Paul & His French Maid
Copyright JustinSilk 2002. All Rights Reserved
Legal Notice:
The following story contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts. The story is a work of fiction and has no basis in reality.
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Thank you for being here. Please enjoy. AND KEEP YOURSELF NICE.
Chapter Eight : The Shooting Party
`He must be out. It went through to the answering service.'
My brother Andrew has never been predictable. He was either reading or watching TV or surfing the web. One way or another, I'd say he would have found something to amuse himself with. And that it was blonde with long legs and perfect breasts.
`My brother seems to be otherwise engaged. Thank you.'
I smiled to the beautiful `hostess' who smiled back and inclined her head as she proferred the silver tray for me to replace the mobile phone. Personal mobiles weren't allowed. Sensibly, because this enormous house was given over almost completely to photography and other visual media. It was full of electronic gizmos to which cellphones can be a menace.
The mansion was spectacular. All pilaster and entablature and sweeping lawn.
I think they call it Greek Revival in America. Very elegant. Greek Revival used to conjure up pictures of men in togas passionately haranguing large gatherings under canvas in Middle America. I was much younger then.
Nicole and I had been here about an hour. We'd checked in, if that's what you do at a mansion, we'd checked out our suite, I'd called Andy on the beautiful girl's mobile and we'd been for a walk to stretch our legs in the park.
And as we'd re-entered the echoing entrance hall, the tip tip tip of Nicole's heels brought back the memory of the first time we had met, at Aerobleu.
`Such a sexy sound,' I said, pulling her closer to me.
`What is? You mean the clock striking three is sexy?'
`Of course not. The sound of your heels on the marble. It reminds me of the first time I saw you.'
I took her hand and she stopped and, reaching up, kissed me. It was only a little bus on the cheek. To start with. But it developed and lasted long enough to require serious maintenance.
There were no elevators, of course, most of the accommodation being in a special wing behind the main building.
Warmed by the kiss, we made our way across the foyer between the sweeping twin staircases and turned, somewhat startled by a sudden shrill laugh of an unseen figure that bounced off the walls. It was all very theatrical. It could have been one of the statues.
As we walked towards our suite, we were passed by two bellhops, one of whom looked familiar. I turned and looked at him, wondering where I'd seen him before.
Nicole tugged on my arm.
`You like?'
`No. I just thought that I recognised him.'
`You know a lot of boys like that?'
`Like what?'
Like andsome. Sexy. Seductive. Good in bed.'
I stopped dead in my tracks and waited as Nicole stopped and turned back to me.
`How do you know he's good in bed?'
Paul,' she said quietly and seriously. You have done this before. It is called paranoia, n'est-ce pas? I don't like it. I can see he is handsome. I can see he is sexy. I can see he is seductive. But how could I know if he is good in the bed? With you, I think he would be good. Because ... well, because. But don't think that every boy I look at is a lover. I have one lover. Tu. Please, Paul, try to control your jealousy. It will make me not love you so much. It is very, very dangerous.'
I didn't know how to handle this situation, so I just put an arm around Nicole's shoulder, hugged her, and whispered, `Sorry'.
Nicole was right, of course. Jealousy does kill relationships. It's a disease. It puts you at dis -- ease.
Nevertheless, I was sure that I'd seen that boy somewhere else.
When we got back to the suite there was a message for Nicole. She read it quickly and smiling, said, `I have to tell you something, monsieur. Come and sit down.'
`Something in the note?'
`Yes. And no. The note is to tell me that there is a wardrobe call in one h-our. Which is OK. But it also says. No, read it yourself.'
Nicole handed the note to me. I read:
"Nicole: welcome. Would you please come over to Suite 134 (Level Two) for a wardrobe fitting. The star has arrived and is looking forward to meeting you. H"
`OK. I understand about the fitting, but "star"? I thought this was a fashion shoot? Something is bothering you, sweet lady?"
Our knees touching, some tension passed between us.
Sitting up very primly on the edge of the couch, Nicole tugged at the hem of her very short dress and turned slightly to look at me. Very seriously.
`Paul, do you believe that I love you?'
`Yes. Of course. Why do you ask?'
