Sour Grapes

Gilles de Bergerac was expected.

Gilles pushed the door open on its creaky, unoiled hinges, and he entered the stuffy atmosphere of the modest apartment - stuffy, with the scents of unwashed young womanhood.

Gilles saw that all eleven of Corrine's grape-treader underlings had come over from their awful abodes to receive him as usual.

None of them would miss his visits without good reason.

Gilles did not know who enjoyed and looked forward to his twice-weekly visits to Corrine's 'apartment' the most - him or them.

His twelve barefoot grape treaders were dressed as usual in their tattered and threadbare landworker attire. They had no 'Sunday best'.

Three of them were new. They had joined Corrine's team of traditional barefoot grape treaders last week to replace the three young women who had taken their vacant jobs to serve as domestic maids in one of the big, well-to-do houses.

They had come to work at the de Bergerac winery because they liked wine. And because they had heard about 'Monsieur'.

In their early twenties, the newcomers were Monique, Sophy and Suzette.

Monique, Sophy and Suzette were new - but they had already stood barefoot on their employer's upturned noble face single-footed, their toes over his nose and, looking down into his unaverted eyes, they had seen in the 'windows of his soul' all they needed to know: 'I have him! I have him!'

They knew 'his type' - they had satisfied their shame-faced requests to earn some pin money. It was funny - but 'his type' was not so uncommon as a young seamstress or handmaiden might have naturally assumed.

Gilles' total capitulation to the three attractive newcomer grape-treaders was evidenced in the usual way as they stood single-footed on his upturned face, their toes folded over his nose for him to enjoy and to recognise their individual under-the-toes scents - and their future empowerment over him was established.

But, as yet, none of them had been selected by Corrine to 'pleasure' him.

Monique, Sophy and Suzette were not of the same amoral thousand-'liaison' cut and calibre as that shameless hussy, that self-confessed harlot, that tart of tarts, that matchless trollop - Nicole.

But neither were they total strangers to the pleasures of the flesh.

Monique, Sophy and Suzette acknowledged Gilles with a tilt of their wine bottles and looked at him saucily.

They knew their time to 'pleasure' him would come soon. It was only a matter of time. And, they had all told Gilles they were looking forward to Corrine selecting them for their inaugural 'pleasuring'.

Corrine was seated on her austere room's only rickety rattan chair, her ankles crossed, her well-worn sabot-clad feet propped up on her varnished but dusty mahogany sumptuously-cushioned footstool.

The incongruous furniture item: another gift 'offering' from Gilles, for which his lady wife was still searching all over their mansion house.

And dusty: because Gilles had not visited Corrine since Wednesday.

Corrine was not houseproud - because her house was nothing to be proud of.

And anyway - Corrine allowed Gilles to do her 'dusting' because he wanted to do it for her.

As a symbolic gesture of his own volition, Gilles wiped off the thick film of house dust with one half of his folded monogrammed silk handkerchief and polished the varnished mahogany back to its high shine with the clean half as his final act of service before he departed Corrine's dreadful abode on Wednesdays and Sundays. There was not much that Gilles could do about the footstool's, by now, egregiously soiled cambric-covered cushioning, which only got dirtier and dirtier from Corrine's sabots and from her propped-up dirty bare feet as the weeks went by.

Corrine now ritually kicked off the well-worn sabot from her uppermost foot, her left foot, to let it land where it would and for Gilles to retrieve presently.

Gilles' eyes arrowed in as they always did, and he felt the familiar responsive tingle in his dick at his first sight of Corrine's dirty bare left sole - his first sight since Wednesday.

Corrine scrunched, wiggled, and then spread the dirty toes of her left foot to titillate her visitor. Gilles' dick tingled some more at the sight - and at seeing the gunk in between her spread toes.

Gilles' tongue salivated in his anticipation. Corrine no longer washed her own feet - Gilles did. Twice a week.

It was now a sight that Gilles could never tire of - in fact, could not get enough of.

But Corrine had sense enough to ensure that her employer did not get too much of a good thing.

"Madame Corrine," said Gilles in salutation and bowed to the waist.

"Monsieur," replied Corrine sardonically. Much to the amusement of her eleven grape-treader underlings, who, having kicked off their sabots which lay scattered about the dusty hard-packed earth floor of Corrine's pitiable 'apartment', were stood around in their dirty bare feet and drinking their generously increased daily allowance of Chateau la Feete straight from the bottle as was their unappreciative and undiscerning norm of imbibement.

