Another warning: Another chapter of violence of a sexual nature. I give you the foreplay section of a two part sequence.
Bag of products in one hand, an armful of filthy and torn rags in the other, Javert made his way up the attic stairs to the uppermost landing of the Paris Préfecture, a hall full of rooms for men on duty and off to use as quarters. This had become his solitary home for the past however-many years. Solitary that is until she came.
Turning down the corner, he passed his chamber door, halting at the neighboring room. Her room, he sneered for a split second. Noises of motion within set the hair at the back of his neck on end: rustling fabrics, clinking glass, and… humming, he noted with thick and dark furrowed brows. Juggling the sack to the other arm, he threw open the door, unsurprised and glowering to catch Cécelie in direct defiance of his order.
She cried softly at the unexpected intrusion as Javert burst through the door, but her alarm soon melted back into her alluring passivity. "Ah, Inspector, you are just in time," she smirked slyly, pressing the interior of her wrists to her nose in turn.
"In time to discover your deception and disregard for my orders... yet again," he sneered widely, his teeth startling visible, his eyes terribly green. He roughly set the paper sack and the clothing down on the seat of the nearest wooden-framed chair. "You are a complete disgrace to order, a complete violation of authority," he growled, crossing over to where she stood to the side of her bedside.
"Yes, but at least I'm a disgrace that smells deliciously of perfumes. You are indeed in time, Inspector, for I just can't tell which of my new scents works best on my skin. What is your opinion?" she pressed her wrists alternately to her nose again before casting another flirtatious smile up at him, offering her fisted hands and perfumed wrists towards him.
Javert gripped them tightly in his own hands, squeezing them until he felt the bones flexing beneath. "Why should my opinion matter to you," his grating voice sounding between clenched teeth, "you have no regard for me. You violate my commands each and every time. I tell you to remain in my office, and I find you here."
Cécelie smiled wider as his grip tightened even more, gasping quietly as he bore down on her, bending her wrists backwards. "Yes, Monsieur, you have every right to punish my insolence. It is your duty."
Stopping himself, he looked past her to the small vanity table, its narrow area covered completely with crystal bottles of perfume, glass jars of creams, spools of silk ribbon, pots of powders and tints. Javert paused, for he did in fact notice the scents of roses and lavender floating from the skin of her wrists. His eyes flashed brightly in rage, barely suppressed by his discipline. "Where did you get that?" he nodded over her right shoulder to the crude vanity table.
She shrugged slightly in his grip, "You can't expect me to have trusted the poor errand boy to get precisely what I wanted. I went out to the shops myself, of course, but, nevertheless I sent him out to appease you," her defiant half-smile made her eyes narrow slightly over their deep blue.
"You care about what I expect, Rénauld? About what appeases me?" his words hissed between his teeth, and he threw a withering glare over his shoulder to the paper sack that sat exactly where he had disposed of it. Where it sat on top of the discarded dresses and garments he had attained for her, and these rags only increased his sneer, "Why should I trust you to capture the one man in Paris you would like nothing better than to see brought to justice?"
"Well, there are other things I would like to see better, Monsieur. You again, for instance," she interrupted teasingly, stepping close to him, running her bent and raised knee slightly up along the inner side of his thigh.
His fingers released her ivory wrists as he shoved her away, bringing the back of his hand smartly across her upturned cheek with a loud slap. Head cocked to the side from the impact, blonde hair spilling loose from the very side of the long queue that ran down her back, Javert heard the smallest, deepest chuckle in her throat. Her hand traced over her flushing cheek, and she turned to look back at his stone-cold stare. A slight trickle of crimson blood pooled at the corner of her lips.
She licked it away and smiled; her unabashed, unashamed gaze dared him to go further. "Surely," her voice lilted in its low tones, "my offense deserves more than that, Inspector."
Javert clenched his fists at his side, "Your offense deserves no less than a beating from your superiors," his voice retained its toothy hiss.
"But, Inspector, that is undoubtedly you," she wiped the corner of her mouth with a single finger, her sneer growing darker with each word, "or are you not so confident in your own power to execute my punishment out yourself," her eyes flashed wider, "Monsieur."
She breathed a laugh to herself, observing his right fist flex and toy with the handle of his truncheon, which hung down from his belt. "Punish me now, Monsieur, and I promise to obey you to the letter henceforth."
"That is a promise you have already given and broken, all for a sack of trivialities and perfumes." His hand flexed visibly once more, and his jaw clenched tightly beneath his thick brown sideburns.
Cécelie laughed musically, "Women will need their trivialities, Monsieur. Surely you don't begrudge me the scent of roses?"
Glowering and dark, Javert reached for the truncheon at his side. "Strip off your petticoats, and only your petticoats" he ordered, as he meticulously set his hat down on the same chair wooden chair by the door.
