Madame Guillotine

magbeam

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(Closed for Britwitch and myself)

July, 1794. As the armies of the French Republic steadily advance the enlightenment of the Revolution across Europe, the government of Paris turns to stamping out internal dissent. Under the control of Maximilien Robespierre's Jacobin Club, the National Convention has formed a Committee of Public Safety to oversee the Revolutionary Tribunal and promulgate the use of the instrument of terror: Madame Guillotine herself. The Reign of Terror has spread beyond Paris, touching all of France's provinces. The Vendee, Lyon, and Marseilles have all had the threat of counterrevolutionism stamped out.

Along the Mediterranean coast, in his first action upon the national stage, an enterprising young artiller captain named Bonaparte has ended the royalist insurrection in the important (if British-blockaded) port city of Toulon. To ensure such an event does not occur again, the Committee of Public Safety has dispatched a Suppression under Barras and Fréron to weed out the remaining counterrevolutionists.

* * * * *​

The courtroom was small and cramped, the Mediterranean summer heat made even worse by the fact many of the windows were occulted by the massive Tricolor which had been nailed to one side of the wall by Bonaparte's men once the royalist governors had been removed from the house and shot when Toulon had been retaken. The same courtroom where the traitors and collaborators had once given orders to their mercenaries and British allies now was the seat of the Revolutionary Tribunal which oversaw the suppression of those very same elements.

The heat of the courthouse was also due in no small matter to the fact that the viewing platforms were filled to bursting with the sans-culottide of the city, eager to see their vengeance enacted on the upper class who had oppressed and trampled on them for centuries. Nor were they decorous, or did the government of the Republic encourage them to be: their expression was the expression of freedom and democracy, the unshackling of the Old Regime's social stratfication and needlessly obtuse rules and regulations of conducts. The expression of the mob mentality whose beating heart pumped its hate and vitality through the veins of the new France.

That mob now voiced, with loud cheers and hisses and huzzahs, the sentencing of the latest royalist: to be granted to Madame Guillotine. He was the fourteenth person before the Tribunal that day, and the fourteenth so judged; there could be no escape from Revolutionary justice and Republican virtue, not for one who had betrayed both by aiding foreigners against the Fatherland.

The two judges called for order as the fifteenth prisoner of the day was brought before the court. A wave of snickers and whistles passed among the san-culottide; although this was the third woman brought before the Tribunal today, she was by far the most attractive. As the two National Guardsmen who flanked her held her still, the woman shook their hands off of forearms, holding herself proud and defiant. Barras and Fréron glanced at each other: one of those types. Of course, it didn't matter, but Pontmercy would enjoy to toy with his victim regardless.

The man in question rose from his stool beside the judge's rostrum. Brown hair pulled back into a ponytail revealed his brown, intelligent eyes and nose that was just safely short of being too aristocratically acquiline, although Claude Pontmercy would have had strong words for anyone who dared to suggest he had been cursed with anything other than a commoner's life. A soldier for most of his thirty-four years, Pontmercy had fought in the foolishly optimistic and weak-spirited revolution of the Americans under de La Fayette, and had been in the right place in the right time afterwords: namely, in Paris to come to the attention of Citizen Robespierre, saving his life and in exchange becoming one of the top agents of the Committee, promulgating the Terror on their behalf throughout the provinces.

He had been sent here due to the fact that locals had been rather sluggish in their dealing with the riffraff. In the time before he had arrived, they had sentenced a mere four hundred suspected royalists to death; in the two weeks since he had arrived, nearly four times that number had been convicted, overwhelming the Instrument of Terror he had brought with him from Paris and necessitating such wasteful methods as drowning and firing squads. Of course, now that the pool of suspects was drying somewhat thin, Pontmercy supposed that the Madame would return to her normal diet, her gouging no longer needed.

"Who is this, Citizen Pontmercy?" Barras asked from the judge's rostrum.

"My name is Yvonne de Brignoles, and I spit on your revolution! Long live the King!" she yelled, defiant in exterior, but Pontmercy had seen enough terrified noblewomen to know what was beneath the surface.

"What we have, Citizen Judges, is Yvonne Renard, daughter of Alexandre Renard, self-titled Duc de Brignoles. She is accused of four counts: that of Catholicism, that of nobility, that of collusion with the British against the Fatherland, and that of collusion with the royalist party against the Republic and the Revolution."

"And how does she plead, Citizen Pontmercy?" Fréron asked in a bored voice. After the first few exciting convictions, such Tribunals tended to get rather dull. Much more sense to just kill them all right off. But then, the Republic was built of the rule of reason and law, and such summary executions had died with the lettres de cache and other unsavory aspects of the Old Regime.

The woman looked as though she was about to speak, but Pontmercy spoke first, cutting her off. "She is guilty on all charges, Citizen Judges."

"Well, that's that, then," Barras said equitable, not even needing to confer with Fréron. "As delegates of the Government of the Republic and agents of the Suppression, we find Yvonne Renard guilty on all charges and sentence her to the Instrument of Terror."

The sans-culottide cheered, and Pontmercy took the time to look smug as the girl, now white as the King's flag, was taken from the room by guards, to the cell where she would spend the last night of her life before her execution, sometime tomorrow morning or midday if the Madame did not require any additional maintenance, Pontmercy thought to himself. Yes, another suitable outcome. He allowed himself to join in a single shout of "Long live the Republic!" before he sat himself, waiting for the next prisoner to arrive before the Tribunal.
 
A fan had two purposes, and the one being fluttered almost constantly towards the back of the courtroom was no exception. There was of course the purpose of trying to prevent perspiration. There was also the purpose of concealment. Behind the fan held delicately in the lacily gloved fingers of Citizeness Marchand was the perfect example of the second. Her mouth, normally curved into a pleasant, almost teasing smile was a thin, angry line, hidden from view by the quivering fan. The pale pink pillows of flesh had lost some of their colour in the compression, her complexion was pale although amongst the powdered faces of some, it was hardly worth noting.

The only thing she did not conceal were her eyes, sparkling blue and glittering with rage. In such a room an expression could easily be taken for revolutionist zeal. Besides which, she did not want to take her eyes off of the reason for her attending the tribunal for a moment.
She watched as Yvonne de Brignoles, Yvonne Renard, was sentenced, feeling a short, sharp stab at her heart as the words of the judge rang out in the courtroom, signaling a chorus of shouts and catcalls.
"As delegates of the Government of the Republic and agents of the Suppression, we find Yvonne Renard guilty on all charges and sentence her to the Instrument of Terror."


Citizeness Marchand focused her eyes on the man responsible, the agent who had almost singlehandedly helped keep the city’s cells full and the fearsome Madame in business.
Pontmercy.
She memorised his face, even the line of his form, his approximate height. She had to be sure she could recognise him under any circumstance. Citizeness Marchand intended to kill him, perhaps not with her own hands, and definitely not until he had proved useful to her. But she hated him, hated him more than she thought she could hate anyone and he would pay, of that she was certain.

As the following case was announced, Stéphanie Marchand folded away her fan, her face transformed, with a level of control and believability that many an actress would be jealous of, to one of calm and peace. She rose, smiling coquettishly at the gentlemen beside her, enticing them to rise and move aside without even having to ask. Soon enough she was outside, able to breathe the relatively fresh air and enjoy the light breeze blowing in from the Mediterranean. Curls of her ebony hair dancing beneath her hat's brim.

She bit her lip against crying as she watched Yvonne Renard being bundled out of the court and into a waiting prison carriage, with so many others. Stéphanie resisted approaching and asking to speak to her, not that she didn't believe she could flirt her way into doing so, but to be seen speaking to a condemned prisoner in daylight didn't bode well for anyone. Least of all someone with the secrets that Stéphanie had. Besides, she reasoned with herself as the driver cracked his whip and sent the carriage shuddering off down the cobbled street, if all went as she planned, Yvonne would be free by the end of the next day...if the Madame didn't claim her first, her mind reminded her cruelly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following morning, after a night of less than fitfull sleeping, Stéphanie rose and dressed, making sure to pin the tricolor coloured rosette to her front before leaving. She walked as a woman with a purpose, heading straight for the town's cells. She had to find where exactly Yvonne was being held if her plans were to work and to do so meant getting inside the prison building without attracting too much attention to herself.

"Good morning, Citizen, I hope that you can help me..." Stéphanie asked the slightly rotund guard at the door, lowering her eyes almost shyly. "...I have heard that a young lady my mother once tutored is inside and I promised that I would try to visit her to give her a letter on her behalf..." As she spoke, Stéphanie withdrew a sealed envelope, within which was a letter she herself had written the night before, in case evidence was required. "Do you think I could go in and see her, just for a little while...?"
The guard let his gaze move over her figure, which was well on display given the current fashions. The corsetted dress made the most of her chest and accentuated the narrowness of her waist.

"I would like nothing more than to be of service to you, Citizeness, but it will depend on the name of your friend..." His response and the smile that accompanied it were loaded with lasciviousness.
"Renard, Yvonne Renard..." She replied lightly.
The guard's face tightened slightly.
"I shall have to ask, wait here, Citizeness..."
There was a tightness in his response that Stéphanie did not quite like, but before she could say or do anything more the rotund guard had vanished inside, leaving another in his place for her to smile at to fill the time. She assumed that as Yvonne was due to visit the guillotine, her having visitors was more than likely regulated and the guard would have to ask a superior. No matter, Stéphanie was sure she could charm her way to Yvonne's cell regardless of who that might be.
 
The Tribunal succeded in sentencing three more that day, before the heat finally became overwhelming and even the somnolescent Fréron agreed to dissolve the court for the day. Pontmercy had objected, wanting to continue, stating that it was their sworn duty to continue without pause, no matter how uncomfortable the room was, and that they should take it outside even to continue. Perhaps that would even be best, to sentence the traitors in full view of the magnificent guillotine that patiently, eternally, unwaveringly awaited them all. The court members laughed good-naturedly, Barras even congratulating him on his revolutionary fervor, before dismissing the Tribunal.

Fuming, Pontmercy made his way outside, the sans-culottide already dispersing, their interests returning to those of their virtuously-low life. A small gaggle of them were surrounding the prisoner cart, the last few prisoners being loaded in for transfer to the cells that would hold them for the remainder of their short lives. Among the peasant and worker faces, one stood out - a striking figure, a young lady that looked near his own age, dressed just short of being too well dressed, yet she properly displayed the tricolor and her eyes smoledered with the Republican hatred as she watched the prisoners depart to their final destination. Pontmercy found himself nodding. She was indeed a proper specimen of Republican woman, a virtuous Marianne. Unfortunate that he had other duties to attend, else he might have requested the honor of knowing her name.

After the prisoners left and the crowd departed, Pontmercy spent a few minutes chatting with members of the Suppression and of Toulon's government. The talks were short, professional: he was an outsider here, one seen as disruptive, perhaps even too zealous in his pursuit of the Reign of Virtue as envisioned by his mentor Robespierre; in turn, he saw them as soft, accomdating, adventurers and opportunists. Not all to be sure and varying shades of those who were, but still, the law made no distinctions and neither did he.

After he took his leave of them, Pontmercy occupied hismelf with a stroll through the city, observing the damages undertaken by the siege between the British and Brigadier Bonaparte's army and how the sans-culottide were already rebuilding, a newer and purer Toulon for a newer and purer France. He stopped at a workers' wineship for his dinner, sticking out in his clothing from those around him, but he was still cheered as a member of the Government of the Republic which fought for their rights.