Gilles proudly showed Corrine the elegant label of his ritual 'offering' - a magnum bottle of Chateau la Feete, this one his seven-years-old Special Reserve - and Corrine nodded her sardonic approval.

Gilles said, "Madame Corrine, it is my favourite vintage. The year that you first barefoot-trod my grapes."

Corrine said, "Monsieur - is this a special occasion?"

Gilles replied, "Madame Corrine - my queen - my visits to you here are always special occasions. I only wish you would allow me to visit your boudoir more often. Perhaps three times a week?"

Corrine said, "Monsieur - I must not spoil you. You will tire of me."

Gilles said, "Madame Corrine - you know I will never tire of you."

Gilles pulled the cork of his most expensive bottle with the opener he had brought. Gilles then produced a sparkling clean cut-crystal glass from his other pocket, which he further polished to a high shine with his monogrammed claret-coloured silk handkerchief - the handkerchief that he would use to dust and then buff the varnished mahogany of Corrine's footstool to restore its gleaming high shine before departing her depressing 'chalet'. Gilles then filled the gleaming glass with the premium quality Chateau la Feete and handed it by the stem to Corrine with another reverential bow.

Gilles felt that other familiar responsive tingle in his now fast-enlarging dick at the thought of being Corrine's personal sommelier - and humbly serving, to her, one of his renowned wine estate's most prestigious products.

Gilles had advised Corrine that the bouquets and flavours of his barrel-aged wines would be better appreciated if left to breathe for an hour after the cork was pulled. Corrine had laughed at him and said, "Monsieur - do you think I have patience for that?"

Corrine held the cut-crystal glass of addictive red wine protectively in both hands, raised it to her lips, half-drained it in three gulps, and then gestured to Gilles with a nod of her head to refill her glass.

When her wine waiter Gilles had duly done so, Corrine gestured with her refilled glass towards her mahogany sumptuously cushioned footstool.

Minette - no longer the meek and mild, respectful and reverent, bowing and curtsying ingenue of two months ago - approached Gilles with a smirk.

Minette said, "Monsieur - let me make you more comfortable!"

Gilles kept his hands to himself and did not interfere as Minette, with her expert fingers, undid the buttons on his fly and pulled out his now semi-erect and already stickily drooling dick for all to see.

The titters and giggles of his assembled grape-treader employee hussies, harlots, tarts and trollops made his face burn bright red as Minette waved his dick about like a self-fattening sausage.

Gilles said, "Thank you, Mademoiselle Minette."

Minette emitted a sound between a delighted squeal and an amused giggle at the lingering novelty of her emasculated employer's now reverent respect for her - and at her seemingly undiminishing empowerment over him.

Gilles said nothing and did nothing to stop Minette as she waved his dick about like a fat sausage and stared at him salaciously.

Minette then fluttered her eyelashes and said coquettishly, "Monsieur - it is for Corrine to decide. But... do you want me to be one of the two girls to pleasure you first?"

Gilles felt his face burn redder than the glass of premium quality Chateau la Feete, Special Reserve, in the protectively cupped hands of his unappreciative and undiscerning Head grape-treader forewoman Corrine.

Gilles said, "Yes, Mademoiselle Minette... please. You are... my favourite."

Minette pouted her lips and said, "Monsieur - you flatter me!"

Gilles said, "Mademoiselle Minette - I do not!"

Minette let go of Gilles' dick and nodded downward to 'his place' in front of formerly his lady wife's but now Corrine's mahogany sumptuously-cushioned footstool.

Minette said sternly, unnecessarily but just because she liked to: "Monsieur - then first, you must kneel! Kneel - until your queen, Corrine, tells us that you are ready, and she selects two of us to pair up to pleasure you. Monsieur - kneel at the feet of your queen! Monsieur - kiss the feet of your queen!"

Gilles' semi-erect dick became a bit more than semi-erect and tingled and drooled a bit more at his being bossed and ordered about by Minette.

Gilles de Bergerac, the fifth-generation owner of the renowned wine estate that produced the famed Chateau la Feete red, knelt at the footstool of his Head grape-treader Corrine du Corbieres on the bare earth floor in her ramshackle 'chalet'.

Corrine drank her wine and looked down on her knee-bound employer as he kissed the uppermost dirty bare sole of her ankle-crossed feet - her left foot - until he was mad with desire, his ramrod dick drooling and twitching for all to see.

