tagLesbian SexLes Femmes de Chambre

Les Femmes de Chambre


As it had every morning for decades on the Right Bank, the aroma of yeast produced by bread baking inside Plaisir et Pain wafted through the cold, humid autumn air. That the boulangerie renowned for its five-pound loaves was located near the hotel where she worked motivated Therese to skip the green bus after exiting the Metro's Madeleine station so that she could take in the pleasure a pied. Sauntering, as a full hour remained before reporting time, she enjoyed her ritual of gazing at the extraordinary addresses and ordinary faces in the tony huitieme arrondissement.

Tranquil rue St-Etienne emerged before her. With the sensual smell of bread lingering in her nostrils and fallen leaves of red and gold crunching underfoot, she caught her breath and patted her heaving buxom chest through her navy blue wool coat. Mental absorption of nature's delightful textures nearly caused her to bypass the hotel -- not the first time that happened. Unlike other establishments on the quiet block, L'Hotel Claire was housed in an inconspicuous building that possessed neither an ornate facade nor a liveried doorman. In underground circles, L'Hotel Claire was considered the perfect site for a randy rendezvous.

Although Therese was flirting with the 50 mark, but had the confident strut of a 30-year-old. Having slaved in the service industry for nearly three decades, she was a newcomer at L'Hotel Claire. During her long career at various hotels in her native country, from Brittany on the northern coast to the Cote d'Azur on the Mediterranean, she struggled to raise seven sons with the guilt money of their married fathers -- after whom they were named. Her lovers numbered in the hundreds. The morning after a lust-filled night, one of those lovers faxed her resume to L'Hotel Claire.

Entering the hotel, Therese was unaware of the glazed-eyed look on her face until a dapper Parisian gentleman who was departing the hotel returned a lascivious glance. She took her time entering the toasty Art Nouveau lobby, where guests were either checking in at the front desk or making haste to the spiral wrought-iron staircase that led to Le Restaurant Pierre. After enjoying a traditional le petit dejeuner of her own in the cafeteria, which was reserved for service personnel, she would ready for the next order of business: cleaning and preparing assigned rooms for existing and incoming guests. But every now and then, breakfast was followed by joining the other femmes de chambre for an orgy of gossip about the guests' goings-on. Thus, on this November morning Therese summoned her friends, who were assigned to various etages, to meet at a fire exit on the top floor.

Within minutes the maids converged in the corner like a flock of fallen nuns anxious to compare each other's naughty habits. Whispers and gasps accompanied Therese's description of the latest trysts on her floor, the participants of which did not fit the profile of any of L'Hotel Claire's seamy assortment of visitors. They would have settled for a linen closet, as long as there was sufficient privacy to air their dirty laundry. Gathered in the well-appointed suite, the chambermaids plunked themselves down onto various kinds of furniture: a queen-sized bed, velvety sofas, desks and ottomans. When all of the ladies were accounted for, they began serving each other coffee and tea in preparation for their weekly dialogue du matin.

"Make it ribald!" one maid called out in the dusky patois of her native Haiti.

"It had better be explicit. I want to come this time," said a statuesque, long-breasted maid from Senegal, who spoke Wolof and French.

For comfort during the dialogue du matin, she cradled a porcelain cup of espresso, which, unknown to her, a colleague had laced with an aphrodisiac. Curtains drawn, the patchouli incense was lighted. Red candles glowed in the wood-scented haze. Therese gulped down the bitter black coffee, then allowed her mind to wander back in time to la belle americaine. L'histoire was in progress.

The beauty's name was Stephanie. A 28-year-old high school teacher, she had left her home in Hackensack, New Jersey, for a transatlantic flight to France. During the monthlong sojourn, Paris was intended only as a three-day stopover, but Therese recollected that the schoolteacher shared with her a weekful of delights. "I've got a surprise for you," Therese recalled Stephanie saying as they lay in each other's arms on the schoolteacher's second night in the City of Light, in late July. "After speaking with the concierge, I've decided to extend my stay. I'm gonna do Paris!" Instead, Therese did Stephanie. Over and over.

At L'Hotel Claire, sleeping with guests was not against the rules, though exercising discretion was a prerequisite to exorcising lust. Therese remembered Stephanie taking awhile to open the door to Room 203. Unbeknownst to the maid, the schoolteacher was having a post-bath orgasm in la salle de bains. Meanwhile, at the threshold Therese skulked into the room while imploring, "Madame, vous allez bien?" The wispy-framed young woman stopped fingering herself into a second frothy climax in time to cover up in a towel, her still-wet long hair clinging to the middle of her back. After the two women reciprocated a "Bonjour" near the brass bed, there was an extended period of silence.

Stephanie's features aroused Therese, from the pouty pink lips and dimpled chin to the graceful neck and succulent breasts. The bottom of her towel was shorter in the front than in the back, denying Therese a peek at her prey's pert derriere but affording her a generous view of the closely shaved pubes above prickly, protruding labia. Stephanie's legs were parted widely enough for her predator to spot a viscous dewdrop on the left inner thigh. Therese's nostrils filled with the ocean fragrance of the coral shells, which were within her right index finger's reach. But then she turned shy, pinning her arms to her hips. It was Stephanie who alternated caresses between her erect outer and inner lips to the point of moaning sensuously. It was she, the conservative American schoolteacher, who dropped the towel and cajoled Therese to bend down, place her thick lips on the clit's rubbery hood and, after sufficient stimulation, lap at the cream oozing from the nether mouth.

