Chapter 8: Season 1 - Antibes and Cannes

We travelled to Antibes in the car hired by the Chevalier after our arrival in Menton a month ago. The route we took from Menton followed the scenic but driver challenging D6007 road and the Chevalier, knowing the area well, drove us. I expressed my surprise when the Chevalier did not stop in Monte Carlo but instead took the A8 to bypass the Principality.

“The place has gone to the dogs,” he said, bitterness in his voice and a scowl on his face. “Anyone is welcome there these days. Men who are not gentlemen but with plenty of money; dealers in drugs, armaments, and people traffickers!” I shrugged, and thought ‘c’est la vie ‘. We continued driving along the equally scenic but less demanding route of the A8, past Nice to Antibes. The journey took just over an hour, allowing us plenty of time to book into our hotel and for the Chevalier to phone Madame Closteau and her niece to arrange a meeting.

Madam Lucille Closteau was indeed much more attractive than Grafin von Eylau. Lucie – as she insisted I address her – was a fair, fattish, and well over forty female She was built for comfort rather than for speed, and had a laugh like a hyena. Lucie dressed at least ten years younger than her age, displaying far more of her flesh than was probably deemed necessary or correct in Lille, where she hailed from – but someone has to live there. Her companion was Lisette, supposedly her niece. She was another Chloe Curtis type of girl who looked to be no more than fifteen but was, as I learned later that week, only a few months younger than I was. Not too long was spent on introductions and we soon had split into pairs to ‘get to know each other better’, the ‘know’ being in the Biblical sense.

Lucie was energetic and enthusiastic, but not too well versed in the finer points of copulation. My recently acquired skills, first taught me by Madame Curtis and then honed to perfection by Grafin Irma von Eylau, had Lucie squealing, squeaking and shrieking in pleasure, which was a sight better than the sound she made when she laughed. During that first week Lucie had, by her own reckoning, thirty six orgasms. I cannot vouch for the accuracy of her statement but can say without fear of contradiction that she was the moistest woman I had ever penetrated. She flooded love juice at the slightest touch of a tongue, finger or penis in her apertures, and would climax while I was still working up a sweat. In fact, I could bring her to orgasm just by sucking her nipples – lovely firm tits I must add and not implants – and fingering her chatte. Because she reached an orgasm with such ease I did not have to expend the same levels of energy, or semen, as when bringing Irma to that consummation devoutly to be wished. Ergo, I had the vigour and the will to service Lucie several times a night, and thus spent every night of the first week in her bed. Let’s face it, having a woman gushing love juice as soon as you lay some pipe to her is very good for one’s self-confidence, and I did toy with the idea of having a coat of arms drawn up:

Argent, a Phallus rampant gules; with the motto Après moi elle déluge.

However, when I thought about it, Lucie probably achieved a similar flood when using a dildo. The only drawback to Lucie’s aqueous arousal was the bed sheets were saturated by her outflow, and I spent more time changing bed linen than I had when at the Vermilion Coast Hotel. Not surprisingly, after the first night in her bed I mentally referred to Madame Lucille Closteau as ‘Juicy’ Lucie.

It transpired that Lucie was a bridge player of some skill, which was one of the reasons she and Lisette had been ‘paired’ with the Chevalier to be our ‘companions’ for two weeks in Antibes. The Chevalier was addicted to bridge in no less a manner than to young female flesh, and after a week of shrieking orgasms and sodden sheets Lucie joined the Chevalier in a three day bridge tournament being held in Antibes. They left for card combat soon after breakfast only returning an hour before dinner, and after dinner they would spend the evening ensconced in the lounge reviewing the card play of each game and devising new stratagems for the following day’s play. With Juicy Lucie being so involved in the competition I was released from my nightly fornication duty as she required a good night’s sleep ready for the fray the next day. I noted the Chevalier did not fully forgo the pleasure of Lisette’s company at night but I heard her leave his room to go back to hers after only an hour or so of groin to groin combat. This indicated the Chevalier was also husbanding his resources for card playing rather than in expending them in hiding the sausage.

With Lucie and the Chevalier absent most of the day it left Lisette and me at a loose end. Our loose ends found each other about one hour after the bridge players had left the hotel. Any guilt I might have felt for even contemplating paddling in the Chevalier’s pool were negated when at breakfast that morning he said, with something of a twinkle in his eye, “As Madame Closteau and I will be away most of the day, I hope you will be able to keep Lisette entertained, Rafael?” I nodded in agreement, trying to keep the smirk off my face. Although I had been fully occupied with Lucie from day one and had no form of any intercourse with Lisette other than polite pleasantries, I had noted how much like Chloe Curtis she appeared to be. I had thirsted after Chloe in Biarritz and hoped I would be able to slake that thirst with Lisette acting as a Chloe substitute. It appeared the opportunity had just fallen into my lap.

