker, and adored with a white under skirt underneath. As per the Count's request, she never wore undergarments to these events save for the cotton skirt-slip she wore. Her pale, thin body with the heavy breasts walked over to where Augustin sat on the bed, in surely one of the palace's many apartment rooms. She kissed him gently once more before slowly lowering herself before him, resting on the rugged floor on her knees.

"Monsieur, I bring you gifts, courtesy of Le Comte de Toulouse", Marie said as she removed her wig and placed it along side her on the afghan rug. Her russet curls now spilling over her pale shoulders and down her back.

Marie started to slowly remove the poet's overcoat, and then buttoned shirt, as her eyes were drawn to the smooth flesh beneath. She slowly planted one, and then another kiss onto his chest, her lips slowly sealing over his nipples as she gently circled them with her tongue, leaving the flesh wet. A groan left his lips, and then a gasp as she kissed down his stomach. Upon reaching his smooth breeches, she glided her slim hand over it, rubbing it back and forth sensually before pulling back the waist of them, exposing his throbbing cock to the night's cool air. She gasped when she laid eyes upon it; so much larger than the Count's, she thought, who was impressive enough for so many ladies of the salon, and of various backwater towns as well. She then began her task, holding his throbbing cock in her slender hand and slowly licking from base to shaft. Her tongue sliding over various veins and crooks, and to the poet's dismay, she had avoided his head all together. She grinned as she continued this slow, sensuous torture, slowly sliding a hand up her own thigh in the process. After reaching her downy curls, she slipped in a finger, just as she suddenly took the head into her mouth with about half his shaft, slowly bobbing her head up and down, her red curls brushing against his thighs. She felt him stiffen and groan loudly as she bobbed up and down his length.

Augustin was in ecstasy as the beautiful courtesan pleasured his manhood with her sensuous mouth. The sight of his rigid member penetrating those lush lips, so red from the pigment, was almost more than he could bear. And those beautiful green eyes peering up at him sent a quiver through his soul. His cock was enveloped in warmth and wetness. Her tongue flicked around the head. She gave him the faintest hint of teeth along his shaft. This woman was truly a mistress of the art! She gently stroked his shaft up and down as her face moved on him. He felt his balls tense, and the familiar pressure. He didn't want it to end, not like this.

He took her face gently in his hands. "No cherie, not like this. I don't want you to service me. I have had many ladies of the night, though none so beautiful. But your eyes speak to me. Let us make this a thing of beauty." He pulled out of her mouth, and took her hand to help her rise. He pulled her gently to the bed, and she laid down next to him.

He rolled to her, and pulled her to him. He took off his breeches. He began to suck on one of her breasts, feeling the nipple harden beneath his attention. He rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned softly, a soft smile playing on the lips which had so recently pleasured him. He turned his mouth to the other breast, while moving his hand gently down her belly to her pussy. He could feel the moisture beginning to leak out on to her thighs.

He stuck a finger inside gently. She was indeed very wet! He began moving the finger in and out of her, at first slowly, then more quickly. Her breathing picked up, and she began to flush. Then he stopped. He pulled his finger out. She began to protest, when he lasciviously licked his finger. Then he lowered his face to her lower lips.

She gasped when she felt his tongue touch her labia. He gently licked and lapped at her. He found her taste intoxicating, like the very fresh juice of the grapes on his uncle's vineyard in Languedoc. He started sucking on her pussy lips, and sticking his tongue ever deeper inside her. She began to buck on the bed, and held his head tightly to her with both hands.

Then he found her clit. He sucked on it ever so gently, and she saw stars. She felt the orgasm begin in her clit, spread through her pussy, her ass, up through her body. She began to shake. She cried out in pleasure, but Augustin quickly placed a hand gently over her mouth.

"Cherie, le comte may already be here! We must be careful!"

Breathlessly, she said, "Oui, tu as a la raison. But I can't help myself! You make me feel so good!"

He smiled at her, lovingly and roguishly at the same time. "It is my only desire!"

