La Belle Dame sans Merci

Margaux had a nice pair of breasts under all that finery. Not that Makoto had been wondering that in the back of her mind, but it was knowledge that came to her as the Frenchwoman moved in closer. So close that she could taste the other woman’s breath mixing with her, feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the honeyed fragrance in the air. There was an aura about her, warm and welcoming, and Makoto couldn’t resist being pulled in by it.

While they spoke, she heard someone enter the room. Maybe a janitor, maybe another wrestler looking for a workout. For whatever reason, they left a moment later, and Makoto never spared them a glance. It was as if nothing outside of their personal space mattered. Her own safe zone.

She spoke in intimate words, leading her on and on, and Makoto’s breath seemed to grow shorter with each one. It almost seemed like something out of those weird fanfictions about her that she used to read and laugh at with Makoto some nights, ones that had her and Candy Cane or Ms. Spencer or Anesthesia messing about with each other in the lockerroom. But this was real. So sudden, but not unpleasant…

And then the ball dropped. ”Sparring partner?”

Some disappointment seeped into her voice, despite her best efforts to hide. It was silly of her, ridiculous to think that was going in such a tawdry direction, and she shook her head, silently chastising herself. Still, the real proposal wasn’t too bad, either. Margaux had said she was a boxer, right? Strikes had always been her weakest area, it couldn’t help to improve there. A second set of eyes could greatly improve her technique.

”I think I would like that, Margaux-chan.” She looked over her shoulder with a soft smile, though it faded fast into something more playful. ”You’re not exactly dressed for it, though. Did you bring a change of clothes with you, or would you rather meet another day for it, or…”

There it was. It had been a rather entertaining show, watching Makoto’s best attempts to keep her body in line. Watching her try and silence those tense muscles. Unfortunately, she was too weak. That fair spirit was rooted deeply within her, draining her from the core.

It was reassuring to know, at least, her efforts hadn’t been for naught. Not that she had any doubts. For all the rust she was still managing to shake off, Margaux could easily read upon the woman’s face just to what depths she had been deceived. How often? How much did it hurt? This woman was as predictable as they came.

Her face lit up upon hearing the Olympian’s words. “Merci!”

Margaux brought her hands away from the woman’s shoulders, no doubt to her dismay, and clapped her hands together. The excitement she was beaming fully genuine, make no mistake. She could hardly wait to begin with the judoka. To invite her into her web and siphon those dreams from her guts. She did her best to stymie her excitement for now, however.

“Oh, you are right. I believe I have taken enough time out of your...routine, in fact.” She tapped her chin tentatively a couple times as though she hadn’t thought about this already. “Pourquoi pas ça? I own a rather humble squalor here downtown. I’ve ordered in some mattresses some weeks ago, merely gathering dust at the moment. Perhaps, tomorrow, when you are fresh and prepared, you would be willing to...break them in?”

She stepped to the side, reaching into her pocket for one of her collector’s pens while keeping one hand on her shoulder. She knew the location like the back of her hand. She was even happy to provide instructions if Makoto asked.

“Let’s us say...five o’clock? Would you be okay with that?”

As they talked, Makoto made a mental note to get on the internet tonight and look up a few French phrases and the proper ways to pronounce them. Nothing complex - ‘thank you’, ‘how are you’, ‘you’re welcome’, and the like. Just a little something to impress her new friend with, show her how much this was all appreciated. It was so rare to find someone to connect with, even rarer for that someone to be a foreigner. She wanted Margaux to feel comfortable. To trust her. To want her company.

She gasped, a harsh hiss, as those heavenly hands left her muscles, separating her from the sweet relief. Sad, really, since she could’ve enjoyed her time in the massage for much longer. Maybe when they were done with their sparring, they could pick up where she left off. Explore other regions, if they hit it off well enough...

Gah. Stop thinking like that, Makoto.

”Tomorrow is perfect.” She accepted immediately, without any concern for whether or not tomorrow was perfect or not. It wouldn’t be a big deal, even if she did have something that needed doing. She would make the time work.

Makoto gladly took the instructions and gave them a quick look over, before staring back up to Margaux with a smile. It felt good to smile at people again. ”Five O’ Clock. I’ll see you there.”


