Chateau La Perle du Molinot - work in progress - not for publication yet - not finished

Chateau La Perle du Molinot.

So basically I am lost. And not only lost, but also out of petrol. And it is getting dark.

And, not counting my dog, I'm alone. My phone is out of range. And there is no village, no house, no nothing. Oh and the road; the road is not paved anymore. It is a path. Sand, stones. I have to get out of my car. It is no use just sitting here.

GODDAMIT.

I hit the steering wheel in frustration. The horn honks, and my dog barks.

Getting out of the car I step into a ditch and sprain my ankle. It hurts real bad. From the back of my car I take a bag to put in a bottle of water, some dog food, a bowl and some other essentials. No idea where to go to so I just start walking. The map of Michelin, that wasn't a great help in the first place, hopefully clasped in my hand.

"Come, Zak." I say to my dog. And he follows his hobbling human. Fun, Zak seems to think.. "No, Zak, it's not fun at all. This is bad." I mutter.

The map says there is a road to the left some were. Here. No. Another couple of kilometers then. And it is getting dark now. Zak is all alert because he hears a dog barking in the distance. And I am limping now. God, it hurts.

I see a stone wall. I trace it with my hand. Then a gate. A big iron gate. And it is ajar. A driveway. Should I go? Maybe it leads to a house, or even better a hotel. But only a sign; 'Chemin privé . And the driveway is a bit overgrown. It might be the back entrance?

I stumble along. Zak at my heels. Is that a house, or is it a shed? Some kind of building?

Then growling and out of nowhere a dark thing appears and jumps on my dog. Fighting, snarling, yelping. And I scream and try to rescue Zak by throwing my bag between the two dogs.

"Dough, lache!" I hear a man shouting behind me. "Viens ice!"

The dog lets go of Zak and goes to the man immediately. Sits next to him and looks up.

I touch Zak to see if he is alright. Zak is not a small dog, but this Dough is a giant.

"Ça va?" The man asks in a low concerned tone.

Zak looks okay. In fact, he is wagging his tale, and so is the other dog.

I nod at the silhouette of man, try to get up, but while standing on both legs my ankle gives up and I fall sideways.

The man catches me. Strong arms, fresh sent, and a breath that smells of wine.

"Careful." He says. "Vous êtes-vous blessé? Looking down on me while he still holds me.

Which is kind of awkward, but pleasant in a way. Strange also that he just spoke in English and in French.

"Excusez moi, Monsieur. Vous parlez Anglais? Qui?"

The man nods.

"Sorry, sir." I continue in English. "I think my dog is okay. Sorry to bother you. I'm lost. I hurt my leg earlier. Can I make a phone call at your house, perhaps? Mine does not work. I'm lost. Don't know where I am. It's..."

I'm babbling again. I always do that when I am nervous. Because he is still holding me and I can not see his face. I smell his breath. I feel his warmth. I can only make out his hair. He has long hair and some kind of beard. Oh god. Now I am scared. He smells of alcohol, has long hair, maybe he is a drifter. And he has this big and dangerous dog. Oh help, I think.

I try to yank myself free, in a polite manner as not to freak him out.

"Thank you. I'm alright. Thank you." And I stand on my own two feet again. Damn it hurts. And he chuckles. A pleasant sound.

He steps back. Now I can see him better. A good looking man in his forties, with long hair -reddish, brown, blond? -and a groomed beard and..and...wow. He is good looking. He smiles. White teeth. A hint of dimple there. But his clothes. Yes, a drifter probably.

"Follow me," he says. American, I think.

And I follow him. When I look behind me Zak lies on his back, wagging his tail, while the other dog -Dough?- sniffs his belly, also wagging. So that's okay.

I hope it is okay that I am now entering a huge barn -or tunnel, dungeon, cellar- with a man I do not know, in the middle of now where. It smells old and moldy.
But the dogs came with us. So probably no ghosts in here.

Then we come to a door, thick, wood. Which he opens, steps aside to let me in.

As I pass a whiff of his scent. Fresh; woody, grapefruit, pepper. Bit sensual also. Warm. Exiting.

