Foxy Lady

Foxy Lady
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ISBN:  9781907753824
Author:  Roxane Beaufort
Word Count:  67,959
Format:  eBook

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In Too DeepIn Too Deep
Memoirs of a CourtesanMemoirs of a Courtesan
Rebel GirlRebel Girl

His voice reached her as if from a great distance. She dragged herself to her knees and, looking up, saw his legs rising above her. They were parted and firmly placed. With a hand on each of his black leather riding boots she raised herself, staring upwards to where his breeches gaped. 'Pleasure me with your mouth,' he growled.

The French Revolution, 1790 and onwards.

Spirited Chantel is furious with the leader of the revolutionaries, Captain Gautier, who takes over her estate, but though hating everything he stands for is strangely attracted to this saturnine man.

She is courted by a French Comte and helps him escape from Gautier, adopting the disguise that is going to cover her tracks as she organises escape routes for her persecuted friends. She dresses as a man and earns the name of The Fox, and through a series of adventures she is threatened by the feared Chief of Police, who imprisons her in his fortress where she is groomed for his mistress, the beautiful and corrupt Voletta Delmar.

The regime is brutal, with aristocrats going to the guillotine daily, and Chantel risks her life to save some of them, eventually escaping to Dieppe and an English ship that will take her home. But can she leave Gautier, and can she ever settle for the humdrum again with so much adventure on offer?

'That will be all, sergeant.' Gaston curtly dismissed Buiron, who saluted and marched out. Chantel and the police chief were alone.
   'Is this a social visit, commander? If so, then you should have instructed your men to permit my duenna or one of my cousins to chaperone me. I'm not used to going out alone. It is unseemly.' She went onto the attack as she stepped further into Gaston's study. 'And I wasn't impressed with Sergeant Buiron. An unmannerly oaf. I'm surprised you put him in charge.'
   Gaston had risen when she entered and now stood there, smiling at her. 'You would have preferred Captain Gautier? I understand that he came to see you this morning.'
   'He did, sir, and I considered this to be an imposition. Why are you hounding me? What have I done?' She fluttered her fan, expressing annoyance.
   'Nothing, I trust. But we have to make enquiries, you know. It is our duty, and there are a number of villains about who do not agree with the new policies and wish to undermine the Republic.'
   He crossed to the desk and indicated the decanter. 'Would you care for a glass of wine?'
   'Not after the last time. I was drugged. What did you put in my drink?'
   He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her, hand on his chest as he bowed. 'I, citizeness? Would I stoop so low? I have never found it necessary to ply women with alcohol or narcotics in order to make love to them.'
   He was playing cat and mouse with her, but she couldn't help remembering that revelation in the vault - not so much his behaviour as her own response to becoming a submissive, a slave to his desire, and her own.
   'I always imagined that love indicated respect and admiration... a thing comprised of poetry and sweet words and caring actions, not the treatment you meted out to me.'
   'And I'll wager that you enjoyed every moment of it.'
   'Even the pain? You must be crazy.'
   'Especially the pain.'
   He stood over her, not as tall as Leon but of impressive height. Reaching out he touched one of the ringlets that lay across her breast. In doing so he deliberately brushed over her nipple. The feeling was electrifying. She stepped back. 'Can we conclude our business as soon as possible? I have an appointment with my dressmaker,' she said icily, while thrills coursed from her breasts to her loins.
