PAUL & HIS FRENCH MAID by Justin Silk Copyright (c) JustinSilk 2002. All Rights Reserved CHAPTER ONE : MOVING IN
Moving to a new city is always exciting. A new country even more so.
I have moved country several times. From England to France. Jamaica. The beautiful, mysterious Australia ... and now the United States of America.
I'm here in this large city to set up my American operation. I have an apartment with a pool and furniture, a car and a ten-room office suite. What more could a boy want?
"How about a girl?" Harvey was my new best buddy and he and his blonde bombshell girlfriend, Sharee, hung around my place all the time.
It was a hot Sunday and since Harv and I were next-penthouse neighbours, we shared a rooftop swimming pool. Thus it was that Harv had been my very best friend for fully nine days.
Today, as usual, we talked garbage and Harvey necked a beer beside the pool.
Perhaps this had struck Sharee as suggestive, since she was idly stroking Harvey's crotch. It was making an eye-catching impression in the gleaming fabric of his little spandex speedos. His cock, one couldn't but notice, was growing hard. Very hard. So hard, its head was in danger of was becoming visible with every pass of Sharee's finger.
"Do you mind, young lady?" I said, trying to look stern. "That sort of behaviour could unsettle a young lad."
Sharee struggled to translate my comment into a language she could comprehend.
Harve spewed beer, laughed and coughed uncontrollably.
"A young lad? Is that the way you all talk in England?"
"Of course. We English are a serious and far-from-humorous nation.
We don't approve of penile play in public. I shall have to put a notice on the wall prohibiting such folly."
Sharee still didn't seem to understand a great deal of our banter. As she glanced from Harve to me and then back to Harve and back and forth, she started a little uncertainly to smile.
I think she had a sense that I was probably joking. Either way, she soon returned her tongue to full engagement in encouraging the discomforting behaviour of her paramour's prick.
"You need a chick." Harve looked at me and as he did so, half-stood as he simultaneously pushed his gleaming blue speedos down.
"I'm not ready for another relationship," I said, unsettled, both by what was happening in front of me and by Harvey's suggestion.
Getting up, I went to the ice bucket to fetch more champagne for Shar, as Harve insisted on calling his highly-aroused lady. I tossed an ice cube at Harvey's large and shiny cockhead. I was embarrassed to note that I registered the fact that this head was mushroom-shaped with a rim that made a large overhang.
"Shit," said Harvey as, much to my surprise, I saw the cube hit its target.
"Hey, pal, cut that out," said Harvey, unamused. "Jeez, fella."
"Sorry. Right out of line. After all, I hardly know you," I said with what I hoped was obvious irony. But I sensed there was a side to Harvey I had not seen before.
Sharee looked bewildered again, and took Harvey's cockhead into the safety of her mouth, where I could not hit it with another ice-cube.
I continued our conversation, assuming that the sexual interchange now taking place between Shar and Harve was a traditional part of the local way of life. But I assumed there was more to it.
"No. I'm just not up for a new emotional experience. For the time being, my sex life will be between my head and my right fist. The latter accepts my mood changes and still respects me in the morning. And never once has it nagged me for a new car or a new outfit. It's the kind of loyalty a chap values."
Without missing a beat, although his breathing had started to sound a little less than measured, Harve made a further suggestion.
"Then what about getting yourself a maid? She could be company for you and you'd never need to clean the apartment again."
"I don't clean it now. I have a nice Italian lady do for me. Mrs Spaghiolla, I think her name is."
"Is she good?" Denni asked, looking up after licking some precum from Harve's glistening plum of a cockhead.
"Er, yes," I said.
"Is she pretty? Sexy?" asked Harve.
"Er, no," I had to admit. "Maybe was. She has three grandchildren."
"So get rid of her. Why don't you run an ad in the paper? On Friday.
Interviews on Saturday. Baby boooooo...oooy, get wired."
Harvey started to become my advisor, his nerves clearly on edge. "A hunk like you could do-o-o-o-oooooh very nicely with a maid. Get the right one and she could even be your ho-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-stess until you find Ms Right."
Harvey's cockhead was probably beyond Denni's tonsils the next time I looked. A 747 passed asthmatically overhead.
