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

“The barn?" She could bear Erik’s dry amusement as she lead him through the night. "My darling Samantha if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to lure me off to take advantage of me. I've read about these sorts of things, you know..."

“Ah reckon you an’ me done heard different things,” Sam laughed. “All th’ stories Ah bears are all ‘bout some city slickers takin’ advantage o’ an innocent farm girl.” She leaned into him for a moment, taking the opportunity to squeeze his ass as she did. “But mebbe you should tell me all about th’ stories y’done heard, hm?”

The barn loomed before them now, and Sam released his hand to tug at the door. After a little grunting and a few tries, it slid open. The space beyond was black, and smelled of hay and livestock. A moment later, there was a click and a sudden spray of blue-white light. “Electric torch,” she said, shining it around. “Don’t go nowhere without one, not since that nonsense In Vienna.”

She l d him past tarp-covered equipment and racks of tools, and stalls filled with sleeping hogs and horses that eyed the interlopers curiously. “Guess they done got enough head o’ cattle ta keep ‘em in a ew barn,” she commented. “Ah. There we go.” The torchlight shone on a wooden ladder which, after gripping the torch in her teeth, she scaled with a grunt.

“Gawd,” she declared, flopping down onto one of the bales of hay that filled the upper level and rubbing her belly. “Yer baby’s makin’ it hard ta get around.” It was an exaggeration, she knew. Right now, at about three months along, all that really showed was a smoothing and rounding of her stomach and pants that were feeling a little tight. It’d probably be another month before the baby actually made things difficult, and another month or two before she felt the baby move.

Smiling, she patted the bale as Erik made it up the ladder. “C’mere,” she said, patting it again. When he sat, she grabbed his shirt ad pulled him into a kiss, slowly exploring the taste of his mouth as she slowly opened his topmost buttons. “So,” she whispered, slipping her hand inside to stroke his chest. “Am Ah th’ innocent farm girl ‘bout ta get seduced by a good-fer-nothin’ city slicker? Or am Ah a wicked, wicked temptress takin’ advantage o’ her guest?”
 
"City slicker," Erik scoffed. "That's offensive. We prefer to be called urban denizens. And I hear stories all the time of innocent-seeming farm girls luring unwary men ignorant of country life off to barns to seduce them and take advantage. Or other sorts of women luring unsuspecting, upstanding men like myself into the dark of the night, taking advantage then leaving them broken-hearted and ruined in the morning." He looked sideways at her and winked.

She really shouldn't be pulling, or climbing, but he wasn't about to try and tell Sam Cavendish what she could and couldn't do on her own farm. That would be the quickest way to ruin the mood. Erik eyed the horses back, feeling a little uneasy that they had an audience. But then...their coworkers had heard them--Anne Marie had even seen them--so what were a couple of dumb animals? He climbed up the ladder after her and shook his head.

"My baby is about the size of a plum," he reminded her. "I highly doubt he's done anything of the sort." He let himself be pulled into the kiss and leaned over her, making a noise of pleasure as Sam opened his shirt. "Urban denizen," he reminded her playfully when she called him a city slicker again. "Though I'm not sure who ought to be taking advantage of whom, though," he admitted, running a hand over her chest to let it rest on her belly, "we ought to be careful not to spoil the plum."
 
"Ah reckon that ain't likely," Sam chuckled, working more of his shirt open so she could run her fingers over his stomach. He hadn't been soft to begin with, not really, but getting him to learn to box and to go running with her had put a little more definition on him. Not that it would have bothered her if it hadn't, but it was fun to feel hard muscle on his body. "Ah mean, don't get me wrong. You're more'n enough ta keep me satisfied," she said, working open his fly and softly stroking his hard cock. "But from what Ah've been reading, y'ain't that big."

She pushed back on his shoulders as she said it, speeding up her attentions to his cock to take any sting out of her words. Men, she'd heard Anne Marie say once, could be awfully funny about things like how big they were, even when they knew they had everything they needed to keep a woman satisfied. So she ran her thumb around his head as she stroked him, sighing audibly at the pleasure of feeling his satiny hardness in her grip. Watching him in the darkness, she slowly licked her lips. "Still," she continued, shifting around so that she was kneeling before him, "there's other things we kin do. If'n yer really worried about that."

Using her free hand, she worked his pants down so she could easily cup his balls. Then, still sliding her hand up and down his shaft, she ran her tongue up his length and teased his head. "Now," she murmured playfully, gently sucking on his head, "Ah still ain't heard what yer thinkin'." Slowly she swallowed his cock, letting her lips meet her fist as she pumped him lightly into her mouth. "Am Ah a wicked temptress, seducin' you? Or are you a slick urban denizin, set on ruinin' an innocent farm girl like me?" She nipped gently along his length, before kissing his head lightly. "Well, Mister?"
 
Erik groaned in pleasure when Sam first opened his fly, but when she commented on his size he tried to sit up a little straighter. She thwarted his efforts, pushing him back and speeding up her attentions, so that all that came out was a weird, choked noise of indignation and pleasure. His cock twitched in her hand as she sighed and knelt before him, a bead of precum leaking from his tip. Where the baby was concerned he was mindful of hurting something so small and fragile, but it most certainly wouldn't stop him from exercising his husbandly duties. She was pregnant, after all, not dead.

Sam slowly swallowed his cock and Erik let his head fall back onto the hay, one hand straying to her hair. God but she was incredible! He gasped gently and lifted his head to look down at her when she nipped at him and had to concentrate very hard--er, intensely--to formulate an answer. As much as he loved their games--and "Mister" had sounded so very close to "Master"--he could relinquish control every now and then for the sake of pleasure.

"To all appearances," he answered eventually, still having to concentrate to form words other than fuck me, "it would seem that you are indeed playing the seductress." He smiled and briefly tightened his grip on her hair, pulling gently to make her meet his gaze. "Don't think it won't come without consequences, Liebchen, but I'll allow it for now."
 
