House of Intrigue

by Yvonne Strickland

  'No, I'll be there.'

  He relaxed back into his chair and picked up his glass, wishing not to appear too self-satisfied at having established a liaison with one who had previously given no cause for encouragement. They exchanged small talk for a time and watched the passers-by in the sun until Annette reappeared in her yellow cotton dress, her brown leather shoulder bag swinging at her side.

  'Where's all the shopping you had to do?' asked Mike as she rejoined them at the table.

  The sh- oh, the shopping! I popped it into the back of the car. There wasn't much.'

  He smiled at Karen and raised his eyes briefly, not wishing to render his disbelief too obviously but wanting her to see that he suspected Annette of some petty machination. He knew where her car was parked. He knew there would not have been enough time for her to do the things she had claimed.

  Annette smiled at him and said, 'Don't worry about closing time. Marielle and Louise will be there all afternoon. So you can go after lunch instead of before.' She eyed his empty beer glass. 'As it looks like you'll be going to the bar in a minute, I'll have a prawn salad and an orange juice, please. And whatever Karen wants.'

  The two girls stared at him, Annette in wide-eyed seriousness, Karen awaiting his reaction with barely suppressed humour.

  'Oh, all right, Mike, I'll have the same please. If you can't say it all in French, I'll write it down.'

  He looked from one to the other and broke into a wide grin. 'Ah well, caught out again, I see!'

  'Oh, come on,' said Karen, reaching down for her shoulder bag, 'we'll both chip in. It's not fair -'

  'No!' cut in Annette, placing a hand on Karen's arm. 'You'll encourage him to be even more tight-fisted than he already is. Anyway,' she continued, smiling up at the mildly bewildered Mike, 'he came out to spend a bit of money so he ought to be glad to be buying lunch for a couple of dolly birds like us!'

  The early afternoon was hot and the pavements almost deserted when Mike strolled up to the front of the boutique. To all intents and purposes it appeared closed. He moved nearer to the window and peered inside at the displays. At last he pressed the doorbell.

  Soon, a face appeared and regarded him from behind the glass pane of the shop door. Her features were somewhat angular, her eyes a wide, pale blue and her lips full. The long straw-coloured hair fell about her shoulders as she stooped to draw back the bolts and unlock the door.

  'Bonjour? she said, smiling into his face as the door opened.

  'Mike,' he said, pointing at his chest in case it helped her to understand.

  Unlike Annette, he had not taken up the French language with any dedication and had no idea if the two who ran the shop spoke English.

  'Aah! Monsieur Mike,' she said and held out her hand. 'Please come in, we are expecting you.'

  He squeezed the outstretched hand, passed into the shop and heard the rattle of the bolts behind him. The shop was cool and intimate with its racks and displays of colourful garments closing in about him. Shafts of sunlight speared across the displays, picking out flashes of brighter colour here and there.

  i am Marielle,' she said, smiling up at him. At that moment another figure appeared and Marielle turned to her. 'Ah, Louise, void Mike.'

  Louise offered her hand too and he clasped it with a meek 'hello', feeling moderately embarrassed at his inability to converse properly in the language of the country where he lived as an exile. The two girls, in their loose-fit-ting blue skirts and white cotton sleeveless tops, were obviously sisters, perhaps three or four years older than Karen and Annette. They were, of course, beautiful. Everyone associated with Sonia appeared to be beautiful. They reminded him a little of Rose, though in her case the age difference was even greater.

  'You look at some things and we make you a coffee, yes?' asked Louise.

  'Oh, yes please,' Mike answered.

  Louise left them and returned to the back of the shop. Marielle grinned mischievously and indicated a rail hung with men's shorts.

  'Annette says English people have no style for dressing and that you are an even worse example. She says we must help you because you are a big "oof". What is an "oof" please?'

  'Ah! Well ... I think the word is "oaf" .. but never you mind, I'll talk to her about it later!'

  'Very good,' said Marielle. 'So, you choose the shorts here. Annette says you need sunglasses. They are over there.' She looked over him carefully and a frown crossed her features. 'Mon Dieu Those trousers, they are very old. You have brought them from England, no?'

