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Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

"Gawd," Sam hissed, extremely glad that Colin knew what he was doing with a heat ray. Because she had a pretty good burn in her stomach, which hurt like hell, but it could've been worse. Lots worse. Still, she grinned at Erik as he pulled her into a protective embrace. "Y'all - ow - ready?" she whispered.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The first to move was a younger-looking man in a dress uniform. His pride stung by the Fraulein's words, moved by the callus way she'd been shit, he tore his dress saber from it's scabbard and swung a vicious chop at the nearest Machine-Man. He died for his troubles, coldly burned down, but the action was rippling out across the ballroom. Machine-Men suddenly grappled with enraged guests, who shouted "For Germany!" and "For Hitler!"

Wincing, Sam shoved Erik to one side, burning down a Machine-Man who had broken free from its attackers. "Careful," she laughed, shooting another. "Mah dress might be a wreck, but Ah've still - ow - got plans fer y'all."

Colin, meanwhile, had backed towards Kieran. Having served as the flashpoint for the riot, he was in no mood to attract its attention. "Got a plan?" he asked, as he watched the pirate suddenly disarm Yasmine.

"Don't move!" Kieran shouted. "Do as I say or she dies!"

Yasmine laughed. "Foolish boy! What makes you think you can kill me?"

"The heat ray in your back?" suggested Colin.

She snorted. "Your Ranger already killed me once." The blank mask regarded him impassively. "The body I wore, that is. And yet, I remain." She laughed again. "I am legion, my pretty captains!"

And then a car exploded through the glass wall.



Professor Swift braced himself as well as he could, assembling the final elements of his device as Madame LaMonte sent the car bouncing across the lawn. Glancing up, he saw the hall approaching at speed and redoubled his efforts. Then the car jolted as it ramped up stairs and struck a wall at full speed. Metal smashed and protested, but the frames round the french windows surrendered before foreward mimentum.

As the car skidded to a halt, he flipped three switches in rapid succession. The mechanisms began to whine as the radium engine came on line and the copper coils began to hum and crackle with power. Smiling, he leaned forward and rested a light hand on Anne Marie's shoulder. "Rest," he said. "I'll handle this from here."

Then he clambered from the car, ignoring his firearm mounted heat rays in favor of the heavy revolver he now held. Rioters and Machine-Men alike turned to stare at him, and he drew himself up under their gaze. "Good evening. J am Professir Algernon Swift, and I am now prepared to formaally accept the surrender of the so-called Devil King."
 
It was chaos. Men and women both were grappling and dying, being cut down in battle with the Machine-Men. A few of the automatons fell but more humans than machines were dying. The machines, after all, could just be rebuilt. Erik was thoroughly confused when Sam asked him whether he was ready. Ready for what? Before he could ask she shoved him aside and hit a Machine-Man.

"If you're terribly hurt I'm afraid our plans will have to wait, Liebchen," he said, aiming over her shoulder to hit another of the metal men. "Like ants these things!" He cursed quietly but continuously under his breath as he helped Sam stand and continued shooting down Machine-Men while trying not to hit civilians.

Professor Swift stepped from the back of the car that had crashed through the window. Kieran frowned when he raised the revolver and calmly suggested that Yasmine surrender. Turning her to face the Professor, still holding his gun under her chin, he pushed her forward a few steps while trusting Colin to watch his back. "Got 'er right here," he said, "but I don't think she's gonna surrender, Professor. There's more Devil Kings waiting in the wings to hear her tell it."

There was the glow of a heat ray and he felt it crackle past. Anne Marie hung halfway out the window of the wrecked car, grimacing in pain, and when he looked over his shoulder a Machine-Man lay inches from him, several others converging on Colin.

"Your master plan if you please Algie," she called, leaning heavily on the window frame.
 
"Are there indeed?" the Professor mused. "More Devil Kings, you say?"

There was a mocking edge to Yasmine's answering laughter. "Oh, no," she replied, "there is only me."

"Your master plan if you please Algie,"Madame LaMonte interjected, voice weary and full of pain. The Professor spared her a singke glance, then set his jaw.

"Yes, yes, of course." His attention returned to the Devil King. "Many or one, you are defeated. I offer you the opportunity to surrender."

"Or what?" the Devil King sneered. "My Machine-Men outnumber you and the cattle in this room."

"Or this," the Professor answered calmly, flicking his wrists. The heat rays strapped to his firearms dropped to the ground with a clatter, and he raisedhis arms slowly.

"Or you will surrender?" the Devil King laighed. "Your master plan was a bluff?"

"I never bluff," he responded. Something clicked in his hand, and the trunk in the car flashed with lightning. Sam swore loudly as her heat gun crackled, and she dropped it as the metal scorched her skin. The effect on the Machine-Men was more dramatic. They thrashed and convulsed, limned in Saint Elmo's fire as they danced and jerked and collapsed. Yasmine screamed, hugh and thin and loud, continuing on and on as she convulsed. The scream broke into a note of electronic distortioon and static, and then she collapsed as well.

"Now," he observed conversationally, his voice shockingly loud in the sudden stillness, "might I suggest that someone notify emergency services?"

As a few men stirred and hurried to do his bidding, Sam leaned against Erik. "Ah reckon Ah ain't that badly hurt," she commented.
 
