The Marquesa de Sade - Joseph LeBaron - ebook

Can a determined, strong-willed woman create depravities wilder than any the world's most sadistically imaginative man could possibly conjure?

Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:

czytnikach certyfikowanych
przez Legimi

Liczba stron: 170

Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostepny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacjach Legimi na:


Table of Contents
The Marquesa de Sade

The Marquesa de Sade

Joseph LeBaron

This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.


'Twas such a lovely gift! So typical of sweet, thoughtful Donatien, my adored but secret father. Only he would think of just the right token to send me for my natal day, just as only he seemed always to know instinctively, and despite the distance that had most always separated us—and sometimes, as the world well knows, not only distance but the massive dark stones and iron bars of a cruel and undeserved prison—my innermost thoughts and desires.

True, I had other whips—whips in quantities and of every quality—but none to equal this dainty lash that I now fondled between my fingers, none into the fashioning of which had gone such exquisite and tender thought. The crop was just of a size for my slender hand, criss-crossed with thick gold bands so that my fingers would not slip when I lashed out overly enthusiastically as I sometimes did.

But 'twas not over the gold strands that my finger tips moved with such nigh sensual pleasure, but over the curious leather, if leather it could in truth be called. Even had I not had my dear father's missive which had accompanied the gift, I would have known that the handle was in part fashioned of skin—human skin that had been most artfully cured, so that it was as smooth and nearly as delicately hued as ever it had been in life. Most likely, too, left to my own sensitivity in such matters, I could have by myself, without hint or outward suggestion, traced in my imagination its origin, and for a moment I was even put out that dear Donatien's letter had denied me that stimulating mental game. For the skin was that of a tender lass of no more than ten years of age and in my mind's eye I could picture her still immature body. Indeed, there were all the indications for such a mental picture that I needst have had on the crop of the whip where Donatien had caused them to be placed by his private artisan.

Two small sienna and barely to be felt protuberances on either side of the crop were the childish nipples that had once graced that unknown and sacrificial child's body. And just below, at the base of the crop from which the leather thongs of the whip now hung down, was the creviced slit of a cunt as yet so sweetly young that not even the first faint down of silken hair had sprouted by it.

A most charming conceit, I bethought myself, and only one the Marquis de Sade—my beloved father—could have conceived and, having done so, put so exquisitely into execution. Striking down with the lash through the empty air I scarce needed the heat from the roaring fire of sabina logs in the chimney place that had been set ablaze to rid the sala of the dank chill that always permeated the castillo during the harsh winter months to warm my blood. For now it coursed hotly through my veins as I pictured the pleasures to come. Already I could hear the exciting sound of the leather thongs as the whip came down on quivering flesh. I could see the blood-red welts streaking one by one over pearly white skin, hear the moans and cries of pain, of protest, like the whimperings of animals bereft of speech.

My breasts, my cunt, every nerve of my body ached in the throes of eager anticipation, and 'twas with difficulty that I curbed my impatience to put the lash to full and most immediate use. Instead, I forced myself to read once again, and more slowly than the first time, the missive that had accompanied the loving gift.

My true and most certain daughter (thus the letter was addressed): As you but too well realize, my messages to you are not only few but lamentably far between. Yet 'tis not, as you are doubtlessly aware, the fault of negligence or lack of paternal feeling on my part but rather the evil machinations and harassments to which I have been most constantly subjected by that vindictive bitch, Madame de Montreuil, whom, in a moment of weakness and following the stubborn dictates of my father, I was saddled with as a mother-in-law. Learn by my bitter lesson, my dear Francesco, and allow not the dictates of others to govern your actions but follow your own desires along whatever paths they may lead you. I give thanks to Lucifer, the anti-God, that while Madame de Montreuil may suspicion your existence she knows naught of your whereabouts and that you are well removed from her spies, situated as you are across the border and in the remote peaks of the Pyrenees.

