Fatima Pt. 01: Genevieve

The hotel were happy to oblige and it wasn't half an hour later that the phone rang in their room, causing both Hunter and Fatima to chorus, 'That's her!' With a nod of his head, Hunter indicated to Fatima that she should take the call.

'Hello!'

'You must be Fatima,' a voice spoke in rich, sonorous tones. 'My name is Masoumeh. I met your husband at the pool. I told him we must fix dinner together when Farzin got back from Paris.'

'My husband mentioned it to me,' Fatima replied, placing a little more emphasis on the word 'husband' than she might normally have done, as if she were laying down a marker.

'Would tomorrow suit?' Masoumeh continued, unaffected by the shortness of the Pakistani woman.

'Let me just check with my husband,' Fatima responded, placing her hand over the mouthpiece, unnecessarily as it turned out, since she mouthed 'Tomorrow?' to Hunter, who nodded by way of reply.

'That would be good,' said Fatima, still making no effort to be friendly - an approach which didn't go unnoticed by Hunter.

'Okay, we know a place in St-Laurent-du-Var, which we return to every year. It's not much of a place for atmosphere (the town is best known for being the site of Nice airport), but it has the best food in the area. How does that sound?'

'We would be very happy to follow your recommendation,' Fatima answered, a little more cordiality distinguishable in her tone.

'Great! Let's say seven o'clock then, at reception. It's only a 20-minute drive. We can have cocktails first at a bar just down the road.'

'Right,' said Fatima. 'We'll see you tomorrow.'

Listening on, Hunter felt a surge of excitement at the idea of spending the evening in the company of two such charming and elegant women. But this was as nothing compared to the surge he felt when Fatima (clearly buoyed by the idea of the chance to meet new people) suddenly announced that she had been thinking about it all day and would very much like Hunter to have his own opportunity to, as she put it, 'get to know' the saucy chambermaid a little better. As she'd said to Hunter earlier, she thought she might be able to pick up a few tips from the pert Provençale native.

6

They called reception and asked that the same procedure be repeated as had been put in place that morning, with Genevieve making up their room last. Then they had a snooze before going along to the coffee shop for a light dinner, returning to their room to finish a Netflix series which they had begun watching while still in England. By the time they turned in, it was almost 11 o'clock and Hunter was ready for bed.

Fatima, on the other hand, didn't need as much sleep as her husband, so she took herself to the sitting room, and from there to the balcony, where she sat for a while doing nothing but listening to the noises of the night: the distant sound of owls hooting coming from somewhere in the hills above the town, the sound of night animals scurrying through the brush which surrounded the hotel on three sides, and, faint but discernible - in fact, unavoidable once her ears had attuned to it - the sound of the waves making landfall on the beach. She sat there for half an hour, maybe longer, letting her mind empty of the concerns of the day. Any excitement she felt concerning the next 24 hours was put away in a far corner of her mind - a niche where it could be safely stored until it was time for it to be called upon to give impetus and meaning to her actions.

A sudden gust of wind, which sent a chill through her body, woke her from her slumbers. Looking at the phone she had left inside, she saw that it was already half past twelve. Getting into bed beside Hunter, she kissed him on the cheek, turned so that her body shape mirrored his and after no more than a few minutes was sleeping soundly.

When Hunter asked her the following morning after breakfast what he should wear, Fatima felt a pang as of one who regrets the choice they have made. Their plan was for Hunter to watch while Fatima made love to the girl, after which Fatima would ceremonially hand her over for her husband to enjoy. But how would she react when the maid started undressing Hunter? When they shared their first kiss? When first she set eyes on Hunter's manhood? When first she touched it with her tongue? When first it bludgeoned its way into her tight pussy?

As for his question, Fatima suggested he wore one of his slim-fit button-up long-sleeved shirts and a pair of chinos. He followed her advice, choosing his most expensive white shirt and a pair of navy cotton stretch chinos he'd bought just before the trip - both Italian made. Fatima, for her part, thought that this time she would give the maid a little more work to do. Early in the day as it was, she put on what was essentially a glorified crop top with diaphanous chiffon sleeves paired with wrap side-slit dhoti pants in the same light green pastel shade. It was the sort of outfit a modern Indian girl might wear to a party. On her dainty feet with their toenails painted a light turquoise she wore a pair of sandals adorned with paste jewels.

