A lady’s tale

[cgraven]

A Story for Maya and C G Raven.

As Dickens said it was the worst of times it was the best of times. The French Revolution, the world turned upside down, the poor and oppressed rising for their rights, Legality, equality, and fraternity the watch words, Yet soon very soon they give way to a regime of terror worst than anything under the Bourbon kings, the Troupe de Terre is gone, replaced by the National Guard.

The guilty are brought to justice swift and sure at the kiss of Madame Gilluten, but so where the innocent. A word whispered in the dark could cost you your life. And so it was with her. A fresh young innocent girl her wedding day became a nightmare as her groom the Count de Mort and she where arrested .

She sits in her lonely cell a widow before ever really being a wife. His lifeless body another victim for the mob.

The man walked in his uniform coat drawn close about him his face masked. The jailer trembling at his sight.

“Oui monsieur she is here.. but…”

crack the blow that struck the jailer cheek echoed through the cell block.

“At once Monsieur”


The jailer came hauling her to her feet dragging her by her hair to stand before him. His uniform that of the national Guard.

“ Madame your time has come you will come with me now.”

He ushered her out of the prison into a coach and she despaired into the night.

Two nights later the coach pulled up behind a lonely inn deep in the French countryside.

“For your father I served with him in Canada………forget who you where , what you where, become the serving girl here and live.”

He helped her from the carriage.

Tell the Inn keeper the Raven has sent you. And he will give you the job.”

With that the officer and carriage disappeared leaving her alone in the dark.

 

[mya]

AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU

Before Amelie could even ask him—the Raven—a question or thank him for saving her life he was gone into the night. She shivered with cold as she watched the fire flicker in the torches at either side the heavy doors of the Inn, closed tight against the cold and who knew what else. Amelie stood there, as yet another tear, one of only many that she’d shed that day, slipped from her cerulean blue eyes and ran down her pale cheek now covered in dirt and grime. She hastily wiped at it with the ragged sleeve of her once lily-white dress. Instead it now hang in gray tatters around her slim body, barely managing to keep her respectfully covered. Her long golden tresses, which had been piled high atop her aristocratic head only this morning and interspersed with meadow flowers, now hung hap-hazard around her pale face.

Lord in heaven, what is to become of me? A serving girl? She blanched at the thought of being a servant. For all her life she’d been waited on hand and foot, and certainly did not relish the thought of being on the receiving end of commands from others who might be as demanding, or even more demanding than she herself had been. Dear God what is to become of me?

In the distance she could hear the sounds of horses hooves and men. She feared being found again by the soldiers more than she feared that which awaited her on the other side of the door. She prayed “The Raven” was indeed the friend of her father’s he’d said he was. One thing is certain, I can not stay here.

She drew herself up proudly to her full 5’6” height and hobbled to the door. She raised her fist to knock upon the door, taking one last deep breath before tapping. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK…the sound echoed loudly in her ears and she shivered yet again. The door opened with a loud creak. A figure cloaked in the darkness stood shielded behind the door. Amelie could not make out whether it was man or woman, young or old, short or tall. Her voice, abused by the cries she’d held back and the dust she’d swallowed that day, croaked barely loud enough to hear. “Are you the Inn Keeper?” Clearing her throat hastily, she tried again, this time louder, “I come in search of the Inn Keeper for The Raven has sent me.” She stood shivering at the door. Will I be allowed in or am I destined to die at the hands of the soldiers?

 

[cgraven]

Michelle Batard

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

The rapping on the back door of the “ De Juene Fille Caprice” rouses Michelle Batard from his drunken slumber. Hauling his massive form from his chair by the fire he stumbles to the back door. His bloodshot eyes are greeted by a slip of a girl. Her once lily-white dress, hanging in gray tatters around her slim body, barely managing to keep her respectfully covered. Her long golden tresses, hung hap-hazard around her pale face. His greedy little pig eyes took this all in at a glance and he licked his lips in anticipation of enjoying this sweet morsel at his door.

“Are you the Inn Keeper?”

her voice soft, choked, barley a whisper on the night air yet it stirred a dark long in the loins of Michelle.

“I come in search of the Inn Keeper for The Raven has sent me.”

The Raven Mon Dieu. That name so long forgotten like a spectra out of the Canadian woods it came floating back to him. The hollowing savages his death at hand , then the young Canadian fierce as the wolf sweeping in, his life spared. His body shook with the memory, the fear of that day.

“Come in what does that fiend require of me?”

Michelle ushers her into the kitchen

“No names they only bring trouble mademoiselle.”

