Leading The Blind

Power was a difficult balance to strike. The Marquis had a godforsaken raging battle within him. There sat Madeleine, so deliciously ripe for the taking. Madeleine, his one ally in Charenton, breathless, vulnerable, before him. De Sade felt a fire deep in the pit of his belly at the sight of her, flames licking at the smouldering ashes of his conscience, burning the thin haze of guilt that clouded his desires. He had felt a momentary stab of sharp resentment, a sense of deviance at what he truly wanted. He had to fight the urge to force her onto her back, to entwine his fingers in thusciuscious hair and crane her head back to worship her neck.

But she had said that she trusted him. Madeleine, dear sweet Madeleine, had come into the Devil's own room and offered her soul. The Marquis made a mental note that this sacrifice would be soon rewarded.

But time was slipping seductively away. Madeleine had kept her eyes closed, and the man couldn't help but admire her bravery. That was what he adored about her - that complete effervescence, that strong-willed mind of hers, her carefree attitude that veritably lifted moods around her. He suspected that even the most experienced women - many of which he had sampled back home in La Coste - would have started to peer inquisitively by now. But she remained, porcelain of skin and baited of breath.

The Marquis leant forward, taking one of Madeleine's hands in his. Her youthful skin had not yet succumbed to the ravages of manual work. Long, cool fingers, well-practiced in essential day to day jobs, and Madeleine was a remarkable seamstress. The Marquis recalled the days when he would furrow holes into his garments just for her to run that delicate needle through them.

"Such wondrous hands, Madeleine."

He saw the expression on her face flicker from fearful anticipation to slight confusion. He smiled to himself, running his fingers along the pad of her palm, watching her bite gently, almost invisibly down on her lower lip. Her eyes still remained closed, lashes still grazing her cheeks, and the Marquis' eyes never left her as he placed her hand almost paternally back onto her lap and raised his finger to stroke leisurely at her temple. He felt a warm satisfaction bloom within him as she leant into his touch, actively seeking this soothing sensation, the gentleness of it almost stripping it of its sensuality. But it was the scrape of his nails, the metal caress of his amber ring that reminded Madeleine that this was far from a casual contact.

De Sade's fingers trailed further back into Madeleine's hair, slipping effortlessly underneath the headscarf that loosely bound her curls. Her head tipped back ever so slightly, and the Marquis let out a breath that he didn't even realise he was holding. When he finally summoned his voice, it was barbed with dangerous excitement.

"Now, Madeleine. I do not want to unduly shock you with any sudden actions. What I am about to do…" he paused, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric, lifting it from her head, "…is take away this trifling little garment." Madeleine allowed herself a small frown of indignation.

"Trifling? It's a mere issue of practi-"

"Sssh. I don't believe that conversation is an essential part of our practice, yet I do believe that sex without flirtation is merely rape..."

That did the trick mused the Marquis, watching the icy fingers of fear prod playfully at the girl. Her previously relaxed posture visibly stiffened, and he knew that she was fighting the urge to snap her eyes open.

In one deft movement, de Sade had removed Madeleine's headscarf, lifting the weight of her hair as he held it before her. Slowly, teasingly, he caressed her cheek with the material, delighting in the contact. He ran it over her full lips, over her smooth brow, down over the curve of her neck and shoulders. He resisted the urge to travel lower, knowing that the achingly slow pace must be set in order to regain control. He throbbed painfully, but he had felt that plunging feel of fear at his resolve oozing from him. He was in charge of this situation, and Madeleine would accept this.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by Madeleine grasping eagerly at his controlling hand, pressing her lips against it, smothering an impatient cry. He yanked himself away as though burnt, positively glowing with pleasure at her need. For so long she had resisted him, and even before he had led her into the pleasures of the flesh, she was as good as begging.
 

"Tsk tsk, coquette," he murmured darkly, seductively, "patience is a virtue - perhaps the only one you should choose to embrace at this given moment."

He palpated her face, very much like a blind man, as though his hands were devouring every detail of her features, and with a seeming sleight of hand, he had slipped the headscarf over her eyes, blindfolding her. Madeleine could not resist a quiet shriek escaping her throat, and de Sade chuckled obscenely. Her hands automatically flew up to her face, and the Marquis quickly encapsulated both her slim wrists in one hand, forcing them back into her lap.

"No, Madeleine. For this evening, I am effectively your tutor, and you will be a most obliging pupil, yes?"

Before she had any chance to protest, the Marquis leant smoothly forward and delivered a bruisingly ge kge kiss, the only real demonstration of sexual hunger he had displayed since her agreement. He still held Madeleine's hands in her skirts, his tongue demanding entry once more, swallowing any disagreements, rejoicing in her voracious and eager response.

