Madame Guillotine

[Britwitch]

Stéphanie watched with a more than slightly satisfied smile playing upon her lips as Pontmercy seemed to hurriedly shed his clothes. The slightly mesmerised expression on his face prior to this speedy stripping of garments had confirmed her suspicions that her feminine charms had captured more than just his attention. His body was well maintained for a man his age and Stéphanie felt an unexpected rush of excitement pulse through her veins. She could see strength within his flesh, a strength probably long since forgotten since the days of his youth, but enough traces remained to thrill her mind.

Her imagination already picturing his toned limbs entwining with hers. Something she had rarely experienced with lovers in the last few years. They were portly and aging, their bodies suffering with gout and other numerous ailments thanks to lives of excess at others expense. Pontmercy had already proved he seemed to have the knowledge of pleasing the fairer sex and now it seemed he had the body to fulfil the promises his fingers and mouth had made.

"I said prepare yourself, Stéphanie...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?"
Stéphanie's eyes widened coquettishly as she shook her head.
"Of course not, Claude..." She fluttered her eyelashes a little more than was strictly necessary as she glanced down to his hand and the fingers teasing her crotch before returning them to his eyes. "...I hope you do not doubt my desires..."

"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."
Stéphanie heard herself gasp as his fingers swiftly drew her undergarments down her legs, leaving them around her ankles, but her eyes remained fixed on his. Watching the knowing smile curving his lips as their game continued, following them as they moved down her body to the flesh now revealed to him. She felt a shiver dance down her spine as his fingers plied her legs apart, her breathing growing noticably shallower.

"This is much better, Citizeness, for both of us, as I think you will soon agree."
Stéphanie barely had time to think of a response before she felt him roll over her and felt him thrust inside. She groaned lewdly, her sex closing around him and drawing him instinctively deeper. Her arms rising to lay around his neck, her lips close to his ear as they lay still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of their union. She sighed as she rocked her hips ever so slightly against him, nudging him a little deeper, pressing the sensitive flesh of his organ against the equally delicate folds of her sex.

Stéphanie wanted to lift her legs, wrap them around his waist and invite him deeper but her legs were held down thanks to the undergarments now pinned beneath Pontmercy's own legs. Her struggling attempts to move them only rubbed her body against his. The stiff peaks of her nipples grazing his chest while her lips whimpered her frustrations into his ear while he remained still above her. Poised, ready to take her. But he did not.

Was this another step in their game? Was she to ask him, beg him...?
Stéphanie had already begun to forget the reasons for this evening, aware of little else other than the pleasurable feelings surging through her body and the desires for those feelings to continue and she would do anything to see that they did.

"Please Claude...please do not tease me now..." She pleaded softly, pulling back so that their eyes could meet.

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

"Please Claude...please do not tease me now..." Stéphanie's voice was faint, fluttering, none of her earlier cockiness still in it. Her eyes were enormous and pleading as they met Pontmercy's own. He could only smile as he looked into them, but it was not the gentle smile of a lover or even the amused one of a man seeking his...entertainment. It was the victorious smile of the inquisitor having witnessed his victim's final collapse of will. The analogy was not so far off. Pontmercy had seen a similar look in the eyes of those before the Tribunal who knew they could not escape their guilt, of those in the stockades awaiting their turn before the Madame.

This, however, was ever more intoxicating. In those instances, Pontmercy was detached, even regretful in a way that such people of means had taken the wrong step and would have to pay for it. Here, now...this was play, and Pontmercy was as free to enjoy himself as much as he new Stéphanie was. Or soon would be.

"Do not tease you now?" Pontmercy asked, his voice taking on an air of incredulity, pulling out of her. "You, begging me not to tease you? You, who have led me along since we first encountered each other, stringing me, poor innocent me, along with your vague hints of indecency, leading up to this very moment when, as I am about to sate the lusts you stoked on you, you urge me to stop under the pretense of teasing you?"

His voice might have assumed the air of anger, but Pontmercy was anything but. This had become more than just a simple roll in the hay, as it were. It was letting him work of his frustrations at work and his repressions towards his fellow man - to use the term loosely - at once. To exhibit a side he had kept bottled up out of necessity for far too long. To, most of all, do it with a soul he was sure shared his same views, his same longings and faults and issues. To have some fun for once.

"I have been willing to overlook your teasing, Citizeness until now due to what I assumed was your youth and the obvious accompaniment of innocence in all matters carnal and fleshly." Pintmercy had had to hold back a laugh at the little white lie. "But now I see that that was all an act. You are as lusty and wanton as the vilest prostitute of the mason's quartier, and your protestations of teasing and innocence are merely an attempt to finish with me so you may hurry on to your next conquest...or is it your next customer?" he teased.

Pontmercy leaned in, licking the underside of her breast, leading up from the bottom to the nipple. "How many before me, I wonder, have paid so dearly to taste that fruit?" He moved up to kiss her deeply, the faint musk of her own emissions still present in her mouth, a factor that Pontmercy had never encountered before and thus drove him on that much further into the hold of his passions. "How many men have paid, Stéphanie, for the luxury of kissing you? But that is right, prostitutes do not kiss." He bit her lower lip as he pulled away, not gently but not enough to break the skin, in a mockery of the action he had seen her perform herself several times before.

Stepping back before her, his erection standing out from him, he reached down to her ankles, in one move yanking her unmentionables off, freeing her legs. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked. "To have greater freedom in how you bring me off to climax? To think you phrased it in terms of teasing and innocence, when you are anything but, Stéphanie! It was an act of lust, Stéphanie. Taste your own depravity." Taking her damp undergarments in his hand, he rubbed them onto her face, smearing her makeup with her own intimate secretions before throwing them away, resuming his position between her legs.

"And now, Stéphanie," he said, taking an ankle in each hand and spreading them for his entrance, "like you say, the time for teasing and posturing and flirtations has come to an end." Pontmercy entered her then, allowing her legs to wrap around him, thrusting savagely into her, pouring all his energy into the act and enjoying how she thrusted against him, held him tight with her coltish legs, her verbal signs of approval meeting his own. Pontmercy had been near his limit before, and with all the preceding talk having brought him even closer; as powerfully as they now devoted themselves to the act of passion, it was not long before Pontmercy had reached his limit - truly he was surprised he lasted even as long as he did - finally screaming out his joy before collapsing into a worn and sweaty mass upon Stéphanie's own cushions.

He lay there a few seconds, panting, before sleepily and sheepishly adding, "You must forgive me, Stéphanie, for the words I spoke to you just then. You will understand, I hope, when I say that I was swept into more than one act of passion."

 

[Britwitch]

In Stéphanie's mind there was no other way to describe their coupling than rapacious. She was being taken, with no small amount of force on Pontmercy's part and with obvious greed behind it. A greedy lust that she sensed had been denied for too long.

