Note 1: This is a work of fiction and the characters depicted herein are purely figments of my own imagination; any resemblance to any other persons, real or fictional, is entirely coincidental and unintended. And, on the advice of a good friend, this work is copyrighted. To me. I own this, so don't steal it.
Note 2: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between consenting adults. Although entirely fictional, the characters are all over the age of 18.
Note 3: This story contains themes that some may find objectionable, including golden showers, cross dressing and mild kink. These themes are included for two reasons: 1) some readers are really into such topics and they deserve to have writers throw them a bone or two occasionally ;-) and 2) they are a natural progression of the story and help to develop the main character and to show the extent of her openness to all things depraved and sexual.
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Catherine D'Boudec went by the cottage several times over the next week and a half, but it was clear that Kelly, her American tenant, had not returned from her trip to Belfast. The high season had pretty much ended in the small, French coastal village of Dinard. The tourists from overseas, mostly British, had returned home to their jobs and busy lives and the few remaining continental tourists that lingered in the cafés and on the beaches had a subdued, almost somber affectation. It was as if they all did have something more important to be doing but were not quite ready to go home and start doing it yet.
Some of the seasonal shops had already closed and Catherine had been considering closing up the chateau and taking an extended, and much needed, holiday of her own... possibly in London where she could let her hair down, so to speak, among old friends and lovers. However, she had a late season booking by a couple of pensioners from Wales, so she stayed on dutifully. The chateau, a grand, eighteenth century house perched high on a hilltop overlooking the village that had been built by her great, great grandfather, had 14 bedrooms, ten of which were for rent as a chambre d'hôte, or bed and breakfast. Its grand staircases and towering corridors often seemed empty and gloomy to Catherine, especially on a foggy and unseasonably cool day like this one. Down in Nice, it was probably still 30c (87F) with plenty of sunshine, but up here on the North coast of Bretagne, the autumns came early.
The little cottage was locked up again today, with the shades drawn and the interior dark. Catherine sighed. The end of the month was a few days away and then Kelly would be yet another month behind of the rent. She needed to get this straightened out. At this point, she'd take even a partial payment. It wasn't even a matter of money; Catherine's inheritance would see that her children's children lived like kings. It was a matter of principal. In London, Catherine had been a ruthless and feared corporate solicitor with a reputation for her cunning negotiating skills. But here, in this silly little village by the sea, this American girl, with her dark curly hair and her soft, doe-like eyes and tight, fit body, had reduced Catherine to a stammering idiot. Catherine cursed herself because she knew that she should get tough with the girl, but she also knew that her own carnal lust would not let her do so out of fear of being cut off. Catherine was openly bisexual in London, but here in this town where everyone knew everyone else's business, Catherine felt repressed and stifled. Kelly, the wild little lesbian, had provided Catherine with an outlet to her sexual frustration.
Catherine walked back up the pathway to the big house wondering to herself whether her desire to see Kelly was more about her need to confront the girl about the delinquent rent balance, or more about being horny. "Peut-être, un peu des deux," she said to herself. "Maybe, a little of both."
That night, Catherine lay awake in bed. She was wrestling with her own angels when she heard a commotion from outside. Going to the window, she could just make out the little cottage at the far corner of the property. A light was on and she could just make out Kelly's form as she struggled to get all of her luggage in through the front door. "So, my little dilemma has returned," she thought to herself and went back to bed.
In the morning, the pensioners finished their petit-déjeuner quickly and announced that they were headed up the coast to the historic city of St. Malo for the day for sight-seeing and shopping. That left Catherine free for the day, so, once she finished making up the elderly couple's chamber, she decided to pay Kelly a visit. When she got to the cottage, she knocked, but received no answer. The door was unlocked, so she opened it, poked her head inside and called out. Still no answer. She saw Kelly's bicycle leaning in its usual spot by the shed. Thinking that Kelly might have walked down into the village, she started to head back to the chateau. She would try again later in the day, but, as she passed the walled garden, she heard the faint buzzing sound of music coming from someone else's headphones.
Catherine ducked inside the garden gate and saw Kelly stretched out on the grass near the pond in the center of the garden. She wore only a pair of over-sized lunettes and the bottoms of her bright yellow bikini. She was holding a paper-back book at an angle to block the morning sun while she read it. Her headphones were in and one foot was tapping at the air in time to music that only she could hear. Her smallish, but gravity-defying breasts were pointed hard and seemed to be reaching out for their own view. Catherine cursed the girl's youth. Her own breasts were much fuller, but they hadn't stood out on their own that way since she was in her twenties. Now in her thirties, they still got her plenty of looks, but there was no denying that the firmness of youth was fading.
Kelly did not realize Catherine was their until her shadow fell across the girl's face, causing her to startle and jump up. "Mon dieu!" she shouted! "Don't do that. I almost had a coronary!" Kelly sat on the grass with her hand over her heart, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, she laughed. She patted the grass next to her. "Tu peut asseoir," she said, playfully. "It is such a beautiful day. Join me. Let us worship le beau soleil, before it disappears for good.
Catherine didn't move. She stood, arms folded. "I thought you were just going to Belfast for the weekend. You have been gone for almost two weeks."
