Fanchon's Book(8)

My body defrosted and functioned again. I ducked out and raced back to the sanctuary of my own room. Once inside I came unstrung and couldn't make it to the bed; limp, feverish, panting for breath, I leaned against the friendly bulwark of the door and prayed for sanity to return and dispel my trembling delirium. Oh, but I felt foolish. What a stupid thing to do! Spying in the night, peeping, ogling the angelic little creature like a rapacious slut, a bitch in heat; what was the matter with me? Didn't I know better than to pull such an idiotic stunt? Was I already in my dotage? Good grief, one might think I was falling in love with the child!



Chapter 3

A bitch in heat? I had to admit it; even now, lolling in the scented warmth of the bathtub, I all but devoured the toothsome little dish with my predatory gaze. Kristi didn't see me; she was busy rinsing out the lingerie in the washbasin-and in my mind's eye I undressed her and spent a poignant few minutes appraising the tender curve of her backside.

Beautiful.

More so than mine, perhaps, since she had all the advantages of youth in her favor. Still, I couldn't really criticize my own shapely bottom, less tender than Kristi's but quite appealing in its zaftig maturity. I stroked it with the palm of my hand, enjoying the slippery self-caress and offering a silent paean of commendation to the unsung hero who had invented modern day bath oil: better than the asses' milk of Cleopatra's era-and certainly cheaper. It felt just fine. No, I couldn't complain about my body. My only regret was that Kristi took so little notice of it.

All right, why not rectify that irksome detail? High time, wasn't it? She liked her job, obviously, and I no longer had to worry so much about her quitting-especially after her giggly reaction to the risquй stories I had told. Anyway, even a direct frontal attack seemed a safer course than last night's prowling and peeping madness.

"Kristi… "

She swung around. "Madame?"

I loved the tiny tinkle in her voice. Although the way she spoke-in a kind of murmur, subdued, breathless-"Madame" came out more like "ma'am." Yet her vocabulary was good, remarkably so for someone in her position: the youngster's facility with words and meanings amounted almost to a flair. Oh yes, I had come to the conclusion that my new maid was no ordinary servant. Except for that stand-offish reserve of hers, the little angel simply had no faults.

A frontal attack, then. Now. Smiling to soften the shock, I sat up in the tub and cupped my hands under my breasts. "You know something, Kristi? I ought to go on a diet. Don't you think I'm getting a bit fat?"

"Fat? You, ma'am?" She shook her head slowly, evidently flustered but. still taking my question seriously. "Oh, no. How can you say that? You have a beautiful figure."

Something gushed deep down, a sudden melting; I felt like a schoolgirl in the after flush of her first romantic compliment. Kristi's eyes kept lingering and I wondered if my skin was turning rosy. But I didn't dare look. Damn! Were my nipples getting hot, too? Nothing was touching them; my hands were holding my breasts from underneath; oh, but that sensation, the swelling, the stiffening, so unbearably familiar, what else could it be?

I settled back again, letting the water cover my embarrassment-or enough to save face, at least. I had to pursue the issue now; the possibilities were tremendous-and wasn't it weird, this shuddery self-constriction, the crazy bottled-up excitement? I only hoped my voice didn't quaver.

"How sweet of you to say so, my dear. Coming from you, that's praise indeed. I'll never be as slim and lovely as you are."

"Oh… "