Making the Marquis

Author’s note: I shall add story codes as necessary per chapter. Don’t know where I’m really going with this yet.

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Ah, yes! Jeanette de Vereaux would be the perfect first victim to suffer at the Marquis’ hands in his new dungeon.

With her long lovely blonde locks and blue eyes, she looked as if she could have been a porcelain doll. Especially in her lovely pink day dress in a prim floral print. Yet, she fought like a wildcat, even with a blindfold over her eyes, as she screamed and thrashed about so that much Bartholomew, the Marquis’ attendant and right-hand man, could barely keep a hold on her.

“God’s codpiece, Marquis! This one’s little but she’s a fighter!”

“I would expect nothing less.”

The Marquis de Marais grinned as he watched Bartholomew chain her to the brick wall before him.

“Oh, my God, you are the Marquis de Marais…Oh, my God!” Madame de Vereaux cried out when she recognized his elegant voice. “What do you want from me? Why am I here?”

“You are the first guest in my new Chamber of Horrors, sweet. I hope you realize that you should be quite flattered. For I don’t invite just any woman to my dungeon.”

“Your dungeon!”

As she gasped for air, Jeanette’s breasts bounced enticingly over the neckline of her dress. With the structure of her corset pushing them upward, the Marquis’ mouth positively watered in anticipation of tasting her.

“But your quarrel is with my husband, not me! He is the one who gave you that nasty scar upon your face, not I!”

“Yes, I suppose you are a bit of an innocent lamb being dragged to the slaughterhouse, are you not? Do not dismay, Madame. You are my first victim but not the last. You see, I mean to wreak my revenge on the wives and mistresses of every man who was in that fateful battle. It will be such sweet vengeance to ruin them all, one by one. Bind her hands behind her back, Bartholomew!”

He saw her blindfold dampen from her tears as Bartholomew chained her wrists tightly behind her back.

“Don’t fret so, my sweet Jeanette,” the Marquis soothed as he stroked a tendril of her long blonde hair. “I have no plans to mutilate or murder you. That would be such a waste for all mankind.”

As he softly stroked her cheek, her hysterical sobs died down a bit. She was so sweet, so bloody sweet…

“Bartholomew, go away! I want this one all to myself.”

“As you command, Marquis.” Bartholomew could not disguise the disappointment in his voice as he left.

The Marquis almost growled with arousal as he proceeded to undo the multitude of tiny buttons which ran down the front of her dress, one by one.

“Oh, God! You’re going to rape me, aren’t you?” Jeanette cried out. “Oh, God!”

“Relax, Jeanette. I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

With a knife, he proceeded to slice off the pretty dress, leaving her standing and shivering in her chemise, corset, pantalettes, stockings and a pair of low-heeled shoes.

The Marquis kneeled at her feet.

“Let me have your right foot, Jeanette.”

“Why?” she shrieked.

“So I can chop off your toes one by one!” he taunted as he grabbed her right foot, nearly throwing her off balance. Taking off her shoe, he rubbed her stockinged foot slowly and sensually. “Now you’re starting to relax again, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

Experimentally, he tickled along her toes with his fingers. She inhaled sharply.

“Ticklish, are you?” he teased. “How enchanting!”

He then took off her other shoe and rubbed her left foot. She was as quiet and docile as a lamb at his touch.

“That’s better. I don’t want this to be unpleasant for you, my dear. In fact, I intend our experience to be the exact opposite. Even if you are my captive.”

The Marquis rose to his feet and just took in the sight of her. She was petite but enticingly round in all the right places. With her sweet breasts heaving within the confines of corset and her thighs clamped together tightly in her pantalettes, he hardly knew where to start first. He slid his hands over her buttocks, squeezing them before he started to tug at the ties of her pantalettes. Soon, her drawers and stockings were lying in a puddle at her feet. He then nuzzled his face into her thighs, licking at the soft flesh there. Her feminine scent was intoxicating.

“Please, Marquis, if you’re going to take me, just do it and get it over with…”

“No, that would be more like what your husband would do. And the thought of doing anything like Monsieur de Veraux grates on my nerves. Oh, I know all about his collection of mistresses in the country. When you did not become large with child, he cast you aside, didn’t he? And you didn’t mind, did you? Because at least then you would no longer suffer his coarse ruttings in the dark. But it shall not be that way with me, sweet!”

The Marquis undid the lacings at her corset, pulling down at her chemise so that her naked breasts were completely exposed. He first just softly stroked the outsides of her breasts.

“You see, I’ve been watching you for some time.”

