Ravaging Orléans - Chapter 2

Behind the massive, stone walls that encased Rouen, the city droned with life. Every manner of citizen cluttered the streets. Some sought shelter, while others were refugees, trying to flee the war on-foot. But there was another group of immigrants that filled Rouen. These were tourists, flocking to the city to watch the supposed execution of the Maiden of Orléans. Duran despised these travelers, but he had to bear that hatred to continue the mission. With the infiltration of Rouen being a success thus far, Duran was determined to keep it as such.

Several months had passed since the arrival to Rouen. Duran had spent his time scouting the city for their valuable prisoner of war, while Olivia squandered it amongst the various bars that littered the common district. Her crewmates, stationed within these bars, followed their captain’s example. Amidst the squalor created by the war-torn populace, this behavior was a frequent sight. Their chances of detection were virtually zero. For this reason, Duran ignored their recklessness to focus on his mission.

This evening was not spared his diligence, although the appearance of heavy rain clouds forced him to retire earlier than usual. As soon as Duran stepped into the inn he used as his base of operations, the rain began to pour down outside. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a stout of ale. While waiting, Duran scanned the interior of the bar. There was nothing special of note within this establishment – the best quality for concealing treasonous crimes such as his.

With the arrival of his stout, Duran left a silver coin on the bar table. “Thanks.” This kindness went unseen by the oblivious female bartender, but it didn’t matter. Preserving his own sense of decency was the only reason he still cared. As he grabbed his stout and went to take a sip, the drunken rambling of men behind Duran gave him pause. They prattled on about the Maiden of Orléans. She was the popular topic of the city. Jokes and insults were passed at her expense at every corner of the street. Duran clenched his fist at every foul attempt at humor these men conjured. He turned away from his drink, forcibly turning his focus elsewhere. Duran wondered where Olivia was. After giving her an important assignment earlier in the morning, he hadn’t seen a trace of her usual daytime antics.

His minor worries were relieved when Olivia stormed into the inn through the front door, just as ineloquent as the violent rainstorm that raged behind her. She walked over to Duran, taking the seat next to him at the bar. Olivia was dripping wet. As she hunched over the table to fiddle with her drenched hair, Duran watched with curiosity. He had seen it before, but there was an immature, yet gentle aura about her tonight. It was during these brief moments that Duran saw her as a true woman.

“What’s with the grim appearance? You should liven up a bit.” Olivia’s words were colored with her kind but abrasive style of speech. This remark caught Duran by surprise. He thought that he had concealed his emotions rather well, but Olivia seemed to pick up on even the littlest of hints. Duran decided to ignore her words for now. He just wasn’t in a playful mood. “Do we have good news?”

A delightful smirk appeared upon Olivia’s face. She leaned against Duran in an affectionate manner, rubbing against his side in what he saw as a desperate attempt to steal his warmth. Such body language seemed to imply that good news was within the realm of possibility. “I found a soldier whose resolve was … pliable.” Olivia placed an English military insignia onto the counter in front of her. It was very clearly ripped off of a uniform, so Duran scuttled to grab the insignia before anyone took notice of their discussion. “His outfit is now yours.” Something was different with Olivia tonight. Her speech was sluggish, and choice of words less than subtle.

After peering around the bar to ensure their conversation was still a secret, Duran returned his gaze to Olivia. He noticed a familiar blush permeating from her cheeks. As a loose snicker escaped her lips, Duran concluded his suspicions. Olivia was exceptionally drunk. Being the unpredictable woman she was, this realization didn’t bode well for their sensitive discussion. It seemed that Duran was lucky tonight, as Olivia reached for his untouched draught of ale. She was far more intent on drinking more than spilling their secrets to the rest of the patrons in the inn.

Almost on cue, the same group of drunken men continued their intoxicated rant. Words of harm were thrown about with the Maiden of Orléans as their prolonged focus. Despite her drunken state, Olivia’s senses were still keen enough to pick up upon the return of Duran’s irritation. “The city talks about her, you know.” Olivia slumped against Duran in a wallowing slouch, debating whether or not to down the rest of the ale she stole from him. “I guess all you need to do is find some luck on the battlefield, and then all of France thinks you’re a damned hero.”

