But it wasn't long before the three of them, Nellie, George and Madame Andre, were swinging in the right direction, as they say in French.
Their first intimate interlude took place when Mrs. Staunton took Steve to another festival in Monte Carlo where they would spend the night because Melissa didn't like Maurice to drive the crooked, twisting coast road at night, too many sharp curves, hairpin twists and too many drunken drivers.
All this made Melissa Staunton very nervous and she had every right to be. Each year hundreds of local people were either killed or maimed for life from accidents on the coast road between Monaco and Cannes.
Alone in the chateau, the dogs fed and turned loose on the sprawling grounds to keep their eyes on any intruders, and these wolfhounds were excellent watch-guard dogs, Nellie was taking her evening bath.
George and Madame Andre were in the kitchen cleaning up, Madame Andre mixing the dough for the following day's bread and morning muffins.
George was polishing the glass wear, a never-ending task in any French household. Holding each goblet up to the light to inspect it for even a fleck of dust; satisfied he would place it tenderly, almost lovingly back into its position on the shelf.
In the background a tiny transistor radio was playing Radio Luxembourg, dance music on records. A tall candle flickered on the long kitchen table at which the staff took their meals. The polished table gleamed in the soft candlelight.
Out of doors it was very still. Now and then the light roar of a passing aircraft, a dog, lonely, barking in the distance, a church bell somewhere in one of the tiny hilltowns way back in from the Mediterranean Sea.
"I think she's attractive when she's relaxed, don't you, George?"
Madame Andre was speaking in a kind of patois French, a local vernacular that even if Nellie had spoken French, she could not understand. Of course, Nellie's command of the French language was strictly limited.
It is true that she did learn a few words when she worked as the aupair with the French family in Paris, but since she realized, being in Mrs. Staunton's employ, that little if any French was expected of her, Nellie was quite indifferent to the language.
Since both George and Madame Andre spoke perfect English (with accent, of course), there was no need for Nellie to even learn another word. She could always point with her index finger the way many foreigners do, especially the British.
"She's very pretty," he replied.
Madame Andre turned on her heel. "Oh, she is, is she?"
George glanced up: "Jealous, eh?"
She laughed. "What, may I ask, should I be jealous of? What could that little wench do that I cannot do, George?"
He was silent for a while.
She turned again, wiping her floured hands on her apron. "Did you hear my question, George?"
"Huh…?"
"George!"
"Yes, Madame Andre," he said, almost standing up. He looked around as if something had happened. "What… quoi?"
"I asked you a question, did t not?"
"I don't think I heard it. Would you mind repeating it, Madame Andre?"
"George, you are impossible."
"That is not a question. That is a statement."
She laughed. "So very clever you are, George, you should be master of some great house."
"I am master of this one." He sipped from his wine, looking over the rim of the glass. He winked at her.
Madame Andre folded up the dough. She wrapped it in a damp cloth, kneaded it once more for good luck, made the symbolic French gesture of spitting over her left shoulder before taking the wrap of dough and placing it in the bottom of the stone 'refrigerator', actually a natural earthen storehouse in the rear of the great kitchen.
"What is she taking so long for upstairs, George?"
"You don't understand woman," said he.
She scoffed. "If I trusted you, I'd send you to find out."
"She'll be down. I hear the water finishing."
Upstairs in her private bath, Nellie was brushing out her long hair. She looked forward to the small private party George had planned to celebrate her first month on the new job.
Madame Andre had baked a small French cake and George had promised a fine old wine from the vast cellars under the chateau. Of course, there would be pretty flowers, because the chateau gardens produced so many wonderful blooms, the whole place sometimes resemble a picture spread in a garden magazine. There were always freshly cut flowers all over the house.
Nellie put on a special pair of high spike heels Melissa had insisted buying for her. She wore a tiny sexy French brassiere that thrust out her lovely ripe breasts.
Her panties were very brief, silky and transparent in the crotch. From in back, her lovely buttocks, so plump and so curvy, could be seen.
She wore sexy nylons and a tiny, lacey garter belt to hold up the expensive American nylons. Over all of this, because she felt terribly relaxed and at ease, she wore a new pale lemon yellow chiffon gown.
After using the new atomizer, another gift from Melissa Staunton, with the new fragrance from the town of Grasse, nearby, spraying her brassiere, her nylons and her panties, Nellie tried making up her eyes with mascara, but she never really knew how to apply it without making a mess, so she gave up the idea.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she decided she'd never seen anything lovelier. The smile was radiant, happy, content, full of inner pride. She'd done it! She run away from a home she hated. She'd found happiness!
