Maurice lived in a cozy apartment over the large garage where the two sleek black limousines were stabled. He was essentially a solitary man.
He took his meals in the great house with the other servants, Nellie, George and Madam Andre, but otherwise, he spent little time in the chateau. Although he got along with the others who so faithfully served Melissa, he actually had little in common with them.
Maurice enjoyed his freedom, and enjoyed taking care of the expensive automobiles. This was his hobby. He also liked reading books on automobiles and all other kinds of vehicles, fast moving and otherwise.
He was presently lying comfortably in bed, perusing an automotive magazine. Suddenly, he heard Melissa's wild scream from the chateau.
He leaped up from his reading. Could she be in trouble? As he listened, he heard a second scream and suddenly recognized the sound for what it was. Mrs. Staunton was in the throes of a violent orgasm. Maurice scratched his head. "God," he said softly, almost under his breath. He hadn't expected the kid (as he thought of Stephenson) would work so fast.
Maurice lay back down on his comfortable bed and continued to read his magazine. He imagined the cars were his own. He thought that if he could really own cars like these, then the most beautiful women in the world would throw themselves at his feet. He took his cock out of his pants as he dreamed. Yes, he could drive into towns all along the coast in these cars, and women would run to him, impressed, wanting him.
He would choose the most beautiful woman, the one with the fullest, most luscious breasts and longest legs. He would take her into his car and fuck her in the front seat. She would straddle him, naked, her back pressing into the steering wheel while he manipulated her up and down over his cock, squeezing her breasts and her hips. He slicked his hand with his saliva and began to rub his cock more furiously while thinking of beautiful, nameless women.
He came, and in his mind, he was coming inside of the beautiful, hazy faced woman's full, heavy-scented cunt. In his dream, he drove deeply into her and exploded, though in reality his cock was pulsing against his own fingers and palm.
George, who was lying in bed with Madam Andre in her separate apartment in the chateau, also heard the wild scream coming from Mrs. Staunton's sitting room. He tapped the naked woman on her shoulder.
"Ah, Cherie," he said, "the boy is making Madam happy, yes?"
"So it would appear, George," said Madam Andre, turning slightly so that the huge dildo, which was strapped around her waist, maintained its position. This huge instrument was buried completely inside George's bowels.
Madam Andre had been ass-fucking George since Maurice had driven Melissa and Steve to and from the opera in Monte Carlo.
As they lay there, they wondered what might be happening between their mistress and the new houseguest.
"You want me to pull it out, George?"
He shook his head. "No."
"But I've been fucking you over an hour. Aren't you ready to come?"
"No. Not yet. Keep going."
"But you've lost your erection," she said with a sad tone in her voice. Her fingers groped around in front of her, fingering his once- happy cock, which had now gone soft.
"Look," she said, rather harshly, "I've got things to do. Why don't you gather your strength and I'll come back in a little while? And make sure you're properly dressed next time. You know how I hate to see you in your shabby, everyday clothes." She laughed at this, and began to dress. All of George's protestations and pleading could not dissuade Madam Andre from leaving.
When she came back some three hours later, he greeted her at the door. She was pleased to see that he was properly dressed this time. He was wearing a woman's black corset with bone stays. On his head was a wig of long blond hair that reached his waist. He also wore shiny, black leather boots.
"That's much better," she said, entering the room with a supreme air about her, as if she were the mistress of the house and not merely the cook and staff supervisor.
She walked over to the sofa, undressed, and sat down. Next to the sofa was a whip. She picked it up, holding it by the hard wooden handle and running her flat palm down its length. All the while, she looked at George, who still stood by the door.
"Why don't you show off your lovely corset to me in the manner most suited to your dress," she said, taking the whip and rolling it between her palms. George began to walk around the room.
"Not like that!" she said, "You know the best way to show it off." At that, George got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl around the room.
"That's much, much better," she said, her eyes narrowing and growing dark. George crawled on all fours, first towards her with his head lowered, and then away from her, so that she could see his buttocks working up and down while one knee moved in front of the other. The slightly small corset fell to just about his waist. It revealed the entirety of his buttocks and a good portion of his white-fleshed back. His blond wig was slightly askew, falling to one side.
