Juliette Ch 05

M. Vachon rushed into the sitting room, red-faced and flustered. He spotted Juliette first. "Juliette, who was that at the duh--?" He stopped, seeing the two men in dark suits in the room, one lounging easily in a chair, the other standing by the wall. "Ah... gentlemen? I am Monsieur Vachon, the head butler here. What is this regarding?"

Inspector Ilunga drowsily displayed his badge again. "M. Vachon. I am Inspector Ilunga, from the local prefecture. This is my partner, Monsieur Blanchet. Do you have a few moments to answer some questions?"

"What is this regarding?" Vachon repeated.

"Do you have a Mademoiselle Nicole Dieudonné employed here? We'd like to speak to your staff about her, as well as Monsieur Leclair."

"What is this regarding?" Vachon said again, more slowly, through gritted teeth.

"A small matter, Monsieur Vachon. Mademoiselle Dieudonné's parents in Brittany have reported her missing, and we have been sent to ask after her whereabouts."

"Just a moment, please," M. Vachon said, and spun on one heel. We walked past Juliette as he left the room, leaning close to her ear, his wrinkly face hateful. "You are NOT to open the front door without me present, Juliette, and you are not to speak to these men any further - leave the room!" he whispered, his lowered voice venomous. And with that, he was suddenly gone from the room, hurrying down the hall, taking his phone from his pocket as he turned a corner.

The three of them waited in the vacuum caused by M. Vachon's swift departure. Juliette stood still with her hands folded, watching Inspector Ilunga. He raised one eyebrow, a small smile playing on his full lips. Seconds ticked by.

"Well. That was abrupt," he said, his voice tinged with humor.

Juliette looked at him and nodded. She was imagining cradling his bald, shining, chocolate colored head in both arms as he kissed her naked breasts. M. Leclair's ridiculous rule about keeping her hands off herself would be difficult to obey, tonight. She was unlikely to obey it.

"He can be, Monsieur," she said, smiling innocently. "Nicole did not appear back at her parents' dairy farm when she left here six weeks ago? I believe everyone assumed she was headed there."

He looked straight into her eyes, ready to interrogate. "Six weeks ago? And upon what was everyone's assumption, based?"

"I had heard it said around the house that Monsieur Vachon saw her while driving through Fécamp the day she left, he spotted her at the train station there with her little cardboard valise."

Ilunga took a small notepad from the pocket inside the lapel of his suit, tapped his hands on a few other pockets. Blanchet held out a pen to him. Ilunga accepted it, and wrote in the small notebook. "What date was this, mademoiselle?" He asked.

"I do not know the date, I only heard it said. About six weeks ago. Did she never return to the dairy farm?"

Ilunga shrugged. She enjoyed the way the motion highlighted the muscles in his shoulders through his suit. She began to imagine how those bared muscles would feel under her warm palms. Her face flushed.

"She did not, but... girls of this age, one never knows. Perhaps she was going to a boyfriend, perhaps too ashamed of losing her position to return home."

Juliette pursed her lips and squinched them a little to one side. She suspected Nicole had only ever had one male paramour, and he had not been a "boy," and certainly not Nicole's "friend." She had not fled to him, but away from him. "Ah but my understanding is... well monsieur inspector, she did not lose the position, to my knowledge. I had heard she ran away and left it."

Ilunga frowned. "That is not what--"

A phone call trilled from Inspector Ilunga's pocket. He slapped his pockets with both hands again before finding it. He glanced at the name displayed on the screen. His face became serious. "Excuse me," he said to Juliette. He held the phone to his ear. "Yes sir," he spoke into the phone. Even standing two meters away, Juliette could hear an angry voice shouting from the inspector's phone. "Yes sir, at the Leclair estate. Oh?" Ilunga frowned deeply, his features clouded. "Standard procedure, sir." He stood up from the chair and shared a meaningful glance with his partner. Blanchet lifted both eyebrows. "I see, sir."

The angry voice continued to rant from Ilunga's phone. Ilunga sighed. "Yes sir, right away," he said. He motioned to Blanchet and the two of them began to move back towards the front door. "Of course, sir. Goodbye." Ilunga disconnected the phone, dropped it in his pocket, and turned to Juliette.

