Under a stern reign, p.13

Under a Stern Reign, page 13

 

Under a Stern Reign
 


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  Count de Tranville looked more aware of his surroundings now, and was seated with a little more decorum than before, although the wine was clearly still flowing freely, the red contents of a crystal glass slopping precariously in one hand as he belched and gazed loosely at Elise and another girl, both standing quietly before him, their backs to the door from where Rodolfo lurked in shadow. The count chuckled drunkenly, lewdly.

  Elise still wore the red dress that made her so enticing to the eye, and the other girl wore nothing more than a simple white nightdress, her golden hair caressing her shoulders... but what really caught Rodolfo’s eye was the curtain cord that bound her wrists behind her back, her dainty hands resting together on the upper slopes of her pert bottom!

  It was dear Genevieve, he realised.

  The count’s head wobbled a little as he slurped more wine, his lips struggling to find the rim of the glass, his tongue protruding and helping them locate it but not before some spilled onto his shirtfront.

  ‘What sport have we now, Elise?’ he asked, slurring slightly, his eyes struggling to stay fully open, one more than the other. With his free hand he lewdly rubbed the evident lump in his lap.

  Elise smiled. ‘Well,’ she started, ‘you now know fully what Genevieve’s tastes are. As your dutiful stepdaughter I’ve done my best to show you that she feels nothing for men, to save you from making a fool of yourself by persisting with this foolish idea of proposing marriage to her.’

  The count sighed and nodded, taking another slurp of wine at the same time and spilling more or the red liquid down his front as a consequence. ‘Bring her here,’ he ordered, and even from where he stood unseen, Rodolfo noted the glint of triumph in Elise’s eyes as she took the poor girl’s arm and led her close to the sitting count.

  ‘Get over my knee,’ the inebriated count demanded, and despite struggling slightly with her hands tied, Genevieve succumbed to the dominating influence of Elise and lowered herself over his thighs, balancing uncomfortably, just her toes in contact with the carpet.

  ‘I will now punish you for your unnatural desires,’ announced the drunken hypocrite, looking down at the pretty bottom over his lap, savouring her gentle weight moving imperceptibly on the straining lump in his breeches.

  Elise slipped onto the sofa beside him. ‘Go ahead, sir,’ she urged. ‘I’ve brought her here for you, for the very purpose of trying to beat some of your honourable principals and authority into her wayward soul.’

  She slipped a hand between the shapely hip of the prone girl and his belly, locating his hidden erection and rubbing it encouragingly. He stared deep into her eyes, his lips hanging slack and making him look like an imbecile as he took two attempts to place his wine glass on the occasional table beside him.

  Without taking her eyes from his, Elise fumbled open his breeches and pulled out his cock, throbbing in her cool fist. ‘Beat her,’ she whispered.

  He looked down at the girl’s bottom before him and kneaded it roughly. Then, raising his palm, he swiftly brought it down on the hidden cheeks.

  Genevieve squealed and her feet kicked, making the count smile and look at Elise, who was smiling back at him. She moved her lips closer to his, her hand still massaging his cock. ‘Again,’ she whispered.

  De Tranville repeated the blow, this time with greater intensity. Genevieve winced and kicked again.

  ‘She likes it,’ Elise whispered to him, goading him to greater efforts, grasping his cock more firmly. ‘Do it again.’

  De Tranville let his palm slam down again, and as it struck Elise jerked his cock more firmly, leaving him on the very verge of an ejaculation.

  ‘That’s it,’ Elise murmured. ‘Again... again...’

  De Tranville allowed his head to reel back, a look of deep satisfaction gripping his face as his stepdaughter masturbated him and the gorgeous blonde girl squirmed on his lap. He panted, ready to explode at any moment.

  ‘Do you see what fun we could have together?’ Elise whispered in his ear, and he let his hand rest on Genevieve’s delightful bottom, enjoying the feel of her flesh beneath the cotton nightdress as he mauled her.

  ‘If you’d only agree to marry Madame Coubette,’ Elise continued in his ear. ‘Every day would be like this. You could still have her, and me, and Genevieve. We would not have to run away.’