"Unusual hhhhhh-eading," strained Harvey, looking up. "Don't usually come this way." But on this occasion he did.
Lying in bed that night, I thought about Harvey's suggestion and decided that it wasn't too crazy. Don't think me too boastful when I tell you that I've never found it hard to acquire female company.
People are kind enough to say that I'm fairly good-looking.
But, I really don't want an involvement. After Sally and I broke up I vowed that it wouldn't happen again. Maybe what I need really is a maid.
The apartment was much larger than I really needed. Four bedrooms, two with en-suite. Three reception rooms and the rooftop pool and spa.
So I took Harvey's advice and had my secretary place an ad in the paper for a live-in maid. Like a flatmate, but more practical. Oooops, there's my English background again. A housemate.
The first call came at exactly five past seven on Saturday morning.
And then calls happened at regular and exponentially shorter intervals until, after 30 or so calls, I decided to leave the phone off the hook and let the calls run through to the answering service.
There was a mixture of women. One sounded like she'd be playing Ragas till four in the morning and stinking the place out with ganja and corriander. Others were clearly older and far too sensible. There was a gay guy so sibillant you could hear the starbursts on his tongue. A secretary. A professor of Ancient Greek who had called the wrong number. A couple of ladies far too cheery for that time of the morning.
I went out for Saturday lunch at the bar / bistro opposite.
I sat in the courtyard and sipped an aperitif. I ordered a Caesar salad. A glass of French Chardonnay, with which even a merely half-decent Australian wine would have been disgusted to share a name, went to the palm tree in the pot behind me.
By the time I left, the owner was insisting I not pay for my modest meal (he'd seen my reaction to the wine) and that I join him for a glass of Hine fine champagne cognac.
I insisted on paying for my meal, but suggested that I have the brandy next time I was in.
The way he squeezed my shoulder and whispered that he 'would really, really like that' made me wonder if I wouldn't be even more welcome for breakfast than for lunch.
There were two messages on the machine when I got home from lunch.
One was from my secretary and the other from a woman with a smoky French accent and a turn of phrase that made me more than a little interested.
She apologised for being so late in calling, but she hadn't woken before 11 and just couldn't speak to "h-a soul" before two cups of cafe and a Gitane.
She hoped she wasn't too late.
She "loved the voice on the telephone answering machine". She would like to meet its owner. Even for a ver' little chat. She would be at home that afternoon. She would be able to see the apartement early evening as she was dining with her brother in my area. "Please do phone to me," she pleaded. She didn't, however, leave a number.
What a shame. The only voice that sounded even half way interesting and there was no way of contacting it.
I remembered the old movie "Bells Are Ringing" and a song from it called " I'm in Love with a Voice..." Crazy how these things come to mind. "Plaza 0 double four double three ...It's the perfect relationship ... I don't know him and he doesn't know me."
As I dived (sorry, as I dove) into the rooftop pool outside my bedroom the phone rang. Climbing out, I stubbed my toe. Cursing, I picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"Pas la" Click.
"Fuck." I missed her again.
I switched the answering machine on again and made for the pool.
Immediately the phone rang.
"H-I forgot to leave my number. Please do call to me ...."
"Hello," I said. "This is Paul".
"Aaah! Allo. This is Nicole Mercier. I left a message...h-about the maid job."
"And you would like to know if the job is gone. Oui?"
"Ah, oui. Ah, bon. Vous parlez francais tres, tres, tres bien."
Ah! A nice sense of humour.
"Mademoiselle Nicole, I am stark naked, I'm dripping wet, I just stubbed my toe getting out of the pool to answer the phone and, in spite of living in Paris for three years, I know that I speak very bad French."
A giggle came down the phone line. There was no doubt that Nicole had a wicked sense of humour. I warmed to her even more.
"I will forgive you bad French if you are nude. And pretty."
The giggling ceased and Nicole became serious.
"Oh. Excuse me. Yes, I would like to know if the job is still available. "
"It could be. I think we should meet," I suggested.
"But is the job still available?" Nicole was now completely serious.
"I think we should meet," I repeated.
"That would be very agreable."
"O.K. Do you know Sonoma Street, just off .....?"