That evening, Pontmercy composed his usual letter to the Committee, detailing the procedings of the Suppression, and his private letter to Robespierre, detailing his views of Barras and Fréron. He did not trust them, and suspected them of belonging to the opportunist segment of the Convention, alongside Cambon and Carnot. They could be dangerous for Robespierre's plans for Republican Virtue, but left his views on what shoudl be done unsaid. It could be unwise to mention such things, even to Robespierre. After delivering them to a soldier to take to the postmaster, Pontmercy returned to his spartan, barely-functional apartment. Unlike many - including Barras and Fréron - Pontmercy chose to live just as the sans-culottide they served did, not using his position to further himself. The knowledge that he was pure of heart and working entirely for the benefit of others let him retain a clear conscience, and he was soon asleep.

The next morning, Pontmercy woke as early as usual, and after a quick and bracingly cold bath, dressed in his usual style: dark jacket and trousers over white blouse, with a tricolor sash wrapped around his waist. The Tribunal was not set to meet today, not after the large backlog they already had and the scanty pool of remaining convicts to sentence, so Pontmercy made his way to the office maintained for him at the prison. Overviewing statements and records through his bespectacled gaze, he was unaware of the several hours that transpired before a guard hesitantly knocked on the door.

"Huh? Yes, sergeant, what is it?" Pontmercy asked the infantryman, slightly annoyed at the interruption.

"A young citizeness, Citizen Pontmercy...she wishes to visit one of the convicts, Yvonne Renard, says her mother used to tutor her and that she has a note to give her."

"I see. Thank you, sergeant, please escort her up here." They all might be equal, but it would not do for someone like him to come down to see her, and if they were to talk, he did not want to stand around and waste time - and if she were deemed a counterrevolutionist and tried to escape, she would have a harder time of doing so from up here. Pontmercy continued to read his reports until the sergeant announced their presence.

Pontmercy looked up, staring for a few moments until it suddenly clicked. She was the woman from outside the courthouse yesterday! Standing up, he made his way to her, offering his hand in a handshake of equality. "Citizen Claude Pontmercy, agent of the Committee of Public Safety for Toulon," he said, drawing a chair out for her to sit down. "I saw you outside the courthouse yesterday. I understand you have a note to give one of the condemned. I will have to read it first, Citizeness, I hope you understand...What did you say your name was?" he asked with a disarming smile, knowing full well she had not said it yet.
 
Stéphanie soon found herself following the burly sergeant inside, pausing to take a short breath before stepping into the office she had been brought to. She froze for a second as she found herself before Citizen Pontmercy, she had expected to find herself brought before a superior, but certainly not him. Her momentary panic however was expertly covered up by a light, bright smile and just enough lowering of her eyes to make her seem modest rather than flirtatious. The revolution had done much to make equality a more realistic concept but there was no harm in playing to a man's natural sense of dominance, which she was certain Pontmercy had coursing through his veins. A man in his position had to feel something akin to superiority or why would he feel counterrevolutionaries deserved the treatment they received.

"Citizen Claude Pontmercy, agent of the Committee of Public Safety for Toulon,"
"It's a pleasure, Citizen..." Stéphanie replied earnestly, returning his handshake and gracefully moving into the seat he offered, smoothing her dress' skirt ever so slightly.
"I saw you outside the courthouse yesterday. I understand you have a note to give one of the condemned. I will have to read it first, Citizeness, I hope you understand...What did you say your name was?"
"But of course..." Stéphanie had handed the letter over, with another smile, almost before he had finished speaking. The letter contained nothing of suspicion, she had written it in a slightly shaking hand that looked nothing like her own and more like the elder tutor it was supposed to be from. The letter spoke of concern for her choices against France and a willingness to offer a character reference for her trial should it prove helpful. There was a simple code within the note, a code from childhood that Yvonne would understand but few others would even pick up upon.

Stéphanie deliberately refrained from mentioning her name, even though his suave smile and question could easily have caused it to trip from her lips unchecked. Not that she intended to use a false name. Her family name was unknown and would be difficult to link to either Patrice or Yvonne unless Citizen Pontmercy had done some intensive investigation into their past. Their past was largely irrelevant, it was their recent actions against the Republic that had sealed their fate and brought them to the cells and closer to the terrible Madame.

She watched Pontmercy read the note through, letting her eyes drift around his office in more than relaxed manner, never quite letting him out of her sight at any point.
"My mother was most disappointed to learn that former student of hers has taken the path that poor Yvonne has taken...we heard rumours that her brother has also commited crimes against the Republic..." Stéphanie let her voice tail off, hoping that she might hear something of Patrice, that perhaps he was still in a cell somewhere, maybe even in the same building as Yvonne. To free one was her aim, to free them both would be a dream.

"I promised my mother I would bring her this letter and, if possible, talk to her...see if there is anything we can do. My mother, you must understand Citizen, doesn't fully comprehend the way of things. I know that if Yvonne is here then there is little I, or anyone, can do for her...but for my mother, I must try..." Her tone was earnest but managed to remain remarkably indifferent. To show empathy for a condemned prisioner could just as easily cause one to be in a cell beside them before the end of the day. She held out her hand to take back the letter he had finished perusing and added, almost as an afterthought, "And I am Citizeness Marchand, Stéphanie Marchand..."
 
Pontmercy gratefully accepted the proferred letter, noting as he did that she still did not give her name. She was quite a tease, this one, but that was the right of all individual citizens now, as long as they did not abuse such blessings to counteract the government that provided them. Or was she trying to hide something from him? Now that truly was foolish, his paranoia at the traitors in the Convention starting to loom over his everyday life. It would be the work of an instant for her to offer a false name and he would be none the wiser.

Pontmercy skimmed the letter, listening to her talk as he did. He could do both with ease, this mental ambidextry no doubt part of the reason why he had ascended so far, so fast. Although his eyes darted over the page, they absorbed everything of note; it was as the mysterious citizeness said, nothing suspicious or disloyal, a mere admonition by a sad old woman who, indeed, perhaps was a bit confused as to the state of things.

"Brother?" he asked as the citizeness spoke, pausing in his reading to idly wander. "Yes, I do recall readign about him in her records. Older brother, Patrice, member of the uprising movement. And now that I am thinking on it, I do believe I was the one who presided over his Tribunal as well. Fed to the Madame, just as her sister will be, another royalist, Christian traitor. So many of the old families seem to have those misfortunate traits." He went back to reading, the letter repositioned just ever so slightly so that he could take in her response to the casual statement of her old acquaintance's execution without appearing that he did so. Claude finished reading, returning his gaze to the citizeness - Citizeness Stéphanie Marchand - as she finished speaking.

"This all looks innocent, Citizeness Marchand," he said, returning the letter to her. "And your mother is indeed rather ignorant of the ways of the New Regime if she believes that anything can be done to save the traitors Renard. The Republic is built on law; this is not the corrupt King's regime where personalities dominated government and were favors could be bought and traded. That your mother would wish to do anything to save these villains is rather troubling in and of itself, although as you say, no doubt it is age and fond memories and nothing more sinister."

Nevertheless, Pontmercy made a mental note to try and discover where exactly the elder Citizeness Marchand resided, and to enquire into her activities. Still, nothing that he needed to say out loud. Her other request was somewhat troubling; officially, no contact with prisoners by the public was allowed, and that many other Republican prisons regularly broke such regulations did not mean that that would excuse his prison from doing so. This was the Reign of Virtue and Terror after all; the one was needed to enforce the other, and if one was broken, so would the partner. However, he had already decided to allow her request. He told himself that it was to answer the small unfonded doubt he had, the tingle at the back of his neck, to see if anything they said to one another would give away a fact; it certainly was not due to any softness on his part, or a desire to cast himself in a favorable light to this undeniably attractive woman.

"Now, if you will please follow me, Citizeness Marchand, I will take you to the prison cells. You'll understand that the conversation must be overseen; I hope you will not mind if I am the one to do so, not one of the soldiers. It's a rather quiet day for me and as I have already read your correspondence, it will be less an intrusion upon your private words, I hope you will agree." With a smile, he beckoned her to follow him out his office and down the long flight of stairs. There was a brief consultation with one of the guards at the bottom, then past the large and crowded communal cells of both the condemned and those awaiting the Revolution's justice, before they stopped at the cell in which only a single, forlorn woman resided.

"Here we are, Citizeness Marchand," Pontmercy said, stepping back to give her at least the semblence of privacy, if not far enough that any whispers would go unnoticed. "The traitoress Renard."
 
"Brother?...Yes, I do recall readign about him in her records. Older brother, Patrice, member of the uprising movement. And now that I am thinking on it, I do believe I was the one who presided over his Tribunal as well. Fed to the Madame, just as her sister will be, another royalist, Christian traitor. So many of the old families seem to have those misfortunate traits."
"Highly misfortunate," Stéphanie echoed solemnly, hiding the rush of emotion from her voice as Pontmercy spoke so lightly, almost dismissively, of Patrice's death. She wanted to fly at him, to retrieve the razor sharp dagger, ever so delicate but ever so deadly, from it's hidden sheath within her corset and drive it into his undoubtedly unfeeling heart. But to do so would condemn Yvonne to her brother's fate, as well as no doubt causing her own to be the same. Instead she sighed and let an expression of disappointment settle upon her face. "I did not know him well, but it is something of a waste that so many young lives, with the potential to give so much to the Republic, are thrown away...but then, they choose their own fate, do they not?"

"This all looks innocent, Citizeness Marchand...And your mother is indeed rather ignorant of the ways of the New Regime if she believes that anything can be done to save the traitors Renard. The Republic is built on law; this is not the corrupt King's regime where personalities dominated government and were favors could be bought and traded. That your mother would wish to do anything to save these villains is rather troubling in and of itself, although as you say, no doubt it is age and fond memories and nothing more sinister."
Stéphanie took the letter back, nodding in agreement with his words in the correct places, showing no concern when he mentioned her mother's 'troubling' attitude. Her mother was far from the reach of even the most zealous revolutionist agent.

"Now, if you will please follow me, Citizeness Marchand, I will take you to the prison cells. You'll understand that the conversation must be overseen; I hope you will not mind if I am the one to do so, not one of the soldiers. It's a rather quiet day for me and as I have already read your correspondence, it will be less an intrusion upon your private words, I hope you will agree."
"But of course, and I thank you for indulging the wishes of an old woman, Citizen Pontmercy..." Stéphanie smiled, rising as gracefully as she had taken her seat and following him towards the cells. She was a little surprised that she was to be allowed to visit Yvonne with such ease but then, she was not to visit alone. No matter, Stéphanie trusted that Yvonne would not give her away, the note from her mother would be enough of a signal between the two of them that all was not as it seemed. After all, Stéphanie's mother had been dead for almost 3 years now, but as a former housekeeper, even Pontmercy's most intrusive investigations would find that hard to discover, at least straightaway.

"Here we are, Citizeness Marchand...The traitoress Renard."
The face within the cell looked curiously towards the door as Stéphanie was announced. Yvonne looked very much changed since Stéphanie had seen her last. That had been back in England, where they had been safe, before Yvonne had taken it upon herself to try and rescue her brother, against Stéphanie's advice.
"Yvonne?" Stéphanie asked, her nose wrinkling slightly against the undeniably stale air that hung within the cell. "It's me...Stéphanie, Madame Marchand's daughter...?" Her tone was almost the kind one used to an elderly, slightly senile relative but all of it served it's purpose. Yvonne's eyes showed her recognition but the shadows of the cell stopped them from reaching Citizen Pontmercy beyond the door. "I have brought you a letter from her..."