   'Ah, yes, Citizen Claude Rene, is it not? You see him frequently?'
   She gave a shrug. 'I have to keep up with the fashions; they are changing so quickly these days.'
   'He came to your soirée, did he not? Strange that you should invite a tradesman.' There was no avoiding those penetrating eyes.
   Chantel took up the gauntlet, saying airily, 'I would have thought this met with your approbation, proving that the class barriers are down. Come to think of it, I included you and Voletta Delmar, and neither of you claim to have blue blood.'
   'A very commendable and democratic attitude. Could it be that you are converted to the ethics of the Constitution?'
   'For someone who purports to uphold the ideals of equality you seem to live in some style, sir,' she remarked softly but with a sting, gazing round at the panelled study, with its rows of books in glass-fronted wall cabinets, expensive furnishings and carpet. 'I would hazard a guess that not all have taken over the fine houses and palaces. I'll warrant most of the populace still reside in squalor, not knowing how to pay the landlord or where the next meal is coming from.'
   She caught him on the raw and he snapped back, 'There's a vast amount of work yet to be done until all injustices have been met. "Rome wasn't built in a day". Now, to return to yourself and why I had you brought here. You were questioned regarding a youth who is suspected of being a member of your household. He's cunning, seen at one moment and then disappearing in the next. But he's become associated with the escape of several important suspects we were holding or ready to arrest. Do you know anything about him?'
   'How can you expect me to be familiar with the whereabouts of my staff? The housekeeper and head butler see to such matters.'
   'A report came in today from a patriotic member of the public who claims to have apprehended him early this morning. They fought and both sustained injuries.'
   That bitch Yvette, Chantel thought, but said, 'What became of this mysterious young man?' Her fingers were icy as she clasped the sticks of her fan.
   'He ran off, but my informant says that she knows he came from the Maison Dupont.'
   'I have already told Captain Gautier that I know nothing about this youth.' Chantel went to cross the room towards the door. 'Now, if you'll excuse me I must go.'
   His hand closed on her upper arm like an iron trap. She was sure another bruise would be added to the rest, her limbs and torso marked by him and fighting with Yvette. 'Not so fast. I am going to take you to my sanctuary. You visited there last night. And while we sport and play I want you to consider your friendship with Rene, and decide if you have been telling the truth.'
   'I don't want to go there again.' She tried to pull free but his grip was too strong.
  He sighed, more in sorrow than in anger. 'My dear, I fear that your wants are of little consequence. You will do as I tell you.' The secret entrance to the vault opened and he propelled her into the dark hole and down the winding stairs.
   It was as she remembered, but this time her sense of danger was acute. Before it had been a case of mystery, curiosity and excitement, but now she was aware that he could do her real harm, even kill her and slip her corpse into the River Seine where she would vanish forever. The blame would be put on robbers or an over-ardent Jacobin who had objected because she was a lady. English or not, it would have made no difference, and Gaston would get away with her murder.
   She prayed that he did not resort to torture, tearing information out of her. She was unsure how much she could endure. Perhaps he did not know a lot anyway and was just using this as an excuse to get her into the cellar.