 

[mya]

Amelie

She knew not which ghosts haunted the big man at the mention of “The Raven”. But even she could see that His name brought alertness to the man’s alcohol clouded eyes. Amelie had no desire to ask him of his ghosts, for she had enough fresh ones of her own--gathered only that very day. And she was relieved to see that the ghosts had at very least removed some of the lust she’d seen only moments before. He was a large man, and she feared him even as she prayed he’d not throw her out into the streets again.

“Come in what does that fiend require of me?” he asked as he led Amelie to his kitchen. The latent smells of food assailed her nostrils causing her empty stomach suddenly cramp with hunger. It was beneath her to beg for food—and she with stubborn resolve she stayed quiet on the matter. He tacked on a quick caution to his question, “No names they only bring trouble mademoiselle.” For the time being she didn’t cross him on this though she did wonder how they’d communicate if they did not know each other’s names. Monsieur and Mademoiselle would do for now if that’s what he wished.

“The Raven said you would give me shelter from the storm of violence outside Monsieur. For I am lucky to be alive, my betrothed was not so fortunate. There is much rioting and killing in the streets of Paris. Were it not for The Raven’s kind intervention, I would be dead already. Please Monsieur, may I stay in your Inn for the time being. For now, I am penniless, but I assure you that once things quiet in the streets I shall be able to return to my father and gather all the coin I need to repay you handsomely. Please Monsieur, allow me to rent a room on my word.” She watched his face carefully. If need be she’d mention the part about being a servant, but only if necessary. Surely it would not be necessary…would it? Amelie eyed the fresh baguette on the counter with the crock of fresh butter beside it. Her mouth watered. But still she stayed quiet on her hunger. First she’d secure a room, and then she’d work on adding food and drink to that which she’d owe him for later.

 

[cgraven]

Michelle Batard

“Mademoiselle A room, meals, money to be paid for all in the future by Papa?”

Michelle takes his seat by the fire. His beady little pig eyes freely run up and down Amelie’s supple near naked form.

“What do you take me for a fool?”

His voice harsh raspy with drink, He heaves his massive form from the chair, her towers over her his foul breath inches from her face.

“Mademoiselle, the king is dead, the Queen also, their regiments disbanded, the nobles flee leaving kith and kin to fend for themselves as best they can, and you want charity because your Papa will pay? Well where the General, why is is he not looking after his innocent little daughter? Oh yes AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.”

Michelle Batard collapses into his chair again. The poor chair grounds with the sudden massive weight. He tents his fingers in front of his face.

“Even your mysterious “Raven” is not here to protect you.”

He watches his words hit her like a slap across the face

“If you wish to eat and stay then you will work.”

Again he pauses. Sa wicked smile crosses his face.

“Remove that gown now and throw it into the fire, it is a death warrant to me…. The gown and all your clothing, Mademoiselle… And face me as you do it.”

There is no give or take in his voice or expression.

“Then you may eat, wash and I shall tell you where you can find suitable attire for your new position of serving wench.”

Michelle impatiently taps his fingers.

“NOW”

He would enjoy humbling this proud noble woman , but he knew that if he touched her it would be his life, that bastard would know some how. That “Damn Raven” would know.

 

[mya]

Amelie

If you wish to eat and stay then you will work.” He carried on. “Remove that gown now and throw it into the fire, it is a death warrant to me…. The gown and all your clothing, Mademoiselle… And face me as you do it.”

This big scary man, a man whose name Amelie did not even know, wanted her to strip naked! She shook before him. It appeared even the Raven would not be able to save her this time. Yet she dared not strip. Would her hurt her? Or worse? Even if he didn’t touch her, he’d strip Amelie of her dignity. Amelie didn’t think she could survive that—for only whores striped naked for strange men and payment to boot. Then again she needed this man to feed her and give her shelter for as long as the revolt happened in the streets. Could she dare stand up to him? Did she have any other choice.

The man sat there, seemingly pleased with himself. His drumming fingers made her more nervous. Her fingers worried the tattered sleeves of her dress, twisting them into tight rolls between her fingers. “NOW” he commanded in a thundering voice. She decided to try to beg for his mercy one last time.

“Please Monsieur,” Amelie croaked as she bowed her head in supplication. “I cannot strip naked. I am not used to such things. Please Monsieur,” she lowered herself to further begging, “give me the clothes you wish me to wear and I shall change in another room.” She longed to know what to call him, but for now she dared not ask too much. She had to concentrate on asking only for that she wished most at the moment.

 

[cgraven]

Michelle Batard watched as the young beauty toyed with the sleeve of her tattered gown His eyes cold unfeeling as he watched her, this proud aristocrat brought low by the a quirk of fate, and the unreasoning madness of the mob and there thirst for blood. Now delivered into his hands by the devil of the Bois Nord.