"Oui. Of course. Yes, I know it."
"And do you know a bar / bistro called "Aerobleu"?
"Yes. I was going to h-eat there with my brother tonight. Michel, le patron, the h-owner is a very close friend of ... h-ours."
"You were going to eat there tonight? But not any more? ..."
"My brother is ... busy tonight."
"OK Nicole, I'd be delighted if you'd meet me for a drink at Aerobleu tonight."
"Of course."
"And ... IF we like each other, and IF you have nothing else to do ... maybe we can also have dinner there. "
"That MIGHT be nice." The gauloisey voice at the other end of the phone sounded a little stern.
"A sept heures et demi?" it continued.
"Half seven would be fine. I'll see you there. Tell the owner ... tell Michel ... that you're looking for Paul. I'll tell him I'm expecting Nicole."
"Until soon, then."
The click on the line came a little too quickly. The lady was not for spurning.
As I showered, I wondered about Nicole. I wasn't entirely sure what I might be expecting. For all I knew, Nicole was a raving dyke with a square face and a blue crew cut. That I didn't need. I had a friend like that already.
Going down in the lift - the elevator, l'ascenseur - the shapely legs, the sexy smile and the heady scent of a glamorous neighbour disturbed my speculations.
At "Aerobleu" Michel's huffy response when I said that Nicole would be looking for me gave me something else to wonder about.
"Yes, dear, I know. Nicole is coming, but Monsieur Andre is too busy."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Excuse me, Mr Paul. I am a little cross with Andre. What can I get for you?"
At about ten to eight, a perfume takes my attention. Then a head of the most beautiful chestnut hair, superbly coiffed. Below, a perfect torso and the loveliest legs in silk hose and gleaming six-inch heels I had seen in almost an hour. As the click click click of the heels pass me and approach the bar, I begin hoping this is Nicole.
CHAPTER TWO: PAUL MEETS HIS MAID
Michel smiled. "Mr Paul, I think you are expecting Nicole? She has gone to the b ... bathroom. Would you care for a drink at the bar before you eat?"
I followed Michel to the bar and almost as soon as I'd taken my barstool I heard the familiar tip,tip,tip of very high heels and Michel's voice introducing the vision of loveliness before me.
I stepped forward and in a pathetic gesture of what the Englishman takes to be gallic charm, I took Nicole's hand and kissed it , looking her in the eye all the while.
Michel discreetly watched us very carefully, a slight smile hovering around his full lips.
"Enchante, Mademoiselle Nicole, de faite votre connaissance." My equally-pathetic schoolboy French.
"Very pleased to meet you, too, Mister Paul. Very pleased. Well, you 'ave a very sexy voice on the telephone, but I didn't imagine you would be more 'andsomer than Tom Crueez."
Nicole looked me up and down and smiled, apparently approvingly.
"No, because I'm not. And you didn't say anything about your being more exquisite even than .... Please, sit down."
Her breasts were perfect.
They seemed very firm and vibrated a little as she sat. Vibrated, I noticed, rather than wobbled. Her perfume was what they used to call heady.
Under the tailored jacket, carefully cut to display - no, to present - very tastefully Nicole's lovely upper torso, was an inflammatory hint of expensive black lace and the subtlest glint of black silk satin. Her upper torso and its packaging was having a very direct effect on my lower torso.
"Michel, bring a bottle of Krug please. You will drink champagne, I assume, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, I would love some champagne. But one should not make too many assumptions, should one, monsieur?"
As Michel left us, he and Nicole shared a tiny smile. A private joke perhaps. Perhaps to do with Nicole's brother?
"You're right," I replied. "But there is obviously some significance in your saying so right now."
"Assumptions are dangerous. We make assumptions about people - their profession, their social status, their sexual preference, their taste in wines or cuisine simply from a cursory first impression. Often, we are wrong. What, for h-example, do you assume that I do for a living? My profession."
"Model?"
"Ummmm, sometimes. But that is not my profession."
"Expensive, top-of-the-market call girl," went through my head, but thinking that might be thought rude, I dredged up something frivolous to say.
"University professor," I said flippantly.
"Of what?" she added.
"You ARE a professor?"
"Well, no."