I look at him. He has narrowed eyes, calculating. But he says:

"Welcome at the Chateau La Perle du Molinot."

I look around me. I am standing in a huge kitchen with in front of a large burning fireplace two other dogs. Small terrier types. Welcoming. Friendly.

"Hi Louis and Piggs, meet Zak." A lot of wagging and sniffing.

"Zak and..." Piercing eyes at me. Questioning.

"And now would you be so kind to tell me what you are really doing here. I don't like tress passers and certainly no stalkers or uninvited press. So be careful. I want honesty."

So I tell him my name. That I am on my way to a Gîtes Rural my sister and her husband had rented for a small holiday with them. Me and my dog. Yes. No. I am alone.

~Should I even say that?~

 I keep on rattling. And I am not working for any media, not a journalist or photographer. Oh well I do make pictures. Yes, you may look in my bag.

~Why the hell would he?~

 Yes, that is my camera. Oh sorry, I am an illustrator. I draw. No. I draw. And I work with horses. Well. No. No, I am a groom. Yes, a groom. No, not a journalist.
~And who the fuck is he; being so paranoid?~

And I did not read the directions thoroughly, so now I am lost and could I please make a phone call so my sister can come and pick me up?

That is what I tell him.

And then that smile again. Slowly changing his face into this warm, attractive man.

I have difficulty swallowing. This man is hot. Wow. I know I'm staring. Wide eyed. He laughs.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Charming, low voice.

And he pours ruby red wine into a large crystal glass on a high stem. Turns the wine in the glass. Holds it against the light. Sniffs it. Then gives the glass to me.

"We make this wine on this Chateau. I hope you like it. Santé." He lifts the bottle at me and drinks straight from it.

It is a delicious Burgundy wine. Like velvet on my tongue, elegant, fruity and a subtle wood.  I close my eyes enjoying.  When I open them my host looks at me expectantly. Distracted I lower my eyes.

"Well?"

"I like it a lot. Very elegant, black fruit and cedar." I said. "Pinot Noir."

"Very good."

He stands up from his chair. Kneels in front of me and lifts my leg. Delicately holds my calf in the palm of his hand, while he carefully takes of my boot and sock with his other.

"Now let's have a look at that ankle of yours."

My foot rests in his lap. He touches my skin, strokes it. I'm so glad I shaved this morning.

I shiver.

"Does it hurt?" He asks. Worried frown between his brows.

"No." I squeak.

He whispers: "Just sit back and enjoy." And refills my glass. The wine goes directly to my knees, and to my abdomen. That is what happens to me when I drink a quality wine. I get horny.

He pushes my trousers up. Takes a small bottle and pours some green shiny liquid in his hand. Olive oil. With capable moves he massages the substance on my leg, my ankle. I sigh.

"Good?"

"Very." I answer a bit drowsy.

"Can you take of your pants? I don't want to make stains on it."

So I take of my jeans. In the kitchen of this man I do not know, I take of my pants.

~Am I crazy?~

 But I look him in the eyes while I pull the zipper down and slowly push down the denim. He follows my move, that smile on his face, but also a frown. To my relief I'm wearing the right panties for this kind of activity. Purple boxer, with lace. I think it's actually quite sexy.

~What's wrong with me!~

"Don't worry so much." He says. "Just sit. It's okay. I won't eat you."

~No?~

I look at his mouth. Bite my lip.

~That's a pity.~

He laughs. I hope he can not read my thoughts.

He continues to massage my leg. Not just my ankle, my calf, higher up, the back of my knee. My foot rests in his lap. Warm. He has strong thighs. I can feel that. I relax. I stretch a bit. My foot is in his lap. Touches his crotch. Warm. Intimate. Growing.

Growing?

I want to pull back my foot, but he pushes it back. Closer even. Against him.

~Oh my god, he's getting hard.~

His hands keep kneading my leg, long movements, the inside of my leg, my thigh, very sensual. Higher up. Accidentally touching the edge of my panties  with his fingertips. Fingers lingering. Pushing a bit under the rim. My breathing quickens. So does his.