“Please Monsieur,”………………………….. “I cannot strip naked. I am not used to such things. Please Monsieur,” ………………………….“give me the clothes you wish me to wear and I shall change in another room.”

Amelie voice croaked, strained with the emotions of this cruel day, her head bowed
in supplication.


“I am Monsieur Michelle Batard Master of this house and all that dwell beneath its roof.”

His voice is cold and hard.

“You will do as I say Mademoiselle or you may forfeit your head for the pleasure of the mob…………………All it takes is a word in the right quarter!”.

His eyes once again sweep Amelie’s supple form. His voice carries a hint of sarcasm as he speaks.

“It is our Christian duty to help those in need Mademoiselle……but everything has its price Ma Chere.!”

There is a deadly silence as Batard eyes bore into her very soul.

“Now get on with it girl………..do as you have been told.”

 

[mya]

Amelie...drags her heels, but sees no way out...

“I am Monsieur Michelle Batard Master of this house and all that dwell beneath its roof.” Well at least she now knew his name—not that it really made much difference. The trembling Amelie was still standing in his kitchen faced with exposing herself indecently before the ogre.

“You will do as I say Mademoiselle or you may forfeit your head for the pleasure of the mob…” Michelle Batard reminded her ruthlessly. Pure terror filled Amelie’s brain as she remembered all the horrors she’d witnessed that day. Her very own fiancé beheaded before her own eyes. Amelie’s face paled and tears silently rolled down her cheeks. “Now get on with it girl………..do as you have been told,” he commanded her again.

Yet Amelie’s stubborn pride insisted she say something before taking her clothing off for the animal before her. “Monsieur Batard, you are a brute…nothing but a monster for treating a lady like this. Your mama would be ashamed of you!” With that she kicked her broken shoes off and then very slowly reached under the skirt of her dress to shimmy out of her stockings.

 

[cgraven]

AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU eyes flared, her aristocratic bearing asserting itself in on last outburst.

“Monsieur Batard, you are a brute…nothing but a monster for treating a lady like this. Your mama would be ashamed of you!”

Michelle watched as Amelie kicked off her shoes, lifted her skirts to remove her silken hose, the sheer perfection of her sculptured legs, the soft alabaster texture of her bare skin, pampered since her birth excited him beyond his wildest imaginings.

“Mademoiselle my mother was a whore, I the unfortunate result of a night of business……………..nothing more.”

As each dainty garment was removed, garters, bodice, skirt, and slips. His little pig eyes widened. There was a begrudging admiration growing for this young woman as she never turned from him. Finally Amelie stood there barefooted, clothed only in her chemise, the fire light silhouetting the subtle, sensuous, curves of her young form through the fine linen. Her firm young breast barely covered, her log sleek legs bared to his view.

As Amelie stood there Michelle Batard rose and circled her as if her where inspecting a fine young brood mare, he removed the pins from her hair and watched as it cascade down over her shoulders. Again he took his seat his massive form straining the chairs ability to hold his weight. He smiled a wicked thought crossing his twisted mind.

“Mademoiselle you will have need of a new name………………………… Ah yes I have it……………Paulette de Coucher………….Yes I like it…Learn it well.”


He let the irony of her new name sink in Paulette of the bed.

“Mademoiselle de Coucher remove your chemise.”

 

[mya]

Amelie (Paulette)

So he was the son of a whore—a bastard. Despite her aristotic class, Amelie was in the minority of her social standing in not caring about a person’s past. She judged a person on what they made of themselves. Yet Monsieur Michelle Batard had her standing in his kitchen wearing only her chemise. She felt a bit better for having stood up to him, for testing him really, and for coming though it unhurt.

Suddenly his demeanor turned wicked and she could see the pride beaming from his round face as he christened her with a new name. “Mademoiselle you will have need of a new name………………………… Ah yes I have it……………Paulette de Coucher………….Yes I like it…Learn it well.” Now that stung.

Paulette of the Bed was she? Her eyes bore into his as she muttered under her breath, “Monsieur Batard—seems you’ve been named appropriately—for you are indeed a bastard!” Amelie crossed her arms before her, grabbing the bottom of her chemise and while lifting and straightening her arms, she bared her flesh for his beady little eyes. She came to realize he would not accept anything less and she remembered he’d promised other clothing suitable for a serving wench. She didn’t care, as long as she could cover her flesh from his feasting eyes. She stood naked, bare feet on the cold stone floor, a coolness in the air even though they were in the kitchen. Her nipples pebbled and though it embarrassed her, she stood with her arms at her sides, stubbornly refusing to cover herself up. “There, I have done as you said. Now please Monsieur, I-Paulette, beg of you to give me my serving girl clothes.” She knew not what else he wanted, but she was prepared to dress quickly in the serving wench uniform and begin her kitchen chores if that got her out from under his hungry gaze.