Anne Marie yelped in fright and fell sideways into the passenger's seat to avoid the lightning behind her, hand stinging from the heat gun she'd dropped to the floorboards. She groaned as she landed on her hurt side, but otherwise was still and quiet while Professor Swift took care of the Machine Men. Some electronics disruptor or another, she imagined. He'd always been the more mechanically inclined of the two of them, but she was certain she'd understand how it had worked once he explained. At last Yasmine stopped screaming and it seemed that the last of the Machine Men were dead, and with a grunt Anne Marie pushed herself into a sitting position while Professor Swift suggested that somebody call emergency services.

"Perhaps--oh!--we'd better go?" she suggested, hobbling over and holding her ribs over the melted fabric. "Before emergency services starts asking too many probing questions."

Kieran had let go of Yasmine as soon as she started convulsing, holding his hands up as though a gun were being pointed at him and backing away several steps. She was a machine?? Good job he'd discovered he...well...wasn't interested before he'd made a mistake he would have never lived down. He looked back and forth from Colin to the metal corpse, to Professor Swift, then back to Colin, still unable to quite believe it. The pirate snapped to when he saw Madame hobbling over and hurried over to her. He'd never seen her looking anything other than immaculate and the sight only served to make the whole thing feel more surreal. Cuts crisscrossed her face and arms, she appeared to have been wounded, and her hair was half-fallen. Gingerly he picked her up bridal-style, taking care to keep her injured side away from his body so he didn't rub against it and hurt her more.

"Aye, I'd say mission complete," he agreed solemnly. "Drake?" The pirate looked expectantly at Colin and inclined his head toward the door.

"Well, let's take a look just to make sure, hm?" Erik suggested, allowing Sam to lean on him but knowing she wouldn't appreciate being picked up the way Kieran had picked up Madame LaMonte. In a quieter tone he added, "We'll play Herr Doktor, ja? Make sure you're fit for service." With a small smile and a wink he helped Sam over to the others.

~*~

Anne Marie lay on her side in her room, picking gingerly at the fabric where it had melted to her skin and trying not to cry out. She'd finally allowed the tears she'd denied before, especially since the booze from earlier was beginning to wear off. She was carefully cutting away the fabric when a knock came at the door. Quickly she wiped away her tears, though her face was still blotchy from crying, and tried to look as composed as possible.

"Oui? Come in."
 
Professor Swift entered the room, carrying a carpet bag in one hand. Heclosed the door behind him gently, careful to avoid making a sound. Then he padded across the floor, drawing a chair up beside the bed and seating himself. "I rather suspected that, despite your protests, you would have need of assistance," he said, glancing over her injuries. His brow wrrinkled and his eyes narrowed at the sight. Most of the right side of her body, from hip nearly to shoulder, was burned. Mostly severe first degree burns, with some blistering where the beams had momentarily touched her.

The fabric was the worst, he saw. Her gown had contained a small portion of the new synthetics, and those artificial fabrics had melted like wax, clinging to her skin. It must have been excruciating - he could see the pain in her features, and his respect for her courage increased at the sight of her tears. "Ah, Anne Marie," he said softly, opening his bag, "I fear you have internalized my lessons rather too well."

She'd been young when he'd found her, a girl barely on the edge of puberty seeking revenge against the man who'd murdered her father. He'd trained her to be able to carry out that revenge, and in a way that would be untraceable. Ine of those lessons had been, by necessity, to endure pain without revealing one's emotions. Because an agent needed such skills, and because of Monsieur LaMonte's deviencies.

The man had died in agony, in memory of Anne Marie's father and ber own suffering. And for a woman the Professor still visited when he could, who had not recognized him in over three decades.

Pushing aside the memory, he extracted a syringe and two vials from his bag. He drew a minute amount of liquid into the syringe from the first, then filled it from the second. "Morphine," he explained. "An eight per cent solution. Enough to numb the pain, but not so much as to cause significant impairment." He smiled at her. "If you attemot to refuse I shall sit in you and administer it anyway, because it will make treating your injuries easier."
 
"Ah, Anne Marie," Professor Swift said softly, "I fear you have internalized my lessons rather too well."

"Well do you want a little girl or do you want a soldier?" Anne Marie asked thickly, sniffling and wiping at her eyes again. She didn't like crying in front of Algie whenever she sustained an injury. He had taught her many things, and how to hide weakness in the face of agony was one of them; it irked her to think he might get the impression that she hadn't learned this lesson, or that she was getting soft. "Little girls cry, women hold their heads high, remember?" It wasn't often she threw his own words back at him like this, but the pain of her injuries had made her short-tempered.

Twenty years ago Algernon Swift had taken her under his wing; she was ten. For four years he trained her and they tracked Gustav together, then she had spent only a year wooing and marrying him; the child bride to the man who had orphaned her. She hadn't been as disciplined as she was now and Anne Marie had been unable to hide her tears any time LaMonte raised a hand to her or forced himself on her. It had only egged him on. Algernon had taught her ways to hide her true self from monsters like Gustav, but anymore he was the only one she didn't hide from. In situations like this, however, she was perfectly content to retreat as far back into that shell as she possibly could.

Algie filled a syringe and Anne Marie eyed it skeptically. "I do not like drugs, you know that," she said sternly, her accent thickening with her slackening discipline. He smiled at her and threatened to sit on her and she rolled her eyes. "Fine."

The morphine was enough to calm her temper a little. Anne Marie laid on her side and raised her arm to rest it on a pillow over her head. She looked down to where the dress had melted and shook her head, tsking. "Damned technology," she grumbled. "For weapons is all well and good, but cloth does not need improvement. It is cloth. From now on, one hundred percent cotton or wool everything." She sighed. "It was such a nice dress too. I was planning on wearing it to the opera with you. Don't think I've forgotten about that."
 