She tilted her head slightly back at his request, her thin eyebrows raised in twisted curiosity at just what he had in mind. Her undergarments slid off easily from under the thick, navy wool of her uniformed dress. Letting them fall at her feet, she heard the jingling of metal, the metallic fall of chains unlinking.
Two sets of shackles hung from one hand, the other clutched his truncheon tightly. "You will follow authority, you will bend yourself to the law, as hard as that might be for you," his voice spoke clearly, declaiming his lesson for her to heed.
"Only as hard as you are for me," she whispered, seating herself on the edge of her bed, spreading her legs wide apart, and patting the mattress between her knees with a flick of her wrist.
His head shook slowly from side to side, "Not this time." He crossed over to her, pinning the length of his club under his arm as he took a set of chains in each hand. "Lie on your stomach diagonally across the bed," his smile was terrible and toothy.
With a sigh, Cécelie complied, a smile on her face the whole while as she stretched out, resting her head on her folded arms. One cuff locked around her right foot tightly, then around her left. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught his threatening eyes watching her every move, his hands securing the chain running between her ankles around the tall and squat oaken poster of her bed.
Laughing, she laid her head back across her hands; she knew his game already. And sure enough, he stalked around the edge of the bed to her head, seizing her wrists and clasping her right hand in metal. He roughly pulled her arm straight over her head, stretching her taught over the sheets as he wrapped the chains around the closest poster to her head. With a final click around her other wrist, she was secured, she was spread, she was trapped.
Javert breathed deeply as he moved to the foot of her bed, just beside her bound ankles. As much as it thrilled him to see crime punished, this was not for his own pleasure, he reminded himself, clenching his open hand into a tight fist, deliberately digging his own nails into the fleshy heel of his palm. With the top of his truncheon, he lifted away the edge of her skirt from her calves, and gripping the material, he flung it high above her waist, bearing the cream-white, rounded cheeks of her ass.
The very corner of her eyes shone blue in the afternoon sun, and a smile turned twistedly at the corner of her lips as she strained against her bonds to watch him. This was enough, and gritting his teeth together, he brought his baton down across the top of her right thigh with a sickening slap. She didn't even so much as flinch in pain. Another slap, and he beat the same purple mark into the flesh of her left inner thigh.
Craning her neck up from off the mattress, she groaned softly, "You'll have to do better than that to teach me a lesson, Inspector."
Sneering, it began to dawn on him that her sighs and moans were not of pain. But soon, they would be, he growled to himself, gripping his fist around his rod even firmer. He traced between her legs, barely brushing the end of his truncheon over her skin, up towards her ass, then ever so slowly along the crease between leg and body. Her breathing grew into a pant, and the thin slit of her eye closed as she set her head back down on the bed.
Drawing his wrist back, he beat her across the jointure roughly, the skin darkening as wood met flesh. And this time she cried out. He beat her again in the same place even harder before covering the fullness of her cheeks with more and more darkening lines. Her eyes flew wide open between strikes, but he only increased his force; he would not yield, nor would he relent. A tear began to pool from the deep of her eye; he paused to take note.
Her words laughed at him, "I believe you missed a spot," she said, all the while that tear began to travel down her flushing and trembling cheek.
He placed two more blows to the back of her thighs, and one almost on her knees. Then he stopped and replaced his weapon at his side. And just as he predicted would happen, she laughed slowly half into the bedding, half up at him, "Oh please, Inspector Javert, my husband would do as much to me in his good moods when he felt extra merciful. You will never see my threshold of pain if this is how you punish me." She pulled herself up on her elbows as much as she could, creaking the wooden posters that served as her pillory.
Replacing the skirt over her bare skin, Javert walked around towards the head of the bed, and with the faintest twitch of a sneer, he sat himself down close to her. "You are by no means released yet, Rénauld," his whisper coarse and throaty. "You will remain here as you are until I return from my evening street patrols. Then tonight, I will finish just what I've begun."
"I would certainly hope so, Monsieur," she smirked up at an angle to him.
His lids lowered slowly over his eyes, casting his gaze, deep in precise evaluation, over her obstinate smile, her feisty glowing eyes. Unwavering, his hand reached out towards her, his thumb wiping away the smallest tear from the corner of her eyes. Cécelie recoiled at the action, suspicious of his every movement. Barely pressing on more than just the fabric of her dress, his outstretched hand traced down her back, and the intensity of his gaze traveled with it. Reaching the mound of her ass, he pressed harder, directly on the spots he knew had purpled the darkest, injured the deepest. A genuine hiss of pain escaped between her lips, and with a sniff, Javert withdrew his hand. Inhaling deeply, his head cocked to one side as he looked down at her again. "I know your secret, Cécelie," his voice was low but clear, his words slow and clear. "To you, pain is as pleasing as pleasure, and pleasure is as painful as punishment."
Her eyes looked straight in front of her, falling from the staunch angles of his face. She swallowed the heartrending sigh she felt stretching at the back of her throat, smothering the tears she felt itching at her corner of her eyes.