An American Houseguest Ch. 06

Isabelle switches to English for my sake.

"And this is Peter's friend, Jake Scott. He's visiting from New York."

Charles shakes my hand, looking me over.

"Ah, New York," he says in a flawless American accent. "My family has a penthouse there. On Fifth Avenue."

Of course they do, I think to myself.

"And what do you do, Mr. Scott, in New York?" he asks me with not a little condescension.

"I'm a writer," I say, plainly. I decide to forgo the usual self-deprecating caveats. He smiles slightly.

"Oh? What do you write? Have I seen your work somewhere?" he asks.

"I'm still working on getting published," I respond, gritting my teeth.

"Oh, I see. Well, if you need some contacts in publishing, we have investments in some of the larger houses."

I feel like he's quickly figured out where I fit in his social hierarchy. Not very high.

"Thank you," I reply. "That's very kind."

"Jake's a tremendously talented writer who's going to go far," interjects Isabelle, earnestly.

He turns to Isabelle.

"That's nice. Listen, Isabelle. I have some people I want you to meet. If you'll excuse us. Please. Make yourself at home."

He takes her by the arm, nods politely, and leaves. All I can think is: what a dick.

"Charles has an amazing talent of finding the most inappropriate thing to say, and then saying it," says Charles, turning to me. "Sorry, old chap."

"Don't worry about it," I reply. "I've met all kinds."

Charles looks around the room.

"Say, where would you suppose the bar is? I'm going to see if I can scare up some drinks. What'll you have?"

"Anything strong and wet," I say with a grin.

"Mother?"

"Single malt. Thank you, darling."

He nods and presses through the crowd of party goers. Veronique steps next to me, standing close.

"It's crowded here," she says surveying the room. "Come dance with me."

I start to protest that I don't feel like dancing but she's already moving with me in tow.

On the floor, the young people are moving to the music. Lots of cigarette smoking and posing going on. I put on my mask for the first time and scan the room. Most are in costume and look to be in their 20's and 30's.

Veronique starts in to dancing, staring at me. I turn and look at her and am struck by how good she looks in this crowd. Although she has 20 years on some of these women, she's still more alluring than any of them. Her face is expertly made up and her eyes have a catlike quality; her red lips full and sensuous. She's swaying her hips and moving to the rhythm of the music, slowly and hypnotically. I'm staring at her through my mask, hoping she doesn't know I'm watching her. She's definitely gotten my attention.

"Never mind Charles," she says as we start to dance to the pounding music.

"I never would," I reply, lying.

"He's incredibly wealthy but he can't measure up to you in some ways."

"Like what?" I reply with a snort. "He hasn't written any unpublished manuscripts?"

Veronique moves closer, her lips next to my ear, as if relaying confidential information.

"You have a much nicer cock than he does."

I start for a moment and Veronique gives me a mischievous smile. After a moment I find the beat again and start to move my body to the rhythm.

Did I hear her right? How does she know about Charles? Could they have...Is that why they were so familiar? I don't even want to think about the implications of Veronique having sex with her daughter's boyfriend. I close my eyes and start to lose myself in the dancing.

It feels good to get out of my mind and just move my body. I let my hips and torso relax and start to really let go. I open my eyes to see Veronique watching me, watching my body. I'm undulating my body and moving my hips and she's watching me hungrily. Fine, if she wants to watch me, I don't give a damn. I start to really move my body, thrusting my hips to the constant beat. I see she's staring at my pelvis, at my crotch. To have a woman who looks like that look at me the way she is, well, that is pretty cool. I start to rev it up, grinding my hips sexily. She's watching me and I'm enjoying it; it's making my dick hard. My tuxedo pants are tight and the harder I get, the bigger my bulge gets, and the more she stares.

I dance closer to her, moving my pelvis like I'm fucking a woman really, really well. Circling my hips and thrusting deep inside her, in and out again. The motion of my dancing alone is making me hard; the fact she's watching me with rapt attention makes me harder still.

She's moving her body in such a sexy way, undulating to the music. She turns her back to me, thrusting her hips in unison with mine, and slowly backs into me until her ass rubs against my crotch. She rolls her hips to the music and rubs her silky ass against my completely hard cock. She reaches back with her hand and cups my ass, feeling my butt cheek, pulling me into her.

