Chapter 25: Heaven

[Undated Entry]
Oxford, Oxfordshire

ROGER BARELY SLEPT on the following two nights. He self-pleasured himself to exhaustion with the memory of Sandrine’s warm smooth palm curled around his manhood and her gentle persistent strokes that led him to orgasm.

Mistress Heathcoate answered the door when he called for his French lesson on the third day. He couldn’t read her expression and for a moment thought something had gone wrong. His nerves had gotten the better of him until she broke into a smile to welcome him. He had no explanation for why she had not been more welcoming when the door opened, but decided it didn’t matter.

“Entrez, Monsieur Roger.”

He was barely able to mutter “Merci, Madame Heathcoate,” under his breath. To his relief, Sandrine appeared in the doorway to the kitchen to welcome him. Was her smile different today? He thought so. And the smile on Mistress Heathcoate’s lips, did that mean something unusual? And was that a rapid furtive glance she made at the extension in his trousers that he had been unable to conceal entirely? He couldn’t say.

He did not notice the look that passed between the two women as he entered.

Sandrine led him to their usual place to begin the lesson. Today, Roger would admit to himself later, was a complete loss insofar as language instruction was concerned. Perhaps it would have been more valuable today for Sandrine to have taught him the words in French, the real ones, for “cock,” “pussy,” “fuck,” and the like, but that would come later.

Despite his anticipation, signaled as on previous occasions by the persistent iron bar in his pants, a lump visible to those who might take an interest—and it was clear both women had taken an interest—Roger made his best effort to follow the lesson today. Inexplicably to him, it concerned food and the kitchen and cooking. As for the women, while he had high hopes with respect to Sandrine, Roger had no expectation that Mistress Heathcoate would carry her apparent interest any further than her smile.

Sandrine ignored his evident confusion and gave him no mercy as she worked him as hard as she could over kitchen vocabulary. He could barely remember au jus, and that only because they used the same term in English to describe a roast served in its juices.

He thought he detected levity in Sandrine’s words, however, and he certainly saw her smiles. He rosewater perfume entered his nostrils and refused to leave and her voice, always pleasantly low, seemed to move to an even deeper timbre while it remained the voice of a woman, not a man. On the other hand, Roger worked desperately to keep the squeak out of his own voice. He was not entirely successful, but Sandrine didn’t seem to notice. His palms were damp and he repeatedly wiped them on his trousers. At one point he felt himself sweating and made free use of his handkerchief to wipe his forehead and the back of his neck.

His concentration was not helped by Sandrine’s generous décolletage today. He’d never seen a grown woman’s bare breasts. To judge by the view offered him hers seemed to be a little lighter than the rest of her, and they appeared pert and firm.

He tried not to stare, but he had the feeling Sandrine knew what he was doing and where he was looking. She remained silent, her only reaction a small smile, and she did not attempt to cover herself. On the contrary, she seemed to find it necessary to lean forward frequently to point out something in his notebook or in her own notes. Her skin appeared smooth and unblemished. He fought to resist the urge to bury his face between her small breasts and then ... do what? His imagination stopped there even if he knew there would be more.

He remained erect, and now painfully so, while Sandrine took him through the names of every vegetable he knew and some he’d never heard of.

Finally, with a giggle and a smile, Sandrine took mercy on him.

“Enough for today, Roger, do you think?”

Roger couldn’t think, but he nodded. Once more he was locked in anticipation, as if his mind had seized and refused to contemplate either what was happening or what might happen. He was not quite as frozen as he had been on the two previous occasions when Sandrine’s explorations had begun, but he was so far from being in control of himself, much less of the actions between them, that Sandrine remained in charge.

Sandrine punctuated her sentence by kissing Roger, to his great relief. This, he knew. He’d kissed her before, and more than once, and he remembered every single second of it, every single thing she seemed to like. Her lips were soft against his, her tongue tentative, not intrusive, but questing and offering of itself at the same time. Her moisture intoxicated him. Fleetingly, he wondered if she responded in the same manner. He thought she might but he didn’t know.

As it had before, his hand found its way almost without his conscious movement to hold Sandrine’s right breast. Her bare skin, above the pretty edging on her gown, heated his palm. Without thinking, he ran his fingers across her chest, her skin like the softest smoothest silk, without blemish, and so warm as though on fire, or at so it transmitted to his finger pads.

He heard her chuckle, but she didn’t protest as his fingers continued to explore. She held the kiss and communed with him in warmth and wet and heat. He began to tremble, and she soothed his forehead with a gentle touch. She knew better than to touch him anywhere near his waist or even on his flank. She was experienced enough with men to know how close her partner was to a climax.

“Roger?” she said, when they broke their kiss. “Roger, let me, for a moment.” Roger did not know what she was asking him to let her do, but the answer was immediately apparent when she withdrew a little and her hands began to untie the laces that held her gown across her bosom. Roger stared, he did not miss a second of her nimble fingers as they worked their magic on the stays.

Bared, her breasts were magnificent. They were a little lighter than the skin on her face but still a deep rich hue. Her nipples, erect, were tight knots of flesh atop firm high mounds that in Roger’s mind begged for another’s touch. Once more without conscious thought, but responding to Sandrine’s unspoken welcome, he cupped a breast in each hand and heard Sandrine gasp. He removed his hand in terror.