I laughed. "Of course not. I was just joking."
"No. I am a Lecturer. I teach art history at the University. I am especially interested in the eighteenth century in France. Rigaud, Fragonard, David. People like that. Would you have assumed that from looking at me?"
"It's not what would have come to mind quickly, no," I replied. "Especially since you applied for the job of maid."
"Another assumption." Nicole now looked very serious. "You assume that there is only one response to an advertisement for a maid. That I, for instance, would only be interested to clean your 'ouse."
"That's what maids do," I said.
Nicole looked at me with patience. "And I would clean for you, of course. But that is not the only thing for which I could respond. I respond to the style of your advertisement, to the area where you live. To the swimming pool you mention. To your apparent intelligence. I respond, therefore, to my own assumptions about you."
I wondered how Nicole could do both jobs.
"Nicole, how would you be a maid and lecture at the university? And, in any case, why would you want to be a maid?"
"I teach only part-time. Just in the h-afternoon. Three days a week. And I was intrigued with your advertisement in the newspaper. I think I would make a wonderful maid for you."
Michel brought the champagne.
As I wondered about the practicality of the arrangement, I toasted Nicole.
Putting down the glass, Nicole crossed her legs. Very slowly. I imagined I heard the friction of one stocking on the other. It was a sound that had always excited my imagination. There is even a word for it, but at that moment I couldn't think of it. I thought of Pinter's "The Birthday Party". That's where I first heard it. Consciously.
Nicole's movement was hypnotic. The sound spread from my ears, was amplified in my brain and, echoing, shot down my shivering back. Then it slipped caressingly between the muscular orbs of my bubble butt, around my balls and into my cock.
This caused my pupils to dilate. My heart to beat faster. And a flood of blood into my prick.
It was quite pleasurable.
Especially when I felt my hyper-sensitive uncut membrane begin to roll back.
A first salty tear was slowly forming at my now uncurtained cock slit.
I was falling in love. Or lust, at very least.
It's Nicole's shapely legs. Her perfume. Her tongue on the thick, voluptuous lips. The hint of black lace at the hem of her short black skirt. Her laugh. The smoky voice. My name.
"Paul? Paul? Are you OK?"
"I'm sorry. A beautiful woman crossing such beautiful legs in sheer silk stockings. It does strange things to me. Always has, ever since I was eight years old and a teacher at my school did that. Forgive me. I felt quite dizzy."
We were facing each other on our bar stools, our knees almost touching. Nicole reached across and stroked my thigh. She looked at me with a very serious gaze.
"Perhaps I should leave now. In the course of one week I cross and uncross my legs perhaps the thousand times. I would hate to cause you to have a 'eart h-attack on my account."
"I think I could cope," I said limply. "What would you like for your dinner?"
"Paul, may I suggest something?" Nicole leaned forward again, once more revealing the full depth of her cleavage.
"I would like to discuss terms about the job. I am also very excited to see the apartement. I would like to see where I might be working. And while I am still sober."
"You plan to get drunk?" I asked, jokingly.
"Peut etre. It depends." Nicole was playful again.
"On what?" I asked.
"Oh, on whether I could do the job and whether you would like me as your maid and whether we therefore agree to share a 'ome. Would you mind if we went to look now, if it is not too far? I am sure Michel could find room for us later."
Standing up, I agreed. "Excellent idea. Good thinking. Let's settle things one way or the other."
My god, I can be very pompous.
"And if we can't? Maybe you don't want to know me if I shan't be your maid?"
Nicole pouted and said in a little girl voice. "Paul is being nasty to Nicole."
I laughed and called to Michel. "Michel, please postpone dinner. We'll be back later. I'll pay for the Krug now."
As I shepherded Nicole out of the bar, following the silk stockings and the Opium and the tip, tip, tip of the pin-thin heels, I realised that every eye was on me.
Outside, I hail a cab and help Nicole in.
I instruct the driver. "123 Sonoma, please." Then, whispering," Just the other side of the road. Here's ten bucks."
"You'd get her to bed quicker if you walked," grinned the cab driver. "but what do I know?"
We slammed the doors and the driver swung the cab across the road, stopping outside my apartment block opposite.
"123 Sonoma?" said the driver.