A bark. Next to me. A wet nose in my hand. Zak sits beside me. Looks at me expectant. Diner time, my dog says. The spell is broken. I stand up, take my bag, get out the bowl and put some of the dog food in it.

"Is there a spot were I can feed my dog without the others getting jealous." I ask the man who is now siting in his chair with his eyes closed, leaning back, visible bulge in his pants.

"Sir?" When he does not respond.

"Ed, my name is Ed."

"Ed, were can I feed my dog?"

"If your dog prefers privacy, through that door, but my dogs won't bother him. Just put it on the floor next to the counter." He points.

So I put the bowl on the floor and Zak finishes the food in 5 seconds. The other dogs are not interested. Enjoying the heat of the fireplace. Asleep.

Outside I hear thunder. It started raining.

"Are you hungry?" The man says. Ed. His name is Ed. He looks at me. Bedroom eyes.

"I've got eggs. Spinach. Pignons de pin and some freshly found cèpe. How about an omelet?"

He watches me while I eat. Says he'll eat later. I feel very conscious of myself. He stares at my mouth. When I lick my lips his eyes turn black. I feel butterflies in my belly. My womb squeezing. I take another sip of that glorious wine. Finish the plate. I realise I ate just as fast as my dog. But he is a good cook. It was really good. I say so. He nods.

Stands up and walks to me.

Takes my plate.

Puts it back on table.

Turns to me.

"I have this urge," he says, "ever since you walked in here.  Please forgive me."

Then he bows over me, takes my hair, bents my head back and kisses my mouth. Full on my mouth. Tasting, his tongue in my mouth. Playing with mine. A deep, slow, very sexy kiss.

Then he straitens, walks back to his chair. Opens another 'Chateau La Perle', fills my glass and drinks from the bottle.

"Do you like music?" He grabs a remote control and the Doors start to play. 'Riders on the storm.'

~Some serious seducing going on here.~ I thought.

He grins.

~He can definitely read minds.~

I can not sit still. I fidget.

~Stop fidgeting!~

 I can not. He is looking at me. Says nothing.

So I stand up. Ask if I can wash my hands. He points at the door. Second on the right. Mind the step.

I walk to the door. Try to pull my shirt over my ass, since I did not put on my jeans yet.

~Why didn't I?~

I feel his gaze on my ass as I leave the kitchen.

Jim Morisson singing: "There's a killer on the road."

I enter a hall. Old. Chandelier, even a tapestry on the wall. Also dark. And a bit creepy. Second door on the right. Yes, a bathroom. I pee, wash my hands, look at myself in a mirror. I'm wild. Completely flushed. My lips are almost flaming red. My eyes, huge! I'm shocked. I look like an animal in heat.

When I return into the cozy kitchen, the man -Ed, his name is Ed- is crouching on the floor, playing with the two terriers. He stands up when I close the door and walk to my chair.

"It is a beautiful place you have. It looks ancient."

"Yes. It is old. 16th century. Shall I show you around?"

"Oh please."

"This is the library. I was sitting here when Dough told me there was a tress passer."

~Glad he did not bring a gun. Mister paranoid.~

"No, no guns, I don't do guns."

~This is creepy.~

I am in a very nice room with a smaller fireplace. Also burning. The walls are painted red and lots and lots of books, in cases, but even on the floor. A comfortable couch and a low table. Some guitars and a sounds system. The Doors can be heard. Apparently the system could be controlled through the whole house eh castle.

" Girl ya gotta love your man." Jim sings.

"What are you reading now?" I ask.

" L'Oeuvre au noir. At least I'm trying to. Marguerite Yourcenar is not easy. And Certainly not in French."

"Oh I love 'the Abyss'", I squeek. Impressed by his erudite.

"Did you read it?"

"Yesss! Oh but not in French, of course."

Jim: "Take him by the hand. Make him understand."

"Well, I try to."