"A pity, then. The dress was quite flattering. Although most dresses are imoroved by you. You wear them well." As he spoke, he remived a slim-bladed scalpel - almost a razor-edged needle - from his bag. "However, I may request that we find an opera by someone than Wagner. I fear I have grown weary of Germany."

Working gently and carefully, he inserted the scalpel between fabric and skin and began to cut. The material gave way with a soft shriek, leaving behind a strip of the cloth that was sealed to her skin. "Dido et Aeneas, perhaps, or Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Unless you would prefer something more comic? The Savoy is hosting a revival of Iolanthe."

He'd had to cut away quite a bit of her gown, and her undergarments beneath. She lay exposed to his gaze and, despite the knowledge that she was his oldest remaining friend and oldest surviving ppartner, he was reminded that she was a remarkably beautiful woman. Even with the burns. Trying to set the thought aside, he traded the scalpel for forceps. These he rested on the nightstand as he also removed a bottle and clean cloth. "Mineral spirits," he explained, wetting the cloth. "And I must be honest. This will hurt. You'll feel a burning sensation where I apply it, but it will loosen the melted synthetics and permit me to remove them without tearing your skin." He examined the stuck patches, trying not to linger on the graceful curves of her body. "They would come loose if their own accorc, within a week, but this would invite infection."

As carefully as he could, he began to gently rub at the first of the burns. She gasped as the mineral oil irritated her skin, and he cast about for something to distract her. "Did you know I sang opera, a few times? In university, well before we met. Let me think..." She gasped again, and he chose the first aria that came to mind.

"Elle porte une robe légère,
"Un peu de sole pour qu
"Elle est belle, belle à mourir
"Belle à choisir,
"Un jour de mourir pour elle."
 
Anne Marie smiled a little at Algie's compliment. She saw the scalpel out of the corner of her eye but wasn't afraid; not only was she unafraid of razors and needles, but even if she were she trusted him implicitly. When he asked that they find an opera not by Wagner her smile widened a little.

"Having your fine work twisted by those little fungi left a sour taste in your mouth, did it?" she teased. She stiffened and held very still as he cut away the cloth, careful not to breathe too suddenly lest the scalpel touch her burnt skin. "Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg is Wagner," she pointed out, "And Dido et Aeneas is depressing. We'll go see Iolanthe, even if it is a bit silly."

It felt incredibly strange to lay there totally exposed to Algernon once he'd cut away her clothes. She'd been naked in front of hundreds of strangers with nary a care, but under his gaze she felt vulnerable. She wasn't certain whether she liked it or not. Fortunately he chose not to bring up the topic and instead explained to her that the mineral oil would burn her blistered, cooked skin. And burn it did. She gasped as he gently rubbed at the burns and bit her lip while she tried not to squirm. It was like the beam grazing her all over again. He hit a particularly sensitive spot and she squeaked, trying not to cry out.

Algie had a beautiful voice. She smiled at the verse that he sang but chose not to comment on its content. "Silk too, oui. I will still wear silk of course. Just not...whatever this was." Anne Marie attempted a laugh to set them both at ease but it came out a strangled gasp. "I do not think I've ever heard you sing," she mentioned casually. "You should do it more; you've a lovely voice. You know...In my brain I know you were what, thirty or so, when you met me. But it just never seems real to me that you had a life before that, that you haven't known me your entire life the way I've known you. What else don't I know about you, Algernon Swift? Can you juggle?" This time she managed a chuckle, but it broke off with a cry when he began carefully removing the fabric. It felt like he was removing bits of her own flesh.
 
"I can juggle, yes," he said with a slight smile, silently damning himself for a fool as he realizedwhat he'd sang. "Mostly duties and responsibilities these days, but I find it relaxing. And useful training." He grimaced as Anne Marie gasped in pain. "I also practice magic tricks and play the penny whistle, although I've been told that 'play' is perhaps an optimistic assessment of my skills."

There were more stifled gasps of pain as he stripped away the melted fabric, and he kept talking to distract her. "And I was... let me think... 27. No, no, 28 when we first met. So, yes, I did have something of a life. Although much less of one than before Monseur La Monte crossed my path. He..."

There was a momentary expression of deep pain and loss that darkened his features, and then it was as if a wall sprang up. "He earned my enmity. But he is long dead now, and serves as my onereason to hope that God is real." He smiled thinly. "That way, I may believe that his eternal soul is subject to the fiery torments of Hell forever."

The last of the cloth came away. He dropped it in a waste basket, then ferched out yet another bottle. The contents were creamy, and smelt faintly of mint, and he began rubbing it gently iver her burned hip and side. "But I fear that I have chosen the wrong thing to distrwct you from your pains." He tried not to think how pleasant her skin felt beneath his hands, attempting to concentrate on the clinical processof applying ointment to burns.

"I recommend a rest," he finally said. "Take time to alliw these burns to heal."
 
"The penny whistle?" Anne Marie couldn't help but laugh and look over her shoulder at him. "You do keep your secrets, don't you? I always thought of you as more a violin man. Very Holmes. Or perhaps a cello." She winced and let her face fall to the side again, relaxing the muscles in her neck to avoid moving any more than she had to. "You'll have to show me your magic tricks some time."