The maid, who was, as Fatima knew only too well, no fool, must have intuited that her services would be required by the Pakistani woman's handsome husband. As such, she had taken the trouble to bring a change set of clothes to work with her that morning, and had put them on after taking a shower in the facility provided for staff. The look was French chic personified: a black V-neck T-shirt covered by a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, ripped faded blue jeans and leopard-print pumps. To complement the ensemble, she was wearing a trace of scent, which Fatima recognised as Paco Rabanne.

When she knocked on the door some minutes after 11.30, she was met as she had been before by Fatima. This time they kissed each other twice on the cheek French style. Like a good hostess, Fatima showed the girl to a seat and fetched her an Evian water from the fridge. The maid unscrewed the cap and took a deep draught, as if she had already worked up quite a thirst. Fatima put it down to being too busy beautifying herself for her husband to bother with trivial needs such as thirst.

As for that husband, he hadn't planned on making a grand entrance; it just turned out that way because he had managed to get something in his eye and needed to deal with his contact lens. When he did enter the sitting room, Genevieve rose from her chair and offered him her outstretched hand. Taking it in his own, Hunter raised it to his lips and kissed the porcelain skin on the back of her hand.

Fatima told herself to stay calm and, ever the perfect hostess, went to the fridge to get a bottle of water for Hunter too. When it arrived, Hunter unscrewed the top and clinked bottles with the maid, with a loud cry of 'Santé!' The girl almost collapsed in hysterics, taking the opportunity to touch Hunter on the arm with her free hand. Looking on, Fatima thought she might vomit. Suddenly the prospect of making love to this girl didn't seem so appealing. Furthermore, the idea of letting her get a piece of the action with her husband was something she simply couldn't countenance. She was about to show her the door when Hunter (more aware than he appeared to be of Fatima's displeasure) walked the short distance to Fatima and kissed her on the forehead.

As if he were a magician and she his assistant, Genevieve put her bottle down, bounced up and kissed her on the forehead too. The magician's assistant act didn't last for long, though, as she then placed her hands on Hunter's freshly shaven cheeks and kissed him hard on the mouth. Taken aback, Hunter didn't return the kiss. Pulling out of the embrace, he pointed towards Fatima and drew on his schoolboy French.

'D'abord, ma femme.'

'Okay,' the girl replied in that sexy accent of hers, with a wavy intonation that indicated it was all the same to her who she got to make love to first.

Fatima, who had shot a glance at Hunter, which he had anticipated and carefully contrived to ignore, was about to raise an objection when the maid effectively prevented her by sticking her tongue in her mouth. Hunter hoped Genevieve had another string to her bow, as he was genuinely concerned that if the French girl went at it hammer and tongs Fatima might hightail it out of the room.

In the event, he underestimated Genevieve's skills and allure, as well as his wife's libido. Not for the first time, he thought to himself. The maid's hands headed straight for Fatima's tits, pawing at them insistently through the fabric. She could feel the outline of a bra, which pleased her greatly, so she could undress the young wife in front of her husband and send his arousal skyrocketing.

In spite of her misgivings about the whole situation, and most particularly about the designs of the peasant girl (as she had begun to think of her) on Hunter, Fatima was responding almost as strongly as she had done when they were alone a couple of mornings previously. The girl made several abortive attempts to remove Fatima's top, searching fruitlessly for a tie or a clasp, since this wasn't your average crop top. In the end, with a Gallic shrug, she pulled it over Fatima's head, mussing up her hair and revealing a cream coloured soft lace bra. Although it had some padding built into it, it wasn't designed for a woman with full, dark nipples, especially when those nipples were prone to excitement.

Before Genevieve could pull down the pants, Fatima decided she would wrest back some control by relieving the girl of her jacket. She slipped it off her shoulders, surprised at how light it was. It was evident that the girl hadn't bothered with a bra - two shallow dents disrupting the otherwise smooth contour of her figure-hugging black T.

