Read to Me Ch. 01bywetfille©
Read to me (pt. 1): Little Bulls
(The first instalment of several. Natalie and Pierre continue to explore their deep and dark desires.)
Natalie undid one more button. There. Her breasts were art, Pierre liked to say. Two soft pendulous balloons of flesh against the loose white cotton of her dress, nipples pointing. Classic. She leaned forward, balancing to put on her dark rose lipstick. She turned sideways to look in the full length mirror, lifting her knee to test how much thigh might show along the unbuttoned gap of her sundress.
Little bulls. That’s how she thought of them, the young men: little bulls. To her little bulls, a flash of a woman’s tanned thigh was like a red cape. Their eyes would zero in on the soft flesh, the firm, yielding possibility of tanned female skin, and slit their eyes, snort, and seethe inarticulately under their bulging muscles.
“That will be him,” she whispered to Pierre, leaning over to kiss his neck. He turned the page of his magazine. He watched her buttocks shifting under her sundress; just beyond her the Caribbean sparkled. He would get a full report later. Their lives had flowered richly since their first explorations in Mexico; the ripe fruit of those experiences had fed other explorations, sensual gratification, mutual delight and mutual trust. At the same time, the stock market had been generous to them, affording their trips to the Mediterranean, this property on the Caribbean, and their other exotic indulgences. It also allowed Pierre to focus on his life’s passion, photography, something he had never had the financial comfort to do before.
She opened the door. “Robert, I presume?” Blond, shuffling his feet a little bit, his nearly twentyish body rippling under his shirt. Such a little bull.
“Yes ma’am. About the job.” What did he think the job consisted of, she wondered? Odd jobs, lifting, mowing? It was always the reading bit that threw them at the start.
“Let me take your arm,” she said. “Without my glasses I’m almost blind, you see, which is why I need a pair of strong, young eyes around. We’ll go out onto the deck. It’s around to the left, through the French doors.”
She laid her hand on his arm, letting her fingers slide along it, feeling the tautness of his young muscles. She studied him carefully, hiding behind that wide-eyed blind woman’s stare she had perfected to convince them she could hardly see. If they ever caught her out and questioned her, she just explained she had her contacts in. Even if it wasn’t very convincing, it worked; if they wanted to believe it, then they did. The mind was a wonderful thing.
On the deck, two chairs faced the southern sun and the Caribbean. She sat down, her fingers awkwardly finding the arms of the chair. So convincing. As she folded her legs, her dress gaped, parting along her thighs. She looked at Robert, who was engrossed in her exposed flesh. The little bull’s attention caught by the red cape of her skin, he blushed, then looked around sheepishly, until he had convinced himself that she really couldn’t make out where his eyes were looking, and let them settle again, this time on creamy curve of her tanned breast.
“Now then Robert, I can see you’re blond, and tall, about 6 feet or so? But I can’t tell if you’re fit. Are you?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I play all kinds of sports.”
She smiled. “You’re such a well-brought up boy, Robert. Do you always call older women ma’am? I like that. I would guess I am almost twenty years older than you are. How old are you?”
“Ah. Twice your age, then. And you are a good reader? Just finished your freshman year at college. In English?”
She stood up, feeling her way easily to the railing of the deck about five feet away. She put out her hand as he started to get up to help her. “I’m okay,” she said as she turned, letting him see the silhouette of her body with the sun at her back, lifting one knee to open the part of her dress along her thigh again. She could feel her hard nipples brush against the fabric.
“Now then Robert, this job has some heavy lifting and yard work of course, watering the plants and so on. But the most important thing to me is the reading. I have to have someone to read to me.”
“Well, ma’am, that should be absolutely no problem! I’ve always been a good reader.”
“I like certain kinds of books.”
She stared up, with that wide open blind stare, studying his response carefully.
He leaned forward. “Oh well, ma’am! I’m pretty sure I can read anything.”
She nodded smiling. “Good,” she said. “We’ll see.” Casually, she dragged her nails down between her breasts, scratching lightly. Her dark red nails complemented her dark red hair, falling in waves to her shoulders. Her ankles were crossed, criss-crossed with thin laces that held her sandals on. The slight breeze lifted the front of her dress across her thigh. He was trying to open the dress further, by an act of will.
