Marquis de Sade round-robin fic

Chapter 2
by: Grace Lee

This would not be pleasant. Charlotte wasn’t even sure what made her go forth down the hall, would it not have been easier simply to never venture past his cell again? All day she’d been so consumed and so conflicted; her body still sore from her previous encounter with the Marquis, a constant reminder of how easily and how quickly things had gone out of her control. She couldn’t trust herself, and she certainly couldn’t trust him. This was the best decision; she wouldn’t visit with him again. Such could only lead to negative things; her soiled reputation, unwed motherhood, and perhaps given the proclivities the Marquis was famous for, even disfigurement or death. But there was something else still she knew she was risking, and though she fought the thoughts and notions that threatened to overcome her mind and heart, the risk she feared taking the most was that of some emotional attachment forming between her and the Marquis.

“You make me weak, Charlotte…find it within you…not to hate me” he’d said to her at their last parting. He was a manipulator; she knew that. It was his natural ability to lie, to say or promise anything that might win him that which he wanted. But he hadn’t sounded like he’d meant to use her, or control her. He’d sounded worn, and defeated. All day she’d heard that tone of his voice, something pleading, something beneath the smugness and pompousness that usually was him. That was why she was here, in the dead of night, sneaking her way to his cell; with the key she’d stolen weeks ago. She’d decided, she wouldn’t visit with him anymore, she couldn’t change what had happened, but she could prevent it in the future. Not to do so was foolish, and irresponsible. She’d at least owed him the finality of the words “I won’t see you again.” It would be simple; she didn’t even half to enter his cell to tell him, a thick iron door between them. But, why then had she brought along the key?

Her apprehension further showed as she approached his cell door, for she realized she’d been tiptoeing, as if she didn’t want him to know she were there. Silly thing, she’d meant to come and speak to him, she’d have to alert him to her presence for that! And then her nerves were distracted by the sounds coming from the Marquis’s cell. Sharp grunts and groans; what was he doing in there? Was someone with him? Who? Madeleine? Oh no! Not Madeleine! How often had Charlotte watched the pretty, sharp witted redhead creep into and then out of The Marquis’s cell, a blooming smile on her face, and a look in her eye like she and the Marquis shared something…something special! Quickly, Charlotte grew more jealous than she could control or be ashamed of, the rawness between her legs, the place the Marquis had claimed as his, flaring. She balled up her fist and gave two heavy, angry thumps on the metal cell door. Madeleine? And the Marquis? Hell no!

It seemed an eternity before she finally heard him move to the door, sliding the panel open his eyes dilated, perspiration on his brow, out of breath. “Charlotte?” His voice was low and raspy, his expression communicating something to her that was neither surprise nor expectation. “Have you the key, mon pomme?”

“I do, Marquis.” She whispered, still feeling jealous, wishing she could sound angrier than she did.

“Very good!” He only seemed to become more breathless. “Come in, it’s urgent!”

“Marquis?” She swore she was not entering that cell, but it was urgent? “Is something wrong?”

“Open the door!” He ordered, his patience slipping and the look in his eyes becoming more desperate. “I assure you my need is dire!”

His last words sounded like his usual carnal nature, Charlotte for a brief moment second-guessing that there was anything at all wrong. But one glance back at his crazed eyes made her swallow hard, and worry filled her again. Was he sick? Injured somehow? Perhaps those sounds, the grunting and groaning had nothing to do with Madeleine or anyone else. Perhaps they were the sounds of some agony the Marquis was in? Quickly, she shoved the key into the lock on the cell door, fumbling with it until the tumblers moved and the door swung open. She took a deep breath, not at all sure what she was walking into, but suddenly, it became painfully clear.

The door had only been open wide enough for her hand to stick through, but it was more than enough to allow the Marquis to reach out and grab her by the forearm, pulling her fiercely through the slender crack of the iron door and doorframe, into his cell, spinning her around quickly to face him, his lips crashing upon hers, the rest of his body roughly following them, crushing her, letting their combined weights close the heavy door again with a dense thud. Charlotte was too startled to think or react, the room was dark save for a few candles, there was no sign of Madeleine anywhere, or anyone else. What had been doing in here groaning and grunting by himself? He kissed her so hard that his teeth scraped hers, Charlotte still trying to figure out what it was she was supposed to do, how to kiss him, but he moved so rapidly and frantically, her lack of familiarity didn’t seem to bother him. There was some familiarity, in the form of the hardness that pressed into her stomach; his breeches curiously open already, as if he’d undone them in anticipation of her being on the other side of his door. His hands were lifting her skirts, kneading the soft skin of her inner thighs as he forced her legs apart with his knee. His elegant finger brushed her clitoris, and she shuddered and gave a little moan. Wait.