Makoto was many things, but late was rarely one of them. The time for her session was 5:00 PM, and she showed up at 4:59 PM, making her way up the stairs to Margaux’s apartment with a gym bag in hand and her phone in the others. She’d come dressed to workout, wearing her tight blue gym shorts, though this time she’d gone with a matching sports bra, something to show off her chest. Aigle had always said she looked good in this one, so maybe…

Stop.

She managed to breath and get rid of some of the blush by the time she made it to Margaux’s door. She sat the bag down and took a quick check all over, making sure everything was just right. Her hair was up, nice and tight, ready for action. She’d taken a few tic-tacs and gargled Listerine, so her breath wasn’t a problem. The deoderant was holding up well. Everything was good. Perfect.

”Here goes.”

Makoto finally worked up the will to reach out and give the door a good knock.

Promptness. There were few things in the world that Olivier could truly respect in another human being. He often found people’s sense of humor reaching, their obnoxious laughter undue at times, and their opinions more often than not unwarranted. It was difficult to feel as though he we ever surrounded by anything but imbeciles. Being punctual, however, was something he could always respect. There was respect in the notion. A clear eagerness to accomplish a common goal. It was only true measure he possessed of any given individual.

It was for those reasons and more that he had himself posted beside the door. He glanced at his watch, looking on as the hand ticked on and on, striking the engraved ‘12’, and one second after, hearing a knock at the door.
She was late.

With a simple turn of the handle, the door fully opened, a tall and somewhat lanky man of middle-age taking its spot. The man had a somewhat stern look about him, and dressed far too formally for the occasion. Dress shoes, collared suit. He was feeling a tad dangerous this time, swapping the tie with the horizontal lines for the vertical lines.

“Bonjour, Madame Aihara.” He slightly nodded his head towards her. “Madame Lefeuvre is just finishing her preparations. She invites you to make yourself at home.”

Olivier would close the door behind Makoto before he turned and disappeared behind the kitchenette counter, going back to putting away the last kitchen utensils. There was no reason to prepare dinner tonight. It seemed as though the Madame would be eating more than her fill.

The apartment took a couple moments to settle. It was a tad more spacious than your average arrangement. The ceiling was slightly elevated and enough room to space the furniture a good couple feet apart from one another. Far enough up from the streets to escape the occasional traffic horn, but not far enough to detach oneself from the rabble below as one looked down upon them like rodents sifting through trash.

A few fine art pieces adorned the walls. Hannibal's Crossing of the Alps, The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the Sun, A Bar at the Folies-Bergère. Those were among her favorites. Less for the abstract value, more from the excitement she felt when she finally managed to “procure” back when she was still present in France. A very costly exchange, that business. It always brought a smile to her face when she glanced upon them, paying no attention to any detail in particular.

A few moments later, footsteps could be heard coming from the a couple rooms down. From around the corner emerged the pinkette, clad in her ring attire and a pair of boxing gloves at her side. There was a certain sashay to her hips as she walked into the room. Her gaze was turned forward, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Makoto until her head finally craned to the side, meeting the judoka with a wide smile before walking briskly over, rounding the couch to meet her face to face.

“Ah, Makoto! Bonsour!” She rest her gloves on the woman’s shoulders before leaning in, giving the woman a kiss on each cheek before drawing back. “My apologies, I misplaced my shoes. It was not my intention to keep you waiting.”

She took a couple steps back. Almost immediately, her eyes found themselves traveling downwards, drinking in whatever scraps of the view she could before she was forced to resume her formalities. It was...difficult, she was forced to admit. It seemed as though the Olympian was as eager for their arrangement as Margaux had been all this time. Wonderful.

“You were able to find your way without any trouble, I hope?”

Makoto wasn’t sure what she was expecting when the door opened - Margaux, of course, but she wasn’t sure what state she’d be in or what her place would look like on the inside or any of it. She’d described her place as a ‘humble squalor’, and while Makoto’s English was typically great, she wasn’t familiar with the second word. ‘Humble’ made her think it was small, though. Just a little place. Not worth much consideration.

That notion was erased the moment the door open, and she found herself staring at a man, whom she could only guess was Margaux’s butler.

Makoto took a step back, not sure what to make of whoever this was. He was curt and courteous, regarding her sternly before he went about his business. She was left to her own devices, to look around, and there was quite a lot to see.

