by Madeleine Oh
“I’ve been in his office a couple of times. And of course he was involved back last spring, when…” She paused. “Oh hell, might as well tell you. The previous cook we had was murdered. Horrible business and really sad, and then we had a lot of back and forth with the police and Maître Poulain earned his money… But you called him Stéphane?”
“Yes.” No point in denying it. “That’s between us.” That did sound snippy but she was not elaborating. “About the furniture and so forth. How do we do that?”
Helen took the hint not to press that line of questioning. “Come on in. Would you like coffee or tea?”
They settled in a large airy office, presumably Helen’s, and she handed Poppy a notepad. “Best make a list of what’s needed. We can order online, go into Nice or even Marseille to look, if you want. “
“Is there a budget?” Best to know before she went wild with enthusiasm.
Helen shook her head. “Anything within reason. Luc wants this to work and part of that is getting you settled in. He doesn’t believe in sparing expense where creature comforts are concerned.” Poppy only had to think of the house she was sitting in to agree. “So what do you need?”
She’d been thinking this over on the drive up. “Right off, not a lot. There’s a bed and mattress already. I’ll need pillows, bedclothes, towels all that sort of thing and more storage. Include a table and chairs for the kitchen and I’ll be set for a while. Most of all I need office furniture, a computer, and good wifi connection. For the rest of it, I’d like to do it slowly. Look in the brocante market on Mondays and local vide-greniers over the next few months. I’d rather pick up odds and ends I like as I see them than buy a mass of new things in one go.”
“Makes sense. I might even join you. I love the market in Nice and used to trawl garage sales and flea markets in the US. I’d love to see the French version. We could do it together, if you like, Luc’s away for a couple of days and I can get free or…”
Did she want that? Might not hurt to get on good terms with a woman who called her employer by his Christian name. “Can’t be tomorrow, I need to work.” And she was going to need to give notice. “I need to hire at least a couple of workers to start clearing the fields.” This was becoming an immense job. Had she bitten off more than she could chew?
“Vito knows some people who’d do the job. He’s the gardener. You can talk to him in a minute.”
Fair enough. “How do I charge expenses?”
“Use this.” Helen handed her a debit card. “It’s the one we use for household expenses.”
“You’re very trusting.”
“Why not? You don’t have a criminal record.”
“You did a check?”
Helen nodded. “Oh yes, no one gets hired unless they pass scrutiny.” Fair enough. “Thanks for the card. I’ll let you know what I spend. I’ll look online first then trawl the shops. Can I get cash on this? For the markets and so forth?”
“Go ahead. Just let me know so Branko can keep track. I use it when I need things for the library and Adele uses it too.
“Who’s Adele? Another secretary?”
“She’s our cook who’s expecting you to stay for dinner. Come and meet her after you speak to Vito.”
Vito was waiting outside, all six foot, tanned skin and muscles, rather reminiscent of Oliver Mellors. Thirty-six hours earlier, Poppy might even have found him desirable but not now. Never mind, she needed him for other things and besides, he was probably married with five bouncing children.
“You wanted to speak about work for the farm, Madame?” he asked.
“I do. You’ve seen the property?”
He nodded. “Monsieur took me up there last week. It’s in a bad state.”
She agreed wholeheartedly. “Terrible in fact. But nothing that hard work can’t fix. You’ll be up there too, supervising?”
“When I can. I work the estate too, with my father but I’ll be up there every day.”
Sounded fair enough, at least to begin with. “What about tools, equipment. There’s virtually nothing up there.”
“To start, we’ll use what we have down here. I already cleared that with Monsieur. As we go along we buy what is needed. How many men should I hire?”
Poppy sensed that was a trick question, designed to measure her. “Numbers of arms and legs isn’t as important as skill and competence. I’ll rather you hire two, even one good worker than half a dozen less able ones. How many good people do you know?”