Fatima took in the picture, delaying sufficiently long for the maid to pull her pants down over her hips - her fingers finding their way unerringly under the elasticated waist. Before she had a chance to slow the girl down a bit, Fatima found herself stepping out of the pants - the maid passing the garment to Hunter, who got up from the sofa, where he had seated himself, to claim it from her. He thought this would be preferable to having Genevieve throw it to him, as she had done with the crop top. His wife could be quite touchy about these sorts of things (lack of respect, as she called it), and he didn't want to put a dampener on proceedings, especially when things were going so swimmingly.

Rather than moving in for the kill - clutching Fatima's crotch and literally bringing the less experienced woman to her knees - Genevieve, out of deference to Hunter, it has to be said, let Fatima unbutton her jeans and pull them down her legs. They were a tight fit, so, once they had come part way, Genevieve helped her out by sitting on the nearest chair and watching as a kneeling Fatima got the job done. When she had them pooled at her feet, Fatima took off the pumps. When she first saw them, she thought how cheap they made the girl look, but now she was slipping them off her dainty feet (several sizes smaller than her own, she noted with envy) she had to reassess her initial opinion.

Still kneeling, Fatima let her eye roam up the maid's shapely legs. She was wearing a pair of light pink tanga panties, made of silk lace. They would have looked tarty on her, Fatima thought, but the girl, with her elfin figure, was able to wear them and look, well, let's face it, sexy. Even though she knew she hadn't picked them out for her, nonetheless the effect on Fatima was to make her horny; if she was being honest, horny for the first time that morning. She knew she might be merely the appetiser before the main course, but now, for reasons she couldn't quite understand, she was able to live with it.

Sensing the change in her mood and her attitude, Genevieve (the back of her chair facing Hunter, so he could see only the back of her head) - her eyes locked on Fatima's - lifted her rump and slowly removed her panties. When she had brought them to just below her knees, Fatima took over, drawing them even more slowly over her calves, then her ankles and finally her feet. Unable to stop herself, she brought the delicate material to her nose and inhaled deeply of Genevieve's fragrance. There was only the merest hint of Paco Rabanne; the overwhelming aroma was that of woman.

Clad now only in her black t-shirt, Genevieve slid down the chair so that her trimmed triangle was level with the edge of the seat. Beneath their canopy, the girl's dark petals stood out impossibly wide, like a cobra's hood. Memories of the girl's outsized clitoris came flooding back to Fatima. She had to have her, even if it meant kneeling before the chambermaid and abasing herself.

First, she took off her bra, giving the girl something to look at - remembering the way she had handled her breasts roughly and even pinched her nipples at their first meeting. Today, she thought, I will make her treat me with the respect I deserve - the respect I have always received from other men...and women, thinking of Jade.

She glanced across towards Hunter, but could only see his bare feet, such was the obstructed view she had. She was a bit surprised that he chose not to get a better view of the action, but thought he would be unable to remain where he was when she had the girl begging her for more.

Before she did anything else, Fatima reached up and pushed the girl's T-shirt up, revealing those perky pear-shaped tits. She couldn't resist squeezing them, then tweaking the nipples - little things, nowhere near on a par with her own. The maid hardly registered a flicker of emotion, continuing to look at Fatima with her hazel-green eyes, as if urging her to do better.

Peeling apart her kidney-shaped petals, Fatima brought her tongue to the girl's quim. Bone-dry would be an exaggeration, but the only hint of any arousal was the fragrance which Fatima had already inhaled from her panties. Fatima couldn't bear to think of Hunter's weapon sliding easily in and out of this cunt after he had caused the wellspring to flow, so she began to lave the outer lips with her tongue, using her fingers as gently as she could to keep maintain the access she required.

It was when she snaked one hand up Genevieve's body and began to massage her breasts with tenderness and attentiveness to her needs that the girl really began to respond. Finally, she started to make the kind of whimpering noises which Fatima had been expecting. More significantly, her pussy began to moisten. Determined to keep it in that state, Fatima increased the scope and intensity of her cunnilingus, inserting first one, then two fingers into the girl's tight hole.

'Oui!' Genvieve gasped, her lack of control now clear to all.