  De Tranville flexed his shoulders and brought his palm down again on Genevieve’s bottom. She winced, her hip bumping softly against Elise’s fist and his standing erection.

  ‘You might be right,’ he grunted, clenching his jaw and trying to prolong his pleasure.

  Rodolfo had seen and heard enough. He hadn’t put his life at risk to save the count and his family from the revolution, only to have depravity and debauchery put him at even further risk.

  With his eyes on the count and Elise he stepped out from behind the cover of the door and placed himself directly in front of them.

  ‘Rodolfo,’ Elise started angrily. ‘I thought you were sleeping.’

  ‘I was... I woke up,’ he said abruptly. He looked at Genevieve, and then his hand moved to the back of his waistband and a small dagger emerged. He reached towards Genevieve’s bound wrists and sliced through the cords, then taking her by the arm, he helped her to her feet.

  Silence filled the room, and the count looked at the younger man with dazed irritation. His cock was still standing tall from his opened breeches, but its keenness had waned. He seemed to be awaiting some sort of explanation as to why his fun had been interrupted.

  Rodolfo’s eyes were fixed firmly on Genevieve, and she stood wide-eyed, gawping at him in confusion. She felt a dark heat throbbing in her pussy. It was him!

  A sob broke from her throat. She burst into tears, wrapped her arms round his neck for a fleeting second, then turned and fled upstairs. Rodolfo watched her go.

  Elise frowned at him coldly. ‘How dare you brandish that thing in here!’ she snapped, indicating the knife. ‘You’re nothing but a foreign rogue!’

  Rodolfo put the dagger back in his waistband. ‘I apologise,’ he said politely, despite beginning to lower his opinion of the two sitting before him, ‘but these are dangerous times.’

  Elise continued to glare at him.

  ‘My father has offered you his hospitality and security, given the dangers that are surrounding you here in France,’ Rodolfo went on. ‘I will be leaving at first light. If you still choose to avail of my father’s offer, please be ready to depart with me. If you are not ready, I shall return to Portugal alone.’

  He looked at the count. ‘I can only hope that you are sober and in command of yourself by then, sir,’ he added curtly.

  ‘Why, you cheeky young bastard!’ de Tranville roared indignantly, trying to rise from the sofa, but Elise held his arm and stopped him. Rodolfo gazed at her for a moment, then turned and headed upstairs.

  There was a tap at the door. Genevieve had buried her face in the pillows, her buttocks still burning from the count’s spanking. She had kicked aside the bedding, trying to cool the scorched globes.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she sulked, but the door edged open anyway and a man entered. It was Rodolfo. She gasped, turned and pulled the sheet over herself as he moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked compassionately, and she nodded. ‘What was that all about?’

  Genevieve looked deeply into his shadowed eyes, and shrugged.

  ‘You’re tired?’ he asked further. ‘I’m sorry, I just needed to see you, to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ she muttered sadly. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot since we first met.’

  ‘And I’ve thought about you, too,’ Rodolfo confessed truthfully.

  ‘Elise told me about you, and your philandering. She told me what happened between the two of you the last time you stayed here. She told me I wasn’t t
he type of girl for you.’

  ‘I’ve learned that Elise is a conniving bitch,’ Rodolfo whispered, and then placed his hands on her shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her. She closed her eyes and melted into the sensual embrace.

  ‘So much has happened to me since that night,’ Genevieve told him. ‘I’ve been so confused. Count de Tranville wants to marry me, but Elise has been trying to make him change his mind.’

  ‘Do you want to marry him?’

  Genevieve shook her head, resting her cheek into his cupped palm. ‘I’m not a child, you know,’ she whispered, looking up at him. ‘I’m a woman, and I know how to please a man.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I haven’t ever been with a man, but I...’

  ‘You don’t even know me,’ he said, anticipating her meaning.

  ‘When I first saw you I felt I had needed you all my life. As if you were what my life was waiting for.’

  Rodolfo smiled and kissed her again...