His words, whilst slightly stinging, merely served to heighten her already spiralling arousal. But nevertheless, it was his eyes that had captured her attention and focus, filled with desire but also with power. Whatever this game had been, he was the victor in his mind; and Stéphanie was inclined to agree with him. He had her where he wanted her, she had said or done exactly what he wanted, what he needed, even if he didn't know that to be the case.

Her body was pinned against the plush fibres of the rug, the sound of their flesh connecting harshly again and again reverberating around the otherwise silent room. She struggled a little, mainly to try and ease the mild chafing of the carpet against her back but she could not move an inch.

As she writhed and bucked beneath him, the scent of her own emissions now smeared across her cheeks wafted against her nostrils, combined with the scent of his body atop hers along with the sounds and sensations ripping through her, it all served to send Stéphanie into a rapturous state, in spite of the roughness of Pontmercy's thrusts.

Just as she was nearing the heights of pleasure for the second time, his movements lost a little of their flow. His own climax swallowed him and she felt the heat of his own emissions coating her insides. He collapsed onto her, spent in every sense and Stéphanie found herself almost affectionately stroking her fingers through his dampened hair.
"You must forgive me, Stéphanie, for the words I spoke to you just then. You will understand, I hope, when I say that I was swept into more than one act of passion."
"There is nothing to forgive," She whispered more than a little breathlessly against his forehead before brushing a kiss against the clammy skin there. "You were not the only one swept away by passion...besides, how could I possibly complain against something that was in it's entirity so very delicious..." She smiled, running her tongue over her lips as she recalled the thrilling encounter in her mind as they recovered.

When she was certain her legs would support her and not simply collapse, Stéphanie disentangled herself from Pontmercy and rose elegantly from the carpet.
"It is very late, Citizen," She sighed, casting a glance out of the window as she undid the laces to her corset and allowed that too to slip to the floor to lay beside the rest of her clothes, leaving her completely naked apart from the black ribbon still around her throat. "It would be most unkind of me to ask you to venture into the streets at such a time...I hope you will accept my hospitality and consent to stay here...with me..." She added, glancing back at where he lay, a more than slightly mischievous smirk upon her lips.

"You will find the bedchamber through those doors, I shall get us a nightcap and join you in a moment..." She gestured to a pair of elaborately carved doors in one corner of the room, turning and heading over to a grandiose dresser and bending forwards at the waist slightly, opened two doors and removed two brandy glasses. Smiling a little to know he was still watching her movements, she didn't have to turn around to verify, she could almost feel his eyes upon her body.

Making the job of pouring the cognac as slow as she could, she waited until she heard the bedchamber door open and close before glancing around. She was alone. She skipped silently across to her discarded dress and, within a charm hanging from the centre of the bodice, she withdrew a tiny phial. The white powdery contents she tipped into what was going to be Pontmercy's glass and swirled it to dissolve it as she headed into the bedchamber.

Stéphanie smiled to see Pontmercy already in the bed, moving to sit beside him and offer him his glass.
"To the republic..." She toasted, sipping the warming liquor and watching keenly over the rim as Pontmercy drank his. Smiling a little more, she placed her glass upon the bedside cabinet and slipped between the sheets, moving to lay beside Pontmercy and making sure to press her chest against him in the process. She leant closer and kissed him, slowly and languidly, trailing a hand across his chest while the other snaked up into his hair to stroke and massage his scalp.

She continued the almost loving embrace until Pontmercy's attempts to return her kisses began to grow slightly sluggish. Tentatively she pulled away, watching as his eyes fluttered, fighting to keep open. He murmured something but it made no sense before his eyes slipped shut and his breathing grew steady and heavy.
"Claude....Claude...?" Stéphanie whispered, nudging him slightly and watching for any movement.
The drug in his drink had worked, he would not awake before dawn.

Stéphanie pulled back, her previously smiling face growing cold and angry. How she hated him. All thoughts of how he had made her feel during their encounter were forgotten. It had all been a means to an end and she knew she could not allow any kind of attachment develop, no matter how proficient a lover he was.

Stéphanie somehow resisted the very strong urge to slap him that rose up inside her, not wanting to risk waking him, even slightly from his drugged slumber. Instead she slipped from the sheets and, after locking the door just in case the dosage should wear off sooner than she planned, she dressed. A long black dress and her long black cloak. She would blend seamlessly into the shadows and she would have to or everything she was planning would fail. She picked through Pontmercy's clothes until she found what she sought, a large keyring, jangling with heavy keys of all shapes and sizes. Slipping them into a small black clutch bag, she slipped from the appartment and into the night. Heading straight for her intended destination, the prison.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*​

As the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn, Stéphanie slipped back into bed. Curling her body close to Pontmercy's and resting her head upon the pillow with a sigh. His breathing was still regular and, from the look of the sheets, he hadn't moved since she had left him several hours before. She had carefully put his keys back within his jacket where she had found them and put her black dress and cloak back within her closet and away from obvious sight.

Stéphanie smiled to herself as she finally allowed herself to drift into dreams. A sense of accomplishment and relief filling her heart. Yvonne was free and at that moment, aboard a ship bound for England. Slipping into the prison had been simple enough and thanks to Pontmercy's keys, the heavy cell door no problem whatsoever. Her previous trips to the prisons had meant she had coincided her entrance with the changing of the guards who were on the night shift.

Stéphanie had been careful to open several other cells in the process, freeing whoever was inside in an attempt to cover her tracks, before shutting and relocking them all. With any luck, those missing wouldn't be noticed until morning came and the guards tried to give them their breakfast.

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows as he silently watched Stéphanie rise, shedding the remains of her clothing, standing before him nude as the day she was born. Well, not quite; Pontmercy rather doubted she had looked quite that impressive as a babe, and the ribbon around her throat was as thrilling a contrast as ever. If anything it added to her allure better than a pure nude would have.

He smiled at her reply, glad she was not angry at him. Snapping out of his worshipful gazing upon her body, he stood up on shaky legs. "Quite correct, Stéphanie, it is indeed growing rather late. I should not have imposed upon you even to this hour and will not continue to do so." He began to collect his items of clothing from the floor, pausing as she spoke, entreating him to stay. He grinned suddenly, despite himself. This was indeed proving to be a very gratifying visit.

"Thank you very much, Stéphanie. Perhaps you are right. Despite all our efforts, an agent for the Tribunal is still not entirely safe here during the day, let alone at night. And I wouldn't want to bring any danger upon you by having the enemies of the Republic trailing me leaving you here." Those things were true, of course, even if this apartment was a bit further from the Ministry of Justice than his own home - and he would need to return there first to change into fresher attire before returning to the Tribunal's opening in the morning. But the real reason he didn't want to leave was, he was ashamed to admit to himself...It had been far too long since he had enjoyed a warm body in bed next to him. After all they had just gone through, especially, he found it difficult to force himself to leave her any second earlier than absolutely necessary.