He smiled. She’d been right, he was rather luscious, but not for her. “I have a cousin and his friend. They’re young but worked two seasons in the lemon orchards in Menton. Good workers but they have no knowledge of lavender cultivation.”
“That doesn’t matter, I know about lavender.” Might as well put that out there. “Willing workers are what I need. Those fields need clearing of weeds and dead wood.”
“They’ll be glad to start right away.”
She couldn’t ask more than that.
She watched him walk away and decide yes, Stéphane definitely had a nicer arse. And now to meet the cook.
So much for visions of Mrs. Patmore or Mrs. Bridges. Adele was in her later twenties, thirty at the most by Poppy’s guess, and pretty. They sat around the kitchen table and feasted—no other word for it—on a wonderful rabbit pâté and the thinnest-of-thin Melba toast, followed by chicken cooked in paprika on a bed of cabbage. Not Poppy’s favorite vegetable but something Adele did to it made it delicious. They finished off the lot with apricot tarts, Adele apologizing that they weren’t fresh apricots, but they were grown on the estate and she’d preserved them.
“I don’t understand how you stay so thin,” Poppy said, “if you eat like this every night.”
“We don’t,” Helen added. “On our own, we usually have soup or an omelet or something light but since Luc and Branko are away, I suggested we do it to get acquainted with you.”
She was glad they had. They were nice women and since she’d be working with them, it was good to get to know them. It would also be good to get home.
* * * * *
It was probably a good thing she wasn’t privy to the conversation as Helen and Adele finished the last of bottle of wine.
“What do you think of her?” Adele asked.
“She seems nice enough but has taken on a massive job. That old place is in a rough state but Luc believes her competent and we both know he had her vetted first.”
“She is so calm, cold and English. I think it’s good she’s not living here. She might be shocked at how we are.”
Helen shook her head. “I’m not so certain about that. She calls Maître Poulain Stéphane.”
“What? Branko does not do that and he’s known him for years.”
“And our Poppy Gordon does and she just met him yesterday. What do you make of that?”
Obviously Adele wasn’t sure what to think. “But he is so…buttoned-up. So formal.”
Helen snickered. “Maybe she unbuttoned him.”
“But she’s so…”
“I know, you said cold and English, perhaps not. There’s a saying, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Maybe we shouldn’t judge either of them by first appearances.”
“Maybe we need to get to know her better.”
Adele had a point. “We have plenty of time for that. She’s got months of work ahead.”
Chapter Eight
Poppy drove down the hill back to Nice and, as she got out she noticed Stéphane’s gift had dropped out of her bag onto the floor. She wasn’t leaving that in the car. She was going to open it over a nice cup of cocoa. Better call it chocolat chaud. Just the thing for opening mysterious packages on what had turned out to be a chilly evening.
Mug on the table in front of her, Poppy untied the bow and peeled open the stiff paper. Inside was a shiny, black box covered with little silver handcuffs. Not much mystery as to what he had in mind. Good. She lifted the lid, opened up several layers of black tissu
e and stared at the contents. No wonder the box had been so heavy.
It was a beautiful, glass dildo. “Sex toy” was far too banal for something this exquisite. Poppy picked it up, hefting it in her hands and stroking the smooth glass. It was a gorgeous dark green but with tiny little bubbles of silver and gold suspended in the blown glass. What sort of craftsman spent his or her days making anything so beautiful? Just to own it was a delight and to think of the use to which Stéphane would put it. That alone had her nipples hardening as sweet warmth gathered in her cunt.
It was gorgeous, exquisite and hers. Holding it up to the light, Poppy marveled at such a perfect and expensive gift. A different man might have given jewelry or a silk scarf but Stéphane chose something that would give them both pleasure. She couldn’t help wondering where he’d bought it. She definitely wanted to visit the same shop one day. Soon. But that wasn’t all. At the bottom of the box was a tube of lubricant and tucked into the tissue, a brief note.
“For you, my dear Poppy. Play with the godemichet while I am away and think of me.”
Now she knew the French for dildo. That had never come up at in French lessons at school.
