A New York Haunting: Pt. 02

Nodding, she replied, "It is three weeks since I come to be ze femme de chambre for Madame Fordyce." She led him across the room to a door that opened into the narrow servants' hallway.

Already flustered by the secret glimpse of her nether moss, Anders was further disoriented by her accent and throaty voice. Quickly collecting himself, he asked, "Is that a lady's maid?"

"Oui ... yes." From the hallway, they descended a plain wooden stairway.

"You're French."

She smiled, looking back at him with an arched brow. "Parlez-vous français?"

He shook his head, his mind racing to absorb the sudden rush of novel stimuli. As she preceded him down the steps, his eyes traced over her willowy figure. She was notably slender, thin even, and her bosom was quite small.

"I thank you for helping me, monsieur. You have saved me from a ... from a réprimande terrible."

"What happened?"

The girl glanced up and down the stairs before responding in a low voice, "Ze chambermaid, Alice ... elle est jalouse ... she does not like me." Her downturned lips pouted. "She throw Madame's lingerie out ze window to make me trouble. She says I will be blamed because I am a foreigner."

Anders nodded in comprehension. At the bottom of the stairs, they exited the house through the servants' door and stepped into the garden where he helped collect the last of the fallen clothes. Handing them to her, they at last stood facing each other on level ground. Although she had not the conventional, doll-like beauty prized by Americans, there was something compelling about her features. Her face was angular with high cheekbones and a slightly Roman nose. Full lips graced a wide mouth.

Even as Anders gazed at her, her hooded, dark blue eyes traveled from his hair to his face to his shoulders. "I did not realize you are so --- how you say --- si grand?" She made an upward motion with her hand.

"Tall? Erm ... handsome?" he joked.

She laughed. "Tall, yes. And so strong to climb ze tree so fast. Who are you, monsieur?"

"Anders Røkke."

She repeated his name, her accent rendering the syllables exotic sounding. "Are you one of ze family?"

"No. My father and I rent the cottage back there." He waved in its direction.

Her eyes picked out the humble abode among the trees at the far end of the property. "Ah. Les locataires ."

Anders gave her a questioning look, but she did not reply, only renewing her strange, frank perusal of him. "C'est assez vrai ... you don't look like a Fordyce."

He tried to think of something to say, but she was turning away with the armful of clothing, saying, "I must put these away before Madame Fordyce returns. Merci encore ... thank you for your help."

"Wait, what is your name?" He hastened to open the door for her.

"Simone Valade."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Simone."

"And you too, Monsieur Anders. À bientôt." She winked and disappeared into the house.

He stared for a moment at the door, then turned on his heel and strode across the lawn to the cottage. His father was not yet home from work, and Anders made a beeline for his room. Safe behind the closed door, he fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers and drawers ... his perturbed cock swelling to meet his hand. Without further preamble, his fist stroked up and down as he leaned on the doorframe with his other hand.

Again, he saw her sitting on the windowsill with her legs splayed, exhibiting her black stockings, white petticoats, and drawers ... under the delicate white fabric, he saw the darker shadow of the hair between her thighs. Then, as she stretched back, he watched the overlapped edges of the slit pull partially open to reveal a wondrous little swath of reddish-brown hair and pink flesh ... Oh God! The opening for the male organ must be in the middle, somehow related to that pink line! Panting harshly in concert with his pumping hand, his imagination raced into territory charted only by the largely speculative observations of his acquaintances and occasional bawdy drawings passed around at the pool hall.

He would crawl across the roof to her, hooking his thumbs under the white cotton to spread the drawers' slit wider and fully indulge his view of that long-craved-for article --- the female sex organ! Cunny! Pussy! Quim! Temple of Venus!

Fortunately, his lack of knowledge could not constrain his excitement, and the pleasure coiled, his ball-bag rising tight with the oncoming onslaught.

Kneeling on the shingles, he would apply his cockhead to the center of her groove ... that vertical pink line would somehow transform into an open circle taking in his cream-spouter. "Ah, monsieur!" Simone would exclaim as he put into her.

One hand flew while the other scrambled for a handkerchief. His body began to jerk. "Ah-ah--- ah damn!!" he choked out as the jism fountain erupted.