“Consequences, hmm?” Sam tried to sound cool and casual as she said it, but she stillfelt her pussy ache at the idea. “Ah dunno why y’all gotta talk about consequences, Mister,” she purred, stroking her hand up and down his shaft. “Ah’m jes’ an innocent ol’ farm gal, after all.” Still stroking, she circled his head with her tongue. “Not some dirty woman needin’ ta be tied up an’ punished...”

Damn if that last thing didn’t make his cock throb delightfully as she slid her lips slowly down his length. Yeah, she knew her man pretty well. But right now she was working on trying to relax her throat, so she could swallow his whole length. Then she began moving, slowly working up and down his length, squeezing his head with her throat. It wasn’t something she could do very long - she wasn’t that good at not gagging - but fuck if it didn’t feel good to have him stretching her like that.

She moaned around his shaft, letting him feel it along his length as she stared up at him. Then, deliberately, she let his spit-slick shaft escape her mouth. “Gee, mister,” she purred, cupping his balls and nipping at the soft skin n of his shaft, “it’s a good thing Ah stopped, else y’mighta cum.” Smiling, she watched his face as she ducked gently on his head. “Wouldn’t want y’thinkin’ Ah’m a slut or nuthin’, jes’ sum dirty lil’ tramp wantin’ a man ta shoot his cum in mah mouth or nuthin’...”
 
Erik's cock throbbed at the suggestion that she might need to be tied up and punished. There was a winch for lifting hay up to the loft dangling above them and to the right a little, and he was certain there was rope or something around here somewhere. He had decided to give up power this once, but Sam certainly didn't seem too keen on that, did she?

His thoughts were interrupted at the sublime feeling of Sam's throat tightening around his head. Erik tightened his grip on her scalp, fighting the urge to hold her head still and just fuck her throat. Usually when she sucked him off--and it wasn't a quickie--she was bound and he was gripping the headboard for leverage as he thrust into her mouth. But this...well, he could get used to this, every now and then. Vibrations hummed up his shaft as she moaned and stared at him, and he felt his balls tighten and ache for release then....

Nothing. He gasped again when she pulled her mouth off of him, nipping at his length and cupping his balls while she sucked teasingly on his head. God he wanted to cum! But...well, she had started this game, and who was he to deny her? If she wanted him to cum in her mouth she would have to earn it.

With a snarl Erik yanked at her hair and tossed her off of him. "Don't want me to cum in your mouth, do you?" he growled. "I suppose I'll just have to do it elsewhere. Filthy little Wichseflittchen!"

He grabbed up both of her wrists in one hand, keeping them in a tight grip and hauling her to her feet. With a glance around he spotted a length of rough rope that had been discarded from one of the hay bales and grabbed it up, tying her hands in a stiff cuff knot he'd been practicing with their soft silk rope at home. He'd meant it as a surprise for their honeymoon, but there was no reason not to surprise her now. He had a few more tricks up his sleeve for the honeymoon, anyway. After sliding two fingers around the wrists to make sure it wasn't too tight, he dragged Sam over to the winch and, pulling the hook down, hooked it through the cuff and pulled her arms up above her head. Erik pulled her up until her toes were only just on the rough wooden boards before standing in front of her, arms folded and appraising her.

"Not what I would've expected of some innocent farm girl," he sneered, slowly unbuttoning her shirt and chastising himself for not removing it before tying her hands. If she returned with her shirt torn up he was sure her family would assume the worst and then he actually would have cause to fear for his life. Instead he left it open, then unbuckled her belt and undid her pants, sliding them down over her hips but not quite far enough for them to fall. Laying his palm flat against his belly--against their child--he stood with his chest against her back and slid his hand into her pants, stroking her wet slit with two fingers. "Definitely not what I would have expected from someone so innocent." His breath was hot against her ear as he rubbed her clit slowly.

Just when it seemed as though she was really getting worked up, he pulled his hand away and left Sam dangling there, unfinished. "Not so fun, is it?" Erik snarled. He nipped at her neck before walking past her to the ladder. "Think I'll leave you there to think about what you've done," he mused, "and when I return you'll discover just how we urban denizens treat teasing sluts who pose as innocent farm girls like you."

With that Erik made his way down the ladder and looked around the barn for anything which might be useful. That riding crop would work nicely. His cock throbbed and ached, reminding him insistently of what he had left hanging around for him above and urging him to finish what she had started. It was tempting, but Sam wanted to play so he would play. He grabbed up the crop, more rope, and a wide metal bucket he could upend for Sam to stand on if she started hurting too much. Putting the crop and the rope in the bucket then looping the handle around his arm, he reascended and set the upended bucket down near Sam's feet within easy reach if she needed it. Casually he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside into the hay, grabbing up the crop and circling her as though considering what to do with her. First, he supposed, would be getting her naked, so he pulled her pants down and off, leaving her bare from the waist down and her shirt open, breasts exposed.

"You must be awfully sorry by now," he mused, bringing the crop down on her ass, "for teasing a guest in your home like that. Wasn't very hospitable, was it?" He struck her again on the other cheek. "What other sorts of naughty things is an innocent girl like you capable of, I wonder?"
 
She could have gotten herself loose, really. But as she hung there, standing on tiptoes with her arms up above her, cunt dripping and clenching in anticipation, she knew she didn’t want to. Instead she stared hungrily at the ladder, wondering what Erik was doing. Fuck, she should have just climbed right on his cock - she needed something thick and hard in her, right now. But then again, whatever it was he was going to do would be hit as hell.

“Gawd,” she whispered, voice husky with lust. “Erik...”

He returned, carrying a riding crop, and he made sure she could see it as he peeled off his shirt and then her breeches. “You must be awfully sorry by now," he declared.