Whatever Margaux did before joining the AFW, it was more lucrative than her current profession. Makoto made decent money as a wrestler - particularly considering she didn’t win all that much these days - but her apartment wasn’t even half this size, and lacked the style. She found herself looking about it awe, her eyes darting about the room, this way and that.

That was, until she centered on some painting on the wall. Normally, she wouldn’t have given them much thought, writing them off as just something people put in their apartments for decoration, a bit of culture from the supermarket. But no, these were a little more intricate and detailed than anything you would find on those shelves. Large, ornate, detailed. Her attention was mostly drawn to the one in the middle, of some wild, evil-looking beast with spread wings, its body a twisted parody of a humans. It was strangely grotesque and alluring all at once. Also, it looked oddly familiar…

Before she could contemplate any further, Margaux’s appearance startled her, knocking her out of that artistic moment. She turned about in time to see her approach, only seconds before a light kiss graced her cheek. Not quite what she’d been expecting from their second meeting, and it brought the blush back in an instant. She’d heard the French could be an enthusiastic people, but even so, that had taken her off guard.

”Oh, wow!” Makot fought it off and stood straight, taken a moment to look her host over, admittedly surprised by what she saw. She could tell the woman was in good shape when they first met, but she was surprised to see just how fit she was. She wasn’t too tall, only an inch or two taller than Makoto, but built like iron, solid all the way down. The body of a boxer.

She was impressed, but not intimidated. She’d taken down bigger, and this was just a sparring session, right? Right.

She snapped out of it when Margaux spoke, looking in her eyes. Her pink eyes. She’d thought they were contacts before, and assumed the Frenchwoman would take them off when it came time to spare. Apparently not. ”Oh, yeah, I found it easy enough. Maps app.” She waved her phone, then sat it down on the nearest table. ”It’s a lovely place, though. How did you come into it?” She chewed her lip, hoping that didn’t sound too insulting. ”I mean, it looks super-expensive. And you have a butler?”

Olivier scoffed from behind the counter, keeping his focus down as he continued to fumble with some utensils. His head remained titled down, his gaze focused on the silver, intentionally blocking out that undue comment of hers. Late and presumptuous. His employer simply never failed to attract the worst company.

Margaux merely offered a brief chuckle to the Olympian’s response. Oh, if only she knew the things this man was capable of. The twisted methods and The long laundry list of loose ends and lost lives which languished in that aged mind. A “butler” was an insult to what Olivier was. If only he were in his master’s shoes now. Some discipline was clearly in order.

Nevertheless, it was an interesting ruse she had given her. Why not make use of it? “Indeed. Olivier has been my personal steward for three years now. I don’t know where my life would be without him.”

“I was a peddler of fine arts back in Paris between my more...athletic career.” She turned her attention from Makoto to slowly pace the wall, looking upon her prizes from abroad with a gentle, wandering eye. “Between my hard-fought amateur winnings and my profits in the bargaining trade…” She looked at Makoto and shrugged one shoulder. “...one consequently ends with a rather sizable stipend.” She turned her head back to the painting, crossing her arms behind her and picking up on her heels for a moment. “But! Those days are behind me. The arena is my life now. Everything you see rests upon these shoulders, this rusted physique.” She sighed. “It has been a weight on us both. Ah, which reminds me.”

She turned to face her the man behind the counter. “Olivier.” She took a moment to make eye contact. “Take the day off.”

A second of silence passed between them, allowing the lanky man to fully take in her command. His lips pursed, attempting to conceal a twitch from the corner of his mouth. “As you wish. Adieu, Madame Lefeuvre.” He nodded to her. Then, he turned to Makoto, and instead bowed his head to her. “Madame Aihara.” With that, he took his leave and walked out the door.

He shut the door behind him, taking a couple seconds to himself before a small smile graced his thin lips. As though he were taking a leisurely stroll through a spring meadow, he’d traipse down the hallway and to the adjacent room. Raising the back of his hand to the door, he’d knock his knuckles against the wood, heard the doorknob turn after a couple seconds...and keep walking. Then he’d do the same to the next door. Then the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that.

None of them opened. Nobody answered from the other side. This pattern continued unendingly from one room to the next. All the same, he’d have a dutiful smile about his face as he continued down the hall, echoing his rhythm up and down the passage as if he weren’t expecting an answer at all.