That evening he and his father had their usual laconic discourse at the dinner table. Anders told his father about the latest laboratory exercise in his chemistry class: synthesizing esters from alcohols. In return, Erland Røkke described a new silver emulsion solution he was working on in the Kodak laboratory.

*****

The following day was Saturday, and he was on the terrace behind the Fordyce mansion, waiting for Fulton to emerge. Their plan was to go to the park to join a baseball game among the fellows, but as usual, he found himself waiting for his flightier friend. This time, however, it was not wholly Fulton's scatterbrained fault, for through the windows of Mr. Fordyce's study, Anders could see Fulton and his father engrossed in conversation. What with Fulton's suspension from Yale, there were no doubt serious matters to discuss.

He enlivened the wait by bouncing a baseball on a horizontally held bat, intermittently hitting the ball higher and catching it in his glove.

Presently, a door at the opposite end of the terrace opened and a maid appeared --- it was Simone! Excited, he missed the ball on the next hit, and it rolled down the terrace steps. As he retrieved it, he likewise attempted to retrieve his composure, squelching erotic images from the scene yesterday on the roof --- true and imagined.

Noticing him, she approached. Quickly, he reestablished a nonchalant rhythm of the ball tap-tapping on the bat.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Anders," she said with a little smile. The way she pronounced his name --- On-dairs --- elicited a flutter in his gut.

With a flourish, he smacked the ball straight up and caught it in his glove. "Hello, Simone." His eyes made a quick survey of her, confirming yesterday's impression of her strange attractiveness, but he stopped himself before his musings waxed too stimulating.

Halting before him with her hands behind her back, she pointedly surveyed the baseball equipment. "What is zis game?"

"Baseball. Well, this is not baseball --- these are used for baseball. I'm just horsing around while waiting for Fulton." He proceeded to give a brief description of the game, she listening with a coy smile.

When he finished, she said, "You are friends with Master Fulton?"

"Oh yes. We've been friends since we were boys."

Simone stretched her hand towards the bat. "May I hold it?" He passed it to her and watched as she examined it, testing the weight and wrapping her fingers around the handle. "How do you hold it in ze game? Comme-ça?" She held it like a golf club, making Anders laugh.

Setting the baseball glove on a chair, he stepped closer. "May I?" At her nod, he adjusted her position to the proper stance for batting, outwardly remaining purposeful, but inwardly acutely aware of the feel of her hands and arms and the warm closeness of their bodies. "The ball is pitched in the air, not on the ground," he explained.

"Ah, I see!" She giggled at her mistake, shifting and re-gripping her fingers on the sturdy wooden shaft. A distant tingle rose in Anders' privates. Stepping back, he coached her through a few swings.

"I'd pitch the ball, but you might hit it through the windows."

Simone glanced at the house then lowered the bat. "Oui. C'est vrai, ça." Exchanging the bat for the glove, she said, "And zis?" The sight of her small hand disappearing into the leather mitt perversely fortified the tingling in his cock. "Ooph! It's so beeg, I can't put my fingers in ze proper holes!" For a moment she struggled, then shrugged her shoulders with a laugh. "Zis is for holding ze balls, oui?"

Looking down, he beheld her baseball-gloved hand, palm up in front of his trouser placket. She was standing quite close, her blue eyes sparkling at him from under her lashes. Feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, he struggled for a reply. A glance towards the house showed him Fulton and his father still in the study, Fulton facing the window. Anders cleared his throat and managed to croak, "Ball --- the game uses only one ball."

Simone's gaze followed his to the study windows, then she took a step back and pulled the baseball glove off, murmuring, "Perhaps some other time you show me how to play. Maintenant, I must return to work."

"Oh, of course. Certainly."

Some ten minutes after Simone's departure, Fulton emerged through the terrace doors with his own baseball glove. He motioned for the ball, and Anders tossed it to him. "How did it go with your father?" he asked as they set off on foot for the park.

"He went up to New Haven and met with the dean. I must retake the last two exams in the course, and if I pass them, I'll be reinstated in the fall."

Anders' eyebrows lifted. "That's good news, isn't it?"

