© 2002 Couture
Thanks go to Anne Baker for the editing and French.
After I'd finished my morning laps in the pool, I dried off, walked inside, tossed my towel on the arm of the sofa and proceeded to make myself a healthy shake.
Sophie, the maid, walked in tisking to herself and eyeing me dubiously, as she picked up my towel, "Ça alors, il ne ramasse jamais, celui-la," she muttered in her heavily accented voice.
I used to wonder what she was saying. Then one day I looked up some of the words in an English to French dictionary. It said something about filthy little thing. After that, I didn't dare to translate anything again.
Hell, she should be thankful there were things to pick up. It was job security. We all had our role in life. She was the maid. Her job was to pick things up after people. I was the kept man. I lived a life of leisure, sure, but I had a job to do too - keeping the lady of the house happy.
She was the servant around here, not me, but for some reason I always felt I had something to prove to her. Maybe it was due to the vague look of amusement she always seemed to have when she looked at me. It never failed to make me feel self-conscious. I inhaled, sucking in my stomach and sticking my chest out, as I walked over and took the towel out of Sophie's hands.
She giggled behind her hand, making me feel suddenly very self conscious at my obvious display. "Non, Monsieur," She held up a pinky finger for emphasis. "P'tite bite!"
I blushed all the way down to my toes and what I had that wasn't shrunk from the cold water of the pool, shriveled up even more. Damn these trunks! Why did Diane always buy me these Speedos instead of regular trunks?
I wrapped the towel around my waist, to preserve what was left of my dignity and masculinity.
"Oui, Mademoiselle," I heard her giggle as I hurried from the room.
I couldn't believe my ears. Maybe the French joked so bluntly, but it just wasn't done here or maybe she didn't think I could understand what she said. My ears burned with humiliation and I couldn't bear to face her for the rest of the day. I stayed well away from Sophie until Diane got home. When was able to get her alone, I asked her about the status of Sophie's employment. Maybe there was an easy solution for this - a new maid.
However, Diane didn't want to let her go. She caught our former maid stealing some of her jewelry and that was something Diane didn't abide by. She had no use for liars and thieves, and the former maid proved herself to be the latter. She was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but as unforgiving as Diane could be at times, her loyalty ran just as strong. There was no way she would let Sophie go, not unless I could prove she was stealing or lying.
My only hope was to get her to leave on her own.
If Sophie thought I was a messy 'P'tite bite" before, she would see just how messy a "P'tite bite" I could really be. I stopped picking up anything behind me. Everything I touched, I left disorganized. I pissed on the toilet lid, left whiskers in the sink, left food on the sofa and sections of the morning paper in different places around the house. It was like a little Easter egg hunt of things to clean up, courtesy of me.
To my surprise, Sophie was unfazed, and almost seemed to relish it in fact. She trotted along politely behind me, tisking all the while, as she picked everything up that I had messed up. "Si malpropre," she giggled.
Hell, I seemed to be working harder to mess up, than she was to clean up. I was quickly coming to the end of my rope and missing out on valuable golf time. Instead of getting better, they were getting worse.
I went outside for a swim, to clear my head and to come up with a new solution. I couldn't think of anything except maybe to try the direct approach. That's what I'd do. Somehow, I would communicate to Sophie that I wanted her to take a more respectful tone when speaking with me. However, with her limited English and condescending attitude, I didn't relish the opportunity. So, I stayed outside and sunbathed, enjoying the solitude and avoiding the task as long as possible.
I dozed for awhile and was awakened with a start by a cold sensation on my chest. Startled, I opened my eyes to see Sophie, squirting sun block on my chest and rubbing it in.
"Vous ne voulez pas attrapez un coup de soleil, non?"
I couldn't understand a word she said, but I did need the sunscreen and her hands felt good. She could be nice at times, a real gem of a maid. Too bad she had the bad habit of her little pet names for me and amused attitude. I decided it was as good a time as any to talk to her about the problem I was having.
"Sophie, I need to talk to you," I began, as she continued to spread the lotion over my body. "I like you, but I just can't deal with the pet names and the blunt familiarity you show toward me. I looked up some of the things you said and... it's-it's unprofessional."
