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Emmanuelle	By : TippyMidget Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Les Miserables Views: 2021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Les Miserable by Victor Hugo.

Chapter List
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The next day, Javert had night patrol again, so he was free for the entire afternoon. His shift didn't start until seven o'clock. Still, he put on his inspector's uniform to visit Emmanuelle. It was the most dignified set of clothes that he owned, and she still knew him as Inspector Javert. He surveyed himself in a mirror before he left. He'd bathed early this morning, scrubbing clean every inch of his body with soap and washing his hair, which was still slightly damp. The uniform he wore was freshly back from the laundress. Nerves tingled throughout his body. He was so out of his element, going to visit a young woman just to visit her.

He'd dreamed of her the night before. In his dream, he was sleeping in his bed when the sound of a creaking door awakened him. He woke from his sleep-within-sleep to see Emmanuelle, her long red hair hanging down freely, clad in a nightgown, strolling into his bedchamber. She had removed her nightgown and he'd dreamed of her naked form, dreamed of touching every inch of her and making love to her. He hadn't had sex in years – decades, actually, and he'd awakened covered in a sheen of sweat and having ejaculated in bed. It was then he decided he needed the bath. He couldn't go to see her with his own seed all over himself. He wanted to whip himself for dreaming such erotic things about her, but he'd enjoyed the dream so much that all it really did was make him anxious to see her in person.

And now he stood, squeaky clean, before the mirror, and decided that he looked as good as he was going to look. He had used some cologne – he hoped not too much. He walked out his front door and strolled the quarter mile down the road to number 12. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, the nearby church bells began to toll noon. He was precisely on time.

In his right hand he held his inspector's hat, and in his left hand he held a bundle of flowers that he'd bought at the market this morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd bought flowers. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever bought flowers before in his life. He was insanely nervous; he'd never come close to visiting a woman for social reasons, and as far as he knew, no woman had ever particularly wanted him to visit in the first place.

Marie answered the door, and she smiled broadly at Javert. “Inspector,” she said. “Madame Douvant told me to take you straight upstairs.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief. So the mother had approved of his visit.

When he walked into Emmanuelle's room, he was pleased as punch to see her sitting up, propped up by pillows. She had a book in her hands and had been reading. She cast the book aside and flashed a grin so dazzling at Javert that his breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful.

Her face looked pinker today, and her eyes shone brighter. Javert strode into the room and pulled the chair from the writing desk up beside Emmanuelle's bed. He sat down before saying anything to her, but he smiled at her.

“How are you?” he asked.

“You brought me flowers!” she gushed in reply. “Marie!” she called, and the maid reappeared at the door. “Please put these flowers in a vase for me and bring them back in here so I can see them!”

Javert laughed. “I had hoped they'd make you feel better.”

“I feel splendid, now,” Emmanuelle said, grinning her beautiful smile at him. “You smell wonderful,” she commented, in her blunt fashion.

He felt his cheeks flush. “Thank you,” he said simply. When Marie had come with a vase and then gone, he looked at Emmanuelle intently, his eyes burning with lust. “I dreamed of you,” he said very quietly, looking down.

“You're only saying that to make me feel less humiliated about yesterday,” she insisted, laughing jovially.

“No, I really did,” he said, and his voice was serious. She stopped laughing.

“Well, was it a nightmare or something?” she asked nervously. “You don't seem too happy about it.”

“It was wonderful,” Javert asserted, staring at his hands.

“Tell me about it.”

“No.” He shook his head firmly.

“Why not, if it was so wonderful?” She was being coy with him now.

“It's embarrassing,” he said gruffly.

“So it was that kind of dream,” Emmanuelle said knowingly, grinning.

Javert was silent. His cheeks grew hotter by the second.

She reached out for his hand and clasped it in her own. “Don't be embarrassed,” she said. “I doubt any man as handsome, or strong, or decent as you has ever had a dream about me.” She echoed his words from the day before.

