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His first gratification was unusually slow to arrive, however long Cecile trailed the edges of soft underwear over the skin of his belly and along his rigid part not even when she made it sway from side to side by flicking at it with a pair of cyclamen red knickers. His continued silence was a further indication, which she could not fail to understand his mood of the past few days was changing. All the same, there was a service to be performed if she hoped to benefit again financially from his gratitude. Eventually, to facilitate matters, she drew a silk stocking over his cock to encase it and his balls fully, then took it boldly in her hand and stroked up and down in a fast rhythm.
That had the intended effect, to be sure! He gasped and writhed in pleasure and then squirted his passion into and through the gossamer web of the stocking. But, Cecile's watchful eye noted, compared with what she had seen him do before, his climax of delight was brief. His body had responded to her stimulation, but his heart and mind were untouched.
Since he made no comment of any kind but just lay on his back as before, she prepared herself to complete the regular performance. There too she encountered a new problem! By the time she was in position above him she found that his hitherto unflagging part had become limp and small. Yes, she thought, we are fast reaching the end of the little comedy we have played out together! Even so, the only indication she had of his desires was that he lay waiting for her to continue. Now assuredly Cecile did not possess one-tenth of the skills of her mistress in arousing the passions of a failing lover.
She did what she could, guided only by her instinct rubbing, squeezing and tugging until at last the sleeping part was awakened and rose up. In great relief she inserted it into the portion of herself ordained by a kindly providence for that purpose. At once she began to move up and down forcefully, her consideration being that brisk stimulation seemed to be necessary to retain the interest she had stirred with much difficulty. It would be a catastrophe if she permitted this interest to droop before the final act was accomplished!
Nicolas raised his hand and pulled the lilac silk underwear from his face and stared her full in the eyes.
(Of course Nicolas had been fully conscious all along that what they were doing was all play-acting and he had gone along with it. He had enjoyed the ritual and he had been able to convince himself that he was not merely having sex with a maid of all work. In the course of it all he had become impressed with Cecile's devoted attentions to him. Now was the time to acknowledge reality.)
"But this is ridiculous!' he exclaimed, "I'm doing it with you, not her."
Cecile said nothing, for there was nothing to say. The dream was evidently at an end and Nicolas had woken up from his torpor. His next words surprised her.
"So then, if it's you, it's you and why not? We'll do it properly this time, Cecile. Yes I'll take up your offer Cecile. I'll have you. I'll do you. I'll give you a good long fuck"
His hands went up to take hold of her breasts and squeeze them.
"Not a bad pair of tits at all," he commented, speaking more coarsely than would have been suitable if he had been with Yvonne, perhaps he thought this was how the lower orders conducted their sexual affairs!
Cecile shrugged. It wasn't much of a compliment but it was the only one that had ever been paid to her bosom.
"You've done me a favour or two these last few days", he said, "now I'm going to do you one. Swing your backside let's have some action to warm you up! Come on grip my cock tight in your cunt" He enjoyed using these words, these coarse schoolboy words so alien to his past relationships.
It was true that he was hard inside her and for any man that meant that he would want to complete the process that had been commenced. So much was obvious to Cecile, but beyond that she wondered what she had stirred up in him. This was a new Nicolas she was seeing was fully vigorous, demanding one might even say dominating.
She obeyed his instructions and moved her hips to and fro hard, becoming more and more aware of the fleshy protuberance on which she was impaled and of the pleasant sensations it was giving her. Nicolas's hands were at her pear shaped bouncing breasts fondling and stroking and tugging at her nipples to intensify her passion. He left her breasts and opened the lips of her cunt with the fingers of one hand whilst with the fingers of the other he manipulated her clitoris which swelled up and twitched in appreciation. Her juices were so copious his prick moved with perfect ease up there inside her. Before long, Cecile was out of control. She moved fiercely, her whole being straining towards the point of rapture, which she felt was very close.
"That's good" Nicolas urged her on. "Faster! I want to see it happen to you."
He moved one hand back and gripped her right breast hard; he tightness of his grip was almost painful, except that even pain was a pleasure to her at that moment. She thumped down on him another six or seven times and his wish was fulfilled he saw it happen to her. Her head went back until her face was directed towards the ceiling, the muscles of her belly clenched like a fist and from her wide open mouth there came a long throaty groan of pure ecstasy. "More!" Nicolas commanded her, jerking himself sharply upwards into her.