  'Well ... well, I ...'

  'We have upstairs very good trousers. Mademoiselle Annette says you need everything!'

  The look of bemused disbelief which, for a moment, characterised Mike's expression, gave way to a guarded smile as Louise appeared from the rear of the shop with a cup of coffee.

  It was nearly three quarters of an hour later when, after a number of purchases and a lot of advice from Louise and Marielle, Mike watched them check off each item at the counter. He had turned to gaze at the pictures of exotic locations above the displays and was wondering what else Annette had said to them, when Louise and Marielle approached. He opened his mouth in surprise as an arm closed about his waist.

  'Now we will go back up, yes?' asked Louise.

  Marielle linked an arm into his.

  'W-what?' He looked from one to the other. 'What ... er, what are we -'

  'Oh, Monsieur Mike, now you can freshen up, we give you your rub-down on the table and then you put on some of your new things.'

  'Yes,' added Marielle, 'you are a friend of Mademoiselle Sonia. You must leave our little boutique feeling happy.'

  'AbsolumentV confirmed Louise, as they pushed him towards the stairs. 'Always we take care of people from her house.'

  'Yes, but ...'

  The shop and its two proprietors had taken on a new dimension. As they climbed the narrow wooden stairs he wondered if treading the path of caution might not be wiser. After all, if Annette was involved ...

  When they reached the first floor room with its Venetian blinds, big wall mirror and more racks of clothes, he looked about, recalling that he had seen nothing previously and saw nothing now that would be out of place in any shop.

  This way,' cooed Louise, taking him by the arm. They walked towards the curtained-off area at the far end of the room which he had earlier supposed to be private. 'In there,' said Louise, indicating the left side of the curtain, 'is a toilette, and in the room next to this is the shower. You will use please and then we will be ready for the treatment. Just bring your towel, nothing else.'

  'Hey, wait!' he said as they turned to go. 'What am I... I mean, what are we .. ?'

  Marielle and Louise swung around. Each placed her arms about him and each kissed him in turn on the lips. 'Now be a good boy, Monsieur Mike, and do as you are told,' pressed Louise.

  When he entered the right-hand doorway behind the curtain, it took him almost a minute to assimilate the surroundings. With the long wall mirror, the sinks and the hairdryers, it appeared to be a hairdressing salon. The furniture, in chrome and black leather, was disturbingly familiar. The even greater resemblance of this room to the equally luxurious, if slightly larger, beauty parlour at the house escaped him, as the parlour had always been out of bounds. He noted the low bench, the chairs and the oddly draped piece of furniture beyond them. Opposite to the mirrored wall and beyond the bench stood a narrow table, finished in leather with a small black leather cushion at one end.

  Inside the warm, comforting luxury of the shower he began to imagine himself back at the house, an experience which gave rise to ambiguous feelings. Nevertheless, he was fairly convinced that he was in for more than just a 'rub-down'. Life seemed to be like that of late.

  Refreshed and dried, and with the heavy pink towel tucked firmly about his waist, he pushed cautiously through the door to see if anyone was outside.

  'Ah! Monsieur Mike!' came a voice as he entered the room. 'Here we are waiting for you!'
r />   The two swivel chairs in front of the mirrors swung around to reveal Louise and Marielle.

  'Oh my God,' he heard himself mutter as they rose to face him.

  Both wore loose-fitting black nylon chiffon blouses with long sleeves and high necks. About each of their waists was a wide, deep red, vinyl belt and beneath this a flared miniskirt in shimmering black satin. Their legs were sheathed in gossamer black, seamed nylon and their feet in red vinyl sandals with high stiletto heels. They were at once inviting and intimidating.

  'I think you like this,' said Marielle, smoothing her hands down her thighs then reaching out to kiss him.