Had Algie really been that old when they'd met? She had always taken him for 24 or 25 at most, but she had never been a good judge for age before he'd trained her. She was thirty now, which meant he was nearly sixty though he didn't look more than fifty or so. How had the years gone so quickly? Where had they gone? Algernon's wall briefly fell away and Anne Marie was afforded a glimpse of what she'd only seen a handful of times before. When she was fourteen she'd asked what Gustav had done to earn the Professor's hatred, but he'd refused to speak of it and she had never asked again. Instead Anne Marie had kept her silence in these rare moments when he actually spoke about her deceased husband and had over the years gathered that he hadn't done anything to him personally. Sometimes his left thumb would brush over his ring finger--he didn't appear to realize he was doing it--and she'd known for some time that Monsieur LaMonte had widowed Professor Swift, though he never spoke of his wife nor indicated to her that she had ever existed. Anne Marie had never brought it up either, content to let her friend and mentor talk about it in his own time, and if he never spoke of it again then that was his prerogative. He'd gotten his revenge and she hers, and they rarely spoke of him outside of that context and were both happy to keep it that way. The memory Gustav LaMonte didn't deserve more of their attention than that. Still she wondered whether Algie would have been a happier man, whether he would have joined the Meridian Society at all, had his wife survived.

"Your one reason?" Anne Marie smiled gently. "God is in the grass, dearest Algie. Remind me to pull your nose out of physics books some time and teach you about transcendentalism. For that monster to serve as your only hope for God is to give him far too much power over you. He doesn't deserve it." Her smile dropped. "I don't so much as honor him with naming him. Flowers haven't been on his grave in a decade, only ever were to maintain the appearance of a grieving widow. I choose happiness by not choosing him; I encourage you to do the same. Read some Thoreau, some Whitman or Longfellow. You may appreciate a garden a bit more after that."

Anne Marie winced as the final bit of cloth peeled away from her skin. The smell of the ointment was pleasant, as was the feeling of Algernon's hands sliding over her skin despite the morphine-numbed pain. When he suggested that he'd chosen the wrong thing to distract her she smiled and shook her head.

"Telling you what to do is always the perfect distraction," she argued teasingly. She looked down when he finally recommended she rest. "Shouldn't we bandage them as well?" she asked, frowning at her burns before lowering her arm to cover her breast. At fifteen Anne Marie had run into his arms, completely naked, with none of the unaccountable shyness she felt now. Of course, in that particular incident she'd been bloodied and bruised and had more limp than run, having had her leg broken, trailing behind her rope which had been used to tie her to the bedposts.
 
"One may appreciate a garden without believing in gods," he responded. "Natura valde simplex est et sibi consona, as Sir Isaac Newton wrote. But yes, dwelling upon that man gives him greater power than I should permit him. Perhaps I will read some Longfelliw, then."

Then he moved on, feeling as if he had chosen the entirely wrong topic. Her answering joke made him smile, and then he nodded at her question. "We should, yes. To prevent further irritation as the burns heal. There is some blistering as well, and they'll heal far mire cleanly if they remain unburst." He hesitated. "I'm afraid you'll need to sit up for this."

As she did, he rummaged through his bag to find gauze pads and strips. "Also, these are impregnated with areolin." That had been an unexpected benefit of the Martian flora. The red weed still grew in cold, arid climes, and it had proven - quite unintentionally - to be medically beneficial. Areolin, the extract of the red weed, was both an antiseptic and promoted cell growth. In small quantities, wounds would heal cleanly in days rather than weeks.

Finally she was ready, and he set to work - acutely aware of her nudity as he did. Which was ridiculous, was it not? He'd seen her unclothed before, tended to her wounds before. But that had felt different, then. She'd been little more than a child, half his age and traumatized. Now? Now she was a grown woman, and the difference in their ages far less significant. And he'd grown to consider her a friend and confidant, rather than just a student.

A friend and confidant. A beautiful friend and confidant, graceful and poised, mature and dignified with a simmering fire to her... no. No, itcould not be. He had... other obligations. But still his nerves were electrified by the touch of her skin, and his traitor thoughts would not let go of the ideaof how she would feel if he took her in his arms and...

"There," he said, concentrating on tying the last of the bandages in place. ""You'll want to check the dressings in four to five days, and I'd recommend doing it with a qualified medical doctor." He smiled at that, fully aware that his 'dabbling' still encompassedas much knowledge as any physician. "I would anticipate that all but the worst of the burns will be healed by then."
 
"Some Longfellow or Whitman would do you a world of good, mon chere," Anne Marie agreed with a firm nod.

Slowly, carefully she sat up as instructed. Tears flooded back to her eyes, though she again held them back, as she not only moved the cooked skin but also her muscles sore from the fight and the crash. She wouldn't have been surprised if she'd gotten whiplash. God but it had been a while since she was in this much pain! While she never hesitated to put herself at the frontlines when she was needed, Anne Marie typically preferred to run intelligence and hang towards the back with Erik while the captains and Sam did the gun slinging. She had many spies and contacts, after all; no need to put herself in danger if she didn't have to.

"Martian Redweed?" Anne Marie used the rather uncreative common name for the plant. She looked a little skeptical, never having had need to try it before. "I don't know much about it, but if it acts anything like penicillin it's probably best to stick with something more traditional, advanced science or not." She knew that he knew she was allergic to penicillin of course, but despite her implicit trust in Algie her trust for otherwordly folk medicine was decidedly minimal. Still, without more protest Anne Marie lifted her arm to allow him to wrap her bandages.

