A New Yor Haunting:

Author's note:

Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this novel are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.

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Chapter 10. FRENCH LESSONS

1895 continued

Simone returned the next night, to Anders' joy. After washing and brushing his teeth, he had sat at his desk studying with the light on and the shutters open so that he would be visible through the window. When she climbed over the sill, there was a moment of awkward conversation before she moved towards his desk.

"What are these?" she asked, pointing at a row of glass jars on the shelf.

Happy at a topic he could expound upon with alacrity, he explained the various crystals he was growing. But it soon became evident that Simone did not share his enthusiasm for chemistry, and he feared he might bore her straight out of the room.

Thus, it was a relief when she turned to him with a sly expression and said,

"Eh bien

, are you growing ze crystal in here?" She squeezed his privates through his clothes. His eyes shifted between her hand and her face, and then it happened again as it had the previous night --- they were zealously kissing and embracing, standing next to his desk.

Making bold, Anders' hands roved over her body, lamenting the layers of clothing that thwarted a full feel of her breasts and bottom. He attempted to unfasten her dress, but she stopped him saying, "No, no. There is no time to undress."

Groping under the layers of her skirts, he pleaded, "Please, Simone. Let me see your ... your thing."

She rolled her eyes.

"Zut alors!

You men!" But she was smiling as she spun free from his arms and plopped upon the cot. Leaning back against the wall, she raised her knees, braced her heels wide apart on the front edge of the bed frame, and drew up her skirts. Her hands appeared around the outsides of her hips, curling around to grasp the fabric edges of the slit in the drawers and pull them open.

"Eh bien, regarde ça!

Look then."

Anders fell to his knees in front of the bed, agog at the glorious sight. Her bent knees were by her shoulders and her pretty quim was fully exposed to his gaze. In delight, he examined the details of the mysterious article, employing both his fingers and eyes, all while his cock strained up, eager for its share in the game. Simone watched him with an amused expression. Now he could see that her 'thing' was comprised by two sets of rosy lips flanking a vertical furrow. Soft, bouncy hair adorned the outer lips and a little mound up front. The inner lips were hairless and reminded him of flower petals. "Where is the hole?" he asked, gingerly parting her flesh.

"At ze back." Her fingers --- pinning the fabric edges against her inner thighs --- slid towards the center and grasped the puffed flesh of her outer lips. She spread them blatantly apart.

A hoarse moan escaped Anders at the lascivious tableau. Now indeed he could see a small dark opening at the rearmost aspect of the groove. It was irresistible --- he had to penetrate it! His big digit pushed its way up a steamy, restrictive passage. Oh, what a heavenly place! Buried to the knuckle, he wriggled it about, reveling in the velvety clasp. The amusement had vanished from Simone's face, replaced by a languid, heavy-lidded expression.

With a groan, he withdrew his finger, in wonder discovering it to be coated in a glistening fluid. It was not urine --- it was clear, shimmering, and had a thicker consistency. Lewd instinct instructed him: he brought his finger to his nose and inhaled the faint, novel, female scent --- then, without hesitation, he swabbed his tongue over it, the intoxicating taste fortifying his visceral appreciation. "What is this?" he breathed.

Her eyes glowed at him.

"La lubrication."

That instantly made sense to the scientist that he was, recalling innumerable machines he had seen where greased pistons moved inside cylinders. The blood surged in

his

raring piston.

Between her legs, her fingers urgently beckoned him

. "Alors

, curious boy ... give me your hand!" Her small hand fumbled with his larger one, isolating his forefinger and drawing it to the front of her slit, where she placed the tip upon her flesh. Here, she guided his digit in an up-and-down rubbing motion, soon letting go as he performed the demonstrated movement on his own.

Under the pad of his finger, Anders felt a small excrescence, but with the continued stroking, he quickly detected a swelling growth and increased turgor. Moreover, the fondling was having a noticeable effect on Simone --- her breaths became audible, and her hips moved restlessly.

Momentarily lifting his finger, he appreciated what he hadn't noticed before: a little hood was formed by the junction of the inner lips at the front of her cunny, and under it was a bud that responded so pointedly to sensual stimulation. "What is this spot called?" he asked, resuming the rubbing motion.