He looked up at her and met her gaze, his eyes filled with longing. He was still silent.

“My fever broke this morning,” Emmanuelle said cheerfully. “I can be out of bed tomorrow.”

“That's wonderful news,” Javert said sincerely, relief in his voice.

“You really do smell marvelous,” she told him, inhaling deeply. “Will you come closer?”

He was still holding her hand. He scooted his chair forward so that his knees touched the side of her bed.

“That's better,” she said happily.

He smiled at her, just because she was so happy. More unfamiliar feelings welled up inside of him. He couldn't recall the last time, or any time, for that matter, that he'd been gleeful just from being in the company of another person.

“Do I make you happy?” she asked, as though she was reading his mind.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully.

“Why?”

“Because you're beautiful, and you like me, and you laugh, and you smile at me, and -” he grinned, “you tell me that I smell nice.”

“I said you smell marvelous,” she corrected, her voice fiendish, grinning her bewitching smile at him.

“Oh,” he said, nearly gasping. “See, that right there. Your smile. Your smile makes me happy.”

“I could smile at you all day long,” she told him. His cheeks began to hurt from grinning so much. It was such a foreign expression to his face.

“What were you reading?” he asked.

“Homer,” she replied. She handed him the book.

“You can read Greek?” he asked her incredulously, scanning the incomprehensible letters.

“And Latin and English,” she nodded. Someone had cared deeply for this girl's education.

“Alas, I know only French and Latin, and a tiny bit of English,” Javert admitted. He had hardly had an ideal upbringing, and his schooling had been sub-par. It was through mostly self-study that he had gained what knowledge he had.

“That's all right,” she told him. “I'll teach you Greek and you can teach me law.” She smiled again.

They sat and talked for over an hour about sundry things – how the rain had cleared up and it had become sunny but cool, about Javert's night patrols and the crimes he had uncovered, about Emmanuelle's boredom at being stuck in bed and how she yearned to walk through the Tuileries and wanted to see Le Nozze di Figaro at the opera. Javert confessed he knew little about opera, but she insisted he'd be mesmerized by Mozart's masterpiece.

“It's only playing for another week. I want so badly to go, but Mother doesn't want to see it. I'm going to go by myself. I want to see it,” she said determinedly.

“Perhaps I could take you,” Javert offered timidly. “Though I doubt your mother would want that, either.”

“Oh, would you? Would you take me?” she grinned widely again, her face lighting up. He laughed.

“I work the day shift the day after tomorrow. My night is free.”

“I'm going to ask Mother!”

“How will I know whether or not to buy tickets?” he asked.

“Come again tomorrow and I'll know!” she said.

“Aren't I wearing out my welcome?”

“No! Mother likes you. She wants me to -” Emmanuelle caught herself short and looked embarrassed. The words didn't need to be spoken. Madame Douvant wanted her daughter to marry the inspector. Well, good, he reasoned. Such thought would allow him to be near her.

“I'm too old for you,” Javert found himself saying. “I'm forty-eight.”

“Lots of young women wind up with older men,” Emmanuelle said meekly, staring intently at her hands.

They were quiet for a moment, a long moment in which Javert pondered the thought of a wife, a pretty, young wife at that. For decades, his work had been his spouse. Was he prepared to commit to another person? He looked at Emmanuelle. Her wide green eyes gazed back at him. For this person, he thought, he might give anything. The now-familiar rush of arousal flushed through him again, boiling up from his core. Just looking at her, he was reminded of his dream, of his erotic fantasy. He felt his member burgeoning inside his trousers and released Emmanuelle's hand immediately.

“What's wrong?” she asked. She looked terrified, as though her having almost mentioned marriage had now frightened him away.