"I...I thank you Citizeness..." Yvonne's voice was weak and slightly cracked. Her fingers pale and cold as she took the offered letter and pocketed it straight away, it's hidden messge of hope could be read later, she had other things to say now."I...I regret that I shall not be able to apologise to you mother in person, but I wish you to tell her that I fear my failure to take her advice may well be the last and greatest mistake I make in this life..."
Stéphanie's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as the woman before her spoke, her words striking home and pricking her already aching heart.
"I...I shall tell her..." Stéphanie replied quietly, not trusting her voice to remain steady for much longer. She met the eyes before her own, holding their gaze for a moment or two before swiftly turning back towards the door. "I believe I have said all I can, Citizen Pontmercy, if you could show me the way out, I would be most grateful..."

As the door was shut, Stéphanie made eye contact with her oldest and dearest friend for a few, all too brief, moments. She followed Citizen Pontmercy back up towards the surface, sighing with obvious relief as the fresher air stuck her lungs once they were once more outside.
"Thank you, Citizen, I know such visits are not usually allowed and I thank you, for indulging the wishes of an old woman..." She smiled, offering her hand. Wanting nothing more than to get out of the sight of the agent before her as soon as possible.
 
Pontmercy stood by, cloaked in shadows with an air of suitable drama, or at least so he considered. He had always had a dramatic air, one which he had first demonstrated to entertain his mixed Franco-Carolinian compatriots during the final campaign of the American Revolution, where the French Army and Navy had saved the nascent American Republic - a move that, perhaps, was a mistake, he now considered. Pontmercy had continued to enjoy the spectacle of drama; unlike so many propagandists would have one think in Britain, the Republic did not frown upon or close down the theatres or those with a creative mind, it encouraged them; witness the flock of Republican plays with graced Paris and her provinces.

No doubt it was that same sense of drama which made him suspect a few cadences of speech, a few inflexions or half-whispers or pauses, were signs of a conspiratorial connection between the convict and the citizeness. Pontmercy was self-aware enough to know he had more than a touch of paranoia, and found nothing wrong with that; after all, they were in times when enemies of the Revolution were everywhere an devious, and while once the Reign of Virtue was established there would be no need for such feelings, at the moment his suspicions had helped commit dozens, if not hundreds, of counterrevolutionists to the guillotine after ferreting out their nefarious schemes. Still, he knew better than to assume that just because they acted not quite like two young ladies at a coffee shop might, that it meant Citizeness Marchand was a traitor. She was speaking to an old friend who would soon be dead, it would rattle even the sternest revolutionist, as he had no evidence that she was not. More than a few of the Committee's investigators would of course jump at the 'evidence' and arrest her then and there, but he was not one of them and that was why Pontmercy was Robespierre's darling and the rest spent so much of their time following the Army drudging through dreary Rhineland.

When at last Citizeness Marchand indicated she was through, Pontmercy smiled, escorting her back up to the surface, laughing slightly at her words when they arrived there. "It was not a problem, Citizeness Marchand," he said, kissing the proferred hand - somewhat of an anachronistic gesture in these days of equality and liberation, but one which many women still performed, and truth be told, he found enjoyable - at least this time.

"As I said, I was having a rather dull day and, truth be told, I was also curious whether or not you were in some sort of collusion with her. Dramatic nonsense, of course, but I must amuse myself somehow. I confess to having once fancies myself a dramatist, if a rather crude one, during my time in the Army." He chuckled, fond memories returning, when he took the time to wonder why he shared that with her. True, he had not found any reason whatsover to be suspicious, but he did not like to go blab around his confidential ponderings. Oh well, even Julius Caesar had lost a battle here and there. He glanced Marchand over, taking a few moments of silence to think, before settling on a sudden course of action.

"It was rather unorthodox to let you see the traitor before an execution, and I feel I must confess, I did so more to indulge you then your mother, dear as she undoubtedly is. Now I am wondering if you perhaps might indulge me. I am rather bored sitting in an office all day, and have not had much to eat yet. I hope you will not find this too forward, but as we are both citizens and equal with social baggage of the Old Regime no longer restricting such matters, I was wondering: would you perhaps care to join me for an early midday meal? There is a small wineshop I frequent near here, very proletarian in their meal and Republican sentiments. I confess to having no stomach for the food of the upper class, unlike perhaps too many of our revolutionist brethren."
 
"It was not a problem, Citizeness Marchand,"
Stéphanie blushed and smiled shyly as Pontmercy's lips brushed the back of her hand in the gentlemanly gesture, fighting the urge to recoil.
"As I said, I was having a rather dull day and, truth be told, I was also curious whether or not you were in some sort of collusion with her. Dramatic nonsense, of course, but I must amuse myself somehow. I confess to having once fancied myself a dramatist, if a rather crude one, during my time in the Army."
As he laughed quietly to himself Stéphanie felt a strange pang of intrigue. Sharing such details with an almost perfect stranger was hardly commonplace, especially during such times when even the most innocent of stories could be twisted into something sinister enough to warrant imprisonment.
"Dramatics aside, Citizen, it is through such curiosities that those against the Republic are found, is it not?" Her words were spoken with enough quiet zeal, she hoped, to convince him that his doubts as to her intentions were quashed.

"It was rather unorthodox to let you see the traitor before an execution, and I feel I must confess, I did so more to indulge you then your mother, dear as she undoubtedly is. Now I am wondering if you perhaps might indulge me..."
Stéphanie's stomach tightened almost painfully at his words, allowing her eyebrow to quirk curiously.
"...I am rather bored sitting in an office all day, and have not had much to eat yet. I hope you will not find this too forward, but as we are both citizens and equal with social baggage of the Old Regime no longer restricting such matters, I was wondering: would you perhaps care to join me for an early midday meal?..."
"Why...I...Citizen, I..." Stéphanie began hesitantly, unable to think of anything she should prefer to do less than spend time in a more intimate setting with the man who was responsible for the death of a dear friend and the potential death of another.
"...There is a small wineshop I frequent near here, very proletarian in their meal and Republican sentiments. I confess to having no stomach for the food of the upper class, unlike perhaps too many of our revolutionist brethren." Pontmercy continued, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the wineshop.

Stéphanie's mind began to rattle through potential excuses, plausible ones, ones that would not attract more attention to herself, when a glimmer of an idea rose up within her brain. She knew that she wanted to make this man pay, and pay dearly for his part in the demise of those she loved, and she was certain that were she to spend a little time with him, she may well learn at something to her advantage, something she would be able to use against him. After all, she had done worse things than simply dine with an enemy to gather information in the past.

"I would be delighted to although I have a further request of my own...if we are to dine, as equals, then would you kindly oblige me in calling me simply Stéphanie...?" She smiled coquettishly, lowering her lashes and raising her hand to curl it about his lower arm, unsure if he had raised it for her to do so or if she had simply caught him in mid-gesticulation, but her slightly bashful expression she hoped would counteract any negativity he might have felt at her forwardness. After all, it wouldn't do to offend him...not just yet.
 
Pontmercy smiled at her response, at her flirtatiously bashful expression as she accepted. She was far from a maid, he was sure; at least agewise, she did not seem that much younger than himself, not that he minded or thought her unpleasing to his senses. Far from it. Pontmercy further felt a small jolt as she took the arm he had rose to point at the direction they would be heading with into their own. Somewhat promising, indeed. He had not desired anything more than to enjoy lunch with some companionship for discussion and to enjoy her appearance, but perhaps this could have rather more...visceral results as well.

"Stéphanie," he said, testing the name in his mouth as he shifted slightly closer to her, for his arm to rest easier in hers. Both arm and name fit well. He smiled again. "Very well. An enchanting name for an enchanting woman," he said graciously. "And in return, you may of course call me Claude. And if you would excuse me one moment..."

Pontmercy left her grasp, heading back into the office where his assistant, Paul Pradeaux, was flipping through the papers he had left behind.

"Ah, there you are, Citizen Pontmercy, we were beginning to worry about you. Letting young women in to visit friends in the cells, dare I suggest you are losing your revolutionist edge?" Pradeaux's voice was friendly, but Pontmercy was sure there was a hidden edge in there as well. Pradeaux had once held this job, after all; a native of Toulon, he was sure to resent the imposition of an outsider and a demotion at his hands.

"Just checking a lead, and now I am going to continue to do so over lunch," he said, with a smile. No doubt Pradeaux had heard from the guards how attractive this citizeness was. "And on the subject, her name is Stéphanie Marchand. Try to look up her mother, some sort of old tutor to the nobles before the Revolution." And with that, he slipped out, once more outside.

"My apologies, Stéphanie," he said regretfully, all smiles as he offered his arm to her once more, guiding them down the streets towards his wineshop. "I had to inform my staff that I was off to lunch with a beautiful young lady. I leave it to your imagination to envision just how envious they were of me, and no doubt grateful to you for saving them from an hour or so of laboring under me," he added with a laugh. "I am strict, I suppose, but the defense of the Republic cannot be second to anything and cannot be done piecemeal. I love the Republic," he said earnestly, his voice suddenly somber. "I believe it to be the single greatest thing the world has ever seen. Liberty, equality, a brotherhood of men awaits us all under the Reign of Virtue..."

He looked over to Stéphanie, and laughed again. "My apologies. And here I was thinking that I would be leaving my work behind me. I am sorry. I have always had a tendency to become rather absorbed with my work. Let us try to leave that behind us now. Indeed, it would be a shame not to, with such lovely weather."

The conversation drifted to idle chitchat over the weather, which evolved to the state of the the crops of the year, which evolved to a small agreement over the greed of the fat English who never needed to worry over such things, without becoming too detailed; Pontmercy had to hold himself back at one point from growing too impassioned and technical in his diatribe against Mad George and his war machine. All the while, the pressure of Stéphanie's hands wrapped around his arm, the feeling of proximity to her to him, heat he swore he could feel despite the climbing sun. It truly had been too long since he last had had a woman, and even though he now felt himself married to Marianne, just as the old nuns claimed to be wedded to Christ, surely a light romp without emotional attachment or responsibilities - exactly the sort of thing the Republic had allowed be sweeping away the Old Regime's Catholic stigma on the matter - could perhaps be fun. And his new companion certainly did seem to enjoy flirting, blushing delicately whenever he made a point or fluttering her eyelashes as she looked up at him from beneath them as they talked.

As luck would have it, they arrived at the wineshop just as their small discussion seemed beginning to wind down. They sat down, the proprietor having set up a few tables outside due to the weather. Pontmercy already knowing that he would order bread, greens, sausage, and wine, thus not needing to waste time over that, devoted his full attention to Stéphanie.

"So, Stéphanie, what looks good to you?"
 
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"Very well. An enchanting name for an enchanting woman...And in return, you may of course call me Claude. And if you would excuse me one moment..."
"But of course..." Stéphanie smiled, looking away enough to convey mild embarassment at his flattery, waiting until Pontmercy was once again out of sight before releasing a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. She had used her feminine charms in the past to obtain information and this, she was certain, would be another opportunity. Citizen Pontmercy was, she admitted, a handsome man but one she suspected lacked female company thanks to his position coupled with his overly suspicious nature. That made him a more likely candidate to fall for her charms than others who were married with mistresses on the side.