I care not to burden you with a lengthy account of the vicissitudes that have been visited upon me, all the work of that evil woman afore mentioned. She is now, as you may well imagine, most irate that after the lapse of eleven long years I have escaped from durance vile, freed by the forces of the revolution that is sweeping France. As you know, 'twas she who nagged and bedeviled the spineless authorities under the weakling Louis XVI into depriving me of my liberty, all because I made use of some drab village whores for my purely private amusement. Yet women ever resent that a man cannot find the ultimate of excitement in their ugly cunts and must seek his pleasures by using their bodies in other ways. I pride myself that it is only because you have my blood and spirit in yourself that you are a commendable exception.

But I must not write overlong, as is my weakness whenever I set quill to paper. I send you a little keepsake of my esteem, which I am certain you will put to most excellent use. The skin is that of a little lass I chanced upon one eventide in the country and brought to my estate. She was, unfortunately, not too cooperative in my pleasure games, due in part to the poor child's lack of adequate education and her innate ignorance; she lacked physical stamina as well, so that she failed to survive certain mild experiments. However, after her unsought demise it occurred to me to make use of her meager body, so that she might serve some more worthwhile purpose in death than ever would have been her lot in life.

Along with old Jules, who has before served as a discreet messenger between us and who brings you this token of my love and affection, I am sending along a young lad named Giles as yet another indication of my constant concern for your pleasures, my dear Francesco. Giles, as you will most quickly discover, is still but a tyro in worldly experience—beardless and with a body as yet unsullied by the crude and simple fucking with which the unimaginative peasantry amuse themselves. Indeed, 'tis a wrench for me to see him go, for the rosy, plump little cheeks of his ass fair cry out for buggery, so that my prick rises unbidden at the very thought of thus enjoying myself.

But I curb my own desires and send him on to you, untested and nigh virginal, that you may amuse yourself in diverse ways that I trust might put even me to envy.

I await, as ever, whatever word of yourself you send back to me with old Jules. For myself, despite the years of durance vile, my health is good, or even a bit better, than might be expected. At least, my appetite for such diversions as are frowned on by the stupid and gross has still not been fully appeased nor quite fully dulled.

I close with a paternal salute. Your always proud father,

Donatien, Marquis de Sade.

Ah, my poor, misunderstood, and long suffering father, I bethought myself as I finished my perusal of the missive. How cruel the world! The Church, under the infamous Inquisition, could maim and cripple and murder uncounted victims, its critics, and nought was said. But they denied the sweet Marquis de Sade his little whims and fancies, simply because at times some subject of his experiments, unappreciative of his interest, complained to the authorities or perchance failed to survive.

'Twas, indeed, a world without justice. And, I thought, if they could but know the secrets hidden within the walls of my isolated castle—if they could but see the youths locked in the dungeons below, awaiting my special ministrations—if they could but hear the screams and cries and moans, sweet music to my ears, that became lost in fading echoes within the stone walls.

I laughed with pleasure at the conceit, and called out for Sebastian, the Basque dwarf who had attended me day and night since the hour of my birth.


'Tis doubtful if anyone, including Sebastian himself, knew his true age. He was one of Nature's cruel whims, possessing the sensitive soul of a poet in a squat and deformed body. How often, when as a mere child, unthinking creature of my instincts, I had embarked on some casual cruelty only to be stopt by him and patiently shewn that cruelty was a delicate art that required imagination and refinement.

He knew naught of his antecedents, only that my dear father, so tenderly merciful in such matters, had rescued him from the gutters of Bilbao, where he was serving as the butt for the crude humour of the ignorant. 'Twas the Marquis who recognized his latent qualities and saw to his education in diverse matters, and when my mother died at my birth, placed me as a mewling infant in his care, with the most careful instructions as to my tutelage. Nor could he have made a better choice.

Now, deeply immersed as I was in my private thoughts, I did not become aware of him in my presence until he spoke, his voice at such sharp variance from his grotesque appearance, as liltingly musical as a lute expertly played by some wandering minstrel. “You are happy, ninita, to have at long last received word from your respected father?”

I smiled, as I always did when at times he addressed me as “little child” for I towered to well nigh thrice his stature. “Most happy, indeed,” I agreed, looking down to where he stood at my side. “His life is so beset by misfortunes and harassments that it is always a relief to know that he is well. Moreover, he sent me the loveliest of presents. See for yourself this one.”

