Madame Duvalier's Boudoir

Chapter One-3

A devious master of the macabre, Leontis noted each response with unexpected understanding. He was no dimwitted buffoon, but a craftsman in the art of s****l torture. Dripping wax along her upstretched n*****s, he then reached underneath her head and yanked her hair. Renee’s chest rose high, while her crotch dove low and the piercing pulled to the point where it seemed that it would tear away. Still between her out-stretched thighs, Ignace stopped the flogging just long enough to press his erection into her weeping s****l center.

Little but pain and oblivion remained in the infinite minutes that followed. She came almost the instant that her first attacker plunged into the dew-drenched crevice. The pleasure didn’t stop until the last man—Leontis—pierced the hollow of her insides with his ravaging seed.

Once his stores were depleted, each man was too faint with satisfaction to worry over her torture. They left her boudoir with smiles, and with Renee Duvalier still pierced and strung to the beam above by n*****s and crotch.

“I didn’t say this would be easy,” Inspector Lyon reminded her as he cut the taut cords. “You want the needle to remain?”

“No,” she shook her head to make her point. “Let the others who have me think for themselves.”

“Suit yourself.” She was quickly freed, allowed to stand on her own. As proud a woman as she was, she found his warm hands comforting—if not overtly affectionate. She allowed the Inspector to lead her to her bed where she collapsed to sleep.

“I’ll return for you, Madame,” he said almost politely, “bringing the rest. Though, I could stop the assault now, if you like.”

“And be deported?” With her last bit of strength she looked toward the door where the Inspector waited for her reply. “I think not.” Her voice was calm and determinedly focused.

“Suit yourself,” he replied. “I imagine you’ll toil for several days before this rout is over.”

She lay her head down on the pillow without answering.

It was minutes, not hours before she was pillaged again.

Her emotions torn, her body bruised, her mind raging with darkness, Renee existed in this curious vacuum for six days, submitting as though she were masochist enough to enjoy the ravaging. In part, she was. She learned to suppress the inner urge to fight, to plunge darkly and well into caverns in her psyche that were beyond her understanding. Physically, she had never been more satiated. If that was all there were to life, she could survive and happily so. But there were other matters in her mind that needed expression, too.

The only constant in Renee’s life was Inspector Lyon. He was one of very few government officials who were valuable to both sides of the conflict. His only imperative was to survive, so it didn’t matter to him which side paid for his skills in gathering information. He blew with whatever wind blew to his advantage. He weathered storms of controversy, smilingly amenable to any vision that protected his position. Madame Duvalier saved his ass a dozen times, giving her body in sacrifice to the men Lyon brought to her boudoir. She offered her services to soothe rough waters in a rough land, knowing only that she was saving herself. Doing Inspector Lyon favors was only secondary.

For himself, Lyon came to Renee’s bed alone; he never took part in the wilder festivities he afforded her special guests—though he often watched. When he wanted s*x himself and Renee was the target of his affections, he would appear at her door late at night and she would wordlessly lead the man upstairs. He would sit in a chair watching her disrobe, then often wearily draw her to his face, planting his cheek into her belly, drinking in the aroma of a good woman’s perspiration and s****l perfume. Like Madame Duvalier, he was a sensualist. Lungs filled with the redolence of her body, his hands would move caressingly over her flesh, his mouth soon dining in a liquid bath at her cunt. Parting her labia with fingers and tongue, he lapped the juices, drawing in another deep breath of her, sighing, often murmuring… “If it were only another time… another time, another time.”

She found his sentiments endearing at first, but soon tired of the ritual; after several months finally declaring in exasperation, “It is not another time, sir! It is now. And now, you are holding me hostage to whatever political winds drift your way.” She pulled back from him. “f**k me now, or free me from this persecution.”

He stared up at her in wonder, no surly expression, no fire in his eyes. There was a glimmer of lust, however, raised even more by her authoritative tone. Following the suggestion as if it were an order, he rose to his feet, gathered her in his arms, and laid her on her bed. Turning her on her side, with her long and supple back facing his face, he entered her from behind, and diligently planted his best fruits into her clambering crevice. This was exactly the way he f****d her every time he needed her—wordlessly—except for the finishing gasps of climax that came from them both, sadly. He left her in the same position, exiting the lady’s bedroom without looking her in the eye. Despite the anonymity of these encounters, they were pleasing, creating a certain bond between the pair that needed no explanations to be understood as healing for them both.

Thwack!

The sharp sting of a flattened palm connecting with the flesh of Renee’s ass woke the dreaming Madame Duvalier from her memories.

“Think me a virgin if you will, Madame, but think me a scoundrel, too.” The Captain’s voice grated like nails down her spine. An unwarranted response registered in the juices seeping from the slit between her legs. He’d find it and know the truth—and probably assume too much about her state of passion from the natural act. Others had. She believed herself as little more than Pavlov’s dog at such times. Hook her to the apparatus and push the buttons—she reacted on cue—with juices flowing, like solace for a weary soldier’s under-used erection—there and ready for the taking. She’d been thinking so sarcastically for several months now—when sessions like this one become so commonplace that they lost their thrill. Now s*x was just a physical response to stimulation, with Renee crawling inside herself to wait out the end result. She relished the days when she was menstruating and could legitimately refuse a session with one of the Inspector’s friends.

“I think you’re desperately horny,” she quipped lightly to his comment. She wanted to be back with her guests, but supposed that they would survive without her—hopefully no one would have the need to seek her out during the long absence.