His eyes travelled her body, thoroughly examining the blonde triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. Amelie swore she saw him lick his lips and then his smile grew wider. His eyes travelled upwards again, seemingly enjoying the scenery of her hardened nipples. She prayed he'd give her the new clothing soon.

 

[cgraven]

Michelle Batard

Waited in anticipation as the proud aristocratic beauty stood ther only clothed in her linen chemise. A fierce pride flashed in Amelie (Paulette) eyes. He saw her full moist full lips move as she mutters her voice barely a whisper.

“Monsieur Batard—seems you’ve been named appropriately—for you are indeed a bastard!”

Angered flared in Michelle’s eyes, his hands griped the arms of the chair in fury, he began to rise but settled back as Amelie crossed her arms before her, grabbing the helm of her chemise and while lifting straightened her arms, she bared her, smooth, alabaster flesh to him, the chemise the last sign of the life of privilege dropping from her numb lifeless fingers. Amelie (Paulette) was a vision of innocent beauty, naked, bare footed, her nipples pebbled, from the chill of the room, or from embarrassment he pondered. She stood with her arms at her sides, her head held stubbornly high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of to cover herself up, so he could command her to drop her hands to her side.

“There, I have done as you said. Now please Monsieur, I-Paulette, beg of you to give me my serving girl clothes.”

Despite her fierce pride, a hint of pleading to be released form her present torment tinged her sweet angelic voice. Michelle eyes slowly examined ever inch of her divine, supple, nubile form. His eyes blatantly resting on the, sparse, golden, downy fleece, of her youthful womanhood. Slowly his eyes travel up the sculptured perfection of Amelie (Paulette), boldly caressing her firm, proud, young breast and nipples, as if his gaze where his rough calloused hands.

Monsieur Batard was at her side, the back of his course hand caresses Amelie (Paulette) cheek. Then in a flash, in a speed that belied his mass, his fingers entangled in her golden tresses, her head held back, and his wine soaked breath, hot and moist at her ear.

“Paulette…………you must learn to listen and obey……….. I have told you once already…….. Throw that gown into the fire, it is a death warrant to me………..Then you may eat,……….. wash………. And then I shall tell you where you can find suitable attire for your new position of serving wench.”

There is a dangerous quality in Michelle Batard, voice and eyes. Then a thought crosses his evil mind a slow grin spreads across his face.


“Paulette tell me are you still a chaste virgin……………I have always longed to watch a virgin bathe……………If you are not all the better for a man has certain needs.”


Michelle chuckled to himself, the devils choice for this proud beauty,……. admit to being bedded and face his use of her body,……..or confess to being a virgin and further humiliating herself by bathing before him all in all this day had been an unexcepted pleasure.

 

[mya]

Amelie (Paulette)

Amelie gasped, as Michelle grabbed her hair and yanked her head back roughly. She hadn’t yet truly come to understand just what the consequences of her disobedience could get her—for up until now the men in her life had treated her as a princess. As the sting of her pulling hair subsided, she caught the reek of his warm hot breath—he smelled of too much wine and too little cleaning. She held her breath so as to not have to smell him again. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore him—she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he scared her somewhat. Yet she listened to each of his words closely.

“Paulette…………you must learn to listen and obey……….. I have told you once already…….. Throw that gown into the fire, it is a death warrant to me………..Then you may eat,……….. wash………. And then I shall tell you where you can find suitable attire for your new position of serving wench.” Oddly enough she could understand the wisdom of his words in that. For she too knew that no serving wench could own such fine clothing as she did. And as she did not want to become a victim to the mobs outside she’d gladly burn the clothing of her former life. But before she could say that she’d comply with his wishes, his issued his next decree. “Paulette tell me are you still a chaste virgin……………I have always longed to watch a virgin bathe……………If you are not all the better for a man has certain needs.” So he would not simply be happy with watching her undress and taking every last thing that was hers. Though she easily told him the truth for the last thing she wished was for the drunken bastard to take the last visage of her virtue from her—the one she’d saved for her wedding night.

"Show me the way to the bath tub Monsieur Batard! For I am a PROPER mademoiselle Monsier!" she said defiantly, still ignorant of the fact that serving wenches did not have the luxury of a bath tub filled with warm water by servants. His guffaws rang in her ear. You are a cheeky one Paulette. In time you will pay for your willfulness. Bath tub?” He laughed again and roughly picked her naked form up in his arms as he stomped out of the back door of the Inn.