Knock, knock, knock…

Knock, knock, knock…

Knock, knock knock…

Knock, knock, knock…

Knock, knock, knock…

Knock, knock, knock...

With her help gone for the night, Margaux's attention was fully turned to the judoka standing before her. There was a skip in this woman's step today. That was impossible to not notice. Her smile was brighter than she’d seen it last. She smelled exquisite. Her body open and proud, all for the entire world to see. Makoto seemed to have become even prettier than yesterday.

“I am so happy to have you here, Makoto. I have the mats prepared in a vacant room just over here. Or..would you like some time to prepare first? Prepare a drink? Look yourself over in the bathroom?” Her eyes trailed up and down the Olympian’s form briefly. “Although, I don’t believe there is much need for that.”

Makoto was hardly so vain as to think that Margaux was going out of her way for the sole purpose of impressing her, but if that were the case, then she was succeeding with flying colors.  Just to look at her, she could’ve told that this was a refined woman with high tastes. Her outfit, her style, her parasol, her entire aura had this refined decadance to it. But Makoto had just been expecting something upscale for her new friend’s abode. This was on an entirely different level.

It was a sort of decor that she hadn’t seen since her time at the lodges that she stayed in for the Winter Games. Minus all the making out and wild parties, of course.

She followed along as Margaux gave her a brief recounting of her history, filling in some intriguing blanks. It all made it sound like her life had been infinitely more interesting before she settled on this one, but she figured that was just the way things had shook out for her in the end.

Makoto was startled when she noticed how close Olivier had been while they talked - she hadn’t meant for the butler comment to make it his way. Not that it wasn’t true, but it felt wrong to speak about him like he wasn’t there when he was standing so close. Not that he seemed to mind. At all.

Regardless, he wasn’t around for long, and Makoto waved to him as he took off, leaving the two of them alone...or so she thought. As Margaux spoke, the Judo Babe could’ve sworn she heard a knocking nearby. Faint and fading. Distant. Maybe one of the neighbors?

She paid it little heed at first, and far less when she saw Margaux giving her an approving look over. ”Yeah, well, I wanted to look presentable.” She turned to the side and feigned a bit more interest in the paintings, diverting attention away from her rosy cheeks. ”Maybe you’re already rubbing off on me.”

She had to bite her lip to keep a giggle inside. Too cheesy.

”But, uh, I think I’m good.” She sat the bag aside, right under the paintings, a good place to pick it up later when she was changing. ”I’ll just do a few stretches and we can start. Oh!” She snapped her fingers. ”We never did set the rules.”

Makoto had such a beautiful body. It was something she could truly appreciate in the brief moment her guest turned away, denying her eye contact and forcing her turn her attention...elsewhere. If the judoka really did train as intensely as she said, it certainly showed. Of all the bodies Margaux had the pleasure of dispatching, she couldn’t quite recall one that was so lacking in imperfections.

She didn’t possess as impressive a knowledge of Judo as Makoto most likely did, but from what she understood, it was almost entirely grapples. Plenty of throws, holds, and choking, but not so much strikes. No punches to the face or kicks to the thigh, and in the Olympics, that was most definitely the rule rather than the exception. Perhaps that would explain the lack of terrible scratches and ugly scars marking her body. Nothing but supple flesh and the fine muscle beneath that the Frenchwoman remembered so fondly.

“Plenty of rubbing to be had this evening.” She grew a playful little smile.

She killed the urge to let out a sigh before her guest. Business before pleasure. Her eyes returned to Makoto’s when the woman turned back around. Speaking of business...

“Ah. You are right.” She brought a hand to her chin, rubbing her thumb and forefinger against her jawline. “Well, if our conversation yesterday was wholly honest, why not...no rules?” She brought her hand from her jaw, holding it between them as a sign of her proposal. “It seems that your area of weakness is dealing with opponents that do not play fair, correct? And, as a boxer, my expectations for the federation would be rather limited. Perhaps more exposure to these underhanded tactics would do us some good in the end.” She held her hand up, fingers outstretched as she grew an awkward smirk. “No weapons, of course. I assure you, the room is vacant, aside from a few spare cupboards. And the usual win conditions. Pins or submissions. No knockouts, however. A little intense for our first spar, is it not?” She brought her hands back behind her. “What are your thoughts? Would you be okay with this?”