Gilles yearned to lick the dirty bare sole of Corrine's uppermost foot, her left foot - but he knew he must not. Gilles craved to delve his tongue between Corrine's filthy-dirty toes to devour her incredible flavours - but knew he must not.

Not yet.

Corrine said, "Monsieur - tell me. What progress have you made on the most pressing matter I have been speaking to you about recently?"

Gilles said, "Madame Corrine - I have done my utmost to minimise your inconvenience. I have been remiss - I know. But the construction work will begin soon for the new suites of on-site accommodation. A private sumptuous chalet for yourself and a modern building of private apartments to house up to twenty of your staff in the latest comforts."

Corrine snapped, "Monsieur - do not be vague! Soon? How soon?"

Gilles said, "Madame Corrine - the work will begin next week. The constructors tell me they will bring in extra help and work all daylight hours and seven days a week - as I have asked them to, at a considerable extra cost - to ensure that both buildings will be ready in one month."

Corrine further prompted, "Monsieur - and...?"

Gilles said, "Madame Corrine - and yes. I will personally janitor your new accommodation daily to your previously stated required standards, and I will also service all of the living quarters of your staff."

Corrine then announced: "Monsieur is ready. I will grant his wish. Minette - you and Anne-Marie. Pair up! You know what to do. But first - my wine glass is empty. Minette - have Monsieur refill it for me."

Minette shrilled bossily, "Monsieur - get up! You heard your queen! Her glass is empty! You must refill it! Refill her wine glass!"

Gilles got up from his knees at Corrine's footstool, his hardened, drooling dick protruding from his open fly and hardening and drooling a bit more at Minette's bossy chivvying.

Gilles picked up the magnum of Chateau la Feete, Special Reserve, and refilled Corrine's cut-crystal glass.

"Monsieur," said Corrine sardonically.

Minette said, "Monsieur - now lie down on your back!"

Gilles lay supine on the dusty bare earth floor of Corrine's 'compact apartment', and Minette and Anne-Marie kicked his drooling erection laughingly, to the tittering amusement of his other, onlooking Chateau la Feete imbibing barefooted grape-treader employee harlots and tarts.

Corrine brought her feet off her footstool and onto the floor, slid her foot from her right sabot and pushed it under her footstool with her foot. Corrine then arose barefoot from her wretched room's only rickety rattan chair and, refilled glass in hand, stood over her 'master' and looked down on him.

Corrine then stepped onto Gilles' chest and looked down into his unaverted eyes - and what she saw in them, as he looked up to her, told her everything she already knew.

Corrine took a few sips of her wine to enjoy the moment.

Corrine then said, "Minette! Anne-Marie! We must not keep Monsieur waiting. You know how excitable he gets - he is prone to unfortunate accidents. So - we must not allow him to waste himself. That is now our right! That is now for us to do - not for him! Monsieur will spill his seed for us! At our feet! And - because of our feet!"

Minette and Anne-Marie now positioned themselves in readiness, standing back to back on either side of Gilles' stickily seeping hard-on.

Silvie and Nicole came over to hold Minette and Anne-Marie's hands to steady them as they stood single-footed - but first, they kicked their employer's drooling erection laughingly. Of course, they did.

Gilles' face was the only face that burned red at seeing the stringy clear droplets born of his uncontrollable excitement fly free from the end of his fat sausage of a laughingly-kicked dick to slowly darken the hardpacked bare earth floor of Corrine's 'compact apartment' where the colourless pre-ejaculate substance landed in unsightly tacky splotches.

Corrine folded the filthy-dirty toes of her left foot over Gilles' nose, then transferred her whole body weight to stand single-footed on his upturned face.

Corrine looked down into Gilles' unaverted eyes - she never tired of letting him see her triumphal dominance. Never tired - of reminding him who now held the Full House and who now held the pair of 2s.

To remind Gilles of who now held the Full House and who held the pair of 2s, Corrine took a few more sips of her wine as she looked down on him.

The pompous, fatuous fathead had lorded over her for seven years.

Seven years!

If only she had known earlier...

But now - it was her turn.

And it would stay her turn.

Minette and Anne-Marie now placed the dirty sole of their bare left foot on Gilles' drooling, twitching, engorged member, the pads of their expert toes playing at the thickened base and the rough-skinned bottoms of their grimy bare heels gently rubbing the stickily filmed bulbous purple head between them.

Corrine's timing was perfect as usual as she stepped off Gilles' upturned face and back onto his chest to turn her back on him.