“Ah ain’t sorry bout nuthin’” she spat. Oh, yes, she knew this mood. And when he was in this mood, he enjoyed a show of defiance as much as she enjoyed his dominance. The stinging bite of the crop was n her rump proved that, making her cry out at the erotic sting.

“For teasing a guest in your home like that,” he continued in a lecturing tone. “Wasn't very hospitable, was it?" The crop struck the other cheek, and she uttered a sharp little cry as the leather struck home and then struck again. “What other sorts of naughty things is an innocent girl like you capable of, I wonder?"

“Fucker,” she hissed, exaggerating the word so he could see her lips caress the sound. “You want somethin’ from me? Yer gonna have ta take it.” The thought made her arch her back a little, trying to rub her nipples against her blouse. “By force.” Anticipation shivered through her nerves at those last two words.
 
Erik grabbed her chin firmly, his fingers pressing into her cheeks as he held her head still. "That was not a very nice word," he chided, following with a sharp slap across the face. It had taken him a few tries to gauge just how hard or soft to hit her on the rare occasion he did, but now he had it down to a science. He glanced down to her chest and raised an eyebrow, noticing what she was trying to do. "Not destroying your clothes was a favor, Nutte," he warned, pulling her shirt away from her breasts and tweaking one nipple until she squealed. "Do not force my hand."

He stepped away and circled his wife, looking her up and down, cock straining painfully against his trousers as he watched her hang there. The crop flicked out at her nipple, then her thigh, then her rear. What Erik wanted was Sam's legs up around his hips as he pounded into her as hard as he could. But there was something to be said for delayed gratification, and as the moonlight shone off of the wetness on her inner thighs he knew that it would be very gratifying.

"I'm not going to have to take it by force," he eventually said, standing in front of her with his feet a hip's width apart, hands at the small of his back the way they'd taught him in the army. "I can't take it by force; you can't force sluts who are practically gagging for it. And you are..." He reversed his grip on the crop and took a step forward, sliding the hard wooden handle between her legs. "Aren't you?" He pressed the handle against her clit, rubbing it against that swollen nub and enjoying her reaction.
 
Sam gasped in arousal as the crop flicked over her nipples. She tried to bite her lip and hold it in, then moaned anticipation as the leather stung her ass. "I'm not going to have to take it by force," he told her, standing formally before her.

"You... you'll have to..." she moaned, trying to keep up the pretense of resistance.

"I can't take it by force; you can't force sluts who are practically gagging for it. And you are..." He reversed his grip on the crop and took a step forward, sliding the hard wooden handle between her legs.

"No..." she moaned. "Ah... Ah ain't..."

"Aren't you?" He pressed the handle against her clit, rubbing it against that swollen nub and enjoying her reaction.

Sam's body arched, sobbing in frustration and release as she felt herself climax - just a little - from the stroking of the leather-bound wood over her clit. "Ah.. Ah..." she gasped out, feeling her arousal drip down her thighs, "Ah... Ah Gawd, suh... Ah'm jes' a lil' slut." She rocked her hips, trying to stroke the crop between her legs. "Fuck..! Oh... fuck... Ah'm jes'... jes' a lit' slut... Gawd, suh! Use me! Use me like th' dirty lil' slut Ah am!"
 
Erik smiled triumphantly when she admitted that she was, in fact, a slut, but his face fell quickly back into a scowl when Sam tried to move against the crop. He pulled it quickly away and reversed it again, the handle slick with her arousal when he hit the insides of her thighs.

"Sluts don't get a say," he snarled, hitting her again. "For such lewd displays you're lucky I don't turn you upside-down and force my cock down that whore throat." He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at him. "You need to beg for forgiveness before I touch you again," he snarled, letting her go and stepping away again. "Beg, slut!" Erik brought the crop down on her ass again, leaving an angry pink streak across her flesh next to the large welts. "Convince me to forgive you or I shall make sure you don't sit right for a month." He pressed the handle against her ass threateningly before taking it back and circling around to the front again. It was tempting to sodomize his fiancee with it while he pounded her dripping cunt, but he would have to see whether she was in the mood for such a thing.
 
“Gawd,” Sam moaned as the crop pressed against her ass. “Ah... Ah’m sorry, suh. Ah... Ah’m jes’ such a, a dirty slut... Ah jes’ wanted... yeh ta fuck me...”. She gripped the rope and pulled, making her body arch a little. “Jes’ a dirty li’l slut, a-wantin’ ta be full... o’ yer dick. Wantin’ yeh ta, ta use me like th’ dirty slut Ah am.”

Sam moaned, feeling her cunt clench and drip down her thighs as she spoke. This wasn’t always her cup of tea, of course. But Erik was so goddamn hot when he got domineering. “Please,” she moaned, nearly sobbing with desperate lust. “Please, suh. Use yer dirty slut like she deserves. Gawd, suh, show yer filthy little slut that she’s yers, an’ y’kin fuck her however y’want. God, use yer little slut ta get herself off.”

The crop slid over her ass, and she moaned again. “Ah... Ah jes’ wish there was two o’ yeh, sir,” she moaned. “So yeh could use more o’ me at once...”
 
Erik licked his lips as he watched Sam's muscles strain and move beneath her skin as she gripped the rope and arched her back. God but he loved her! She begged to be used, to be fucked however he wanted to fuck her, and he had to remind himself as his eyes traveled over the slight swell of her belly that he did, in fact, need to be careful. Finally he stepped up to her, the crop hanging loosely in his grip, their faces less than an inch apart as with his free hand he pulled his aching cock from his trousers still undone from her little games earlier.