She smiled back at Makoto as she awaited her answer. This was her favorite kind of trap. The one laid in plain sight.

If Margaux was going out of her way to make Makoto blush, then she should’ve been proud - she had the fine art down to a virtual science. She bit her lip, trying hard to hold back a lewd giggle, telling herself not tot take it too seriously.  This was only her second time meeting this woman. She spoken more words to that cashier at the department store down the street from her own apartment. This wasn’t more than two wrestlers meeting for a spar.

She just wanted it to be more. Big difference.

”Stop, stop…” She waved Margaux off with a frilly sweep of her hand, trying to keep the mood playful...but not too playful. Thankfully, Margaux had a good sense of when to get to business. The two of them could have more idle chat after they'd soaked the mats and worked some steam.

Makoto likely would’ve gone with anything that the Frenchwoman said, but as it happened, her ideas were perfectly reasonable. She raised an eyebrow at the mention of no rules, instinctively worried, but she quickly saw the sense in it. It was the same sort of logic in dealing with any move or tactic - she had to experience it firsthand, get a feel for it, learn ways to counter it. As long as things didn’t get too crazy, they would be fine. Besides, if things went in a lewder direction, she wouldn't exactly complain...

”I...yes.” She nodded after a moment of hesitancy, recycling the setup through her brain a few times. ”That sounds like a good setup, and we can help polish our games. You show me a punch or two and I’ll give you a few good throws to use. Helpful stuff, easy to do, things that could get you out of a pinch every now and then.” She nodded to the side, motioning for Margaux to lead the way.

Good. It seems Makoto at least shared her interest in experimentation. Suppose that quality should have been expected from such an open-minded individual, but all the same, Margaux couldn’t help but feel overjoyed by her agreement. This session showed so much promise.

“Magnifique.” She clasped her fingers together. “That would be most wonderful, Makoto. I’m glad you found my terms appealing. The mats are just over here, then.”

Margaux turned to her side and headed back around the corner she had entered from, leading Makoto towards the vacant room. The door was already open a crack. She’d been making some last minute preparations and was forced to leave in a hurry upon her guest’s timely arrival. With a gentle push, she let the door ease open before stepping into the room. A sudden silence washed over the two.

The room was just as the Frenchwoman described it. Vacant. And beige. Nothing more than a couple dressers, one tall and one chest height, and a cupboard lined against each other along the adjacent wall. A pair of mattresses laid out neatly on the left side of the room and a pedestal fan in the corner. Aside from that, nothing. Blank. Couldn’t have been more than twenty feet across. The boxes had been cleared and the place was little more than an undeveloped rec room. Any larger and the room would be just sizable enough for their voices to echo.

“I’ll be just a moment.” She said, looking at Makoto over her shoulder while pointing over to the dressers on the opposite side of the room. “A boxer is nothing without her gloves, after all. Feel free to begin your stretches on the mats while I am indisposed.”

As she walked over to the dressers, Margaux flicked on the fan. Things were going to get warm in here, of course, but a bit of white noise always helped too. All of this sudden silence could make any person go mad. Stopping in front of the tall dresser, Margaux pulled the doors open and found her gloves hanging in the center, dangling from an iron rod. Taking them and hooking them across her shoulders, she’d make her way over to the cupboard, setting them down and pulling open the drawer. She grabbed her hand wrap and began to tie the cloth around her hands, taking a couple minutes longer than she should have as she nearly lost herself in the methodical motions.

Part of her, however, was merely distracted. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder towards Makoto before putting the hand wrap back and pulling the cabinet a tad further out. Her right hand reached in, then something ground against the wood of the drawer, scraping along the hollow surface as it was dragged, then pulled. When her hand came out, a slight glint came off her curled fist, which she quickly buried into her boxing glove. An innocent smile wormed onto her face as she finally put the other glove on and went to...oh dear.

“Ah...Makoto?” She said, turning around and holding her gloves out horizontal, letting the unraveled straps at her wrist dangle carelessly to the ground. “I’ve...forgotten that I sent Olivier away. Would you my mind assisting me with my gloves?” Her eyebrows twitched upward for half a second, the sparks in her brain giving a little jolt. “Also...I had a question if you do not mind.”