She was naked. They were both very acutely aware of it, and each was aware of the other's awareness. Anne Marie drew the sheets up around her lap as best she could, but there was really no dignified way to cover her breasts without getting in his way. And why should she cover her breasts? Half the men in God's creation had seen them, and they were just breasts! She had no reason to be ashamed of them or to adhere to the puritan laws of prudishness society had imposed upon her sex! She never had, after all. There was no reason to start now, regardless of how gooseflesh raised on her skin as his fingers brushed over them.

"It's cold," she murmured with an awkward half smile. He would never bring down that wall of professionalism, never unmarry himself from his dead wife; there was therefore little use in ever saying anything. She got the feeling Algie sometimes still saw her as the little girl he had first met, anyway.

When he tied the last of the bandages in place she lowered her arm and gently stretched her neck from side to side. "Balivernes," she insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "I've met none so qualified as my dear friend." With a groan she stretched her neck again and rubbed at a knot where her neck met her shoulder. "May we have an assignment in Japan next? I hear they have excellent masseuses and I'm afraid I'll need one after that car accident." Calling it that was quite a euphemism, she knew. "So where are you going now, since we appear to be done with the Wings of Silence once and for all?" she asked conversationally, wrapping the sheets around her waist and dragging them with her until she was able to don a nightgown and replace the thin veneer which always seemed to be between them, though thinning more and more recently. "Are you returning to Australia? Or America? Or do your studies take you back abroad elsewhere?" She sat back on the bed. "You are always welcome in Paris, you know."
 
"I am returning to London for a time," Algernon said, packing his medical supplies away. "There is a presentation I am to deliver at the Royal Academy of Science, and some research I planned in the National Archives." A brief smile. "The work of our own Society is of vital importance, of course, but it quite distracts me from my own." There was a click as he shut the carpet bag. "After that..?"

He shrugged. "South America. An expedition into the Matta Grosso region of the Amazon. A young acquaintance of mine - a poet named Maple White - has gone missing there, and his parents have asked me for assistance." He hesitated. "Unless Society business arises, of course. But..." He hesitated. "I may well stop in Paris, first. After all, I still owe you a second evening at the opera."



Sam winced as she pulled the wreckage of her dress off. Tossing it in the corner she twisted and turned before the full-length mirror in her room, examining the burns on her stomach from different angles. Colin knew his business well enough. Her abdomen was pinkish-red, as if she'd had a bad sunburn.

Glaring at her reflection, she sat heavily on the bed and turned a disconsolate eye on the heap of cloth that had been an evening gown. Then she started laughing. "Look at me," she chuckled. "Pining over a dress. If'n Ah ain't careful, Ah'll turn into a real lady.
 
"It's a beautiful dress to have pined over," Erik said, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes scanned her body for the damage Colin had done, but found only a pinkish burn across her stomach. "Are you alright, Liebchen?"

He sat near her on the bed, looking over her with some concern. The entire thing had been a clusterfuck, he knew, and it frustrated him even though it had been out of their control. With a sigh he tucked a bit of hair behind her ear and looked over her once again.

"Nightcap?" he offered. "Then, I have an ointment in my room which may alleviate that a little, if you'd like." She'd promised a night of pleasure but he didn't want her to feel obligated to fulfill that promise if the night had taken too much out of her.
 
"Yeah, Ah'm all right," Sam said, a wry smile on her lips. "Reckon' Ah done burnt mahself worse, jes' bein' out in th' sun." She saw the concern on his face and elbowed him in the ribs before leaning against him. "Silly man," she chided, wrapping an arm around his waist and enjoying the solid eel of his shoulder against her cheek. "Thought we had us an' unnerstandin', Erik. Ah kick th' ass, an' y'all do all th' clever stuff an' look sexy in a suit an' all. Ah'm fine. Really."

He sighed, and his fingers brushed over her ear as he tucked away a stray strand of hair. She hadn't taken down the updo or removed the silver and pearl headband that kept it in place, but the evening's excitement had made it all just a touch disheveled. "Nightcap?" Erik offered.

"Ah could do wit' a few," she allowed. "Set up a bottle an' a few shot glasses, 'cause this evenin' left a bad taste in mah mouth," She twisted to peck him on the cheek, and winced as the motion tugged burnt skin.

"Then," he continued, noting her expression, "Then, I have an ointment in my room which may alleviate that a little, if you'd like."

"Ah reckon Ah would," she decided. "Jes' lemme throw somethin' on. Ah ain't rightly dressed fer walkin' round yer folk's place." Which was an understatement, to be sure. She still had her hairband right now, and her panties and hose and gater, and the jewelry that Anne Marie and Erik had bought for her, but nothing else. And while it didn't bother her that Erik was seeing her like this - he'd seen her with less, after all - she didn't want to put on a show for anyone else.

Well... maybe for Anne Marie, again. But that wouldn't be fair to Erik, now would it?

Kissing Erik again, she began digging through her wardrobe. It didn't take long, not really. She was used to packing light, so her own clothes didn't take up much space - even augmented with a couple of skirts that she'd started trying to nerve herself up to wear. So she found the silk robe she'd splurged on, one afternoon after a lazy morning with Erik had left her feeling especially girly, and shrugged it on. The silk was cool and smooth on her skin, and had the advantage of not irritating the burn on her stomach. Feeling giddy and a little self conscious, she twirled a little to let Erik see it better. Then she offered him her hand. "Why, Ah do declare," she said playfully, adopting the practiced 'socialite' accent she'd worked on for her role, "Ah would be delighted to join you for a nightcap, Herr Schmidt. But it is frightfully daring! What will people say, an unattached young lady entertained by a gentleman in his rooms? You simply must give me your word of honor that you will be on your best behavior!"
 