“I expect the two of you will spend the day on the beach?” Lucie said. Lisette and I looked at each other, smiled, and then nodded in concert. We did indeed spend an hour on the Hotel de Mediterranean’s beach but our lust was even hotter than the sun and we hared back to Lisette’s suite, where I had crazed carnal knowledge of her on the carpet of the sitting room. I then gave her a powerful proding on the Louis XV reproduction chaise longue, followed by a strenuous stuffing in her bed. I vetoed doing it, and her, in Lucie’s bed as I would probably be changing the bed sheets again later that night. We then had an under the shower frolic before returning to the plush carpet in the sitting room where I did her doggy. She then rode me cowgirl in an armchair. We concluded our frantic fuck-fest with a knee trembler; her lissom legs latched about my waist, my hands clutching the cheeks of her beautifully rounded buttocks as I rammed into her, our tongues down each other’s throats. After reaching a near simultaneous climax we collapsed on the chaise longue. I was beginning to flag and called for a time out. It was then I learned Lisette true age and that she really was Juicy Lucie’s niece.

This was the fourth season on the April-December circuit for Lucie and Lisette, and would probably be the last for Lisette as her gentlemen companions realised when she undressed her breasts were not the size of a fourteen year old female. In fact her breasts were eighteen going on twenty year old sized, just the age I like them!

“Is this your first season, Rafe?” Lisette asked as I demonstrated how much I enjoyed sucking her nipples. I nodded, lips locked on her rock-hard, tasty teat. “My Aunt is really enjoying your, err, performance, and I can see why,” she continued, and then disengaged her left nipple from my guzzling mouth. “And please look at me when I’m talking to you. It is rude to ignore someone when...”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Liss. How could I be ignoring you when I’m feasting on your delicious tétons?”

She saw the logic of that, smiled, and then continued with wherever the conversation was leading to. “The reason Aunt Lucie is so into you is because she imagines you to be someone else.”

“How do you mean?”

“Aunt Lucie has the hots for my brother Carl, and has done so for years. He is a few years younger than you but you look to be the same age as him.”

“Don’t rub it in! I’m constantly being told how young I look. I’m seventeen going on eighteen.”

“I’m seventeen in July. My brother has just turned fourteen and Aunt Lucie has had the hots for him since he was about eight years old. She was often our baby-sitter and I’m sure it was during a babysitting session she introduced him to sex.”

“Did you ever see them making the beast with two backs or is it just your decadent nature that makes you think Lucie has committed incest? And by the way I adore how your decadent nature complements my depraved nature.”

She laughed, shaking her head in answer to my question or at my flippant remark concerning our respective natures. Whatever the reason she next pulled me to her and we kissed and sucked tongues for a short time. Refreshed, and now ready for more sausage hiding, I went down on her. She pulled my head from between her thighs before I had got fully into my stride or into her slit.

“We are having a serious conversation here, Rafe, cunnilingus can wait until later. As for Lucie and Carl screwing; I’ve never actually seen them doing it but it’s a strong possibility they were lovers up to last year. However, as my brother has now decided he is gay Aunt Lucie can never recapture the rapture she had...”

“Or might not have had,” I interrupted, sticking up for Lucie rather than sticking in for Lucie, my usual activity where she was concerned.

“Your point is well made, as Aunt Lucie and I have experienced, but what is not disputed is that Aunt Lucie spends the season lusting after young boys who look something like Carl. Your hair and eyes are a different colour than my brother’s, who is fair haired and blue eyed, but you do have the same build and there is a resemblance.”

Great, I’m nothing more than a substitute for a fourteen year old gay. Perhaps Lucie reaches her climax imagining Carl is pounding into her and I may not be as proficient at sexual intercourse as I imagine. However, the girl lying alongside me on the chaise longue would be able to judge my sexual performance against the other sexual performance she has been receiving at the hotel.

“Am I as good at sex as the—” I stopped what I was l about to say; it would unfair to her, and to the Chevalier, but Lisette, probably sensing the dark cloud of self-doubt enveloping me, gave an answer of sorts to my unfinished question.

“The Chevalier is a gentleman; kind, considerate, and a wonderful lover for a man of his years. He is the oldest man I have ever had inside me and certainly the best of that age group...” she paused, if searching for the next word.

“Do I detect a ‘but’ Liss?”

She nodded, and made a moue.”I must appear to be an ungrateful bitch to complain about such a gentleman, but that is part of it – he is too gentle. Sometimes, often, I want to be taken like a bitch in heat; ravished, roughly pounded in brutal, animalistic sex. Exactly how it was earlier when you threw me to the carpet, ripped blouse, skirt and thong off me and then shagged me like there was no tomorrow.”

“I hope I didn’t hurt you; I was on fire for you and might have been too rough.”