"Hello everybody," she grinned, entering the kitchen.
Both George's eyes and Madam Andre's popped. They both clapped their hands and grinned.
"You're beautiful!"
"You're lovely!"
"Happy anniversary," said George, lighting candles on the tiny cake.
An hour later, two bottles of wine had been emptied. Lying stark naked on the table was George. Straddling his face, still wearing her sexy panties, still smelling of the new fragrant perfume, Nellie's cunt was rubbing his face.
Also naked except for her boots and a wide black belt around her waist, Madame Andre was also up on the kitchen table. But she was down halfway and her head over sucking on Georges' huge cock.
She washed it with her tongue. She kissed it lovelying. She took it into her mouth and let her tongue swirl all around.
She made loud sucking noises as she looked up to watch the half-naked Nellie move her cunt all over George's face. She could visualize his tongue weaving into her cunt through the panties. She could imagine how wonderful Nellie's cunt smelled. She could hardly wait to suck it herself.
Playing with George's heavy, hairy balls, scratching them with her sharpened fingernails, she inserted one finger up into his hot moist asshole, loving it when he squealed, a muffled squeal because Nellie's cunt, pushed into his mouth, would permit only a low groan from the big man.
When the French woman felt he was ready and his prick hard enough, she also stood up, rather kneeled up on the table.
Positioning her body over his looming cock, she spread her thighs. Wetting her cunt with spit, she slowly lowered down until his cock slid up into her famished cunt. As it penetrated deeply, she began to bounce up and down, up and down, the juicy noises of her cunt and his liquids meeting arousing Nellie who, silently, was now thrilled as she felt the man's swirling tongue washing her cunt lips.
As Madame Andre continued to fuck him, she reached forward and gripped Nellie's shoulders, using Nellie's back for support as she pumped up and down.
Nellie leaned back, turning her face. Madame Andre's mouth found Nellie's and soon their tongues were entangled.
As they kissed, George's hands behind his head, using his hands as a kind of pillow, removed them and he reached up to fondle and stroke Nellie's lovely naked breasts. What a scene, was all he could think, his cock up Madame Andre's cunt, Nellie's hot, virgin cunt covering his mouth and the two women kissing so passionately, so hungrily, their tongues visible to his eyes as he began to use his own rhythm, pumping, or lifting up his middle as Madame Andre pumped back down on him, in some kind of obscene competition.
When it came Nellie's turn to sit on the hot wet, slimy prick, she could hardly wait to slide the thing up into her; but what she wanted to see the most was Madame Andre put her wet slimy gooey cunt over the man's face. She watched intently as she saw George cup the woman's buttocks and then allow her to rub all over. This thrilled Nellie.
Climbing around, she had no trouble inserting his huge cock into her wet cunt. She began riding up and down just as the French woman had done, finding his balls in back as Madame Andre had done and squeezing them, playing with them, stroking and finally pinching them to make George squeal with utter delight.
This activity continued for at least half an hour. At the desired moment, Madame Andre's orgasm flooded George's mouth, his tongue moving rapidly, caressing her burning clitoris. His teeth nibbled on her meaty cunt lips. He tongued her hot asshole when she lifted way up when the violence of the first orgasm struck her quivery body.
In seconds following this, Madame Andre climbed up off Georges' soppy face. As she did, she dribbled her juices over his face and into his hair.
When she lay down next to him on the table and it was certainly wide enough, Nellie pulled up off Georges' still erect cock.
She squatted over Madame Andre's face and gave her tongue the same treatment she'd give to George's. And, as Madame Andre sucked and licked her cunt, she reached in back of her to play with George's cock. Taking the hint, George raised up. He kneeled in front of Nellie.
Smiling at him, she cupped his hairy balls with one hand. Using her other, she guided his thick hot cock between her lips. Sucking on it, she continued to rub her cunt over the woman's face, finally feeling her orgasm approach.
Oddly enough and surprisingly enough for all concerned, Georges' prick burst and began to shower the insides of Nellie's sweet, sucking mouth at the same time Madame Andre's cunt exploded from her own fingering.
Nellie's orgasm came almost simultaneously from Madame Andre's fingers up inside the young British girl's tight asshole…