The cool night air hit her naked body. She shivered even as she struggled against the fowl smelling man. His eyes again feasted on her hardened nipples seeming to delight in how they grew with the chill. He stomped over to the edge of a pool of water and unceremoniously tossed her in. She sputtered as she hit the water and went under. Still she could hear his chuckles. As she broke surface, he taunted her again, “You, My Dear Paulette, are a SERVING WENCH. No bath tubs and no lady in waiting to do your bidding. You are damned lucky we have hot springs here, or you’d be bathing in ice cold water!” He tossed Amelie (Paulette) a bar of soap. “Now be quick about it, or I could still use you to fulfill my other needs.” Amelie turned her back to him and began to lather the soap in her hands.

“Turn around Paulette. I wish to see my serving wench.” Amelie ignored him. Suddenly with the speed she’d again not expected her bent down grabbed her hair and tugged her roughly around. “You will do as I say Paulette, or…” He reached with his free hand and roughly pinched her nipple causing her to yelp. “I will find other ways to make you do as I wish. GOT THAT!” Amelie huddled in the water facing him. She washed her hair first, carefully leaning back in the water so as to keep most of her body covered, and with any luck adverted from his prying eyes. He stood there smiling the whole time. She washed her arms and legs, careful no to clean between her thighs or touch her breasts. She desperately did not wish him to see her touch her private parts. As she climbed from the water, done with her bath, his voice stopped her before she could step out. Now she was caught in knee height water, totally exposed to view. “Perhaps I need to help you wash just like a child Paulette? For I believe you missed your pretty breasts and between your thighs.”

“Damn you Michelle Batard!” Amelie replied, but she quickly used the soap in her hand to lather her hands once again. She used her hands on each breast and circled their creamy globes. Her nipples grew even at her own touch. Her face flamed with embarrassment. She quickly slipped her still soapy hand between her legs and then rinsed the soap from her body. “There. Are you satisfied now! NOW where are my clothes?” She stepped out of the water, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

 

[cgraven]

” Show me the way to the bath tub Monsieur Batard! For I am a PROPER mademoiselle Monsieur!”

A what a proper “Little Mademoiselle” Paulette is, for Amelie died, as the flames consumed her wedding finery, along with everything she had been. or hope for. Yet Paulette’s stubborn pride yet could coast her life. This haughty mademoiselle had to learn her place in life and learn it quickly.

Michele swept the petit Paulette in to his massive arms, she kicked and thrashed against him as her carried her in to the night, again Paulette drank form the goblet of humility as her forced her not only to bath but to touch herself most intimately, there in the night air, where a guest from the Inn or passerby could easily see her.

“ “There. Are you satisfied now! NOW where are my clothes?”

Again my finger are entangled in Paulette’s wet silken tresses, my lips crushed to hers, my tongue forcing it ways into her delicate sweet mouth

“Wench you do not speak to the master of the house in such a manner.”

Again Paulette is in his arms as he carriers her into the kitchen and in to a small chamber just beyond. He dumps her dripping from unceremoniously on the simple sturdy bed, then slams the bolt of the door home.

The pale moon light baths Paulette’s body in a shimmering gown of silver, the droplets of water, diamonds that hang from her taunt nipples.

He pulls a towel from the cupboard.

“Come her wench you need to be dried lest you catch the grip.”

Michele stands there the towel spread between his massive hands the spider’s web for the trapped little fly Paulette.
.

 

[cgraven]

The letter.

Monsieur Corbeau (Raven),

A new tide sweeps the land and the old regime is swept away with it, and the haughty master now come to justice for the wrongs committed against the people, and I have been, unjustly wronged.

Monsieur le Compte had me broken from the ranks cashiered because of his lust for my fiancé. Now fate and by your unwitting hand has delivered his daughter in to my hands.
Such a pretty little morsel she is, so young so innocent. As you know I am a man of opportunities, a man that seeks a profit where it can be made, and the sweet mademoiselle you have so kindly delivered to my tender mercies will I have not doubt provide both.

Still your hand my romantic fool of a friend, less certain documents that rest in a safe place find their way to the authorities, in the case of my disappearance or untimely end.

I know you will forgive the lack of names as we live in perilous time and all must survive as best they can. Do not interfere with my revenge, mademoiselle, has escaped her fate once and avoided the kiss of “Madame La Guillotine”. Your romantic nature may yet condemn her. Remember I know who you are and what guise you cloak yourself with as well an a dead man can not save an innocent dove.


Le Bastard

 

[mya]

Amelie (Paulette)

Amelie knew she was now Paulette—at least she’d have to play it that way. In her head she was still Amelie, but she’d be Paulette because Michele demanded it and because he was right that it would be safer. She could not afford to be recognized and tried for whatever crimes the mobs outside imagined her to have committed. For it would surely mean the loss of her head.