  Suddenly there was a loud crash and a thud and the door burst open. Something whistled viciously through the air, and as Rodolfo looked round in surprise the leather riding-crop slashed across his face. He yelled and clasped his cheek, but the leather whistled again and bit cruelly into his other cheek.

  ‘Brazen whore!’ a voice bawled. ‘Duplicitous little slattern!’

  Count de Tranville stood by the bed, his shirt hanging open, his face red and his chest heaving as he loomed aggressively over both of them, clutching the whip in his fist. His bloodshot eyes bulged and spittle dribbled from one corner of his slack lips, giving him the look of an insane man. He raised the crop again, this time to strike Genevieve. ‘So you don’t like men, eh?’ he snarled. ‘Or is it just me your whorish pussy objects to? After everything I’ve done for you, you ungrateful little?!’

  Rodolfo’s dagger flashed upward from behind his back and with a deceptively innocuous thud embedded itself deep in the drunken assailant’s chest. He gawped, the tirade of abuse dying in his throat, his expression one of surprise rather than pain. Rodolfo pulled the dagger back out and a dark red stain, almost black in the half-light, started spreading on the count’s white shirt. He gazed at Genevieve, his eyes unblinking but now filled with disbelief, his features frozen as though sculpted from stone.

  An aching pounding erupted in Genevieve’s head, a rhythmic beating as if fists were smashing against wood, resonating dully inside her skull.

  The wounded man fell clumsily on top of them, but Rodolfo struggled with his bulk and eased him to the floor beside the bed.

  The thumping continued, and then it seemed like something was splintering and crashing. Genevieve could hear Elise running along the landing, calling down to the elderly staff who could now be heard scurrying around in the hall, frantically running from room to room and calling for their master, the count.

  ‘He left me no choice,’ Rodolfo said to Genevieve. ‘You saw that, didn’t you? The drunken fool left me no choice.’

  Genevieve nodded, barely able to grasp what was happening. All hell had broken loose in the chateau around them.

  Rodolfo leapt to his feet. ‘They’re breaking down the front door,’ he said urgently, and then ran out to the landing, leaning on the balustrade to scan the scene below. ‘I knew it,’ he scowled, his jaw clenched. ‘They’re here.’

  Without wasting a second he dashed back into the bedroom, shut the door and wedged a chair beneath the handle. ‘They’re here,’ he repeated earnestly to Genevieve. ‘We’ve got to get away. The revolutionaries are here!’

  Genevieve was reaching out tentatively and touching the count’s arm, trying to offer some help or comfort but uncertain of what she was doing or what on earth was happening. The count was muttering unintelligibly, his voice no more than a wheezing rasp in his throat, blood coating his teeth.

  ‘Come on,’ Rodolfo snapped, pulling the kneeling girl to her feet. ‘We’ve got to leave the damned obstinate fool.’

  ‘But,’ Genevieve protested, ‘he’s been good to me. We can’t just leave him here like this, to die.’

  ‘He’s brought it upon himself.’ Rodolfo moved to the window like a fleeting shadow in the half-light, unlatched it and stared down.

  Heavy footsteps were charging up the stairs outside the bedroom, and then the door began crashing beneath the onslaught of clubs and fists, gruff male voices shouting and barking orders to others as the chair wedged beneath the door handle threatened to shatter and break before the desperate couple had a chance to escape.

  ‘Quick, do as I say!’ Rodolfo yelled at Genevieve, trying to snap her out of her torpor. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, as though in a dream, so he swung her round, dragged the heavy mattress off the bed and managed to shove it out of the window. ‘Good, then let’s go!’

  With a lunge he raised her in his arms and swung her so that she clung around his shoulders. He then clambered through the window and clasping vines of ivy began struggling down, but it was slow going and he could hear the bedroom door was on the point of yielding to the battering, so he had no choice but to close his eyes and let go...

  ‘Damnation!’ he groaned venomously, lying on his back on the strategically dropped mattress, Genevieve sprawled across his chest. ‘I think I’ve broken every bone in my entire body.’