This intoxicated rant was more than Duran could withstand. He calmly pushed Olivia off from his shoulder and stood up. “Huh? Where are you going?” She must have believed that Duran would share her opinion without question. It was nothing more than an immature assumption. “We can talk later.” Duran climbed the nearby staircase to the second floor, where the room he had been staying at was.

Olivia realized her mistake too late, and vented her frustration with a single exclamation. “…Shit!”
 
- - -

Even after the sun fell, the hostile weather refused to cease. Under enormous amounts of stress, from friend and foe alike, Duran found himself wading amidst a bathtub filled with steaming water. This porcelain bathtub adorned the bathroom as its main centerpiece. It extended lengthwise, allowing Duran the room to fully extend and then submerge his legs. This rugged design was aiming for sheer practicality. An extended soak in this bathtub was exactly what Duran needed.

With an audible turning of the doorknob, the bathroom door cracked open. Olivia slipped into the bathroom, looking far more unsteady on her feet than before. She must have consumed her fill of alcohol, and now sought to take advantage of the benefit of this liquid courage. Olivia backed up against the frame of the door, splaying her body against its wooden frame as a seductive grin crossed her face. Click. Following the unmistakable sound of the bathroom door being locked, Duran pieced together her intentions for showing up tonight.

Far too intoxicated to realize the absurdity of her actions, Olivia walked towards the bathtub and began to unbutton her blouse. Given that she was soaked to the bone, the majority of her outfit looked damp. Duran knew that she was going to take advantage of that situation. “Olivia, I said we would talk later.”

Olivia continued to undress, tossing her blouse aside and then turning her attention to the leather pants that clung to her feminine dimensions. She wiggled her hips, sliding the gripping leather down bit-by-bit until it was clear of her waist. The pants bundled up at her ankles, kept in place by her cavalier boots. With a bit of stumbling, Olivia bent over and started to remove her drenched boots. She tossed her footwear aside, kicking her legs to dislodge the drenched leather pants still at her ankles. As soon as the pants left her ankles, Olivia let out a sigh of relief. That must have been considerably uncomfortable.

Olivia was left standing in the middle of the bathroom, wearing nothing but her fancy underwear. The natural, healthy glow of her skin was working against Duran’s sense of morality even now. To make things worse, Olivia took the hint that she was in control again. “You never said when we would talk… so, let’s make it now.” She walked over to the other side of the bathtub, sticking a couple fingers into the steaming hot water. A shiver ran through her body, as she emitted a hum of delight. Olivia slipped her legs into the water, following with the rest of her body afterward. Regardless of the fact that she still wore her underwear, this was a compromising position. Olivia used the empty space in-between Duran's legs to extend her own, bringing her feet up to his chest and propping her heels against his chest. With her bare soles no more than a few inches away from his face, she batted her eyelashes and watched in anticipation. This was how Olivia played her games, and there was no escaping this one. 

Resolve weakening by the second, Duran found his eyes drawn to the feet laid out in front of him. Olivia placed them in such a way that her toes were the first thing in his line of sight. His desire to examine these toes had never been stronger. Fortunately, his stricken gaze did not go unnoticed. Olivia knew that he needed a bit of extra coercion, so she splayed her toes, stretching them towards Duran in a wordless plea for him to act. A surge of warmth filled Duran, while his mind numbed with pleasure. That was all it took to convince him. Duran cradled her left foot at the ankle, steadying it in preparation for his thorough examination. His other hand enveloped Olivia’s toes, flexing them back and forth in an overly playful manner. The contours of her toes were remarkable. While feminine in their appearance they also flaunted a carnal suppleness that kept Duran piquing his lust.

As he began to contemplate deeper, more intimate actions with Olivia’s feet, Duran felt the whispers of lust scratching at his mind. He realized that he was falling into her trap. He veered his attention back to the woman at the other end of the tub. Olivia was sporting a drunken grin, utterly ecstatic to exploit her lover’s foot fetish to this extent.