Paulette fought Michelle Batard, kicking and squirming as his lips claimed hers in a crushing kiss. He tasted of stale tobacco and alcohol. And while he may have enjoyed his daliance, his words afterward gave the true reason for kissing her—punishment for the inappropriate demands she continued to make on him. “Wench you do not speak to the master of the house in such a manner.” A combination of fear (of Michelle and his actions), her wet skin still not dried from her bath, and the cold from the night air, Paulette shivered in the little dark dank room where Michelle had deposited her.

As he turns back to her with towel in hand, “Come here wench you need to be dried lest you catch the grip,” he says. She’s a bit leery of him though. Does he truly wish to save her getting sick? Will he stop at just drying her or does he intend to further push himself on her? Paulette watches in warily from her perch in the corner on the bed. Her teeth chatter as the water still runs down her body. She needs to warm up and the quickest way is to be dry. She scrambles to the edge of the bed closest to Michelle Batard.

“You must be a busy man Monsieur. I assure you that I can dry myself. Thank you anyway,” she says demurely hoping that it might be enough to appease his dominating personality. She stands before him, hand outstretched waiting for the towel, or not.

 

[cgraven]

Paulette watches me her legs drawn up to hide her charms from me her eyes wide in thought, her teeth chatter as the water still runs down her body. It is radiant in the slivery moon light; Paulette scrambles to the edge of the bed closest me.


“You must be a busy man Monsieur. I assure you that I can dry myself. Thank you anyway,”

“I shall make the time Paulette….Do you think you’re the 1st woman I have ever seen naked and at my mercy?”


My voce softened a bit my eyes teasing her.

“Child If you catch the grip that devil the Raven will have my life.”

A note of fear just for effect tinges my voice my eyes shift as if the mere mention of that name will bring him.

“Come Paulette don’t be foolish. If I wanted your virtue I could have taken it by now.”

 

[mya]

Paulette (Amelie)

Just exactly what did he mean by if she caught the grip that the Raven would have his life? She certainly did not know who the Raven was. But Paulette noted the fear in Michelle’s voice as he mentioned the Raven and she thought Michelle sounded sincere and she was freezing. So she stepped into the towel he held out, a blush colouring her face.

“Very well. Merci Monsieur,” she added softly. There was no use in angering him at this point. She prepared herself for the touch of his hands all over her body. She closed her eyes so as not to show the embarrassment shining in her eyes. She stood still, just waiting for him to take care of the task of drying her body and hair.

 

[cgraven]

Paulette stepped into the towel he held out, a blush coloring her face; his massive hands hold the towel, the spider’s web, to trap the poor little fly Paulette, his fained fear of “The Raven” the added honey to bait the trap.


“Very well. Merci Monsieur,”

Paulette’s, voice a soft whisper of resignation, her eyes closed, demurely cast down, as Michelle enfolds Paulette’s young innocent body is into the towel. He smiles to himself, as he can feel the tenses in her body the trembling from cold and fear. Her hold world turned upside down. Ther prison as she faced death, her rescue, then her abandonment at the lonely inn, “Chasse de Jeun Fille”, and the rough treatment that she had suffered at Michelle’s hands.



Those massive hands whose touch has been so rough, demanding now are tender as he dries Palettes shoulders and back, as they reach around to dry her abdomen, to come up and slowly seductively massages her firm young breasts dry, and the coarse material rapidly grazing her virginal nipples. His other massive hand covers the whole of Paulette’s flat firm abdomen and draws her ever so slowly back to him in a firm embrace.

Michelle’s hands, despite their size, as gentle and tender, as any maiden could wish for from her lover’s touch. It is tender, firm, and reassuring, chasing the horrors of Paulette’s recent pass away in Michele’s tender embrace.

Michelle hums a old country lullaby as her dries her.

 

[mya]

Paulette (formerly Amelie)

Paulette stood stiffly before the man as he wrapped the towel around her shivering body. She remained very still as his opulent fingers proceeded to stroke her body through the cloth drying the droplets from her skin. At least he left her private areas to last. His gentle touch dried her form slowly and calmly. Paulette relaxed slightly.

Then his hand cupped her breasts, each in turn, squeezing and stroking and squeezing some more. She thought he paid an inordinate amount of attention to them, though she wasn’t sure. All she knew for sure is that it created sweet sensations in her body and she could feel her nipples puckering under his touch. As she relaxed Michelle used his other hand to guide her backwards to lean against him. And so intent was she on the pleasure radiating into her body from the pointed peaks of her breasts, she barely noticed that he’d done so.

She leaned on him as he continued the job of drying her form. His soft voice singing calming songs. She felt like a child in her father’s arms as he cared for her. Well except for the part where her hardened nipples tingled—and she pushed that to the back of her mind. She’d never admit to herself or to him the pleasure it gave her. Instead she stood perfectly still for him so he could finish the job.