"My apologies, Stéphanie...I had to inform my staff that I was off to lunch with a beautiful young lady. I leave it to your imagination to envision just how envious they were of me, and no doubt grateful to you for saving them from an hour or so of laboring under me...I am strict, I suppose, but the defense of the Republic cannot be second to anything and cannot be done piecemeal. I love the Republic...I believe it to be the single greatest thing the world has ever seen. Liberty, equality, a brotherhood of men awaits us all under the Reign of Virtue..."
Stéphanie listened to his words, noting the change in his tone when he spoke of his beloved Republic and it's virtues. She nodded and smiled, showing all the appropriate signs of republican zeal a woman like herself should show.

"My apologies. And here I was thinking that I would be leaving my work behind me. I am sorry. I have always had a tendency to become rather absorbed with my work. Let us try to leave that behind us now. Indeed, it would be a shame not to, with such lovely weather."
"There are no apologies to be made, Claude," She stressed his name ever so slightly, increasing the gentle pressure of her hand upon his arm as they walked. "I understand and admire your passion for the cause and only wish I could do more, as you do, to help rid it of those who foolishly oppose it..." The words came all too easily, having been spouted before, her tone was genuine although had he looked into her eyes he would have seen a gleam of an entirely different nature.

The conversation was pleasant and Stéphanie was forced to admit that Pontmercy did at least appear more gentlemanly on closer inspection. Not nearly enough to forgive any of the horrors she planned to punish him for, but enough to make the time she would hopefully spend with him a little more bearable. She was almost certain she had caught his eye, noticing how he did not move away when her footsteps drew them closer when avoiding dirt on the road, how he was smiling with increasing frequency as they drew closer to their destination.
"So, Stéphanie, what looks good to you?" He asked, after they had taken their seats.
"I believe I shall defer to your knowledge of this establishment and order as you do..." Stéphanie smiled, glancing over the chalkboard menu before replying. "It all smells very good..." She added as a young woman walked past their table with two steaming plates of food.

Soon enough they were enjoying a simple but hearty luncheon, Stéphanie ate gracefully, certain she would not finish the contents of her plate. Not only did feminine stereotypes dictate that she should only eat enough to sate her hunger whilst in public, she felt were she to eat more she might well succumb to the nausea building along with the nerves within her stomach. The discussion turned to her past, as she had expected, and she replied to his gentle probings with enough enthusiasm to prevent her words sounding false.
"There is little to tell, and nothing of interest, I am sure...I grew up just outside Toulon," She began, sipping her wine and meeting his eyes over the rim. "My mother's trade as a tutor meant that we stayed in the area for only a short time...she was employed by a family in Brittany for several years before being employed by the family Renard..." Stéphanie took another sip before lowering the glass and running the tip of her tongue over her lips ever so slightly.

"So, as you see, I am quite uninteresting..." She smiled, leaning over the table slightly towards Pontmercy, cradling her chin against her gloved fingers and letting her eyes roam obviously over his face. "Whereas you...you I am sure have led a far more intriguing existence..." Stéphanie quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly, playing her hand almost too obviously, after all, she wanted him to think she was interested without any doubts to cloud his mind and, thanks to the revolution, women were now in a position to voice their desires as openly as men. "...I would love to hear about it, if you would care to share some of it with me...perhaps I could return your generous invitation and invite you to share a glass of wine at my appartments...I have some very fine bottles of merlot that I am sure you would enjoy...as much as I am sure I would enjoy your company..." Stéphanie leant back in her chair, allowing Pontmercy to see the whole of her torso within it's tight corset, the swell of her breasts accentuated as much as her narrow waist. "...but, of course, only if you wish to, Claude...I am sure you are very busy and I would not want you to neglect your duties on my account..." She lowered her gaze just enough for her eyes to meet his through her lashes, her lips pouting ever so slightly.
 
Pontmercy was happy at her decision to leave the choice of meals to him - it meant less time having to decide over the menu, and more time they could talk. The proprietors knew him by now, and were fond: when the other officers of the Republic came they accepted the complimentary meals offered by the staunchly revolutionist owners, when Claude always insisted on paying. Soon, the waitress had taken his order for two servings of bread, greens, and sausage, as well as a flask of hearty red wine. And then, it was back to the delightful business of getting to know Stéphanie better.

Pontmercy found himself enjoying watching her eat. Stéphanie eat with the proper zeal of a Republican woman, not the dainty sensibilities imposed on her sex by the society of the foppish nobiles. Indeed, her gusto inspired him to eat slower; he was in the habit of gulping as much down as he could in as short a period as he could to increase the amount of time he could spend at work and maximize efficiency; but now he wanted to spend more time with Stéphanie, to get to know her better...if only to learn more to confirm or deny his suspicions, of course. To that end, in a lull in the conversation, Pontmercy finally asked,

"I have said some bit of my youth, and you of course know of my current occupation. But what of you, my dear? I certainly have no desire to monopolize the talk."

Pontmercy listened to her answer, but found himself getting distracted by her actions with her tongue and the rim of the wineglass. She truly was an exquisite creature, a woman who combined the best aspects of the Old and New Orders, whose zeal appeared to match his own, who by all appearances had no qualms in stating, and fighting for, what she wanted.

Now she leaned forward, examining his face with her diamond-blue eyes sparkling their interest in his own features as she invited him to her appartments for talk and wine. Even in the so-called 'proper' circumstances of the Old Regime, that would have been clear enough as to what Stéphanie was actually asking. But it was as if Stéphanie was afraid that even that was too subtle, and was going out of her way to emphasize her assets, to penetrate his thick skull with what she desired.

Stéphanie was trying to seduce him like he was a naive schoolboy, and Pontmercy loved it.

He had half-suspected that this might be on her mind, and he was too honest to himself to lie and say it certainly hadn't been on his when he had requested her presence with him at luncheon, even if he wasn't quite sure he would have broached it anyways. Since the Revolution, Pontmercy had devoted himself fully to the Republican cause. He was not a stranger to the bed of a woman, but he found himself lacking the time, the energy, even his passion, all of it being consumed by his work to help create the Reign of Virtue that would allow other lovers to live their lives free and unhindered. And even now, with the spirit of the Revolution and the laws of the Republic giving them total freedom, Pontmercy found all too many women still clung to the desire to court with marriage in end, to not sleep with those who fell outside those social bounds, to treat their bodies with Ancient superstition.

Stéphanie was different, Pontmercy had thought that at first and was certain of it now. She knew what she wanted and knew to fight for it. She was not encumbered by the lingering customs that the Revolution had legally abolished. She was full of passion, of zeal, of the Revolution. A true embodiment of Marianne.

She was like him.

Which was why Pontmercy was grinning like an idiot at her suggestion. "Stéphanie, I would certainly be more than happy to accompany you back to your home. I am certain we will both find it quite an amusing distraction, even if your opinion of me is perhaps rather higher than the reality. I am, after all, a simple citizen of the Republic."

At the mention of the Republic that he served, that held his heart hostage, Pontmercy frowned slightly, coming down to Earth, if just a bit. A delightful roll in the hay, free of consequences or thoughts of further courtship, with Stéphanie was just what he needed...but his attention to the Suppression was what the Republic needed from him. Countless millions were depending on the Republic's officials to do their job, and how could Pontmercy sleep well at night knowing he had abandoned Marianne, even for an hour or two?

"Sadly, Stéphanie, I am afraid even the amount of time we have spent together, as enjoyable as it has been, has taken me away from my duties for too long...But, perhaps, once night comes and my duties are over, I might pay you a visit at your appartments? I find a fine wine tastes better after dusk, anyways, and candelight is much more appropriate than sunlight for...storytelling."

Pontmercy held his breath for her answer, wondering if she would be fickly enough to object to the postponment of her plesure by denying it to him altogether. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened; but it was all a sacrifice towards Marianne, and his only true lover could have no second.

Still, if that were the case, Pontmercy knew he would regret the loss of Stéphanie just a bit more than the others.
 
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"Stéphanie, I would certainly be more than happy to accompany you back to your home. I am certain we will both find it quite an amusing distraction, even if your opinion of me is perhaps rather higher than the reality. I am, after all, a simple citizen of the Republic."
The smile upon her lips that greeted Pontmercy's words was genuine, Stéphanie celebrated a small personal victory as he accepted her obvious offer with equally obvious enjoyment. Perhaps she had found the chink in the otherwise impervious armour of the staunch republican. A chink she fully intended to use to her advantage and his ruin.
"Sadly, Stéphanie, I am afraid even the amount of time we have spent together, as enjoyable as it has been, has taken me away from my duties for too long...But, perhaps, once night comes and my duties are over, I might pay you a visit at your appartments? I find a fine wine tastes better after dusk, anyways, and candelight is much more appropriate than sunlight for...storytelling."

Stéphanie twitched her brow as her pout became a little more pronounced for a moment or two. Here was an opportunity to begin his torment already. She could feign hurt at having her proposition jilted and withdraw the offer entirely. Although he may well think such games unsophisticated and lose all interest in her, something she couldn't afford, no matter how amusing it might be to reject him.
"While I cannot attempt to contain my disappointment at having to wait until dusk to further enjoy your company...I have no doubt that the wait will be worthwhile..."
She motioned for the serving girl to bring some parchment and ink and carefully wrote the address of her appartment in the elegant hand she had been taught, taking a brief moment to dab a little of her perfume upon the corner whilst his attention was focused upon paying for their meals, despite the insistence of the wineshop owner that it was unecessary. A little something to ensure she was not forgotten amongst the countless cases he would no doubt deal with between now and nightfall.

"Well, I do not wish to be any more of a distraction than I have already been," Stéphanie rose, passing the piece of paper to Pontmercy with a seductive smile. "Thank you, for the meal and your company...it has been delightful and I shall be waiting for you...although before I go, if you will indulge me in an old custom..." Stépanie, resting her hand upon his forearm, leant forwards and kissed first his left cheek and then his right. Making sure her lips all but grazed his as she withdrew. "Until this evening..." Flashing him another bright smile she turned and, without hurry, walked away, gracing him with a final glance over her shoulder before she disappeared behind a corner in the narrow street.

Once out of sight, Stéphanie collapsed into a doorway, leaning against the rough wooden frame and fighting for a moment against fainting. Her heart was thundering inside her chest as she waved away concerned passers by, blaming the rising sun for overcoming her for a moment. All of the anger and hatred that she had kept concealed throughout their meal suddenly pouring out of her as she hurried through the twisting streets back to her appartments, not letting the tears actually fall until she was safely inside, sliding to the floor once the door was shut and bolted. Regret and sadness that she was too late to save Patrice, terror that she may yet fail to save Yvonne from a similar fate all surging within her heart.

Eventually Stéphanie forced herself to stand and begin preparations for Pontmercy's visit. First of all she made sure any papers or other documents pertaining to her contacts in England or within Toulon itself were securely concealed. She had wine, cheese and fresh bread delivered, arranging it upon the dining table as well as placing and lighting candles around the rooms. Her appartments were modestly furnished but had obviously been owned by those far wealthier than she prior to the revolution. Large airy rooms, ornate plasterwork around the ceiling, tall windows letting light stream inside. She had managed to secure a suite of rooms that consisted of a bedchamber and bathroom, a dining room, sitting room and modest kitchen. Truth be told she did not pay rent, the previous owners were now living in England, enjoying a freedom that Stéphanie had helped them find. She in turn took over their home and the contents that had not been destroyed during the earlier riotting. Which included many of the dresses of the former owner's wife, something else she had insisted Stéphanie use as she saw fit. Some of the more ornate pieces she had sold, to help fund her cause and pay for the voyages to England of those who could not necessarily pay for themselves.

