Leading The Blind

Trust was never really an issue when it came to the Marquis, but it was an interesting prospect nonetheless. How these mortals worshipped it, revered it, then abused it when someone offered it to them. It was the main weapon of the Marquis' most despised people - hypocrites. Those that charmed, seduced, wooed others into thinking that they were terminally upstanding, constantly reassuring their prey that their best interests were at heart. The worst kind of hypocrites would pompously tell other people that they were wrong, that what they were doing was abominable, that they were little more than the scum of the Earth, before making that fragile, virginal trust malleable, and shrouding themselves in it when they indulge in the very same activities.
 
De Sade liked nothing more than to pick out these people and shame them. It had become quite a past-time. Nothing more satisfying that seeing someone squirm at the revelation of their dissimulation, eyes darting everywhere, hands clasped so tightly in their laps that their knuckles appeared quite bloodless.
 
Nothing more satisfying, perhaps, apart from the idea of Madeleine, bound, anticipating his ministrations.
 
He was aware of every movement she made. How her wide eyes travelled from his bed, to him, and back to the bed again. How her tongue unselfconsciously darted quickly over her lips. How she shifted her weight from foot to foot. He felt her fingers move slightly in the confine of his hand, and he had to struggle to stop the ghost of a smile appear at his lips.
 
"Oh, alright then. Set yourself up over there, and I'll be over in a tick."
 
The Marquis finally allowed himself that smirk, and in one swift movement he had lifted her cool fingers to his lips, brushing them gently.
 
"Madeleine, my sweet, I think your benevolent heart even outweighs the darling Abbe's."
 
"I wouldn't say that," she smiled, tugging her fingers away from him, "I don't think anyone's that kind-hearted!"
 
de Sade felt his upper lip start to curl in natural contempt. As much as he adored the young Abbe, he acquired quite an unpleasant taste in his mouth upon the mention of his virtue. How many times had he looked at that boy, and realised what a tragic waste he was? Endless days tending the insane, providing them with infinitely more kindness than this apparent God of his did! Coulmier offered them sanctuary and kindness; Our Lord discarded them onto Eawithwith nothing more than a shrivelled mind and a useless body.
 
The Abbe had often been his muse. Such a portrait of male beauty - all emerald pools of eyes and ebony hair - yet the Marquis knew that inside, he was constantly battling. Devoted to his cause, yet he was born a man, and therefore born with a man's needs. Madeleine, his dear, sweet Madeleine, was the object of Coulmier's lingering gaze, and possibly the subject of many late-night dreams. The Marquis had scoffed that the Abbe probably did not indulge in self-gratification. His God may consider it sinful. But the self-inflicted lashes when he felt that pulse focus embarrassingly between his thighs was virtuous, of course.
 
"You're slipping away from me again."
 
He was wrenched blissfully from his thought by Madeleine's voice and the delicious sensation of her hand upon his forehead, fingers dampened with the water she had poured onto the cloth.
 
"I am wracked with fever, darling, you cannot expect my full attention."
 
"I always seem to have your full attention, wanted or otherwise."
 
"Oh, Madeleine, how cruel you are! At all other times, my fever is not here." He clamped his hand over hers and lifted it away from foreforehead, placing it upon his chest. "It burns brightly in here, and only for you, my lovely."
 
Madeleine shooed him away from her into the direction of the bed.
 
"We both know that's not true. You often confuse your heart with another organ anyway. A far more important organ, in your eyes!"
 
"I judge the importance of said implements on their usage and role in my functioning. Now, my heart is often considered non-existent by some, and as for the other organ in question - well, no one can doubt that it's very much in existence, and an essential part of my craft, can they?"
 
"So much for taking your pen in hand, Marquis."
 
He had no reply to that, aside from finally settling upon the bed. He admired her so much more than any other woman. Despite her humble background - he had always believed that if she were born into a rich society, she would succeed beyond anyone's expectations - Madeleine possessed intelligence and a self-assurance that was usually taught in far more lavish surroundings. She could quite easily fend him off with a few well-timed remarks, although he had nudged her guard a little on a few occasions. He didn't like to think of it as breaking them - there was so much more delight to be taken in the chase. The thrill of the chaste, yes, that was his Madeleine.
 
He ran his hands over the fine fabric of his bed cover. The thread count,tangtangibly fine, made it delicious to the touch. His pillows, as plump and accommodating as his ones in La Coste, supported him perfectly. The fine mahogany wood of his bedposts gleamed in the dullest light, but he often found that the reflected their magnificence most impressively by candlelight. The way the flames stretched and writhed, like humans committed in that most base act, and their dancing shadows stroked the wood lovingly, a feast for the eyes.
 
Only one thing was missing from the bed.
 
And that thing was approaching it.
 
