Table of Contents
The New Convert Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
About Bernadette Russo
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THE NEW
CONVERT
Part of the DUSK NATION world
Bernadette Russo
Copyright © 2013 Steam Books Erotica & Romance
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
CHAPTER 1
Twenty-four-year old Michel Martin couldn’t believe his luck.
He had been walking up and down the Marais for the past two hours: diving into bars and cafés, hoping to catch someone’s eye. Despite wearing his tightest shirt and tightest jeans to emphasize his slim but muscular physique, however, he wasn’t getting anywhere.
His feet started to hurt, as did his pockets. It was a Friday evening, however, and he was horny. He was also getting tired of his hand, and was determined to make out with someone for a change.
I refuse to go home to that tiny studio till I get laid! he vowed to himself.
He had moved to the city barely three months ago, and had spent the last couple of weeks saving up for tonight. He’d be damned if he was going to spend another weekend watching the same old porn on his computer. He didn’t move to Paris from his tiny village of Saint Seurin de Cursac (population: about 700) in order to be a hermit, after all.
Tired but doing his best to keep his sagging spirits up, he popped into the Legay Choc on the Rue des Archives for a light and inexpensive meal to fuel up. It was a bakery and pastry shop (which the French call a boulangerie), but its motto was ‘Boys Just Want to Have… FUN.’
This was proudly displayed on the window, and in the English language, much to the annoyance of many locals. Those people insisted that while they had no problem with the blatantly gay message, they would have preferred it written in French. This was the capital of France after all, non?
Though an eponymously named family-run business, the bakery took advantage of its location and was rewarded for it. As such, while its hand-made breads and pastries were excellent, they stood out because of their unique shapes: penises complete with scrotums, voluptuous women with massive tits, chocolate breasts and asses, and many more non-traditional forms.
Michel chose a penis bread filled with cheese and bacon, with toasted sesame seeds on the scrotum to simulate hair. He did not feel in the least bit self-conscious, since the place was famous nationwide.
As Legay Choc was primarily a take-out bakery, it provided only a small, bar-type table with four stools that looked out onto the street for those who wanted to eat in. Though it was a little past eight in the evening, the one Michel bought had just come out of the oven, and was piping hot and delicious. He forgot about his mission for the evening as he finished the bread, then dove into a delicious strawberry cream and chocolate penis pastry for desert.
A man stood out on the sidewalk, staring at him with an amused grin. Michel suddenly felt self-conscious, and he blushed. The man chuckled, looking radiant as he flashed a set of perfect white teeth, surrounded by a very strong, square jaw.
Michel’s heart skipped a beat. The man was absolutely gorgeous! He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with thick, longish black hair.
He looked Mediterranean, with gypsy-like features, save for his chalk-white skin. His lips were full and sensuous, turning upward at the corners as he grinned at Michel. His eyes were almond-shaped and hypnotic. Behind the pane of glass, Michel could not tell what color they were, but he felt pierced by the man’s gaze.
The man made wiping motions with his hand around his mouth. Michel gave him a puzzled look, so the man repeated the motion more exaggeratedly. Michel still didn’t understand, so the stranger walked up to the window and pointed at his mouth with a smile.
At last, Michel saw his reflection: holding a penis-shaped pastry with fresh, glazed strawberries stuck to the top, and holding the cream-filled scrotum with chocolate shavings at the bottom. Since the rest of the pastry was also cream-filled, bits of it were oozing out of his mouth.
He realized it must have looked erotic. It also looked a little disturbing as the strawberries were mixing with the cream. This resulted in a blood-like juice that dribbled down his fingers, creating a rather gruesome effect.
He fumbled for some napkins and began wiping it off, then looked to the man for approval. The man nodded, and made the ‘ok’ gesture with his thumb and index finger.
So now Michel was stuck. He was barely halfway through with the pastry, but he didn’t want the man to get away. Neither did he want to abandon his pastry, however. It had cost him €2 and was worth it.
As he sat there wondering how to resolve this dilemma, the man gave him a final smile and walked off. Michel felt his heart break. He had missed yet another opportunity, and began to wonder if such would be the story of his life forever.
With a sigh, he finished his desert dejectedly, and took care to wipe his face. He said ‘goodbye’ to the people behind the counter, then stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“You missed a spot,” a deep, sensuous voice said, speaking in a very high class Parisian accent.
Michel jumped. It was him! The man from the window.
Up close, the man was bigger than he had seemed when standing on the other side of the glass. He stood maybe six inches taller than Michel’s five feet nine inch frame, and seemed a lot bulkier, though without an ounce of fat on him.
Michel noticed that he was dressed in what was obviously a personally-tailored three-piece suit that must have cost thousands. Clearly this was a man of substance. The villager felt completely out of his depth.
The stranger leaned forward and lightly rubbed Michel’s lips with an index finger, sending an electric shock that made its way all the way down to the younger man’s groin. Then the man put the finger to his own lips and licked it, before spearing Michel with his gaze once more.