She bathed and dressed, selecting a dress that was deep red in colour, contrasting with her dark hair and somehow warming the cool blue depths of her eyes. It also fit her body as snugly as a glove would fit upon her hand, following the natural contours of her figure as well as those emphasised by the corset beneath. Stéphanie refrained from adding jewellery, choosing to tie a simple length of black ribbon around her neck, leaving the spare length to hang down between her exposed shoulders, along with a ringlet or two of her raven hair while the rest was pinned up although not as tightly as it had been earlier. The removal of the right pin would send it's entirity tumbling down about her shoulders and down her back.

Waiting as the sky began to darken beyond the windowpane Stéphanie poured herself a glass of red wine and taking a large mouthful to settle the butterflies of nerves beginning to dance in her stomach, she sat on the chaise-longue and awaited Pontmercy's arrival. She didn't have to wait long, soon a brisk knocking drew her to her feet and closing her eyes and drawing a steadying breath she smiled and opened the door.
"Good evening, Claude, do come in..." She stepped aside to let him enter, her eyes narrowing slightly as she closed the door and muttered under her breath. "The battle has begun..."
 
Pontmercy's eyes were affixed to Stéphanie as she pouted, her lips plump and promising any number of delights that he might have just cut himself off from, and he sighed with relief as she agreed to wait fo him. He smiled, already anticipating the evening's amusements, as he rose to approach the wineshop's owner, Jean. As usual, Jean refused payment and as usual Pontmercy insisted, and as usual for both here and elsewhere, Pontmercy's wishes won out over the other's in the end.

He returned to the table to find that Stéphanie had written down her address. Wonderful. He folded it up, slipping it into the breast pocket of his black vest. His smile faltered slightly when she suggested a custom of the Old Regime, but returned in force at her obvious mockery of the social stratification of womanly affection the King's regime employed. Twisting the old customs so suit her ends, Pontmercy could find no fault with that; in fact, it endeared her to him even more, especially when Stéphanie was making it so wonderfully obvious what would be awaiting him when he returned to her that evening.

He watched her depart, a flounce in her step and a final backwards-toss of her hair as she went on her own, and it took a few moments for Pontmercy to realize he was alone again. Not alone, of course; he was standing in the middle of the wineshop with a glazed look in his eyes and pining after the beauty who had just flirted her way off. He was well known here, and more than a few of the patrons were hiding smirks at seeing the professional revolutionist show interest in more earthly matters. A slight flush to his cheek that for once had nothing to do with revolutionary fervor, the Chief Prosecutor of the Toulon Suppression quickly made his way back to the Ministry of Justice building.

"Ah, Citizen Pontmercy, you've returned," Pradeaux said, his voice lilting, as Pontmercy returned to his office. "We were beginning to wonder if the royalists hadn't abducted you."

"Yes, we were on the verge of seeing if we could requisition any of Brigadier Bonaparte's men to ransack the city," added René Desrumeaux. "Whatever would we do if our Chief Prosecutor turned up dead? Certainly would not look good to the Committee." Desrumeaux was, like Pradeaux, another local - the commissioner of public order - who had been displaced by Robespierre's apointment of Pontmercy to Toulon. Unlike Pradeaux, however, Desrumeaux had shown no sign of resentment. Pradeaux did let his resentment hinder his work, but Pontmercy still appreciated the fact that Desrumeaux's devotion to the Republic allowed him to overcome such things.

"Rest assured, Citizens, that I will work twice as hard to make up for my laxity," Pontmercy said as he sat. "You know I never ask others to do that which I would not willing do. However, my afternoon was not entirely leisure." He produced the scrap of parchment from his pocket, unfolding it, and noticing for the first time the perfume which came from it. He was not alone; Pradeaux and Desrumeaux also smelled it, and chuckled, causing Pontmercy to scowl.

"Again, Citizens, I assure you that my day was not ill-spent. The woman whose name I gave you, have you found anything on her yet?"

"You know we are rather busy with the Suppression, Citizen..." Pradeaux began, and Pontmercy waved him off, not interested in his excuses.

"Never matter. This is the address of her appartments. 27 Rue de Chevrerie. Add it to her file, no doubt it will aide you in your search, although I doubt she's occupied it long. But enough, like you say, we do have rather more pressing matters today." The Tribunal was taking the day off, and Pontmercy had intended to get as much of the backlog out of the way as he could before having to attend to the Tribunal tomorrow. He turned his attention back to the papers before him - although, a soon as Pradeaux and Desrumeaux also appeared to once more be focused, Pontmercy picked up the paper, softly inhaling its perfume, before tucking it back into his pocket.

The hours went by, the sunlight being replaced by candelight and lanterns, his two compatriots long gone but Pontmercy devoted fully to making up his lost time. He was not a cheat, a liar, or lazy, and the thought of forgetting the work or leaving once they did did not even cross his mind. Finally, all the work he had slated to get done was finished, and Pontmercy rose from his desk for the first time since he returned to the office after luncheon, stretching, his joints popping.

He moved to the looking glass in the office. It was small and dusty - far from the decadent German glasses of Versailles - and the office was poorly lit, but Pontmercy thought it sufficient to examine his own visage. Black jacket and trousers over white blouse, a tricolor sash wrapped around his waist the only color, his brown hair pulled back with a few strands poking out, tired eyes framed by his spectacles. He wondered what Stéphanie would make of him. Obviously far from the type of suitor such a woman could attain. But she had chosen him, and Pontmercy grinned. At least for tonight, his bed would not be the least interesting part of his day.

Making his way from the Ministry of Justice, Pontmercy at last arrived at 27 Rue de Chevrerie, rising to her door and knocking. "Ah, good...evening, Stéphanie," he said as the door opened, his breath being taken away by how sultry she looked. There was no doubt what tonight would be hold in store for them.

"I trust you will not mind if I comment on how absolutely ravishing you look, Citizeness?" he asked as he entered, looking her over first and then her appartments. They were rather ornate, almost distastefully so, but then she was a woman with clear appetites, and no doubt she had been allowed to take the room from a nondeserving notable who had been kissed by Madame Guillotine.

"I must apologize for my own appearance. I had to work rather hard to overcome the time I spent with you at luncheon, not that I consider it time spent unwisely at all," he added, walking around the room, seemingly soaking in every detail his eyes settled upon. "I also apologize for my lateness. But with the Tribunal meeting tomorrow, it is rare for me to find a day off of that duty. Incidentally, your mother's friend will be one of the first ones up tomorrow to face the Instrument of Terror. I do hope she realizes that there's nothing to be done."

Pontmercy turned back towards Stéphanie at that, another laugh coming over him. "Ah, dear me, it does seem that I am incapable of leaving work. Well, I may have to sit upon the Tribunal tomorrow morning, but..." he stepped closer to her. "Until then, I am all yours."
 
"I trust you will not mind if I comment on how absolutely ravishing you look, Citizeness?"
"How could I mind such kindly spoken words from such a gentleman as yourself...I am sure you do not flatter idly and so such compliments are more worth the hearing..." The words flowed from Stéphanie's tongue with such ease, their tone slightly teasing and her voice ever so slightly husky and whispered.
"I must apologize for my own appearance. I had to work rather hard to overcome the time I spent with you at luncheon, not that I consider it time spent unwisely at all...I also apologize for my lateness. But with the Tribunal meeting tomorrow, it is rare for me to find a day off of that duty. Incidentally, your mother's friend will be one of the first ones up tomorrow to face the Instrument of Terror. I do hope she realizes that there's nothing to be done."

Stéphanie stood watching him as he surveyed her home, taking in every detail of it's décor and furnishing, his words causing her frustrations to bubble up within her once more but she quashed them as he turned to face her once more. Returning his laugh with one of her own.
"Ah, dear me, it does seem that I am incapable of leaving work. Well, I may have to sit upon the Tribunal tomorrow morning, but...Until then, I am all yours."
"Well then...I see we shall have to do something to try and allow your mind to focus on more...relaxing topics than those of work..." Stéphanie almost purred, leaning ever so slightly towards him before turning and making her way to the table. Picking up the wine and filling a glass and topping up her own.
"If you will permit me," She handed him one and raised the other. "To the republic..." She toasted before taking a sip, all the while allowing her eyes to meet his in the candlelight.

She moved gracefully to the chaise longue, sitting and leaning ever so slightly upon the well upholstered arm, inviting Pontmercy to join her, shifting closer to him as he did so. Before even attempting to draw any kind of information from him, she would have a slightly harder and more complicated task to complete. Seduction. Fortunately, it was one that she had had some experience in and, she was certain, was at least a little more experienced in than the man beside her. Although she found it hard to believe such a man had led a monk like existence thus far in his life she couldn't quite see him as the type to seduce. Regardless, Stéphanie couldn't afford to leave him in any doubt as to her interest in him.

"So...Claude..." Stéphanie sipped a little more wine, letting the slightly bitter, warming liquid slide down her throat before placing the glass upon the table beside her. "I find it hard to believe that you invite all the visitors to the cells to luncheon...or agree to meet them in their appartments..." She leant a little closer, arching her back just a fraction to bring her bust within grazing distance of his arm. "...I am honoured by your presence in my home...and wish to show you the proper respect your position deserves..." Stéphanie leant closer still, her face inches from his and moving steadily closer. "A man such as yourself deserves nothing less..." Letting her eyes linger upon his for a moment longer she paused, smiling desirously as her tongue ran across her lips once more. "How should I honour you, Claude...? She whispered, moving closer still and pressing her lips to his jaw, kissing along it until her lips met his. Kissing him almost chastely for a moment or two before sitting back slightly.
"I hope you will forgive my actions but I...I simply couldn't help myself..." She smiled almost naughtily, picking up her wine and taking another sip.
 
Pontmercy maintained his smile as Stéphanie so obviously probed him, her luminous sapphires affixed to him like a flower tracking the sun.

"No, my dear, you are correct. Such invitations are rarely extended by me to our visitors. But then again, very few visitors, even to the Ministry of Justice, exhibit the...hmm..." His eyes very obviously lowered to her bust. "The properly zealous revolutionary attributes that you are quite clearly endowed with. Something I find quite attractive in women. I could tell we had so much in common, I knew we would get along...fabulously."

Pontmercy breathed in the scent of her perfume as she drew nearer, noticing it as the scent from the letter now stashed in his desk at the Ministry. It was so much more potent here now, with her just next to him, much moreso than the wine - admittedly good, but from years as a virtual peasant, any wine would suit him. This perfume, though...it was as if he were one of Odysseus' men scenting the lotos blossoms. Or perhaps being lured in by the sirens' call...

Despite himself, he stiffened as Stéphanie brushed his jaw with her lips, softening almost immediately. Pontmercy was not used to being touched, intimately or otherwise; indeed, in his profession, being touched was as likely to mean he was in peril as it was otherwise. But he forced himself to relax; after all, he knew what he was here for, and he was not about to let his lack of experience and cautiousness allow his nervousness a way to prevent him from getting what he knew what he wanted.

Pontmercy turned towards Stéphanie, opening his mouth to accept her kiss, frowning slightly when she pulled away after a chaste peck, teasing him again...ensnaring him a little bit more.