So he wanted her to pleasure herself, did he? That wouldn’t be arduous. Just holding the beautiful creation was a pleasure. As for sliding it into her cunt… She went a little dry-mouthed at the idea.
Doing it justice needed preparation. First a shower. A pity she didn’t have any candles, but she’d settle for muted light from the street outside. And thinking of Stéphane, and the way his cock filled her mouth, would be a good way to start.
Soft silk sheets would have been nice, not that she’d ever actually come across silk sheets but they sounded downright decadent. Still, freshly laundered cotton wasn’t too bad. She had rays of light through the closed shutters and a glass of wine. Poppy sipped on the wine, thought back to the rather unexpected but very worthwhile night with Stéphane, and rubbed the glass godemichet between her breasts. It was cold at first but soon warmed by her body as she slowly stroked it down her belly to nestle between her legs.
She was already in the mood and thinking about his promise to spank her had her primed and ready. Why was she so needy? So easily aroused? Aroused by the prospect of Stéphane pulling down her panties and spanking her bottom. Wet wasn’t the word for her cunt at that thought. She wanted him, needed him, but she’d have to improvise and he’d certainly given her a lovely way to ensure contentment.
She doubted she needed any lubricant but since he’d been so thoughtful, might as well make use of it. It had a sweet, almost spicy scent, as she ran her fingers up and down the smooth green glass. Nice.
Spreading her legs, she nudged the tip of the dido between her labia and stroked her clit. Wonderful. Nowhere near the pleasure of his cock but he wasn’t here. Poppy set up a slow rhythm, teasing and caressing herself. As her arousal built, she shifted, placing her feet flat on the bed and opening her thighs, as she pressed the dildo against the opening in her pussy. The cool glass was hard, harder than any cock, but it was smooth as it slid into her. She paused for a moment just to absorb the sensation and think of Stéphane. What was he doing now? Thinking of her? Wondering what she was doing?
He shouldn’t be, he surely knew. She pressed it in all the way. She was filled and stretched as she relaxed to let her body accept the intrusion. Good, but still not quite enough. Reaching down, Poppy began fucking herself, setting up a steady rhythm as she eased the dildo out then, back, twisting it a little so it pressed against her clit.
Wonderful! Incredible! Keeping her wrists steady, she worked herself faster, increasing the speed and pressure until she was close to coming. Her hand worked at fever speed but it was still not quite enough. With her other hand she reached down and found her clit, she teased, caressed, and pressed deep until she was reaching the peak, climbing her need. She even let out a few little cries as she brought herself to the edge of passion and leapt.
She lay there, panting, pleasure rippling across her body and she smiled as the dildo shifted side her.
It could stay in longer, it wouldn’t soften or slip out. The dildo could be hard until morning, but she gently withdrew it, the glorious green now covered with her arousal, and put it on the bedside table, where a glint of light from outside, lit up the gold flecks.
What a lovely present. Stéphane certainly knew what made her happy.
* * * * *
And he kept his word about coming back Friday.
“What have you been doing in my absence?” he asked, as they sat across from each other in a tiny bistro in the old town.
She bit back the urge to say “Missing you” or “Longing for you to come back”. That went without saying. “Shopping and buying the most banal things—sheets, towels, saucepans and toilet paper. I’ve also hired workers for the farm, given notice for my job and told my landlady I won’t be there after the end next week.” In other words, she really put a lot of faith in Luc Prioux.
Stéphane smiled. “You will move in there so soon?”
“Might as well, it will be a bit like camping as I don’t have much furniture yet but I’ll have running water and electricity.”
“And a bed.” He smiled. No, it was closer to a smirk. Smug so and so!
“You noticed that, did you?”
“How could I miss it? On Sunday I will drive you out there and help you assemble it.”
“Nice of you!”
“You may reward me with your obedience.”
“We’ll see.” Although the thought of him, in shirtsleeves and exerting himself with a wrench was rather appealing. “How was your business trip?”