Suddenly, she spins and she's facing me, pressed against me, looking up at me sexily. Her hands reach under my tux jacket and I feel her holding my pecs, my chest. Our bodies keep moving together as her hands reach behind my back, feeling my muscles straining and tensing, and slide down to my waist and hips. I start thrusting hard with her hands on my hips.

I think to myself, this is what you want, isn't it? To feel me thrusting inside you. Shoving this big hard-on deep inside you. I put my hands on her hips as she spreads her legs, moving closer, and starts to straddle my leg. I watch her thrusting her hips and moving up my leg until her pussy is rubbing against my thigh. Oh, fuck. She's looking me straight in the face with her mouth open and she's rubbing her wet pussy against my hard thigh. She is so fucking sexy. My cock is huge now. It's long and hard and it's showing right through my pants. We're grinding together, on the darkened dance floor, rubbing against each other.

I feel as if I'm in a dream, moving in slow motion as she slides her hand down to my crotch. She runs her fingers along the entire length of my rock-hard cock and I grind my hips with abandon. I'm leaning back and the leg she's riding is sticking out, the muscles hard and flexed.

"I love how big and hard you are," she says in my ear.

My hand is on the small of her back, where her bare skin is exposed, as she undulates.

"I assume you're referring to my leg," I say wryly.

She's rocks her pelvis so her pussy rubs slowly against my thigh.

"Mmmmmmm, that too."

It's like she's making love to my big, hard, muscled thigh. She wants a big hard muscle between her legs all right.

"Jake," she says, her lips so close to my ear I can feel her breath. "I need you in my bedroom tonight. Do you understand? I have to have you. Tonight."

She has this way of being incredibly sexy and incredibly pushy at the same time. She turns me on like hell but I find her attitude a major turnoff. She has a sense of entitlement the size of Poland. At that moment, I see Peter scanning the crowd with three drinks in his hand. I nod in his direction.

"There's Peter."

Veronique stops dancing abruptly and collects herself. We move through the crowd to where he's standing.

"There you are," he says over the din. "Sorry, I ran into an old boarding school friend and we were catching up."

I seize the opportunity to get away.

"I've got to find the bathroom. See you in a bit."

The close call with Peter and his Mom makes my heart pound. The last thing I want is for Peter or Isabelle to catch me with their sexy Mom feeling me up. Sorry, I'm funny that way.

I work my way through the party, striding through the crowd in my tuxedo, sporting my mask and a raging hard on. I can see women checking me out as I pass. I must admit, being the stranger in a strange land, hidden behind a mask, sauntering through this crowd of beautiful people with a big bulge in my pants, gives me a charge.

I finish my drink and grab another at the bar. After a while, I decide to go up the grand staircase to check out the upper floors. As I climb the sweeping staircase, I survey the hundreds of partygoers in their varied costumes. From on high, an already strange world seems even stranger.

Upstairs, there are just a few stray couples talking intimately on the stairs. Soon, I'm alone and all I hear is the distant sound of the bass thumping on the stereo in the ballroom below.

The walls are covered by vintage portraits and tapestries; the hallways lined with antiques. What a place to grow up in, I think to myself as I wander. It's like a museum, not a home. I can't picture a kid running through here.

Turning a corner, I hear voices including what sounds like an argument. As I continue to walk towards the sound, I hear what sounds like Isabelle's voice. Wait. It is Isabelle. And she's definitely upset. I stand near a door from where her voice seems to come. She's talking in French, and fast. I can't make it out. Just a stray word here or there.

Suddenly, I hear her shout "salaud" and the door flies open. It's Isabelle and she's visibly upset. Following behind her, I see Charles smirking.

"That's right," he calls after her. "Go running to Mother."

Then, muttering under his breath, he sneers: "One slut to another."

He turns to go back in the room.

"Hey Charles," I say, almost casually.

"What do you want?" he sneers with contempt.

I reach back and lay a right cross right on his cheekbone and send him reeling.

"Thanks for the party," I say and turn to leave.

I hear Charles spit something out in French but I ignore it.

I catch up to Isabelle at the end of the hall and she's wiping the tears from her cheeks. I stand next to her and speak in a quiet voice.

"Are you OK?" I ask simply.

"Oh, Jake. Why was I so stupid? I never should have come here tonight. I never want to see him again."

"Want to talk about it?" I ask.

"It's all so sordid and awful," she says, shaking her head. "I don't want to drag you into it. I can't believe I ever considered being with him. He disgusts me."