7

As Fatima had predicted, Hunter didn't want to miss out on the action once it began to hot up. He walked quietly across the room and moved a chair so he could get a bird's eye view. Aware of his presence, Fatima automatically upped her game, driving her tongue deeper into the chambermaid's ever-moistening cunt, while continuing to caress and knead her boobs.

As she did so, she hatched a plan for Hunter and the girl. She would get him to sit on the chair, then he would take her cowgirl, with the girl facing away from him, so they couldn't look into each other's faces. But that was for later. For now, she was going to make the coquette come. She knew she was close; she just needed to push her over the edge.

Fatima remembered how the maid had reacted when she shoved a finger up her ass. 'That should do the trick,' she told herself, removing one hand from the girl's chest and licking her middle finger. She didn't want to faff about trying to stick it into a place that was basically inaccessible, so she made as if to lift the girl's bum up, until she got the idea and raised herself from the cushion.

'Okay, you'll like this. I can promise you that,' Fatima said, in the tone a doctor might use to mean, 'This may hurt a bit.'

The finger powered in with tremendous force, causing the maid to cry out - more in surprise, Fatima felt certain, than pain, even if Hunter wasn't so sure. That is, until the cry morphed into a sustained howl, as orgasm succeeded orgasm. His jaw hanging slack, Hunter realised this was going to be a hard act to follow.

Very pleased with how everything was going, Fatima had now to decide who was going to disrobe Hunter. She knew the maid would like to have that honour, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear her bill and coo and utter her praises of him in a language she couldn't understand. Or even in English, for that matter.

Of course, one thing she could do was to ask Hunter, but she knew what his answer would be. He must have been thinking about the working-class girl unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his trousers for the last 24 hours. As for what she might do when his weapon hove into sight, Fatima didn't like to think.

They say he who hesitates is lost, and Fatima provided a perfect example of this adage, as Genevieve, naked apart from her tiny T, walked over to Hunter and gestured to him to stand up. Realising she had been outthought, Fatima took the warm seat vacated by the chambermaid and steeled herself to watch the show, reminding herself not to lose her cool or do anything to antagonise her husband.

'Bonjour!' she said to Hunter in a sultry voice which she had most definitely not deployed with Fatima.

'Bonjour!' replied Hunter, smiling his most winning smile.

Genevieve peeled off her top slowly like a stripper, tossing it across the room as if to a member of an imaginary audience. She smiled seductively at Hunter ('leer' was the word Fatima would have used) and ran her tongue along her upper lip. Hunter stood there trying not to look like the cat who had got the cream, the bulge in his trousers very apparent to his wife and presumably to their playmate as well.

She started to undo the buttons of his shirt, moving slowly but with an ease which could only have come from practice. As she did so, she let her nails (painted today, Fatima noticed) scrape his skin, hard enough to make him wince. When she got to the last visible button, rather than pull his shirttails out, she moved seamlessly to his trousers, unbuttoning them, then pulling the zip down in one easy motion.

Fatima heard him sigh, and guessed that the little minx had let her fingers brush his cock. When she pulled the trousers down (letting them settle at his feet for the moment), his erection was obscenely visible - straining against the taut fabric of his briefs.

Dropping to her knees, the girl pulled the underwear down (none too gently, so that the penis was caught up in the fabric for a split second before springing free).

'Mon dieu!' the girl cried, as the monster narrowly missed hitting her in the face.

The immensity of the task before her must have hit her like a sledgehammer. Playing for time, she helped Hunter out of his trousers and lay them unfolded on the nearby table. Then, momentarily disappointing Hunter, she stood up and dealt with the few remaining buttons on his shirt. When she got to the last she paused, looked up at Hunter and waited until he gave the response she was looking for - a soft guttural grunt.

Only then did she undo the button, which brought her into an inevitable collision with his erection. Still ignoring it, she helped him out of his shirt, very slowly and deliberately, as a solicitous valet might have done, placing it on top of his trousers. Then she kissed him (softly on the mouth), moving in towards him a fraction so that his penis made landfall on her belly.

Despite herself, Fatima's fingers found their way to her vagina and she began to pleasure herself. In the state she was in she couldn't care if the girl got her piece of Hunter so long as he fucked her good and hard after she had had her way with him.