  Louise joined her sister and kissed him too and he saw their hands, sheathed in translucent latex surgical gloves. They held him and passed their hands over his shoulders, about his arms and around his body. The weight of the towel could not suppress his enlarging erection. He put his arms about both their slim waists and they about his. They kissed him about the face and neck and he returned their kisses with eagerness, feeling the sensual warmth of their bodies and smelling their enticing perfume. Without speaking, they guided him gently towards the padded table with its stout wooden legs, which he observed had been moved away from the wall.

  'Please, now lie upon here,' said Louise.

  He saw the soft, warm light of the room shining in their eyes and found himself obeying without question. The table was no more than 75 centimetres high, so easing himself on to its black leather top was not a problem. Once on his back, his arousal was obvious though the two girls appeared not to notice and walked around to face each other on either side of him.

  The table was too narrow for him to rest his arms at his sides, so he lay them loosely across his middle with his fingers clasped. But Louise and Marielle each took one of his wrists, pulling it away and downwards. He was wondering why he should allow himself to be manipulated by two very glamorous but total strangers in this way, when his misgivings became academic. A cool leather strap quickly encircled each wrist and tightened before he could pull free and the rasp of the buckles confirmed what they had done. He at once, and part instinctively, tried to sit up but was able to raise only his head from the small leather pillow. This proved to be a mistake for their plans were well laid. Two hands pushed under his head and held it, while two others thrust the rubber ball into his mouth and passed the straps around and behind. The ball gag was quickly tightened and secured before his head was lowered back on to the pillow. With each arm strapped to a table leg and unable to speak he watched intently as they took his feet and pulled these over the sides of the table as well. In a matter of seconds, all four limbs were secured and the two girls turned to him.

  'Ah, you are nice and comfortable now?' asked Marielle.

  He neither nodded nor made a sound, but tensed as Louise began to tug away the towel. She did not remove it from under him but once having exposed and freed his erection, let the ends hang over the sides of the table.

  'Ah, c'est beau,' cooed Louise, running her fingers up the swollen shaft. Like a surge of electricity, it made him catch his breath and tighten the muscles about his pelvis. Marielle ran her fingers about the base of the shaft and under his testicles. It became the magnetic centre of his body, the beginning and the end, for all of a sudden nothing else could possibly matter. Then Marielle moved away, leaving Louise to carry on with her voluptuous manipulations.

  When she returned, she smiled at Louise and at their captive. In her hand she held up a large white tube which she began to uncap, watched by Louise as well as Mike.

  'Now for the treatment Mademoiselle Annette says you wish to have. We will do it!'

  She squeezed the tube and he let out a stifled 'Mmmm!' as the white cream spiralled coolly and abundantly about the base of his penis.

  'I think that is enough now,' said Louise and began to massage the thick cream into his pubic hair.

  Eventually, it lay like a mousse on the skin above his groin and though Marielle maintained his erection firmly by squeezing and stroking below the head of the penis, he was beginning to experience a prickling and mildly burning sensation where the cream lay. Louise walked over to the sink and moments later returned holding a box of tissues and a small, white plastic spatula. He had, of course, realised even as the cream was being applied, what its purpose was. He realised equally, from his experiences at the house, that attempting to express any objections or to free himself from the restraints would achieve nothing.

  With his head propped up on the small pillow, he was able to see as well as feel as Louise removed the cream with the spatula and Marielle held the head of his penis with an expression of amused concentration. When she had finished with the spatula, Louise wiped around the smooth and hairless skin with a warm, damp cloth.

  'Tres bonl said Louise, smiling. 'Now the little soldier looks very smart, just the way Annette says you would wish to have him. Perhaps next time you will not be too shy to ask Mademoiselle Valerie and she can take away the hair permanently.'

  If they could see the expression on his face, they chose not to acknowledge it. His feelings of mild outrage did not, however, diminish his physical excitement nor his anticipation, for now that all traces of the depilatory cream were gone, the two girls bent forward and each ran a tongue up and down the gorged and inflamed organ from root to head and back again, seeing it quiver with each electrifying passage. The tension was, for him, becoming almost unbearable. He craved relief above all else. What they were doing would keep him hovering upon thv edge but never achieve it. He began to twist against the straps in the hope of imparting to them his growing frustration but they continued this fiendish, sensual dialogue with him for some minutes longer. When they stopped it was only to change tactics, for instead of tonguing, they began kissing, pressing their warm lips against his penis and moving slowly, inexorably upwards until they reached the moistened, quivering head. He closed his eyes tightly in expectation. Then they stopped.