For the first time in his life, Pontmercy was justifying skimming his duty, however lightly, for the benefit of his personal life.

Still nude, he made his way to her bed, nestling into it. It was remarkably comfortable, moreso than any other bed he had ever been in before, it seemed. It redoubled his convictions to finish the suppression here. The quicker that was done, the enemies of the Republic destroyed, the sooner all could have a chance to enjoy such luxuries. When no one was a notable, everyone would become one.

Stéphanie chose that moment to enter the bedroom, still naked save for the ribbon and holding two glasses of cognac. The sight of her entering, hips swaying with glasses in hand like some sort of Classical goddess, was almost enough to return his erection, and no doubt would have had they not just spent such great a passion together.

"To the Republic," Pontmercy returned her toast, gulping down the silkily-smooth warmth in a single gulp. He was not a heavy drinker, usually refraining from all but the respectable and usual amount of wine, but this went down better than he had expected. At least he had not made a fool out of himself.

Then, their glasses were on the bedtable, and she was in bed with him, her heavy bosoms pressed up against his chest where one wonderfully delicate hand lay, and their mouths were kissing. He returned it with the heat she was so good at stirring within him, and even wondered if he might be well enough to attempt another go. But as the thought came to him, his tongue started to feel fuzzy, his head swirling. He pulled away from her, but even his movements were jerky at first, and then as if dipped in molasses.

"Unnhg?" he asked, his mouth not quite moving, his eyelids growing heavy. He could see her move over him, thought he heard her speaking his name...

And then, the next Pontmercy was aware, she was laying next to him, curled up and asleep, his head pounding, thoughts still slow. He was confused as to where he was for a few seconds, suddenly realizing. He sat up, pausing, his head spinning. He tried to think back upon the night. Yes, he was at Stéphanie's, had made rough love with her, then...He had retired to her bed? Drunk...cognac? The last few minutes before he passed out were especially fuzzy, but that was to be expected when he drank such potent beverages after such strenuous and stimulating activity.

Pontmercy turned down to look at Stéphanie, smiling despite needing to squint from the light that seemed blinding coming in through the window. Light. Daylight. Daylight...?

"Merde!" he shouted suddenly, waking Stéphanie. "It's...daytime! I'm late! Damn, damn, damn!"

He tried to hurry out of bed, but still feeling the aftereffects, stumbled, falling into the floor. Groaning, he looked up at the face of Stéphanie, peering at him over the edge of the bed with concern. Chastised and blushing, he managed to say,

"I wish I could offer you a better morning sight than this, my dear. As it is, I'm afraid I overslept, and am still suffering the effects of our nightcap. I don't suppose you might, ah...well, help me fetch my clothing?" He felt like he would need her to escort him to the Ministry - no question of returning for fresh clothes now - but limited himself to asking for help with his clothes. That was embarrassing enough.

 

[Britwitch]

Stéphanie Marchand

"Merde!"
Stéphanie jumped as a panicked voice cut through her dreams. Her fingers curling instinctively around the bedclothes and pulling them tighter around her body. Her heart racing as her still slightly drowsy mind tried to make sense of the situation. Had she been discovered already?! What if one of those that she had freed had been recaptured and somehow identified her...?

"It's...daytime! I'm late! Damn, damn, damn!"
She frowned slightly as movement next to her helped her to shake off the remnants of sleep just in time to see Pontmercy disappearing beyond the edge of the bed, apparently spilling to the floor. A slight smile passed over her lips as she dropped the bedclothes and crawled to the edge of the bed, looking over it to see her bedfellow in something of a heap upon the floor ensuring to make her expression one of concern, which it was genuinely in part. If he had somehow injured himself it could spell new problems for her.

"I wish I could offer you a better morning sight than this, my dear. As it is, I'm afraid I overslept, and am still suffering the effects of our nightcap. I don't suppose you might, ah...well, help me fetch my clothing?"
"I feel I must inform you that this is a very pleasant morning sight..." Stéphanie purred, stretching slightly and making a small show of dropping her eyes to his exposed groin before returning them to his face. "But I would much rather have discovered it next to me upon the bed..."

Smiling Stéphanie rose from the bed and moved to stand beside him, bending slightly to offer her hand to him.
"I am sorry if my hospitality has somehow inconvenienced you, Citizen...I will of course in any way I can to make amends..."
Once Pontmercy was back upon the bed, apparently trying to shake off the drowsiness that was plaguing him, Stéphanie moved to the living room and gathered his clothes.

"I shall go and dress, Citizen, and then if I may be so bold as to accompany you into town...I have business there and would much rather share the walk with you than do so alone..." Before waiting for his reply, Stéphanie left him to dress himself and made short work of dressing herself.

She selected a light blue dress, it's cut was simple although a closer inspection of the expensive fabric would betray its worth. She pinned up her hair and decided to abstain from adding jewellery, aside from the tricolore rosette that she carefully attached to the front of the garment.

Once dressed she returned to the bedroom, smiling to see Pontmercy dressed although a little less crisply than he usually was.
"So, Citizen, will you grant me the honour of your company en route to town this morning...? If not, I shall undestand but shall request the delight of it again sometime soon..." She smiled, almost devilishly, as she leant forwards to lightly kiss his lips.

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy allowed himself to be hauled up onto the bed like an incompetent child due to necessity; he didn't like the situation, but he had little choice. However, as much as he had enjoyed their time together, he was not of a mood to enjoy her quips, not know when things were so serious. He was late for work. There could be little more disastrous or upsetting to Pontmercy for that. His work was everything to him - work, means, religion, drive. He had set examples for his subordinates to live by, not mock like too many others.

Still, just because he was late didn't mean he had lost his manners. "Of course you haven't offended me, Stéphanie, don't be ridiculous. This is entirely a fault of my own, you had nothing to do with it." He thanked her for his clothes, beginning to dress, still rather unsteadily, upon the bed. The creaking noises that the mattress made as he worked upon it brought a fresh flush to his face and Pontmercy could not help but (at least try, in his current state) redouble his efforts in clothing himself, suddenly embarrassed at the fact he was still nude in front of this almost-entirely unknown woman.

"That would be quite acceptable to me, Stéphanie," Pontmercy voiced, relieved, as she requested to accompany him into town. He would get her aid - still not entirely sure he could handle himself upright - without the need of having to ask. What he would do at the Ministry in this state, of course, was another matter but he would cross that bridge when he reached it.

"I would not dream of rejecting the company of such a lovely lady as yourself, my dear citizeness. Especially given how...economical it would be." He eyed her up and down as she re-entered the room, admiring how the simplicity of her dress complimented her natural looks, and eagerly accepting her kiss, forcing himself to refrain from returning it with too much passion lest they both be delayed their business even more.