Voletta was the first person she saw on entering that fantastic chamber with its crimson velvet hangings, outlandish paintings and strange implements. Chantel had not expected her to be there, but then it seemed perfectly logical that she would be - another informer and Gaston's mistress.
   Wearing the most flimsy of drapes she floated up and embraced Gaston. She was carrying a pair of handcuffs and, though Chantel struggled, slipped them on to her wrists and snapped them shut.    'There, Gaston, your bird has had her wings clipped. She'll not be able to fly away,' she murmured in dusky tones.
   'Well done, slave-slut.' He caressed her buttocks through the thin material, and she lifted her glistening red lips and kissed his mouth passionately.
   Chantel tugged at the manacles, furious that she had been chained. There was nothing she could do to defend herself. Gaston tethered her to one of the large rings set in the wall, rendering her helpless. He loosened her cloak and took it from her, then undid the ribbon bow of her bonnet and removed that, too. He handed these to Voletta who laid them carefully on a chair.
   'This is an outrage!' Chantel stormed.
   'Tut-tut... such a fuss about nothing,' he admonished blandly. 'Cooperate and no harm shall come to you.' His voice was so beguiling, his touch so soft that for an instant she believed him. 'I want to be sure you aren't implicated in plots.'
   'Why should I be? France is not my homeland. England is. I'm a visitor and shall be leaving soon.' Even though she feared him that very feeling aroused her. He was a powerful man and power was magnetic.
   'I hope this will come to pass, and that you haven't been a bad girl, dabbling in matters of State.' He smiled darkly and she knew her fate was in his hands. He did not really care if she had been helping the Royalists. All he wanted was to have her in his ruthless grasp. Where was Leon? Why wasn't he there to protect her? Why leave her to the mercies of Gaston and his whore?
   Voletta was smiling at the spectacle of her in chains. She picked up a leather paddle and whacked it across Chantel's thighs. It stung through her skirt, but this was not enough for her adversary. 'I want to see her naked,' she demanded.
   Gaston's smile deepened. 'So you shall. Strip her. Do it now.'
   Voletta took up a knife and sliced through the front of Chantel's bodice. It fell open and the rest was hacked away. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' Chantel hissed, as the ties of her skirt and petticoat were cut, the garments slithering to the floor at her feet.
   Her chemise followed and she stood there naked, hands twisted behind her and fastened to the ring. Though so vulnerable her fighting spirit burned strong. Very well, if they insisted on treating her thus she would make sure that she gained from it. To be so helpless brought its own reward. The matter was out of her control and she was not responsible for her actions.
   Gaston unfastened the manacles and turned her round so that she faced the wall. 'I branded you well last night,' he said, and she felt his fingers tracing the livid marks. 'See, Voletta, her delicate skin bears the pattern embroidered by my whip.'
   'So it does. How artistic. May I add a few of my own?'
   Chantel did not hear her move, but felt the impact as Voletta brought down the paddle viciously. It was directed so that it cut across both buttocks where it would hurt most. Chantel grunted, the breath rushing from her. At first she was numb, then her flesh came to life and she cried aloud.
   'Splendid! Splendid!' Gaston shouted. 'Get out of the way, Voletta.'
   'Don't worry, citizen. Watching you punish her will arouse me. I'll send for Jean. He's on duty above. He's hung like a mule and can tup me while you're taking your pleasure of her.'
   'Jean, Rene's lover?' Chantel gasped.
   Voletta laughed loudly. 'How can you be so naive? He's anyone's lover... man, woman or dog.'
   'But Rene worships the ground he walks on.' In the midst of her own pain Chantel pitied the tailor. Her instinct had been right when it told her that the guardsman was not to be trusted. But all thought of others left her mind as Gaston applied the whip again with wicked precision. It struck her rump and curled around her hip. Her senses sprang to life and pain flooded her.
   Fighting for control, the cold wall pressing against her breasts, she heard someone enter and Voletta murmuring, 'Jean, come here at once.' This was followed by the metallic sound of a sabre being dropped to the floor.
   'You should watch them and learn,' Gaston whispered in Chantel's ear. His jacket chaffed the fresh welts as he leaned his weight on her. She could feel the hardness of his cock through his breeches.
   'Release me, please,' she begged, hating herself for doing so. But he did abruptly and she lost her balance, landing on her knees at his feet. Voletta was gasping in ecstasy and Chantel looked across to where she leaned across the back of a sofa, naked arse raised towards Jean. He was all flash and braid and masculinity, proud of his uniform and still wearing his chapeau-bras. It looked incongruous and likely to fall off as he flung his head back in the throes of pleasure, thrusting his rampant weapon into Voletta.
   The sight of them mating had the effect of making Chantel's labia ache. She wanted Leon, but recognised this as hopeless. Gaston's mastery had not lessened her desire, and seeing Jean shafting Voletta did nothing to cool the ardour burning inside her.
   'You would like to join them?' Gaston asked, and she looked up at him from her ignominious position. 'Did I give you permission to move?' he added, and lifted his booted foot, bringing it down across her neck. He pressed harder until she was prone, her cheek against the terracotta floor tiles. The uncertainty of his next move kept her on edge, though there were no sounds other than those made by the copulating couple. Then without warning pain struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. Half a dozen lashes were delivered without pause. When the whipping ceased she knew Gaston was still close. His breathing was ragged and this was joined by Jean climaxing noisily, with Voletta shrieking like a banshee.
   The air whistled as the whip cut through it, vibrating with Gaston's energy. Agony possessed Chantel. She was reduced to being his slave, a creature with no will of her own. He focused his blows on her backside and she was in an almost hypnotic state, absorbing the pain, and this began to warm into a fire that penetrated her sex. Her anger was lost in the desire for him to take her, ravage her, and make her body a part of his.
   'Kiss my cock.' His voice reached her as if from a great distance. She dragged herself to her knees and, looking up, saw his legs rising above her. They were parted and firmly placed. With a hand on each of his black leather riding boots she raised herself, staring upwards to where his breeches gaped, exposing his testicles and erection. 'Pleasure me with your mouth,' he growled...

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