She showed him the grounds, an ample lawn, and the secluded pool in the backyard. “This is where Pierre, my husband, often shoots his photo spreads. Don’t worry: he won’t ask you to be in them! He only photographs girls. I suppose you like to look at girls in swimsuits, Robert?” She turned her blind stare at him again and he smiled at her. “Well?”
“Oh sorry. Well, yes, I like girls. Women, that is. I mean… well… but it won’t distract me. If that’s what you mean.”
“It won’t distract you? Do you have a girlfriend, Robert? Is that why you’re shy about saying you like girls?”
He blushed a deeper red, grateful she probably couldn’t see. “Oh no ma’am. Not at the moment. I don’t know many of the girls around here. Being away at college and all that, and we just moved here last year.”
“And your parents keep close tabs on you, do they? Scare the girls away?”
He chuckled and smiled. “Oh no ma’am. In fact they’re gone for the whole summer. Up at our place in Vermont.”
“It must be nice and quiet up there, Robert.”
“Yeah. Too quiet. I’d rather be here.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten thirty, ma’am.”
“Oh my. I have another boy to interview in a few minutes. You’ll have to excuse me.”
She put her hand out for his arm, but missed, leaning into him, letting her breast press against his upper arm. She grabbed his other shoulder, her fingers gripping very hard, her nails digging in.
She heard his intake of breath and a low grunt, but he smiled and helped her get her balance back. “You okay, ma’am?”
She smiled brightly. “Oh yes, Robert. You are very quick. Thank you.”
He led her to the door and stood there while she held on to his forearm. “Just a couple of other things, Robert. Our style is kind of European. We have guests that come from France sometimes. Do you speak any French?”
He looked crestfallen. “No ma’am. I guess I could get a phrase book.”
He was as eager as a lap-dog. She smiled inside. “Hmmm. It’s not that important. But I hope the French style doesn’t bother you.”
He looked puzzled. “No ma’am, not at all. Why should it?”
“Of course not. You’re a worldly boy, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” he said, far from sure.
“Okay then. Thanks for coming over. You can kiss my hand.”
He looked at her flustered.
“The French way, Robert.”
He colored deeply, and bent clumsily as she turned her hand over and offered it to her lips. She felt his lips on the back of her hand, an earnest kiss.
“Very good, Robert. You’re learning. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow, once I’ve finished with the other candidates.”
She watched him walk down the stairs, his tight young ass just waiting to be squeezed.
There were no other candidates. She had chosen him on inspiration, seeing him next door, and knowing the Langleys were away for the summer.
She did not call him the next day. She waited until the day after.
“Robert, I’m having a hard time coming to a decision. Could you come over and we could have another chat?”
When he arrived this time she was wearing dark sunglasses, and a bikini top, with a sarong tied around her waist. “You’ll have to excuse the sunglasses today, Robert. My eyes are so tired. Pierre is away for a couple of days and when he is away I don’t sleep well. I get quite frightened, actually. I know it’s irrational, but I just can’t feel secure without a man sleeping in the house. But thankfully this morning my friend Monique arrived from France. Come out by the pool. We are out there.” She put her hand out for his strong young arm, and let him lead her to the deck of the pool. Monique was stretched out on her stomach on a chaise lounge, a tiny bikini bottom over her tanned buttocks, and her bikini top lying on the concrete deck. Her skin glistened bronze, and there were no tan lines. Robert realized she was wearing no top, then made an effort to avert his eyes.
“Monique, ma chere. This is Robert. Robert : Monique.”
Monique lifted her head, then her shoulders, then her breasts off the chaise lounge languidly, making no effort to cover her breasts, which had dark, small hard nipples. Dark as chocolate. “Oh hello Robert. Very pleased to meet you. So you will be working for Natalie?” She had a French accent. Her English was good, but her French lilt was unmistakable.
Robert looked at her breasts, then away at the pool. There was an involuntary swelling of his cock, barely controlled. “Well I hope so. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand without thinking, and started to retract it but Monique reached up to take it. Her breasts swayed as she moved, full and round. Natalie watched with a slight smirk, arranging herself on another lounge chair. Another red cape for the little bull.
Natalie’s body was stunning; always had been. Her breasts were full and creamy, and the bikini top was skimpy. Under the red fabric, her nipples were hard.