"Shall we go?" he asked, offering her his arm as he tested his way off the bed, trying to balance his hurry with his shameful drunkenness with his need to maintain a level of decorum with the woman he was still interested in seeing again. Pontmercy had to lean on her far more than he would have liked as they made their way down to the streets, the light blinding him - what had filtered in through the bedroom windows now seemed like midnight in comparison. However, as they walked, the fresh sea air - or at least what of it made its way through Toulon's worker's quartier - began to revive him, and he no longer felt so hungover. His steps became somewhat livelier, his hold of Stéphanie's arm lessened to become no more than the gesture it was intended to be, and he became more able to tolerate his environment.

It was then that he noticed something was wrong. The constabulary and National Guards were veritably swarming about the streets, much thicker and angrier than they usually were since peace and order had been restored. For a wrenching second, Pontmercy had thought that the royalists had launched another insurrection or the British had landed more infantry; but he had not heard any artillery or gunfire. Approaching a sergeant and showing his papers, Pontmercy inquired what was going on.

"Jailbreak, Citizen," the man said, glancing around the street corner with a weary eye. "Last night, from the Ministry of Justice itself, if you can believe it."

Pontmercy could only stand there in shock for a second before, all thoughts of Stéphanie gone from his mind at the immensity of the emergency the government was facing, he started down the street, running at as quick a pace as he was able to, his ponytail and loose strands streaming behind him. It was only a few minutes before he arrived, panting out of breath and with dust and sweat adding to his already-disheveled appearance. National Guardsmen and a cordon surrounded the Ministry, a crowd already formed, uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps disappointed at the lack of action. Again showing his papers, Pontmercy pushed through, finally finding his aide, Paul Pradeaux.

"Citizen Pontmercy!" the younger man exclaimed upon catching sight of his superior. "You're alive! Between all the commotion here, and you never showed up for work, and we went to your house and you weren't there, we feared the worse..." Pradeaux's eyes glanced up and down Pontmercy, for the first time taking in his attire. "Citizen, are you all right? Where were you?"

"Never mind that," he snapped, pushed beyond his decency by a mix of consternation and his self-shame. "What happened?"

"The warden found a number of the cells abandoned this morning," Pradeaux quickly summarized. "All the prisoners inside them gone. None of the others would talk. No one saw anything, and we haven't found any of the missing ones yet." Pradeaux licked his lips nervously before continuing. "But that's not it. The locks...were undisturbed. Whoever did it had to have had keys. Or access to them."

That was bad, and Pontmercy felt himself grow cold. Only the ranking members of the Ministry had access to keys to the cells - including him, who had not returned to work that morning for the first time ever. It didn't take a philosopher to realize he could very well have hell to answer for.

It was then that he caught sight of Stéphanie in the crowd. "Thank you for the summary, Pradeaux," he offered. "I'll be in right away. I must talk to someone else first." Weaving through the assembled people and leaving a confused Pradeaux behind, Pontmercy came up to Stéphanie's side.

"There's been an...escape from the prison during the night," he offered, the word 'escape' much nicer than saying there was outsider - or inside - help, which of course he couldn't be absolutely certain of yet. "I picked a bad day to come into work late. I'm sure that I'll be busy all day and likely all night. Perhaps," he asked, the pressure of time not allowing for a greater discourse, "I might call upon you again in a few days' time?"

 

[Britwitch]

Stéphanie Marchand

Despite the slightly bracing breeze winding it's way through the streets of Toulon, Stéphanie felt unusually light headed. It didn't help that her stomach was rolling over and over with every step towards the Ministry, nor that an icy chill shot up her spine whenever she spotted another policeman or soldier moving along the street with more than a little purpose in their stride. She was glad of Pontmercy's arm, although she was certain he was leaning upon her as much as she was leaning upon him. She could sense Pontmercy's intrigue rising and wasn't in the least surprised when he pulled from her slightly and approached a sergeant.
"Jailbreak, Citizen...Last night, from the Ministry of Justice itself, if you can believe it."

"Oh my...!" Stéphanie's mouth dropped open slightly, her heart rate faltering for an instant. Fortunately it seemed Pontmercy was too preoccupied with his own shock to notice the panic that momentarily took hold of her. Then he took off. Feet pounding down the street, streaking towards the ministry. Stéphanie watched him for a moment, torn between fleeing and following.

She had seen nothing in his looks to make her think he suspected her in the least, and why would he? If she fled the shadow of suspicion would no doubt hang over her, no matter what she said or did to try and change his mind. As much as she wanted to run to the docks and buy a passage for England, she knew she could not. Picking up her skirts slightly, she set off after Pontmercy, running at what she was certain would be considered an unladylike pace but no so fast as to alert too many passers-by.

She arrived at the Ministry a little flushed in the face and ever so slightly breathless and her keen eyes soon sought out Pontmercy in amongst the throng of angry, confused and desperate looking men who had gathered around the doorway.

He seemed deep in conversation with another, younger, man and it was clearly one that was less than pleasant. Eventually he turned and glanced in her direction. Another few words were shared before he made his way towards her.
"What...what has happened?" Stéphanie asked, her voice a little more unsteady than she had anticipated but he didn't seem to pick up on it, much to her relief.
"There's been an...escape from the prison during the night...I picked a bad day to come into work late. I'm sure that I'll be busy all day and likely all night. Perhaps...I might call upon you again in a few days' time?"
"But of course..." Stéphanie reached out and squeezed his upper arm ever so slightly, her smile genuine and eyes shining with concern.

"I understand completely, your duty must come before everything else, the republic must come before everything else..." Stéphanie lowered her eyes slightly, moving them to the rosette upon his chest before lifting them back to his face. "I hope things come to a swift resolution, for your sake as well as the republic's, and you know where I will be...when...well..." Stéphanie blushed slightly, leaning a little closer to kiss his cheek. "I hope your duty will not keep you away for too long..." Kissing his other cheek and brushing a swift and almost chaste kiss across his lips, she turned and demurely walked away.

Stéphanie allowed herself a small smile as the sounds of those gathered at the ministry faded into the constant hum that filled the streets of Toulun at this time of day. It was done. She would wait a few days, perhaps until the end of the week, just to allay any suspicions and then she would go. Vanish. Disappear. Head to England and start a new life. A free life, without worries or concerns.

For a moment she felt a pang of...something...for Pontmercy as she returned to her apartments. No doubt he would shoulder the blame for the jailbreak. However, his future was none of her concern, their paths had crossed and the crossing had been fortuitous for her and notso for him. Such was the way of the world. Why should she feel guilt or concern...or whatever it was that had stabbed at her insides for a moment or two. Shaking off the unsettling feeling Stéphanie headed inside and began cleaning the flat and tidying up after her encounter with Citizen Pontmercy.

During the following days, Stéphanie was careful to make sure she regularly went out into town, attending various appointments and so on. Doing nothing to attract undue attention to herself. After all, she had been seen with Citizen Pontmercy and it was widely known now that he had been late arriving to his duties the morning after the breakout from the prison. Someone, somehow, might make the connection and begin to probe. She didn't doubt Pontmercy may have made enquiries of his own about her but she hoped their more than aimiable encounter may sway his thoughts.