"Yes well, I'm afraid Professor Swift was the one doing all of the 'clever stuff' this evening," Erik admitted with a shrug, "but I'll allow you to be the one to judge how well I wore the suit."

He looked over her burn again, but said nothing. He knew she'd get annoyed if he fretted over her too much; she was still Sam Cavendish, Tejas Ranger after all. With a sigh he tucked away a bit of hair that had escaped from its updo before offering her a nightcap and some ointment. When she insisted she ought to put something on over her panties and hosiery he rolled his eyes in an exasperated manner.

"If you must," he sighed dramatically. "Really Schatze, you're perfectly presentable the way you are, you know. Who wouldn't want to see so much of a beautiful woman?" In truth he absolutely adored seeing her like this: decked out in jewelry, small breasts bared to the world, garters still holding up her hose. It was almost more erotic than seeing her completely naked. Almost. He leaned back on his hands as he watched her dig through her wardrobe, enjoying the view.

"Heirat mich," he murmured, almost absently. Behind her back Erik's eyes went wide for a moment and he fought to regain his composure, reminding himself even as his heart thudded against his chest that he'd intentionally never taught her heiraten. Not that he didn't want to marry her, but that he didn't want to scare Sam off with how completely in love with her he was after only six months. He had said it before, whenever he felt most content, and didn't want her to feel pressured into doing something she would regret.

"You look beautiful, Liebchen," he said when she twirled for him before taking her hand. Erik smiled when she teased him about entertaining her in his rooms. "Oh my very best, Dona Cavendish," he said with mock seriousness. "On my honor by the end of the night you will no longer be an unattached young lady, I promise."

Erik led her downstairs to the sidebar in the parlor. If his parents were home they would have indeed been scandalized to see Sam there on his arm in nothing but a robe and her stockings. But they weren't home so he didn't care. He poured them both some brandy and handed her the glass.

"To the Society's roaring success?" he suggested.
 
"Oh, Ah won't be Herr Schmidt? Why, Ah do declare, do y'all have designs on li'l ol me?" Sam laughed - not giggled - as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Well... Ah reckon a delicate Tejas flower lahk myself can trust a gentleman such as yourself to behave properly wit' a lady." She took his hand grandly. "Lead the way, suh."

In truth, her heart was pounding a mile a minute as she walked with him through the mansion. No longer be unattached? Did he mean..? Was he going to..? Her mind whirled at the implication. She loved him, yes. Dearly and deeply. But neither of them had discussed... marriage. Was he about to propose? Would she accept, if he did?

Sam snorted at that last thought. Course she would. Erik wad her man, after all.

But marriage wasn't the only thing on her mind right now. She'd seen the way he looked at her as she'd searched for her robe, and burn or no she was going to put that look to use. Her dress might be ruined, but she'd made him a promise. And she'd left her jewelry onand her hair up for a reason. And besides, walking around in just her stickings and a robe made her feel sexy as hell.

Entering the parlour, Erik poured her a drink. Brandy, she guessed. Not bad stuff, even if she preferred tequila and beer. "To the Society's roaring success?" he suggested raising his glass.

"To the Society's roaring success," she agreed, clinking her glass against his before tossing her drink back. Probably a waste of good stuff, she realized as she swallowed. So she poured herself another. "Let's try that again," she said, raising the glass. "To the Society."

This time, she waited. And when Erik took a swallow she stepped forward and kissed him. Brandy dripped down her chin and onto her breasts as her tongue thrust into his mouth and her arms went around his neck, holding him close as she savored his masculine flavor mingled with the brandy. Then she grinned playfully, holding up her glass. "Looks like y'all could use a refill as well..." she invited, her eyes holding his as she drained the glasx and held the liquor in her mouth.
 
"Me? Designs? What a scandal that would create," Erik replied with a wry smile. "Of course you can trust me when it comes to your unattached nature. It's only proper to ensure a lady is not left unattached, is it not? So if you should become attached to the bedpost, or the wardrobe, or the ceiling...well, it would only be fitting, wouldn't it?"

As they walked through the manor, she in her robe and stockings, he with a loosened tie and top two shirt buttons undone, Erik couldn't help but imagine that there was no one in the house. That this house no longer belonged to his parents but to him, to them, and that they were always free to move about as they pleased dressed as they pleased. Das Kinder were in bed and they hadn't a single worry about the servants gossiping if any of them came across the pair at this late hour. It was a beautiful daydream.

He released her arm as they walked into the parlor and he poured Sam a brandy, suggesting a toast to the Society. Erik watched with disappointment as she threw it back like she would a shot of tequila; it was the good brandy, after all. She seemed to realize this and poured herself another. He smiled and toasted again.

"To the Society," he echoed.

Erik nearly sputtered in surprise as Sam thrust her tongue into his mouth. He swallowed hastily before kissing her back, trying to avoid the trickle of brandy sliding down her chest. Servants did gossip after all, and whoever was left getting the stain out of his shirt would certainly not be shy about wondering aloud why the normally careful young master had suddenly gotten so sloppy. He returned her grin and shook his head.

"You'll stain your beautiful robe, Schatze," he chided, pulling the two sides of the robe apart. He dragged his tongue along her skin, from her breasts up to her throat, following the trail of liquor. "If you wanted the sideboard to be the undoing of your unattachment, you should have said so." He grinned and kissed her fiercely, taking the brandy from her mouth and wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her body against his. God but he could have stood like this forever if it weren't for the aching bulge pressed against Sam's thigh.
 