~This man is not real. Oh my god! He is vampire!~

And at the moment I think that, he pulls me towards him, takes my chin, smiles that incredible smile, with one raised eyebrow, and kisses me again. Famished. He growls. Grabs me by the ass, presses me against him. His hand glides under my shirt and covers one of my breasts, squeezing it softly, kneading the nipple. I gasp.

He takes a step backward and lets himself fall on the couch. Pulls me with him.

And as I lie upon him, hands next to his head, legs astride, feeling the pressure of his lust; there is an enormous thunder clap, everything seems electrified - including the hairs on my arms. And then the music stops. And the light goes out.

"Fuck," he mumbles. "Not again."

The beam of the flashlight shows me where the stairs are. I hold the man, Ed, at his shirt, going down. Follow him, step by step. The lighting had struck, wink-wink, into the chateau, and made short circuit and so we had to go into the cellar to pull some handle. At least that is what Ed says. And it happens all the time. Pull the handle, wait a bit, maybe hours. He doesn't know. No. The phone doesn't work either.

I have to point the beam at the electrical cabinet. I'm nervous. I shine at him. He laughs. I shine at random things in the cellar. Lots of undefined forms. Spooks the hell out of me. Back at him again. Annoyed, he grabs my arm and shines at the cabinet. Sorry.

He pulls the handle. Turns. And grabs me. Bents my arm behind my back. Makes a wet trail with his tongue from my collarbone to my ear. Whispers some words. His voice sends a shiver down my spine. Softly bites my earlobe. His lips linger. I feel his breath. In my neck. In my ear. He sniffs my hair. Turns a lock around his finger.

I quiver. He asks if I'm cold.

~No. I'm not cold. I'm feverish.~

He pulls me closer. Only holds me. Holds me tight. Then he lifts me. Drags me up the stairs again. Into the library. It's warm here. The fire still burning. Drops me on the couch. I feel like a bag of potatoes. Only. Would he look at a bag of potatoes that way?

"Take of your shirt." He says.

"W-what?"

"Take it of. Look into my eyes and take your shirt of."

So I take of my shirt, while I maintain eye contact. Although it is difficult because his face is only visible because of the fire. He is beautiful. Strong lines, straight nose, perfect brow. Specks of fire are reflected in his wavy hair. His gaze is severe, there is lust in his eyes. His mouth half open. Curved lips. Sculpted like an angel's.

I lean back. In my panties and bra. One strap halfway my shoulder.

He picks up one of the guitars. Sits beside me. Starts plucking the strings while watching me. And then he sings. No song. A melody. Half words. Half sentences. I never heard such a voice. A baritone. Deep, warm. Full. Sometimes high notes. Heavenly. Comforting. I close my eyes. Then he whispers my name. His fingers wander across my stomach. He puts the guitar away.

"Turn around," he whispers.

Lying on my belly he strokes me, opens my bra. Draws lines on my back. I almost dose of. Suddenly he pulls my panties low. Spreads my legs. And comes on the couch with me. One knee between my legs the other leg still on the ground. He pushes my hair away and touches my neck with his lips. Licks my skin, bites my shoulder.

Then he yanks away my panties. Ripping them, violent. I yelp. He pushes me back in the couch. I hear him pulling down his pants. Ripping of his shirt. I whimper. I feel his lips on my back again. He calms me. Mumbling soothing words.

With his hand he reaches under me. Lifts me up a bit. Touching between my legs. Stimulating my clitoris with his agile fingers. He leans on one arm. His breathing is laboured. Heavy. Hot. Then his member pushes against me. Hard. Entering me.

Still fingering my cunt. Oh heavenly feeling. I moan.

He starts moving. Pushes deep into me. With force. I gasp. He is huge. Never had such a large, hard penis filling me up.

He strikes again. And again. Pumping. Really screwing me. And he growls. He moans. Oh and it turns me on so much. Another thrust. The rhythm going faster, faster. I push back. Welcoming every strike.

Then he withdraws. Gently turns me on my back.

Kisses me. My mouth. My face, licks my nipples.

"What are you turning me into," he groans. Kissing my mouth again, hungry, mouth wide, his tongue fresh, warm and playful.