"We're here," I said.
Laughing loudly, Nicole said, "You English are mad." Then she reached up and pecked my cheek.
The driver winked at me as I shut the door.
As we waited for the lift, Nicole took my hand and looked up into my eyes.
"If the flat is as handsome as you are ......" As the lift doors shut I felt a hand on my butt.
"Hmmmmm"
I had brought the bubbly with me and suggested Nicole explore the apartment while I poured some wine. From various rooms came the sound of a very happy francaise.
Having left her shoes at the door, she eventually skipped back into the living room like a little schoolgirl. Sixth form. Year twelve.
"Oh please let me live here," she pleaded. "Please let me be your maid."
I gave her her glass. She took a sip.
"Now. Let's talk turkey. I have had the terms of the appointment as I see them typed up and they are here. We can make small changes if you wish."
For the next half an hour we discussed salary, hours, free-time and Nicole's duties. We talked about visitors. We talked about possible taboos. I showed Nicole her room with its walk-in and en-suite. We inspected the pool. We admired the view. We even went to the garage.
"So, we have a deal?" I asked, matter-of-factly.
"Bien sure. J'ai faim.'
"Moi aussi," I said, rubbing my hands together.
Coming up to me and looking up into my eyes, Nicole looked a little sad. "Do we 'ave to go just now?"
"So you aren't hungry? I thought you just said you were."
"Yes I am. I want to eat this."
As she hypnotised me with the most enchanting eyes I'd ever seen, I felt her stroke my bulging crotch. "Hmmmmm" It appeared to be her favourite expression. Harve would approve, no doubt.
I took her glass and, putting it down, bent over and took her in my arms.
She was tiny, out of the six-inch heels and, standing on tiptoes, she reached up and slid her arms around my neck. I heard her catch her breath as my arms slid around her.
We began a long, hard, passionate kiss. I have to confess that in spite of my lingering lack of enthusiasm for a relationship, at that moment I had rarely wanted a woman more.
Picking her up, I carried her to my bedroom, the kiss continuing.
Placing her gently on my bed, I began shaking as I unbuttoned the jacket. As I took it off I groaned with
pleasure at her beauty. Her breasts sat, fully exposed and lifted by the tiny cups of a black lace-trimmed, silk satin basque, her nipples hard and pleading.
I pinched one, gently at first and then more firmly.
Nicole squirmed and the basque, responding, emphasised the woman's enormous sexuality.
"Aaaaah! Oh Paul. Harder. Harder."
I took the other nipple between my teeth and bit hard.
"Ooooooooooh!!!"
Nicole writhed on the bed.
Then smiling up at me, she put a thumb in her mouth, her scarlet-nailed first finger around her nose.
She looked like an adorable little girl.
An adorable gamine ... in a black silk basque ... and with long, shapely legs ... swathed in sheer silk stockings ... the tops of which were exposed by a very short miniskirt.
With her other hand she reached to my pants and slowly unzipped them.
Then she got to her knees and gently caressed my prick that was stiffening in my silk Yves St Laurent briefs.
She stroked the sensitive weapon with the silky jersey and soon had precum oozing liberally.
"You 'ave good taste in your underwear," Nicole smiled up at me as she pulled down the front of the briefs. She took my prick into her mouth.
Nobody had ever come close to giving me such exquisite pleasure. What she did with her tongue and her teeth and even the roof of her mouth was spectacular. I feared that I would come too quickly.
The passion in her eyes blazed as she stopped sucking me and looked up at me demandingly.
"Fuck me, Paul. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard. Fill me with your cock."
"I'm on the edge, Nicole. I shall come too quickly."
"Don't worry. That is natural. This is our first time, mon chou."
My rigid member dripping long strings of precum was bobbing in front of me. I had never been so aroused. Never. I wanted to have this woman coil her legs around my waist and take me deep inside her. Just as I was about to tear Nicole's skirt from her, she stopped me.
"Fuck me behind. "
"What?"
"It is the wrong time, you understand? But I want you inside me. I want you in my h-ass. Please Paul. Please fuck me with your beautiful cock. Now. Please Paul. I want you. Next time you can take me from the front"
I went again to strip her skirt. Nicole stood and walked to the vanity.