"Please, Stéphanie, do not be shy," he said in response to her, knowing she was anything but, yet playing along with her pretence, pretending she was the sheltered little debutante providing an exciting contrast to the plain reality. "It was rather enjoyable, and no doubt will become moreso with pactice. Let's find out."

Reaching out, Pontmercy hooked his index finger around the black ribbon Stéphanie had tied around her neck, drawing her slowly towards him as if she were a reluctant animal being led by its collar, until their faces were again only a hair's-breadth apart. "By Reason, you are a beauty, Stéphanie," he said, before bringing his mouth to hers, kissing her as he wished now, his tongue darting along her lips as his hand moved down to cup one of her near-overflowing bosoms that she had draped so close to him.
 
"No, my dear, you are correct. Such invitations are rarely extended by me to our visitors. But then again, very few visitors, even to the Ministry of Justice, exhibit the...hmm...The properly zealous revolutionary attributes that you are quite clearly endowed with. Something I find quite attractive in women. I could tell we had so much in common, I knew we would get along...fabulously."
His pause and the obvious lowering of his eyes to her bust sent a tremor through her stomach, almost akin to nerves. It was as if Stéphanie suddenly realised the reality of the situation. She was attempting to seduce the man responsible for more deaths in Toulon than consumption and crime combined. She could not afford to fail, and not only for the sake of Yvonne but for her own sake. She could have an appointment with Madame Guillotine before the end of the following day should he doubt her intentions for the briefest of moments.

Pontmercy's response to her, apparently all too brief, chaste kiss was as she had hoped. He wanted her as much as she believed he did, his disappointment obvious
"Please, Stéphanie, do not be shy...It was rather enjoyable, and no doubt will become moreso with pactice. Let's find out."
The tremor of concern returned as his finger took hold of the ribbon around her neck, her heart fluttering ever so slightly as he used it to pull her towards him. The action hardly threatening or agressive and yet, unsually, Stéphanie found herself feeling ever so slightly intimidated by the man before her. She knew he had to have a sense of strength and confidence to do what he did in the name of the republic but she had almost assumed her own confidence and physicality would give her the upper hand in matters between them. She kept all of her inner worries concealed beneath her calm expression however, her eyes sparkling in the glow of the candles around them, lips pouting ever so slightly as he drew them closer and closer to his own.

"By Reason, you are a beauty, Stéphanie,"
Stéphanie parted her lips to reply but his mouth captured them first. The kiss was slightly hungry, as if serving a desire he had denied for some time. He released the ribbon and shifted his hand to her chest, his large hand moving to envelop one of her globes, massaging it as much as one could through the stiffly panelled dress and corset that fashions deemed necessary. She could at least relax a little in the knowledge that she had read his wishes correctly and seemed to have worked her magic in seducing him thus far.

She returned his kiss, raising her arms around his neck, pulling loose his hair and running her fingers through it's length. Massaging his scalp and sighing as their kiss grew in intensity. It was all driven by lust, purely animalistic in nature and it was apparently consuming Pontmercy with some speed. Stéphanie groaned slightly as she found herself pushed back against the arm of the chaise-longue, Pontmercy's frame over her own, effectively pinning her in place, although her performance was as willing as that of any lover obeying the commands of their libido. To an onlooker it would have appeared both parties desired the other with equal ferocity.

"Oh my...Claude..." She eventually managed to gasp breathlessly when he broke their kiss for a moment, taking his mouth down her neck and towards her décolletage. "...Such...such passion..." Stéphanie sighed, letting her eyes drift over his person as he shifted a little over her, his head and mouth moving ever lower over her chest, nearing the neckline of the dress. She could see no weapons, no dagger anywhere visible on his person as worn by many following the revolution. "If you pursue your duties with this vigour I...I wonder at there being any traitors to the republic left in France..." She flattered although not entirely without true sentiment. Part of her was almost pleased to have found an adversary who shared at least some of her own zeal, albeit for a cause as different as could be from her own. To seduce a man without strength of his own was not a challenge.

Stéphanie smiled, curling her fingers in his hair and lifting his head so she could slide beneath him and bring his mouth to hers for another hungry kiss, bringing him almost atop her completely whilst doing so. Stéphanie smiled devilishly as the kiss broke, at her command, her hands still entwined in his brown locks had pulled his mouth from hers.
'I believe I might enjoy this...' She thought as she teasingly lifted her mouth to his and suckled on his lower lip for a moment or two, nipping it slightly with her teeth, her firm but not painful hold on his hair keeping his mouth just out of reach to prevent him reclaiming control of the kiss.

It was another opportunity to read him, to know best how to ensure that by the end of the night, she could call herself the victor and not the prize she would have to give to him in defeat. Would he play along with her teasing, refrain from using the obvious physical advantage he had over her in strength and allow the delicious torment to go on for at least a little while longer, or would his lust be too much for him to deny and he would simply take her, there and then. It would not be the first time but she hoped, although why she could not say, that it would not be the case this evening. A third possibility shot through her mind as she thought she saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his lips, that he might surprise her altogether and take a different approach to their 'encounter'.

It was one that she had only experienced once or twice but, still...perhaps the glint in Pontmercy's eye was more than just lust. Her mind went back to the way in which he had drawn her closer using the ribbon around her throat, the almost knowing expression upon his face as if he had recognised her intentions, her games for the evening. She was certain he did not suspect her motives or true designs for him but if he recognised the playfulness of her seduction, perhaps he would have games of his own to play. She raised her lips towards his, keeping them just out of reach thanks to her hand in his hair, her eyes wide and expression almost poignant were it not for the smile curving her lips.

"Don't you want to kiss me, Claude...?" She pouted huskily, brushing her lips against his but pulling away the instant he tried to reciprocate. "Don't you want me...?" She winked, shattering any illusion of innocence and kissing him hard before pulling back just as he began to return it, smiling up at him once more from beneath him, the corsetted dress causing her breasts to all but erupt over the top of her gown, the globes sitting proudly upon her chest while her hair, already beginning to work loose from the pin holding it in place, was laying across the upholstered chaise like ink.
 
Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy growled with enjoyment as their kiss finally broke, Stéphanie quite obviously at a loss of both words and breath from his actions. Good. He was not quite out of shape in this regard as he had feared. Either that, or she was an excellent actress. Of course, since he wasn't paying her and if she was faking it, it was good enough for him to believe it genuine, what was it to him? He pushed the question from his mind, taking the opportunity to gratefully lower his head, kissing and suckling his way down the expanse of smooth, pale skin that had been presented to him.

Stéphanie moaned out a compliment to his abilities, both erotic and political, and he paused, his lips coming free from her skin with a small wet pop, for him to answer. "Indeed, my dear. Before my work in this city is done, not a guilty soul will be left breathing. Just as when I am done with my work in this bed...so to speak," he motioned towards the back of the chaise longue they were perched upon, "I predict you, too, will find it difficult to draw breath. If not for a rather more enjoyable reason."

He lowered his mouth again, with the intention to continue his ministrations to her warm globes, to instead gasp with a mix of surprise and consternation as he felt a pull on the hair that had been loosened. However, the confusion and annoyance vanished in an instant as Pontmercy felt the singularly exciting feel of his lover suddenly slide beneath him, her body rubbing smoothly against his; although regretfully both bodies were felt through the sensation of clothing, he still could tell that, in their new position, much more of her soft contours were pressing into him, and his own swollen member, beneath its cloth armor, was encamped somewhere within the vicinity of her valley.

His eyes half-closed, his mouth letting out a groan as Stéphanie moved up to tease his lips with her own, her teeth on his lips sending a unique mix of pleasure spiced with just enough pain to his brain, a combination he had not considered before. In fact, if asked, he would have denounced any such combination as insane. But when met with it head on...of course, such mix of pain and pleasure was now being taken beyond the purely physical, into the realm of the mind, by the way Stéphanie now toyed with him, keeping her just out of reach of her mouth, all under the pretense of wishing but being incapable of meeting him.

Back home, when he had been young, Pontmercy had seen a stray cat in the village toying with a young rabbit. The rabbit would be on the verge of escaping into a line of nearby hedge when the cat would fetch it by the nape of its neck and return it to the starting point, just to repeat itself. It had gone on for some time, the cat never harming the rabbit until its hunger finally outgrew its amusement. Pontmercy had not been an especially cruel child - he did not consider himself an especially cruel man; cruel would be to sit back and do nothing while traitors undermined the Reign of Virtue - and had laughed at the spectacle, eagerly cheering the cat on. In the following years, he had thought back to the event on occasion, even in his later life it providing him some amusement. But he had never felt more sympathy to the rabbit than he did now.

Pontmercy had know what Stéphanie had wanted, that she had arranged the entire rendezvous to get at what she desired. He had found that directness in a woman refreshing, even intriguing. Only now did he realize that she was more than direct; she was a cat. She wanted to toy with her prize. Pontmercy might be an egalitarian but even he would be hard pressed to have imagined a woman taking control over men. But in this situation, he did not mind. It seemed only right that a sensual creature like Stéphanie guide their nocturnal endeavors.

Of course, if she wanted to play, there was no reason he couldn't indulge her, Pontmercy thought with a sudden smile. And if such games did not go as she imagined...she had only herself to blame for introducing him to them.

"Of course I wish to kiss you, cherie," he said, left spinning following her sudden crushing of lips against his, once more cut all too short. "But I seem to be incapable of such actions. Which is a shame, as I do believe that kisses are a necessary prelude to rather more interesting actions. Such as..."

His hands moved to the side of her dress, just above her corset, at the edge of where they ended and her overflowing bosoms began. He started to gently rub the sides of her breasts with his thumbs, working in towards her center, before stopping and pulling away.

"Or this..." he continued, starting to grind his pelvis in a circular motion into hers, trusting his member could be felt by her privies even through the clothing, once more pausing just as things began to get interesting.

"But alas," he said, sadly. "It seems that we shall never get to those. Unless, perhaps, you would consider a trade?" he asked in a way that was very innocent and completely put off by his devilish smirk. "A grand compromise, perhaps?"
 
"Of course I wish to kiss you, cherie...But I seem to be incapable of such actions..."
Stéphanie's eyes widened in a perfect imitation of shock at Pontmercy's words while her lips remained curved into a knowing smile.
"...Which is a shame, as I do believe that kisses are a necessary prelude to rather more interesting actions. Such as..."
She gasped quietly as his hands moved, the soft, smooth pads of his thumbs dragging across her chest, her teeth catching on her lower lip as a low sigh rose up in her throat but just as she was about to expell it and arch her back up towards his fingers, he stopped. The sigh became a muted whimper of disappointment.

"Or this..."
"Mmmm..." Stéphanie moaned appreciatively as she felt the unmistakable feel of his swollen sex rubbing against her own through the multiple layers of cloth between them. Her moan cut short as he pulled his hips back just as her arousal was beginning to swell inside her.
"But alas...It seems that we shall never get to those. Unless, perhaps, you would consider a trade?...A grand compromise, perhaps?"

She could do nothing but return the devious smile that was beaming down at her. He was teasing her, playing her at her own game, and her body’s reaction mirrored that of her mind. Pontmercy was becoming more interesting with each passing moment, something that excited her almost as much as his touch had done.

A compromise, you say? I think that sounds like an excellent course of action…” Stéphanie almost purred up at him, her voice rich, seductive, dripping with the desire she made concrete by shifting her hips, raising them from the chaise for a moment or two to press up against his groin, rocking back and forth during the brief contact.

