Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

The Ruined Abbe	By : pip Category: M through R > Quills Views: 2536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Quills, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter Eight
Thankfully for Coulmier, the kiss didn’t continue in the same unvarying intensity, and yet, although there was no intercourse this time, he still felt as violated as ever. The Marquis broke off the kiss for long enough to lick a long line up the side of his face, and Coulmier frowned in distaste, but didn’t voice a protest.
Surely it couldn’t be much longer now, his hand felt tingly with the friction so it must be doing something, and sure enough, with a few more movements, he felt the end of it at last as the Marquis groaned in his ear, deliberately he was quite certain. Was this to be all? As he faced the heady prospect of where to wipe his hand, settling for a handkerchief he kept in his sleeve, he thought to himself that he had got away lightly with this visit, and couldn’t supress a kind of wistful disappointment.
“Mmm,” said the Marquis at last, clearly still put beyond the use of any kind of language, even his own. Coulmier sighed, and couldn’t quite believe he heard himself doing it. “I wish that all of my visitors said hello the way you do, Abbé. This prison would be a tantalising prospect indeed.” Coulmier made the mistake of looking at him as he spoke, and his apathy vanished.
Suddenly, again, it wasn’t the Marquis, slightly scandalous, that he’d known for all those years – that he thought he’d known when he’d had the arrogance to humour him. No, now it was the same Marquis that had stolen all of his serenity and made him like it, who’d somehow tempted him back here time and again, from afar, with no other more likely prospect than debasement and humiliation.
His dark eyes glittered hungrily, and Coulmier realised with a start that while he may have spent in Coulmier’s hand, he was far from satiated. He tried in vain to subdue the feeling of anticipation in his breast. As if knowing all of his thoughts, the Marquis looked him up and down, slowly.
“You appear to be a little overdressed,” he said, in such a pointed way that Coulmier soon found himself removing his black robe and white collar, and his underwear and soft leather shoes. Silently he looked to the chains, and then at the Marquis with a question on his lips, but he was forestalled.
“Yes, of course , you must,” he agreed amiably, and his politeness was so incongruous that Coulmier had to stifle a nervous giggle as he was once more chained to the wall in the Marquis’ stead. He was bodily manipulated into the same posture as previously, and then at last his new-found enjoyment of it faded quite a bit. Here again, he thought, so clearly that his own words sounded like the Marquis in his head.
Could Sade even do it? Was it possible to be so recovered so quickly? Coulmier had never heard of such a thing, yet there were many things he hadn’t heard of, and the Marquis was introducing them to him one by one. He waited, becoming more nervous with every passing moment, his throat dry, wishing that they could just get on with it.
“Close your eyes,” Sade said, and Coulmier complied, too quickly, too obediently, his heart hammering. This excitement mixed with dread was a new kind of sin. He wasn’t afraid. He sensed the Marquis close to him as he walked to the wall beneath the chains to retrieve the oil, and Coulmier squeezed his eyes shut so as not to peek. The strange feeling that suffused him had accentuated his senses, and he was aware of a slight rustling. A tiny warning voice in his head gibbered, knowing precisely what the rustling noise meant, but he purposely ignored it.
The palms of his hands slipped slightly on the stone wall because they were damp with sweat. Would there be a kiss again, he wondered, his mind trying to supply him with the means to imagine things he’d never courted before. When a warm heavy hand came to rest on his lower back, he almost jumped. That one hand stroked his bones, rubbed absently over his skin, soothing him as though he were a skittish animal, and he held his breath, just waiting for what would come next.
When he felt the first drips of oil onto his lower back he almost jumped again, and then squirmed as the oil made a trail down between his buttocks. Even with all the competing smells, the olive oil was clean and pure. It was one the priests imported from Italy, and its delicate scent was the counterpoint to the stronger, more pungent aroma of Sade’s issue.
Deft, experienced fingers followed the oil, working it into his skin, touching that private place accidentally so that he gasped. They did it again, this time not so carelessly, and Coulmier swallowed. It was such a small place, yet the touch made it feel bigger, the way the tongue makes things feel larger in the mouth. He could feel the little wrinkles of muscle there, tight and stretched, and he felt his body clench those muscles in awareness of the touch, fluttering almost. It was impossible not to imagine how it must look to the Marquis, and he suddenly wanted to move away, embarrassed.
So slowly, the fingers became more insistent, not quite entering him, but pressing heavily and bluntly against that entrance as if in some kind of unmentionable massage. Coulmier found himself relaxing into the touch, his body seemed more in tune with the Marquis now, as if it had found its true master. Yet, when one of those fingers finally slid inside him it was still a violation, and he made a low sound in his throat without knowing it – a protest.
But it was done now, and the finger was deep inside him, so his body relaxed to allow it. The pain from before, he realised, was mainly due to that little bit of muscle that puckered and twitched and danced for the Marquis’ touch. Beyond there, deeper inside his body, the sensation of touch was altogether more profound than mere pain or pleasure. These were things that he couldn’t learn from the sexual act, and at that point he became sure Sade was teaching him about them, and about himself. He licked his lips to say something, but what?