"Well, mademoiselle. It appears my chief feels my time would be more productively used elsewhere," he said to Juliette, his tone clipped. There was more he wanted to say, but would not.

She curtsied and walked them back to the front door. "So sorry to see you go in such a hurry, Monsieur," she murmured, allowing a warm smile to suffuse her face.

M. Vachon walked back into the foyer. He was smiling broadly now, his grin unctuous. "Ah, gentlemen. Leaving so soooooooon?"

Ilunga regarded Vachon through narrowed eyes. "So it would seem. We may be back soon. With the proper arrangements, of course. So as not to impede on your... valuable time. And that of your employer."

"Very well then," Vachon sniffed, and walked away, disappearing once more.

While holding the door for them to exit, Juliette inclined her head and said, "I do hope you will be back soon, as you said, Monsieur Inspector," she said firmly and throatily, trying to put as much meaning into her words as she could. "I can only speak for myself, but I would be... quite happy to see you again."

He stopped with one foot out the door and looked back at her, his head held a little to the side. His wide brown eyes flickered down her body, efficiently taking all of her in with one glance, and then back at her eyes. There was an acknowledgement in his expression: he knew exactly the meaning she'd intended to convey.

He smiled wolfishly, his teeth shining. "Until then, mademoiselle...?"

"Juliette. Juliette Durand. Perhaps you should write this in your little book." She beamed at him again.

"No, I'll remember. Until then, Mademoiselle Juliette Durand." He held two fingers up to his temple and gave her a salute, then he and Blanchet walked to their car.

Juliette spent her day aggressively pursuing her chores while she occupied her mind with delightful fantasies involving Inspector Ilunga. As she spread polish on the gleaming surface of the grand piano in the music room, in her mind, she was on all fours on the carpet next to the piano, Ilunga's muscular body behind her, pistoning into her from behind as his strong hand pulled her hair. The piano was the color of his skin, and also gleamed.

As she moved the vacuum cleaner back and forth on the carpet in the smoking room, she saw herself kneeling right over there, on the ottoman, looking up into Ilunga's blissful face as she grasped his erect cock with both hands and pumped it roughly, her eyes wide, her lips parted, but still smiling.

As she stood on the ladder in the dining room, carefully dusting the long-neglected chandelier, she imagined him on the ladder beneath her, slowly pulling down her panties to grant his lips and tongue access to her eager sex under her skirt.

Still, she had obeyed her cruel owner's strictures against touching herself all day. Mostly.

It didn't help that every time her paths crossed with Yvonne, they'd give each other secret grins, each of them remembering the night before.

By the afternoon, she'd worked herself into an anticipatory lather, her cheeks flushed, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. He cannot see me at night, in my bed, she thought. He will be disobeyed. Several times.

Passing through the kitchen, she saw Mariela, Mme. Fournier's assistant cook, cursing under her breath in a guttural language that Juliette didn't recognize, as she sliced a ripe tomato with a large knife.

Mariela was a tall, slender, olive skinned girl with her black hair shaved on one side, tied in a ponytail in the back. She wore glasses with thick black plastic frames. Juliette stood behind her for a moment, watching her work. Mariela's long, slender fingers worked efficiently, grasping a red tomato, cutting out the stem, slicing it perfectly evenly, dropping the slices into a bowl, grasping another. She continued to curse quietly as she worked. Juliette cleared her throat.

"Ah!" Mariela shouted. "Oh, it's you, Juliette. Ebasi, you startled me."

"I'm very sorry, Mariela. I have finished my work for the day, and I thought to ask...can I be of assistance to you? You appear very busy."

Mariela lay the knife down on the cutting board and turned to face Juliette. She crossed her arms in front of her white jacket and gave Juliette a wry smile.

"Never too busy to speak to a friend," she said. "And yes, you can be of assistance to me."

Mariela said no more, but pursed her lips as though imagining kissing Juliette, as her eyes traveled down Juliette's body slowly, lingering on her legs. When her eyes returned to Juliette's, the desire in them was clear.

"There has been some talk about you around this house, lately," Mariela said finally to break the silence. She picked up a towel from the counter and carefully dried the tomato juice from her long, slender fingers.

Juliette shrugged. "Isn't there always? Don't believe everything you hear."