Without question she had never in her life so far experienced a sensation like it. It was in a totally different category from the pleasure other men had given her and it took some time for the tremors in her body to cease. Her head fell forward and she was looking into Nicolas's face and there she saw a smile of triumph.
"Good enough for a start," he said to her. "Now I'm really going to show you what it's like."
"Oh; Monsieur Nicolas! I'm as limp as a rag already."
His hands left her breast and her quim and took her by the hips. An agile twist of his body reversed their positions, so that she was underneath him, her thighs outside his legs and his hard belly pressed flat to her soft one and this he accomplished without losing his place in her warm, wet, clinging cunt.
She thought that he would attack her as if with a battering ram and had no relish for it. Here again he surprised her. This time he felt her breasts tenderly and stroked them softly, the fingers moving over them feather light, just brushing the taut nipples. Mmmmmm ohhhhhh" she moaned. "Did I treat them roughly? Are they bruised? Let me kiss the hurt away" and his lips were soft on her flesh.
"It felt nice, whatever you did but aaahhhhhhh that feels nicer ohhhhhhh.
`You must understand, Cecile, the moods of love change quickly. After the wild pleasure you have just experienced you need a different sort of approach.'
"Oh, yes, oh, yes" she moaned and sighed a slave under his gentle hands.
"Oh, yes do anything you wish Monsieur Nicolas ahhhhhh it's paradise"
He moved inside her with long and slow strokes to give her a little time to recover from her recent exertions, but not too much for her to go cold. She appreciated the tenderness he was showing her, though in her heart she did not believe that it would do anything for her. In this she was judging from her own limited experience, in which the few men she had been with and especially the swinish Dugard. Nicolas had been taught the ways of love by a succession of beautiful women, young and not so young who knew how to savor love to the very last drop women like Yvonne who expected a lover to be able to entertain them in bed for several hours at a time.
It was not until sighs of pleasure from Cecile indicated that she was responding correctly to what he was doing that Nicolas changed his pace from a gentle canter to a brisk trot.
That Nicolas, an average selfish man, devoted all this attention to the sensual gratification of a maid of all work was an indication of his unusual frame of mind at that time. As she lay on her back naked except for her legs encased in cheap black stockings with his conception of feminine beauty he could not find her attractive. Her face was broad, her eyebrows unplucked, her hair seemed dull and not too clean and was scrunched up in that appalling bun and her complexion uncared for. All this he had seen for himself when he had removed the blindfold from his face and stared at her. Her breasts had not that springy firmness nor perfection of shape which even those of the fullerfigured Yvonne possessed; they were slack and pendulous and she had no discernible waist.
Worst of all, the unkempt bush of brown hair that grew from her groins halfway up her belly demonstrated that she was devoid of the slightest idea of how to make herself attractive to a lover. He was used to the neat triangles of his pampered lovers which were kept neatly trimmed, perhaps dyed also, or even to shaven hairless mounds which made the lips of their treasures appear more prominent! (From all this it can be seen that Nicolas was the perfect bourgeois snob without the slightest knowledge of the daily lives and desperate struggles of great mass of the people; nor did her care to know).
Truth to say, Nicolas did not understand his own motives in making love to her as if she were the most desirable woman in the whole of Paris. He was obeying the promptings of his own heart and it was not necessary that he should understand them. What he was doing made him feel good, that was what mattered. Not just physically good that was the result of the exciting friction of joined sexual parts but good in his heart.
"Oh my God!" Cecile moaned, "It's incredible!" "Ah, but it gets better still," Nicolas gasped.
And it did just as he promised, until she was reduced to a body quivering uncontrollably at the spasms of pleasure that shook her. But there is a limit to the intensity of pleasure a man or a woman can sustain. Of this Nicolas was well aware, and in good time his measured trot became a gallop. The bed on which they lay was creaking with their efforts. His belly smacked against hers again and again and by now Cecile was thrusting upwards simultaneously with Nicolas to plunge him to the limit each time.
When the moment came she screamed in delight and Nicolas cried out aloud with her as the surge of his passion flung them both into ecstatic release. For Cecile it was as it she were watching a Fourteenth of July fireworks display the whole night sky ablaze with exploding rockets, blinding white star-shells and coloured rains of fire.