“Marquis!” This had been exactly what she promised not to become a party to. Her voice was strong and demanding, but he paid no heed, kissing her throat madly and gripping his cock, pressing the head to her entrance. Her back arched, both from the pain of her recent deflowering and the memory of the pleasure he’d brought her in the act. She’d been worried that he was ill, clearly he was not, had this all been a trick of his? “I thought you said it was urgent?”

With a guttural cry, blood flushing his pale skin red, he thrust forward, his solid organ plunged into her, feeling as though he were made of oak, barging into her, commanding her body to give him room where there was none as his cock throbbed and jerked within her. He gasped, held her thigh to his hip with one hand and steadied himself with the other hand on the door above her head. “Does that not feel urgent to you, Charlotte?” He half growled, and then began to thrust, putting all of himself into the action, grinding himself into and out of her, her tight body barely able to accept all that he gave her, or fulfill his demands.

“But, Marquis, I—“ He moved deeper, stole the breath from her throat, and her arms wrapped around his neck. She should never have opened this door, the one to his cell, or the one to lust.

“Shhh, cherub,” he hissed at her, yanking her knee higher on his hip and slamming into her with a force that shook even him. “Comply, or I’ll be forced to make you comply.” Again he kissed her, his tongue seemingly as deep within her mouth as his cock was within her body, groaning and grunting in a manner similar to what she’d heard him doing when she approached his cell. His speed increased; so to the throbbing of his cock. “Oh dear Charlotte,” he sighed as her eyes squeezed to tight slits, trying both to block him out and let him in at the same time. “You’re still tight enough to make me weak!”

There was a furious stirring within her that Charlotte couldn’t deny, and as the Marquis’s tall form shuddered against her, his sticky heat releasing within her, she felt herself thrusting back at him, his hand now between them, finger curling around her clitoris and stroking until her body twisted against his and the heavy door, but the sensation soon changed, he’d pulled out of her, her sheath pulsating from the burn the friction left behind. Her eyes opened a bit as she fought to draw a breath, seeing the Marquis sink to his knees, lifting her foot from the floor and draping her leg over his shoulder, bottom of her thigh resting beside his head, heel against his brocade clad back. She could feel herself dripping with him, his seed running down towards her thighs, he wouldn’t actually, wasn’t about to–but then he did, his tongue burying deep into her, and him, licking and sucking the mix of them.

Perhaps it was his hunger for not only her, but also himself, that caused it, but at the Marquis’s first appeased moan against her ejaculate soaked creases, Charlotte’s body came unhinged, spastic beneath his clutches, convulsing around his licking tongue and sucking mouth as the Marquis followed every twist and turn of her passion. She felt his tongue well stripping her of his salty remnants as well as her own slick juices, the never ending assault of his mouth making her wince at her finish, relieved when he finally began to get to his feet; not so relieved when he pressed his wet mouth to hers in another deep kiss.

“You happened by at the most opportune of moments, Charlotte,” he half whispered to her, as breathy still as she was, running one of his long, graceful fingers over his lips and chin, then pushing his damp digit within her mouth. He smiled. “I was within the midst of abusing myself in a manner the Abbe would find quite aberrant.”

Now Charlotte understood all to well the reason for his cries when first she came upon his door, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, though she should have; it took so very little encouragement, if it took any at all, to soon have the Marquis well riled. This was no time for laughing; she’d already failed in her mission. She was not to have entered his cell tonight, or ever again, and she certainly wasn’t to have relations with him. Well, that had come about so fast, if was difficult for her to blame herself. Still, there was one thing that she could do here and now that would keep this night from being a total loss and herself a total failure.

“Wine?” He asked her, tucking himself away and moving across the room now as though they’d never touched.

It would be wonderful to get this taste out of her mouth, although, the more it floated across her tongue, the less disagreeable it became, salty and sweet, pungent yet subtle. It seemed to settle within her flesh, sinking deeper and deeper until it made something twitch between her legs. Oh no, not again. “No,” she said watching the Marquis get himself a glass and then sprawl elegantly upon his chaise. “I’ve come tonight to tell you something, actually, Marquis.”

“Oh?” He smiled drolly as if she was incapable of saying anything that might surprise him. “Come, plenty of room.” He moved his leg over some, patting the narrow space beside his reposed body. He hadn’t time or ability to think when first she’d appeared to him this evening, but now he looked upon her, such a pretty thing, her visage hinted there was a bit more devil within her than in Madeleine, but then there was. Charlotte he’d fucked with little seduction, Madeleine remained a challenge. He watched Charlotte’s breasts heave within her corseted shift, her skin still flushed with the lechery he’d poured upon her; a virgin no more. Without thinking he reached for a quill, inspiration having struck, but he wouldn’t write, not yet.