“Marquis,” he began, startled at the sound of his own voice in the cell. It was deeper and throatier than usual. The finger abruptly withdrew, so quickly it skimmed that most sensitive part, making him gasp in awareness. “I’m sorry,” he said then, “I didn’t mean for you to…” He felt his face burning now, and he opened his eyes only to see the blank wall in front of him. “To stop,” he finished lamely, sure that Sade would laugh at him again.
“I know,” came the reply from behind him. There was a short silence, and he heard several staccato sounds as drops of oil hit the dry and dusty cell floor. He was pouring more of it onto his fingers. “I know what you crave more clearly than you do,” the Marquis said, without a trace of teasing. “Relax again, now,” he urged, fingers newly slick with the oil pressing against him for entrance again.
Now there were two long dextrous digits inside him, working him into complete acceptance while he tried in his mind to define the sensations they caused within him. Perhaps there were three, he thought, because his lower body felt full and heavy with the Marquis’ hand. Now Sade’s other hand began to caress his balls, so lightly it was delicious, making him utter odd sounds of delight and desire.
“Ssh!” came the hiss from behind him, and he tried to be quiet. He tried so hard, but then the Marquis brushed a thumb against him, between his balls and place where the fingers were continuing their deep caress. He moaned, the sound loud to his own ears, feeling a sensation so keen and pleasurable there was no denying it.
“Should have done this sooner,” the Marquis grumbled quietly, and it took a moment for Coulmier to realise he was talking to himself. All of the beautiful caresses stopped, and he was left empty and longing for it – for him – to return. Hurriedly, he closed his eyes as the Marquis approached the front of his body, but he couldn’t help the impression of darkness just before he managed it. Like the rustling, he ignored that too.
A piece of cloth was stuffed rudely in his mouth, and his tongue recoiled from it, for it tasted of lust. It was his handkerchief from earlier. Before he could be rid of it, there was a tightness as the Marquis tied a longer length of cloth over his mouth and behind his head. He tried to make a sound, but couldn’t, and his panic would have overwhelmed him if he hadn’t felt those forbidden touches resume.
“Forgive me, Abbé, but you will bring the whole of Charenton here to see who is pleasing me,” he uttered sardonically. Coulmier tried to smile, but he couldn’t, he could only taste the salt of what had occurred a little earlier. And now, as the maddening teasing continued, he couldn’t voice what it was doing to him.
In truth, the whole episode couldn’t have lasted more than fifteen minutes, but to Coulmier it felt like hours. By the time the Marquis stopped with the intimate caress, every nerve he had was strung tightly, alert to every sensation; even the breeze from the window stirred the downy hair that covered his skin and made his heart beat faster.
It was a revelation, to find that his body was capable of experiencing so much without him even being fully aroused. Indeed, that part of his body was beginning to feel terribly neglected by the time the Marquis stopped. Gently, the gag still in place, he was guided to a standing position, and then turned around to face forward, so that the length of the chains was shortened on each side, his arms crossed at the wrists above his head. Their new length kept him upright against the wall, but not uncomfortably so. He could still stand on the heels of his feet. The shock of what greeted him, however, couldn’t have been worse if the Marquis had stabbed him with the knife he had brought.
“I happen to think it suits me,” said Sade defiantly, twirling around in his, Coulmier’s, priestly garment. Only the white collar was missing, and Coulmier suddenly realised what it was that held the handkerchief in place in his mouth. That was the rustling he heard, and the darkness he saw. All this time, Sade had been wearing it. His eyes widened and he stamped his feet to make his feelings plain.
“I do so miss the theatre, as you well know.” The Marquis lifted the skirt of the robe to examine it, as if admiring the material, then sent him a wicked look. “I dare say that if I had a touch of your grace, Abbé, it would be a perfect fit, no?”
“Ummph!” Coulmier said behind his gag, and glared. He stamped his feet again. The Marquis plastered a look of concern on his face. “Umpph!” More insistent this time.
Sade looked at him, shook his head and sighed. “If I thought I could convince you to call me Abbé for a while I’d remove that gag from your precious lips,” he said wistfully. Coulmier was not fooled, nor was he impressed.
“Ummphh!” he said, as loudly as he could, and resisted the temptation to stamp his feet again, since he sensed it was making him look more ridiculous than he did already. Almost timidly, with one eye on Coulmier’s feet in case he should kick out, Sade approached. He loosened the gag enough to pull out most of the handkerchief, then inclined his head as if to listen.
“Idiot!” Coulmier spat out with such vehement force he coughed slightly afterwards.
“Ah, as I feared,” Sade said sadly. “There you go,” he commented, filling Coulmier’s mouth with the handkerchief again, “have it back, there’s a good fellow.” Coulmier screamed, and it came out as a muffled hum. After Sade had tightened the gag, he held the helpless Coulmier in a loose but affectionate embrace.
“Now, let us see how long I can make you last,” the Marquis said, patting Coulmier on the shoulder, and as he sank to his knees the robe billowed out around him theatrically. Sade looked at Coulmier’s prick and nodded without glancing up. “Grace I may lack, Abbé. Finesse, I do quite well, never fear.”
He rested his hands on Coulmier’s knees, and then licked a heavy line from root to tip that made Coulmier half hard already. “Besides,” he finished, smiling and smug. “I do love a challenge.”
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Ruined Abbe