A racy reminiscence such as this one moved Therese to perceive the insistent throb of her hidden jewel as outpacing the Vodun drumbeats of her heart. No longer could she hear the others bawdy chortles providing lusty counterpoint with her inner, robust rhythms. Her mind played and replayed the tape of her lips clamping on Stephanie's small tits for the first time. There on the armchair, she came, totally oblivious that the other maids were engrossed in an orgy of blurred black and white gestures.

"I'm coming!" the bosomy Toulouse-born maid yelled, barely able to stand against a wall. The nubile 22-year-old couldn't stop herself from yelping as her older Senegalese partner warbled words in Wolof and French between loud sucking of perky rose-tipped breasts. Then the tall woman got up off her knees in front of her flush-faced companion and turned her so that she was facing an open window. She scooted down and felt her swollen labia open to the warmth of the room, which made her sigh. Now facing the younger woman's reddened cheeks, she reached out to palm them and couldn't resist alternately kissing and licking the crack. Under a spell, the Senegalese maid parted her engorged purple lips, stuck out her searing tongue and penetrated her partner's twitching pink anus. By this time, the white woman's honeyed fingers were rubbing her vibrating bud, and when she felt her partner's ebony right hand guiding her dewy digits into a frenzy, her knees began to buckle and she came harder than before. The Toulouse maid tried to grasp the curtain on one side of the window but missed and slid down to the carpet on all fours, her dripping pussy exposed. Her ebony companion bent down to slurp down her friend's salty-sweet meringue while her hand whipping the creamy come around her own dark forested mound. Before long, she turned the brook gurgling around her wild nook into a river and she screamed out her orgasm.

Nearby, the youngest of the chambermaids, at age 20, was having fun fondling her treasures while lying prostrate. There in a quiet corner of the orgiastic suite she believed was a semblance of privacy. That could not have been farther from the truth. If only she could have muffled her moans with one of her sticky hands, she would have remained a virgin for another day. However, her crescendo -- as lovely as an audition for a solo in an angelic choir -- signaled a throng of maids to stop thrusting their fingers and tongues into various orifices. In an instant, they flung themselves upon the lass. Not one part of the maiden's body was spared by a wooden Japanese dildo. Not one opening was left sacred as the women kissed, licked, sucked and fucked her until she was spent and silent.

In another section of the room, a Haitian maid did not seem to require companions on her trip to Creole heaven. At first she was rocking her heavy cocoa-brown bottom against the sofa's edge. Then, she removed her remaining garment, a white cotton brassiere soaked with perspiration. Now totally nude, with the whites of her eyes gleaming, the Haitian maid yelled, "Oh, moi aussi!" before dropping down to the carpet on her hands and knees. In her exaltation she did not notice that a couple of seminude women -- one mulatto, one white -- were now flanking her. But after they hunkered down conspiratorially to taste her chocolate cheeks, she encouraged them with, "Oui, la ba." She could not stop moaning when they teasingly pinched and nibbled all over her enormous backside. Her tone turned mellifluous when a pair of tongues began lapping at her outer labia before taking different paths: down a quivering inner thigh, over a terse kneecap, between curled toes.

When the women's lust reached its boiling point, they flipped over their Creole conquest to take full advantage of her plump bosom, one of them kissing the underside of one tit and the other seizing a pointy nipple between eager fingers. They separately explored her north and south erogenous zones, sucking the juicy lips there before doubling up to tease and lick her dark-pink clit. Squirming around in her own steamy cum, the Creole maid let out a "Oui, oui!" Lifting her head, she marveled at the twin spears darting in opposite directions across her wildflower's rubbery petals. She surrendered to their double passion, moaning and tugging at her nipples while the duo's glistening white and tan fingers penetrated her pussy and anus. The Haitian maid was writhing as her mulatto captor slid the hood of her clit back and forth across the head. She groaned loudly. Tongues dancing in each other's mouths, the horny duo were so entranced that they were unaware of the movements of their slippery digits on the clit hood of their squirming prey. The friction on the Creole's clit set off her alarm, and she fainted.

Through the glorious climaxes converging behind locked doors of a hotel suite, Therese seemed miles away, as if she had communicated with a pantheon of sex goddesses. Like a temptress, she sat perched on her newfound throne, casting a scornful glance down at the other chambermaids. With the help of spiked espresso, she had come in divine solitude, yet in the midst of friends. Now they lay before her, spent and numb, humbled in their motley nakedness. A rebirth had occurred in Therese, as if the energy from the maids' erotic explosions had released spores into the air that planted lusty seeds in her womb's latent soil. Rising, she straightened her uniform and savored the thought that her soul was ripe enough to allow more adventures to begin.

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