"You don't deserve it," he snarled in a low voice, rubbing his head against her slick crease. "You don't know how fortunate you are that I'm in a generous mood, that I'll deign to fuck a common country slut like you." Erik let the crop drop to the floor and grabbed her thighs, pulling them up around his hips. He slipped the tip of his dick into her briefly, just to tease her, and pulled back out again. "Just try and cum before I tell you--if I let you--and see what sort of consequences you face," he warned.

It was agony to go this slowly. Erik could feel every centimeter, every inch as he slowly entered his wife-to-be. His teeth pressed into her shoulder through her shirt as finally his hips met hers and he could go no further, moaning into her ear.

"I knew a whore like you could take it all," he whispered against her ear. With that he let go of his self-control, gripping her ass to hold her still as he thrust into her. It was wild and desperate, almost animalistic as he finally found his satisfaction in their little game.
 
Fucking finally! Sam made a hungry sound of pleasure as Erik slowly pushed into her, his hands tight on her thighs as he filled her completely. Her hands tightened on the rope, knuckles white with tension as he bit into her shoulder and his thick cock stretched her walls around him. "I knew a whore like you could take it all," he whispered, shifting his grip to her ass.

"Then use me," she groaned back, tightening her thighs around his hips. She arched as he began stroking, pulling on the rope to offer more of her to his use. "Gawd, sir, use yer whore. Gawd, fuckin' use yer whore ta get yerself off, sir." His grip tightened as he jerked her up and down his dick, dragging her clit along his length as he pounded himself into her. "Oh, Gawd... yer so big. So... so big, sir." Her arms flexed as she let herself hang back from the rope, giving herself up to being used and fucked by her fiancee, and she could feel her breasts bounce with each powerful thrust.

Her thighs clamped down, trying to hold him in place as she clenched around his dick. He just kept fucking, making the rope creak as he forced himself to move within her, and the friction against her walls was maddening. "Gawd," she repeated, the word coming out in a whine of pleasure. "Oh... Gawd... Cum in me, sir. Use mah... use mah cunt ta... use mah cunt as yer fucktoy..." It took an effort to raise her head, and her blue eyes were glazed with lust as she stared at him. "Fuck... fuck yer cum... inta me... sir. Fill... mah whore cunt... with yer... with yer cum..."
 
It felt dirty, almost cheap, as the rope creaked and Sam begged him like a whore...but fuck if it wasn't the most arousing thing they'd done in a while. A month, at least. Erik's cock throbbed as she tried to hold him in place and he slapped her ass punitively before hitching her up. He hooked Sam's knees over his forearms then slid them to the crooks of his elbows before gripping her ass once more. She clenched around him and something animal inside him snarled, wanting so badly to cum but not wanting it to end yet.

"Such...a good...slut..." he panted, leaning his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes. "I wonder if...if I should...reward...you... Even though...you've...you've been such a...a naughty little...whore..." His fingers dug into her ass and suddenly he was there, unable to take it anymore. "Cum Samantha," Erik grunted, trying to hold off just a little longer. "Scream...for me...like the whore...you...you are!" With a choked cry he lost control, slamming into her one last time and holding her completely still as he pumped her full of his seed.
 
“Cum, Samantha.” She was vaguely aware that he said something else, but the words didn’t register. Her legs tightened around his hips and she screamed his name as she climaxed, reveling in the pleasure burning through her and the feel of his iron-hard dick clenched in her core. The scream became a series of agonized gasps and a sound of delight as she felt the warmth of his climax as well. “Gawd,” she breathed, feeling supremely well used. “Gawd, Erik.”

Her back and shoulders twinged.

“Not ta spoil the mid term,” she said, shivering as she felt him pulse within her, “But... could ya get me down, now?” Another shiver as he shifted positions, stroked against her clit as he did. “This, uhm, ain’t th’ most comfortable thing.” Staring at him, she lazily licked her lips. “After Ah done got what Ah want, that is.”
 
Erik gasped for breath, unable to gulp enough air. She felt incredible, clenching and pulsing around him. When she asked to be let down he chuckled. He slid one arm under Sam's ass to create a sort of makeshift saddle, lifting her as best he could while undoing the knot with his other hand then catching her before she fell. She licked her lips, which sounded like an incredible idea. He followed suit, running his tongue along her bottom lip then kissing her hard.

"Oh what you want, hm?" Erik teased with a grin, lowering her down on wobbly knees then falling into the hay beside her. "From where I'm sitting it looks an awful lot like what I wanted." He ran a finger along one of the welts, this one running from her hip along the side of her shapely rear. Still reveling in the afterglow, he kissed down her neck to her breasts, then used his arms--his legs were now all but useless--to push himself lower and plant slow kisses across the slight bulge of her belly. "I love you more than words can say, Sam Cavendish. And I'm so excited and deliriously happy that you're having my child. In case you couldn't tell." He grinned up from her belly and playfully rimmed her navel with the tip of his tongue.
 
Sam shivered as Erik traced a welt left by the riding crop. The contact stung, just a little, but it reminded her of the delicious helplessness and anticipation that had accompanied his aggressive display. “Ain’t nothin’ sayin’ it can’t be both,” she purred, arching her neck for him. “Ah got me fucked good’n hard...” She sighed as his lips caressed her breasts, “an’ got mah man’s cum up in me.”

Erik worked lower, and she sat on a bale of hay to make it easier on him as his lips plant ed hot kisses over her rounded belly. A small growl of arousal mingled with her happy sigh as she felt herself began to respond to his attention. “I love you more than words can say, Sam Cavendish. And I'm so excited and deliriously happy that you're having my child. In case you couldn't tell."

“Ah think,” she replied with a laugh, “Ah jes’ mighta noticed. An Gawd Ah love you, too.” A louder laugh escaped her as his tongue played on her belly button. “Now you stop that, Herr Schmidt!” She said, playfully slapping at him, before cupping his face and bending to kiss him in a fashion that started affectionate and grew hungry. “Either put that tongue ta better use,” she purred, “or come on up here an’ hold me.”
 
