Author/Artist: chromatic_coma @ animusia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): fem!France/fem!Canada, background fem!Prussia/fem!Spain
Warnings: (lesbian) sexual content, human names
Summary: for the exchange at maplesandroses, with the prompt Marianne seduces Madeleine, thinking she'd get a meek, shy girl, but finds out that Madeleine is actually a very passionate lover.
Marianne Bonnefoy, at age 26, had already earned herself a reputation amongst the community of art collectors in the City that preceded her wherever she went. She was the seductress, the succubus, the romantic with a wild, adventurous sex life. She was the woman who could make any man or woman soar, and lovers and artists alike craved her seal of approval.
But those who knew Marianne intimately knew that there were awful side effects to her way of life. Having grown up with distant parents, she often searched for love in other places, and now with lovers and artists throwing themselves at her left and right she found it hard to maintain any sort of real relationship.
“Belleza,” Antonia murmured calmly from her place laying down on Marianne’s bed. Marianne looked up at her, frowning a little at the sheet that covered the woman’s sensuous thighs, as Antonia continued, “you’re going to get hurt, if you continue to do this to yourself.”
From her spot on the bed tangled up with Antonia, Gisela kicked her friend in the calf.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about all afternoon that’s made you so quiet?” she scoffed. “Are you only just figuring this out now, Tonia?”
Antonia pouted, but her lips soon formed a pucker that Gisela was all too happy to peck affectionately. Marianne wished that she could be on that bed with them, her best friends, lovers, and the best models she’d ever worked with, but there was a canvas between her and them and she had to respect her own rules about that. No sexing up the models while they were modeling.
“Save the kissing for latter, mes filles,” Marianne ordered. “And please, Gil, pull the fabric back over Antonia’s ass. It’s terribly distracting.”
Antonia seemed flattered at the compliment, despite the fact that she’d heard it many times before. Gisela, on the other hand, furrowed her eyebrows and pulled the sheet over Antonia’s bared back quickly.
“Stop staring at my girlfriend’s ass,” she snapped. “Unless you’re gonna show me yours.”
As an afterthought she added, “That wasn’t an invitation for you to start stripping,” just as Marianne’s hands meant to move down to undo her pants button. Sighing, she picked up her pencil again and continued work on her drawing.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Marianne lamented dramatically. “It feels as though I have seen everything, been with everyone. I need something… new. And since I cannot find that, the best I can do for myself is to settle for what is familiar and comforting.”
“But you haven’t seen everything!” Antonia protested, sitting up. Marianne clicked her tongue, and with help from Gisela Antonia remembered that she was supposed to lie still. “A new art gallery opened up on Central avenue a few weeks ago, and I don’t think you’ve ever been there before.”
“What’s the point,” Marianne sighed. “For a while, surely, the art will entertain me, and perhaps someone in the room will prove to be a fun chase, but I always end up here again, don’t I?”
“Oh, quit whining,” Gisela scoffed, stretching out her tired leg. “The receptionist at that place is a total babe. Tonia and I modeled for her last week, and I swear she was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, not counting Tonia’s ass or Gilbert the chick,” Gisela amended. Marianne put her pencil down, her interest suddenly piqued. Gisela had an odd fascination with cute things, but it was rare that she used the term to describe people.
“Tell me more?”
“She was so adorable!” Antonia chimed in. “She’s in college, I think, but she still has her hair in pigtails, and when I stripped down for her she got really red. And then when I was asking her how she wanted me to pose she got even more red and she started to stammer. But even though she seemed really uncomfortable she showed me her drawings when she was done and they were really good!”
Marianne’s interest was thoroughly piqued, and she picked up her pencil again, adding a few lines to her drawing before looking up at the other two.
“You can move now. I think it is complete.”
“Fina-fucking-ly,” Gisela swore, standing up off of the bed and stretching her lithe, masculine frame. Marianne had always appreciated the beautiful juxtaposition of Gisela’s long legs and thin, boyish body with Antonia’s wide hips and feminine curves. The two of them did make a gorgeous couple, even though she did wish at times they would be more open to including her in their fun.
Without bothering to dress herself, Antonia skipped over to Marianne’s easel and looked at the drawing resting upon it. It was a messy gestural composition of Gisela and Antonia’s limbs tangled together, and the young Spanish woman smiled at the sight of it.
“Can I have this?” she asked casually, even knowing that Marianne was reluctant to part with artworks she’d created. True enough the blonde had been ready to protest, but when a sudden thought occurred to her she paused.