"I do not know ze Engleesh, but I call it my

bijou ,"

she sighed. "It is like

la pine

--- how you say --- your cock? Ze stroking is a pleasure superb." Her body wiggled, and he saw her opening squeeze. "Mmmm ... if you keep doing so, I shall spend."

Anders was dumbfounded. "Women can spend?!"

"Mais, bien sûr!

Of course!" she moaned, her hips arching up.

Enlightenment crashed over him. Of course! Of course! Why shouldn't they?! That was why she had been rubbing herself last night! His body throbbed from brain to cock at this confirmation of Nature's carnal plan. He redoubled his caresses of her

bijou

. "Oh, I want to see you spend!"

She whimpered in response, and with several more moments of his stroking, her little orifice squeezed again, this time emitting a slowly elongating bead of the slippery fluid. "Wait ..." she panted. "I want your

pine formidable

inside me!"

"Can you spend from that too?"

"Not by itself.

Le bijou

alone --- yes.

Le bijou

and a cock inside ---

"Oh, là là!" C'est un plaisir extraordinaire!"

She sat up and reached for him, pulling him off his knees and onto the bed.

"Did you --- did you spend last night, Simone?" He fumbled with his trousers and drawers.

She shook her head. "Zat is why it was too quick." Together their hands tugged his clothing down.

And then she was atop him again --- stretching her lubricated quim over his cock, wantonly riding him. Having already pulled his pudding earlier in the day, he now could savor the joys of fucking without struggling on the brink of spilling his seed.

He lasted a fair amount of time, during which Simone, with her up-and-down strokes, ground her excitable bud against his body, tickling it with her finger simultaneously. From his long experience frigging, Anders recognized in awe the symptoms in her face and breathing of her approaching orgasm --- in concert, he felt the remarkable, mounting compression of her privy alley around him. His own body shook with the oncoming storm.

The whispered stream of French abruptly halted. With a grunt, her body was spasming atop him and her cunny was rippling on his organ. Oh God! It was too much for him! In panic, he pushed on her thighs. "I'm spending!" he gasped. Like a shot, she bounded off his

pine

, pressing the fingers of one hand to her

bijou

even as she pumped out his pearly shower with the other.

*****

The next two weeks were a blur of sex and studying.

Even with his school obligations, it was a blissful fortnight of licorice scented kisses, throaty murmurs of

On-dairs

, and the milking squeeze of her auburn-trimmed arbor. Every night, or every other night between her duties in the mansion, Simone would sneak out to the cottage for a quick tryst. She was always pressed for time --- they scarcely conversed and always fucked with their clothes on, she lifting her skirts and opening the slit in her drawers. The complexities of female garments were such that there was no easy way to undress.

One day on campus, Anders consulted a French - English dictionary in the library and discovered that

bijou

meant 'jewel' --- a perfect name for the fascinating little structure.

Their fourth time together, Simone allowed that he had demonstrated enough self-control to be on top of her.

On a couple occasions, she did unfasten her bodice and unhook the top of her corset so that he could feel her naked breasts. What a treat! His first view and touch of a girl's bosom! Notwithstanding their diminutive size, he thought they were beautiful: pert, cone-shaped hillocks topped by plump, rose-colored nipples almost as thick as his little finger. They were a delight to draw between his fingers, and when covered by her chemise, made alluring protrusions into the thin white fabric. Alas, his longing to put his mouth on them was thwarted by the proximity of her confining corset.

It was also by such means that Anders learned the difference between the softer, corded corsets servants wore and the stiff, unyielding whalebone corsets into which elegant ladies were laced.

He learned more about her as well. She was twenty years old --- two years older than him --- and was originally from the city of Avignon, in the south of France. The income from the family bakery having been insufficient to support all her brothers and sisters, she had been working since the age of thirteen.

When she was eighteen, her soldier fiancé had been killed in battle in Africa, and Simone had taken herself to Paris where she registered with an agency placing servants in wealthy households. For almost two years, she had worked as a

femme de chambre

for a Parisian family, but when the agency had notified her of an opportunity in America, Simone had decided to accept the faraway position. America, she explained, was supposed to be a land of opportunity for people of all ranks in society. Thus had she ended up in the Fordyce household.