“Indeed, I am horny.” He flogged her ass with a flourish as if he’d practiced the maneuvers before, and to her surprise—once her bottom was flaming hot, and that heat was coursing sexually through her body—he took up a five-foot single tail whip and, standing back, began to curl it about hips, ass cheeks and the exposed flesh between her thighs. He sent her body and mind into a nightmarish dance with darker possibilities she hadn’t enjoyed for many months.

The braided fall tickled her clit, while her ass replied thrashing in ecstatic rhythms. She was forgetting herself and a hastily agreed on vow not to respond too enthusiastically to any man’s attentions. This one was getting to her through his expert whip. He snapped the tail end gently at her ribbons of hair, danced it over her shoulder blades, then slowly traced a delicate line down her back. With the leather thong reaching in and upwards, he jiggled the snake in her river of liquid. By then her panties were thoroughly soaked and her c******s bulged, blood-filled against the cutting garment. He was seeking her c*m—making Renee wonder if the Inspector had filled the man with stories—Oh! Certainly he had. She suspected that he boasted of her s****l deviancy to get his clients interested in her talents. This one had taken his words literally—either that, or he truly understood what motivated her.

Her randy snatch tangoed on the plaited leather, seesawing in an established rhythm. Emil Labeque answered her fitful, pleasurable squirm with more stimulation. Three times he backed off, teasing the nerve endings of her skin with more stinging pings and snaps, until he returned to her crotch and jiggled the whip end against her swollen clit again. The entire region of her inner thighs and crotch vibrated, soon shivering madly.

“Am I such a virgin to your now?” the soldier wondered as he suddenly whisked the whip away and moved in on her scorched and welted ass.

“No, sir!” she found the submissively begging woman in her soul instantly replying to the question.

“I didn’t think so.” He ran his hand over her skin, from her neck, slowing spreading his fingers over her spine as his hand descended to the plump red orbs. He greeted each one with a rude squeeze, sending a new river of desire and heat through Renee’s body.

“You like this?”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, no, call me sir. I like the term of respect. Seems I’m owed a little more now that I have you practically cumming.” He reached between her thighs with fingers barreling toward the opening. “Say it, b***h!”

“Yes, sir,” she came back strongly.

“Yes, sir, Master Emil,” he corrected her further.

“Yes, sir, Master Emil,” she breathlessly panted. Her inner muscles closed tightly around his fingers as if she could squeeze them off and have them lying inert inside her. No such luck… or dire happening. The man played on, now vigorously thrumming her slit, vibrating the c******s itself, and every sensitive tissue around it.

“You don’t come without permission, slut.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“Yes, sir, what?” he snarled, withdrawing his hand and backing off enough to burnish her ass cheeks with a good dozen smarting thwacks.

“Yes, sir, Master Emil,” she instantly responded, seeking a return of his hand to her overwrought, c*m-ready portal.

“Better,” he said more quietly, voice soft, the explosion gone. His exploring fingers moved on her cunt again, slithering inside now, where she grabbed them trying to pull them further inside. While keeping the region stimulated, he turned his back to her, eyes toward the Inspector. “Something for her ass, I want her tight… as tight as she can stand.”

Lyon’s eyes lit up, and he moved directly toward the Chinese lacquered cabinet, withdrawing a thick, pinkish anal dildo. “This is the biggest she has taken.”

“You have one larger?”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t want what she’s already had. I want to go beyond her limits—enough to make her hurt—and remember me. She won’t think me a virgin after today.”

The Inspector was amused, and like a dutiful servant padded back to the shiny black cabinet, replaced the one dildo and withdrew another, which had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet where no one had discovered it. The Inspector knew. He’d put it there, but her other lovers were satisfied with ones that were less extreme.

Grinning with devious passion, Emil Labeque dampened the thick stalk with the juices pouring from her worked v****a until the rod was slick. Feeling the head and girth of the piece along the crevice, Renee shuddered, knowing… rightfully imagining the dildo’s broad circumference. She’d seen the thing before and ignored it… but not now. Not now, especially as he pressed the end against her sphincter and began to tenaciously demand that she open her posterior channel wide enough to receive the impalement. She quaked; tiny pains opened her senses, colors flashed before her eyes—green, blue and yellow shapes floating out of nowhere. Her red spanked ass lifted naturally, wiggling slightly to negotiate the fullness. Emil massaged the forward portal gently, teasing those sensations back to life, so she would not forget what had been happening before this breach. Renee latched on to the sensation of her cumming cunt, remembering well as these newer sensations joined the others and a new wave of feeling undulated in powerful waves through her spasming body.

“Oh, yes, yesssssssssssssss,” she hissed snakelike, lost to the animal passion.

Once the dildo was fully inserted in her ass, wedged deep with the base of the rod fitting snuggly to the opening, Emil was on her ass, with his groin stripped of his pants. With his organ rich with blood, pulsing in great surges, he aimed the turgid purple head at the wet entrance to her cunt and speared her with the hefty meat.

Her mind went blank, her body momentarily numb with fright and too much sensation. She might forget it all, and listlessly take the man as she’d taken so many other scoundrel soldiers, but this one had the kindness—or the good sense—to see to his mount. He stroked her clit with his fingers, eased off his first major thrusts, letting her get used to the fullness and anticipating the following savagery. She calmed, joined him as the tempo increased. Drawing his erection out, almost to the head, he lunged back in place, only to follow with another withdrawal and vigorous lunge. Faster, her body kept up with the pace.