“How about this; you take me to the gallery this week, and if your tip about this girl proves to be true, then the drawing is yours.”
“Deal,” Antonia grinned, shaking Marianne’s hand. A moment later her panties were hanging from her head, and Gisela was looking at her with mild amusement she had trouble masking.
“Get dressed, liebe. Those of us who aren’t painfully lonely have got dinner plans.”
Marianne rolled her eyes, a sarcastic “Thank you,” rolling quickly off her lips. But then Gisela’s expression softened, and even Antonia paused with her panties halfway up her thighs.
“You’re not lonely, Mari,” Gisela muttered. “You never will be, unless it’s over my dead body.”
“And mine,” Antonia added softly, offering her friend a gentle smile. Marianne’s heart suddenly swelled, and she remembered why those two were her best friends above all else.
When Antonia had first described the receptionist to Marianne the one detail about the description that remained most fervent in her memory was that the girl had pigtails. It was quite uncommon to find a working college girl who chose to keep her hair in such a naïve, childish hairstyle; in fact, in her whole life Marianne had only met one woman who was willing to do so.
Alice Kirkland. Throughout college Marianne and Alice had run into one another on several occasions, and the two shared many nasty words and passionate nights. The memory of Alice, though it had its moments of brilliant ecstasy, always left a bad taste in Marianne’s mouth because of how bitter an ending their short lived hate-sex relationship had had. Marianne worried that this girl was going to end up the same, which she knew was irrational fear (because really, what were the chances two women would have the same character because they chose the same hairstyle?) but it did not stop the thought from occurring to her.
Which is why, after Antonia dropped Marianne off in front of the new art gallery on Central avenue, there was a small bubble of trepidation that had formed as she reached for the door handle.
A bubble which popped immediately after Marianne pushed the door open and saw the girl sitting at the desk.
She was, as Gisela had so eloquently put it, incredibly cute. Her skin was pale and looked smooth from the distance, and pair of thin-framed glasses adorned her thin nose, but barely stole attention from her round cheeks. As promised, her hair, which was a vibrant shade of strawberry blonde, was pulled into two pigtails low on her head that spilled over her shoulders and onto her chest.
Marianne smiled to herself, before sauntering over to the desk and grinning down at the receptionist.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she started confidently, an easy smirk on her lips. “Can you tell me a little about what is being exhibited here?”
“Of course!” the girl started, tucking a lock of her bangs shyly behind her ear and shutting the sketchbook she was doodling in, her pencil sticking out of the page. “The person exhibiting here is Leslie Strauss; she’s put together a gallery of instillations based on the theme of ‘space’.”
Marianne could not help but get the sense that this girl was reciting the words, as though her reply had been scripted by the artist. That observation suddenly soured Marianne’s impression of the artist, who apparently considered her receptionists too incompetent to speak for themselves. Leaning further over the counter, Marianne looked more closely at the art student; she still looked young, in her early 20s if Marianne had to guess, and her eyes were a surprising side of violet.
“You look quite young to be a receptionist,” she commented slyly. As expected, the girl took the bait.
“I’m just interning… actually, the artist is my sculpting professor,” she blushed. “My name is Madeleine Williams.”
“Marianne Bonnefoy,” came the curt response, and the elder shook the younger’s offered hand. Madeleine’s soft voice and gentle nature was refreshing after years of dealing with people in the art world who were all too ready to put their flirt faces on when Marianne arrived. And the fact that she didn’t seem to recognize Marianne’s name only made her all the more appealing.
“You’re an art student, then,” Marianne commented, placing her arms against the counter. “Would you mind allowing me to see some of your work?”
She gestured to the sketchbook, and Madeleine’s cheeks became a little pink.
“It’s not very good,” she protested weakly, but even so a moment later she was passing the book over. “I’m still practicing the basics.”
Marianne hummed, placing the book down on the counter and flipping to the first page. An array of nude gesture drawings greeted her. Marianne grinned, and flipped slowly through the pages of human figures, noticing a discrepancy very quickly on.
“There are very little women in this book,” she commented, lifting an eyebrow as she turned the page. Sure enough, she had been able to identify the figures of Antonia and Gisela amongst the pages of gesture drawings, and there were a few other curvaceous forms in the book, but compared to the number of wide torsos and male genitalia, it was not enough.
Madeleine flushed a little more, and nodded, “My drawing professor has very… specific tastes.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Marianne insisted. “You’ll never master the female form if you do not have extensive practice with it.” A sly smile tugged at her lips, then.