He holds his rod and moves it against my slippery mount. Pressing against me. Gliding into me. And starts fucking me again. His strong arms on both sides of my shoulders. His hair hides his face, falls over mine, still kissing me.

"Say my name," he says with faltering breath.

"Ed," I groan.

"Again."

"Ed."

Another thrust.

"Again."

"Ed. Ed." I scream. "Eddie."

His weight upon me makes me feel safe. Secure, somehow. He does not move.

He is still alive, though. I can hear him breathing near my ear. I stroke his back. His hair. Lovingly.

~Eddie.~
I smile.

Then a whining sound. The light flashes on and the music starts playing.

"Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire, yeah"

~Appropriate.~ I think.

He moves. Leans on his elbow. Takes my face in the palm of his hand. Kisses my lips softly. The tip of my nose.

"Hi," he says. "I guess you can use the phone now, if you like."

He withdraws. Gets up. Comes back with a bathrobe and some clothes. His. Hands them to me. Points at a phone in the corner.

"Press zero first."

Then leaves the room.

Jim sings: "You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Girl, we couldn't get much higher."

After I called and freshened up in the bathroom I return to the kitchen. Dressed in his shirt and, funny enough, his underpants. Zak welcomes me like I've been away for a week. He must have heard me. I guess I was very loud. Well, not only I was loud. I blush.

I was unable to reach my sister. There was no answer. Probably the same problems. So I return to the kitchen. The fire is very hot, the other dogs are sleeping in front of it and my host is sitting at the table. Eating.

"Ah," he says, looking up as I enter, big smile on his handsome face.

"Did you make the call? Are they coming for you? I can bring you, if you prefer. Tomorrow. Had a bit to much to drink to drive you now."

"That is very nice of you, thanks." I say. "I did not get a hold on them. I'll try later."

~Strangely formal all this.~

I pull a face.

"Yes, well...would you like something to eat too? I am starved. But there's more than enough."

"No thanks, I'm good. A bite, though, it looks good."

He holds a fork with a piece of pie on it. Watches intently as I close my lips around it. Ceps. Delicious pie.

I pull a chair. Now it's my turn to watch him eat. He enjoys it visibly.

"Yes, I adore ceps. I gather them myself." Laughs. "Well, Piggs and Louis do that. They have an excellent nose for mushrooms."

Wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig from the wine bottle. The terriers look up when they hear their names and wag their tails.

"The dogs can go into the yard. That door." He points. As I open the door the dogs run outside. Zak following. Playtime!

The man sweats. There is a trail of sweat running from his temple to his neck. He is dressed again. Wearing a tank top and some pants. He has magnificent shoulders. I feel something stirring in my belly.

He looks at me, smiles, holds out the wine bottle. I take it. Take a sip. Keep looking him in the eyes.

~Eddie.~

"Eddie?"

I stand up, go to the corner were my bag is. I get out my camera. My sketchbook. My pencils.

"Eddie, can I draw you?"

He looks pensive, then nods that it's okay.

As always I lose myself while sketching. I make one drawing, two.

"Could you, could you put your arm behind you head?"

He obeys and I observe.

~Fucking Saint Sebastian he is. So beautiful.~

His armpit. That underarm hair. Curly, reddish dark, a bit wet. He is perfection. I swallow loudly.

I can see his eyes change colour again. They get darker. He must feel my arousal.

God, it's warm in that kitchen. I'm sweating also, I think. I must be. So I lie down my sketchbook and pencil. Walk to the sink and drink some water from the tab.

I fill a glass and walk around the table and hand him the glass. I watch him as he empties it. Drops in his beard. I push back the chair and bent over him and lick the water drops from his face. Press my lips on his. Stick my tongue in his mouth. I taste him, my fingers in his hair. I mound him. Sit on his lap astride. Kiss him, deep. God he tastes so good.

His hands on my hips. A bit overwhelmed, he seams. I rub myself against him. Feel he is growing hard quick. His hands under my...no, his shirt. Touching my tits. Kneading them.

~No!~

I climb of his lap. Leave him astound. Go to my bag. Get out the dog leash.

