The entrance hallway smells of old varnish and faint cooking grease. Light filters under the door from M. Gérard’s rez-de-chaussée apartment. I’m exhausted from courses, tailleur clinging to my sweaty skin. He waits, eyes hungry. ‘Your first day? Come eat.’ No time to refuse. Door clicks shut behind me. Soft. Too soft. Parquet creaks under my heels as we move to the kitchen.
Plates steam with purée, vol-au-vent. He listens, fork paused, as I spill about moniteurs, sales pitches. His gaze drops to my cleavage. Heart thumps. Building quiets—neighbors upstairs winding down. We finish. I insist on dishes. Tablier from the cupboard barely covers. I strip jacket in the hall, slip it on over lace bra. Back in kitchen, his eyes bulge. ‘Didn’t expect that.’
The Contact
Sinks fill. Water rushes, muffling our breaths. I scrub, suds bubbling. He dries, close. Too close. ‘Pretty lace. Reminds me of my wife.’ Fingers graze my back. Feather-light. Goosebumps rise. I freeze, plate slick in hands. Parquet groans faintly as he shifts. Light from the bulb casts shadows on my exposed sides. No bra clasp clicks—he’s unhooked it. Smooth. Expert.
He tugs straps free. I don’t stop him. Hands slide flanks, thumbs brushing underboob. Heat pools low. Pussy lips swell, dampening thighs. ‘Breathe easy, like Saturday.’ Voice a rasp. Fingers inch forward, circling tits. Nipples harden, aching. I gasp—quick, stifled. Water splashes louder to cover. He pinches. Rolls. Pleasure spikes, sharp.
The Indiscretion
Legs buckle. Sink edge bites palms. He catches hips, one hand snaking up. Squeezes breast fully. Thumb flicks nipple. ‘So beautiful in pleasure.’ Wave crashes. Pussy clenches, juices trickle down. I bite lip—moan dies in throat. Body shudders, silent explosion. Eyes water. He holds me, steady. Torchons forgotten.
Dishes done. Kitchen gleams. Cherry offered—sweet burn. Silence thick. I remove tablier. He helps with jacket, slips bra into my bag. Bise on forehead. Door opens to hallway. Cool air hits wet skin. Heart hammers. Two steps out—pause. Turn back. Kiss his cheek. Soft.
Stairs creak underfoot. Each step echoes. Light spills from my door upstairs, faint stripe. Cœur bat la chamade. Culotte soaked, no bra—tits sway free. No one crosses. Shadows still. Secret burns hot. Slide key in lock. Click. Safe. Smile creeps. Neighbors oblivious above. Their sleep undisturbed. My thighs slick with sin.