“If you would be open to the idea, I would love to have the opportunity to model for you.”
“I am an artist as well. I know how difficult it is when you have a weakness you want to work on, and struggle with that. I would love to help you out in any way that I can.”
“Oh. Okay… well, it’s so nice of you to offer…”
Madeleine shook her head, and Marianne took that to mean she accepted.
“Excellent. How about you come over to my place? I have a lovely studio, and invite you to borrow any materials you might need from me.”
Madeleine murmured a quiet, shy agreement, and quickly they worked out the details of their date.
As Marianne walked out of the gallery doors, ignoring Madeleine’s call of, “Aren’t you going to look at the art?” it was with a renewed sense of hope and excitement.
(“Who was that woman that came into the gallery to speak with you earlier?” Madeleine’s instructor and employer, Leslie Strauss, asked her after Marianne was long gone.
“She said her name was Marianne Bonnefoy.”
Leslie’s jaw fell open, and she made Madeleine promise to do whatever she could to bring that woman back into the gallery. Once Madeleine knew of Marianne’s reputation, her head was spinning.
But, unbeknownst to anyone else, it only made her all the more excited for their next meeting.)
When the door to Marianne’s small apartment was knocked upon at noon the following Saturday, she had been sitting in her bedroom, in front of her bureau.
“Just a minute,” she called out, spraying a dab of perfume into the crook of her neck, and under her arm. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, hair pulled up messily into a “just-sexed” style and neckline low to expose her cleavage. Some people might call Marianne a ‘slut’, but she preferred to think it was just a level of comfort with her body most girls weren’t able to achieve.
She made her way to the apartment door, and when she opened it she leaned into the doorframe. There Madeleine stood, with a sketchbook and several pens tucked under her arm. She wore a sweatshirt that, while large for her thin frame, did not manage to hide her figure, Marianne got the impression that it was an inheritance from an older brother that the girl claimed for herself, and the musk of cologne that stuck to it made that theory all the more credible. Beneath it was a pencil skirt that hovered above Madeleine’s knees, but instead of being treated to the sight of her bare legs, the girl had chosen to wear long white socks. Her hair was still in pigtails that spilled over her bosoms, though, and her glasses were still sliding down her nose.
“Um, hi,” she started shyly, pushing her glasses back up into place. “I hope I’m not too early…”
“Oh no, dear,” Marianne cooed. “I was just taking a little too long. Pardonne-moi for making you wait. Come, let me show you the studio.”
The studio was Marianne’s bedroom. Her bed was large, prominent in the center of the room, and dressed in a plush red comforter set. Facing it was the easel, and behind that were drawers and bins of various supplies. The vanity, closet, and all of Marianne’s personal things were on the other side of the bed.
“Set yourself up; take anything you need,” Marianne instructed. “If you are ready, I will strip now.”
“Of course,” Madeleine replied with a flush. “W-whenever you’re ready, I mean, you’re the one who’s gotta…”
She trailed off, and again Marianne found it endearing how shy the girl was. She understood the feeling of nervousness when it came to a model of the opposite sex, especially when it came to a new art student, but to find a girl who was so intimidated by the very body she possessed was a new experience for Marianne.
‘She has probably never seen herself,’ Marianne realized as she undid her skirt. ‘What a shame, that poor dear…’
After her skirt fell to the floor, Marianne looked up and saw Madeleine watching her undress. She gave her a sly smile, and Madeleine squeaked.
“You can watch, if you’d like,” she offered, before turning her attention to her clothing again. True enough, even though she wasn’t looking at her, Marianne felt Madeleine’s gaze stare intently at her.
Slowly she parted with her shirt, her bare breasts bouncing at the sudden freedom from their tight confinement. She slid her panties off even more slowly, allowing her fingers to stroke her bare thighs sensually.
When Marianne looked back up, now entirely naked, it was to the delightful sight of a cherry-red faced Madeleine.
“So,” she started as she climbed onto her bed and laid herself across it. “Is there anything you want to me to do for you in particular?”
“N-no,” Madeleine murmured, setting her book on the easel and putting her pens at her side. “Just be natural, I suppose…”
“Perfect,” Marianne purred. She turned the contours of her body all around as she tried to find the pose that was both natural and sexual, and when she was finally content she smiled at the other. “Is this good?”