He was looking at her in that way he always had before, eye piercing, mouth grinning at something he kept secret, but now it was all different; she was not something he wondered about anymore, she was something he had. That look of his was dangerous now, would be her undoing; God how she did enjoy what he did to her, it was beyond her control. No control. Best to get out of this mess, and never return to him. She drew a deep breath, looked away from his eyes, gripped the key tied around her waist through the slit in her skirt, making sure it was there, just incase she’d need to flee out the heavy door for any reason. The door had locked behind them, she’d heard it. She was now trapped inside his cell with him, something she doubted he’d improvised. “Marquis, you’ve always been so very good to me,” she began, but he slapped the spot beside him on the chaise.

“Charlotte, will you not take this, your place, beside me?” He smiled, but there was just enough of a sharp edge to his voice to tell her it was not a question. Had this been where she’d gotten herself? Taking his orders?

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte crossed the room and sat down on the very edge of the chaise, the place where he’d first touched her, the place where he’d taken that which she would never get back. She sat lightly, willing her body to not be so stiff; she’d tell him, and then she’d go, it was simple. Wasn’t it?

She seemed apprehensive about something; she wasn’t as reluctant as she was now the day before when he’d taken her. He tightened his arms around her waist and bent her back across his lap, wondering what her reaction would be, disappointed when she lay there stiffly awaiting whatever it was he’d planned. Her breasts shifted towards her face, the rosy ridges of her nipples visible over top her corset. The Marquis couldn’t resist, flicking the feathered end of his quill swiftly across her breasts, making her jump at the ticklish sensation then bending over her to suck hard at her beautiful cleavage. Charlotte moaned; her eyes closing as he neared her nipple, almost encouraging him, but suddenly going rigid again and fighting to sit up. The Marquis laughed, and held her tighter. “You were saying, angel?”

She was losing this fight, had lost this fight, but still, she must end it here, forever. “Marquis, I can’t…” she paused, wished to say something stronger. “I won’t see you anymore.”

She seemed more surprised by her words than he was. Of course she would claim she wouldn’t see him anymore; he’d held up a mirror to her, she’d seen the beautiful, lustful, carnally driven creature she was, that everyone was, whether they admitted it or not. “And why is that?” He made no effort to hide his smugness and thrust the feather down into her shift between her breasts, rotating it in his fingers quickly and feeling her muscles react to how it tickled her, though she fought not to show it.

Her nipples grew hard within the shift and corset, the fluttering feather quill taunting her skin of gooseflesh, and then the Marquis’s fingers slipped within her shift, seeking out one of her pert nipples and squeezing. The moisture he’d earlier devoured from between her thighs making a return as she gasped. Would he have her again, here, on the chaise? Like yesterday? No! Of course not! What was she doing? Her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up, but couldn’t, the Marquis’s hand moving steadily down over her hip, his fingers pulling her skirt up with a creeping motion. “Marquis, I simply can’t…won’t…it doesn’t matter why!”

“Charlotte,” he sighed, as if she’d saddened him greatly. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, taking the quill from her breasts and now dancing it across her thigh, swirling it against her soft skin towards her slit, forcing her legs to part. “You’ve no need to worry, cherie,” he whispered without taking his lips from her skin, continuously brushing her with them, making her nuzzle herself against them and give another little moan. She was suddenly distressed and delighted to feel the quill dance over her outer lips, skimming her hardening clitoris with its airiness. Her hips moved involuntarily against it. She felt the Marquis’s smile. “You belong to me, Charlotte,” he breathed against her ear, his tongue lightly tracing the structures of it, tickling her more than the quill, but all of sudden something soft, willowy and small was being thrust within her. The quill! It seemed to wriggle within her like something alive, and she thrashed, not sure she should or could allow this type of depravity.

“You’ve my signature upon you, Charlotte!” He tickled the outer part of her entrance with the feathery bits of the quill not inside her and kissed her, his tongue roving her mouth.

“No, Marquis,” she pleaded, but it was too late, she was already finding pleasure in it, and him. “Not this, please!”

The Marquis however laughed, drew the quill out slowly, let her feel every little touch of the now damp fronds of the feather, held her tightly about the waist, his hand finding metal against her hip, his curiosity too much to ignore, and so he tugged at the metallic object until it came free. Charlotte was too tortured by the quill he repeatedly thrust within her to notice that he now held the key to his own cell in his hand. Again the Marquis laughed, the key, he had the key! That jubilation was cut short by a new one when he realized that his darling Charlotte no longer fought against the invasion of the quill, but now fought to control it, and have it where she most needed it, her hips moving with it, trying to draw it deeper and moaning unsatisfied noises. What was a nobleman to do?

The Marquis eyed the shelf nearest his desk, surveying the neatly arranged rows of phalluses as he withdrew the now spent quill from her hungry body. Hmm…so many dildos, which one to introduce her to first? “Charlotte,” he whispered as he lay her down beside him, getting above her and kissing her mouth, neck and breasts again. “You’ll stay the night with me,” he told her, and for a moment let the thought and feeling of holding her while she slept upon his chest flicker over him, as he tucked the key to his cell into his coat pocket. It no longer mattered if she would refuse to come to him. He could now go to her!