"I suppose. But it will ruin my summer. And my father and brother will never let me hear the end of it." Fulton tossed the ball up and down in his glove. "What were you and my mother's new maid talking about?"

"She was asking me about baseball. I guess they don't play it in France."

Fulton shook his head. "Well, I hope my mother will be happy. Having a French lady's maid is the latest thing according to her damned fashion journals. Her English isn't very good, but I suppose the accent is part of the fad." He pouted. "I wish Eliza hadn't left --- she was a peacherino."

Anders nodded. Mrs. Fordyce's previous maid Eliza, much beloved by the household, had recently left service to be married.

Fulton soon recovered his spirits when they arrived at the park. The afternoon passed in the diverting exercise of the baseball game, and afterwards, the team repaired to a saloon downtown for rounds of beer and rowdy conversation. But, on the return walk home, Fulton was grumbling again --- now about having to stay home that evening because his family was entertaining guests.

Grateful to be free from such social obligations, Anders employed his solitude that evening in his usual manner --- studying.

A couple hours had passed after his father had retired for the night. Anders was sitting at his desk diagramming chemistry reactions when he was startled by a soft rapping at the window. He rose and crossed the room; the shutters were open, but he could not see outside with the reflection. Turning down the wick on the lamp, he peered out again. There in the dark yard, he made out a figure with a white apron dimly glowing in the moonlight. In growing puzzlement, he raised the window sash. It was Simone!

His immediate thought was that the chambermaid was harassing her again. "Simone! What is it? Is Alice causing you trouble?" he whispered.

The shake of her head was emphasized by a wiggle of the little white cap atop her piled up hair. Her countenance if anything seemed playful rather than distraught. "May I come in?" she said in a low voice.

Anders stood aside to let her climb over the windowsill, hastily snapping his dangling braces over his shoulders. Nothing could he do about his bare feet. Simone's motions as she straddled the low sill irresistibly invoked the memory of the spreading slit in her drawers. He swallowed in sudden discomposure.

Once inside the room, her curious eyes surveyed the small, spartanly furnished space. "Zis is your bedroom?" she asked.

He nodded.

"And ton père, where is he?"

"My father?" His chin motioned towards the door. "In his bedroom."

"Asleep?" To his nod, she rejoined, "Then we shall have to be quiet." With her finger to her softly puckered lips, she came close to him.

He stared at her, bewildered. "Do you need my help again?"

Simone, now standing directly before him, smiled up at him. "Oui. You promised to teach me about ze bat and balls," she said.

His heart ka-thumped then accelerated. Did she mean ...? No ... could it be? He gazed down at her face, just a foot away. Her full lips parted, and her hooded, blue eyes shone up at him.

Without further thought, Anders bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. She flung her arms around his neck, and in a trice, they were entangled in a heated embrace --- bodies molded together, mouths twisting and opening. In a delirium, he discovered that which the florist's assistant's kiss had heralded --- sweet, sweet tongue-kissing! Following Simone's lead, his tongue clumsily twined with hers and pushed into her mouth. She tasted like licorice. Oh, what bliss! His organ with expanding waves of heat unfurled in his drawers.

For several joyous moments their mouths feasted on each other, and Simone's lithe body squirmed against him. Soon her hand burrowed between them, and he gasped as her fingers touched the tentpole under his trousers. Breaking free from the kiss, she leaned back slightly and looked down as she traced the outline of his confined bludgeon, her eyebrows lifting. "Qu'est-ce que ç'est?" she murmured as he groaned. Her eyes shifted to his straining, yearning expression. " Alors, we must be quick. I must return before I am missed."

"Quick?" Full comprehension still eluded him.

Simone paused, searching his face. "Have you never --- how you say --- baiser?" At his blank expression, she offered, "Copuler?"

That, he understood. Heart thumping, he shook his head, not even considering whether to be embarrassed at his innocence.

Her eyes were alight with mischief. "Anders! Tu es vierge!" She kissed him again as her agile hands pulled his braces down over his shoulders. "What fun, yes?" Tugging on the waistband of his trousers, she urged, "Hurry! We haven't much time."