X5rAsJ3

Greenwich Royal Observatory
Tuesday June 15, 1920

Life was strange and a little funny when you gave it some time to work out. Anne Marie declined the drink offered by Professor Swift and sipped her ginger tea, warm despite the heat of the day, as she reflected on the past two years and how much things had changed. And yet they always returned to this room, no matter how different they or their relationships were. It seemed in retrospect as though they had always treated one another the same until the end of the War, as though afraid to get to know one another until they knew the great danger had passed, and now God knew where they would be in another two years. She was oddly quiet as they waited for the others to arrive, sipping her tea as much to calm her nerves as to calm the roiling nausea. She hadn't told him yet. She had, after all, only just come from her appointment.

He would want to tell Maggie, of course, and it was only right that they should. But she already shared Algernon's affections with the mad woman...a part of her didn't want to have to share this, too. She didn't want to have to endure the heartbreak of her reaction, of watching Maggie as they visited over the years endure seeing her husband happy with everything she had lost. At least, Anne Marie assumed he was happy. And then there was her daytime practice and her more secretive work with various world governments, and of course her work with the Meridian Society. She had a certain sort of lifestyle to which she had become accustomed, a lifestyle which she didn't want to give up...and that was the problem, wasn't it? She was too selfish for this sort of thing, and yet at the same time she wanted this, knew this would be her only chance to have it. She was nearly thirty-two, after all, and--

The door flew open, causing her to jump slightly then smile. The newlywed Heinz-Schmidts strode in, Erik cradling a baby carefully over one shoulder. They had been given time for their wedding and honeymoon, and of course maternity leave, and although Anne Marie had visited several times this would be Sam's first case in over a year. The rest of them had been assigned several smaller cases to work in twos and threes, but nothing that hadn't been wrapped up in a few days and certainly nothing which necessitated bringing all of them together in this room again. With a smile Anne Marie rose and hugged Sam, then shook Erik's hand.

"It is good to see you again," she smiled, reflecting briefly on how extremely different her relationship with Sam was than it had been two years ago. "Mon petit chouchou," she cooed, leaning around Erik's shoulder to kiss little Gideon's head. The baby burbled and laughed as she kissed him all over his face. She didn't particularly like children--yet another problem--but there was something about Gideon which made her lose her head a little. She cleared her throat and straightened, aware that she had let the mask down far too much.

"He is finally sleeping through the night," Erik sighed, looking exhausted. "But much to Mutter's dismay we've brought a nanny with us, so that we may work a little more freely."

"An excellent idea, I think," Anne Marie agreed. "And you must get some rest. You're no good to us dead on your feet, you know."
 
“Ah dunno why yer exhausted,” Sam laughed, checking the sidebar. “Y’all ain’t th’ one what’s gotta get up every time he gets hungry.” Pouring two mugs of coffee, she presented one to Erik and kissed his cheek. “An’ don’t look at me like that. Y’know Ah’m jes’ funnin’ you.” Her words caught Gideon’s attention, causing the baby to look around and then paw at Erik’s face as he grabbed at his glasses and then at the steaming mug. Deftly, Sam removed from Erik’s shoulder and perched him on one hip. “Hush, you,” she murmured as he gabbled something incoherent. “No necesitas café, nena.”

“I should think not,” Algernon staged as he entered the room. “And good morning, Herr and Frau Schmidt,” he added, baking Erik’s hand and hugging Sam. “Or is it still Cavendish?”

“Heinz-Schmidt, actually,” Sam said, beaming. “Samantha Margaret Cavendish Heinz-Schmidt, an’ ain’t that a mouthful?”

“I’m sure you’ve managed,” the Professor replied, before turning to Anne Marie and shaking her hand. “Madame La Monte. A delight to see you as well.” It had been what, nearly three hours since she’d finished breakfast and departed for an appointment she’d made? He offered her a quick smile and a brief squeeze of the hand, then took a seat at the black and white table that dominated the room. “Captain Drake informed me that he is on his way. Has anyone heard from Captain Shane?”
 
"No, but crying still wakes me just as much as it does anyone else," Erik returned, forcing his voice into a calm retort rather than snapping. They had, on and off, been on edge with one another, sleep deprived as they usually were.

Apparently he had looked as reproachful as he felt, though, because Sam kissed his cheek after telling him not to. He rubbed his face even as Gideon pulled his glasses off of his nose. He had had to abandon his pince-nez for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, which were harder for the baby to grab though he still did manage from time to time. As Sam took him from him he gently uncurled the baby's hand and took them back, cleaning them with a handkerchief before replacing them on his nose. She seemed to be taking all of this in better humor, though perhaps if he could get some actual rest he may as well; now that Gideon was sleeping through the night they both slept better, but business usually kept him up late and, Sam sleeping more heavily than he, Gideon's early rising at three in the morning meant he was often up early. He loved his family and didn't regret it for one minute, but a full eight hours would do him a world of good.

"Good morning, Herr Professor," Erik greeted, shaking his hand and pushing a smile onto his face. "It has been too long. I trust you've been well? Madame LaMonte has been to visit but we haven't heard much of you."

Anne Marie smiled a tad nervously when Algie shook her hand and hid laughter at the formality. It wasn't difficult to keep up the facade, of course, but it was a little more difficult to convince herself that it was real when they awoke together every morning, naked more often than not. She squeezed his hand and returned to her tea, her nausea increasing at the prospect of the conversation to be had. She pushed it to the back of her mind for now. That was not the business at hand.

"Always a pleasure, Professor Swift," she replied in kind. "I am in sporadic contact with him. Last I heard he was somewhere over the Mediterranean, but that was four days ago so God knows where he might be now. You know him; he always shows up eventually."

