The Bet

The Bet

My husband is a merchant. We live in the thriving port of Calais above our small warehouse on the Boulevard St. Christophe. He is a canny and very successful importer of spices and dried herbs with which he supplies many of the kitchens of the bourgeoisie as well as the restaurants throughout the region. One of my passions is cooking, and I love to wander through the warehouse sniffing, and sometimes tasting, the exotic wares stacked neatly on deep wooden racks. Amid the huge timber beams, I plot and scheme my next culinary adventure, sometimes planning a menu for Henri's clients and sometimes just for the two of us. Cooking challenges me whether it's inventing a lime, cream and fennel sauce for the pork I'm serving or searching the market for fresh eggs, chives and parsley for Henri's breakfast. A well-prepared meal is a seduction of the senses. I am proud of the fact that I contribute to Henri's success by seducing his clients with my cooking. I often dream about being the chef of my own exclusive restaurant, but Henri is conservative in some ways and is uncomfortable with the idea of a working wife.

My other passion is Henri. Whenever possible, I combine my obsessions by choreographing a quiet candlelit supper followed by lovemaking as a seamless sensual experience for us both. A typical seduction starts early in the morning with some gentle erotic play; kissing, stroking and tweaking to enhance the appetite. It is still early when I leave the house to search out my ingredients; perhaps fresh trout, cream, mushrooms, white burgundy, and onions. Herbs and spices I can get from the warehouse. After lunch, I prepare the bread dough and set it aside covered with a damp cloth. I muse on how this small lump of dough grows so greatly under my ministrations. This gets me thinking about Henri and I wonder whether a damp cloth would have the same effect on him! Later in the afternoon, I lay the table with a fine Venetian lace tablecloth and Genoese crystal. I bath, powder and perfume myself and dress very simply in a single garment -- one of Henri's shirts. It is long enough that the tails just cover my bottom, and by fastening only a few of the buttons, I can provide Henri with tantalizing glimpses as I serve dinner.

Just before Henri arrives home, and when the cooking is well under way, I let down my long hair and comb it out. I meet Henri at the door with soft kisses and he cups my buttocks and draws me to him. He bathes and we sip a glass of Burgundy and share the day. He tells me about the smuggler who offered to take some of his merchandise to Dover for a sizable cut, and I tell him about the gossip the fish monger passed on to me about the Burgomaster's wife. With the candles lit, the crystal glinting in their glow, I draw Henri to the table and ply him with creamed mushroom trout. After the main course, I fill a small glass with calvados, and serve him runny camembert on my nipples or a piece of apple between my teeth. It's not long before our clothes are on the floor and we are in the throes of passion. Afterwards, Henri serves me coffee and we talk of this and that while he clears up and does the dishes.

We have been married fifteen years, and the only lasting sadness in our lives is that we have no children. We have been to many physicians who have prescribed remedies ranging from the outlandish to the disgusting, but all to no avail. One quack had me eating a portion of raw liver every day for a month to increase my monthly issue. Another administered a revolting potion to Henri that caused him to be hugely and painfully erect, and yet such was his discomfort that he could not complete the act with me. Henri has always longed for children and it grieves me to see the fleeting expression of sadness cross his face when he sees our friends' children, or when their exploits and achievements come up in conversation.

Henri is a good man; always attentive to me. Although he has always had an appreciative eye for a pretty woman, I am completely confident in his fidelity to me. He is that rarity; a man who treats me as his equal in every way, valuing my opinions and insights as much as his own. He is a wonderful listener and fully supportive of my ideas. Oh, he has his faults too, as do I. We both have streak of obstinacy in us that can draw out petty arguments unnecessarily, and he has a terrible time admitting he is wrong. When he makes a mistake, or lets someone down, he is apt to become depressed and irritable.

Our intimate life is joyful. We enjoy touching each other and being touched, provoking each other and being provoked. We tease each other mercilessly and reward each other freely. We play with each other's bodies in the way that children play with their toys. Our play is often delightfully silly. One time when Henri emerged from a cold bath, I reproached him for his tiny penis; hardly a complement to me. To improve his size, I held a silver mustard pot on the offending member and aroused him with kisses and stroking. In no time at all, the mustard pot was jammed on Henri's swelling penis, and waving around with his every move. We both laughed ourselves to tears until we discovered that the pot was stuck and beginning to hurt. In the end, I covered my nakedness and dowsed him with cold water until the pot came loose.

It was a hot July day. The usual dockside sounds seemed more muted than usual and the whole city drowsed under the noonday sun. Business was quiet and Henri had taken a longer lunch break than usual. In deference to the weather, we had stripped. Henri, who hated the heat, lay on the chaise fanning himself lethargically while I teased him by dancing lewdly around the room. Despite his obvious arousal, Henri seemed irritable as I made myself comfortable on the floor massaging his scrotum while sucking and licking the tip of his penis.

"You really are insatiable," he said.

I let go of him as if I'd been stung. While I loved the intimacy we shared, there were many times I seduced him out of love rather than need.