  Marielle slipped her cool, latex fingers about the foreskin. Louise smiled and said, 'Oh, the little soldier has stood to attention so well. Now, perhaps it is time to give him the discharge from duty.'

  'I think so,' answered Marielle, working him gently up and down as Louise slipped a caressing hand beneath his testicles.

  They understood instinctively how close he was to crisis point and Marielle stopped her work with only a few urgent heartbeats to spare. He moaned quietly in despair at the cessation and, with half-opened eyes, watched as Marielle peeled the thin latex glove slowly and deliberately from her right hand. For a few moments, she smiled and swung it before him, while Louise began to stroke once more, with her finger, the prime focus of his sensations.

  Marielle opened the aperture of the glove and eased it down over the aching penis. The cool, sheer latex enclosed him with a voluptuous caress and, for a few seconds, the two girls stood smiling and regarded it, protruding upright before them.

  Once more, his body responded with a tremor as Marielle's hand closed around the glove and his swollen organ and began to work it purposefully. This time he knew she would continue until ... until ... Then the inevitable happened. Every nerve in his body was seized in electric fire. He tensed rock hard against the restraints, groaning loudly, and ejaculating rapidly and copiously into the rubber glove.

  It was over, and Marielle removed the glove. Louise began to undo the straps, saying, 'Ah! You English. You desire the pleasures so much but you are so afraid to admit to them!'

  He stepped out of the shop into the warm afternoon air and the bright, sunlit street, wearing smart, new fawn slacks and denim shirt. In one hand swung a red carrier bag, across which, in bold, green script was splashed 'La Grenade'. With his free hand, he adjusted the sunglasses with their reflective lenses and looked up and down the street, hearing the bolts of the shop door rattle shut behind.

  The streets were not busy in the afternoon heat but the bars and cafes were doing a brisk trade. He was thirsty after his 'ordeal' in the shop and, though t
he girls had offered him coffee, he had declined the offer and left them. Perhaps they were right about the English, or at any rate, about him, for he retained a sense of unease, wondering if he ought to feel gratified or humiliated about his treatment at the hands, literally, of Louise and Marielle. What if the tables had been turned and he had been in control? He shrugged his shoulders and carried on.

  Minutes later, he hesitated outside a small bar and looked inside at the crush of people.

  'Hey! Smarty pants!' came a voice from behind.

  He turned to see a smiling Karen and a grinning Annette strolling towards him.

  'Hi there!' he responded.

  'Oh, that's better!' said Karen. 'Those things suit you perfectly.'

  'Surely you haven't been in the shop all this time,' put in Annette with a searching look.

  Mike was glad to be wearing the sunglasses so as not to betray his expression.

  'We've been all around the art gallery,' added Karen as they walked on.

  'I bet he's been trying to take advantage of those two innocent little sisters,' remarked Annette.

  'No, not me. I wouldn't do anything like that,' he offered, half seriously.

  'No, of course you wouldn't,' said Karen, smiling.

  'No, of course he wouldn't,' mocked Annette, with an expression which said everything to him but meant little to Karen. 'He's such a smoothie, aren't you, Mike? Real smooth!'

  Karen hesitated to look into a shop window. Mike and

  Annette walked a short way on. He turned to her and hissed, 'Annette you're a bitch!'

  i know,' she said, 'but I'm ever so good at it, aren't I? And just think what you'd be missing if it wasn't for me!'

  'Missing! I tell you what I'd be missing, and that's the risk of being recognised by someone who's seen one of those damned videos!'

  'Oh, don't be silly, Michael. Nobody has ever recognised any of us and we must be in dozens of them. I bet you wouldn't remember anyone you'd seen in one either. You don't realise how lucky you -'