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slide from her mouth, Madame Coubette smiled up at him, slightly out of breath. ‘Come to think of it, why would you go to Portugal for your new pussy, when you have two gorgeous young pussies here with which to indulge yourself? Neither is blood of yours, though you act as though they are. Surely you’ve considered seducing them both? Surely you’d like to fuck them? What red-blooded male wouldn’t?’
    â€˜Be quiet,’ the count growled. ‘Watch what you say.’
    â€˜And that Elise,’ the woman went on, provoking him. ‘Why, I don’t think you’d find as lusty a bitch in all the brothels in France. Don’t you notice the way she looks at you? I know the fantasies of young females, and I’d swear she’d give anything to be kneeling where I am now, sucking your aristocratic cock instead of me. Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you like it to be Elise kneeling here right now, paying homage to your cock with those sweet young lips?’
    Genevieve was sure she heard the faintest of sighs coming from her companion. She glanced at her quickly, but there was no time to look for long because of the shock of what suddenly happened downstairs. An abrupt thwack resounded and was immediately followed by a yelp of indignation. It was, evidently, the count’s response to Madame Coubette’s provocation, and Genevieve looked back to the quarrelsome pair below.
    The woman was prostrate on her front before the count, her wig several feet away, her hair, a tangled auburn mop, covered her face. Wounded more in pride than in pain, she slowly arched her spine to raise herself, and her large bottom lifted voluptuously as she turned her face to his.
    He stood frowning over her, unconcerned by the blow that had knocked her flat; he knew she wasn’t hurt, for the brunt of the impact had fallen on the wig. His hands were on his hips and his cock, semi-erect and now drooping, pointed down at her.
    â€˜If you talk to me like a whore from the streets, I’ll treat you as such,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you that before, and I’ve also told you not to talk of Elise in that way.’
    Through the tangles of hair Madame Coubette’s eyes burned. Their glow amidst her reddened cheeks made her whole face come alive. She was a seething beast, enraged at being so crudely brought to heel. She turned away from him and crawled towards her wig, her buttocks undulating beneath her dress. Reaching the hairpiece she turned back to him with a sneer. ‘I’ll talk as I please,’ she hissed. ‘And I am a whore from the streets, but I can tell you, Elise is a bigger whore than me.’
    De Tranville leapt at the crouching woman, snatched at the dress and fiercely tore it apart. Then with the same vicious frenzy he ripped away the petticoat beneath, leaving bare the white cheeks of her bottom. At the sight he thrust her to the floor, lashing at her nakedness with his palm. Cutting through the air fierce slaps resounded on her bared flesh, and were echoed by sighs and whimpers from her.
    Genevieve felt herself swoon. De Tranville’s rage seemed to fill the room below, yet it seemed somehow dank with passion. Blotches of red surfaced angrily on Madame Coubette’s pallid bottom cheeks, but soon her protests melted. The blows were softening. She laid flat on her front, humiliated, her lower half stripped, her flushed cheek to the carpet. De Tranville rested on his haunches, breathing heavily.
    Genevieve pushed her head forward with curiosity, her cheeks pressed to the ornately twisting columns of wood that made up the balustrade. The woman was now saying something.
    â€˜Fuck me... fuck me now,’ she mumbled. ‘Fuck me.’
    De Tranville gazed at her coldly. She lifted herself back onto her knees and elbows, offering him her bottom, and he watched her parting the cleft between her legs for him.
    â€˜Fuck me,’ she pleaded, and the