  She clutched him, her eyes wide and brimming with tears and terror. The thudding sound continued, but it was her heart this time. It was racing so fast she was sure it was ready to burst.

  ‘Their wagons must be at the front,’ he whispered as they rose stiffly and quickly checked for any damaged limbs. ‘You stay here,’ he ordered, ‘I’ll be straight back,’ and before Genevieve could beg him to stay with her he disappeared silently into the darkness.

  Genevieve hid down in the flowerbed that hid her, but the sound of the bedroom door above giving way, and her concerns for the welfare of Rodolfo, made her dash after him.

  Around the corner of the chateau she spied two armed men beside a convoy of three wagons. Sitting on one of the vehicles was a driver, and the three of them were looking towards the shattered front door. Already Rodolfo was stealthily stalking them, approaching from behind and slightly to the side, his dagger glinting menacingly in the moonlight.

  He was close when one of the men turned and cried, the blade flashed and the man clutched his throat, slumping to his knees. The second man tried to raise his musket as the driver shouted and jumped to the ground. The dagger slashed again and sank into the second man’s chest and he slumped too, his hands clamped over the wound. But the numbers proved too much and the driver jumped onto Rodolfo’s back before he could strike a third time.

  Genevieve felt as though her heart was exploding. Nothing seemed real. She ran to help, terrified of the man on top of Rodolfo and what he might do. They were wrestling. The driver was overweight but he was hurting her man, pounding him with punches to the back of his head. She screamed.

  ‘Be quiet!’ Rodolfo gasped from under the man. ‘Hit him with something!’ Panicking, Genevieve tried to grab the man by the shoulders and wrestle him off Rodolfo. The wounded revolutionary, lying nearby clutching his chest, stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Fuck...’ he muttered, distracting Rodolfo’s assailant, and in that instant the dagger struck again. The assailant cursed and rolled to the side, and Rodolfo struggled up and kicked the man in the stomach, making him groan again and curl up defensively.

  Rodolfo stared at the man on his back, his face contorted in agony as he held his wounded chest. ‘Don’t hurt me please, sir,’ he begged, a terrified smile making him grimace.

  Rodolfo bent over the body of the dead one and hurriedly hauled off his boots, breeches, shirt, topcoat and hat, and threw them into the nearest wagon.

  ‘Get up!’ he ordered Genevieve, pushing her into the back and throwing the clothes at her
. ‘Put these on,’ he told her.

  The overweight driver rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded shoulder, and watched Rodolfo as he clambered onto the wagon and lashed at the horses. ‘Stop them!’ he yelled. ‘Someone, they’re getting away!’

  The horses broke into an immediate gallop and the wagon lurched away down the drive.

  ‘D-did you see her?’ the man with the chest wound groaned to his overweight associate.

  ‘I did,’ the driver muttered, checking the damage to his shoulder and realising it was not much more than a bad cut. ‘Aye, I did, and I’ll fuck the slut harder than she’s ever been fucked when we catch them... the bastards.’

  ‘I - I don’t think I’ll have the chance to,’ the man with the chest wound gasped, and then coughed. ‘I’m not going to make it. Just be sure to fuck that cute little arse of hers for me, if...’

  Chapter Eight

  Elise awoke to an unpleasantly acrid smell and numbness in her left cheek. She blinked a few times and yawned, wincing as she felt a sudden pain in her jaw. She touched it tentatively, making her wince again.

  Curiously she was draped in a thick woollen cloak. It felt itchy and she scratched her arms a few times. She tried to sit up but gasped in surprise, for she was lying on stone slabs, cold and abrasive. Her fingers grasped rough straw, and her left buttock and thigh were as numb as her cheek.

  Beneath the cloak she was almost naked, only covered by one of her white shifts, which was now grimy and stained.

  ‘Get her up!’ a gruff voice ordered.

  Straw clung to her black hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders. She brushed at it, about to turn over, but there were footsteps coming towards her. Two stocky men approached and lifted her onto her unsteady feet.

  ‘Gently!’ the voice commanded, and she shook them off determinedly. ‘Leave her!’ The voice added.

 
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