"Captain Shane's ways are not our ways," Erik agreed, sipping the strong black coffee. The doors burst open, causing him to choke a little in surprise.

"And what ways might those be, Rick?" Kieran asked as he strode in.

"Impeccable timing as usual, Captain," he rasped as he recovered himself and checked to make sure he hadn't spilled coffee on his suit. Although the reality was different it had seemed this morning when he'd been getting dressed that this was now the one suit left which didn't have some sort of stain on it.

"Indeed," Anne Marie agreed. "Good morning, Captain Shane. Or is it your evening?" she added dubiously, watching as he poured himself whiskey from the decanter at the side board. Kieran pulled out his watch and looked at it, then squinted out the window at the sun, then consulted his watch again.

"It's nearly five in Hong Kong," he said by way of answer, downing the whiskey at the side board then pouring himself another and taking a seat. "Beautiful city, Hong Kong. Ever been, Madame? No? I'll have to take you some time." The pirate grinned crookedly then looked around the table. "Am I really here before Drake? Either he's losing his touch or I am." Kieran had refused to give the details of what had happened between him and Colin, but from what Anne Marie could surmise it had been quite nasty and the police may or may not have gotten involved. In the interceding eight months he had nevermore been Colin, but Captain Drake or simply Drake. She encouraged him to talk to her about it, naturally, but she couldn't force the stubborn pirate to do anything.

"Well, if you are still on Hong Kong time then you are nearly seven hours late, if it's any comfort," Anne Marie attempted with a wry smile.

"Hong Kong?" Kieran frowned and his head swiveled to her. "I was just in Singapore, Madame."
 
“Singapore?” Sam asked, sounding intrigued. “Ah always wanted ta see there. China, Japan, Australia, th’ whole o’ Asia always sounded fomantic. Ah used ta dream o’ ownin’ a boat, an’ sailin’ ‘round th’ Pacific.” She smiled. “Kinda silly soundin’ hearin’ it out loud. Didn’t even learn ta swim till Ah was sixteen.”

“Australia is delightful,” Professor Swift said. “You and Erik should visit. Once young Gideon is ready to travel, that is.”

The door opened once more, and Kieran walked in. “Erik! Sam!” he gushed, shaking hands with the first and hugging the second. “And hello to our newest recruit!” he added, beeping Gideon’s nose. His relationship with the newlyweds had been slightly strained after New Orleans, But he’d worked hard to regain trust and friendship - especially someone nice what he darkly referred to as ‘that February ‘. “And how are you Professor? Madame LaMonte?” His voice hardened slightly. “Captain Drake?”

“Quite well, actually,” the Professor answered. “Do sit down, all of you. We have more ch to discuss.”

Colin and Kieran obliged - Kieran taking the seat between Sam and Anne Marie, and Colin at the opposite side between Erik and Professor Swift. Holding Gideon with one hand, Sam took Erik’s hand and leaned close. “Mebbe th’ Professor was right ta worry ‘bout relations between agents?” She whispered. “But Ah ain’t never givin’ up on you.” Besides, she thought, Anne an’ th’ Professor are workin’ out.... At least, she hoped so. Both of them seemed like they really needed someone in their lives.

“So,” Colin asked, “what calls us together?”

“I’ll allow Madame LaMonte to explain,” the Professor replied. “We is the one, after all, who first spotted it.”
 
"I don't think it sounds silly, Liebchen," Erik said gently. "Once Gideon is old enough we ought to do it, the three of us. I'm sure Professor Swift could recommend the best of Australia to us."

"Australia is delightful," the Professor confirmed. "You and Erik should visit. Once young Gideon is ready to travel, that is."

Kieran opened his mouth to put in his two cents about Asia--he was intimately familiar with Singapore and Canton--but the door opened once more. Captain Drake's gushing only made things more awkward, to his mind, and when the aristocrat deigned to address him he returned with a flippant little solute.

"Captain Drake," he returned by way of greeting before taking another sip of whiskey. It was really more of a rum situation, but as it was ten o'clock in the morning and alcohol had likely only been set out on account of him, the rum was gone so whiskey it was.

"C'est bon," Anne Marie answered with a polite smile. The tension between the two was palpable, and she briefly considered talking to Algernon about reassigning one of them to another unit...but they were both valuable assets to the team. Perhaps it was because it had always been the six of them, but she couldn't imagine it any other way. Even before their dalliance, Colin and Kieran had always put aside their differences and worked for the good of the team when it mattered and in fact worked well together.

Erik squeezed Sam's hand under the table and leaned in to whisper back. "Well I'm never giving up on you either, Schatze. You'll have to fill me in on what happened." Since New Orleans--and probably before, really--he had been too busy with the wedding then the baby to pay much attention to the seamen's relationship. But that February Colin had shown up rather soused, rambling about mistakes and apologies and trust. They'd allowed him to sleep it off in the guest room and everyone had pretended in the morning as though nothing had happened, and since then the good captain had been working extra hard to repair the friendship between them. Erik still didn't entirely trust him around his wife...but he trusted his wife, and that had to be good enough for him.

"So," Colin asked, "what calls us together?"

"I'll allow Madame LaMonte to explain," the Professor replied. "She is the one, after all, who first spotted it."

Anne Marie took a long sip of her tea to allow herself to reaffix the mask. Given the personal nature of the case, she would need to exert a particularly large amount of effort to keep it in place. Finally she cleared her throat and produced a French newspaper. MADAME FLEURISTE FRAPPE A NOUVEAU it shouted. Kieran scratched his head and frowned at it.

"I don't imagine that would clear much up even if I could read French," he said, very aware that he was the only one at the table who could not. And that wasn't his fault, was it? If Colin's classist bullshit hadn't--

"There is a serial killer stalking the streets of France. They call her Madame Fleuriste," Anne Marie interrupted the pirate's thoughts. "Or, at least, she was classified as a serial killer at first. Evidence of her work abroad makes it more likely that she is a political assassin, with the deaths of more than fifteen statesmen worldwide attributed to her over the past twelve years."