He took his still rigid cock into his hand, and began stroking himself to full erection. He fiddled with his breeches for a moment, and removed a lambskin sheath for his penis. He secured it over his erection, and moved toward her. He placed his hands under her buttocks, and gently lifted her. He moved his penis toward the opening of her pussy, and she helped guide it home. He pushed gently, and then he was inside her.

They both gasped as he entered her. Even through the lambskin sheath, he could feel his cock gently squeezed by her pussy. He began thrusting and moaning.

"You...are...so...beautiful...", he said, as he picked up his pace.

She was breathing heavily, gasping with each thrust. She closed her eyes in joyful oblivion. "Oh...mon Dieu....I must be in heaven...!" Her juices were flowing copiously, anointing the sheets on the bed with her nectar.

He pulled out of her, and smiled at her with a fiendish look. He moved her on to her side, then came around behind her. He lifted her upper leg, and then slid his cock back into her from behind. This created new sensations in her pussy. The fresh angle of attack stimulated her even more. She felt herself beginning to explode again. This time, she put a hand over her own mouth as she groaned. Her body was shaking, and he could feel her pussy contracting vigorously on his cock. He reached around her to fondle her breasts as he continued to thrust into her. Never had he enjoyed a woman so much!

He moved his hand down to her clit, and she came again. As he felt her convulse against him, and as he felt her pussy milking his cock, he could wait no longer. He shot out streams of his hot sticky cum into the sheath. He felt a vibration go through his entire body, and momentarily was elsewhere. Almost as in a dream. When he came back to himself, he stayed inside her for a moment. He never wanted this to end.

He knew he had to pull out, or the sheath would come off his softening cock. He did so, and involuntarily gave a moan of disappointment.

He pulled the sheath off his penis, and threw it into the chamber pot. Let them snicker, he no longer cared.

He pulled Jean Marie over to face him. She was still smiling.

They gazed into each other's eyes, and he felt himself falling further and further into the green seas before him.

Then, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Jean-Marie, ma petite, ou es-tu?" the baritone voice of le Comte de Toulouse sounded.