"You need me, a lot more than I need you," I retorted, furiously pulling on my clothes.

"Not true," Henri snarled. "You need sex more than I do."

I was outraged by the unfairness of his taking for granted and misinterpreting the motives for my frequent erotic overtures towards him.

"I'll wager that I can easily outlast you if it comes to abstinence," I said coldly.

"You're on. If you outlast me, I'll fund that restaurant of yours."

"And if you outlast me, which you won't, I'll throw you a party that will make you famous throughout Calais," I replied. "But," I cautioned, "you must sleep in bed with me every night and you can't relieve yourself."

"Agreed, and you mustn't pleasure yourself either," Henri replied.

The first night wasn't too bad. Henri set the tone by chastely kissing me goodnight and rolling away from me. I listened to him snore, cursing his ability to sleep deeply at any time. Henri is very hard to wake up even when it is time to go to work. Still, it wasn't long before I dropped off too, and though I missed our morning cuddle, Henri was jovial and upbeat as we prepared for the day. Over the next week, Henri's breaks became shorter and less frequent, and his joviality a little forced and I found myself becoming a irritable and restless. During the long and restless nights, I would catch myself putting my hands between my legs for comfort before rapidly pulling them away while reminding myself about the conditions of our wager.

In the second week, Henri began to avoid me, finding jobs to do in the warehouse or dining with clients at restaurants rather than asking me to host these events. I could see our loving and joyful relationship disintegrate before my eyes. Knowing Henri's high sexual needs, I became terrified that he might take a mistress. When we were together, I would watch myself acting like a shrew while Henri grew ever colder towards me. I knew that this could not go on. I could not allow our stubbornness to destroy our relationship, and yet neither was I willing to surrender. Then I had an idea.

That night, once Henri was asleep, I gently moved aside his night clothes and rejoiced to find that he had a very sturdy erection. Very cautiously, so as not to wake him, I took his shaft in my hands and very lightly stroked. His tip was distended and shiny in the moonlight. Very lightly, I licked it fondling his distended testicles. After a while he stirred in his sleep. I quickly rolled away from him. Of course, there was a price to pay for my scheming. Arousing him aroused me. What had always been a blessing before became a curse now. My nipples were painfully swollen and each time I moved the fabric of my nightdress brushed against them driving me crazy. Frustrated desire pulsed in the swollen wetness between my legs. My plan of course, was to stimulate Henri while he slept and so ensure his rapid capitulation. I had to be very careful not to overdo it as I didn't want to give him any relief. Each night that week, I pursued my plan and suffered agonies as a result. Each morning, I put on a show for Henri as I dressed. He tried hard not to watch but couldn't tear his eyes away from me. I took to wearing low cut dresses and visiting him in the warehouse on one pretext or another. In the evening, I called him to wash my back. My frustration was terrible, but I would not capitulate. Henri grew more and more sullen and withdrawn. His sense of humour deserted him and we both became more and more miserable.

One morning, I got up before him and sauntered around the bedroom, posing saucily now and then while trying to engage him in conversation. His eyes followed my every movement. He studied my face, my breasts, the curve of my waist, the V between my legs, my thighs and back again. His face became white, his body shook, his jaws clenched. Panic shot through me. Had my obstinate streak caused a seizure? Then with a hoarse cry, Henri threw off the covers and leapt on me. Throwing me to the bed, he plunged his hugely distended shaft deep into me, growling like an enraged animal. One great thrust, a yell, and he was finished. Great shuddering sobs forced their way out of my chest. He rolled off me and held me close, his breath steadying.

"My love! I've been such a fool," he said. "These last few weeks have been terrible. The gulf between us grew wider and wider. Everything became an act and I couldn't be myself with you. I wanted you so badly."

His voice shook and tears welled up in his eyes. I kissed his lips gently.

"Henri. I'm so sorry. It all got out of hand. I try so hard to make you happy and when you called me insatiable, I felt so hurt."

"I never meant to hurt you. Business has been really slow and I've been really worried. But I should never have taken it out on you. I am sorry. Please forgive me."

We cuddled closely for a while. I felt something warm nudging my hip.

"I see you're perking up again," I remarked. "I have to remind you that you've had some relief, but I'm still waiting for a gentleman to help me out."

He chuckled as he fastened onto my nipple and his hand slipped between my legs. We began the healing we needed so badly.

It wasn't until 9 weeks later that Henri returned to the subject of our wager. He was in a cheerful mood. The heat wave was over, and people were out and about more. Restaurant business was picking up and Henri was once again as busy as he could wish to be. Over breakfast, he ruefully reminded me to start looking for premises for my restaurant.

"You know Henri, I did cheat a little. I don't think it's fair to say I won."

Henri grinned. "Well, you certainly made best use of that attractive little body, but I wouldn't call that cheating."

I blushed, "I did um... encourage your penis a little while you were sleeping."

Henri's mouth dropped. I went on quickly.

"Anyway Henri, I won't have time for a restaurant for quite a while."

"Why ever not?" he exclaimed in surprise. "It was always your dream."

"My darling. I think I'm pregnant."