One Final Night

by Rush, Scarlett

  ‘So what of my night?’ I asked him.

  ‘Have a look,’ he said, and slid open a flap in the wood, letting two thin beams of light in through a pair of eye holes. It was one of those trick paintings that you see in spoof horror films, he told me, one where your eyes replace those of the portrait sitter’s, so you can spy on proceedings. From the other side the guests would see only a study of his great grandmother, and they would be wondering, as I peered at them through the panel, how it was that the old bat’s eyes were following them so closely around the room!

  I pressed my face close and got my first view of the guests down below me, all munching on nibbles and swigging bubbly, the golds and blues and greens and creams everywhere on their fancy dress.

  ‘If anyone invades your party tonight they are in for a shock,’ I said, my face still pressed to the partition. ‘You’d think with over 30 generals present we might be able to mount some kind of resistance, although one of the Bonapartes does seem to have spilled salmon mousse down his front.’

  I felt nervy, perhaps jealous too. In there was such splendour and jollity, but I was out here. I could almost smell the wealth seeping through the ancient timbers, and something else too, something carnal. It was in the closeness of the couples, eating the nibbles out of each other’s fingers, in the whispers and the glances. It was in the way the males stood with hands on hip and legs apart to best show off the tightness of their riding breeches, how they leered into the hoisted cleavages of the females.

  There were naughty negotiations and secrets going on here; nearly all wore eye masks or held masks on sticks up to their face to help conceal their identity. I stopped watching with envy and began to feel the buzz inside once more. There was beauty and splendour here, and a confidence that was palpable. There were all shapes and sizes present, but the men were mainly tall, filling their tight uniforms in all the best places, while the woman looked elegant and were made extra curvaceous by the bones of their skirts and corsets. It was hard to tell ages, what with all the wigs and hats and masks being worn, but the men were upright and moved with poise, and the skin of the women looked white and smooth.

  It was hard not to conjure images of myself at the mercy of a group of these gallant, masked officers. Is it possible to deduce whether a man is handsome just from his deportment and the set of their jaw? Probably not, but my instincts told me they were indeed all handsome, a fact they certainly seemed to go along with, hence their determination to flirt so outrageously. Many seemed to be vying for the attention of one in particular, a very striking female with blonde hair piled high and held with a jewelled tiara. They jostled around, trying to get her favour, stepping in to bow and kiss her hand. I noticed they respectfully tried their hardest not to gawp too long at the twin swells of her huddled, dove-soft cleavage. Most of them failed.

  ‘Who is the Marie Antoinette in the silver dress?’ I asked. ‘The one with the sapphire in her hair and the magnificent bosom.’

  ‘That is the Comtesse, easily the most beautiful of the three I know, which is why I invited her and not them.’

  And beautiful she was, made all the more alluring by the thin band of black sheer fabric she wore across her eyes. It merely tinted her features rather than obscured them, being see-through, like a fine stocking material. I suddenly felt my breath flutter. Imagine being side by side with her with all these gentlemen around; two females whose looks my hero considered above all others, though her beauty was surely greater than mine.

  ‘Do I take it her husband is the tall lieutenant of the Imperial Carabiniers, the one with the Zorro mask and the rather fetching scarlet plume?’

  ‘No, she is estranged from her husband, much to the relief of so many of my gentleman guests – although they might not be quite so relieved if they knew the reason why. She is perhaps the biggest flirt in all Europe, which is why my friend David is sticking to her like glue. He is the tall lieutenant. When he isn’t charging into battle he owns a very successful charcuterie business. He has his eye out for a new mistress, so be careful of him.’

  This was the first hint given that I might expect interaction with the guests. I immediately looked with a keener eye, trying to get a better view of standout individuals in case our paths were to cross that evening. He slid the flap back across the holes to draw my spying mission to a close.

  ‘So what of my night?’ I asked again, far more optimistically this time. He took my hand.