Several days passed after which she received a letter, unsigned, from Yvonne which had been sent from England. The contents were vague but they confirmed her hope that her friend was now safe and away from the reach of Madame Guillotine. Cautious as ever she burnt the piece of parchment, just in case Citizen Pontmercy did return to her appartments.

Stéphanie was surprised to find she almost wanted him to call upon her. Her mind had, in quieter moments, relived their union more than once and it's effect upon her had been most acute. Twice she had actually found herself so aroused she had had no choice but to slide her hand beneath her dress and relieve herself in a way that proper society almost certainly would have condemned her for. Needless to say when a small letter arrived to inform her that should it be convenient, Citizen Pontmercy would call upon her that evening, she felt an almost overwhelming combination of delighted excitement and worried concern.

She replied that she would be looking forward to seeing him again and ensured that when the appointed hour arrived, he would be able to think of little else other than the view she presented him with. A dress of deep dark blue silk, that deepened her eyes, clung to her figure and emphasised her assests more than a little. She wore her hair mainly loose down her back, with a few curls pinned back from her face with small jewelled clips. She had wine waiting and a small meal ready should he decide to dine.

Stéphanie looked herself over in the glass whilst waiting for him to arrive. Running her hands over the smooth, cool fabric of the dress, pushing errant strands of hair from her eyes and smiled. She was certain that of all the things they may discuss, the jailbreak would probably be the last of them.

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy found himself nodding in response to her words. "Yes...yes. The Republic must come before all." He repeated the phrase. Yes, it was comforting to know that he had found someone whose loyalty, whose complete duty to the new order, was as beyond question as himself. Citizen Robespierre had questioned whether women could truly serve as properly revolutionary-minded republican women as could men. Pontmercy had always tended to agree with him. Now, he scolded himself. The failure to find an example from a small pool did not mean that none existed in the greater sea, after all; and in recognition of this fact, he gave his lover...yes, lover would have to be the correct term; Pontmercy gave his lover a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Stéphanie, for your understanding," he said, trying not to stiffen too much at her light touch and breezy kisses. Pradeaux was staring openly, as were several of the National Guardsmen who were better acquainted with him, and members of the crowd began to hoot at the sight of someone getting kissed by a pretty woman.

"I...will see you soon, then, Citizeness Marchand ," Pontmercy said, his voice and back straightening as she walked away, becoming less the lover than the citizen speaking to an equal - although his gaze continued to track her for several seconds after she was lost in the crowd.

He turned back to find the others still with their own gaze on him, as if disbelieving that the stern Chief Prosecutor would have betrayed his marriage with Marianne.

"Well, what are you waiting for? We've wasted enough time already. Come on, come on!" Blushing a red, he didn't wait for their replies before bustling past them, up to his office.

* * * * *

"This is not good," Pradeaux understated a quarter-hour later, when the leading figures of the Suppression were gathered within the offices of the Justice Ministry, discussing with some alacrity the situation of the night before.

"Oh, do you think, Pradeaux? Do you really think so?" Pontmercy sneered in reply, unimpressed by the sagacity of wit, or rather lack of, in the individual he had replaced. And not a moment too soon, it had seemed.

"Quiet yourself, Citizen Pontmercy," Tribune Fréron spoke. "It would be wise to recall that this happened under your tenure, not Citizen Pradeaux's. And you were the one late to the Tribunat this morning."

Pontmercy's cheeks flushed a deep rouge at the insult. He was no stranger to them, and this was mild in comparison to some - but those were crude things, predicated on the false assumptions that he was vulnerable to remarks at his parentage or sexual prowess. This, however, stung much, much deeper. This one was about his most dearest conviction - his duty.

And it was inescapably true. No matter that it was his first time or so inconsequentially minor. They were infractions nonetheless, and the fact that he took them so hard was a testament to the devotion that he was so proud of and was so lacking in the others.

That was what enraged him the most. That these others, so unworthy next to him, so full of vice and the nascent stirrings of corruption and conservativism, had the tenacity - and the right - to finally be able to criticize him effectively.

"This could be a prelude to a royalist insurgency," Barras was saying, his jowls wobbling with an indication of how impassioned with the matter he was getting. "We should strike back first. Imprison every monarchist and Catholic and foreigner in the city who's still free. Feed them all to the Madame. Sow the fields of liberty with their remains."

"And just what do you think we have been trying these past few months, Citizen Judge?" Desrumeaux jumped in, his face as flushed with righteous anger as Pontmercy's was with his shame. "Whose fault has it been that the jails were filled this much to begin with? Whose intransigence, whose devotion to sleep and merriment above the Revolution, has hampered Citizen Prosector Pontmercy's efforts to impose the Reign of Virtue on this city?"

"Be careful, René," Pradeaux's voice reflected the annoyance of the two judges at the administrative assistant's confrontational tone when speaking to appointed members of the Suppression, and amplified it with his own. "You forget your place."

"He is a citizen of the French Republic and a duly appointed member of its judicial apparatus," Pontmercy finally spoke up. "He is also under my authority, Citizens, and not yours. You would do well to remember that." Desrumeaux flashed him a sign of appreciation which he noted, but did not return, at least externally; while he could not afford to show such favoritism, especially after this humiliating slip, he fully appreciated the man's devotion to his duty and the state. It was the only one in this room that seemed to approach his own.

"Well, now, let us put this division behind us and get down to a more useful and productive subject matter. The Committee. We must inform Paris."

Fréron opened his mouth to speak, closing it as Pradeaux leaned in to whisper a brief inaudible snippet. "I agree with the Citizen Prosecutor," he stated simply, with Pradeaux's mouth still at his ear.

"As do I," Pradeaux commented, with Barras quickly giving his assent.

Pontmercy stood still as a statue of Marianne for a second. Something was certainly amiss. But this was what he asked for, and he couldn't just stand here.

"Excellent," he said at last, moving towards his desk, brushing Barras off of it. "I will dispatch it as soon as the ink is dry. The postal service should have been re-established fully. We should expect a swift reply on a matter of this magnitude."

"Oh, yes," Fréron said as he left the room, over his not-inconsequential shoulder. "Several days at most. I should imagine that, by then, we will all have our answers."

* * * * *

Those several days had come and gone, and with them had arrived the answer from Citizen Robespierre and the Committee of Public Safety back in Paris. Pontmercy had read it over quickly as was his habit, then a second slower time which was not, and a third, drawn-out time, which was unheard of. By this time, both Pradeaux and Desrumeaux had looked up from their writings, noticing something was wrong.

Pontmercy gave the notice to Desrumeaux. He deserved to read it first. Then, Pontmercy engaged in the second act of dereliction of duty in his life: he left the Ministry early that day, to the postmaster first, and then his own apartments.