`Because it's very important you understand that I love you very much indeed. I love you for what you are. Not because you are a stud. Not because you are such a wonderful lover. Not because you are rich. They are important, of course, but for the first time in my life I know that I love a man. And that I like him. Before ... I could be "in love with". That is not the same. You cannot be "in like with" Paul I love you. And I like you.
`You remember our very first conversation when you made some assumptions about me? Well, you suggested I might be a model. And I said "sometimes" or something like that. And it's true.
`It's also true that I teach French painting and have a degree from the Sorbonne.
`But what is distressing me now -- and the reason I showed you the note -- is what I didn't tell you.
`I am here this weekend to help make a movie. Very elegant. Very sophisticated. But very sexual and explicit. It is about a girl like me who falls in love with a boy. But he is a prince. So how can he marry a girl ... like me?'
`Like you and Gaston?'
Nicole put a lacquered finger nail to my lips.
Paul, let me finish. No, not like me and Gaston. But please wait. Perhaps when I have finish, you won't want me any more. But I ave to tell you a few things, mon chou, and you `ave to think very carefully about what I tell you.
`When I telephone about the job to be your maid, I did not read about it from the paper. I don't read the "Want" columns in the paper. I heard about it from the man who sent this note.
From Arvey. He is not in Chicago. He is here. This is his ouse. is mansion. I don't like Harvey so very much, but he has been kind to me sometimes. That doesn't matter just now, but ....'
`So you brought me here under false pretenses?'
`No, Paul, au contraire. I brought you here so that you could know absolutely what I was doing.
`When Andy arrived, I thought it might be nice for you and your brother to have time together without me. Tous les deux. Touts seuls. The two of you alone. But when you said no, I knew that you should be here. Especially because of what I am here to do.
Perhaps, in the past, it would not have mattered. But in the last few weeks I have come to know that we love each other. I know that to deceive you would be to destroy us'.'
I opened my mouth again.
`Wait, please, I have almost finished. If you say to me that you do not want me to do this, then we will leave. This afternoon. Immediately.
`So, why did Harvey say he was going to Chicago?'
`He told Andy that he was going to Chicago, because he did not want to lie to you. Not directly, anyway. That is another reason why I wanted you to be here with me. I could imagine that if you had stayed at home with Andy, one day the fact that H-arvey and I were both here would come out. These things do.'
`Why didn't you tell me before?'
`After the night at the clib, I was frightened you would become angry again.'
`I wasn't angry that night.'
`You mean that you did not express your anger. Paul, you were suppressing it. But it was there. And you know it. So, I was trying to think of ways to tell you. Last night. This morning. On the drive here. But every time I could think of no way of not making you angry.'
I screwed the note up and threw it into the trash can (or rubbish bin if you prefer).
`So you have known Harvey for a while?'
`Yes. I met him for the first time at Xtase. My brother, as you know, is an interior decorator (in more ways than one -- I'm sorry, that is vulgar) and he told me that he was working on the designs for Xtase. Xtase is Andre's name.
Of course, Andre knew about me, so he tell me that I would maybe like the club. Also, Arvey came to our apartement sometimes to discuss the designs with my brother. He tell my brother that he thought I was very sexy. But I did not like him. He was too arrogant. Too, what is that lovely English word, cocky.
H-arvey was already lover to Sharee. But he ask me if I would have dinner with him one night. I told him no'. Thank you very much, but it is not possible. Andre was brilliant. He told to H-arvey that I was a new `veuve'. A widow.'
Nicole laughed that wonderful laugh only she can do.
H-arvey h'ask me to forgive him. He was so sorry h'about my usband.
But because he could see that I was -- what did he call me? -- ah yes, a classy dresser, he asked Andre if I would advise on the uniforms for the club. I think more so he could it on me. But I do not mess with men I do not want. "No" means "no". So to the job I said, yes, why not. The money was phenomenal.
`That is 'ow I went to the club. Those uniforms worn by the naughty boys are my designs. That is why I was so pleased that my lover -- my beautiful Paul - found the uniforms so sexy.'
`I found them interesting, shocking, embarrassing, but I wouldn't say...' Nicole cut me off.
`You found them sexy, Paul. I know these things.'
`So Harvey put you up to applying for the maid's job?'
`Harvey likes you. He is a good thinker, too. He could see that you are lonely. He also knew that I liked your apartement, because I had been to his apartement with him and Sharee to discuss the uniforms. Your apartement was vacant at the time -- it was about two months before we met -- and I could see through the terrace windows how beautiful it was.