"How do they know it's a woman?" Erik inquired. "Or that it's the work of the same person at all?"

"All of the victims appear to have been murdered...ehm...inflagrante delicto." She attempted to put it delicately and arched an eyebrow to punctuate her point. "She seduces the victim and then kills them--"

"Oh that's foul!" Kieran looked personally affronted by the idea.

"--and leaves a calling card in the form of a hair pin slipped between the ribs. The pin is always topped with a sculpted resin flower, though not always the same sort. Hence, La Fleuriste; Madame Florist." She added this mostly for Kieran's benefit. At this last piece of information, however, he leaned forward. Twelve years ago he had been on a drunken escapade through Toulouse with Madame and his...friend...when he was informed that as first mate he had now been voted captain. Their previous captain, the pirate's best friend of nearly fifteen years, had been murdered, caught with his pants down and a hair pin matching that description found puncturing his lung. Anne Marie knew this of course, which was why she was careful to keep her face placid and not to avoid his gaze as he looked suddenly keenly interested.

"So why're they just now calling us in? Finally tired of chasing their tails?" Kieran tried but failed to hide his interest.

"The matter of border-crossings has been a bureaucratic nightmare for the authorities," Madame LaMonte clarified, pouring herself another cup of tea. "As such the Society has offered their services before, but not even all of the powers involved could agree on that much and the paperwork alone would have taken at least a year. But Madame Fleuriste seems to have--quel est le dicton?--come home to roost. In the past six months no fewer than twenty deaths throughout France have been attributed to her: Rouen, Paris, Saint Denis, Toulouse, among others. Considering her extreme escalation, French authorities are finally putting their foot down. They are all within French borders, so it is a French matter and they have decided to call us in."

"French borders, French politics," Erik pointed out. "Are you certain their desire for your involvement in arbitration has nothing to do with your being the Marquise de Sévigné?"

"French politics," Madame LaMonte replied with a look of distaste, "was my late husband's game, not mine. Although I'm sure my French citizenship is not an insubstantial factor in our unit specifically being chosen, I make it a point to stay well away from the Champs Elysées." This wasn't strictly true; she had to mingle with members of French government if she were to do her job well. But she only did so as the Dowager LaMonte, charming and intelligent but ultimately feckless socialite. She was often connected with Algernon, of course, but only as having formerly been his ward. Oh how the rumor mills would turn when they knew...

"So I once again offer up my home," she continued in an effort to cut off that particular line of thinking as she passed out folders of documents to each of them, "as a base of operations. These files will give you all of the information you need about Madame Fleuriste and her victims over the years, various amounts of evidence gathered on her, witnesses and so forth. The problem with the witnesses is that they all seem to describe her differently. Either she changes her appearance, or ensures that her victims are seen with more than one woman the day of the murder." The latter was true, of course, and she had to thank her lucky stars that this fraud masquerading as Madame Fleuriste hadn't allowed witnesses to see the same woman more than once. While twenty murders in six months--only two of which had been hers--was rather excessive, at least to be leaving a calling card, it had at least taken attention off of Anne Marie's own work. Really it had only been twelve, and of those only the two listed in the file had been left with the hair pin. If she had left one with each assassination she had been paid for, Madame Fleuriste would have more than a hundred more names added to her list of crimes.

"There's one missing," Kieran said, looking through the newspaper articles--translated to English for his benefit--and official list of victims since she had become active...or rather, since authorities had noticed a pattern.

"Oh?" Anne Marie's eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Aye. Her first victim." The pirate looked up at her with a meaningful expression. Of course he had told her about the murder of his best friend, about the guilt that came with being captain because he had never wanted it to happen like that. "Liam Donahue. April 17, 1908, Toulouse." Anne Marie frowned.

"I'm sorry." There was more in that apology than just sympathy. Kieran shook his head and waved it away.

"This it? Break and prepare for Paris?" he asked, suddenly anxious to be out of there, away from prying eyes. Away from Colin.
 
Everyone’s reactions to Madame LaMonte’s briefing was interesting, Colin decided. From what little he could glean from Professor Swift’s body language, the man already knew all of this. No surprise there. Madame LaMonte had probably briefed him in advance. Sam lit right up, clearly excited to be pursuing a murderer once more. In his opinion motherhood had agreed with her, having subtly rounded her lean figure, but she clearly was champing at the bit once more. Erik, on the other hand, appeared stressed. Probably tired. And Kieran - Captain Drake, damnit! - looked to be reliving an old tragedy of some sort. Clearly he’d been closer to this Liam Donohue than he was saying.

An unwanted stab of jealousy shot through him at that thought.

“Hold on, here,” Sam said, her Tejas accent making English sound delightfully foreign gun, “this serial killer’s been doin’ her thing fer...” she thought for a quick second, “not th on twenty years?”

“It certainly appears that way,” Professor Swift replied.

“Y’sure this is th’ same Madam Florist?” Sam pressed. “Ah ain’t sayin’ it ain’t her, but twenty years on she’s either gettin’ old now, or she was awful young then.”

Colin chuckled, thinking of a couple of his aunts. “Are you suggesting that a young woman couldn’t be a serial killer?” he asked. “Or that an older woman couldn’t seduce and then murder a man.”

“Ain’t sayin’ no such thing ‘bout either,” was Sam’s reply. “But we could be dealin’ wit’ an’ imposter. Someone inspired by th’ original.” She shifted Gideon on her lap and leaned forward slightly, looking at the Professor and Madame LaMonte with interest. “Y’got any details ‘bout th’ murders? Th’ one’s twenty years gone an’ th’ new ones? Ah relish gettin’ an’...”