~Oh god, no. I've lost control!~

I take his hands, his arms, and fasten them behind his back on the chair. He does not protest, he chuckles. I kiss him softly on his cheek. The dimple above the corner of his mouth. I nibble one of his big well shaped ears. I whisper: "Now you are mine, Eddie."

Then I return to my seat. Start sketching again. The look on his face. Disbelieve.

Now I chuckle. And keep on sketching. I return to him. Stroke his beautiful shoulders, shimmering with sweat. Taste his skin, sniff his neck, lick his lips, softly bite my way through the fabric of the tank top to his belly, lift the top, kiss his belly button, unbutton his pants, undo his zipper, fold back the edges, tangle the top of my tongue in his goodie trail. Then pull down his pants.

I retreat again. Watch him. Sitting there. Naked but for the tank top. His eyes. Heavy eyelids. His penis, resting on his thigh, in a state of expectation. Stirring. I take another -empty- sheet. I draw, inspired by his beauty.

He whispers my name.

I go to him. Kneel before him. Stroking his thighs, his hips, his belly. I look at his face. He does not smile anymore. His are pupils large and black, his mouth slightly opened. I stroke his manhood, hard now. Take it in my mouth, suck it, drape my tongue over his top, down to the base of his shaft. Suck him in again. Lustful, enjoying, hungry. My fingers clawing in his belly. I moan. I can not help myself. Pleasuring him gives me so much pleasure.

~I'm so wet.~

His legs start to tremble. He is panting real forceful. His head hangs back.

I stop.
Go back to my sketching. He protests. Begs me. Calls me darling.

I take of the underpants he gave me to wear. Approach him, raise one leg and mount him. Sit on top of him. My face towards him. I pull up the tank top he is wearing. Over his head. He is now bare chested. I lick his collarbone, his neck, bite his beard, kiss his mouth. His cock is between us. Throbbing. I move my hips. Can not wait either. I lift myself and slide over him. He is so big. I gasp. I start riding him.

My feet on the ground, my arms around his neck. I screw him. I use him. I almost break him.

Our breathing in sync. I gasp, I howl, he moans, he growls.

Then he begs: "Take it of, take of the leash." I hardly recognize his voice, distorted by lust.

So I unleash him. And he grabs my hips. Gives one thrust and then pushes me of him, still holding me. He turns me around. Forces me on my knees. Enters me from behind. I hold the kitchen chair while he bangs me. He holds me up with one hand on my belly, the other on my breast, teasing the nipple.

"You are so wet," he groans.

His mouth in my neck, the panting, the pounding. I tighten and have a thunderous orgasm. He keeps on fucking me and then unloads with a magnificent scream. Makes my come again...and again. Endless.

~Yes.~

 I laugh. I curse, heaving for air.

It is almost midnight. I'm lying in a bed with a man I barely know. He is asleep. His hand possessive on my breast. One leg over mine. His head on my shoulder, my face in his hair. My leg wrapped over his. Tangled. Lovers.

I am in a castle, a very old house. French. Somewhere in Burgundy. The man makes wine. He is an American, though, not French. Ed, his name is Ed. He is the best fuck I ever had. Nobody knows I'm here. But tomorrow I must go.

I pick up the hand that holds my breast. Gently I slide free. Get out of bed.

Open the door. A dark corridor, large Gothic windows, marlstone walls. Carefully I feel my way towards a bathroom.

I find one, turn on the lights. It is a big modern bathroom with Middle Aged details. The bath is sunken, almost Moorish. Very exotic. But there is also a shower. Soap, clean towels. Luxurious. I open some douche gel and shampoo bottles, smell them, choose a spicy, woody scent. Step into the shower.
I hum while enjoying the warm stream. Then I am no longer alone. His body clings to mine. His voice joins me in my song. He turns me around. My body slick with douche gel. His mouth covers mine and he kisses me. The water streaming in my face. I almost drown. A pleasant warm and safe feeling. He reaches out for the shampoo bottle. Pours some in his hand and starts massaging my head, my hair. It is like a dream. I have never been more happy.