He told me that you are a very nice man. Amusing. andsome. Maybe rich. And lonely. Getting over a broken heart.
`So, I thought, OK, I will do it. I guess Harvey thought that we would like each other. Or, who knows, perhaps he liked the idea that I would be so close to him.
In any case, Andre had told me that it would be difficult for me to continue living with him too much longer because he wanted Tarzan to come and share our apartement. Tarzan' was my name for Jack, the prettyboy `unk who moved in with Andre. He was nice. Clean. Beautiful body. But dim. He did not last very long. Andre soon got bored.'
`So Harvey is controlling my life?' I asked, astonished at what I had just heard.
`Paranoia, Paul. Harvey likes you. You are amusing to him. You are chic because you are English. But he did not know that you would choose me. How could he know that? In fact, until he saw us with my little S-cargo he did not know that you had met me. He told me about your avertissement in the newspaper and after that ... pffft. But he knows now that you are mine. That, if he has some idea to seduce me -- perhaps when you were at the office -- he is wasting his time.
`How does he know? Because, darling, I told him. Last week. I told him that I love you. I thanked him for bringing us together. He laughed and said something in American that I did not understand.
`Then he asked me to come here for the filming this weekend. He does not know that you are here. I told him that your brother was coming to visit and that I thought it would be good for you and Andy to stay together. So H-arvey said that if he was not at home and I was not at home, you would think, perhaps, we were together. And, knowing you, I think he was right. So, he said that he was going to Chicago.
'I have just to advise on the costumes. Apparently, the film is set in England in the eighteenth century. Just my period.
`And, Paul, the extraordinary thing is that I do not think that H-arvey knows about my secret. I was at the clib, club, because I help design the uniforms for the boys. I did not say, "Oh, the girls at your club have the cock just like me." Of course not. I do not think that Andre would have said anything either. We are too close for that.'
I was stunned by all of these revelations. How could I not have had some idea? But there was nothing to link any of them. It was very difficult to have a clear picture of how what I now knew would affect our relationship.
`Paul, I have been very stupid. Very stupid indeed. But I do love you and I don't want anybody else. I want you to kiss me, if you can, and tell me that I have one more chance.'
Nicole turned my face to hers.
`Kiss me.'
I looked deep into her eyes, hesitating, but feeling that old devil in my groin stirring. Who ... could ... resist ... that ... luscious ... mouth ... when ... it ... was ... this ... close? Nobody, I suspected. I turned to Nicole and pulled her face into the reassuring kiss I needed so much. Then I stood and pulled Nicole to her feet.
My lips brushing over her face I reached down with my hands and started lifting the hem of her dress. Very slowly. Very sensuously.
I raised it over the silk of her stockings.
I uncovered her thighs, felt her hot and sexy panties.
She resisted.
But I did not give her a chance to win this contest. I pushed her back on to the couch and, licking my lips, once more pushed them hard against her mouth.
When we broke from the kiss, a tear was running down her cheek. She threw her arms around my neck and, kicking off her shoes, lay full-length on the couch. She let out a big sigh and, her glistening eyes looking deep inside me, whispered `Darling angel, make love to me.'
No,' I replied, sternly. Get over there in front of the mirror.'
`Oh, Paul, you don't want to make love to me? Just fuck me? Like the first time? In all my clothes? In front of the mirror? Like a strumpet?'
`Get over in front of the mirror,' I commanded, seeing that she liked this very much.
She stood.
Head lowered in obeissance to me she moved to the dressing table, without removing a single item of her clothing.
Than I made her come back and slip on her shoes.
The heels were so high they stretched her tendons and muscles to the most exciting perfection under the silk of her sheer stockings.
To put them on, I made her bend down so that her bottom brushed against my bulging crotch.
Obediently, she did so.
She looked up at me and grinned, but grinning wasn't part of this game. I was feeling usurped. Perhaps by Harvey. I looked down sternly to indicate my displeasure.
I made her stand up and mince over to the dressing table with its big mirror.
She stood, back to me, looking into the mirror.
I ordered her to raise the hem of her dress.
`Higher.'
She teased it up over the tops of her stockings.
"Higher.'