“You have?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen you sitting with all of those frigid matrons in various ballrooms. With your lips all tight and stern and your eyes full of contempt…I’ve often fantasized of what I would do to soften that beautiful face of yours.”

Jeanette trembled as he moved his fingers to her nipples and played with them, pinching and pulling at them.

“Is this a good start?” he teased. “Ah, yes, I think so…”

She blushed as he reached a hand between her legs, feeling her warm wetness.

“Perhaps underneath that grim and prim exterior are hidden depths. Perhaps you just need a man to fuck you the way you need to be fucked.”

She moaned as he kept teasing her with his fingers before remembering that she was supposed to struggle. Quickly, he slapped one of her breasts, not hard enough to hurt her, just enough to scare her.

“Don’t fight me, Jeanette!”

His tactic worked as she remained still while he cut off her chemise with his knife, leaving her completely naked before him.

Then he slipped his hand between the nether lips of her pussy, lightly tapping at her clitoris. Again, she moaned.

“Hidden depths…” When he slipped a finger into her vagina, her muscles clenched around him immediately. “And quite eager depths too…The ice princesses are always the hottest in the bedroom, aren’t they? But we’re in no rush…”

Jeanette gasped when he placed a hard wooden stool underneath her hips. Then she made a frightened keening noise as he parted her legs wide, manacling her ankles to two adjoining poles about at the height of her shoulders. Every secret part of her was exposed and helpless to whatever he would do to her.

She began to sob again and started at the feel of his tongue licking at her tears.

“Oh, what melodrama!” he taunted. “It’s a shame to see a beautiful woman in such despair, all sprawled out before me with her pretty titties and pussy all hungry for a good fucking.”

He walked across the room to a wooden chest and retrieved a large feather.

“Perhaps a little tickling would put a smile on your face, hmm?”

“Oh, God…” Jeanette moaned with trepidation, guessing at just how he intended to torture her.

“No, just the Marquis…” he said as he cruelly ran the feather along the inside of her thigh. She writhed and screamed against her bonds like a wild animal.

“Scream if you wish, Madame, for no one shall hear you!”

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A loud whining cry startled Lauren from her furious typing.

Damn, the baby was up again?! Just when the story was coming along so nicely…

Lauren felt guilty as she heated up another bottle of baby formula for Dottie. What kind of a mother was she to be writing erotic stories instead of paying attention to her nine-month-old little girl? Too many times, she would set Dottie in front of the TV to watch baby videos or let her roll around on the floor and crawl around for hours while she was writing one nasty story after the next. And now that she had come up with this sexy new villain, the Marquis de Marais, she was positively obsessed with getting it all down into words.

For some time, she had tried to analyze this need of hers to write really racy stories.

Maybe it was from loneliness. Since Dottie’s birth, her husband was working all sorts of crazy hours to keep their finances afloat. Perhaps the Marquis was sort of an imaginary surrogate lover while he was away.

Maybe it was an act of rebellion against her repressed youth. She grew up in Texas, right smack in the middle of the Bible Belt. When she asked her mother about what masturbation was, her mother grew angry with her, demanding to know what she had been reading to learn of such a word. Good Southern Baptist girls were supposed to go to church, find a nice boy, have sex without enjoying it too much, and make lots of babies. Thank God she had decided to move to New York and become an atheist! But thanking God for being an atheist is a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?

Maybe it stemmed from her addiction to erotica. Inside her bedroom closet, there was a box of many different assorted works of erotic fiction. She was partial to short stories as when she was in the mood she had no patience for plots. She especially like the stories set in historical times. It all just seemed naughtier back then. She went through the books like water, only keeping the really memorable ones like “The Story of O” or “A Man and a Maiden”.

Maybe it was her way of feeling sexy again. She loved her little baby Dottie more than anything else in the world. But what no one ever tells a mother is that a baby kills any sort of sex life for a long time. For the first six months after Dottie’s birth, Lauren couldn’t make love with her husband because her cervix was so traumatized by the delivery. And even those attempts were when she and her husband were awake enough to even try to resume marital relations! Breastfeeding just made the sex drive even lower. And Jude Law could have done a naked lap dance on her and she would have yearned more for sleep than any naughty roll in the hay!

But now for some reason, Lauren got her groove back as she kept writing and masturbating…and writing some more…and masturbating some more…

At last, she had finally gotten Dottie back to sleep for the night after rocking her for what must have been half an hour. By that time, the creative muse had abandoned her. Also, she was just damned exhausted.

Lauren laid down in the bedroom, contemplating all of her favorite erotic short stories. What evil thing should her Marquis do to his next victim?

Out of nowhere, a hand shot over her mouth…

“Do not cry out, Madame, or you shall be most horribly punished!”