  ‘Patrick will take you to get ready. In the meantime my guests will dine, to finish at 9.30 sharp. The men will then briefly retire for drinks and also to strip ourselves of this nonsense regalia and get these stifling tunics off. This is ostensibly so we can move more freely when the dancing begins at ten, but it is also to get certain gentlemen a little more ready for action when the time comes. The dancing marks the start of the party proper. Full-face masks will be available to all, each identical, so that every guest can mill about and let their hair down and make as big a fool of themselves as they wish. It will also allow them to sneak away unnoticed.

  ‘For your part, you will be kept in the duke’s room in the guest wing. That’s the one you liked best when I showed you around, the one with the ancient four-poster bed made from Limousin oak. That bed was given as a present to the first of my ancestors to live here, over 400 years ago. It has to be that room because no one ever goes in without my say-so, not even other family members. And it has to be that bed because it’s the easiest one to tie you to.

  ‘My darling, this is your night to remember, and this is how I intend to honour you. You will be bathed and prepared, and then left in that room in total darkness with your wrists bound to the bedposts. Certain people – some guests, some staff – already know you will be there. Selected others, throughout the night, will also be made aware. They will be told that they may come to you at any time they please, and do to you whatever they please. They have been told you will take whatever they give you, without question, and I know that you will. None of them has an inkling as to your identity, other than that you are a good friend of mine. You, of course, will never know who paid you a visit tonight.

  ‘Because of the masks, they can come to you in perfect anonymity. Inside your room will be total darkness. The party downstairs will become very raucous and so your visitors will come to you will their blood already up. Be aware that no act is barred tonight, so a few will almost certainly take the opportunity to indulge in some of their ruder passions. The gentlemen will come to you as they are. Any ladies will be allowed to use the next room to prepare before entering by the adjoining door. That is the only thing you will be able to gauge about the occupants: whether they are male or female, dependant on which door they come through.’

  I was already shaking. Even though he had intimated before it would be “as many as it takes to give you the perfect night of bliss”, and with all these handsome men on show, I hadn’t dared imagine that I was to be the focus of their rudeness, let alone that some of those buxom beauties might want to use me too. I wanted to snatch another look at the crowd. I needed to get better details, to study the women as well as the men so that I would know who came to me in the darkness. I made to slide the wood away from the holes, but he put his hand out to stop me.

  ‘It is time to get ready now,’ he said gently.

  The shivering wouldn’t stop, from nerves as well as expectation. The prospect was enchanting, but it couldn’t stop the stage fright.

  ‘Won’t they want to know of my looks before they use me?’ I whispered.

  ‘They will know enough. They will feel that your skin is smooth and flawless and the flesh beneath it firm with youth. They will feel the softness of your hair splayed out upon the pillow. They will smell your sweet scent. They will form their own image; they won’t need any more. I could give this same treat to the plainest of my maids and she would feel exactly the same joy as you. Tonight is about being whoever you want to be, of doing whatever you want without having to feel even a second
of guilt or shame about it afterwards. Tonight is about breaking barriers, about freedom of expression. It is time to be yourself at last.’

  Before, it had all been speculation and fantasy, but now it was real and the enormity of it was seeping into my body.

  ‘Will David come? Will the Comtesse?’ I asked.

  ‘Rest assured, ma chérie, whoever you want to come, will come.’

  It was comforting to hear him use that name again.

  ‘But you will come, won’t you?’

  He just shrugged and smiled.

  ‘I will certainly know where to find you,’ he said.

  And that was all I got from him. I didn’t even know if I would ever see him again.

  Patrick took my hand and led me back down the steps and away. My emotions were tumbling; I could barely focus on my way through the maze of secret passageways. I felt Patrick’s hand at the small of my back, guiding me. His familiarity suddenly sent a rush of adrenaline through my body. Was he going to come to me? Was I going to have to take that huge thing inside me? Was I to be helplessly fucked by this very man, who even now was under orders to be at my beck and call? Even if his master hasn’t given him leave to do so, who would stop him from slipping into me under the cover of darkness?