Before Marie-Jeanette or Augustin could react, the Count opened the door to the chamber. They hastily covered themselves.
The Count smiled wryly. “No need for embarrassment mes enfants. Certainly I have been privileged to feast my eyes on Mademoiselle’s charms, and I have little interest in yours, Augustin. But, hurry now, make yourselves presentable. “
They quickly dressed and rearranged themselves. Marie-Jeanette sprayed some perfume on her wrist , neck, and bosom, but Augustin could do little to hide the olfactory evidence of his recreations. They looked at each other, and smiled.
“Come, Augustin, Cardinal Malatesta is here and I must introduce you. He is the real power in France. “ He took the young man by the arm. He looked at Marie-Jeanette with a lecherous smile. “You come too, Cherie, the Cardinal may wish to spend time with you as well.” His smile broadened cruelly.
The Count laughed inwardly thinking of the beautiful young woman writhing beneath the withered cleric. He wondered if the man could even perform. But he knew something of the Cardinal’s tastes, and he was certain that his little sweet would find the evening, well, interesting. That posturing gelding de Sade had learned at the Master’s feet.
He hoped that Malatesta wouldn’t harm Marie-Jeanette in any permanent way. She still retained a bit of the innocent sweetness which had so captivated him that day in Marseille. Corrupting her had been both amusing and pleasurable. Each new degree of decadence, each new immersion in debauchery, felt like eating the rarest of fruit. How he savored the look on her face when she had her first orgasm. The surprise, even shock, left him feeling so powerful, that he could change her world with a word, with a touch.
But that was years ago, and there were very few firsts left for Marie-Jeanette. There was very little of the arts of Venus of which she was not already the complete mistress. So he had hit on a new scheme. If there were no more surprises left for her in the realm of the longings of the body, perhaps it was time to turn to the rest of her, the heart, the mind, the soul. He could already see himself regaling his peers at the Coitise de Feu d’enfer with his greatest project.
Enter Augustin. In a certain way, he liked the young man. He thought of the poet as what he might have been, had he not been born a peer of the realm. Augustin thought himself a sophisticate, but there was so much for him to learn. There was something still very pure and innocent in him, much as the Count imagined there to be within Marie-Jeanette. To use the two of them as pieces in his malignant chess game brought virtual tears of mirth to his eyes.
So. They entered the Salon de Mars, with Augustin on his left and Marie-Jeanette on his right. They approached the man in red robes with the high red hat.
“Bon soir, Monsieur le Cardinal. Permit me to introduce my young protégé, Augustin Gustav de Rouvroy.”
“Enchante”, said the Cardinal. The Count noted the involuntary flinch which Augustin made when he locked eyes with Malatesta for a moment. Well did he know the effect of those dead pools.
“Monsieur de Rouvroy has been gracing my humble home with his Olympian gifts. He has written the most exquisite poem for me. He has also had the kindness to put some of my more amusing exploits into writing. I commend him to your Eminence. He is a most versatile, skillful, and loyal young man.”
That empty gaze swung over to the Count. “Indeed.” The Cardinal turned back to Augustin. “Monsieur, if what the Count tells me is true, I am certain I can make use of talents such as yours. But tell me, Sir, are you discrete?”
“I hope to have the chance to demonstrate my discretion and loyalty to your Eminence.”
“Excellent. Call at my office here in Versailles tomorrow at one. We can have lunch and discuss how we might help each other.”
“Merci Beaucoup Excellency. I will be there!”
“I look forward to it. “ He turned back to the Count. “And now, mon ami, we had discussed the payment of a debt you had incurred with me.”
“Yes, Excellency. I would not bore you with any of the usual currencies. A man of your discerning taste requires something quite special.” The Count glanced over towards Marie-Jeanette. “My payment takes the form of an evening with Mademoiselle. You will find her to be a rare treasure. Beautiful, obedient, and eager to please.”
A sinister look of malice played over the aged Cardinal’s face. “You know me too well.” He looked over at Marie-Jeanette and said, “I look forward to our becoming better acquainted later this evening, Mademoiselle.”
The young woman gave a curtsy. The Count was again provoked to inward laughter as he noted the look of fear on his mistress’s face.
He said to Malatesta, “My friend, please understand the courtesy and honor I do you in this gift. My dear girl is very precious to me. I beg you to return her to me as you find her tonight.”
“You know me better than that mon vieux. I never leave marks. That is vulgar and a sign of a clumsy oaf. I leave my momentos on the inside, where they can be savored forever.”
“Ah, I should never have doubted you. Cherie, please go with the Cardinal and do whatever he asks. Augustin, please proceed to my carriage. We are going home. You need your rest to prepare for your important meeting tomorrow.”
The young man bowed. Again, the Count chuckled to himself at the play of emotions on Augustin’s face. He thought he saw jealousy, fear, rage, and the faintest hint of curiosity. He glanced at Marie-Jeanette with anxiety and longing. A good beginning, thought the Count. I have such sights to show them.
Augustin left the Salon and went down the hallway toward the waiting carriage. The Count thought he could see Malatesta virtually licking his lips in anticipation of his coming pleasures with Marie-Jeanette. She looked back at him momentarily, almost pleading, as the Cardinal took her by the hand and led her away.
His only response was to give a very slight bow of his head and to smile at her. “Bon soir, Cherie. A demain.”
The Count turned to leave, feeling pleased and amused. The youngsters had such an education coming, much sooner than they would ever have imagined.
If they only knew…

I. Augustin

He followed the Count to the carriage and they got in. The Count gestured to the driver, and the horses carried them down the darkened road. As the repetitive sounds of the horses and the wheels lulled him into a reverie, he pondered his situation.