Sam would have liked to claim that the way the silk felt in her skin as Erik held her was an accident. But be honest here, she'd discovered how good it felt sliding over her the day she'd tried it on. "Ah reckon," shemurmured, sucking the last of the brandy from his lips as her hands explored his back and rear - both of which had gotten harder and tighter since she'd pushed him into some boxing kessons. "Ah reckon that Ah'd planned on riskin' some stains."

Her hands pushed between them, fingers working at his belt and fly. A sigh of delight escaped her lips as she found his cock, hot and hard and silky-smooth against her hands. "Y'all must think me awfully forward, Herr Schmidt," she sighed, nipping at his earlobe as she ran her hands up and down his length. "Was this yer plan, sir? Ta ply me wit' alcohol an' take advantage o' me?"

Fuck. The feel of him hard in her hand, thick head rubbing against her lace-covered mound had her nearly dripping down her thighs. "Yer a bad, bad man, Herr Schmidt," she whispered, biting his jaw. "Y'all couuld do o,anythin' y'all want ta little ol' me."

Smiling sweetly she went to her knees and watched his reaction as she ran her tingue along his length. Her hand wrapped around his shaft once more as her tongue circled the opening in his head, tasting his precum. "Anythin' at all..." Then, still watching, she took his head in her mouth and started to suck as her hand stroked up and down his length.
 
Erik breathed in sharply as her hands wrapped around his shaft. "Awfully forward, Dona Cavendish," he agreed breathlessly. He smiled weakly when Sam asked whether his plan had been to ply her with alcohol. "Madam I need hardly use alcohol as a means to an end. I'm free to do whatever I wish with my own pupil, after all."

They'd made a game of her elocution training, much as they had the first night they'd spent at Anne Marie's. Erik wasn't sure whether it had helped reinforce any of the studying she'd done during the day, but he enjoyed it immensely. He put his hands behind him, bracing himself on the sideboard and shivering as Sam chided him for being a bad man before sinking to her knees. He gulped then groaned as she took his cock in her mouth. Shit but it was going to be ha--difficult to pull himself away from this one.

"Servants talk," Erik finally managed to mumble, letting his head hang for a moment before pulling it up again. "And this house is not nearly as large as the Hôtel de Carnavalet; our companions may be light sleepers." He reached down and put a finger under her chin and gently tilt it up to look at him--fuck she looked incredible with his cock in her mouth like that!--and concentrated on not cumming as he tried to string words together. "And after all those language lessons you made so many mistakes. Before reward for performing well comes punishment for those mistakes. You know this, Dona Cavendish." It was difficult to make himself sound stern. "Steh auf."
 
She paused and smiled up at him, the expression distorted a little because half his duck was still in her mouth. Because fuck he tasted goid, and fuck if that demanding tone in his voice wasn't making her drip down her thigh. "Steh auf?" she repeated, letting him slip from between her lips. "Nein. Ich glaube nicht."

Leaning forward, she ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cick, tracing from base to head. "See, Ah'm awful stubborn an' willful, Herr Schmidt." Her lips wrapped around his head and she sucked noisily. "Willfull, an' disobedient." Sucking him in again, she moaned softly as she felt his head brush the back of his throat.

"You'll have to take a firmer hand with me," she continued, tracing her lips over his length, still looking up at him. "Takes a strong man ta make me submit."
 
She was making it very difficult for Erik to keep his composure. He'd expected a little fight, but she'd gotten even better at driving him mad with her tongue. He swallowed hard and steeled himself as she pressed his cock to the back of her throat and moaned. With a deep breath he hardened his expression and his hand shot out to grab Sam's hair close to her scalp.

"I said up," he growled in a low tone, pulling gently but firmly at her hair in an attempt to get her to stand. "After tonight's pathetic performance, if I have to drag you around this entire house by the hair I will."

Being careful not to grip too tightly or pull too hard, he kept an eye on Sam's expression as he steered her toward then up the stairs and down a long hallway to his room in the western wing of the manor. Erik's cock still throbbed in need, but he found he had much better control of himself when she wasn't staring up at him like that. Once in his room, he carelessly tossed Sam onto the large four-poster bed. While sliding out of his jacket and shirt he looked for something in a box by the wardrobe.

"Robe off," he instructed firmly, pulling what he was looking for out of the box. Looking up he saw Sam was still being willful and crossed the room in two strides. "I said off!" He took care not to pull the robe off in a way that would damage the silk before tossing it onto the floor. In his hand was several lengths of soft cotton rope, two of which he tied to the posts at the head of the bed before slipping the other ends around Sam's wrists. Not bothering to give her orders he grabbed her hip and flipped her onto her knees.

"Miss Samantha Cavendish," he said in a tone reminiscent of a school teacher calling out a student talking in class. He pulled his belt from its loops and doubled it over. They'd had safe words before, and trusted her to use them. "Several months you trained for this night, and yet it took less than twenty minutes for you to start slipping." Erik's cock throbbed almost painfully as he struck her across the ass with his belt, leaving a long red stripe. "What possible excuse could you have for throwing away months of hard work?" He struck her again, in a different place. "Well?" And again.
 
Sam put up just enough resistance to encourage Erik to keep being rough and forceful. Because, althoughshe loved him and his gentleness, there was something breathtakingly hot about him when he just dominated her. And the way he (carefully) dragged her up the stairs and threw her on the bed made her want him to just fuck her rough and hard.