Marianne laughed, but then Madeleine’s pencil pressed to her page and suddenly she was all seriousness. Marianne watched as the reddish hue in Madeleine’s cheeks started to fade into a softer pink, and for a few moment the only sound was that of the pencil dancing across the page.
“Care to tell me a little about yourself, Madeleine?”
The pencil paused, and when the focus was broken Madeline stuttered, realizing belatedly that her eyes had affixed themselves to Marianne’s breasts, her hands trying to replicate their curve on the paper.
“W-well, my name is Madeleine Williams. I’m twenty-one; I go to the Art Academy… I’m not really sure what it is I want to do, though. It’s my first year as an art student; I used to study biology, but after a few years it didn’t really hold my attention as well as it used to…”
“That happens,” Marianne agreed. “I fancy myself a Renaissance woman, because I am horrible at doing just one thing.”
“Oh? What else do you do besides art?”
Marianne hummed. “I am best known for being an art collector, though I have done a few critical writings about art for various publications, and a few pieces for various galleries of my friends’ art. I am also quite the baker, and I’ve taken on a few acting roles in the past.”
Madeleine ‘ah’ed, and took a pen from her box to start working in a few details. Marianne lay there patiently, and allowed a beat to pass between them before she added.
“I am also quite the reputable lover.”
Madeleine blushed again, and Marianne rejoiced internally. “Y-yes… I’ve heard about you. My teacher told me a little about you, and I got curious, so I asked around…”
“Was it any good?”
“It was… mixed,” Madeleine consented. “Everyone agreed that you were… s-skilled. But there were some people who had… less than flattering things to say.”
“Well, you cannot please everyone,” Marianne sighed. “Though, I’m curious; what do you make of what you’ve heard?”
Madeleine put her pen down, suddenly, and looked at Marianne intently.
“I think… if it’s alright… I would rather make my own judgments.”
As she sat up, Marianne was unable to keep the grin off her face. “I was hoping you would ask.”
It only took a moment for the two women to bridge the space between them and crash into one another, Marianne’s impatience shone through, and she was in a rush to strip Madeleine of her unflattering clothing, though the other surprised her by swatting her hand away, focusing intently on their heated kiss.
“Tell me, Madeleine,” Marianne cooed, her hand stroking circles into the other’s hip from under her sweatshirt. “Have you ever been intimate before?”
“Never…” the other breathed, and Marianne hummed.
“I’d expected as much. Do not worry, you are in capable hands.”
“I’m not worried,” Madeleine insisted softly. There was a smile on her face when she pulled out of Marianne’s arms, and before she could complain Madeleine was pulling her sweatshirt up over her hair, revealing a white tank top. This followed the sweatshirt onto the floor, and Marianne was pleasantly surprised by the lacey red bra Madeleine was wearing.
“Oh, ma minette, I doubt that this is the type of brassiere you wear every day. Did you put this on especially for me?”
Madeleine nodded, smiling sheepishly. It was entirely unexpected, but Marianne could not say it was unwanted so long as she was being honest about it.
“I must say, I was not expecting you to have such a devious side.”
Madeleine’s smile spread, as did her blush. “No one… really knows. I mean. I sort of just…”
“You’re a closeted sexual being,” Marianne purred. “I find it quite alluring. Tell me, Madeleine, what is something you’ve always wanted to try?”
She punctuated her heavy whisper by flicking her tongue out against Madeleine’s earlobe. The other shuddered, and shyly moved her hands to rest atop Marianne’s hips. Without a word, Madeleine kissed Marianne again, her lips moving slowly against the other’s in a way that Marianne knew was explorative. She rubbed back and the girl purred.
Then, suddenly, Marianne found she was being pushed back down onto the bed, crushed into the sheets by Madeleine’s body. The kiss was broken and Madeleine laughed breathlessly, pulling herself up straighter to unhook her bra, peel it off her body and throw it to the floor.
“It’s getting hot,” she whispered, her gaze averted. Her arm was clutching her torso tightly, but it tucked was underneath her breasts and gave Marianne the perfect view of them. They were weighed down, heavier and larger than Marianne was expecting, and her areolas were also quite large, and a dusty shade of brown.
Marianne nodded, her nimble fingers latching onto Madeleine’s nipples. “That does happen in the throes of passion, yes. The sooner you remove your skirt the better you will feel.”
Again Madeleine gave a breathless laugh, apparently delighted at the advice. But, to Marianne’s immediate displeasure, she didn’t seem to make a move to shimmy out of her skirt; this displeasure was quickly dealt with when Madeleine’s mouth found Marianne’s neck and started to nip.