“Ah, what did you want to talk about…?” Duran made a poor recovery from his passion, still afflicted by Olivia’s overwhelming influence. This was evident, as he kept his grip on Olivia’s feet, occasionally rolling her toes in-between his fingers.

“I just showed up being I was wet and cold… but then I remembered.” Olivia slurred her words, marring her natural accent. “I want to know who our target is. You never said.” While her curiosity was harmless, discovering that their mission was to save a girl who she despised was not. Duran couldn’t tell her the truth. With the success of the mission at stake, he had to keep Olivia in the dark.

He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot tell you. However, you must know that if we don’t put forth our best efforts, there’s a chance you won’t ever have a chance to find out-“ Sparing herself the long-winded explanation, Olivia pressed her right foot against Duran’s mouth, effectively squelching Duran. The owner of this foot leered at him from the other end of the bathtub. She seemed to have expected this cold response. At this rate he was going to devolve back to his pointless infatuation. Duran decided that it was an acceptable alternative to Olivia learning the truth.

Duran found his attention drifting back to the two feet in front of him. While Olivia’s right foot was otherwise preoccupied suppressing his ability to speak, her left foot was already in his grasp. Duran shrouded her toes within his palm, as he ran his thumb against the base of each individual toe. He was giving these digits the gentle massage that they so deserved. The warm bathwater soaking her soles revealed the subtle callouses that Olivia gained while trying to earn his affection. This offered a distinctive, brown tint to her soles, which made Duran want to shift his efforts to her soles. However, his partner had other plans.

“You would be jealous of what I did to obtain that uniform.” Olivia remarked, making Duran out to be the misbehaving rebel that she imagined him as. Duran watched as Olivia slowly removed her right foot from his mouth, offering a little hush to ensure his continued silence. A cute giggle preceded her next move, as she slipped her foot beneath the surface of the water. A jolt of surprise ran through him as he attempted to caress her toes once more. Olivia was prodding and rubbing his erection under the water, mimicking the actions that she detected on her other foot. In this way, Duran was both the master of his pleasure, and the device to his own torture. This was a cruel activity, so very fitting for this drunken, manipulative woman.

Even with this development, Duran refused to back down from his desires. He extended his grip to encompass her heel, groping these womanly curves that took the most abuse from her long days of work in suffocating boots. Duran felt like her owed something to this part of her body, so he was especially tender with his movements. This was in direct contrast to Olivia, who responded by running the length of her sole across the head of his erection. A sexual haze formed over his mind, clouding his thoughts as he lusted for even more. He looked down, noting a lovely, rosy blush on Olivia’s overworked soles, which was further highlighted by the temperature of the water. This was hard to endure.

Flowing his hand across her sole, Duran used the tips of his fingers to survey the sensitive skin that Olivia’s sole flaunted so well. She was no tickling woman, but the combination of these movements and her intoxication drew some suppressed laughter. Her answer to these actions was suggestive, as Olivia trapped his erection beneath her toes. She wiggled her toes along the span of his erection, stroking the length with slow, teasing passes. Exasperated gasping filled the room, as Duran felt his limits being pushed like never before. But not all of this mewling came from him.

He peeked at the other end of the tub, realizing that there would be no immediate end to this moment. The beautiful woman who gave him these feelings was partaking in the experience herself. With one hand gripping the width of her stomach, the other found its place in-between her legs. Olivia cracked open her mouth, slurring her ultimatum. “But keep this up, and you’ll be getting more than my feet.”

Duran had dodged this bullet, and received forgiveness from his companion. However, even with her drunken compassion, he knew that Olivia was going to make this night different – one worthy of remembering. As it so happened, Duran was convinced it would be just that. Perhaps, he mused, there could be a future with the woman known as Olivia Thale.

- - -
 
With the war looming over Rouen and its outlying territories, the city was forced into a state of military control. The mass influx of war criminals, deserters and prisoners of war had filled the town dungeons to the brim. The garrison had to commandeer use of buildings outside of the keep to manage the overflow. As it so happened, one of these buildings was an abandoned watch tower, now renovated to become a high-security prison. Its sole denizen was the Maiden of Orléans.