Michel spoke, or tried to, but the native of Saint Seurin de Cursac suddenly lost his ability to speak. He also found that he could no longer understand French.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Eh, do you speak English?”
“Eh? No! I’m sorry. I’m French,” Michel finally managed to sputter. “Suis Michel, m-m-monsieur. Eh, Michel M-M-Martin.”
“Ah, Michel,” the man purred, making it sound so exotic. “I am Blaise. Blaise du Lac.”
Michel was right. The man was an aristocrat, complete with the requisite ‘du’ in his name. That bit confirmed, he felt even more intimidated, and tried to say something, but his mind had turned into a fog, while his cock was so hard from the touch on his lips, that it was starting to hurt.
The man was so hot and so cultured, he felt completely poor and dumpy in comparison. The man was talking again, but Michel couldn’t make out what he was saying, once more.
Grinning, Blaise leaned down, gently cupped Michel’s chin, then drew him close. Michel moaned as Blaise’s lips touched his. When the tongue entered his mouth, he had to lean forward and hold onto the man’s arms to maintain his balance.
Men like Blaise did not often notice guys like him. If all Michel got tonight was a kiss from someone as hot
as this hunk, then he would cherish it for all it was worth. Let the other pedestrians ogle. He felt sure that given their location, most felt jealous.
So when Blaise asked him to go to his place, Michel realized he had hit the jackpot.
He really couldn’t believe his luck.
He got into the man’s car: posh and sleek with leather seats. They didn’t speak, though Blaise occasionally rested his hand on Michel’s leg when he wasn’t maneuvering the stick shift. Sometimes, he would move his hand higher and brush against Michel’s groin.
They didn’t drive too far, though Michel had no idea where they were. All he knew was that they had parked in some underground garage, and he got out when Blaise did, following him to an elevator.
Michel was doubly impressed. Elevators were a rarity in a city that was built mostly in the late 1800s. People could make up names, could fake their accents, and could steal expensive cars and clothes. What they couldn’t fake, however, were residential elevators.
Adding to his sense of unreality was the luxurious interior of the gentleman’s place. It was like something from an expensive interior design magazine. He knew he should say something, but didn’t know what, and Blaise didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation, either.
He was led into a bedroom, but before he could take in more of it, Blaise took him into another kiss, and all thought fled. The man’s lips were so warm, he could have had a fever. Then his tongue entered Michel’s mouth and the former villager moaned.
Michel had gotten used to quick, furtive sex: done in alleyways, toilets, and cars. The way Blaise took his time was something new, and Michel loved it. He put his arms around the man, wanting to feel more of him than just his mouth and tongue.
Strange…the man was already naked. As was he…Michel couldn’t remember getting undressed, but there he was: lying on his back while the man’s weight pushed him deeper into the thick, plush mattress.
Michel felt confused, “How? Weren’t we…”
“Shh…” Blaise said, showering his neck with kisses, while his other hand began exploring the planes of Michel’s chest and stomach.
Michel wondered if the Legay family might not have put something else in the pastry he’d had, but it was hard to hold onto his thoughts. Blaise’s fingers felt wonderful, nestling through his pubic hairs and teasing his balls, touching but not grabbing his cock. Blaise’s mouth had taken one of his nipples in, while his other hand was gently tweaking Michel’s other one.
Looking up, Michel saw himself in the mirror that hung suspended on the ceiling. The image was beautiful. He looked beautiful. He squinted his eyes to lock the image in his mind, but…how odd. He tried to resolve what he was seeing, but could not.
He looked down at his body and saw that Blaise was now tonguing his way further down. Michel sighed and spread his legs. He bit his finger as he felt his cock enter Blaise’s hot, wet mouth, but the aristocrat’s nose kept him from seeing the action completely.
It didn’t matter. It felt so good. Michel writhed on the bed, lifted his hips to fuck the older man’s mouth, but Blaise’s hand on his groin kept him from thrusting upward too much.
Another hand moved up to explore Michel’s body, and the younger man grabbed it so he could suck a finger. He was a little surprised at how sharp the man’s nails were.
A sharp pain in his ass made him squirm and cry out, but Blaise kept sucking his cock, and he calmed down a little. He realized the man was finger-fucking him, so he tried to relax his ass, afraid he’d be lacerated by those fingernails.
The pain subsided, and Michel found himself starting to enjoy it. It contributed to the delicious, sucking and tugging of his cock. He nearly wept when Blaise pulled away. He looked down and saw the man kneeling between his legs, and his eyes widened at the sight.
Blaise was built like a weight-lifter. He couldn’t remember that either. Beneath the three-piece suit, Michel realized the man was bigger than he was, but…he didn’t seem that muscular before.
“Ah!” Michel cried out, as the tip of Blaise’s cock pushed in.
“Shh…” the man crooned down at him, gently stroking his face.
Michel relaxed instantly, mesmerized by the contrast between their skin colors and the way Blaise seemed even larger now. As a bike messenger, Michel had acquired quite a tan, making him stand out against Blaise’s chalk-white skin.