The Marquis had often considered what Madeleine would be doing at approximately the same time that he would finally settle to bed. He knew she retired to bed fairly early - she was often up at the crack of dawn - yet she had informed him that from time to time she would just go to the Chapel and sit. He had initially displayed his dislike of the idea, but Madeleine had energetically assured him that its religious connotations meant very little to her; she merely appreciated the aesthetic splendour of it. He had heard that for such a humble asylum that it was quite remarkable - lavish stained glass windows, statues of various praying saints dotted around, the air heavy and intimate with incense.
 
He also knew that Madeleine could not invite visitors into her bedchambers - not only because she had a virginal status, but the practicality issue too - she shared a room with her Mother, consequently could not indulge in any sexual gratification. He had never been so bold, or rather had not had the opportunity, as to ask her if she had experienced any real sexual pleasure. He knew that she was aware of it, and to be narcissistic, he had given her opportunity to experience it. She had often bestowed kisses upon him in exchange for stories, kisses that had initially been chaste, but he had later bargained into far more lustful exchanges.
 
The mattress shifted when Madeleine placed herself next to him, cold compress in hand. The Marquis watched her, feeling slightly touched. Her face, at that moment in time, had such an earnest, do-good expression upon it that he felt a twinge close to guilt at his ideas. But it soon disappeared as she inched closer to him, biting lightly down on a full lower lip as she stretched to press the cloth against his forehead. A shiver ran gleefully down his spine as a rivulet of water trickled silently down his face, and Madeleine's finger quickly wiped it away. As she moved closer to do so, the swell of her bosom, clothed so wonderfully by that rough-materialed bodice, brushed his upper arm. The Marquis was a man of control, but he already began to feel that telltale throb, synchronised perfectly to his pulse. His hands lay limp - about the only thing that was - in his lap, but he did not intend for them to remain there.
 
"Would you mind undoing your cravat for me? It's just that I want to do your neck, and I don't want to spoil it."
 
The Marquis allowed his eyes to meet Madeleine's, temporarily glossing over that predatorial stare with a piteous gaze.
 
"Madeleine, I am an ill man. My fingers tremble like a newlywed. Come along, and be a dear. Your fingers are so impossibly able, and this is the only pure use I can think to put them to."
 
Madeleine clucked her tongue, and thrust the damp cloth into his hands.
 
"Honestly, the things I do for you."
 
"You have no idea."
 
Ignoring his last comment, Madeleine swiftly unknotted the cravat, yanking at the material to pull it free from his neck. Her fingers were immediately replaced with the cooling sensation of the cloth, the corner of it trailing down onto the Marquis' chest. Madeleine was no nurse, but she had tended to enough inmates to garner some sort of experience. She could easily say that she had been in such close contact with a man before, but it was all so innocent that she hadn't given it a second thought. Despite herself, she had to admit that it felt completely different now. She was fully aware that the Marquis desired her, and that made her blush a little and smile to herself, and now here she was, and he was completely submissive to her hands. How odd! But she liked the feeling of power, mild as it was. And she had to test the waters, now smooth waters, still as a hourglass, and see what tsunamis rose underneath. Her relationship with the Marquis felt like a balance constantly being tipped, a sword fight that always ended in a draw, a dance that was intercepted.
 
With this idea in mind, Madeleine slowly withdrew the cloth and frowned.
 
"I think it would be easier if I got behind you."
 
The Marquis hid his initial look of surprise.
 
"I've often practised that philosophy myself, child. Feel free to manipulate me as you will." He nudged her chin with his index finger. "I'm all yours."
 
Madeleine had to steady herself as she crawled over, and at one point overbalanced, leading her to grab his thigh in order to stop herself toppling off the bed. Her outburst of giggles hid his gasp of surprised arousal.
 
Settling behind the Marquis, kneeling demurely behind him, Madeleine wrapped her arms around him, one hand pulling away the material of his shirt and waistcoat; the other gently applying the cloth to his neck and upper chest. Madeleine continued to dab gingerly, yet with firm and assured hands. She peered around to converse.
 
"Does this make your fever feel any better?"
 
The Marquis allowed his head to loll back, looking at Madeleine with somewhat glazed eyes, the cool blue orbs seeming to see right through her.
 
"It'll do for now. Although I can think of a million better cures, which are instantly accessible."
 
He looked hungrily at her lips. Madeleine registered this, and feeling a swell of courage crash within her, and allowing the cloth to drop, her hands grasping the material of the Marquis' waistcoat, planted her mouth on his own.
 
The Marquis could not articulate what he felt at that very moment. The softness of Madeleine's lips, and the exquisite pressure that she applied, reverberated through his body in a thousand ecstatic echoes. Her fingers, gripping so tightly to the silken material, pressed against his chest, and he feared that his heart would beat so furiously that it would break from its bony confine and leave him dying upon the point of rapture. The pulse in both organs was now quicker than ever.
 