Upon discovering her whereabouts, Duran had made numerous incursions into the area around the prison tower, but found little success. His work was obstructed by the presence of English guardsmen. They rendered any attempts to probe the interior of the building impossible. Now equipped with the uniform that Olivia had procured, that would no longer be an issue.

Duran reached the tower once more at the dead of midnight, and made an astonishing discovery. There wasn’t a soul outside the tower. The guardsmen were nowhere to be seen, and the building was devoid of its usual activity. The Maiden or Orléans had been taken elsewhere. While this was his golden opportunity to intrude upon the tower and plan his eventual rescue of the French heroine, something was amiss. For this important location to be entirely deserted, it was a little more than unsettling.

“Come on, now! Hurry up!” A distant voice commanded. Several other voices emerged after the first, alongside the thud of footsteps and clattering of foreign armor. A ways down the street, a cluster of lordly citizens strolled towards the keep. With them was a suspicious escort of English soldiers, and numerous servants that each stuck close to their respective masters. As if there wasn’t reason enough to suspect this group of wrongdoing, one servant lagged behind, dragging a pair of goats along by a length of rope. These were undoubtedly noblemen up to no good.

In a moment of revelation, Duran found that his uniform was of the same design as the ones that the escorting guards wore. All of a sudden, infiltration was a – overwhelmingly dangerous – possibility. This sense of urgency was new to Duran, who had spent most of his efforts honing his ability to escape from danger. But this was different. Something was telling him that this was worth the risk, as he ducked into a nearby alleyway. Duran then slipped into their formation as they passed, treading amongst the escort as they flowed into the keep of Rouen.

- - -
 
While the walls that encased the keep were smaller than the city walls, they were no less fortified. Just as well, the amount of guards that protected the courtyard was staggering. Detection here would mean sure death, so Duran hoped this gamble would pay off. He needed to find the Maiden of Orléans again.

The group arrived at the entrance of a sturdy, flagstone structure. The architecture was rather simple, leading Duran to believe that its layout extended a ways underground. This belief was reinforced as a pair of local guardsmen led the nobles and their escort inside the building and down a flight of stairs. The atmosphere grew dank, as the noblemen whispered with poisonous tongues. They were crowded into an extensive dungeon that existed beneath the modest building above ground.

One of the local guardsmen followed behind, and worked to reignite the unlit torches that lined the walls of the dungeon. Another was close behind, and worked to hastily prepare a tray with utensils designed for the tormenting of human flesh. Although the implication of these tools disturbed Duran, the layout of the dungeon distracted him. There were two chambers to this dungeon: the small room that he found himself in, and a larger adjoining area. A thick, stone wall separated these chambers. However, a massive slab cut from the wall had been replaced with transparent panes of glass. It was almost as if this was a viewing port for whatever went on in the other chamber. This proved to be true, as the nobles shuffled to a series of wooden benches that faced the window. The true was coming together. This was a sick observatory, meant to serve the darkest appetites that this city contained.

One of the noblemen muttered aloud, “That’s her! There she is!”

Following the gaze of the noblemen, Duran walked up to the glass panes. The local guardsmen found his way to the other side of the window, and had begun igniting a series of braziers that sat in each corner of the larger chamber. With each consecutive brazier, the view became more and more shocking.

His heart sunk. The Maiden of Orléans was the main event, locked into a pair of wooden stockades that drew her body taut and locked her wrists and ankles in place. Her unclothed body spoke wonders about her treatment at the hands of her captors. Having completed his assignment, the local guardsmen moved closer to the stockades. Under the guise of tending to her bindings, he ogled the trapped heroine with lustful eyes. Duran swore, seeing those eyes gouged and gleaming with red at the tip of his knife would be a great mercy. He felt naught but rage for the current situation, but ultimately remained calm. After all, this was his first meeting with the legendary French heroine.

He only wished it had come under better circumstances.