“Not at all; you gave me exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it. In fact I might have hurt you. I get rather feral when aroused, and boy did you ever arouse me!”

“Just a few teeth marks and a nail gouge, nothing I haven’t had before.” Astrid and Chantal could be rather feral at times, so I was used to a nail raked back.

After kissing and licking the wounds she had made on me Lisette continued the conversation. “All the humping and screwing we’ve done this morning has been first class. For someone on their first season you certainly have plenty of expertise.”

“Yes, and practise makes perfect,” I said reaching for her.

She held me off. “Save it for later, Rafe. We have several days without either the Chevalier or Aunt Lucie riding shotgun on us. But to give the Chevalier his due he must be at least three or four times older than you, and is easily the best of the elderly gentlemen I’ve had between my thighs. They, like him, were searching for their first love...”

“You think the Chevalier is searching for his first love? He spent a lifetime in the Foreign Legion and will have had a regiment of lovers.”

“In his early youth the Chevalier had a love affair, probably his first, with a young girl and searches for her after all...”

“He told you this?” I was amazed that the Chevalier would be so open to this young girl when my mother could not prise any meaningful information from him.

“No, but I can read the emotional signs...”

“You read emotional signs! Do you also read palms and tea leaves?”

If Lisette was annoyed by my sarcasm she did not show it. “I am studying Psychology, and my Professor says I have...”

“You’re not seventeen until July; surely you are too young for university?”

“I attend a college for gifted children. I have an aptitude for psychology and can divine people’s inner feelings from the questions I ask them...”

“But the Chevalier doesn’t answer questions, well, not in any way that gives a proper answer.”

She nodded. “That is true but in the afterglow of sex even a man as tight lipped as the Chevalier lets down his guard.”

“So what have you learned of the Chevalier’s past? I have worked for him for nearly a year and all I know of him is he was in the Foreign Legion for over thirty years and was apprenticed to his father, a Master Butcher, before enlisting aged sixteen.”

“I didn’t know he had been in the Foreign Legion but knew he was a military man by the scars he bears. Neither did I know he had been an apprentice butcher; you know more about his practical life while I have more insight into his emotional life.”

I thought back to what the Chevalier had said when offering me the position of his valet/companion and gigolo, servicing the mothers of the girls who the Chevalier lusted after and intended bedding. “The Chevalier told me he is attracted to young girls ‘who have a blend of surface innocence and underlying carnality’.”

“As are the many elderly men who have a penchant for young females,” Lisette replied. “But the Chevalier is mostly attracted to fair-haired, blue-eyed girls in a particular age range who are also slim and small breasted.” She got up from the chaise longue, did a pirouette. “Like moi,” she said, before sitting down on my lap and feeding me her tongue. It was sweet tongue tasting interlude and I also ensured I tasted her breasts, which are not particularly small. I said as much, and asked how the Chevalier could ignore them, given he was mostly attracted to slim, small-breasted, girls.

“Although I do not completely fit the mental picture he has of his lost love he accepts those facets of me which make the best match to his former lover. The veneer of innocence and underlying sensuality is probably the most important factor to him, and I have the ratio of pure virgin and lecherous lover that best matches his first love. I also have the correct hair and eye colour and I appear to be no older than fifteen although I have larger breasts than most girls of that age. I’m fairly certain the Chevalier met his love when he was at school. Children left school at thirteen when the Chevalier was a boy, unless they had rich parents, of course. I assume his lover would have been in the same school, possibly in the same class, which would make them between eight and thirteen when they first met. If the Chevalier joined the Legion aged...” Lisette paused in thought. “Why do men join the Foreign Legion other than to escape a marriage, or a pregnant girlfriend, the police, or some happening that turned their life upside down, like the death of a loved one?”

I could see she was talking to herself so made no comment, thinking it would most likely be the second of her possibilities. She nodded to herself as if reaching a conclusion, and then continued with her deliberations. “Obviously the Chevalier would not have been married at the age of sixteen, nor would he have committed a crime heinous enough to have him fleeing for his life. No, his true love had died, or had been sent away to marry someone else.” She looked at me with a triumphant smile on her face. “My Professor has written many papers regarding the relationship between young females and elderly males and places the men into two distinct categories. One type of older man he says has ‘The Lolita Syndrome’, while the other...”

“The Lolita Syndrome, what on earth is that?”

She looked at me in surprise. “Haven’t you read the book by Vladimir Nabokov?”

I shook my head “Never heard of it or him.”

“I’m surprised at that. The book was banned in France and Britain giving it notoriety, but that was way back in the nineteen fifties. What about the films? Surely you’ve seen one or both of them?”

Another shake of my head.

“You told me you were a film buff,” Lisette said. “Stanley Kubrick was the director of the first, and best, of the two films.”