Mariela smiled wickedly. "Ah, but Juliette: what if I want to believe this rumor? What if it... excites me to believe it?"

Juliette returned the smile, her heart beginning to race. "Then that would depend on the particular rumor that you heard."

"I have a particular skill that isn't often used here, Juliette. You see, I grew up on a pig farm near Peshtera. And at a very early age, I discovered I had a natural talent for... binding the animals. I enjoyed it. At my peak, when I was eighteen I could have even the most lively of hogs tied up in a matter of seconds. Helpless. There were contests. I won them."

Juliette heard the pulse of her blood washing over her eardrums.

"You see, pigs are not very cooperative creatures. Very smart. Very rebellious. When one must administer their medicine, it is necessary to tie them up, tight. For their own good. Then they become quite helpless. They would regard me with large eyes. Knowing they could not free themselves, entirely dependent upon me. They would submit to my will." She paused for a moment, her eyes locked on Juliette's. "Utterly."

Juliette scratched the back of her neck, under her hair. It was warm, back there.

"What I have heard about you, mademoiselle... well, might I be so bold as to ask, might this sort of... treatment... be of use to you?"

Juliette laughed nervously, wondering if the flush in her cheeks was visible to Mariela. "Oh, ha ha, who can say? What I... but..." Mariela was regarding her with frank curiosity, and the look in her eyes made it difficult for Juliette to find words. "I m-meant to ask if you needed help with dinner."

From her expression, it appeared Mariela found Juliette's sudden inability to speak amusing.

"Oh. Yes. Fournier has been to her sister's all day and left me to my own devices in here, and he's requested a working dinner with the board of directors. I need fresh basil and tarragon from the greenhouse. Do you know where they are?"

"Yes," Juliette said. Mariela passed her two small ceramic canisters and a pair of scissors.

Juliette walked briskly out of the back door from the kitchen, and down the gravel path to the greenhouse, her face burning. First a well-performed morning chore with beautiful cock in her mouth first thing in the morning, followed by an introduction to what may have been the sexiest employee of the gendarmerie in all of France, and then a fascinating invitation from Mariela: it was as though the universe was conspiring to make her touch herself, and she'd been expressly told she was not permitted to.

She opened the door to the greenhouse with one hand and stepped in. It was very hot and steamy inside, smelling of earth and fecundity. Hearing noises further within, she stayed close to the doorway and peered around the corner created by the shelves around the doorway as she closed the door silently behind her.

"Oh shit," she whispered to herself, breathing hard. "No, it isn't fair..."

Luc, the gardener, was working at the far end of the greenhouse, moving stacks of red clay pots from one shelf to another. Given the heat and humidity of the greenhouse, he'd removed his shirt, but the heat was still affecting him. The muscles of his torso were glistening with his sweat.

Luc had the body of a man accustomed to working long hours while using all of his muscles. That is precisely what Luc was. Above his lowslung and dirty khaki pants, his back rippled with muscles as he lifted the pots, his sweaty biceps flexing as he grunted with the effort. The pants were tight enough around his thighs and ass that she could easily see those muscles also, clearly outlined beneath the tight fabric. She saw his ass flexing as he squatted down for another stack of pots, and Juliette imagined the muscles would flex in exactly this way, if she felt them with the backs of her calves as he drove his hard cock into her pussy...

"You mustn't, Juliette," the annoying voice warned in her head. She placed the scissors and the two containers on the table beside her.

Luc was dirty. She could see the sweat dripping down his chest as he turned, mixing with some flecks of soil, there.

Her hand went to the hem of her short uniform skirt and began to lift it as she watched him work, eyes and mouth wide, her lungs taking in the moist air of the greenhouse as though it would never be enough.

He squatted down again. Her fingertips slid under the waistband of her panties as her other hand held up the skirt. She'd been given specific instructions, certainly, but she was only human. These were extreme circumstances.

Her entire body suddenly broke out in a feverish sweat from the heat in the greenhouse, and the heat radiating out from between her legs. She felt a trickle of sweat rolling slowly down the inside of her thigh as her fingers separated the wet folds of flesh inside her panties and found her clit. She pressed, and suppressed a moan of pure delight. It was important to make no sound, so she could continue to enjoy watching him work.