“Satisfactory. Luc bought a hotel near Lake Garda. It’s a little neglected but he will take care of that.”
“He has fingers in a lot of different pies, doesn’t he?” The idiom didn’t quite translate. “I mean he has many different business interests.”
Stéphane nodded. “He does indeed. But when he makes money we all benefit. And there are other ventures, like the farm where maybe he will make nothing but it pleases his mother.”
“Maybe it will make money.” She had to put that out there. “We were making steady and growing profits in Sussex Lavender at the time Tommy died. No reason I can’t do that again.”
“If you do, you’ll have Luc eating out of your hand.”
“I can’t imagine him eating out of anyone’s hand. He’s far too dominant. But if I earn my salary, I’ll be satisfied.”
That earned her a curious look, raised eyebrows—what darn sexy eyebrows they were too—and a mischievous smile. “It is my goal to see you are satisfied.” He reached out a closed fist, and opening his fingers, placed something on the tablecloth between them.
As he moved his hand away, her eyebrows that shot up. There, between the salt and the pepper, was a bright-green glass butt plug. Hell, it even had the same gold-and-silver flecks as her dildo. A matching pair perhaps?
“You agree?” he asked. ‘‘After I spank you, of course. You did agree to accept my discipline.”
“Put it away!” Her throat was so tight with shock it was a wonder she got the words out.
“Why should I do that?”
“Someone might see it!” Hell, the people at the next table were bound to, and as for the waiters all over the place…
“They would know I plan to use it on you tonight and why should I not? We’re lovers.”
She didn’t think even France was that relaxed as to decorate restaurant tables with sex toys. “Please put it away.”
It disappeared with a flick of his wrist. “As you wish, but you understand I will use it.”
“Feel free, as long as you use lubricant.” He’d better.
“Of course, I would not use it to punish you. Did you pleasure yourself with the godemichet?”
“Yes, and thank you.”
“How many times?”
He did ask the questions. “Four times.” Might was well tell the truth.
He threw back his hear and roared with laughter. “Magnificent. Now…” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “After we finish dessert and coffee, I will drive you to my flat. I will take you into my bedroom and sit down and you will lay yourself over my knees in preparation for your much-needed chastisement.” Poppy swallowed. Did he think she could keep eating after this? “I will raise your skirt and you, at my command, will let your shoes drop. Are you wearing tights?”
“Yes.” It came out a little hoarse.
“Then I will pull them down to just above your knees. That way your legs will be held together and you will not be able to move very much. I will spank you a few times just to warm you up. Then I’ll remove your panties so I have your naked and vulnerable bottom at my mercy. I will be quite severe. My goal is to color up your skin to a beautiful bright pink. Perhaps you will fight me, and if you do, I will hold you down with my left arm and let you know by the increased severity of my spanks that resistance is not permitted. I expect you to lie on my lap, passive and accepting. Do you think you can do that?’
“It won’t be easy.”
“That, my sweet Poppy, is the whole point. I administer punishment, you accept it as my right and your due. We’re in agreement here?”
She wasn’t disagreeing. “Do we have to stay for dessert?”
He smiled. “But of course, anticipation is part of the pleasure. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, it is, but I’ll never understand why I dread it so much and am dying for you to start.”
“It is the way you are, Poppy. You know what you yearn for and you know I can give it to you. You long for a spanking as much as you dread the thought of being spanked. I long to feel your skin heat up under my touch as I watch your efforts not to squirm and resist, knowing you will, and I already have an erection thinking about it. Reach under the table and see if you like.”
They weren’t sitting side by side, but opposite each other, her arm wasn’t long enough to reach her hand under the table without getting out of her seat. Was that what he expected? No thank you, the whole restaurant would suspect what she as doing. Instead, she kicked off her shoe, reached out her foot and wiggled her toes over his crotch. Whatever he’d had in mind, it wasn’t that. As his gasp faded, she lowered her foot and slipped back on her shoe.