Pontmercy had been gladder than he would have admitted even to her that she had been willing to see him. He needed to speak - to someone, anyone, and had realized that he had no one but her; that alone, no matter their brief, pulsing affair of that fateful night.

Evening found Pontmercy climbing the steps of the apartment that he remembered so well from his repeated, suppressed dreams. He knocked on her door, his eyes widening at the sight of her - more beautiful than he had recalled.

"Stéphanie," he said warmly, although not making any move to kiss or embrace her, not sure even now what the social or polite barriers between them were, or how the conventions of either the Old Regime or the Republic of Virtue governed such a second meeting.

"I am...quite, quite happy to see you once again, my dear." He stepped into the room, bringing a hand up to his face. "I must confess...I do not wish to bore you or dull your expectations of a pleasant evening, but I confess myself vexed. I, I need to speak to someone, and it appears that that is you. By default, as it were. With no offense intended," he offered with an apologetic smile, sitting down on her couch. "I certainly could not have wished for a more pleasant companion.

"No, the issue is...This whole jailbreak mess. A message, a full recounting, was sent to the Committee of Public Safety, the central one in Paris. The return came today...Citizen Robespierre has reviewed the case and...Did you meet Desrumeaux, my adjutant? Well, I am afraid that you likely never will now. We received orders that he is to be arrested, interrogated, and tried in the Tribunal."

Pontmercy sighed, holding his face in his hands for a second. "For the love of me, I cannot imagine why." He of course could, but would not reveal the dissensions among the local Republican leadership, even to such a patriot as Stéphanie. especially to one such as her. "I...I just cannot imagine that he is guilty. And now he will be tried. Quite likely he will be executed before the week is out."

Pontmercy raised his head, looking over at Stéphanie. "He is a good man, a good loyal man, being sent to his demise for reasons beyond his control and of which he is free of any guilt whatsoever. You cannot imagine what this is like for me, my dear."

 

[Britwitch]

"I am...quite, quite happy to see you once again, my dear...I must confess...I do not wish to bore you or dull your expectations of a pleasant evening, but I confess myself vexed. I, I need to speak to someone, and it appears that that is you. By default, as it were. With no offense intended...I certainly could not have wished for a more pleasant companion..."
"I have found myself desiring your company more than once in the days since we parted and I am only too happy to hear my sentiments returned..." Stéphanie replied coquettishly, lowering her eyes slightly, hiding the mild sense of disappointment that rose up within her as her guest showed no real sign of reacting to her physical appearance. "I am sorry to hear that you come to me in lower spirits than I anticipated but I would do all I can to alleviate them..."

Stéphanie stepped back to allow him to enter, watching him through ever so slightly cautious eyes as he moved to sit a little heavily upon the couch. He looked tired and almost older since their previous meeting. After shutting the door, she moved to sit beside him gracefully.
"No, the issue is...This whole jailbreak mess. A message, a full recounting, was sent to the Committee of Public Safety, the central one in Paris. The return came today...Citizen Robespierre has reviewed the case and...Did you meet Desrumeaux, my adjutant? Well, I am afraid that you likely never will now. We received orders that he is to be arrested, interrogated, and tried in the Tribunal."
Stéphanie shook her head, shrugging ever so slightly at the unfamiliar name, showing an appropriate amount of suprise at Pontmercy's words for the stranger's fate but to her one Citizen of the system was as similiar as another in her eyes. True, some were older, some more zealous than others but to her they were all the same...they were the enemy.

"For the love of me, I cannot imagine why...I...I just cannot imagine that he is guilty. And now he will be tried. Quite likely he will be executed before the week is out."
As Pontmercy covered his face with his hands for a moment, Stéphanie felt that odd sense of...something stab at her insides...something akin to concern or guilt but she was certain...almost certain...it could be neither. She found herself shifting a little closer to him and raising a consoling hand to upon his forearm.

"He is a good man, a good loyal man, being sent to his demise for reasons beyond his control and of which he is free of any guilt whatsoever. You cannot imagine what this is like for me, my dear."
Stéphanie wanted to say that she could. She had watched those she loved being condemned for a crime no more serious than that of having a differing opinion of the way people should live than those who were in charge. But to show such emotions would condemn her to the same fate.

"Oh Claude..." Stéphanie sighed, moving a fraction closer and squeezing his forearm ever so slightly. "How you must have suffered, carrying such a burden alone..." She leant closer and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his forehead, leaving her lips against his skin for a moment or two longer than such a kiss required. "To be in a position where to do ones duty results in such things...I cannot imagine how you must feel..." Her words were earnestly spoken although their true meaning would be lost upon the man she was slowly embracing, running her other arm around his shoulders to gently rub the back of his neck, feeling the tightness beneath the skin.

While she wished for nothing more than to perhaps experience the passions they had shared once more before leaving for England, she couldn't help but think that to provide a sympathic ear to his troubles might give her...something.
"I hope you know that despite the intimacies we have shared, I..." Stéphanie blushed a little before adding, less than eloquently. "I am interested in sharing more with you than just my bed...if...if you take my meaning..."

"Perhaps some wine would help ease the stresses you are suffering...?" Stéphanie offered with a soft smile, moving back ever so slightly but keeping her hands upon him for the time being. "Or perhaps a massage? I confess I am not proficient in the art but I would like to think my touch might be able to relax you a little..."

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy rolled his shoulders under Stéphanie's touch, letting out a low sigh. Her words were even more comforting at this moment than the warm touch or the lingering remains of moisture her plump lips had left upon his brow.

"Thank you, Stéphanie, thank you very much," Pontmercy said with a small smile, still rather unused to hearing himself address by his given name, moving his head around to look into her eyes as he spoke. "I appreciate your kindness more than I can possibly say. As I recall, the last time I drunk wine with you, it resulted in...Well, never mind it. I have not drunk of anything other than mere table-wine since, and with matters as they are, I think I would enjoy some. And then, perhaps later we shall see of your massage?"

He followed her with his eyes as she fetched the bottle and two glasses, returning next to him. "This is indeed a burden. Desrumeaux is innocent, but beyond that, he is a good Republican, a believer in the Revolution and in Revolutionary justice. Pradeaux is angry that his incompetence caused him to lose his position, and Fréron and Barras...They are entirely too rich for my liking, too appreciative of the finer things the high society of the Old Order had to offer."

That was the foundation of what dug at Pontmercy's dilemma. He had fought for the Revolution tooth and nail, done his duty and beyond in helping establish the Republic - a society where all were equal, where the people and the government were one, where all acts were just and all satisfied with their dues. Yet here he was, confronted with the evidence that the very men building that new society were just as venal and greedy and corrupt as the old. If the foundations of the Republic were this decrepit, what chance did its future have, if it ever grew old? What had he been spending his energy, his vision, all of his strength and life on?

"He is just an adjutant, and they are the great men of this new society, the foundations of our Republican order; we are all citizens, all builders of the Republic, and yet when he embarrassed them it is just as with the royal cache..."