He didn’t seem so chalk-white now, however. Blaise’s skin seemed to turn redder, more vibrant, and the veins beneath his bulging muscles stood out.
Michel didn’t enjoy getting fucked, finding the process painful, but for some reason, it didn’t hurt this time. Blaise was so gentle, and had obviously used a lot of lube. Michel couldn’t remember. All he knew was that the man’s groin was now pressed hard against his ass, and that he could feel the man’s cock deep inside him, stretching the tender opening of his hole to its widest.
Blaise began pumping faster into him, and Michel moaned, spreading his legs even wider. The stretched feeling was beginning to give way to a tingling numbness, then gave way to a growing pleasure.
Michel knew that some men enjoyed getting fucked, but it was only now that he was beginning to understand why. Each time Blaise pushed into him, he could feel himself getting closer to an orgasm. Whenever Blaise pulled out, he felt this strong urge to pull the man back in.
It was amazing. It almost felt as if he had a pussy instead of a cock. Instead of getting fucked up the ass, Michel felt as if he was getting fucked in the hole where his penis had been.
Wrapping his legs around Blaise’s massive waist, he held on, wanting, needing to get fucked harder. The older man seemed to read his thoughts. With a growl, he began pumping harder and faster, ramming into Michel so hard, the bed shook.
Michel felt delirious. The back of his hard-on kept rubbing against the underside of Blaise’s hairless belly, but other than that, it wasn’t getting sucked or jacked off. Still, he felt as if he were on the verge of an orgasm that just kept coming, but never arrived.
He groaned and writhed, needing more, needing to be fucked harder, “Please,” he begged, thrilling at the sight of the massive hunk who rode him.
When Blaise finally leaned down, it wasn’t Michel’s lips he was after. This time, he went for the neck. As his teeth sank into the tender flesh, letting out dark red blood, Michel finally exploded, spurting his jizz all over the hot, red, muscular flesh that heaved above him.
His orgasm went on and on, till he could stand it no longer, and he screamed and screamed and screamed.
And still Blaise continued to drink and fuck him. Michel felt so good he thought he would die.
He really couldn’t believe his luck.
CHAPTER 2
Donovan Cogey was bored out of his mind.
He didn’t dare show it, however, as his boss was sitting next to him, and was the transcriptionist. So he did the best he could to suppress his yawns by gritting his teeth as hard as he could. He even tapped away on his laptop occasionally to show that he was hard at work.
“But I didn’t know that she was fucking both the driver and the cook! And did you know that my cook’s a woman?” Mr. Blaise Gaillard huffed as he stood in front of them. “Surely that qualifies as an adequate reason to terminate the will?”
“Monsieur,” Madam Hélene Rémi sighed. “We have gone over this already. The will is unchangeable at this point. You know the law.”
“But she committed adultery: at least twice that I know of, and with another woman at that. I thought that she loved me and that she was faithful!” he sobbed, genuinely heart-broken.
Mr. Gaillard was in his seventies. He was also stick thin, balding, and had false lower teeth, while his upper ones jutted out an inch or so from his face. As a result, he looked like an iguana from the side; or a balding, wrinkled, and malnourished parrot.
Scrolling down the man’s file for more details, Donovan saw that his first wife had died years ago, and that his second wife was a 25-year-old Ukra
inian who had worked as a domestic in his house for two years. The woman was a real looker, and while Donovan was no expert, he seriously doubted that her tits were real. Whoever took the black and white photograph made sure those melons were included in the picture. It was the only thing that kept the image from being overly clinical.
Considering how Mr. Gaillard looked, and taking his wealth into consideration, Donovan wanted to shake his head. Did the monsieur really believe that his second wife had actually married him for love? The man had run a multi-national corporation, had wheeled and dealed with presidents, kings, and God only knew what. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid.
Then again, when dealing with those who made up the top of the food chain, one learns to think with their head. When it came to his 25-year-old wife, however, clearly Mr. Gaillard had thought with his dick, instead.
Oh how the mighty fall, Donovan thought to himself, making sure to keep a tight lid on his mind.
Mme. Rémi, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered. She radiated boredom and frustration, as well as a growing impatience. To anyone else watching her, however, none of this would be apparent. About the only thing they’d see would be a professional-looking woman whose facial expression never changed. She never even blinked.
Letting out another sigh, Mme. Rémi decided to put the interview to an end, “Monsieur, had you come to us sooner, we could have dealt with this matter. But now? Well, it is too late. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, so…”
“Wait!” the man held out his hands pleadingly. “How could I possibly have come to you sooner? I only found out last night! Therefore, I give you my full authorization to…”
“Monsieur!” Mme. Rémi banged her hand on the desk. “You are dead! I am sorry about the heart attack, and I am equally sorry that your wife was unfaithful. But the fact of the matter remains clear: you are dead. So because of this, no further modifications can be done to the will.”
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