Then high enough to reveal just a little of her olive skin.
`Higher.'
Then high enough to hint at the little silk thong sweeping down between her buns.
`Higher.'
Then high enough to expose half the beautiful orbs of her perfect tusch (even at such an intimate moment can somebody please tell me how to spell that?).
About a foot either side of her I placed the two low footstools that had been in front of the couch.
`Step up,' I said.
She mounted the left stool.
`Spread,' I commanded.
She was just able to part her legs wide enough to stand with one foot on each stool.
I could see it must been quite painful.
Taking my time, I started to strip.
I was getting turned on by this scene in which I was playing the lead.
My nipples had grown stiff and tented the white silk jersey football shirt Nicole had bought me for this trip.
I stroked my nipples.
I unzipped my very tight jeans and pushed them down. I stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Wearing nothing more than the white sport socks Nicole finds so sexy and a little white thong barely covering my cock, I moved towards Nicole, and smearing precum over my cockhead, grinned lasciviously at my lovely girli.
We kept eye contact in the mirror as I came up behind her and parted her gorgeous buns.
As she dropped her eyes to the reflection of my cock in the mirror, she stroked her own cock through the tiny white silk thong. I pulled aside its string.
I heard Nicole draw a deep breath as I made my entry. I reached around her and lifted the front of her dress a little further. I let my fingers wander over the silky softness of the minute garment that clung to and, more or less, covered her cock.
Through the ultrafine fabric, I could feel every pulsing vein and, as my prick slowly and sensuously began its first long, deep lovestroke, I squeezed with my thumb and first finger on the wide rim of her plum-sleek, purple cockhead.
Nicole gasped.
I slid the silk aside and thumb-slicked the satin-smooth skin with the string of slippery precum that seaped from it.
In the mirror I watched Nicole's reaction. It was an ego trip, to be sure, but I loved being able to see so directly the effect of my pleasurings on her. I saw how with every breath, she moved a little closer to satisfaction. Her beautiful lips shaped themselves into a perfect circle as she drew another breath. The prettily mouthed "O" mirrored the sound that next came out of it.
Down below, another part of her anatomy made another tight "O". As it gripped my shaft, I, too, let out a gentle and grateful sigh.
Over the past few weeks we had learned how to pleasure each other to the greatest effect and with the maximum subtlety.
Nicole was the greatest seductress. A brilliant stripper. An enchanting lingerie model.
She could turn me on faster than anybody I had ever known.
She called my cock the Porsche Prick. She joked that she could get it from 0 to 8-inches in 6.2-seconds. And she could.
She could also, as she was doing right now, intensify a single second of pleasure.
She could make it clearer, more vivid, more startling than any I had ever known before. But without triggering the salvo of spunk I would have expected.
I could do the same to her, bringing her to a high and then hold off her own sexy storm.
We were wonderfully well-matched, instinctively able to fall rapidly into those beautifully-smooth movements that bring the ultimate pleasure.
Right now, I withdrew for a second and, picking her up, allowed her to slide happily down my stem. For some reason I thought we were like tangoistes finely atuned to the same sexual melody, our movements stimulating and exciting first one then the other to the next level of ecstasy.
Because Nicole was so much tinier than me, I could lift her easily and smoothly on and off my cock.
Now we were face to face, Nicole put her mouth to mine and we started a long, passionate kiss that added further to the pleasure that was drawing sighs and moans from us both.
I slowed my movements almost to nothing at all, the rim of my cockhead just, but only just, rubbing her prostate.
Little gasps of appreciation came from Nicole as we broke the kiss.
`I'm so close to coming, Paul. Oh my darling I love you so much. Fuck me hard now.'
I began the last movement of this sexy duet.
Starting slowly, I lengthened each stroke as we began rocking together.
Soon we were howling and screaming and sighing and scratching and sweating and slipping and sliding.
And then we were coming.
And coming.
And coming.
Nicole was shooting great plumes of spunk in hot, sticky strings from her flayling staff.
And taking a sea of semen from my own deeply-implanted weapon.
Slowly, we came down from the buzz of such passionate sex.
The house phone rang and, instinctively, I looked at my watch.
`Allo. Oh, mon dieu. I'm sorry, we fell asleep. Give me ten minutes.'
But that's country living for you.