“Nothing,” he insisted, feeling his erection grow stronger as sensual thoughts flooded his mind. He tried to shove them away, but when he looked at Emmanuelle, he could see the hardened perk of a nipple through the thin material of her nightgown, and it was too much. The heat in his cheeks felt like fire, and he could hear his breathing growing more rapid. He met Emmanuelle's eyes with a hunger so fierce he wasn't sure how to control it, and he saw the realization come over her face.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and he impulsively leaned forward and did just that. Their lips met once, just a peck, but she wanted more, and so did he, and he took her face in both his hands. Javert hadn't kissed a woman in probably twenty years, and he was dreadfully out of practice, but she didn't seem to mind. Their tongues intertwined quickly, desperately, and she let out a low moan into the kiss. The moan vibrated into his mouth, and he grunted ravenously. When they finally broke the kiss, her lips were red and swollen, and her cheeks were pink.

He gasped for air, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His manhood ached for attention that he couldn't give it, not here.

“I should go home,” he said suddenly, feeling that a line had been crossed. He rose from his chair and turned away to adjust his penis within his trousers.

“No!” she cried out. “Don't leave. Please.”

“Emmanuelle,” he said, yanking his hardened member up into the waistband of his pants to hide it, “I'm sorry I kissed you. It was impetuous of me.”

“I told you to do it!” she was crying now; he could hear the tears in her voice. He turned around and knelt beside her.

“Please don't be angry with me,” he begged. “I couldn't control myself.”

“Me either,” she said through tears. “I want you...”

That did not help make his erection go away, and it pushed firmly against his waistband.

“Emmanuelle, I will come back tomorrow. Right now I need to go home.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I am in the bedchamber of a young, unmarried woman, highly aroused, with no hope of that arousal going away any time soon in your presence.” His voice was all business, and she looked broken.

“Come back tomorrow?” she implored of him.

“Yes. Tomorrow at noon, if you'll have me,” he said.

“Why can't I visit you? I'm sick of being stuck in bed.”

“A twenty-year-old woman visiting a man at his house? Emmanuelle.” Javert looked at her skeptically.

“Please?”

“I live at number 73. It's nothing fancy.”

“I don't care. I'll be there.”

“Very well. I'll see you then.” He turned to go, hoping Marie wouldn't show up and see his predicament.

“Wait!”

He whirled around.

“A kiss goodbye?” she asked. Her wide eyes were pleading. Javert's sex organ stirred with renewed arousal. He leaned down and kissed her gently and carefully on the lips, and then turned around and left. He managed to make it out the front door without Marie noticing.

Javert still had four hours before the start of his shift. He hustled up Rue Sainte Marguerite toward his own house. Thoughts whirled through his mind – the sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her tongue swirling in tandem with his own, the reverberation of her moan into their kiss, the feeling of her face between his palms...

It was too much. When he got inside, he rushed upstairs to his bedchamber and hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers. He stroked himself furiously, replaying the kiss in his mind over and over, hearing her moan in his mind. He ejaculated into his chamber pot, and it came in long streams. His head rushed as he came back to his senses.

This woman was too much. He was in over his head.

That night, on patrol, for the first time in his career, Javert was distracted. He broke up three street fights and arrested a prostitute for pickpocketing a customer, but all he could think of was Emmanuelle. Why did she want to come to his house tomorrow? Was she a harlot, after all? She said she wanted him – how much did she want? He knew it was a sin to fornicate, but if she came onto him and they were all alone, he wasn't sure he could control himself. He pondered that it might just be worth any penance to have his satisfaction with her.

By the time his shift was over, he collapsed into bed, dreamed of Emmanuelle, and awoke at ten o'clock. He spruced up his flat, straightening and tidying. He normally kept his flat clean and tidy anyway, but he wanted it to be impeccable for Emmanuelle. His home was not large, but it was filled with nice furnishings.

At ten minutes to twelve, Javert heard the knocker on his door. She was early. He grinned to himself.

He was dressed in black trousers and a white dress shirt, and he'd worn cologne again to please her. He wore boots despite being in the house, and they clicked on the floor as he strode toward the door. He opened the door and saw Emmanuelle standing there, short and slim in a luxurious cornflower blue gown and a dark blue cape. She smiled up at him, and he gestured for her to come inside. She scurried in out of the cold and into the foyer of Javert's flat.