For Nicolas it was his ticket to freedom from Yvonne and he reveled in the relief of it, his movements extending Cecile's pleasure beyond anything she thought possible. He was still pumping away at her, though more slowly, long after she was lying limp and almost unconscious beneath him.
On this occasion it was she who wanted to doze for a while. Nicolas was too exhilarated to think of sleep he wanted to go out into the street and see people and visit friends and reactivate his life. He almost sprang from the bed, showered and made his preparations then he roused Cecile by shaking her shoulder gently. She opened her eyes and saw that he was fully dressed and ready to go out. A moment later she remembered that she was lying naked on her back and she closed her legs and put a hand modestly over her bushy mound though what modesty signifies after what had taken place between the two of them, who can say? Nicolas smiled briefly, at her reaction.
"Cecile,' he said, "I am going out now to make certain arrangements. Take your time and leave when you are ready. Please call round tomorrow around noon when I shall, if all goes well this evening, have certain instructions for you. "Thank you Monsieur Nicolas you can rely on me"
"Ah dear Cecile if only all women were as reliable as you" he answered quietly as he left the room.
The next day Cecile arrived at the apartment as arranged. Nicolas was not only up and dressed but in the throes of packing clothes into suitcases furiously. One case had already sprung open, the lock gone from the strain and had been abandoned to its fate.
"Come in Cecile, come in, as you can see I am packing, packing to leave this apartment for good."
"So I see Monsieur and making a right pig's ear of it," she said, somewhat taken aback.
"For good Cecile. Truth is I can stand the place no longer so I'm moving out. First I'm off to Nice and the Riviera for a nice long holiday with my aunt Hortense and her daughters and after that who knows eh" he laughed happily.
"Sounds wonderful," said Cecile lamely trying to recover from the shock. But hadn't she known it couldn't last, their strange little affair?
"You said you would have instructions for me Monsieur" she attempted to sound businesslike.
"Ah yes Cecile I would like you to oversee the packing and removal of my things when the removal men arrive tomorrow, just keep an eye on them, don't let them do too much damage, then close the place up and put the keys in this packet and post them to Monsieur Broscardin the address is on the packet my uncle who owns this place. Can you do all that?"
"Of course Monsieur am I not always at your service" and she gave her throaty laugh. He laughed too and kissed her cheek. "Just one thing Monsieur what shall I do with Madame Solangiers stuff?"
"Mmm, well I hear she's gone to America with her husband for at least six months so I am sure she is not missing a few frocks and knickers and when she gets back they'll all be out of fashion anyway."
He laughed again "Tell you what take what you want but don't take them all just in case" he winked "and what's left can go with my things, okay? Oh and get rid of that busted case somehow."
"Certainly Monsieur and thank you Monsieur. Come on Monsieur give those shirts to me that's no way to fold them" She spent the next hour packing and re-packing his things. At four thirty the doorbell rang, it was his aunt's chauffeur who had come to collect Nicolas and his luggage and his tennis racquets and his golf clubs. As the chauffeur went off with the cases Nicolas drew a large well-filled envelope from his pocket "Here you are Madame Cecile a little token of my respect" and he kissed her hand and was gone.
Cecile sat on the bed and wept quietly for a little while but then she was up and about making a selection of Yvonne's abandoned finery. She did as promised and left a few garments but she took all the cosmetics and perfume. In addition she took a book of pornographic photographs from the bedside cabinet as a memento of Nicolas. Could come in handy as a manual of instruction she thought. She also took three of the big, soft, white towels from the bathroom. She found that the leather suitcase with the sprung lock, which was rubbish to Nicolas now, suited her purpose just fine and put everything inside, tying it round with a piece of stout cord. That way it looked like the sort of case a workingwoman would have. Then she checked the flat and taking the keys locked the door and set off for home for the night. Standing in the street she thought, "Bugger it I'm not struggling on the autobus or the Metro", so she walked to the end of the street out to a main road and then hailed a taxi. She felt she deserved it.
In the foyer of the apartments she ran into Alain Carvagel. "Goo, goo, goo, good evening Madame Renardier I hope you, you, you are well" he sort of stammered and blushed "Very well Alain and you?"
Ye-ye-ye-es Madame, a litt, a litt, a litt-le tired after a long day perhaps."
"Ah well Alain perhaps an early night is called for" And she laughed.
The elevator was not working which was no surprise. Normally Cecile would have said "Shit" but she just said "Ah Alain it's the stairs for us."