She continued to look at me with the same knowing grin, still working the lotion into my skin. "Je ne comprende pas."
Damn, this was going to be harder than I thought. I was going to have to break it down for her like a two year old.
I pointed at her. "Sophie."
I pointed to myself. "Trevor."
I shook my head. "Not "P'tite bite". Understand?"
"Oui," she said, her face brightened knowingly. She understood!
However, my sense of satisfaction ended the moment her hand darted beneath my Speedo's and grasped my cock. "P'tite bite!" she giggled.
"Sophie!" I grabbed her hand to pull it free, but there was no breaking her vice-like grip... and when she started to massage it, I found I didn't want to.
This was bad. There was one thing I learned from my experience of being a kept man - you didn't fuck around. Ever. If you did, you didn't do it with her acquaintances and you sure as hell didn't do it with the help. But for some reason, I couldn't stop.
Sophie reached up, closed my eyes with her free hand, while her other leisurely caressed me. She handled me expertly. Usually, I was always in control with my women, even when they thought they were, but not with Sophie. The little wench was amazing at making me do things I wouldn't have dreamed of in a million years.
She pinched my slick nipples until I was moaning aloud from just the promise of her touch. Not happy with that, she placed my hands on my chest and kept at it until I was pinching and pulling my own nipples. "Bon, c'est ça, mon petit cheri," she cooed.
Next, she started to spread my legs. When I realized how I must look, there on the lounge chair with my legs spread, pulling on my nipples, I was flooded with humiliation. I quickly snapped my legs closed and pulled my hands off my chest. There was no way I was going to let her do this to me. No way in hell, no matter how good it felt.
"Non!" Her hand stopped its ministrations, and my dick throbbed with futilely in her hand. She placed my hands back on my chest. At that moment, I knew I would have no release, until I did what she wanted.
I acquiesced. Not slightly, or halfway, but all the way. Soon, she had me with my fingers tugging my nipples, legs spread painfully wide, moaning and squirming like a ten-dollar whore, all in order to feel her touch - the feel of her lotion slick hands sliding up and down my cock. She brought me to the edge of orgasm and then stopped so abruptly I thought I would scream.
She pointed to herself. "Sophie."
Then to me, "P'tite bite."
Then back to her self. She looked at me questioningly.
"Sophie," I said and I was rewarded by a comforting squeeze.
She pointed back to me. "Trevor," I said. No squeeze.
She pointed at me again. This time I called myself 'P'tite bite', even though I knew I would be P'tite bite from then on. She kept it up, eventually I was referring to her as Mademoiselle Sophie and myself and 'Mademoiselle's petite fille'. I didn't know French, but even without the dictionary, I got the gist of what I was saying. I was either her little horsie or her little girl. Either prospect didn't thrill me.
Happy with the results, she rewarded me by massaging my cock. Not masturbating me, as you would expect. Instead of wrapping her fingers around me and pumping, she rubbed up and down at the seam on the underside of my cock - treating it as if it were a pussy. Yes, that must have been what I called myself. Her little girl and she was treating me as such.
With her free hand, she wormed a finger in my ass. Yes, she was definitely treating me as such. I tried to hold back, but the combination of the finger in my arse and the rubbing on my cock was too much for me.
I came instantly, my ass clenching her probing finger, as I squirted jet after jet of hot cum in my bathing suit.
When she brought her hands from beneath my suit, her fingers glistened with my cum. "Tu es un salot toi," she said, wrinkling her face in disgust. "Nettoye-moi ça."
I got the gist of what she wanted. Using my wet towel, I cleaned her hands.
She got up and crooked a finger at me. "Viens," she said, and began to walk away. Maybe it was just me, but it looked like her ass swished a little further and she walked a little taller than before.
I got up and followed her in the house. I knew without a doubt that things had just changed around the house. Position had been reversed and there would be no going back to the way things were before. I wondered how long I had, before I had to find another rich woman to take care of me.
.... There is more of this story ...