“Hello,” she said, sounding shy and scared.

He burned for her, and he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead to calm her nerves. All that did was speed her breath, and she untied her bonnet and let her red hair tumble down. Javert ran his fingers through the waves, pulling her face in toward his chest so she could feel the pounding of his heart. Her breath was hot through the fabric of his shirt, and her breathing was rapid and uneven. Javert caressed her hair as they embraced, savoring its smoothness beneath his rough fingers.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Aren't you going to show me around?” she asked impishly.

Javert half-smiled. “Of course. Dining room,” he said, motioning to the room behind her. Inside was a table that seated eight. Javert rarely used the table as he always took his meals at taverns and cafés. They strolled through the dining room into the even more rarely-used kitchen. The parlor was on the other side of the hall, outfitted with two chaise lounges facing one another and several wingback chairs. He had lit a fire in its fireplace to warm the space.

“What's upstairs?” she asked.

“Just the bedrooms,” Javert said nervously. “Would you like to see?”

“Well, you've seen my bedroom,” she reminded him. "Several times."

He took her hand and led her up the staircase. He showed her the spare bedroom first. It was never used, but it was waiting for a guest, with a nicely made-up bed, a washbasin, and a wardrobe. He then walked her into his own room. The fireplace in there had been lit as well, so it was warm inside, and glowing with firelight. His four-poster bed had the curtains opened. They were maroon brocade, matching the bedspread. The oriental rug on the floor coordinated with the color scheme. It was an elegant room.

“I like it,” she told him with a smile. He wondered if she was viewing it as her future bedroom. He gestured to two wingback chairs that faced the fireplace. She looked a bit crestfallen, but walked over to a chair, removed her cape and hung it and her bonnet on the rack in the corner, and sat down.

He sat beside her and looked at her longingly. “I'm glad you're up and about,” he said gently.

“I feel much better.”

“Good.” He paused. “Does your mother know you're here?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said again.

“How was work last night?” she asked him.

“The usual,” he replied. “Whores and brawlers in the slums. I was distracted.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn't stop thinking of you,” Javert said.

“It would seem as though being a distracted police officer would be dangerous,” Emmanuelle noted, grinning wryly. “Is there anything I can do to remove the distraction?”

“I should think anything you did would only make the distraction worse,” Javert replied.

Emmanuelle rose and walked over to where Javert sat. He spread his knees apart so she could stand right up against his chair. Her chest was even with his eye level, and he gaped. She pulled his head forward and laid it on the top of her bosom. He nuzzled into her chest then, groaning with want as her cleavage enveloped his face.

He pulled his face back as the arousal blossomed with fury inside of him again.

“You,” Javert said, “are a seductress.” He smiled at her.

She giggled, and her laughter tinkled like bells.

She smiled down at him and kissed his forehead.

“What do you want from me?” he asked her. He wondered if she could hear the ache, the need, in his voice.

“Everything,” she whispered, right into his ear.

He groaned again, and she leaned down to kiss his neck, nipping and sucking gently at his flesh. A guttural gasp escaped his mouth, and without warning, he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her in the air, flying out of the chair. He carried her, giggling, to the bed, and laid her gently down on the brocade bedspread.

His animal instincts were taking over. The part of his brain that cried foul over fornication was thoroughly silenced by the hormones coursing through his body. Javert began unbuttoning his white shirt, tossing it to the floor when he was through. Emmanuelle watched him with hunger in her eyes.

“I need your help,” she said seductively.

“With what?” Javert asked.

“Getting undressed.”

She stood in front of him and flung her hair over her shoulder. Javert began to unbutton her dress, and she slipped it over her head. He untied her cotton stays, which she shucked, and she removed her petticoat, chemise, and pantalettes. She stood before him, stark naked, and he struggled to breathe. She turned toward him and ran her hands over his bare chest, trailing her fingers down his torso until she reached the bulge in his trousers. She traced its shape, grasping his right hand in her left and guiding it to her chest.