I handed him the slender whip and he ran his finger tips appreciatively over the crop, lightly tracing the faintly budding nipples and the slender indentation of a yet hairless cunt. “Ah, yes,” he murmured softly. “A most exquisite gift, and one that bespeaks considered thought, which makes it twice as worthy. But that is the nature of the good Marquis.”

I nodded and took back the whip and slashed it through the empty air. “And now I would inspect my other gift,” I told him. “I am most anxious to see the youth of whose untested charms my dear father wrote so glowingly.”

“A most winsome lad by all appearances,” Sebastian informed me. “At the moment he is being bathed and cleansed of the grime resulting from his journey hence. The servidumbre should be done with him in a moment.”

“Tell them to hurry!” I commanded.

Sebastian clucked reprovingly. “Be not too impatient, my child. It is said that haste dulls the palate for fine wines, and 'tis even more true of other pleasures.”

I stilled the sharp reply that came to my lips. The dwarf well knew my failings, and impetuousness was not the least of them. How patiently during my formative years he had gently curbed my intemperate spirit, teaching me the value of slowly savouring each experience, be it new or old.

There came the sound of voices and movement from beyond the salon entrance, and Sebastian reached up quickly and withdrew the whip from my hand, saying softly, “I believe they are bringing up your gift now, and 'twould not do to needlessly frighten the lad aforetimes. 'Tis best that he have no inkling of his future while you inspect him.”

I made no objection. A moment later the lad, Giles, was ushered into my presence. At first glance he seemed, indeed, to be all that dear Donatien had promised in his missive; a slender yet well-formed youth, he appeared to be just past the age of puberty. He had been left stark naked after his cleansing, and now displayed a becoming shyness as he was pushed forward to where I stood waiting. He had one hand cupped over his young cock as though holding imprison'd some fluttering bird seeking escape, a most touching gesture indeed.

He was brought to a halt before me and I dismissed the attending servants. He stood silently with downcast eyes while I studied him most thoroughly. But for his face and hands, sun-bronzed from the exposure of a peasant's life, his fair youth's body was nigh alabaster white and smooth, unmarked by any scars or coarseness. On his flat chest not a hair yet sprouted, the unsullied flesh marked only by the sienna circles of his breasts. His waist was narrow, his flanks and hips most well formed, his legs slim yet muscular.

“Raise your hand, lad,” I then commanded, and had to repeat the order twice before he reluctantly obeyed, a blush of shame suffusing his innocent features as he thus displayed his private parts. Little tendrils of russet-brown hair curled lightly about the base of his scarce mature cock that he still attempted to conceal between tightly pressed thighs. E'en so, I could note that the cock was of promising size and circumference, and would doubtless prove most serviceable in the years to come—did the lad but live that long.

I instructed him to turn about that I might examine his rear. In truth, my dear father had been more than just in his glowing description of the lad's nether charms. I could well see how the rounded cheeks of his most pleasingly shaped arse, the flesh faintly tinted with the rosy glow of youthful health, fair cried out for any man of parts to bugger, and I appreciated more than ever the unselfishness of the Marquis in gifting me with the lad while he still remained virgin in all parts.

My gaze dwelling on that tempting sight, I was strong inclined to put to immediate test the lad's capacity for pain and my fingers itched to make use of the new whip. I was hindered only by Sebastian, who knew my every mood but too well. He tugged now at my knee, and, when I glanced down, beckoned me to bend over so that I might hear his whispered words. “Remember, my child, that we have guests for whom it behooves us to provide entertainment. Why not save such pleasures as you now contemplate until all are present?”

Reminded thus of my duties as a hostess, I could but agree. There were, at the moment, no less than five persons of diverse origins who had sought out the hospitality and safety of my remote castle, driven by the need to escape most certain punishment, including for some a painful death on the rack, had they remained in their customary habitat.