  On one hand I feel like a lottery winner, on the other I’m like the accused, waiting at the gallows. It would have been so much easier if I hadn’t known of my fate and hadn’t had to picture it for the last two hours. He assigned me a maid to help me prepare. Once in my changing room the door was locked behind me and the maid guided me to a chair, hustling around to get me settled and bring the food that had been prepared for my supper. I could barely eat a thing.

  She was a petite, pretty little thing, the maid. I wondered if he actually even employed any plain maids – I was certainly yet to see one. I wondered how she would cope, that tiny body, with all those men coming to her. Would she feel the same joy as me, as he claimed? I almost asked her out loud what she thought about a group of dashing army officers, the very kind found so regularly in fantasies – and not just one of them but as many as it takes – all there in leather boots and tight bright uniforms, all taking out their weapons to use on you over and over again. I was almost halfway through my bath before I could even gain a semblance of composure.

  I had showered earlier at my apartment, obviously. I had spent a long time preening and pruning in readiness for whatever he planned to throw at me. I still took the bath because my head was in too much of a whirl to stop the maid from directing my actions. It was worth it, the initial immersion nearly satisfaction enough as my nerve-numbed body came suddenly alive in the hot water. It both relaxed and rejuvenated. My mind cleared at last. I was able to collate the jumbled thoughts and feelings.

  My head, I decided, was anxious due to fear of the unknown and because of an innate worry of behaving “improperly”. My body had no such reservations. It wanted the same pleasures others got, all those who are less governed by misplaced ideas of reputation and decency. It didn’t want to boast about such pleasures, or tick them off a “to do” list. It simply wanted to feel these sensations, to know its full potential, so that there could be no regrets. If reputation was my only real concern, the blackness in the room would blank that out. If I was worried about the looks or the type of visitor I received, the blackness would blank that out. If I was worried about being seen doing such rude things, the blackness would blank it all out.

  By the time the maid was wrapping me in a towel, my resolve had strengthened and I was beginning to see the night only as the golden opportunity he had designed it to be. I didn’t even mind going naked again for the maid. I didn’t bother arguing when she took a razor and oiled my legs in readiness, even though I had already seen to this chore. I didn’t flinch when she lathered the sparsely-haired vee I always kept, and took that off too, even though I’ve never before been so bare. I didn’t even blush when she asked me to raise my knees to give her better access to make sure I was completely smooth all over.

  When she said it was time for my massage I laid upon the towels without hesitation. In fact, it was worse than that: I even told the maid to take off her dress – the first time in my life I have ever ordered anyone to strip. She complied quietly and without question, going down to matching knickers and bra, which I took as a sign that she expected to have her underwear on show this night, or perhaps any night while in his service. The massage meant more oil, applied warm so there was no shock to my system. Everything was about relaxation, of making me pliable and soft, and ready.

  She soothed me slowly, paying special attention to my back and legs. She poured oil onto my bottom, and the trickle had me quivering. I wanted the contact there. I needed it. I even raised my hips from the bed a little, hoping to encourage the attention, although she shyly went back to my calves and feet, leaving the oily trickle to run and tease unchecked. When I went onto my front I could see her cheeks were flushed. The points of her breasts poked at the thin material, as hard as my own, although she hadn’t had the grazing contact of the towel to stimulate her swell. I had thoughts of those breasts coming free, of her spreading my legs and stroking me with those stiff points, right at my entrance, trying to part me and feel my slick wetness on her skin. I nearly asked her to do exactly that. Nearly.

  She stroked the outsides of my breasts but only once went over the fullness of them; the lightest of touches just to allow a covering of oil there. She would have felt the stiffness of my teats at her palm. I was brave enough to watch her doing this, but not brave enough to tell her to do it again. When she touched my thighs they jumped apart involuntarily, but she didn’t take her chance to go in. She headed quickly for my feet again, although I saw her draw in a deep breath and bite her lip, as if the desire to go further had been hard to defeat. Maybe she was under instruction not to drive me to distraction, to soothe and relax me but no more.