"Here le-le-le--et me take your ca-ca-ca-ca-se Madame"
"You are a true gentleman Alain."
He blushed again as they started the climb. Outside her apartment they parted.
"Goodnight Madame"
"Goodnight Alain sweet dreams"
Wet ones probably she thought smiling to herself. Soon now she would begin his education, she would train him, as she wanted him to go, hand rear him as it were. She laughed aloud at the thought.
Inside and alone she did not feel so exuberant. The drabness of the apartment depressed her and she sighed as she looked about her. "Never mind Cecile my girl life must go on" she told herself and having pulled herself together the first job she did was to take the envelope of money from her bag and lock it safely away in the heavy metal trunk in her bedroom. Next she removed her coat and hat hanging them on a hook behind the door. Then she went into the tiny kitchen, which was stale with old cooking smells and the smell of gas. She lit the stove and heated up her soup and sliced the bread. Whilst she ate she tried to read a story in a cheap romance magazine. It was impossible. Other thoughts were in her head, persistent thoughts.
After clearing up she went into the bathroom and started to run a bath. The water ran slowly from the taps into the stained and chipped tub. Leaving it she collected the case and took it to the bedroom where she unpacked it and lovingly put the frilly lingerie into her clothes chest, leaving out a pair of sea-green silk cami-knickers which she spread on the bed. She removed her clothes, hanging up the dress but flinging the rest into a corner. She looked at herself in the old, agespotted long mirror, which hung on one wall, twisting and turning, pushing up her breasts pushing out her bottom. She regarded the wild and tangled bush at the base of her belly.
Do something about that. Yes. Must. The she returned to the bathroom. The tub was about one third full but that was as much as it would go before the water turned cold, so she turned off the taps and climbed in. She soaped herself using a cake of Yvonne's perfumed soap. Soaped herself carefully, lovingly; her breasts, down over her belly, her groins, her jou-jou; she sang softly as she did so. She knew she could not linger because the water was turning tepid already.
She climbed out and dried herself slowly on one of her new, thick, white towels luxuriating in the softness of it. Back in the bedroom she put on the cami-knickers. They were a fairly good fit a little loose over the bosom Yvonne was Junoesque in figure but not tight over her stomach. She did not fasten the strip of cloth that went between the legs. She took the clips from her hair, let it down and brushed it; her hair which she always wore pushed up any old way was a lovely reddish brown. She looked in the mirror again and liked what she saw. "When I make myself up that will be something" she said to herself. "And," she added, "Dugard can go fuck himself with his fingers in future, I've more than paid the debt in full."
She put out the main light and climbed into bed turning on the small bedside lamp. She had intended to look at the book of photographs but she suddenly felt, not tired exactly, but dreamy and drifting. She switched off the lamp and stretched out. Then she found herself touching her nipples through the clinging silk, ahhhhhh that was good, they hardened, mmmmmm, a hand moved down, smoothing the silk over her belly, moved down and the fingers gently twisted and pulled at the hair of her mound, moved on and parted her pouting lips. She was all moist, so moist and soft, a finger rubbed her bud gently, ohhhhh, yessssssss, gently. It stirred, it stiffened, and it throbbed. Her yearning clitoris.
It was, it was so, so, ahhhhhhh, so, yesss, yesssss, it was so lovely, so nice, so... And the gentle caressing continued on nipples on clitoris as the feeling grew and it was, yesss it was, oh yes it was going to, going to, Oh Nicolas, Nicolas, my love, yes do me, do me, I want you to always, ohhhhhhh, OH, YES and then it came a feeling indescribable, Far better than any she had experienced before in her lone lovemaking, it flooded her, she was a white flame that danced wildly, she twitched, quivered, trembled, convulsed, her legs were drawn up and straightened again in spasms and spasms and spasms. And Nicolas was there, his hands, his mouth. AHHHH. Slowly, slowly, it receded, she sank down, and she slept.
On the other side of the thin wall Alain Carvagel wearing a woman's silk chemise lay on his bed, which he had pushed up against the wall to be close to Madame Cecile. With the fingers of one hand he caressed his nipples through the silk. The other gripped his stiff prick. He heard her soft cries, her moans becoming louder, then a wild shout. He gripped his swollen rod harder, he pulled the foreskin right back, he shuddered, he came, he shot off a great warm jet into a pair of his dead mothers lacy knickers...