After a handful of their assignations, Anders had cause to wonder if his father suspected or knew about them. One evening at dinner, the scant conversation consisted of his father clearing his throat and reminding him that if a man impregnated a woman, the only moral recourse was to marry her. Anders felt the heat rising in his cheeks, and he focused on his plate as he responded in offhand tone, "Yes, of course,

Far

."

Damn!

Had he overheard them?! He understood the warning but could not for the life of him think about such things when he was between Simone's thighs. In any case, he was drawing out every time before he spent.

One Sunday morning, two weeks after the affair had begun, Anders wandered into the big kitchen at the mansion. After years of friendship with Fulton, his presence in the common areas of the manse drew no notice. The Fordyces had visiting guests, and the flurry of activity had prevented Simone from visiting him the past two nights. Although he was ostensibly looking for Fulton, he was not insensible to the prospect of glimpsing the French girl.

Only the cook and a scullery maid were present. To his inquiry about Fulton, the cook informed him that the entire family had gone to church services. Of course! Rarely attending himself, he often forgot about this Sunday obligation. As he turned away, a motion caught his eye at the far corner of the kitchen where an open doorway led to the servants' hallway. There, peering around the doorframe was Simone's mischievous face. Behind the cook's back, she made a beckoning motion with her finger.

Anders cleared his throat. "Well, I'll look for him later." He exited the kitchen through the door into the elegant dining room, and from there crossed the grand entry hall to the door under the stairs leading into the servants' hallway. But, looking in both directions, he saw no one in the corridor.

"Pssst!" came from somewhere close by.

He hastened to the stairway. Simone was on the landing, leaning on the sill of the window, her black and white uniform illuminated by sunlight. She winked at him. Ascending the stairs, Anders gazed at her eagerly, but found himself at a loss for words. Her smiling eyes moved over him. "Did you miss me?"

He nodded.

Her eyebrow arched.

"Oui?

How much?" Without an ounce of reticence, she reached for the flap of his trousers and began unbuttoning it.

"Simone!" he hissed, grabbing her hand. "Someone will see us!"

A slow shake of her head accompanied the next button popping free. "Everyone is at ze church ... for at least two hours. Besides, I think he wants to come out." Through his clothes, one deft hand rubbed and squeezed his quickening organ as her other worked the next button.

Anders' eyes darted up and down the stairs, then to the window next to them. The oak tree he had climbed two weeks ago screened the view from the mansion next door. Helpless under her salacious fondling, his cock expanded and expanded as he gazed imploringly at her

. Ahh God! What was she doing?!

At last, she released the final button and untethered his knob from a straining fold of fabric. The ruddy pillar swung skyward, uncapped for engagement.

"Voilà!

Even better than ze Eiffel Tower," she cooed, stroking it. Before he could inhale, Simone was on her knees before him, tilting his cock horizontally and engulfing the head with her wide-open mouth. Voluptuous wetness embraced him.

"Holy Hell!" he gasped, his eyes almost bulging out of his skull, his hands fumbling upon her hair. "Simone! What are you doing?!" In panic, he again scanned their surroundings.

She let him slide from her lips.

"Fumer le cigare."

Coy blue eyes looked up at him as her tongue tickled his swollen crown. "You do not like?"

He moaned. "Like?! It's sublime!"

The hot, velvety suction covered him again.

Oh God!

The sensation was exquisite! Beyond belief! His hands began to tremble against her bobbing white cap as her avid mouth slid up and down his shaft, tongue wiggling and massaging. "Simone ... I'm ...!" he croaked. She registered his contorted face and abruptly stopped.

"Oh no, don't spend yet! I want to play with him more." She rose to her feet and started up the next flight of stairs, tugging him by his cockstand.

"Allons-y!"

The epiphany blossomed. For as long as he had been indulging in bawdy musings, instinct had conjured up certain recurring visceral acts. This particular imagined act he had even heard referenced in jokes and swearing, but he had never dared believe a female would truly do such a thing. Now his longings had just found ecstatic confirmation in the material world, throwing wide the door on a banquet of erotic possibilities.

They ran up the stairs together, and Simone pulled him through a doorway off the servants' hallway. "Zis is my room." It was a small space with a narrow bed, a plain chest of drawers, and washstand. Crossing to a second door, she opened it, signaling silence with a finger to her lips. "Madame's chamber." She peered around the door. "

C'est bon

. There is no one." Closing it again, she turned to Anders with an impish smile.