"Robe off," he snapped, digging into a box.

"Herr Schmidt!" she gasped, pushing herself up and holding her robe together with her free hand. "Ah do not know what sort of woman you are accustomed to, but Ah am not accustomed to..."

Erik wheeled and crossed the room, pulling the silk robe roughly from her body. The hunger in his eyes encouraged her, and the next thing she did was because she knew she could trust him. So she uttered a small cry of shocked horror, and flunched away. "Herr Schmidt! What... what are y'all doin'?"

His response was to roll her over, tying her wrists to the bed with practiced ease. Not too tightly, either. She could slip free with a modicum of effort if she chose. "Please, Herr Schmidt..." she whimpered, "don't. Ah beg y'all..."

His response was lost in the stinging sensation of keather across her ass, and her cunt clenched almost painfully in response. "Please..." she whimpered, grinding herself against the mattress. "Please... don't..."

"What possible excuse could you have for throwing away months og hard work?" Leather struck her right buttock, and she cried aloud. Fuck, she wanted him! "Well?"

"AhAAAA..!" He answer was lost as leather stung her thighs, and she whimperec as a tiny orgasm shook her. It didn't help, though. All it did was make her crave him more. "Ah... Ah don't... don't know..." Leather stung her back and she whimpered, rubbing her whole body against the bed. "Cause... cause Ah'm a bad girl!" she sobbed, so turned on she could hardly talk. "Willful... an' stubborn... an'... an' Ah... Ah deserve..."

Leather on her ass again. She sobbed, pushing up on her knees to present her ass and dripping cunt. "Punish me!" she begged. "Show me what... what y'all use dirty little disobedient whores fer..."
 
If he wasn't mistaken he'd already made Sam cum once without even touching her. Erik couldn't help but feel a little satisfied by that, but quickly hid his pleased smile under a veneer of anger. Noticing that she was grinding against the mattress, he wrapped an arm around her hips and pulled her to her knees.

"Don't you fucking dare," he snarled before bringing the belt back against her thighs as punishment. "So? What could possibly be your excuse?" When finally she admitted she was a bad girl he brought the belt down on her ass again. Sam was sobbing, which caused him a moment of concern, but then she presented her ass and deliciously dripping pussy to him and begged for punishment. Despite knowing she was okay to continue, Erik lowered the belt. Instead he gently rubbed the welts he'd raised before grabbing her hair and yanking her head back.

"Do not presume to tell me how to deal with my own pupil," he growled in her ear before letting her hair go and shoving her face back into the mattress.

Erik's cock ached to be buried deep inside her. But that was part of the fun, wasn't it? Seeing how long they could last, seeing how many times he could make her cum before touching her, before entering her. Grabbing her hip he again flipped her over, being careful not to tangle the ropes, and grabbed one ankle. With practiced ease he used the remaining rope to tie each of her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed. With Sam secured he knelt over her chest, laying his thick, hot shaft between her breasts and pressing his tip against her lips.

"Let's see how good your elocution is now," he challenged. "Do well and maybe I'll mete out the punishment you deserve. I--"

There was a knock at the door. Erik's face went from annoyed to panicked when a voice came through the door.

"Erik, Liebchen? Wir sind zu Hause," a woman's voice called. "Wir haben viele Lichter in den Fenstern gesehen. Ist alles ordnung?"

"Eine Minute," he called back, blanched. Quickly he got off of Sam, releasing the ropes from the posts and covering her with a blanket. Cursing quietly he adjusted his erection so it wouldn't be visible before throwing on a robe and opening the door a crack. "Mutter!" Erik said with a tight smile. "Ja, alles ist ordnung. Meine Kollegen haben Betreib in Berlin und sie sind hier bleiben. Ich habe du und Vater bleiben in Milan für zwei Woche geglaubt?" Carefully he slipped out of the door and closed it behind him, hoping that his mother wouldn't see the naked, roped-up woman in his bed. His parents tended to be much more traditional than he and he doubted she would approve; a very bad first impression for Sam to make on his mother, even if it weren't her fault.
 
Desperately horny as she was, the sudden extra voices still dampened her mood. Because she might still be working on learning German, but she knew 'Muter' and 'Vater' and Jesus Christ she was naked and tied to Erik's bed with his parents on the other side if the door. She coukd have laughed and sobbed with frustration, but she settled for beginning to work her hands out of the ropes. Because while she wasn't up on all of the niceities of Society folk, she was sure that this was not the sort of first impression she wanted to make.

Still, she reflected, it coulda been worse. They might have arrived a little later. Because if they'd knocked while he was balls deep in her, they'd have gitten an earfull of her begging to be fucked hard. And that would have been even more awkward.


"That..." Frau Schmidt said, giving her son an icy look. "You have a woman in there with you."

"From what little I saw," Herr Schmidt chuckled, "that was extremely obvious."

His wife spared him an icy glare of his own, and he let it roll off. "In our house. In my house, you..."

"In all fairness, Anna, we are home a week early." He gave Erik an indulgent look. "And he did expect us to be gone for another week, so..."

"A woman! While we are gone! With his colleagues in the house as well! Did you bring them 'women' as well, Erik? Gave you no shame?"

"Anna!" Josef remonstrated. "There is no evidence to support that!"

"This is nit a house of ill repute, Erik! And I will not..!"

Her husband pulled at her hand. "Anna!" he repeated firmly. "Let him speak!"
 
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