His head was whirling. He was torn in so many directions. The Count was offering him access to the highest levels of power in the country. This could make his career, if he played his cards right. If he became one of the Cardinal’s men, there was nothing that would be beyond his reach. Except possibly for retaining any shred of decency or integrity. Would he sell his soul? Then there was Marie-Jeanette. From the whispered rumors he had heard, the Cardinal’s tastes ran to the brutal. He seemed to enjoy nothing more than corrupting innocence, and debauching youth. He had heard tales of the Cardinal licking the tears off the faces of his “playmates”. The wizened cleric seemed to live off the suffering of others, physical and emotional, much as a spider lived off the life of others. He realized he was walking a tightrope, and that destruction lay on either side. Could he allow the beautiful young woman to suffer at the hands of the brutal Cardinal? Could he do anything to stop it? If so, what would happen to them? He knew that thwarting the Cardinal meant thwarting the Count, and then no place in France would be safe. He felt a kind of helpless rage beginning to boil in his heart.

He looked over at the Count. The man had that damned sardonic smile on his face! Whether he was praising a poem Augustin had written, purchasing yet more land for his estates, or seducing one of his tenants’ wives, he always looked as though the whole situation was amusing to him. At that moment, it occurred to the young poet that neither he, nor Marie-Jeanette, nor anyone else actually mattered to the Count in and of themselves. It was only so far as they were interesting toys, or pieces in a game that they had any value to him at all. They were all means to the Count’s ends, never ends in themselves. He realized that he hated the Count, despite all the opportunities the man had opened for him.

His thoughts drifted back to Marie-Jeanette. He knew the beautiful young woman was very much in thrall to the Count. The housekeeper at the estate had told him of how the Count had found her on the streets of Marseille, begging. He had lifted her out of abject poverty, and bestowed upon her an endowment that would keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. This was not done out of kindness, of course. The Count purchased not only her virginity, but all of her future prospects. According to their arrangement, she would not marry while the Count was alive, and would reserve herself for the fulfillment of his wishes. And she had never betrayed their agreement, at least according to the housekeeper. Where did that leave him? Was his head just being turned by a pretty face? Was he fooling himself into thinking that there was something more to her, some unplumbed depth, which he thought he saw in her eyes? Could she have feelings for him, or was he just another part of her fulfilling the wishes of the Count? After all, it seemed now that his pleasure with her was a reward for his services to the Count.

Which again reminded him of the incongruity. His services did not amount to much, certainly not enough to merit the attentions of a beautiful courtesan. What was the Count doing? Somehow, the Count was amusing himself by throwing him together with Marie-Jeanette. Augustin did not understand the details, but knew that it would only be for the amusement of the malignant older man. Then and there he decided to fight him. Which brought him back to the fate of the young woman who had been “lent” to the Cardinal, as one would loan a hunting dog or a horse. But unless he was willing to act tonight, there was nothing he could do for her. He resigned himself to planning his campaign against the Count, and perhaps the Cardinal as well.

II. Marie-Jeanette

She took the leathered hand of the Cardinal which he had extended to her. Her heart sank as she recalled what she had been told by a series of other courtesans about the preferences of the vile prelate. He glanced around to look at her, and he appraised her as he would a sculpture or painting. She locked eyes with him momentarily, and found his to be dead. Simple pools of empty black. There was no human being there anymore. She shuddered inwardly. He led her down the same hallway which Augustin and the Count had traversed. They came out into the chill night air. The sky was ablaze with stars. She thought of the ironic contrast between the beauty of the night and the ugliness of what she suspected was before her. He helped her into his carriage, and told the footman to take them to his palace.

As they traveled back to Paris, he seemed lost in his own dark thoughts. She did not wish to know what he was contemplating. She thought of trying to escape, but where would she go? Her life as she knew it was dependent on the Count, and he had made his wishes clear. There was her maisonette to consider, but a deeper secret as well. For the Count had taken a hand in lifting from her the most oppressive burden. Not only had he bestowed favors upon her, but upon her mother as well. He had arranged for Marie-Jeanette’s mother to enter a convent, and to live in some degree of safety and comfort. How could she betray the man who had saved them both from starvation? Was her “virtue” such a high price to pay?

