NAME: Desirae
GENDER: Female
COMPLEXION: Light tan
HAIR: Stops just past shoulders, light blonde, straight
EYES: Pale blue
O-O-O
"I'll be with you in a moment, dear," my husband tells me before turning back to his work. I stand in the doorway uncertainly, unsure whether to sit or just stay where I was. With an irritated sigh, my husband throws the quill down on his desk, making me start. "Why don't you take a walk around?" I nod, slightly raising the skirt of my dress so that I do not step on it. Where to go that the doctor will not easily find me?
The hallways of the asylum were seemingly an endless, twisting maze that led to nowhere. Every now and again I would pass a staircase or a torch that lit the dim corridor, doors lining the walls on either side, but no real landmark that struck memory from when I used to work here as a young girl. The hallway finally ends at a door with chains keeping it closed—the small opening near eye level was chained open so that people could see the person kept inside. The person who occupied the cell before I was sent away was the Marquis de Sade, but he's been dead for going on three years now.
Curiously, I approach the door and peer inside at its latest inhabitant. A young man who looked to be around twenty-two or twenty-three lay on his cot, eyes closed and dark, tangled, shoulder-length hair framing his pale face. His stained shirt was unlaced until just above his belly button and his britches fitted him snugly. My lips part with a surprised gasp when I notice the faint scar above his lip and I realize exactly who the man was. "Abbé du Coulmier," I hiss, watching as the man's eyes shoot open and look my way," it truly is you."
"And who might you be," he asks with a bitter smile, "Another of the doctor's young brides?" His dark eyes shine with anger. "Ah, but I know you, don't I? Desirae wasn't it; wanton even when you were merely thirteen." I nod slowly, too shocked to do much else. Could this truly be the man I knew so long ago; the man that hated to speak bad of others and would never think to look at another human like he was now—the lust showing proudly through his angry façade.
"I can assure you, ma chère," I whisper to him with a seductive smile," that you were the only man I acted so wanton around." He smirks deviously, strangely looking like the Marquis had the last time he saw me. "François de Coulmier, I believe your name was—I only heard you called by your christened name once when your niece came to visit." His dark brown eyes clash with my pale blue ones, a familiar ache beginning to burn throughout me the longer I look at him.
"You look almost exactly like your cousin, you know." Madeleine—the one he's always had eyes for, but I was never jealous because I knew one day his hypnotizing gaze would fall on me.
"So I've heard." The only real difference between Maddie and me is that my hair is light blonde instead of her flame red. "I also heard that you've lost your mind, but I couldn't disagree more." He smirks, cocking his head to the side and appraising me; his eyes run over my body from head to toe and back again, lingering on my breasts each time. "I have a theory, actually."
"Mm, I'd love to hear it; perhaps over a glass of wine or while you're writhing beneath me." Smiling, I reach though the opening and tug on a strand of his dark hair. The ex-Abbé gently holds my wrist in one of his hands, kissing the inside of it before biting just hard enough to leave a small, red mark, and lets me go. "Had I known how beautiful you'd turn out to be back then I'd never have let you go; never would have let you leave my room."
I pull my hand out and place both of them behind my back in a way that would force my chest out slightly; something François seems to notice and enjoy. "I would love to do that now, but it seems impossible—rarely does my husband let me out of his sight without an escort that knows not to touch me; no matter how hard I try to change their minds."
He chuckles a little, eyes never leaving my face. "Yes, you're still a wanton little putain, aren't you?" I shrug with a devilish grin. "I have to ask, is the Doctor so awful in bed that his wife must seek other means of pleasure—other people, objects even?" I wet my bottom lip, nearly laughing when his eyes follow the movement and he lets out a near-inaudible groan.
The sound of approaching footstep cut off my sly remark and I quickly turn to face the direction they are coming from. Charlotte, the meddlesome whore that enjoys my husband, stops in front of me; attempting to look superior and miserably failing. "What is it you want now," I sneer at her," permission to fuck my husband, perhaps?" Her face changes from one of a smug wench to blatant shock. "Trust me, dear; you are not a sneaky as you might think you are." With my head high, I begin to walk again in the direction I had come from and back to my husband with the sole intent of visiting François any chance I got.