Pontmercy closed his mouth then, suddenly wondering if he had said too much. And he hadn't even had any of Stéphanie's infamous wine yet - a step he managed to hastily correct after a second of deliberation, downing the cup in his hands in a single gulp. He smacked his lips once, then turned to her.

"My apologies, Stéphanie, for going on like that. I'm sorry for having somewhat dampened your hopes for the evening. You...certainly look beautiful tonight, Stéphanie, beautiful enough for any ten nights." He smiled bashfully at her, not sure if that made any sense, his flushed cheeks not due entirely to the sudden inrush of alcohol to his system.

"Perhaps...perhaps I might have the massage now?" he asked, putting the glass down as much to clear his hands as to preempt a possible refill that he might not be able to refuse. "Do I need to disrobe for it? I must confess, this is one of the many amusements in life that I have not yet sampled."

 

[Britwitch]

"I appreciate your kindness more than I can possibly say. As I recall, the last time I drunk wine with you, it resulted in...Well, never mind it. I have not drunk of anything other than mere table-wine since, and with matters as they are, I think I would enjoy some. And then, perhaps later we shall see of your massage?"
"As you wish..." Stéphanie inclined her head ever so slightly before rising and moving to fill two glasses with rich, warm wine. Tilting hers towards Pontmercy's before taking a sip.

"This is indeed a burden. Desrumeaux is innocent, but beyond that, he is a good Republican, a believer in the Revolution and in Revolutionary justice. Pradeaux is angry that his incompetence caused him to lose his position, and Fréron and Barras...They are entirely too rich for my liking, too appreciative of the finer things the high society of the Old Order had to offer." Stéphanie listened carefully, with more attention than she let on. Determined not to miss any detail that might help her somehow. She nodded appropriately, storing names deep in her mind. Names she might be able to drop in her flight from France.
"He is just an adjutant, and they are the great men of this new society, the foundations of our Republican order; we are all citizens, all builders of the Republic, and yet when he embarrassed them it is just as with the royal cache..."

Stéphanie's eyes widened slightly as Pontmercy quickly stopped talking and drained his glass.
"I take it the beverage was to your taste..." She teased lightly.
"My apologies, Stéphanie, for going on like that. I'm sorry for having somewhat dampened your hopes for the evening. You...certainly look beautiful tonight, Stéphanie, beautiful enough for any ten nights."
"Why Claude, you flatter me..." Stéphanie found herself blushing before she could stop herself. "But sharing your company is what I have been hoping for for some days now...and I have that...do I not?" She finished slightly huskily, lowering her eyes and sipping a little more of her wine.

"Perhaps...perhaps I might have the massage now? Do I need to disrobe for it? I must confess, this is one of the many amusements in life that I have not yet sampled."
Stéphanie had to stop herself swallowing the mouthful of wine in her mouth too noisily. She had hoped his attentions would turn to more physical pleasures before too long but she hadn't dreamt it would happen so quickly, or so abruptly. Then again...he obviously wasn't aware of the connection most men would make between the intimate contact of a massage and...even more intimate connections between a couple.

Stéphanie smiled sweetly and, after demurely swallowing her wine, moved a little closer.
"That is really up to you but...I find it easier without...without barriers..." She walked her fingertips up his arm and across to his cravat. Catching her lower lip upon her teeth as she began to unfasten it. Slowly pulling it from around his neck and then, leaning a little closer she opened his shirt. All of her movements were smooth and slow, her eyes flitting between the increasing amount of flesh she was revealing and his face, watching for a sign that she was being too forward, in spite of what they had shared during their last encounter.

Pushing the white shirt back from his shoulders and helping him remove it entirely, Stéphanie stood and with a slightly mischievous smile moved to sit behind him. Straddling his waist slightly she began to gently knead his shoulders.
"I know this position may be slightly unorthodox but...but I find the results are worth it..." She leant a little closer and rubbed her thumbs a little more firmly against his skin. Working the tense flesh over and over again. "How...how does it feel...?" She asked tentatively, her voice almost a whisper as she leant closer still and began to slowly and sensuously kiss the back of his neck.

 

[magbeam]

Pontmercy frowned at the sound of the half-choking on wine behind him. Had he just transposed some law, or rather unspoken rule, that had survived even the purging of the lingering remnants of the Old Regime's society? Or, even worse, a Republican social rule that had developed among the Revolutionary women of France? What had he just said? For once, he regretted not learning more of the society he was helping to craft. Legislating it from the Convention and Tribunal and battlefield was one thing, but experiencing it on the streets, first hand...he had given it thought, from time to time, but Pontmercy had been so concerned with the big picture, he had never really understood, until now, that the common people could build a Republican society of their own.

But here he was, thinking of work and duty again, when he had just decided to swear it off for the night...

And in any case, Stéphanie was smiling and blushing as prettily as ever now, and Pontmercy was sure he had not erred. Even if he was now certain her coquettishness was as false as the wig of the most pampered young Vendéan nobleman or a spoiled whore of a noblewoman, it still did its job. He would not think to call her a prostitute, even in this liberated climate; but she was good as any he had heard of, certainly better than that cunt Marie-Antoinette, even better than any of the refreshingly curt and earthen Carolinian girls from his youth...

Pontmercy smiled like a youth at her movement of Stéphanie's fingers, holding back a giggle borne from equal measures of his nervousness - the amalgamated nerves and tension of the previous night having returned with time, the past few days' separation having leached away what familiarity with this creature he had, or recollected - and anticipation. "Without barriers," he spoke. "Yes, quite. Quite correct."

Breathing quickly, he held still as she worked his cravat, and the shirt beneath, his eyes taking in her features, glad to have a reference point to keep his eyes on. Her lips. Those were key, watching them as she tucked one beneath the other. Soon he was pulling his shirt off with her help, shivering despite the wine and companionship in the temperature of the room. Mediterranean or not, he felt a wave of cool apprehension pass through him. Nerves, over the whole situation he was determined to put behind him, nothing more. Nerves over that and, once more, concern at how in the world he could possibly please something like her.

Pontmercy felt two small legs move around his waist, skinny hands working their way into her shoulders, the somewhat-rough skin of their pads being a good counterbalance against his own toughened, sunburned shoulders made even worse by stress. He said nothing at once, letting out a few soft grunts as he repositioned himself slightly, before finally allowing himself to relax into it. As soon as he did, he became aware that it, truly, was helping him to collect himself.

"This is an age of Revolution, my dear Stéphanie. A time when words such as 'unorthodox' and 'impossible' and 'unwilling' and 'unforeseen' lose their distinction. And in any case..." Pontmercy arched his back, his neck pressing back against her mouth as he felt it make soft, teasingly-too-soft, contact.

"And in any case, it feels wonderful. You must not stop..."