She’d began to trust that he had no ulterior motive toward her other than to protect her from the havoc raging outside and to gain a serving wench at the same. She realized it was a small price to pay in exchange for keeping her head. And she’d all but forgot the way his eyes had devoured her naked body earlier or the way he’d demanded to know if she was a virgin and the implied ramifications if she was not. He’d lulled her into trusting him for now, though he had yet to dry between her legs.

 

[cgraven]

Paulette dose not fight him but relaxes in his embrace, lulled by the simple country tune he hums, by the need to trust and feel safe, if only for a moment. The need to be loved and cherished as she once was, safe in her father’s embrace. Michelle Batard sense this longing this need in Paulette and his hands are tender, gentle, and reassuring. Michelle feels her nipples pucker, and then tighten to hard little ruby buds as he dries her. Soft little mewing sounds escape Paulette’s lips as the towel coarse texture tease, and please her virginal nipples.

Michelle uses the towel to slowly seduce the innocent Paulette. Now that massive hand that has lain so still, just holding her in a close embrace begins to stir. Ever so slightly at first, just a slow circler motion on her flat abdomen, drying, soothing, just lightly dancing over the surface of Paulette’s flanks and thighs. Michelle is careful not to directly touch her sweet “Venus mound”, not to alarm the innocent lamb. Slowly seductively, like a thief in the night, the towel coarse material brush Paulette’s inner thigh, innocently begging Paulette to open them wider, to surrender to the glorious warmth that is spreading.

All the while Michelle's massive hand is still gently massaging Paulette’s firm breasts. His fingers now rolling a taunt nipple under his thumb, his voice a subtitle hypnotic humming, warm, and moist, at Paulette’s ear.

 

[mya]

Paulette

Paulette relaxed further, opening her legs wider at the urging of his hands as they worked to dry her completely. His fingers on her nipple felt too good to stop. She knew it was not right for a lady to allow a man to paw her like that, but the delicious sensations it created in her body allowed her to forget. That and the fact that HE initiated it, and demanded compliance from her. It had not been in her control to stop it in the first place. So she rested against him, savouring the sweet ripples that coursed through her body from his manipulation of her taut peaks.

Down below his hand worked slowly, drying her carefully. As his fingers inched nearer and nearer to the centre of her womanhood, she had a strange wish that he’d touch her there too. She’d long denied her body of these pleasures. And dreamed of her new husband teaching them to her this very evening. But it was not to be. Fate had made sure of that. Well fate and the guillotine. And she was not responsible for having Michelle's hands on her. She had tried to stop him. So whatever was to happen this evening was not in her control—nor would she allow it to be on her conscience. Though she would not request he touch her either. If he did, he did so because HE required it, not because she did. Her mind would not allow for her to see it any other way. But it did not mean that she did not want it—just that she’d never admit it.

 

[cgraven]

Ah Paulette sweet innocent Paulette, Michelle Batard smiled to himself as she relaxed, slowly, melting in to his arms, relaxing, yearning for some semblance of security, in a world turned upside down. The hypnotic melody, he hums, further lulls her tiered frightened mind, as his hands seductively toy with Paulette’s young, lush, virginal body, lighting little fires that will eventually consume her innocents.

Michelle, is far from a handsome man, he is massive in stature, his shoulders two ax handles wide, hands the size of a side of bacon, yet his fingers are long and slender,. There is strength in his hard body, born of a life time of hard work. “Le Geant” (The Giant), the taunt of the village children when he was young, his massive size, the scare on his face from birth, his large, nose, and piercing hazel eyes, had always struck fear into others, and he had been spurned, and avoided as a freak of nature. Only once in Michelle Batard long measurable existence had he known love and that was ripped from him by Monsieur le Compte, MADMASELLE AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU, father. Then cast back to the gutter from which he had arisen.

Unnoticed little gasps, sighs, and soft mewing escaped Paulette’s full moist lips, as she arches her breast to Michelle’s touch. The coarse towel and his hand caress Paulette’s inner thigh, in slow soothing and oh so stimulating temptations. They seductively edge higher till coarse fabric gently, grazes Paulette’s rose pink neither lips in a fleeting pass, then to lightly, sensually, dry, and massage the spun gold downy fleece of her “Venus Mound”.

 

[mya]

Paulette

Michelle’s hands continued their work, carefully drying every inch of her. She stretched as a cat when his fingers grazed her nether lips as he worked the roughened towel in ever increasing circles over her private parts. It felt so good. Paulette leaned harder against the big man, momentarily forgetting where she was and whose hands were on her. His fingers merely teased her, but brought goose bumps of desire to her flesh. Her pointed peaks ached for his touch again and again. Every time his fingers left, she mourned their loss. But when they returned the young girl basked in their heat.