She pointed to the foot of her chair. “Just stand there, Robert. Let me get a book. Tell me first: is college these days as wild as the papers say? One long drunken party? Orgies in the dorms?”
“Oh no ma’am, not at all! Or at least, not for me. I mean I like to go to parties, but the people I hang out with aren’t that wild.”
“Not that wild? I hope you aren’t too boring either, Robert.” She unknotted her sarong and lay back in the chair, her legs stretching silkily in front of her. Her fingers slid under the edges of her bikini bottom to adjust it, drawing his attention to the movement of her nails under the edges of the fabric.
“All right, Robert, let’s see how you read.” The title of the book was Surly Bonds. It had a picture of a black-haired woman in a corset on the cover, her bright red lips parted, her white teeth holding a rose.
He began to read. It was a novel about a woman who preyed on other women. The woman was intense, predatory, and knew just how to push a girl’s uncertainty. He started to read where Natalie had indicated:
As Veronique slowly dragged her nail along the girl’s shoulder and then down her breastbone, she could feel the girl’s breathing getting shallow. She could feel the temperature of girl’s skin rise.
“Your nipples, Betsy.” Then the older woman dragged her nail over the younger woman’s taut nipple, flicking it. “Are sensitive, are they not?”
The young woman smiled quickly and uncertainly, with a quick intake of breath, frozen in Veronique’s headlights.
He paused and looked up.
Natalie’s eyes met his. She adjusted her sunglasses. “Carry on, Robert.”
He blushed. “Sure!” He lowered his head to start reading again.
Monique, hearing Robert stop, turned her head and just lifted it slightly.
“How’s my back?” she said. She lifted up some suntan oil and passed it to Natalie. “Would you mind? I just don’t want to move.”
Natalie grimaced. “You know I hate that stuff on my hands. Robert, would you mind? I hate the feel of that stuff.” She just passed him the suntan oil, which he grabbed earnestly and helpfully. And then stopped, awkwardly. The silky glistening surface of Monique’s skin was a golden world.
When he bent over, Natalie could see the outline of his hard cock. She stared at it. He looked at her face but she didn’t move her face; behind her glasses he really couldn’t tell. His cock was a stiff, arching shape under his shorts. As he applied the oil, Monique shifted on her lounge. “My legs, too,” she said, moving them apart, the thin band of material over her crotch capturing the shape of her vulva perfectly: bulging, pressing against the fabric.
“I can’t wait for the work to start on the tennis court,” Natalie said, smiling over at Pierre as they sat with their glasses of wine watching the sun set over the Caribbean. Her lovely legs were stretched out onto the settee in front of her, her long, loose sundress unbuttoned almost all the way up her thighs.
“Yes. Next week. It will be great to be able to hit balls whenever we want.” He sipped his Chablis and smiled over at his luxuriant wife.
She turned to him with the beginnings of a smile. “And you think we might find the right girl during your next project?” Her smile broadened, and turned wicked.
He angled his head and looked back at her. “Oh yes, I am nearly certain. I will just keep working until we find her.”
Robert’s first day on the job she gave him his outfit. She insisted, Natalie said, since she didn’t want him ruining his clothes. And she had an idea of how people who worked for her should look, she said. Natalie had chosen it deliberately. They were loose cotton shorts, with two overlapping flaps in front that tied together. And in the pool, she explained, they followed the European habit of men wearing speedo type suits. In Europe, she commented, they believed the usual swimsuits worn in North America, the ones that resembled shorts, were unsanitary, since people wore them just about anywhere, sitting down in all kinds of places that might transfer god knows what impurity to the water of a pool. In the loose cotton shorts, his body underneath displayed the suggestions of all kinds of shapes: the hint of his flaccid cock, of his balls, of the crack of his ass.
Pierre was busy with cameras, light umbrellas and reflectors around the pool. Four young women in swimsuits and beach wraps were arranged in artistic poses, leaning against each other, lying at the edge of the pool. Natalie sat on the veranda above the pool, in the sun. Robert arrived to read. He had concluded she could make out very little without her glasses. He had watched her stumbling into flower pots, railings, pieces of furniture. So he didn’t bother to hide his glances over the veranda railing, at the girls in their colourful patches of cloth. He was still reading Surly Bonds. As he read, his cock hardened.
“Come here, Robert.”
He walked over.
