Spring morning, 1902. Faubourg Saint-Germain townhouse. Empty. Husband off electioneering. Cook and maids at market. Chambermaid visiting sick mum. Bored. I inspect silverware in the scullery. Tarnished forks. Slip into Louison’s blouse and cap. Mirror upstairs: red hair, full tits straining chemise. Renoir painted them proud. Giggle. Dressed as saucy maid. Dash down. Polish spoons. Doorbell rings. Hesitate. Play the part. Adjust cap. Open door.
Big brute. Leather apron over rolled sleeves. Bushy mustache, black eyes. Cart loaded with wine crates. ‘Potin’s delivery. New girl?’ Tutoies me. Heart races. ‘Cook’s out. I’m filling in. Margot.’ He grins. ‘Bise for Louison then.’ Grabs me. Kisses cheek, cheek, lips. Mustache tickles. Cheeks burn. Rustic custom, I think. Impressed. Towering, muscled. Follow to cellar. Fumble key. He presses behind, hand over mine. Body heat. Sweat and beast smell. Door opens. Bump into him in dark. Laughs. Light on. Dusty racks, barrel, old stools.
The Awakening
Help stack bottles. His stories. Handsome horrors chasing him. Praises my curves. Laughs disarm. Thirsty. Fetch glasses. He hauls crates. Tip-toes for high shelf. Lifts me by waist. Hands linger hips. Smell stronger. Climb stool. It wobbles. Grabs blouse. Buttons pop. Gapes at cleavage. ‘Fuck, prime tits.’ Fingers yanks. Blush fury. He laughs. Pommard wine. ‘Broke one, blame you.’ Tease. Kiss reward. Full tongue. Bulge grinds belly. Legs weak.
Wine gulp. Spill down chin, neck. Wipes slow. No grope. His turn. ‘Read your dirty thoughts.’ Grabs waist. Squeezes tit. ‘Stop!’ Fight. Cap falls. Slaps ass. Wrestle. Spins me. Onto barrel. Skirt up. Lace drawers peek. ‘Duchess knickers. Boss fucks you?’ Laugh. Agree half. Drops pants. Huge cock. Thick, veined, purple head. Stunned. Gaston hid his. Grips my hand. Forces stroke. Hot, hard silk. Eyes away.
Pulls knees wide. Rips drawers. Kisses rough. Tongue invades. Ass grabs. Thrusts in sudden. ‘AAAH!’ Fills deep. No bed, no dark. Barrel perches me. Shocked. Pounds. ‘Hot slut.’ Gaston bores. ‘Shut up!’ He laughs. Leans back. Legs over elbows. Pulls out, slams. Waves crash. Moan real. Frees tits. Callused palm kneads. Pinch nipples. Spasm hits. Buck wild. Nearly fall.
The Raw Act
Recovers. Sits stool. Pushes knees. Cock out. ‘Turlute.’ Kneel. Nudges lips. Recoil. Kiss shaft. Salty. ‘Bend over table.’ Back turned. Thighs safe closed. Ass slaps futile. Spreads cheeks. ‘No!’ Pushes anus. Burns. Begs. Legs splay. Switches pussy. ‘Levrette.’ Slams. Table bites thighs. Adjusts. Strips blouse. Slow grinds. Thumb clit, pinches tits. Rough pants scrape spanked ass. Builds. Whimpers. Edges me. Explodes. Waves. He follows. Jets flood.
Kisses neck. ‘Hotter than Louison.’ Dresses hasty. ‘Madame might’ve heard.’ Blocks. Spanks hard over knee. ‘Bad girl.’ Stings sweet. Couvent flash. ‘I’m naughty, earned it.’ Laughs. Toasts. Kiss deep.
He leaves. Fire out. Change wine merchant. Never again. Gaston fades. Crave rough. Fire Léon soon. But that cellar? Secret thrill. Owned by pleb cock. Spanked slut. Widowed bliss begins.