"Faster, crawl faster!" she demanded and George began to crawl faster, almost frantically, as if he were trying to escape his pursuer. George crawled around and around the room tirelessly while Madam Andre casually fondled her breasts and her clitoris.
"George, come here," she said after a time. He turned and crawled to her feet. She told him to turn around, so that his back was to her. He did so, and then she struck out with the whip, the quick leather strap landing in a loud crack on his buttocks. He pleaded with her to stop, which was part of the game they played. Of course, she continued. She whipped him a good ten times, until faint red welts rose on his back. Finally, she took mercy on him and stopped.
He reached behind his back and stuck his finger into his asshole, moving it in and out for both his pleasure and hers. She loved seeing him do this under her supreme dominant control, especially after she'd watched him crawl pitifully around the room, pleading with her and begging for her mercy.
She continued to fondle her breasts as she watched his finger moving in and out of his asshole. Then he got up on his knees, his other hand spreading his buttocks apart. Suddenly her foot lashed out, kicking him with her high-heeled shoes. He fell forward slightly, his finger buried high up in his own ass. He winced.
She ordered him to turn around and lick her cunt. As she leaned against the wall, she spread her legs wide for him as he bent his head into her lap, reaching out his tongue until it rested lightly on her outer folds. He licked around them and then stuck his tongue inside of her, twisting it in and out.
"Stick it in further," she commanded, and he complied. "Now withdraw it and suck on my clitoris." He withdrew his tongue and began to suck on her enflamed, red clitoris.
"Not so hard!" she said, so he sucked more gently, bringing Madam Andre immense pleasure.
"Ah, yes, just like that," she moaned. He squeezed her clit gently between his lips, teasing the end of it with the tip of his tongue. As her body surged with heat, she felt her usual need to satisfy the huge Frenchman.
"George," she said, her voice low and husky.
"Yes, Mistress," he answered.
"Are you ready, George?"
"Oh yes, Mistress. I am ready for you. I am ready for it."
"Is your asshole hungry, George?"
"Oh, yes, my asshole is hungry, Mistress."
With this, Madam Andre kicked George away.
"Get it. Bring it to me," she commanded.
"Yes, my Mistress," George said meekly, crawling away, looking back over his hairy shoulder, the black corset on his upper body looking utterly ridiculous and obscenely enticing. In his long blond wig, and sleek black boots, the huge hairy man did indeed look bizarre. It felt funny, and deadly serious at the same time. George was intensely thrilled every moment he wore the strange costume.
As he crossed the room on his hands and knees, his huge buttocks swaying in a voluptuous rhythm, Madam Andre again fingered her cunt. She stared at his hanging testicles swaying beneath him. She loved his balls. Sometimes, when she was intensely excited, she'd order him to kneel astride her face. Then, looking up at his heavy, hairy balls, which brushed against her face, she'd stick out her tongue. George would suddenly lower himself onto her face, his balls smashing into her mouth, over her nose. Then he'd raise himself and slap her eyes and cheeks with them. She thought of this as he crawled to retrieve what he so badly desired.
When he was once again before her, holding the dildo in his mouth like a dog would hold a bone, he lifted his eyes up to her. She took it from him, stood up and strapped it around her waist. She stood before him with the instrument jutting out from her loins in monstrous proportions and, her hands on her hips, looked down at him.
She knelt behind him and spread his ass-cheeks with her fingers, which dug into his flesh so far that she thought she'd touch bone. She drove the dildo into his ass. He groaned loudly as the instrument slid into his backside. He fell to the floor, supporting himself on his shoulder. He took his cock into his hand and rubbed it up and down, moving the foreskin roughly over it. His eyes were closed tightly in pleasure.
Madam Andre pumped the dildo in and out of him, watching his buttocks clench around it. This gave her a great deal of pleasure. Then she raised her arm high into the air and brought her palm down against his buttocks in a stinging slap. She did this over and over again as she pushed the dildo far up into his ass.
She heard a primordial groan escape from George's lips, as his buttocks clenched, and drove hard into him as she struck him. The toes of his black boots dug into the floor as he came violently into his hand, spurting out on his chin, which was resting on the floor.
"Oh, thank you, Mistress," he shouted as he came.