In her mind, Luc was fucking her on the flagstone floor of the greenhouse, his khaki pants bunched around his ankles, his every thrust into her abrading the skin of her ass against the stones. Her hands were stroking his muscled back feeling the gritty mixture of soil and sweat there. She dropped her panties to her ankles quickly, and then went back to work with the fingers of both hands, sliding two fingers into her soaking hole, rubbing her clit around its edges.

She braced her ass against the table by the door, her chest heaving as her fingers flew over her clit. She reached her fingers, wet from her own pussy, inside the lacey ruffle at the low neckline of her uniform and grasped one nipple, swollen hard, between two fingers. She muffled another gasp and moved her sneakers slightly apart on the stone floor, stretching the dropped panties between them, bending her knees and angling her hips forward to get her clit and her fingers closer together. The muscles in her thighs cried out from the strain as she bounced against her hand, thinking of Luc's stubbly face roughing the tender skin of her neck...

Her shoulder knocked a shelf loose from the wall behind her when it twitched. The entire board tipped forward from its supports and five glass jars with seedlings and water in them fell from it, crashing and shattering on the stone floor. Luc started and turned towards her. She froze in place. Her skirt was gathered around her waist, one hand covering her aching pussy, screaming for release, the other inside the neckline of her uniform, clutching her breast.

Luc smiled. He began to walk towards her, taking his time.

"Juliette, is that you?" he said.

"Nnnngh..." she said, her mind a formless void of white nothingness.

He was only five steps away from her now, his muscles on his chest dripping, his thick arms swaying gently as he ambled towards her.

"Having fun without me, are you?" he asked. She nodded, breathing hard. What sense was there in denying it? His face was sweaty, too. There was a smudge of dirt above his left eye.

"It seems unjust," he sighed, "for one of us to be having so much fun while one of us works."

He reached her, and gripped one sweaty, grimy hand around her wrist, and pulled her hand away from her own breast, moving it to his sweating chest.

"N-no, Luc," she whispered, her eyes beseeching. "It is not permitted..."

Luc tensed his eyebrows. "Not permitted? Not permitted by whom?"

"Monsieur Leclair has instructed me--"

"Ah! Leclair." Luc spat. "So then it's true?"

Her hand was touching the firm, wet skin of his chest, his hand still gripped around the wrist, forcing her to smear the sweat and dirt around on his muscles.

"What's true?"

"That you're his latest plaything, now." His lips were close to hers. She could smell him, a musky scent like an animal. She was finding it very difficult to breathe. Luc laughed once, mirthlessly. "A man like that... he would not know what to do with a woman like you."

He grasped both her hips and spun her around effortlessly, she had to do a little dance to keep from tripping over her own panties, stretched between her ankles. She was now facing away from Luc, her hips up against the low table, her ass angling towards him, waving back and forth. But he does, Luc, she thought, a man like that does know what to do with me...

Luc tucked her skirt up around her waist and whistled low. She assumed he was admiring the view of her naked ass. "And who is he, to prevent us from doing something we both want to do?"

Juliette leaned forward and yanked her panties from one ankle, and spread her legs wide.

"Yes, yes, yes. You must fuck me, Luc. But you must be quick about it, he's been watching..."

She heard him unfasten and unzip his pants, and the noise of the fabric falling to the floor around his ankles. She felt the head of his hard cock press against her labia from behind, pushing them apart, and she groaned, the anticipation making her delirious. "Fuck me now, Luc, fuck me!" Her hips jerked, trying to plunge down on his hard member, but he moved his hips around, teasing her.

He slid all the way in and she flopped face down on the dirty table, pushing aside a small trowel and pressing her cheek on the gritty wooden surface.

It was the delicious lubricated stretching fullness that she so desperately craved, and she sighed from the sensation of it. Luc gripped her hips with each hand and pushed into her forcefully, lifting her sneakered feet from the floor a little with each thrust. He bent over her back, his stubble grazing her cheek, as he whispered hoarsely in her ear, "This is how you want it. Bent over a table like a filthy animal."

"Yes! Yes!" she shouted. His hips slammed into her ass, making it bounce. "Take me! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

A door slammed. An angry voice shouted, "What is the meaning of this?"

Luc froze, deep inside her. She felt him begin to wither instantly.

M. Leclair stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his face red.

Her cruel master had caught her misbehaving again.