"He does seem to have a pretty high opinion of himself," I answer.

"Oh, that. I could live with that. No, his flaws run a lot deeper than conceit."

"Like?"

"Like something that makes me never want to touch him. Ever."

I look at her face and I see she means it. And I think I know what it is.

"Isabelle, does this have anything to do with your Mom?"

She turns and looks at me, her eyes searching.

"How do you know that?"

"I just...guessed. From how familiar they were together."

She stares at her feet as if it were too painful to think about.

"He said they just did it once. But still."

She looks up at me.

"And he wanted me to give him a blow job! As if I'd ever let him touch me after he slept with Mother."

I feel my face flush. That hit a little close to home.

"Yeah," I say sheepishly. "That takes a lot of nerve."

"I should have dropped one of his priceless urns on his head," she says with a bit of levity.

"Actually," I say, rubbing my fist, "I sort of took care of that already."

She looks at me with her eyes widening.

"Jake, you didn't!"

I nod and show her the punch and where it landed. Her face brightens.

"Oh, Jake," she says, smiling. "That's wonderful!"

Her face suddenly darkens.

"Oh, no. We'd better leave right away."

I smile back at her.

"Don't worry," I say. "We'll make a clean getaway."

We go downstairs and find Peter talking with a young woman in a harem outfit. We explain that Isabelle isn't feeling well and wants to go home. He says he'll collect Veronique and meet us at the car.

As we stand together waiting for our car, Isabelle takes my arm and puts her head on my shoulder.

For a moment, standing on the steps of the palatial home, I can actually picture the two of us together. Me, the up-and-coming writer. Her, the rising ballet star. Living a life of art, and culture, and romance. Then I remember the small problem of her Mother who insists I tie her up and fuck her senseless. Tonight. That, and the 20-year-old French maid who's waiting in my bedroom ready to suck me and fuck me until I explode. I feel a sense of impending doom.

The ride home is quiet. Veronique is peeved that Isabelle's "migraine" intruded on her fun. Isabelle just stares out the car window to avoid having to even look at her Mom. I sit up front with the driver and anticipate my humiliation when Isabelle finds out about me and Justine, her Mom, or both.

An hour later, we arrive at the house. Walking up the terrace steps to the house, Isabelle momentarily takes my arm and whispers in my ear.

"Jake, will you be with me tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Um, sure." I whisper. "I'll find you."

Isabelle runs ahead to the house. Next, Veronique is at my side.

"I'll be expecting you in my room. To finish what we started this afternoon."

I mutter something about feeling a bit tired. She grabs my arm.

"I mean it, Jake," she says sternly. "I'll be waiting for you."

"Later," I say. "I need to talk with Peter right now."

She gives me a look that lets me know she means business and continues walking to the house. Peter has secured the boat and joins me on the path to the house.

"Want to take a walk with me," I ask. "There's something I want to discuss."

"Hmmm," he says, frowning. "Sounds très serieux." We veer off onto the lake trail, towards the stables. My mind is racing, searching for a way out of my current quandary.

"So, who was the mademoiselle you were chatting up at the party?" I ask him, casually.

"Who knows? You know me. Toujours chercher les femmes."

We approach the stables. Everything is dark except for a light glowing in window of the living quarters on the second floor. I turn to Peter.

"Yeah, too bad we had to cut out of the party early. There were a lot of pretty women there."

Peter shrugs. I can tell he's wondering where I'm going with this.

"Listen, Peter, how would you like to enjoy a young, sexy, and very adventurous jeune fille. Right now. Tonight."

He looks at me with a quizzical look.

"Are you crazy?" he asks. "Of course, I would."

"I've got a proposition for you" I say. "Meet me outside my room in twenty minutes. And bring your mask."

Twenty minutes later I race up the stairs and find Peter leaning against the wall having a cigarette.

"Say, what's this all about anyway," he asks.

"Shhh. Wait here."

I open the door to my room and slip inside. The room is dark except for a row of candles next to the bed. Inside, I see Justine laying on the bed reading a magazine. I walk to the foot of the bed. She puts down the magazine and sits up.

"Monsieur Jake," she whispers. "Vous êtes ici."

"Yes, I'm here. "

She's dressed in only her underwear, with black stockings and garters. A push-up bra shows off her luscious breasts. I can see she's applied extra make up for just this moment. I put my hand on her ankle and slowly slide my fingers up her leg. She pulls her shoulders back and her mouth falls open.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake."