"No, fuck me like this. Like I am your whore. Maybe in a passageway. Fuck me standing. Here. So we can watch in the mirroir. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. NOW"
I had never before had a woman from behind.
"Nicole, you are tiny. A big, thick cock like mine will tear you apart."
"No it won't. I have lube."
Nicole was high on desire. Feverishly, she tore open her purse and squeezed lube on to my cock and the mysterious darkness between her hard, tight and shapely buns.
There was to be no further discussion. Watching us in the mirror, she guided my cock to the tiny opening to her rear entrance.
"Watch in the mirror as you fuck me the first time. Fuck me, darling. Don't worry, you can't hurt me. Just fuck me. "
My cockhead gleamed with precum and KY.
I spread her cheeks and pushed. She pushed back against me. I felt her sphincter relax and the rim of my gleaming head slip easily inside.
She gasped as she slid back along my hard and throbbing shaft.
I could not believe that she could take so much cock so easily. Or that I was offering it. Doing what I had never done before.
As she began rocking back and forth in time with my own increasingly urgent movements, breathing hard, she managed to stammer out a few words to our reflections in the mirror.
"Oh, god, Paul .... you are what ..... I .... aaaah ..... HAVE .... dreamed of .... since I .... ohhhhhhhh ....was ...... ahhhhhhhhhhh, oh yes ..... 15 years old ... yes, THERE .... at school in ... YES ... YES... YES ... Paris. I always wanted a man like you. Faster, darling. Harder, mon chou. Fuck me hard. Hard. With your beeeeuuuuuutiful cock. Push right through me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck .... oh fuck, fuck, fuck ... oh Paul! O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h, mon ange, que tu es beau." As I fucked her, Nicole controlled the tightness of her sphincter as precisely as a maestro of the violin uses his fingers to tease the most subtle and satisfying sounds from a Stradivarius.
Little shocks of never-known pleasure spread through me as she squeezed my shaft on the inward stroke, pulling back my foreskin. Then releasing it as I pulled back.
The shocks reached every nerve-ending in my body.
As our bodies flowed together and apart, it seemed that Nicole and I had become a single pre-orgasmic entity. My shaft and her ring combined to send the most sensational ecstasy throughout our beings.
For the first time in my life, I felt that I knew what my partner was feeling. I'd never felt that with another woman.
As she gasped out her mounting excitement and drew closer to orgasm, my soaking body reached fever speed.
My fingers squeezed her nipples. My cock battered her ass.
I began to hallucinate.
I felt the stirring in my balls. Maybe 15 strokes later, Nicole froze, gasped, screamed and came. Violently. A split second later, a great bolt of spunk surged powerfully up my shaft. Six or seven heavy loads followed it inside my exquisite new lover.
I fell heavily on her back, heart pounding.
As my cock softened and eventually slid from her, I turned Nicole over and we kissed passionately. I lifted her and carried her to my bed.
"Oh Paul, I just fell in love with you."
I had no doubt that she meant it. We might have known each other for little longer than a knee-trembler, but
I knew she was satisfied. As was I.
We lay there smiling and content and exhausted.
"How long before your period is finished?" I asked, quietly.
"Period?"
"So I can fuck you."
"You just did. Have you never done it that way before?"
"Never"
"Did you hate it?"
"Hate it? It was sensational. I never felt like I knew what was happening to my partner before."
"That's because you never could have understood before, darling."
"But I want to fuck you face to face."
Nicole looked desole. I thought she was about to cry as she looked deep into my eyes. Her body started to shake and as I took the adorably sad little face in my hands, it broke into a smile. One second later the room was alive with the sound of laughter.
"What's so funny?" I asked, not knowing why I, too, was laughing.
"I'm sorry, cheri. It's not a tampon that gets in the way, darling. Just a rather large clitty. Here, give me your hand my gorgeous man."
As my fist closed around a hard, thick shaft and before I could say a word, Nicole's mouth closed over mine and our lovemaking began all over.
"Oh my god," I thought. But I'm not sure that I cared what any god might have thought of me at that moment. I sure as hell wasn't about to withdraw from this strange new source of pleasure.
to be continued?