Corrine, as she always did, proffered her left dirty bare sole for Gilles to first kiss to reaffirm her unchanged status as his queen before she granted him his desperate relief at the expertly teasing feet of her two selected underlings to 'pleasure' him.

Gilles craned his neck and, in his usual fit of crazed passion, maniacally kissed the bare sole of Corrine's expectantly proffered dirty left foot in worshipful abandon. Gilles frantically planted his adoring kisses all over Corrine's dirty sole but, mostly, on the bottom of the rough-skinned and grimy bare heel that he knew he was not only literally but metaphorically under and would always be.

Corrine now inserted the filthy-dirty toes of her left foot into her employer's wide-open receptive mouth - and Gilles sucked on and licked between Corrine's dirty toes as he gazed upon the inches-away rough-skinned grimy bare heel that he was not only physically but figuratively under.

Minette now turned around while Anne-Marie stayed put. Minette rested the bottom of her grimy heel at the thickened base of her side of their employer's 'foot-long' dick and folded her dirty toes over its stickily seeping bulbous purple head.

It didn't take long.

Gilles' animalistic noises greatly amused his now tipsy watchers as he beat his fists on the hard-packed bare earth floor of Corrine's attached accommodation 'chalet' at the almost intolerable sensory overload of being 'pleasured'.

Minette and Anne-Marie sandwiched their employer's 'foot-long' dick between their dirty bare soles and, to his watchers' raucous encouragement and their enthusiastic applause, Minette and Anne-Marie made him climax and spill his seed in great gouting white spurts and then milked him of what he had left as he sucked on and licked the gunk from between the filthy-dirty toes of Corrine's left foot as he stared longingly at the grimy bottom of her bare heel.

Post-climax, as she remained standing on his chest with her back to him and watched his 'foot-long' dick shrink to an inch long, Corrine allowed Gilles to lick the rest of her dirty left sole from the filthy-dirty ball of her foot to the grimy bottom of her heel until clean while enjoying some more sips of her wine.

Then Corrine stepped down from her employer's chest and returned to her seat and footstool.

Minette then said bossily, "Monsieur - get up! But remain on your knees! Return to your place - in front of your queen's footstool!"

His 'foot-long' dick, now an inch long, Gilles returned on his knees to where Minette called 'his place' - in front of Corrine's mahogany sumptuously-cushioned footstool.

Corrine, having re-seated herself on her ratty rattan chair and propped up her feet on her footstool, ankles crossed, awaited his slavish attendance.

Corrine's lowermost left foot was bare - and clean because, interspersed between his worshipful and still ardent kisses, he had tongue-bathed her dirty sole from the filthy dirty ball of her foot to the grimy bottom of her heel post-climax.

Corrine's uppermost foot, now her still-dirty right foot, was again sabot-shod.

Gilles looked across Corrine's austere 'parlour' to where Corrine's eleven grape-treader underlings, fast-emptying wine bottles in hand, stood around in their dirty bare feet. They looked back at him - on his knees in front of the footstool of his 'queen'.

By now - twice a week, for the last two months - it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Gilles' knee-bound servitude at Corrine's footstool and his self-debasing debauchery at her dirty feet and at the dirty feet of her eleven underlings was a regular twice-weekly occurrence.

The three newcomers: Monique, Sophy and Suzette - looked at him saucily. Did they know that their turns to 'pleasure' him were imminent?

Minette and Anne-Marie raised their sun-browned legs toward him to show him their post-'pleasuring' sticky, dirty soles, wiggled their glistening sperm-coated toes at him, and smiled at him. They clinked their wine bottles, tilted them at him - and then raised their bottles to their lips to chug down some self-congratulatory slugs of Chateau la Feete at their brilliantly successful 'pleasuring'.

Corrine was not in the least put out at seeing the gooey footprints on her floor made by the ejaculate-covered soles of Minette and Anne-Marie.

Corrine was not houseproud.

Corrine said, "Monsieur," and showed Gilles her now empty cut-crystal wine glass.

Not for the first time, Gilles marvelled at Corrine's claret-consuming capacity - wondered if Corrine had the proverbial 'hollow legs'.

At Corrine's prompting, Gilles got up from his knees at 'his place'. He bowed to Corrine, took her cut-crystal glass by the stem and refilled it from the fast-emptying magnum bottle of Chateau la Feete, Special Reserve, that was this Sunday's 'offering' to Corrine. Gilles handed the refilled glass by the stem to the woman who now ruled him, bowed to her, and then returned to his knees at 'his place': in front of her footstool at the soles of her feet.