Small mewing noises slipped unbidden from Paulette's lips. As the sounds grew louder into moaning noises, she bit her lip to keep them from him. It was not proper or ladylike to let him know that she enjoyed it. But he said nothing, he just continued his work—even after she was dry. Her body didn’t feel the cold either anymore. She stood in his arms for a very long time, soaking up the sensations he was building in her. But when a cough racked his lungs, she was reminded where she was. She turned her head and saw his face and the spell was broken. She jumped out from his arms, and turned to face him, a blush warming her cheeks.

“Merci Monsieur, merci,” she stammered. “Please Sir, may I have my new clothes now?” she asked demurely and cast her eyes to the floor for fear she’d read the triumph in his eyes for the conquests he’d already enjoyed from her body. And in truth, that she had enjoyed also. But she did not admit this to herself let alone him.

 

[cgraven]

Music greets my ears as I play Paulette innocent you body fine a fine instrument and I the master, a caress to her taunt nipples, a small whimpering, mewing, escapes her lips. A tender pass to massage her “Venus mound, her sigh becomes a moan, growing stronger as Paulette’s supple body awakes to sensual pleasure.

Paulette melts in to my arms seductive embrace My cheek on hers, she bit her lip to, and still her gasps, sighs, and moans of pleasure, to keep them from me. For She is MADMASELLE AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU a lady and I am Michelle Batard. A Bastard. Yet she stays in my arms still arching her virginal body to my touch. A cough from and old war wound racked my lungs. She turned her head our eyes meet and I she the truth there in her eyes, hope soars then shock, horror, as she beholds my crude face. Paulette, no it is Amelie that jumps out from my arms, and turned to face, a crimson blush colors her cheeks.

“Merci Monsieur, merci,” ………………“Please Sir, may I have my new clothes now?”

Her voice a breathless stammer, her eyes demurely cast down in an effort to hide the truth from me. I am filled with rage again out of necessity my fingers our entwined in her golden tresses her naked back pressed to mine I bend her head back and kiss Paulette deeply my tongue, forcing its way into her sweet mouth, I savor its taste her pitiful struggles making it all the sweeter finger and thumb tweak an tease a taunt diamond hard nipple till at last Paulette moans her pleasure into that forced kiss.. At that moment I flinger form me and she lands sprawled on the bed.


“Girl you best remember MADMASELLE AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU, the lady is dead.”

There is a savage note to my taunting voice.

“There is only Paulette de Coucher, a Serving Wench, who serves the wishes of the master of the house ME”

My voice a soft threading whisper.

“Do you understand Mademoiselle Paulette de Coucher?”

 

[mya]

Paulette

It wasn’t so much that Michelle Batard kissed her, but how he kissed her that had Paulette seething inside. For SHE was a LADY after all, not a whore. As his fingers tugged her hair roughly and his foul tasting tongue claimed her mouth, she struggled against him. Her hands pressed against his chest as she sought to break his embrace, but it was no use for he was much too strong. A pain seared through her nipple as he pinched it cruelly between his fingers. But her cry could not be heard because his tongue gagged her. He continued his kiss and his touch on her nipple and the pain was forced out by a different heat.

Damn Michelle Batard to hell, for once again he’d easily managed to play her body like it belonged to him. To draw from her that which she did not wish to give him—a pleasurable response to his touch, to his tormenting even. Just as Paulette began to enjoy his touch once again, soft moans began to flow from her lips. It was then that he threw her savagely away from him. Once again she found herself naked and sprawled upon the bed. Her head spinning to understand what had happened to cause him such sudden anger. She leaned up on her elbows, folding her legs at her knees to cover herself from him as best she could.

“Girl you best remember MADMASELLE AMÉLIE BOUGUEREAU, the lady is dead,” he spat out. “There is only Paulette de Coucher, a Serving Wench, who serves the wishes of the master of the house ME”

His soft threading whisper was much more menacing than his angry one as he asked, “Do you understand Mademoiselle Paulette de Coucher?”

Paulette stared at him, knowing there was but one answer, at least one answer that was safe. “Yes Monsieur Batard. You are the master of this house and I Paulette de Coucher, a Serving Wench who serves your wishes.” Still in Paulette’s head she did not believe this, but she knew too that she’d best give him the response he wanted. She’d already learned that disobeying him or angering him only meant that he punished her. Abet some of the punishment was pleasant, but it was not appropriate for her—a proper lady—to enjoy it, so she pushed that thought to the back of her mind once again. She lay there demurely waiting to see if the large man would accept her placating words at face value.