  Before I could summon the courage to issue further commands, the maid finished and brought me a gown to put on. The garment was no more than a very thin T-shirt in white cotton, a little longer than the norm so it could just about serve as a nightdress. No underwear was offered. I crossed to the dressing table to do my hair and make-up, even though it wasn’t necessary, although the thought of being at my best boosted my confidence. The maid brushed out my long hair, smiled at me in the mirror and said, ‘You are ready, Mademoiselle.’

  Chapter Five

  And ready I am; for him, for David, for the Comtesse. I have never been more ready. The maid rings the bell and Patrick comes for me immediately. It’s a good job it only proves a short distance down the corridor because my legs are shaking. He opens the door to the duke’s room. The main chandelier is already off. The huge portraits that adorn the walls, the splendid dark oak chests and walnut commodes, have all been swallowed by darkness. The centrepiece of the room, the great bed, is all the eye can see. The drapes on the near side are pulled back to allow me access, but those at the far side and the foot end are closed. I see there are spotlights clipped to the huge carved headboard to throw light upon the interior. The covers are in gold and red silks, just as they were when he took me on that whistle-stop tour of the chateau all those months ago. I wonder how many others have laid atop them over the years to receive their final night of him.

  Most of the cylindrical bolsters have been removed to give me space to lie, but the soft stacks of pillows remain, and upon them the black leather straps for securing my wrists. I feel the butterflies coming back in earnest, but I’m not scared. Patrick takes my hand to assist as I climb on, making sure the gown doesn’t ride up and expose me as I shuffle into position on my back. It seems a misplaced piece of chivalry on his part considering what is to follow, but I guess until the lights are off the game has yet to begin.

  Patrick quietly asks me if I am ready and I nod in assent. He then gently takes each of my hands in turn and puts them through the binding straps. I had visions before of being secured by cuffs, but actually
these are just leather loops, loose enough to slide my hand back out of at any time. If I so choose, I could run the moment Patrick turned his back. I know I’m not going to. He leans back out of the bed into the darkness and pulls the drapes together, closing me off from him and the black of the room. I’m alone in the lit interior of the bed, my own little world of comfy opulence. It feels safe and thrilling, despite the ties at my wrists, despite not knowing what is about to come my way. Then the lights go off in my little world and suddenly darkness is everywhere, thick and impenetrable. I lie with bated breath, trying to adjust my senses now that I’ve been robbed of my primary one. I think I hear soft movements to my right, maybe feet on carpet or cuffs brushing against a jacket. Then the door clicks shut and I think I am alone.

  Normally, with the lights off your eyes adjust; things start to emerge from the gloom. Not here. Everything stays pitch black, a darkness I can’t begin to see through. I can vaguely hear the party downstairs, a sound I wasn’t aware of before the lights went out. Elsewhere there is a judder of an iron pipe, perhaps bubbles in the plumbing or heating system. Mainly I am cosseted within the bed, the drapes damping the sensory information. I’m not cold in my body but my skin is tingling ever more, goosebumps raising and spreading to prickle against the thin material of my gown. I’m keenly aware of a need to take my hands out of the loops and bury myself beneath the bedclothes to seek comfort. I have another pressing need requiring the freedom of my hands, but I’ve not come here to do what I would do in the privacy of my own home. I just need to bite my lip and wait.

  I don’t know how long for. It’s probably been no more than a few minutes so far, although each has been drawn out tenfold. I don’t know whether to close my legs chastely or leave them open as they are, even though the seep from between them feels so rude. He won’t keep me waiting, surely? He will know the torture of every second. I have it in my head that maybe Patrick is still here, closing the door as a trick to make me think I am alone. If he wanted to ravish me then this is a golden opportunity – a chance before the game has officially started. The thought of taking him first sets my heart pounding. I am ready, but maybe not ready enough for him. I would prefer a gentler introduction, although every second he doesn’t push his way back through the drapes is a second that sparks greater wanting. It’s too late now. He would have to have reported to his master or raise suspicion.