There was the Duque de Panza, a charming gentleman in his fifties, whose openly flaunted sexual excesses, combined with certain overly liberal political ideas, had brought on the disfavour of the Court, or, to be more exact, of Maria Luisa and her evil genius, Godoy. They had gone so far as to denounce him to the Inquisition as a dangerous heretic.

Another refugee from the moral narrowness then sweeping Spain was Brother Juanito, a sacerdote of gaunt and hungry visage, whose lust for chubby choir boys had led to disaster when he was caught buggering the son of the town alcalde.

There was as well Sor Pureza, a woman whose strong, youthful appearance belied her years, who had been until recently abbess of a nunnery near Valencia, during which time she had developed novel ideas on how her charges should perform penance, which included not only the rod and the whip but artfully fashioned dildos, as well.

From France, in flight from the vindictive political chaos of the times, came the famous Chevalier d'Eon. None could say with surety whether the Chevalier was a woman masquerading as a man, or a man who at times adopted the manners and attire of a woman. But he was a famous swordsman, and 'twas bruited about that he had been a spy and agent provocateur for the French in England.

Finally there was from England a bastard son of a certain Lord Bute, or at least so acknowledged by that gentleman, although it was held by some that he was actually an illegitimate offspring of George III. He was called Frederick, and although a young man of unprepossessing appearance he was far from dull. In short, he possessed rather remarkable learning and talent along certain lines, being among other subjects an expert on the intricacies of the Black Mass.

All said, 'twas a most interesting group, and I deemed myself fortunate to have such a spritely company gathered at one time under my roof, for it gave opportunity for many and diverse pleasures.

True, even without guests I was never at a loss for amusement, for the faithful and attentive Sebastian kept me well supplied with subjects on whom I could indulge my whims. But an interchange of ideas, a sharing of past experiences to inspire new ones, is always stimulating when one is in the company of persons of like inclinations. Thus, when the dwarf reminded me of my duty as a hostess to provide varied diversions for my guests, I could but stifle my desires of the moment and permit him to send the lad, still innocent of my designs, below stairs to await the evening.

When shortly Sebastian returned, I bethought myself to inquire if any of the guests were yet astir.

The dwarf shook his head. “If any are bestirring, which I doubt, it is in one bed or another. Have you forgotten, nina, that you did not finish your last night's revelries until close to dawn, and it is now only mid-day.” He reached up and patted me affectionately on a thigh. “The others have not your youthful strength and exuberance.”

I smiled down at him. Twas true that the night before had been most prolonged and amusing, one that had ended in limp pricks and sore cunts. But of that I shall write on the morrow.


'Twas not until early evening when my guests, having broken their fasts according to their varied appetites, gathered in the salon and made themselves comfortable in keeping with their particular fashion.

The large velas in the standing candelabra of wrought iron placed about the room had been lighted, thus breaking the heavy shadows with a pleasing glow. Giant sabina logs crackled in the fireplace, adding another note of warm comfort, so that the dankly chill night without could be well forgotten.

The conversation turned to the night before.

“By God's balls,” Sor Pureza, the abbess remarked reflectively, “that Bantu slave you have, Francesca, has a cock as big as a battering ram. My arse is fair sore from the buggering he gave me last night.”

She was referring to a part of the amusement I had provided. The Duque de Panza had been discussing his recent travels in New Spain and a tribe of Indians he had there encountered, maintaining that the males of the tribe could fuck six women in succession with the same erection. This sexual stamina, he had been given to understand, was the result of imbibing a strong tea brewed from the leaves of a native plant. Not unnaturally, such information served to stimulate considerable conversation, much of it of an envious nature, which I put an end to by announcing that I had in my service a black from the primitive parts of Africa who could do as much, and without the benefit of any brewed concoctions. He had been a present to me on my eighteenth birthday, bought by Sebastian from a Moroccan slave-dealer with monies secretly sent by my sweet father.

Following my boast, there was a clamour that I forthwith produce this remarkable specimen, so that proof could be given as to his prowess. Secure in my personal knowledge of the slave's accomplishments, I was not hesitant to do so, dispatching a serving maid to fetch him from the dungeon cells where he served as guard over sin assortment of what might be termed involuntary guests.