I stand over her, looking at her, letting my fingers graze over her body. She tilts her head back and lifts her chest, arching. My fingers slide along the edge of her lacy brassiere. She lets out a low moan.

"You look very beautiful tonight," I say in a low voice.

"Merci, Monsieur Jake," she coos. "je veux vous donner plaisir."

"You do give me pleasure, Justine. Just to look at you."

My fingers move over her chest to her neck, gliding over her lovely cheek. Like an animal, she bites at my fingers, trying to snatch them in her lips. I rub her ruby lips with my fingers and she sucks them into her warm mouth.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake," she says, breathily, her breasts starting to heave. "Que-est-ce que vous voulez?"

I regard her intently, my hand caressing her face. "Do you want to know what will turn me on?"

"Oh, oui Monsieur."

My fingers slide down to her breasts, feeling her nipple hardening beneath the sheer lace of her bra. I slowly trace my finger down her belly to the warm, wet spot between her legs.

"Do want to know what will make me hard? Incredibly hard. What will make me want you more than anything in the world."

"Oui, Monsieur. Dîtes-moi. S'il vous plait. Dîtes-moi."

I start to rub the folds of her pussy through her lacy outfit. I can tell she's soaking wet.

"I'll tell you exactly what I want, Justine. I want you to go into the bathroom and I want you to put on your maid's uniform. And I want you to put on your high heels. And then I want you to come out and strip for me. While I lay here. And I'm going to wear this mask. And watch you."

She's listening with rapt attention. As rapt as she can be while I rub her clitoris.

"Oh, oui. Oui, Monsieur."

"I want you to perform for me. While I watch you. Like an audience. An audience watching the most beautiful woman in the world."

I'm rubbing her pussy now and she's writhing beneath my touch. My voice is soft and low. Hypnotic.

"And while I watch you, I'll start to get hard. Very, very hard. And you'll see how big and hard your beauty makes me. Your beautiful, sexy body. Your gorgeous face. So hard. And then I'll stroke myself. While I watch you. I'll make my big hard cock stand straight up. And then I want you to take me in your mouth. And I want you to suck me. I want you to feel my hard cock between your lips. And in your throat."

She's moaning now. She's raising her hips and pressing her pussy into my hand.

"And then we can make love... You and me... Together... As one... Naked... Coming together."

She lets out a squeal. I take my hand from her pussy.

"Now off you go. Get yourself ready. I'll be waiting here."

She gets to her feet and stands, a bit unsteadily. I put on the mask and take my position on the bed. I turn on the CD player next to the bed; a sultry sax fills the room. She walks slowly, sexily, into the bathroom looking back at me. Her face is flushed and her lips full and pouty.

At that moment, I almost give in and forget about my plan.

Instead, when the bathroom door closed, I leap up and go to the bedroom door and beckon Peter inside. I point to the bed and give him a pat on the back.

"Wear your mask and lay back on the bed," I say. "And enjoy."

I stay long enough to make sure Peter does as told. I hear the bathroom door open and see Justine's back as she stands at the foot of the bed. Her hips are swaying as she shifts from one long, perfect leg to the other. She's slowly taking off her blouse and rocking her hips back and forth. It's indescribably sexy. It's the dance of an incredibly sexy young woman who's already at the height of sexual arousal.

Part of me wishes I could stay to watch the show but I have work to do.

I bound up the stairs with my mask in hand and move stealthily to Veronique's room. Without knocking, I quietly open the door and slip inside.

Veronique is laying on the bed. She's wearing a sheer white negligée with a low-cut top with embroidered trim. A single lamp next to her bed illuminates a corner of the room, and her ample cleavage. I see she's breathing hard and I wonder what's she's been up to. I see her index and middle fingers are moist and glistening.

"Getting a head start I see?" I say cheekily.

She gives me that appraising look she does so well.

"I've been waiting nearly an hour. I don't like waiting."

I move into the room and stand above her at the side of the bed.

"Well, here I am."

She looks me up and down.

"You know what I want. And how I want it. The story you told. I want that."

I rub my chin and walk the length of the bed, making her wait.

"Let's see. I think I can remember it..."

"Stop it," she snaps. "I know you want it as bad as I do. I felt how hard you were in the car. And on the dance floor."

She says this almost derisively. I look at her and any feeling of desire I once had for her has vanished.