“Sit in the chair here while you read.”
He sat. While he read, she rose and walked behind him, rested her hands on his shoulders, looking down at his bare chest, his bare, flat, muscular stomach, the loose cotton shorts she made him wear. Her fingers went down his shoulder, over his upper arms and back up. “Keep reading,” she said. “I just want to feel your skin.”
He kept reading. She felt him gulp. Looking down she could see the outline of his cock swelling. She just let it swell now, as he continued to read page after page of Surly Bonds, a passage about the heroine, Veronica, catching one of her girls watching a pornographic movie, and spanking her.
After a few days, they settled into a pattern. Robert had completely convinced himself about her poor eyes. Every day he arrived around 9, usually when she was out doing some errands. Late in the morning she would bring some papers out by the pool, with her laptop, and her calculator and work away at the white table in a sunhat, sunglasses, and usually a bathing suit and a wrap. Sometimes the heat would be unbearable, and she had established with him that he could take a quick dip whenever he wanted, in order to cool down a bit. Monique, and other friends came to sunbathe, sometimes topless, sometimes entirely nude. They rarely spoke to him, but did stare occasionally at him, as if appraising something they might buy in a department store – a cocktail dress, or a fur coat. Something inanimate. Before long he grew to accept his place in their world – that he moved through their landscape, but was not really part of it, at least not part of it any more than an appliance, or a pet, or a gardener. He never quite lost his self-consciousness about his thin cotton shorts, or the skimpy bathing suits.
But it was the “French way.”
Tuesday morning she wasn’t working, just lounging out by the pool. The day was sunny once again, bearable – by midday they had to retreat to the shade. She lay back on the lounge, a book and a bottle of suntan lotion beside her. Monique was lying back, her bare breasts glistening bronze in the sun.
“Ahhh I need to relax, Robert.” She picked up the suntan lotion and handed it to him. “Do my legs please. I just don’t feel like stretching.” He looked down at her elegant legs stretched out, her toes pointed, her muscles rippling just slightly as she parted her feet to allow him to move his hands between them. While he oiled her legs she undid her top and dropped it to the concrete surface of the deck. Through her sunglasses she could see his fingers working slowly up her legs, up her thighs and then back down. His cock was clearly erect inside his loose cotton shorts. “Do a complete job, now Robert. Thighs and calves. Inside and outside. All the way up.” She turned to Monique. “It’s so good to have an agreeable boy with sensitive fingers to do this. I never thought I would get out of having to put that oil on my fingers.”
His fingers moved up her thighs, closer and closer to the edge of her bikini bottom. “Right to the edge of the fabric, Robert. I don’t want any burns.” At this she spread her legs so that he could reach right up inside her thighs. The fabric of her bikini bottom stretched taut across her pussy, the slight bulge of her lips was evident to him, just a couple of feet away.
Finally he finished. It was time for him to skim the pool, she said, quickly before the leaves started clogging the filter. He jumped up with alacrity, grabbed the skimmer and walked away, trying to hide his erection by turning his back to the women. But she told him to start at the end, not right at this side. So he had to at least turn sideways to Monique and Natalie, the tip of his cock bouncing against the loose material until, eventually, it subsided.
“You are so wicked,” said Monique, staring at him under the brim of her sunhat.
“Yes, I am,” said Natalie. “This is going to be an enjoyable summer.”
The next day she saw him masturbating for the first time. She had returned early from some errands. She entered the house quietly, and at the top of the stairs by her bedroom, looking through to the veranda off her bedroom, she saw him back in the shadows, looking down at Monique who was oiling herself up down below. He was staring, his cock out of his shorts, stroking his long, thick pink shaft. Drops were already flicking off the pink end, and his eyes were bulging. Before another minute had passed, he came, shooting his thick white streams of cum onto the stone deck, three or four long streams arching out onto the grey stone, staining it dark where they landed. She stepped back and retreated down the stairs.
Then she called out. “Robert? Robert? Are you there? I’m on the stairs. Can you lend me a hand?”
Seconds later he appeared, his face flushed, his cock still hard under his shorts, a small wet stain at the tip.
“Hi ma’am. What can I do for you?”
She held her hand out for him to take, then walked up the stairs, just brushing very gently against his front, against the protruding cock. “I just want to go out to the deck for a bit, Robert. Thanks.”