A trade…A situation of give…” Stéphanie continued, releasing his hair and moving her hand, running it around the side of his face and down his chest, stroking and caressing his flesh through the smoothness of his shirt. “…and take…” She grinned wickedly as her hand darted lower, swiftly finding the bulge in his breeches and holding it for an instant. Her fingers fondling through the thick material, rubbing ever so slightly.
Something like that, Citizen?” She finished, emphasizing his title as her fingers curled around his shaft all too briefly before releasing.

I am more than willing to do my part to further matters between us, so the choice is yours…to give first…or to take…?” She finished, raising her hands to rest above her head, the motion swelling her bust within the tightly corseted dress, her posture the very model of submission were it not for the daring twinkle in her eyes as she looked up at Pontmercy through her long lashes. The game had truly begun and the first move would be his.
 
Claude Pontmercy

Claude moaned appreciatively as Stéphanie, her rich voice giggling throatily, responded to his suggestion with one of her own, her wide hips rising from the chaise to press against his own sex in an imitation of the teasing he had just put her through. It was his turn to desperately buck against her rocking, and to whimper in dismay as she pulled away all too soon. His eye lids once more lowered in the savoring of unsated delight as her hand left his hair, his brown locks framing his face as her small hand wandered down its chest, finally coming to rest cupping the sex she had help to make to swollen. He looked down into the smirking face below his own. What sort of monster had he unleashed from the box? As if he had done anything to release it, of course.

"Yes..." he moaned in response to her question, drawing the s into a hiss. "Yes, exactly like that, Citizeness. I think we understand each other well in this matter. I predict a fruitful collaboration to arise." He let out another whimper as she demurely rearranged herself, her bust pressing against him even harder, providing him with a pleasant view to study.

"I believe I will give, first," he said finally, his hands moving to draw down her dress, not needing much to cause her bosoms to spill over the cups, the sight of the otherwise-impeccably dressed young woman laying before her with her enormous breasts on display wonderful. "I am a generous partner, as you will find, my dear Citizeness Stéphanie." His mouth lowered to her own, as they finally joined together in an unhurried, passionate kiss, Claude taking time to explore the mouth of his new friend, exploring the orifice he hoped to grow rather more familiar with. He soon moved lower, suckling her neck, his tongue teasing the skin, before pulling away as he reached her bust.

"Nevertheless..." he allowed, his fingers tracing over her now-slick neck, to her mouth, skirting her plump lips before first one, than another pushed in, as if a phallus in miniature. "I have noticed that you have a preponderance to tease and strut. As an official of the Ministry of Justice, I cannot let such delinquency go unheeded, and I hope that you will show the proper amounts of repentance."

He pulled his fingers wetly from her mouth, trailing them down to her chest where he encircled first one, then another of her nipples, slowly rubbing them, the saliva making them slick. When he judged they were fully engorged, Pontmercy gave them a proper tweak, enough for Stéphanie to give a squeak. Then, having properly prepared them, he lowered his mouth to begin his suckling.
 
"I believe I will give, first,"
Stéphanie heard herself gasp slightly as his fingers curled into the material of her dress and pulled it just low enough to allow the straining globes of her chest to spill over the top of it. Once released, the tight material tried to go back to it's intended position, her flesh preventing it and the resulting pressure causing her large breasts to be pressed together almost obscenely. The effect was as arousing as it was uncomfortable, but discomfort could be overlooked when the potential for pleasure was as ripe as it was at that moment.

"I am a generous partner, as you will find, my dear Citizeness Stéphanie."
Stéphanie kissed him almost lovingly, her lips and tongue caressing his, making love to his mouth, sighing into his mouth. She was growing more and more surprised by the Citizen whose mouth began to move away from her own and dragged down her neck, making her shudder and shiver as his tongue teased her flesh. The rather bookish exterior belied the passion within him, which was considerably more than she had found in men half his age.

"Nevertheless..."
Stéphanie's eyes widened for a moment as his fingers stroked and then pressed between her lips, causing her instinctively to lick and suck on them gently.
"I have noticed that you have a preponderance to tease and strut. As an official of the Ministry of Justice, I cannot let such delinquency go unheeded, and I hope that you will show the proper amounts of repentance."
Her sex thrilling at the feel of his digits in her mouth, the act more than a little erotic in nature, as his words sped up the rate of her heart a little more.

He withdrew them and used his now moist fingers to stroke and fondle her nipples, relatively small give the size of the breasts they adorned, pale pink in colour, complimenting her creamy complexion perfectly. The already firm nubs of flesh, swelling and throbbing under his touch, making her writhe slightly beneath the weight of his body atop hers. Stéphanie yelped as his fingers closed over her nipples and pinched them, making her eyes sparkle instantly and causing her lips to curve into that knowing smile once more. Citizen Pontmercy was definitely not the man she was expecting him to be. He was without doubt a worhty opponent in this delightful game.

As his mouth closed around her nipple, Stéphanie's back rose up from the chaise, her eyes closing and lips parting in a long, low moan of appreciation. The sensitive flesh between his lips pulsing with desire, sending ripples of excitement rushing down between her thighs, making her press them together in an attempt to control her steadily rising desire. This was a game that she found she did not want to end too soon.

Her hands moved from their position over her head, fingers lowering to tangle and stroke through his hair, the need to feel more contact with him, than just his lips. Her chest rising and falling sharply as much in reaction to his expert ministrations as from the anticipation of what might lay ahead. She bit her lower lip slightly, her hips already beginning to roll slightly beneath him.

She was about to use her gentle hold on his hair to push his mouth closer towards her body, signalling her enjoyment and desire for more when his hands moved, taking hold of her hands and raising them back above her head. He did not stop what he was doing, not for an instant did his mouth cease it's delightful teasing of her breasts but he did not need to. No words were necessary.

It seemed this game had rules.

For the moment, at least, he was in control. The moves they made would be dictated by him and that thrilled Stéphanie more than she ever thought possible. Making her whimper a little louder, causing her hips to tilt a little more towards his body, but her hands remained where he had put them, fingers curling into the upholstery. She would play by his rules, for now.
 
Claude Pontmercy

Had Pontmercy's mouth not been entirely occupied upon the task of suckling, licking, and nipping just slightly less than painfully upon those delightfully pink nipples and the large soft mounds they stood sentinel over, he would have smiled at her actions, as she tried to press himself into her body. As it was, he bit down slightly harder as a warning as potent as any word could be, not even bothering to look up as he reached around with his hands to put her in her place. A soldier who wanted to survive needed to learn to use all of his appendages almost instinctively, and such skills were also useful when one was protecting a Commissioner of Public Safety from royalist mobs and assassins. Pontmercy had enjoyed the stroking of his hair, but if he was not mistaken, she had enjoyed being chastised even more, judging by the way she squirmed and squealed beneath him. And in the end, that might be an even better gain.

Raising his head, his teeth tugging on her for a slight parting nip, he looked into her eyes after glancing up to see that her hands were still where he had put them. "Good," he said. "I am glad to see that you are able to control yourself after all, my dear Citizeness Marchand, and show the appropriate deference to a minister of law and order for the Republic. I would not like to have had to...discipline you."

He lowered his mouth towards her other nipple, eagerly beginning the same treatment the other had received: a mix of tenderness and rough, given in alternate doses, each complimenting the other and just on the edge of being beyond the pleasurable. Being considerate enough to not wish her to be too bored while suffering through his no doubt unbearable clumsiness, Pontmercy reached out with one hand to knead the breast that he had left wet and marked, his other reaching up to take hold of her wrists, keeping them secure.

When he had judged the same interval of time had passed on this bosom as he had spent on the other, he once more stopped, looking up at her as he withdrew his hand from her breast, his other remaining at her wrists. "I believe we both know the preliminaries are over," he said quietly, his eyes remaining locked onto her own as he moved his free hand down, to the edge of her skirts, and up, finally dipping into her drawers, finding her warm, wet mat of hairs waiting for him. His smile widened at her begging look. Torture was of course so obscene, often a waste. Yet he was having much fun refining his technique on her.

Her hips were bucking now, as Pontmercy cupped her mound in his hand. "Shhh," he advised. "I know you want this in you." His finger tickled her opened, before pulling back. "But you will not get it." His fingers spread her lips, feeling the warm moisture ooze out, the telltale bump of her most sensitive privy. Keeping her spread with his fingers, but careful not to penetrate her, he began to grind his palm against her nub, slowly at first and growing steadily more powerful, each movement thrusting it harder into the pelvic bone, the friction growing as the nub was compressed and stroked and pulled.

All the while, he whispered sweet nothings to her, urging her on, telling her to let go of her inhibitions and just let it come, as if he were a degenerate clergyman coaxing on a young maiden. The wicked analogy made it even more exciting for Pontmercy as his 'choirgirl' began to climax, her body shaking, teeth biting her lower lip, her cry as sweet as honey.

When at last she was quiet and still, Pontmercy let go of her wrists, slowly pulling his hand from her drawers, his hand still cupped, more than a trace of her sexual juices pooled in his palm.

"I believe that constituted my 'give,' Stéphanie," he said softly, holding out his cupped palm to her as if an offering. "Now, I would like you to take."
 
Stéphanie heard herself growling as his teeth fastened a little tighter than might have been necessary around her nipple, the sensations shooting through her body were by no means unpleasant but perhaps that was what worried her ever so slightly.
"Good...I am glad to see that you are able to control yourself after all, my dear Citizeness Marchand, and show the appropriate deference to a minister of law and order for the Republic. I would not like to have had to...discipline you."

...control...deference...discipline...

Those words rang louder in her ears than anything else he said, echoing as one of his hands moved to pin her wrists in place, the other moving to massage and fondle the breast now neglected as his mouth travelled to torment her other nipple. His actions alternated between the loving and the aggressive, his teeth biting and nibbling with varying degrees of hunger upon her flesh, leaving her whimpering and writhing beneath him.

In amongst the pleasure her mind was reeling with what she thought was an important discovery. Perhaps she had found the key to seducing Pontmercy completely.
...control...deference...discipline...
Perhaps they were the things he desired in a bedfellow, that he desired in her...someone he could control, someone who would submit to him...someone he could punish deliciously for the wrongs of the world around him.

If that was what he wanted, she could give it to him...she could give up her power, her control, just for a little while...if it meant saving Yvonne it was a price she was willing to pay.
Stéphanie cried out as his mouth eventually left her now throbbing nipple, her eyes slightly glassy as she looked into his eyes.

"I believe we both know the preliminaries are over,"
She felt his hand moving, snaking over her body, up under her dress to her sex. She was aroused beyond anything she had ever experienced and the simple touch of his hand over her mound made her hips rise desperately against it.
"Shhh," Stéphanie hadn't even been aware she was whimpering until he hushed her.
"I know you want this in you." Her lips opened wide while her eyes closed as his finger teased her entrance, teasing her before pulling away, making her whine again. For the first time her wrists attempting to pull against his hold on them.
"But you will not get it."

As his palm pressed down on the sensitive bud at the top of her sex a sudden shiver wracked Stéphanie's body. She had used pleasure to withdraw many a secret from men in the past and for the first time she truly realised how powerful a tool it was. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once as a wave of something akin to hysteria washed over her. His hand's movements were hard and firm and growing steadily faster, it hurt a little, such force against such sensitive flesh but
it was intoxicating.

