Madame Duvalier's Boudoir

Chapter One-2

“It matters not to me what you are, Madame,” the soldier replied, “I’m simply looking for a good show. You won’t disappoint me.”

“Of course not,” she smiled, while Inspector Lyon gestured widely toward the corner of the lady’s bedroom, toward a velvet covered apparatus, its purpose still a mystery.

She moved to the green velvet, giving the dust cover a quick tug, revealing a large and rather complex looking bench designed for the submissive wife, lover or penitent to offer themselves for punishment.

“Pull it forward, Renee,” Lyon ordered. “If you don’t want us to waste your time, I’d suggest that we get on with this.” He turned to the Captain, “Emil, she keeps her weapons in the safe.” He pointed to a black lacquered cabinet on the opposite wall, an Oriental design inlaid with wood and painted with a border of Chinese figures in explicit s****l positions. Just opening the cabinet a swoosh of erotic energy seemed to flood the room, immediately raising the ante in this confrontation with desire and coercion. With one quick inspection, the young man could see that Madame’s weapons were tools for punishment, not devices for deliberate maiming.

Renee tugged the heavy apparatus into position so that the men could have easy access to further their plans. It lurched across the hardwood floor and simply wouldn’t budge further when it reached the thick carpet. Without suggesting to them the other available options for the device’s use, she knelt on the padded bar at the front of the bench, raised her skirt with her hands and tucked it under her waist. She wore a pair of simple black panties that she left about her bottom to be dispensed with later. Over time, she’d learned she would assume too much to take them off at this point in an encounter.

“Pretty damned submissive, if you ask me,” the Captain turned happily to the Inspector.

“She knows it would do her no good to balk now,” Lyon replied. “Don’t let her lead you either. Have her as you like and punish her well. You’ll have a juicier snatch to screw if you lay it on hard.”

Renee trembled more, urgency and desire rolling through her body as she laid her tummy forward over the bar. A cool draft in the room ruffled the hair at her nether regions, which the position completely exposed. Moving forward, Captain Labeque grabbed the top of her panties and yanked upwards so that the thin film of black cloth disappeared into her anal crack and left both ass cheeks white and bare. Their dimpled surface shown luminescent by candlelight—looking almost radiant and begging for punishment.

“Does it help or hurt you to know I’ve never beaten a woman’s ass?” the Captain wondered aloud.

“I’ve plucked many a virgin,” she retorted saucily.

“You call me a virgin!” He looked amused and aghast.

“In my realm you are, sir.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps so, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on this hide of yours.” He ran his hand along the skin, then slapped it. Not hard, but firmly. The sensation radiated outward from the print of his hand reaching her throbbing clit where the buzz made her internal sensation more acute. Her insides clutched excitedly, though Madame never gave away her arousal until she was bound toward climax. She breathed now evenly, contentedly, settling, as she’d become accustomed to doing these last two years of her service to the gendarmes of the city and the hierarchy of the local government.

She recalled the first days, when she stood her ground, protecting her property from attack. Inspector Lyon headed the committee to roust her and dozens of women like her from their homes—on orders from the general collective. Renee Duvalier defied them while the others buckled under the threat of dismemberment, rape or death. She refused to be incarcerated, or driven into the country in the dead of winter where, with little prospect of gathering food, she would surely die. Madame prevailed… but not before she was taken to her bedroom, stripped of her clothes and raped by the entire lot—save the Inspector. She could easily give up her body, but never her home! The crafty Inspector Lyon didn’t take her that first day as the others did, but came back the next with a peace offering—the accommodation, as he liked to call it.

The imaginative man had pulled the polished wooden containment device now housed in Renee Duvalier’s bedroom, from a basement on the Left Bank where a bizarre faction of Sadomasochists practiced the ancient rites of body purification. The group had quietly exited the city, driven out when the prevailing political rhetoric turned reactionary. They knew their way of life would soon be threatened by guns, imprisonment and strong-armed tactics, which made their relocation across the borders imperative. They left their collection of oddities with little thought that they’d even be used again as they were intended.

In the dead of a chilling winter night, Inspector Lyon had the cleverly tooled wooden instrument of torture delivered to Renee’s door and installed in the corner of her bedroom—decorating the elegant boudoir with the macabre guarantee of a grisly future.

At the time, no one—least of all Madame Duvalier herself—had known how much the containment device would become the symbol of a quiet revolution waged by women who learned to use their bodies as weapons to protect what little they could in this dangerous climate. She was one of a few wealthy women who survived the blitz when one government was defeated and another installed. For nearly a week, she entertained soldiers and government officials from both sides of the conflict only to see several of her lovers die during gunfights just outside her front door. While her lovers were still alive, Renee became the paragon of s****l delight used for the wicked crimes of the most deviant men. She took her task in stride—giving herself up to the pleasure of s*x—doing her best to forget that love and emotions ever had anything to do with sharing the intimate secrets of her body. When the Inspector’s unearthed device arrived, it became the opening salvo of a torturous week. As the first three rebel soldiers were led to her boudoir, Madame Duvalier was in her dressing gown, cloaked with fear but hardly shaking.