 

[Britwitch]

Stéphanie Marchand

"This is an age of Revolution, my dear Stéphanie. A time when words such as 'unorthodox' and 'impossible' and 'unwilling' and 'unforeseen' lose their distinction. And in any case...And in any case, it feels wonderful. You must not stop..."
Stéphanie smiled against the back of his neck, his words and tone matching the subtle actions of his body. Soon enough, she was certain, she would get to feel more of the passions he shared with her during his previous visit.

"...Who am I to deny you..." She whispered, begin to lengthen the contact her lips made with his flesh. Kissing, nibbling, suckling gently up and down the back of his neck and along his shoulders. All the while her small hands massaged his ever relaxing muslces.

She moved a little closer, pressing her bust against his back as her hands slid down slowly from his shoulders and began working their way along his arms. Feeling that concealed strength within them once more. Widening her legs a little, she shifted forwards and, without trying to hide the fact, began to grind her pelvis against the bottom of his spine. The layers of dress and undergarments between them prevented the action from having much effect upon her, but that was not her design. She wanted to leave him in no doubt of her desires as well as, hopefully, stoking his.

Her hands moved again, lower still, moving along the undersides of his arms until they met his torso, stroking and fondling their way ever downwards over his stomach towards his groin. All but embracing him now, Stéphanie stopped her kissing and raised her chin to rest upon his shoulder, whispering huskily as her fingers walked across the material of his trousers.

"I hope you are enjoying this, Claude...I want nothing more than to make you feel totally at ease..." Her fingers found their target, the column of firm flesh beneath his clothes. Curling around it she began to massage it softly, delicately, almost lovingly while the other hand trailed lazily over his stomach. Her breath tickling his ear. Smiling naughtily she ground her pelvis a little more firmly against his back and let out a gentle sigh that, to her surprise, was not entirely manufactured.

"I wonder..." Stéphanie squeezed his member through his clothes a little more firmly. "What would you have me do now? Would you have me continue...? Or find other ways to relax you...?"

 

[magbeam]

Claude Pontmercy

Pontmercy's breathing, having slowed down at the gentle touches of her hands and fingers, began to accelerate again; not due to the return of the stresses that he had actually been able to escape (or rather, allowed Stéphanie to distract him from) but rather a return of the pleasures that he had allowed himself to be indulged in so guiltily - from lingering Old Regime moral sentiments and self-shame the first time, and from the fact that it was a frank admission of him trying to hide from the problems that he, as a servant of the Republic, had helped foment this time.

At her words, Pontmercy began to protest, to tell her that they were both equals, both citizens, and that unquestioning female submission had been destroyed with the Old Regime. But now was not the time for politicizing, and after what he had seen, for the first time Pontmercy felt the urge to pontificate upon the Era of Virtue fade. A stream of confusion bubbled from within him, and to ignore it, he concentrated fully upon Stéphanie's warm, plump, moist lips as they worked over his neck, letting out another low moan as her pleasure subsumed his guilt.

At first, he was unaware of the motion behind him, and even once he felt it, it was a moment before realization dawned. Pontmercy let out a gasp as he felt her large breasts pushing against his back, her pelvic bone beginning a gyration that, through the layers of clothing between the two skins, became almost as if a pleasant, thoroughly natural (or as natural as such a lustful Oriental custom as this could ever be) massage of its own.

Her actions would have caused his member, already primed by days of frustration finally being subsumed and similar days of nocturnal reminisces finally coming to a fore, to rise to an awakened state; however, as her fingers moved down his chest, causing him first to inhale with shock before slowly letting his lungs out, enjoying the experience and close touch, Pontmercy's member became even more rigid, assuming the full salute that he remembered from his soldier's past. He let a groan as one of her hands mounted an exploratory expedition down southwards, completing its objective while the other retained a guard station on his stomach.

"I assure you, Stéphanie, that I am indeed enjoying this, as I think you well know, given the location of your hand." His voice was slightly breaking and, without even knowing it, Pontmercy was smiling as he spoke to the woman whose delicate chin was perched next to the ear she was no doubt enjoying teasing with her warm, pregnant breath.

"And, as enjoyable as this is...truly, as enjoyable as it is-" perhaps in commiseration, his member gave a quick jump under her ministrations "-I think I would enjoy seeing where you would take this further, Stéphanie. You surprised me so well last time...I am sure this evening will find it just as enjoyable."

 

[Britwitch]

Stéphanie Marchand

Slipping from behind him, Stéphanie stood briefly before him. Running her eyes over his naked upper body and down to the obvious swelling between his legs whilst running her hands lazily down the sides of her body, she raised them to the neckline of her dress, undoing the bow that held the tightly panelled garment closed. The top parted slightly, revealing a little more of her cleavage within the corset beneath.

She motioned for Pontmercy to lie down upon the couch and then gracefully moved to straddle his waist. Resting her hands upon his chest she sat up, her body pressing down upon that overly sensitive area of his anatomy. She began to run her hands over his chest as her hips began to rock once more. Slowly and languidly, grinding her pelvis down over his. Despite the layers of clothes, the act was as intimate as if they were both naked.

Stéphanie found herself biting her lower lip against a moan as her body's desires steadily grew within her. Her breath grew heavier and a soft flush filtered onto her cheeks. Eyes bright as she looked down at him through her eyelashes. Her fingers alternated between massaging and almost pinching his flesh. Fingers finding his nipples, stroking the small stiff nubs of flesh.

Moving her hands for a moment, she took hold of his, guiding them up to the front of her dress and placing them obviously over the partially exposed swells of her breasts. Smiling seductively she squeezed her hands over his, increasing their pressure on her flesh for a moment before returning her hands to his body. All the while her hips continued their slow dance over his. Again and again she pressed down on him, unable to stop her sighs now. Soft moans and whimpers began to fill the air around them, and not just from her she noted.

Quirking an eyebrow slightly, she slid a hand lower, between their bodies to rub a little more insistently over his crotch.
"I definitely don't think I need to ask if you are enjoying..." She paused to squeeze his member through his clothes with a shade more pressure. "...things..."

"...But what if I were to stop..." Stéphanie returned her hands to his chest and, applying a little pressure, lifted herself up and away from him. Breaking that connection that, even to her, felt so good. "...What then, Citizen...? Would you ask me, beg me to continue..." She teased, curious to know if the clearly aroused man beneath her had the energy and desire for the kind of intrigues that they had shared during their previous encounter or whether it would be a union of a simpler kind that they might share. "Or would you make me change my mind...?"

Stéphanie lowered herself for a moment, pressing back down upon him and grinding slowly and firmly all to briefly before pushing herself back up and hovering above him. Tantalisingly close but not close enough.
"You've have had more burdens than most have had to bear over the past few days...I can see the frustrations in your eyes, Claude and I want you to feel better, I want you to feel like the man I first met, the man in control...if you want me...take me..." She whispered huskily before pressing her mouth to his in a hungry kiss.