My husband looks over his shoulder at me as I enter the room, holding my cloak and obviously ready to leave. "How was your walk," he asks, leading me to our carriage as I wrap my cloak about me to fight the chill. "Not too eventful I hope."
"Not eventful at all," I lie easily, sitting across from him, impatiently waiting for the next time I get to talk with François again...
I give a polite smile to the current Abbé while I continue on my path to François' room, the key to the chains hidden in my corset. Tonight my husband would be here until morning and he wouldn't leave his office for anything, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to have a little fun for one that didn't involve my hands. "Um, madame," the Abbé says quietly. I turn to face him, lifting an eyebrow in impatience. "Shouldn't you have an escort?"
"Please, the people here would never hurt me," I assure him and start on my way again, ignoring the man's feeble protests for me to do otherwise. A chance like this doesn't happen very often and I intend to fully embrace it, and François. Speeding up, I begin to think about what François would do once I had the door shut behind me. I knew what I wanted to do; throw him down on his bed and have my way like the Marquis de Sade had tried to do to me every day I worked here despite my age.
Soon I'm in front of the door and tapping softly. "François," I call out quietly," are you as bored as I am?" The older man looks up from his desk and gives me a smirk that made my knees feel weak. "Because I think I have something you might deem interesting." He walks up to the door, looking at me with lust-filled eyes.
"And what would that be," he asks in a husky voice, staring down the front of my dress," and how would I get it through this door, my little coquette?" I lightly brush the fingers of one hand down my neck and over the tops of my breasts before pulling the key from the corset and unlocking the chains and laying them on the stone floor with only minimal noise. I slip into the room unnoticed and shut the door behind me; closing the eye slot to be sure no one would be able to see inside. He pulls me flush against him, his hardness evident against my stomach. "I wonder what else you have hidden in there."
"There's only one way to find out," I tell him in a sultry tone. He grins at me, beginning to unlace my dress, tugging slightly until it pools around my feet and baring my body to the cold air. Shivering, I stand still to allow François time to drink all of me in, my own eyes taking in his facial expressions to find out if he likes what he sees. His onyx eyes alone show me what sinful things he has in mind—ones that would make even my husband turn away. "Do you approve, François?" He lets his hands rest on my hips, moving slowly to cup my backside.
"Very much," he murmurs against my lips, quickly pulling me in for the best kiss of my life. Closing my eyes to more fully enjoy it, I part my lips and our tongues begin a fight for dominance over the other. His fingers tangle in my hair, forcing my head back and gaining some control over the situation—he wants to feel more superior than me, but he's got another thing coming. I force him back a few feet and against the wall, never breaking the kiss and sending him a message that I'm stronger than he originally thought. He pulls back a little, both of us breathing rapidly to catch our breaths. "Hmm, I like this side of you but I think I'm a bit overdressed," he smirks.
I run my hands up his bare chest to his shoulders and then down his arms; pushing his shirt off at the same time. I look up at him, hands ghosting across his abdomen and to the button on his pants—slowly undoing it and pulling his hard member out. François lets out a shuddering breath as I wrap my fingers around him, gently moving up and down; twisting a little at the top. "I never thought I'd see you like this," I whisper in his ear, tightening my grip slightly. "Letting your guard down and allowing pleasure to overwhelm you." His hips jerk and I can feel him throbbing. "Let go, François, just let go." He grabs my wrist, forcing me to let go of him, and begins to push me backwards into another wall.
"Not before you." His long fingers wrap around my throat and begin to squeeze, cutting off my oxygen; his lips twisting into a crazed grin. I drop to my knees, black spots starting to appear and won't go away no matter how many times I blink. "You should thank me, you'll see Maddie again soon enough. You'll be with your family again." He lays me on the cold ground, putting more pressure on my throat. The room around me is beginning to darken before finally turning to black—and I knew no more.
François du Coulmier watches the light leave Desirae's blue eyes with glee before straightening his pants and pulling his shirt back on. After chaining the door back up he begins to walk, humming happily to himself, outside the asylum with no one to stop him. He was free again.