Once her attackers focused on the beautiful woman, her dressing gown was brusquely ripped away. Naked, she was taunted for several minutes, spun around like a top, flesh probed, inspected and jeered at. She was accustomed to similar treatment, but theses brutes were unlike the more cultured ones who used her as a high-class prostitute, who graciously, and rarely with malice, bound and teased her to a long string of climaxes. They were gentlemen, in awe of her s****l prowess, grateful for the opportunity to take such liberties with a woman. But their creative inclinations stopped long before they discovered any real sadistic designs.

The week of her ravishment, Renee Duvalier was not so lucky with her lovers.

They came on her like a wild wind blowing from the north… to look in its face bit the flesh and wounded the soul.

The wooden struts and beams of the horrid contraption were pulled into place in the center of her luxurious boudoir. In one of its many possible arrangements, the device allowed the victim to be strapped face down or face up along a padded beam, legs and wrists fixed in tight metal cuffs. At her first session, she was laid face up, her naked body bound with leather to the wood frame at the underside of her breasts and again at her waist. Her thighs, shoulders and arms were similarly bound by metal straps that locked tightly into grooves, keeping her flesh inert while every bit of her from her toes, to her opened crotch, her breasts and mouth were exposed and prey to her attacker’s malicious fascination.

One beastly fellow turned the crank beneath the containment device, forcing the struts to move further apart, stretching her body with them. She worried that they’d rip her limbs. Although even as the timbers creaked and the physical strain became more intense, her body swelled with s****l heat. Humid late night air playfully teased her pubic mound. Her breathing quickened, and her inner spirit pressed forward to gain any bit of satisfaction possible before the onslaught of pain began. A gag was forced inside her mouth—an open ‘O’ ring made of wood, fitting neatly behind her teeth, but wide enough to press down her tongue. She nearly gagged before she became accustomed to the awkward fit. With concentration, her throat relaxed and Renee’s spirit eased from her ever-present fear. She was wise to realize that there was just one way to survive these extremes: let her cunt take charge and let her basest instincts rule.

The abuse began with floggers, no more meanly struck than her more gentlemanly lovers used them. But that simple pleasure was short-lived when the lead fellow—his name Leontis—quickly stopped the attack, pushing his friends aside. Renee’s proud n*****s thrusting boldly toward the ceiling were too much inspiration to be ignored. With deft fingers, he circled them with metallic threads and tied the supple strings so they dug cuttingly into her flesh. Her n*****s were stretched and fastened to a holding beam above the rack, pulled tight enough to make her shriek.

Ignace, an awkward, gangly giant of a man tickled her clit with surprising skill until Renee’s body could not refrain from replying, chest heaving so her n*****s were drawn out more tautly still and her belly thrust out beckoningly.

“Not so fast,” Leontis slapped Ignace’s hand away. “Sluts don’t deserve to come so quickly—if at all.” His lips curled into a jeer, while his body twitched, lust aflame and pouring through his veins. “We’ll see how this one takes her cunt impaled with this.”

He stood between her bound legs, pinching a long needle between his fingers. Dousing her cunt with whiskey, he snatched her outer lips together and held them high while he skewered the flesh.

“EEEEEawwwwwwww!” Her scream hit the walls like lightning hits the heavens, enough to the shake the struts beneath her body and make her n*****s rip with fire.

Afterwards, the thunder of sensation that burst through her body settled shamelessly in her crotch. The pain had passed.

“I think the b***h likes the pain,” Leontis came up snickering as he held the needle and her labia lips high enough to make the stretch hurt. He fixed the threaded flesh to the beam above with another cord, leaving his prey seven ways bound, body panting heavily, chest and pelvis constrained not to move. Her physical urgings came on more strongly now. Her p***y ached for rape—if nothing else.

“Wanton little w***e, you are.”

She would agree, but not in words; only the most muffled noise emitted from around her gag.

“Perhaps I should pierce the rest of her flesh and string her up,” he gloated for his friends. But instead, he turned them on her with their quiet floggers. “Try her now and see how much she enjoys.” Ignace and his friend, Cyrus, worked her in tandem, in erratic rhythms, breasts first while Leontis remained between her thighs; then exchanging places with him, they moved down to flog her belly and thighs with ever-increasing muscle. With every twist and turn, excruciating sensations wracked her system. Arms, n*****s, labia, tugged. Her muffled cries were agonized—though her body belied them with the erotic movement of her swaying groin. Female nectar seeped unbidden from her hot snatch.

“Want more, slut?” Leontis taunted her, peering down scowling.

Answering was optional.

“Didn’t know what you opted for, did you now? Thought this gig would be an easy show of s*x. But even the raunchiest bitches can be taken down. And I’ve only begun.” He pinged the n****e threads like guitar strings. “Hurt?”

Her eyes filled with tears. She was waiting to climax, but would wait more. Her lovers were sadists and this tale of woe had just begun.

Leontis followed, dripping candle wax on her exposed clit, with Renee’s eyes glued to the pool of liquid paraffin that gathered about the wick and watching it suddenly fall free. Her flesh bounced each time the drizzled wax burned the surface. In tandem with that shock, her p***y spasmed. The ache for climax expanded. From her deeply distraught insides, through her torso to her limbs, the craving to satisfy this lust crescendoed until she felt as though she were on a high precipice waiting, teetering on the brink of the most glorious sensation.