He did not initially return her kiss - those that are stunned do not usually reciprocate - but the intense heat of his arousal quickly melted the frost of his shock and he allowed his lips to move against hers, an exquisite sensation of silk and moisture, and he delighted in the chastity of her kiss. She was earnest, but tentative, drinking in every feeling. He was fully aware that she was testing him, playing, experimenting, and he was also in the knowledge that she did not know how dangerous this was.
 
The Marquis reached behind him to allow his fingers to snake around the back of Madeleine's neck, pulling her closer. Tendrils of her hair got caught between them, but he did not care. He opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to shed light on this dark oblivion, but he wanted to see her. Her own eyes were closed, lashes casting two curves onto her cheeks. She was enjoying this. He boldly pried her lips open with his tongue, an approach he had attempted before, but not with such close physical proximity. He rejoiced in the enigmatic wetness of her mouth, this dark sanctuary, teasing her tongue out with his own, feeling pinpricks of pleasure across his flesh as he felt her submit to him. Madeleine was unaware of her own attractiveness, and the hold she had over men, and this showed. Her kiss, although fervent, still had a restraint. The Marquis, delighted as he was, could only indulge in so much persuasion, and he withdrew slowly, fingers entwining in her chestnut hair in order to pull her head back, lips and tongue feasting upon the porcelain skin of her neck.
 
The ultimate position of exposure is the showing of the throat…
 
He felt that vibrant rhythm beneath the vulnerable flesh, felt her moan vibrating through her. He felt her hand come down onto the back of his head, and he felt it hesitate, not knowing what to do, before pressing him down. The Marquis smiled. Madeleine may have been a virgin, but she certainly knew what she wanted.
 
And what she wanted at that time seemed to frighten her.
 
"M…Marquis…wait…"
 
She eased herself from him, and the Marquis would have been miserably disappointed if she didn't look so astoundingly beautiful. Awoken with the cries of passion, Madeleine embraced a wild splendour - her eyes veritably blazed, shards of sapphire glittering in those blue pools, her already full lips were swollen and moist, and her cheeks were endearingly flushed. She swallowed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
 
"Marquis, I…"
 
He watched her, still within close range, but with a certain amount of caution. Like a bird of prey watching its all-too-aware victim, he wanted to lull her into a certain sense of security. He knew that no amount of self-inflicted pleasure would satisfy the urge fired up in him now. He was impossibly aroused.
 
"You what, Madeleine? Don’t tell me that you were going to apologise…you have done nothing wrong, darling, unless…" he hesitated, moving her in front of him, hands parting her curls at the nape of her neck, "…unless you are forewarning me that you do not wish to continue…"
 
He trailed his nails softly along the delicate protrusion of her clavicle, punctuating his words with an occasional scrape, drawing a luscious gasp from Madeleine's throat each time. He pressed his chest and belly hard against her back, his arousal made quite plain to her, and it was his turn to vocalise his pleasure as she arched herself against him in surprise.
 
"I want to…I just…"
 
"Feel that it's wrong?" He leant in to kiss her neck and felt her nod. "Tell me Madeleine, what is so wrong? In the privacy of my own room, I wish to initiate you - with your consent - to something that you will eventually have to understand. So why not start here, in my more than capable hands?"
 
He wound his arm around her waist, allowing his hand to move boldly downward to trace the shape of her thighs over her skirts. She twisted beneath him, alien to this contact.
 
"Tell me, Madeleine, has anyone ever come this close? Has anyone ever touched you in an intimate manner?"
 
"No…" She sounded as though she were struggling to form the words.
 
"Not even your own fair hands?"
 
He let the fingers of one hand dance over her lips, grazing the sensitive skin, feeling her hot breath against them. Her voice was now little than a whisper, ragged with arousal.
 
"Marquis…what a question…"
 
He pressed himself harder against her.
 
"Tell me, Madeleine."
 
"Oh…y-yes. I have."
He pulled away from her suddenly, standing before her on the bed. He saw surprise and fear in her eyes, and it excited him beyond all comprehension.
 
"You are aware of what pleasure physical acts can grant then, yes?"
 
She nodded, unsure of herself.
 
"I want you to close your eyes for me, Madeleine."
 
She visibly stiffened, and the Marquis smiled.
 
"I don't know if I want to, Marquis…"
 
"I thought you said you trusted me."
 
The words hit her like poisoned darts. Her eyes were cast downward, and all of a sudden she appeared almost childlike, the red patches of passion on her skin and her tousled hair betraying her.
 
Holding the man's stare for an infinite moment, Madeleine closed her eyes.