The Count seemed to be more willing of late to “lend” her to his various associates, as he had done earlier with Augustin. That had brought her great pleasure as well, and she had felt pleased to make love to the handsome young man. He kept looking at her in a way which made her wonder if he understood who and what she was, but she had to admit that his tender glances thrilled her despite her better judgment.

She would submit to the Cardinal’s “ministrations”. The stories she had heard suggested they were unpleasant, even painful, but not actually dangerous. The Count had made it clear that Cardinal was to return her more or less as he had found her. She did not think the Cardinal would brook the Count’s wrath. She knew she was important to the Count, perhaps as a valued possession, but valuable none the less. These thoughts gave her hope that the night would not be too overwhelming.

At last, they arrived at the Cardinal’s palace. He opened the door, and took her by the hand again. The footman took the carriage away. Other liveried servants opened the large oak doors, which led into a large vestibule, lit by torches in the walls. It had the feeling of a baronial keep, more than a place of religion. He led her down the long hallway leading off the vestibule. They walked for quite a long time, passing doors on either side. Finally, they came to a door which he opened. She could see clearly that it was a bed chamber. A large, four posted bed with strange metal fittings on the posts occupied the center of the room. It wa a magnificent chamber. The ceiling had been frescoed to portray scenes from Ovid’s Art of Love. The curtains were of a rich Venetian crimson fabric, and the walls were adorned with paintings depicting some of the most beautiful women in France from the last thirty years.

He turned to her with his cold, dead eyes, and said, “My dear, I only ask that you obey me tonight in every way. If you do exactly as I command, you will be richly rewarded. Defy me, and your suffering will be something you will always remember.” He gave a little chuckle as he said this, and she couldn’t tell whether he wanted her to obey more than he wanted her to disobey.

“Disrobe.”, he said. She began removing her outer garments, hastily rearranged after her tryst with Augustin. She stood before him in her undergarments, and he said, “Completely.” She removed her brassiere and her panties, standing there before him completely naked. He remained fully clothed. “Come here, my dear.”, he said. His words were almost whispered, making her think of nothing so much as the hissing of a snake. She walked toward him cautiously, hesitantly.

Suddenly, he reached out in a lightning movement and grabbed her arm. The pressure was enormous. She would never have thought that such an old man could be so strong. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and probed her mercilessly. He held a hand behind her head, and she could not get away. He broke the kiss, and then pulled her over to the bed. He walked over to a nearby chest, and began removing ropes, chains, and cuffs. She realized now that the metal fittings on the bed posts were for securing the restraints. He said, “Put the cuffs on, one for each wrist and ankle.”

She had never experienced this before. The Count was cruel, and seemed to delight in embarrassing her at times, but he had never restrained her. She did as the Cardinal demanded, and put a cuff on each wrist and ankle. “Get on the bed, on your hands and knees.” She complied, and he brought the chains over to the bed. He attached on to each cuff, and then each chain to a bedpost. He brought over a collar, opened it, and fastened it securely around her neck. She could breathe, but could feel it limiting her range of motion.

“Tonight you are mine, my lovely. The Count has given you entirely into my power. Please me, and you can name your own reward. Fail me, and you will be the first to savor some new experiences I have learned of from my agents in the East.”

She began to panic. She felt helpless and terrified. She began struggling against the chains, but could make no headway. She heard the laughter of the Cardinal, like dry, dead leaves scraping together.

“By all means, my dear, struggle. You see, there is no escape.”

She began to settle. She knew there was no prospect of flight. She resigned herself to submitting to whatever the Cardinal had in mind. To her great surprise, she found herself beginning to feel aroused. She knew there were women who enjoyed being restrained and dominated, but she had never fancied herself one of them. She could feel the soft trickle of lubrication from her pussy down her inner thigh as her nipples began to harden. For an instant, she had an image of being restrained like this, but it would be Augustin arranging the evening’s entertainment instead of the Cardinal.