Anders wasted no time unbuttoning his trousers and drawers, upon which Simone grasped the garments and yanked them down to his thighs. Simultaneously, she pushed him back onto the bed. The narrow cot squeaked and thumped against the wall. "Shhhhh!" she giggled. "Up on ze bed. Lie down."

Swinging his fettered legs onto the mattress, he lay back and reached for her. She sat on the edge of the bed and flipped his shirttails up --- now he was naked from his rib cage to mid-thigh. At once her warm hand was wrapped around his cockstand. Oh God! If he had thought the pressure of her fingertips through his trousers had been a delight, the sensation of a girl's soft, bare palm rubbing up and down his shaft, uncapping and recapping his foreskin over the head ... ah, this was surely heaven!

Her wide eyes were fastened upon his engorged flesh. "Mon dieu! Quel monstre!" To his astonishment, she swung her leg over and straddled his hips, facing him. "Eh bien! I will be on top to control better. A beginner might hurt me with that thing."

Anders watched in fascination as she unabashedly hoisted her skirts. It had never occurred to him that a male and female could copulate so. His happy hands roved up her thighs, rumpling the white drawers upward to feel her smooth skin. Holding the bunched skirts under her forearms, Simone's hands dropped between her legs and abruptly pulled the drawers' slit wide open. Anders gaped at the reddish-brown puff therein. How he wanted to touch it! To kiss it! But he daren't interrupt her direction of the incredible proceedings.

"Hold him up! Hold him straight up!" she whispered.

Prying the rigid pillar from his belly, he angled it towards the ceiling. At once, Simone positioned herself over the broad head, rapidly rubbing her fingers in her curls as she did so. There was a soft tickle of hair parting over his burning skin, then the luscious heat of slippery flesh molding over his crown. Thump, thump, thump , pounded his heart. Teeth catching her lower lip, she lowered her weight upon him.

Although he raised his head from the pillow, the blunt point of their joining was not visible past the curve of her mound. But, by God, the sensation of a snug, wet sheath gradually stretching over him, and the sight of his throbbing girl-catcher disappearing into her body were beyond paradise! He panted and grasped her slim, tense thighs as he stared.

Meanwhile, a litany of whispered French words was spilling from Simone's open mouth. Eyelids half shut, she eased her way to full insertion, her fingers continuing to rub the front of her cunny. At last, she sat full upon him, naught visible but their intermingled curls. A squeeze of her muscular channel made Anders moan.

"Ah, quel plaisir ..." she groaned. "Yes?"

Whatever it was she had said, he could only manage a hoarse "Yes!" even as his mind was hollering JA! JA! JA!

"Don't spend inside me," she warned.

But then she began to slowly bounce upon his cock, and Anders reached the end of his erotic rope. "Å fy faen!" he gasped, his fingertips urgently quaking upon her thighs and his hips arching up. Simone gasped as well, launching herself off his organ, only to capture the jolting, erupting fountainhead with her hands. Her petticoat took the brunt of the balmy salvo.

Too soon, she was dismounting his hips and standing by the side of the bed, still holding her skirts aloft. Anders sat up, his dazed pulse hammering in his ears. Groping in his trouser pocket, he produced a handkerchief for her. "Did I do it properly?" he ventured, watching as she wiped the spunk from her undergarment.

Simone smiled. "Oui. Perhaps a bit too quickly." She smoothed her skirts down and adjusted a pin on her cap.

Too quickly? He endeavored to understand the observation. "I can do it again if you wait a few more minutes," he proposed eagerly.

Shaking her head, she bent forward to kiss him. "I must return to ze house. Perhaps we'll go again, yes?"

He nodded and rolled from the bed, pulling up his drawers and trousers in one motion. As he opened the window for her, Simone asked, "What was it you said before you spend? It did not sound like ze Engleesh."

Anders grinned. "It wasn't the English. It was the Norwegian."

"Norwegian! You're Norwegian?" She giggled. "Un vierge Norvégien. But you are vierge no more!" With a flash of her white petticoats, she climbed over the windowsill and disappeared into the dark yard.

Closing the window and shutters, he fell back onto the bed where he cupped his jubilant tackle. A huge grin overspread his face. JA! JA! JA!