"Come here," he urged, his arms and upright organ --- still glistening in his open trouser flap --- together beckoning her. An ardent embrace ensued, tongues and hands busy. Her palm worked up and down his truncheon while his groped beneath her skirts to breach the opening of her drawers. His big, eager finger felt the slickness of her crevice and slid into her snug jewel box while his thumb found and caressed the firmer button up front. Soft panting and wet kisses accompanied the voluptuous play.

Twisting, Anders backed her up to the bed and sat her down. At once he knelt between her knees. Simone's mischievous eyes watched him as he pulled her skirts up --- then she gasped as seized her hips and dragged her bottom to the edge of the mattress, making her fall back upon her elbows. "Oooh! What are you doing, my beeg Viking?!"

Parting the slit of her drawers, he bent and pressed his lips to her silky moss patch. "I want to

fumer

your bijou!"

Her giggling made her body quiver. "

Fumer

means to smoke!"

He continued nipping her mound, muttering, "What do you call it then--- like what you did to me?"

Simone raised her knees towards her shoulders, curling her pelvis up

.

Her black-stockinged calves and boots waved in the air on either side of his head.

"Alors, Lèche-moi.

Lick it," she bade, her eyes shining at him between her thighs.

Anders' lustful gaze dropped to the naked pink vulva framed by white cotton, and he dove in tongue-first for the feast. His first lapping swabs upon her bijou were rewarded by a soft squeal and wiggle. With his tongue and lips, he mimicked the stimulating motions she had taught his finger --- tickling, stroking, rubbing. With murmured encouragement and her hands in his hair, she guided him.

"Oooh! Oui! Là! Là! Voilà! Yes!"

Under his awed lips, he felt the growing engorgement of the little bud and inner petals. Lower, the tip of his tongue stabbed into Venus' grotto to gather her aroused nectar.

Rapturous sighs and panting rapidly increased with his persistent lingual fluttering, and soon the bobbing of her hips advanced to an intermittent jerking, then to a protracted upward straining --- the lewd, mesmerizing dance foretelling the crisis. An abrupt gasp stalled her breath.

"AAH ... AAAHH! Je jouis!"

she cried, her fingers clenching upon his head.

"MON DIEU!! MON DIEU!!"

Her cunny tremored then bucked wildly against his triumphant mouth.

Even as she moaned and shook, her upper body heaved up to grasp his collar and haul him on top of her. "Oh,

chéri !

Do it!

Baise moi!"

No translation was needed. Anders drove into the congested stricture of her palpitating pussy and

baise-ed

her vigorously --- her heels squeezing the randy rhythm on his ass. It was but a few bed-squeaking moments before he was rearing back from her embrace and spurting his milky gruel over her petticoat.

After the last shudder subsided, he expelled a slow breath and collapsed onto the mattress next to her. For several minutes he lay motionless as his heart rate slowed to normal. To his surprise, Simone did not immediately jump up to terminate their tryst as she had on all preceding occasions. She reclined next to him --- almost squashed against him in the small bed --- her head resting on his arm, her upturned skirts covering his flank, and her bent legs still splayed apart with her thigh leaning against his.

A contented drowsiness stole over him.

By-and-by, she murmured, "You do it so nicely --- what a shame you are not rich."

Anders' eyelids opened partially. Simone was gazing at the ceiling as her fingers idly traced through her cunny hair. His heavy lids closed again. "Once I'm graduated from college ... I'll have a job," he mumbled.

"As

un chimiste

, like your father? Working in ze laboratory?"

"Yes ... a chemist ..." His voice trailed off as sleep overtook him.

When he woke, Simone was sitting on the edge of the bed with what appeared to be a potted plant on her lap. Blinking, he sat up and recognized the object as a lady's hat, elaborately decorated with silk flowers and leaves. She was plying a needle and thread to something on it.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked.

"Ten minutes or so."

Elbows leaning on his upraised knees, he observed her work. "What are you doing?"

She rotated the hat to show him a flower that had been amputated through its silk tube stem. "I fix Madame's hat --- her little nephew has been naughty." With two fingers, she made a scissor motion. "I will sew it together again." The severed ends had already been reconnected with two stitches, and she added one more stitch such that the circumference was divided into thirds.

"Eh bien

. You hold these." She held out the dangling thread tails of two stitches.