“A-ah…! For someone who has never done this before, you are quite… knowledgeable.”
Madeleine’s hands tightened at Marianne’s hips.
“I-I… I’ve seen a lot of porn,” she confessed.
But Madeleine did not answer, and she resumed pressing shy, gentle kisses to the column that was Marianne’s neck. Soon Marianne had managed to direct Madeleine’s mouth over hers, and the two were making out once again, hands slipping and feeling and groping and caressing each other’s bodies.
And it was not too long after this that, becoming impatient, Marianne tugged on Madeleine’s skirt. The younger made a soft noise of surprise, but helped Marianne to slide her skirt past her waist, her stockings following to the floor quickly after.
Now almost content, Marianne tugged at the waistband of Madeleine’s panties (which she was delighted to note had matched the girl’s gorgeous lace bra). It was the only thing preventing her from ravishing the beautiful female above her, and while she would have already had any other lover stripped, she was enjoying discovering the secrets Madeleine was hiding under her deceptively innocent personality.
Madeleine reached down and slid her own panties off, tossing them to the floor and averting her gaze shyly away from Marianne’s.
Marianne flipped them over so that she was on the top, and played Madeleine’s soft feminine body as expertly as a concert pianist would a baby grand. Madeleine’s heavy breathing and soft moans filled the room, but even when Marianne’s fingers had her on a string, she seemed not to forget that her partner needed to be pleasured too. As Marianne stroked and teased Madeleine’s most vital regions, Madeleine’s fingers stroked and teased her elder’s full breasts. Even as her body started to convulse, the power of the pleasure taking over her nerves, Madeleine struggled to keep her hands on Marianne’s body.
And when she finally orgasmed with a low, pretty moan (“A-ah, Marianne!”), her hands fell limp at her sides on the bed, spread out like angel wings. Marianne looked down at the girl with a strange sort of awe; her hair had started to come out of its pigtails, and her bangs were plastered to her face with sweat. Her face was red, and the flush spread down her chest as well, Her legs were opened, though not spread, and Marianne imagined they could only be numb now; there was a small amount of white vaginal secretion stuck in Madeleine’s short, rough pubic hairs.
It was in this moment, with the deflowered yet still budding artist nestled beneath her body, panting off her afterglow, when Marianne realized what it was she’d been missing in her life.
A reason to come back to the same lover.
As the realization dawned on her, and Marianne’s thoughts went in all different directions trying to understand why it was this girl that brought her this epiphany, this feeling, Madeleine opened her eyes and smiled softly up at her.
“Can I touch you now?” she asked softly, her hand reaching up to touch Marianne’s cheek. “I want to repay the favor you did for me.”
She looked a little sheepish, perhaps at having been so receptive of the pleasure without having given any of her own. Only half there, Marianne shook her head, even as she moved to lay herself on the bed again.
“It wasn’t a favor, Madeleine. Sex with you… it will never be just a favor.”
And though Madeleine looked confused (and how could she understand, when Marianne herself did not?) she straddled the woman anyways and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, hands moving up and down Marianne’s body with a curious slowness. But though she was shy, she was not afraid to put her hands in places, to explore, to figure out the spots that made Marianne whine and beg and writhe.
It was, perhaps, the fastest Marianne had orgasmed since she was in high school. And, when Madeleine pulled Marianne to her body as she shivered with her orgasm, Marianne wrapped her arms back and actually spooned this girl, this soft, but passionate girl who was shy and devious and wonderful.
For the first time in years, (not counting the few times with Gisela and Antonia), Marianne allowed herself to fall asleep in the arms of a lover.
And, when she awoke two hours later to find Madeleine half dressed, Marianne sat up and pulled her down for a kiss that was, for once, not a promise of more sex.
Marianne had fallen in love. And, if the way Madeleine was smiling softly and hugging her gently as they kissed was anything to go by, it was a reciprocated love.
After they made plans to enjoy dinner together the next evening, and Marianne saw Madeleine out the door, she remembered that she now owed Antonia a drawing. And, with a smile tugging at her lips, she realized quickly after that she didn’t even care.
A/N: Oh man, I struggle so much with sex scenes. Like, I get to shy to actually write out very explicit things so I worry the euphemisms come out sounding vague and silly. I do hope this came out more as tasteful, or something ^^;
To the requester, I hope this is what you were looking for. And to all readers, I hope you enjoyed it!