I embrace him. Lick his lips, his neck, his chest, his nipple. I suck his nipple. Tease it with the tip of my tongue. My hands caress his skin, the muscles. Up, along his back. Both of my hands in his hair. Tasting his beard, drinking from it.
I feel his lust against my stomach. Again. Growing.
I stand on my toes. Try to climb him. He lifts me. Hands on my butt. I feel him gliding into me again. Moving. We are oversensitive. I don't need much friction to come again. And neither does he. When he hears me gasping he gives one or two thrusts and then he comes also. The water streams. Damp.
He still holds me. Rocks me. Sings softly in my ear.

"Although, although, we're apart

You are a part of my heart

But tonight

You belong to me"

The singing of numerous birds wake me up. it's still dawn. I am in this large bed, with fresh smelling ironed cotton sheets. Like in a hotel. Clean. Again, lying half over me, is this beautiful naked man. I might get used to waking up next to him. Long wavy hair, a golden tan, lean, well proportioned and with some little moles strategically placed on his back. He is lying on his stomach. Cutest round butt, with soft blond downy hairs. His face in the soft luxurious pillow. His mouth slightly opened. A beard. Long lashes rest on his cheek. I call him Eddie. Because. Because I slept with him. And not only that.

I'm restless. I get out of bed. Open a random closet. Get a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Also a boxer short. Much too big of course, but my clothes are nowhere to be found. I look out of the window. A most beautiful view. The ultimate French landscape of vineyards on glowing hills and groups of trees filtering the rising sun. Yellow and pink. It's going to be a perfect day.
I open the balcony doors and take a deep breath. I hail the morning light.
~Zak.~

Quietly I go downstairs, to the kitchen, to be greeted by four elated dogs. They rush outside as I open the door to the courtyard. Playing, yapping.

The larder contains the things I am looking for, and in the fridge there are eggs, fruit, yoghurt. I'm making a lovely breakfast.

~Tea. I hope he drinks tea, because I don't know how to make coffee.~

When I return to the bedroom he is still asleep. I put the tray with our breakfast on the table beside the bed. The artist in me -yeah sure- caresses his body with her eyes.

~God. He is gorgeous. How did he get here? An American in a French chateau. He must be loaded.~

He stirs. Turns on his back. His hand on his stomach. The other under the pillow.

Frown on his face. He mumbles.

"Shhh." I whisper. "Don't worry, I'm not after your wealth."

My gaze touches his manhood.

~Oh well, not your money anyway. Jesus, he's well hung.~

The frown disappears and a slight smile on his face now.

"So, you can read minds in your sleep as well, can you now?"

I take of the, too big, jeans and climb upon the bed. On hands and knees I hang over him. Study him. His beautiful face, now relaxed. My fingers trace his brow, his nose, his lips. Further down. His neck, his collarbone. My hair tickles his skin. Oh, that gentle touch, that soft feeling under my fingertips. I bent my head and kiss his chin, let my lips glide along towards his chest. Softly I nibble his rose coloured, manly nipple. It stiffens a bit. The tip of my tongue plays with it. My hand strokes his flat belly, meeting his hand, that grabs mine. He pushes my hand further down. Towards his morning glory. I seize it, gently moving the palm of my hand. Warm, growing, pulsing.

My grip on him tightens and as my moves quicken so does his breathing. He starts trembling a bit. I look at his face. Head pushed back in the pillow, mouth open, eyes closed. I want him badly.

I lean forward, cover his mouth with my lips, kiss him fiercely. Pleasuring him with my hand, my inside leg draped over him, rubbing myself against his hip. He moans, breathing loudly.

He touches my face.

"Whoa, easy," he says. Pushing me on my back. Unbuttons my shirt. Strokes my body. Softly. From my shoulder to my hips. His hand presses my tummy, slides between my legs, feeling the wetness. Groans. Moves my legs apart and positions himself between them. Looks me in the eyes and with one big thrust he shoves his throbbing rod in my willing cunt. I cry out. Wrap my legs around him, to never let him go.