“I rather suspected you might,” the Professor chuckled. “Copies of the files are in your box. In all your box s, really. I suggest you familiarize yourselves with them, and then prepare to depart for Paris.”


Once everyone had departed, save himself and Anne Marie, Algernon relaxed a trifle and polished his spectacles with a handkerchief before tucking them away. He disliked them immensely, but they were proving increasingly necessary for reading. An inconvenience of age, he supposed. “It’s a risk bringing them in on this,” he murmured. “Especially Samantha. She may be able to work out who Madame Florista is in truth, and that could be inconvenient.” He frowned. “I’ve put a deal of effort into improving her skills, and she’s a new wife and mother. I’d hate to have to silence her.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “Perhaps it won’t come to that, though.” Then he looked at Anne Marie curiously. “But you said you needed to speak with me, my dear. Shall we talk here, or adjourn to someplace more comfortable?”
 
Madame LaMonte managed not to bristle when Sam called her old. She wasn't much older than the Ranger herself, though Sam always seemed to forget that. When she suggested it could be an impostor--precisely who this woman was--she merely shrugged.

"Or her protege," she suggested. "But our first known victim, both official and unofficial," she added with a nod to Kieran, "is 1908; only twelve years, rather than twenty. If she were in her twenties or thirties when she began, she would only be middle aged at the outside; certainly not yet past her prime." It was a risk to point it out, but it would have been riskier to compare Madame Fleuriste's age to her own or to Sam's. She had been sharp to begin with and had gotten sharper over the years. It was a relief when Professor Swift turned their attention to the files and dismissed them.

~*~

The moment the door was closed Algernon's body language changed. Perhaps not to the untrained observer, but Anne Marie had been observing him her entire life. She had learned quickly, however, that he was a little sensitive about his new reading spectacles and resisted the urge to tease him about it.

"It's a risk bringing them in on this," he murmured.

Anne Marie shrugged, finishing off her third cup of ginger tea. "It would look even more suspicious if we didn't," she pointed out. "The Society had offered their help before, and we were specifically requested. To go about Society business, especially something this large, without the entire team?" She shook her head. "I do admit to being a trifle cautious about any of them getting too clever, especially Kieran; he'd never forgive me."

"Especially Samantha," Algie pointed out. "She may be able to work out who Madame Fleuriste is in truth, and that would be inconvenient."

"Oh?" There was that stab of jealousy again. Their relationship had shifted in strange ways over the years, but she had always first and foremost been his protege; she didn't like that he had a new one, though of course she would never admit that to him.

"I've put a deal of effort into improving her skills," it was a Herculean act of will for Anne Marie to bite her tongue at that, "and she's a new wife and mother. I'd hate to have to silence her."

Well that was some comfort. Anne Marie had long ago realized, perhaps or perhaps not before him, that the thread that bound them indelibly together was that they could not--would not--make one another a target, an honor bestowed upon few if any others. That he would silence his new pupil for her put her a little more at ease, though of course the ugly specter of feminine jealousy wasn't completely gone; merely placated for a moment. She shook her head.

"I would not put you in that position," she insisted. "Should it come to that I will clean up my own messes. It may even stiffen Erik's spine a little more, not that I would wish it at such a cost. I would rather Samantha keep doing whatever it is she has been doing. Boxing and sex, I imagine." The corner of her lip quirked upward even as Algie expressed his hope that it wouldn't come to that. She, too, was growing quite a bit fonder of the Ranger than she had been in the past, but it was not out of the question should Samantha come to unfortunate conclusions.

Then he asked what she needed to speak with him about. Anne Marie's stomach fluttered--though certainly it was too early for that--and she stood and faced him, tugging gently on his lapels and smoothing them down. She straightened his tie, realigned his cuff links, and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his shoulder. She wasn't sure whether her compulsive grooming made her fit for their most difficult--and longest--mission, but it was a tell she usually kept tightly in check even around Algernon. She knew even as she did it that it was letting her emotions get the best of her and worked to reign herself in by sliding her hands down his arms and taking his hands gently in her own.

"We ought to go see Maggie before we leave," she said softly, unable to force her voice above much more than a murmur. "She has a right to know that you're going to be a father." Her chin quivered and her lip twisted into a weird, uncertain sort of half-smile. "We're going to have a baby, Algernon. Well...mostly me. All me, actually. But you can help." Anne Marie giggled nervously, searching his face for his initial reaction, his true feelings. The problem with marrying herself to a man like Algie meant that sometimes it was difficult to gauge his genuine feelings, though she'd gotten quite good at it over the years. "Say something!"
 
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she began making small adjustments to his clothing - imperceptibly straightening his tie, examining his cuff links, and so on. Whatever it was she had wanted to speak about, it must be weighing heavily on her mind. Finally, though, she took his hands and spoke in a bare whisper. “We ought to go see Maggie before we leave."

“Indeed?” Algernon prompted. “May I ask why?”

"She has a right to know that you're going to be a father." Her chin quivered and her lip twisted into a weird, uncertain sort of half-smile. "We're going to have a baby, Algernon. Well...mostly me. All me, actually. But you can help." Anne Marie giggled nervously, searching his face.

“I... that is...” An awkward mixture of excitement and dread seized his heart. A child! He’d never believed he would be a father again! But his first child had... and then...

“Say something!" Anne Marie demanded. Implored.

“I...” Worries about the Society churned through him, and fears about losing another child or failing as a father. With a sudden gesture he pulled Anne Marie to him, enfolding her in a bear hug of an embrace. “A baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion “Our baby.” His voice choked with emotion. “My dear, my love, this is... this is...”

Words failed him, so he lifted her lips to his. “My God,” he whispered, laughing at the realization sayin. “We’re going to have to be parents.”
 
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