Toast And Marmalade For Tea

When either Lamarque or Jacques felt himself close to coming, he would pull out of whichever of Babette's holes he was using and take a seat, letting his excitement subside before continuing. So, sometimes she was being 'spit-roasted'. Sometimes she was being fucked, or sodomized, or giving head. But she always had at least one cock in her somewhere.

From time to time she would be given a drink of water, always being asked by Lamarque if she was o.k. The two had a safe-word, and if she really needed to, she could terminate the 'session'. But Babette was a trooper. The bound brunette allowed the two men to plunder her and violate her and ravage her however they wished. Of course, one of the side-effects was that Babette had numerous orgasms during the encounter.

The 'session' had started a little after midnight and it was not until the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten that Lamarque called it to a halt. Lifting the receiver of the wall-mounted phone near the stairs, he dialed an inhouse number. The groggy 'hello' on the end of the line told him that he had, in fact, awoken the housekeeper.

"Norah, this is Mister Lamarque. I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but Miss Babette could use some assistance down here in the wine cellar.... Yes.... Yes, thank you, Norah," he hung up the phone and turned to see that Jacques had released the clamps and had helped Babette to her feet. He had his arm around her, for her legs were to shaky for her to stand on her own. Lamarque picked up the light-blue terry cloth robe, draping it over the trembling shoulders of the brunette. The two men escorted her to a chair, and as she was seated, Lamarque squatted down to look up at her. Asking again if she was alright.

She could only nod weakly. Her hair was matted to her head and her whole body was drenched in sweat. When the door to the wine cellar creaked opened a few minutes later, the trio's gaze turned to the stone stairway and saw the well-worn house-slippers, the hem of an ankle-length white gown, the bottom of a plaid house coat as more and more of the housekeeper came into view.

"Oh, you poor child," the middle-aged woman, clucked. "What have these naughty boys done to you?" She knelt down to slip Babette's mules onto her feet, and then the housekeeper, with rollers in her hair and cold-cream on her face, helped the young woman draped in a bathrobe up the stairs, all the time prattling on like a mother hen.

***** ***** *****

It was not until four in the afternoon that anyone disturbed Babette in her Louis XIV style bed. The gentle tap on the bedroom door had caused her to stir, but the smell of coffee when the door was opened prompted her to sit up straight. It was Lamargue who was carrying the breakfast bed-tray. Placing the legs of the tray on either side of thighs, he sat down on the edge of her bed himself, and he asked how she had slept.

"Not nearly long enough," she told him, stretching languidly before pouring a cup of coffee. "Norah wanted to give me a bath, but I was just too, too exhausted for that. It was all I could do to let her put this night-gown on me."

"But other than that, you are O.K.?" he asked.

"I am surprised my voice is not hoarse," she shot him a side-long glance. "You two brutes shoved so much cock down it. And," she smeared marmalade on a triangle of toast, "I can only imagine what my lower half must look like. Probably all puffy and swollen."

"But you did orgasm?" Lamarque asked.

She lowered her eyes, "Yes, Pierre-Louis, I did orgasm."

Was that a blush spreading across her upper chest? He kissed her on the cheek. "I told the cook not to prepare you a big breakfast, for I want you to go out to dinner in a few hours."

"Really?" Babette's eyes opened wide; Lamarque almost never ventured outside the compound. "Where are we going?"

"Not we," he arose and took one of the triangles of toast, biting into it. "I want you to return to the casino and see if you can bump into your English friend again. Entice him in to taking you to dinner." Babette slowly nodded, not certain where this conversation was going. "Assuming that you are successful, call Godeau from a pay phone and tell him to search your Englishman's hotel room." Babette shivered slightly at the mention of Godeau. "You do not like him?"

"He's just so creepy," she answered, shivering in disgust again.

"Well, you won't have to actually see him," Lamarque reached for the door knob. "Just keep your English friend away from his hotel room long enough so that Godeau can do a thorough job."