Then his voice began whispering, warm and tempting in her ear, urging her on, encouraging her, instructing her...Stéphanie bucked and writhing beneath him, her sex growing warmer and wetter, pleasure radiating out through her entire body. Her nipples aching from his attentions were tingling with need once more.

Suddenly it came, the rush of heady pleasure she had only experienced at the hand of another once or twice. Stealing her breath and electrifying her heart. She cried out, long and long, her teeth catching on her lower lip, brow creased as her arms tensed and thighs clamped around his hand.

She was still breathless when Pontmercy freed her wrists and withdrew his hand from her sex. Her face flushed and eyes bright as she looked to his smiling face.
"I believe that constituted my 'give,' Stéphanie...Now, I would like you to take."

Stéphanie sat up slightly, moving her head towards his outstretched palm. His desire obvious, and solidifying her belief about his desires for this game. It was his game, his rules and she would play it as he wanted. If she did, she was certain she could come out the victor.

"As you wish..." She smiled, the tip of her tongue parting her lips and gently licking along his finger. Tasting the musky, sweet taste of herself. She took each finger into her mouth, sucking on it, looking up into his eyes as she did so. The plump pillows of her lips caressing each digit as she fondled and stroked it with her tongue.

Once every finger had been kissed she trailed her tongue up his middle finger to his palm and began to lap at the small puddle of her own essence upon it. Sighing softly, almost purring like a kitten getting the cream, she licked again and again, looking up over his hand to meet his eyes as she did so. Her blue eyes wide, and obedient, looking at him through her lashes.

When she was certain every trace had been softly licked away she leant back, running her tongue over her lips as a final act.
"I believe it is my turn to give..." She smiled a little wider, sliding out from under him and moving to kneel upon the floor before him. Spreading his legs slowly so she could place herself between them she reached up to undo the cravat elegantly knotted at his throat, running the strip of material through her fingers. Tempted for a moment to turn the tables and use it to bind his wrists behind him, but she would save that game for another day.
Let him have his evening of control...of masculine dominance...

She undid his shirt, leaning forwards to kiss each inch of exposed flesh, her tongue massaging his flesh as she worked her way lower, over his stomach and towards his waist. Upon reaching his breeches she made short work of undoing them and soon was faced with object of her desires, his already swollen sex. She ran her fingers up and down his length, looking up at him almost coyly.

Her breasts were still exposed and the pressure of the dress and corset around them made her cleavage beyond obscene. She leant forwards until the soft globes of flesh were nestled beneath his sex before leaning forwards and ever so gently lowering her mouth over him. Circling the head with her tongue before lowering her mouth even more and beginning to suckle upon his flesh.
 
Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy smiled, almost nodding appreciatively as he felt her tongue, as warm and as pink and as wet as, yet distinctly rougher than, the smooth silk his fingers had just been caressing. He could not help but let out a groan as she eagerly fellated his fingers; earlier, he had been forcing his digits into Stéphanie's mouth, but to have her willingly pervert herself like this - Pontmecy could imagine no woman enjoying such a thing, but here it was - made it all the more exciting, and made him all the more aware of the more significant digit that he was graced with, and how he had hoped his climaxing of her would grant her similar treatment of him.

Pontmercy had never thought of doing half the things he had done or considered doing to Stéphanie to a woman before in his life. Fellating his fingers within her? Masturbating her while restrained with his own hands? Forcing her to enjoy her own emissions? Obscene, surely, even the corrupt moralists of the Old Regime and the Virtuists of the Republic would likely agree, one of the few things they could agree on. Far beyond anything Ovid would have ever written about, even approaching that infamously bizarre and obscene marquis who had been convicted of moderatism and even now awaited the guillotine in Paris. Yet, as Pontmercy watched Stéphanie lap up her nectar of Venus - he once more was reminded of the cat from his childhood amusements - he could not help but think that such acts did truly befit such a liberated zealous woman like her. She surely had not complained, that was to be sure.

Pontmercy allowed himself to be maneuvered into position by Stéphanie, her actions suddenly reminding him that all of his bravado that he had just displayed in his masturbation of her to the contrary, he was still far beyond her skills and knowledge of Eros. Her pressure was on both of his thighs, her body heat making itself well known to what was between them, and he closed his eyes, letting out a moan that was closer to a whimper as she worked her mouth and tongue over his increasingly-nude chest. He sucked his stomach in as her mouth worked over the sensitive area, the air of the room, while warm enough, feeling like ice against the wet spots her tongue left on him, raising gooseflesh.

Her bosoms pooled around his member as it was suddenly freed by her skilled hands undoing his breeches almost before he knew what was transpiring. How fortunate I am to have met Stéphanie! he thought for the hundredth time. With skill like that, in other circumstances a night such as this might have been depriving him of the riches of a baronet. His member was not overly long and thick, and Pontmercy found himself flushing a deeper color than mere arousal could account for. Perhaps mercifully, however, he did not have to witness his shame for long; even as it was placed firmly in the tight space between her breasts, Stéphanie lowered her mouth, putting it to the most extraordinary usage.

He allowed his hands to go from his side, where they had been balled into fists, the nails driving into his palms to leave marks, into her hair, which had long since worked it way free of her restraining pins. His fingers trailed through the silky locks, which truly were as smooth as water and parted like midnight air between his touch. His eyes remained closed, and Pontmercy thought of the sensations that were going through him, reveling as his little head was taken care of, suckled, licked, warm and wet. This was not the first time he had been fellated, but it was the first in a long time, and oh, was it ever the best.

It was not long before he felt the shameful feeling welling up inside him, and with an act of supreme sacrifice, forced himself to open his eyes, his hands in her hair taking hold of her, pushing Stéphanie off of his penis with a wet sound that made him have to stifle another groan.

"Stéphanie, I..." Pontmercy was embarrassed at his lack of duration. He wanted to experience as much pleasure as he had given her; yet, even more, he found himself not wanting her to think him deficient. He knew he was nowhere near as experienced as she was, yet to have this shame rubbed into him, that he was so far inferior to what her other lovers were no doubt like.

"I..." he repeated, before his voice grew stern again, bringing him back into control. Perhaps he would be spent all too soon, but he would use that time to leave her a reminder that he was not weak in all regards. "I want you to get on the floor and prepare yourself for me," he said, already rising to pull off his breeches.
 
The feel of his hands in her hair, stroking, massaging, occassionally pulling whenever a sigh or moan escaped his lips, merely served to spur Stéphanie on to pleasure him even more. She was already aroused given his own ministrations but she was almost pleasantly surprised how much she was enjoying what she was doing.

Pontmercy was not the first she had performed such a service upon but his reaction was what set this experience apart from the rest. Most of the men she had slept with had enjoyed her body and her actions but that was as far as it went. This was...for want of a better word...different.

It was as if this strange game they had begun had changed things between them. This was no simple encounter, this went deeper.

Just as Stéphanie was moving her mouth lower, preparing to take as much of his as she could, his hands tightened in her hair, pulling her suddenly off of him. Her eyes wide in confusion sought his, lips still parted, slightly pouting as she hesitated. Uncertain what had made him stop her.
"Stéphanie, I...I..."
There was an almost undetectable tremor in his voice as he began but it vanished as his tone grew stronger, firmer. Perhaps she had brought him closer to the heights of pleasure than she had thought.

"I want you to get on the floor and prepare yourself for me,"
Stéphanie licked her lips, swallowing as she remained on her knees. Slightly mesmerised for an instant as he stood and began undressing.
"Y-yes...of course..." She murmured, unable to say anything else for the time being. For the first time, she was unsure of how to proceed.

Should she undress, remove her dress before lying down...?
The fact that he wanted her there, upon the red hued oriental rug, on the floor, and not upon the chaise or within her bed chamber spoke volumes.
Biting her lower lip slightly, she rose up from resting upon her heels and reached behind her. She made short work of undoing the laces to her dress and allowed it to fall to the floor. A quiet rustle of fabric as the heavy dress tumbled away to reveal what lay beneath.

Black undergarments hid her sex from his view, black stockings rose up her legs and finished somewhere above her knee and a black evening corset caressed her figure. Her breasts, having been freed by Pontmercy earlier, still stood proudly over the top, pushed up by the boning within it. Her ivory skin seemed even paler and smoother with contrasting underwear now on display. Even the thin black ribbon around her neck seemed to draw attention to the flesh beneath it.

Moving back with feline grace, Stéphanie lay herself down upon the carpet. Her dark curls fanning out behind her head, she kept her legs almost modestly together, her hands rising to rest by her face. Within her chest her heart was racing. The need and desire in his voice as he had spoken had thrilled her as much as it had unnerved her.

All of this she hid behind her seductive smile and glowing eyes, candlelight dancing over her body.
"Come Citizen...come claim what for this evening is yours..." She purred, running a fingertip down her chest, between the exposed globes of her chest and down the corset, trailing across the crotch of her undergarments before rising back up to graze her lips.
 
Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy held his breath as he watched Stéphanie quickly move up, reaching back to undo her dress, the item pooling at her feet languidly. Even with her breasts having been freed to his sight earlier, the view of her clad only in her unmentionables before him set Pontmercy's heart racing faster. His earlier women had all been as poor as he had, with their clothing and undergarments reflecting it; and though he had felt at least some degree of closeness and affinity towards them, he certainly would not be as foolishly naive to claim that they came anywhere close to the erotic display that Stéphanie was putting on before him now.

If his head had been clearer, it might have been one more piece of evidence that Stéphanie was not so proletarian in her affectations as she said. But as it was now, Pontmercy could only think of how magnificent she looked in her garters and corset and ribbon and not much else, the soft, springy rug fibers providing as large a contrast to her skin and clothing as their coloring were to each other. Indeed, if one could only will her black outfitting to be a deep cerulean, he could imagine the entire ensemble as a tricolor, and her energy and enthusiasm a heartfelt if lewd tribute to the spirit of the Revolution. Certainly, Pontmercy would be willing to ignore reporting this one questionable performance to the censorate.

As if remembering himself, Pontmercy suddenly jumped to his feet, hurrying to finish the job that Stéphanie had so selectively began, that of stripping all of his clothing off. His erect member got in the way, and when he was finally finished, in what he felt assured was a personal record, it jutted out from his body, bobbing slightly, a testament to the seductive prowess of the women reclining before him. It was only then that Pontmercy felt any sign of self-consciousness. To cover it, he moved quickly down next to her.

"I said prepare yourself, Stéphanie," he scolded softly, his fingers moving to the cloth covering her crotch, that despite his palm's collections of her emissions, was still extremely damp. He frowned as he stroked it. "Yet still you are covered. Perhaps this means you are not interested, that you have decided you do not wish to follow through the course you have labored so hard to bring me down?"

He smiled at her innocent response, before shaking his head. "No no, Citizeness. You have taken me down this path. It is far, far too late to change your opinion now. I am afraid you have no recourse but to...satisfy." His fingers curling suddenly around the edge of her unmentionables, he yanked down, the wet black cloth bunching around her ankles, as effective a 'restraint' as he felt capable of making tonight, the trapped emissions leaving wet smears down her legs, her lower hair as damp and mattered as the hair on his head had been during a thirty-mile march through the Carolina summer. He marveled at the sight for a few more seconds, before applying pressure at her knees, forcing her apart.

"This is much better, Citizeness, for both of us, as I think you will soon agree." With that, he rolled into position, and in a second's time had forced himself into her.
 
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