Javert gasped. He hadn't felt a woman's chest in decades. He squeezed gently, running his thumb over the nub of her nipple. She tipped her head back and sighed at his touch. She continued stroking him through the fabric of his trousers, feeling his hardness twitch under her fingers.

That was enough for him. He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time. He unbuttoned his trousers and was soon free of them, and then they both were completely nude.

“Kiss me, please,” she asked him, and he stood back up and grabbed her face between his hands. They kissed passionately while Emmanuelle stroked Javert's erection in her hand. He groaned deeply into her mouth and tipped forward, pushing her back onto the bed. They situated themselves so that he was perched above her, supporting himself on his forearms, and she put her hand on his chest to make him pause before he leaned down to kiss her again.

“Can you get a towel?” she asked him.

“Why?”

“There might be a little blood. I'm a virgin.”

He sighed deeply, clenching his eyes and rubbing his forehead. What was he doing? Taking a girl's virginity just days after meeting her, twenty years after last having sex? He tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to stop what he was doing.

“Please,” she was saying, “I want to do it. I want you to take me.” She was whimpering now, with need. She wanted him, he told himself.

He rose and fetched a towel from the washbasin, scurrying back to the bed. Emmanuelle raised her hips so Javert could place the towel beneath her. She spread her legs open to him, and he guided himself into her wet entrance.

She cried out when he pushed in, and he felt her hymen break. He pulled back out, wiping blood off himself and away from her skin. The deed was done, he told himself. He might as well finish the job.

He thrust back in and she cried out again.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, worried. He'd never taken a girl's virginity before.

“Yes, but don't stop!” she insisted. That seemed strange to Javert, pleasure mixed with pain, but he continued.

He grunted with each thrust, feeling her warmth and wetness envelop him. He could feel his orgasm building inside of him, a slowly burning flame growing stronger with each push. His head was floating, but he could hear her moaning over and over, trembling beneath him. All of a sudden, her cries became louder and he felt her convulse under him, felt her spasms around his shaft. It pushed him over the edge, and he pulled out of her quickly. He used his hand to finish on the towel. It would do no good to get the girl pregnant three days after meeting her.

When he was done, he collapsed beside her. Emmanuelle curled up into his heaving chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” she asked, surprised.

“Taking your maidenhead.” Javert squeezed his eyes shut again and cursed himself for what he'd done.

“It's not exactly as though you did it by force,” she said, propping herself up to look at him. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” he moaned, cupping his hands over his face. “I'm angry with myself.”

She got off the bed silently, climbing over Javert's prone body, and pulled on her bloomers, underdress, and petticoat. She put on her stays and turned back toward the bed.

“Can you tie me up, please?” she asked, and he could hear her choking back tears.

Javert sat up without speaking and yanked the cords on her stays, tying them neatly. Emmanuelle pulled her dress on and he buttoned up the back for her, and then dressed himself without speaking a word.

Emmanuelle sat in one of the wingback chairs while Javert dressed, and he took the bloodied towel and tossed it into the laundry basket. He heard her quiet sobs and stepped in front of her. He knelt down before her and kissed her. She looked up at him, thoroughly confused.

“I wanted it, Emmanuelle,” Javert told her. “I wanted you. I've wanted you since I first saw you. But I shouldn't have taken you, ravished you like that. It's a sin.”

“I'll go home now.” Emmanuelle stood.

“No,” he grabbed her wrist.

“You just told me that making love to me was a mistake.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

"I've ruined you for anybody else," he said sadly.

"What?" She looked at him with angry eyes.

"Someone younger and better than me."

"There is no one else," Emmanuelle said slowly and deliberately.

"You should only do that with the man who marries you," Javert told her firmly.

She looked at him expectantly. "There is no one else," she said again.

He bit his lip and blinked at her. "Someday," he said.
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Emmanuelle