But, again, he pulled away, and the sight of Madeleine was enough to curb his reluctance and disappointment. Despite the fact that those eyes were covered, she still looked ravishing - all disheveled hair and swollen lips, oppressive corset proving all the more uncomfortable for her.

"Marquis - stop this teasing!"

With a predatorial stare that would have frightened Madeleine if she had the ability to see it, the Marquis grabbed Madeleine's arm and raised her to her feet, pressing his body firmly against hers to support her in her confusion. He felt a moan build deep within him as he felt her young, pliant form collide so deliciously with him, now knowing that Madeleine would be fully aware of what effect she had on him. He moved one hand to the small of her back, the other intertwining with her own trembling fingers.

"One thing you will learn, Madeleine, is that haste is not operative in our task. The art of physical pleasure is not served well by rash actions."

He stepped backward, taking Madeleine with him, inviting her into a perverse dance, remaining still, away from the bed. He knew that she would feel nervous now, for all surrounding solid surfaces were far out of reach. Those with impaired vision search for palpable and preferably hard materials to lean upon, to guide them. Madeleine only had him to rely on, having to pour those golden streams of trust entirely into him.

"A disconcerting feeling, isn't it? How much do you wish to reach out and grab something, Madeleine, something solid and dependable?" He watched her intently; her belly still pressed against his. Her silence, whilst initially charming and satisfying, was now starting to curdle. He decided to prompt her.

"Hmm? Dearheart, I don't believe I have said anything quite so incendiary that you should fall into this well of silence…" he released her wrist, watching it flop listlessly to her side, before tracing the shape of her lips, allowing his fingertip to venture cautiously into her mouth, feeling her yielding tongue rub gingerly against him, mouth closing lightly around him as his slowly withdrew.

"What is your greatest fear now, Madeleine? That I will leave you in the middle of this room, snatch your key and liberate myself, all the while revealing that the laundrymaid was prepared to submit entirely to physical disgrace?" He smiled wickedly.

"Marquis…don't leave me, will you?"

He felt a momentary pang of some barely recognisable emotion, soon replaced with the cherry-dark veil of disciplined torture.

"This will serve as a double lesson, Madeleine, aside from the glaringly obvious-" he pressed himself harder against her hip - "but also a humbling insight, if you'll pardon the pun, into your beloved Mother's world. Completely devoid of sight, entirely vulnerable," he growled, "but not bartering her body with the Devil, of course."

He paused, lowering his lips to her ear, the hot thunder of his whisper tickling her.

"Say if I were to step away from you now. What would you feel, if I forbade you to remove that scarf, and moved away?"

Her mouth quivered, fuelling the hunger ie hie him.

"Fear. I would feel scared."

"Every fear hides a wish, Madeleine…but what is it you want? What is it you want me to do?" Lazily, he allowed his hand to trail from her neck, to the swell of her breast, to the inward curve of her waist.

"Teach me."

"Then so be it."

With that, the Marquis wrenched himself away from her, leaving her stranded. He watched her lustily as theod dod drained from her face, but frowned as her fingers began to poke at the makeshift blindfold.

"Ah ah ah…that will not do, my peach," he chided, "you will never learn that way."

With a feline grace, he moved about the room, satisfied with her reluctant compliance. The heels of his elaborate shoes informed her of his vague whereabouts, but he figured that the cold panic, like chilled water, would stunt her senses. He could hear her breath coming quickly.

"Touch is the most obvious pleasurable sense, is it not? Even someone with as little experience as yourself will know this - it is engrained in us, it is practically innate, those that are tactile are those that seek the most pleasure in life." He paced slowly, the one-two of his footfall audible, nearing her. "I heartily agree with this, of course - we are blessed with a body full of nerves, each one anticipating pain -" close enough to touch her now, he offered her wrist a quick pinch between the nails of thumb and forefinger, making her yelp and grasp at him, but he was too quick for her - "so it seems quite logical that we should touch. But there is something so basic about the pre-established sense, that it has to be developed. That is what I intend to teach you now, Madeleine."

Madeleine could hear him rattling and rummagirounround in his writing desk, but only just over the blood thrumming in her ears, the same blood that had crept back up her cheeks, blazingly hot. She was almost embarrassed to admit that her body had started to betray her inhibitions. She recognised that familiar fluttering feeling in her stomach, that odd tightening, tingling feeling upon her breasts, and the hot liquid arousal that pooled deep within her.

The Marquis, now armed with his tools, placed the flat of his free palm between her shoulder blades and guided her back to her original position.

"To the bed, my beautiful young prospect. I have all of Heaven and Hell to show you."