A Taste Of Honey

by Christiane France

  Antoine was starting to feel more than a little irritated with madame's attitude. He was not in the habit of having his demands refused or his wishes thwarted. “In other words, he doesn't wish anyone to know he is a guest here. I understand and respect such a wish. In fact, I feel the same way myself. But whoever he is, I can assure you his secret will be safe with me."

  Madame rose to her feet, indicating the interview was over. “All the assurances in the world will not persuade me to reveal names to anyone, my lord. I have both my reputation and my livelihood to consider."

  Antoine took a deep breath, pulled in his stomach, and straightened his backbone. “I am not anyone, madame. I am the Marquis de Vernnay. Royal blood flows in my veins."

  "Yes, my lord. I am aware of your lineage. And if I could tell you, I would. Unfortunately, as I have already said..."

  "You can't. Or is it that you won't?” Antoine muttered as he slammed out of the room, adding, “You stupid vache," under this breath.

  "Your carriage, my lord?” the footman inquired as Antoine returned to the main door.

  "At once,” Antoine confirmed, pacing back and forth, his temper mounting with each step he took. How dare the wicked old putain refuse to give him the name of Honey's master? Honey was clearly a servant of the lowest class and, therefore, easily replaceable. In fact, in the man's place, Antoine would be furious at madame for denying him the opportunity to make a handsome profit. Then again, perhaps she thought she could arrange the matter herself and charge him double, or perhaps even triple her normal fee.

  Although that was assuming the mysterious guest with the even more mysterious malady actually existed, and Antoine had long ago learned to never assume anything. What if there was no guest and everything madame had told him was a pack of lies? Part of some elaborate game of her devising, perhaps?

  He paused. Yes! Unless he was very much mistaken what the old cow was up to had to be one of the cleverest and most audacious plans Antoine had encountered in some time.

  What if the master and his lowly servant were nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment fabrication? A story invented by the greedy, grasping old madame once she realized the money-making potential of a naïve young man of low birth? Honey was handsome, personable, and immensely sexual, and when it came to pleasing the guests, Antoine suspected Honey had the ability to perform whatever trick was demanded of him. Plus, he could almost guarantee that Honey was incredibly innovative, too. In other words, with careful handling, Honey could be the star attraction of the new club. Once his reputation became known, he would bring the customers flocking in, and madame stood to make an absolute fortune.

  A soft groan escaped Antoine's lips. He'd always known the wretched woman was incredibly clever in matters of business, and capable of just about any underhanded trick imaginable. If he'd interpreted what she'd told him correctly, she'd baited her hook by allowing Honey to display his talents just enough to attract the right amount of interest. Then, with the bait successfully swallowed, and with at least one important fish on the line, she'd made her golden goose unavailable, by the simple process of dressing Honey in servant garb and saying he belonged to one of her guests. And that nonsense about her being unable to reveal the guest's name was, in Antoine's opinion, an extremely clever touch—the proverbial icing on the cake. She couldn't reveal it because there was no guest.

  As his carriage arrived and the footman helped him safely inside, Antoine decided there was nothing quite like removing the object of a man's desire beyond his reach to increase its value a thousand-fold. A fact, he was quite certain madame knew all too well. He leaned back in his seat and wondered how long she would make him wait. One week, or would she stretch it out to an agonizing two weeks, before she sent him a discreet note to the effect that, due entirely to her efforts, an arrangement had been reached with Honey's master?

  For now, he'd let the woman think she'd won. But madame was nowhere near as clever as she believed herself to be. She'd not only reckoned without Antoine and his family's resources, she'd apparently forgotten, in matters of the heart, most men were capable of doing just about anything to get what they craved.

  And he wanted Honey with all his heart and soul. He wanted them to be together again, mouth to mouth, skin to skin, with Honey's big cock pumping in and out of his ass, bringing him again to the glorious heights of passion he so desperately craved.

  As his carriage rattled and swayed, bearing him home over the uneven cobbles of the Parisian streets, Antoine pushed the physical aspects of his experience with Honey from his mind and tried to analyze his feelings for the man instead. Was this all-consuming need he felt to be with Honey just a passing fad—a feeling predicated on nothing more than his first, albeit unexpectedly satisfying, sexual experience with another man? Or was it something more? The magical state of being in love that people constantly raved about perhaps?

  He'd heard his friends speak of what they swore was love—the unbelievable yearnings, the sleepless nights, the unreasonable demands, the promises, the tears, the anguish of a broken heart, and he'd sworn to avoid involving himself in such nonsense. But as he'd now discovered, a man was not always given a choice in these matters.

  From the very first moment he'd discovered the pleasurable purposes for which his cock could be used, Antoine had discovered the joys of sexual intercourse and how his carnal feelings could be satisfied. Since then, he'd lusted after and enjoyed more women than he could remember, never mind count. But he'd never felt this way about a single one of them—not even the pretty one he'd met at lunch the other day. He'd been mad to possess her only so long as the possibility he might succeed had existed. Once he heard she'd disappeared, he'd lost interest and gone in search of someone new.

  However, in the case of Honey's so-called disappearance, the exact opposite seemed to have happened. Instead of giving up and seeking his pleasures elsewhere, it had exacerbated his desire for the man with the golden skin to the point Honey now consumed Antoine's every thought and every fiber of his being. The mere thought of either him or Honey being intimate with another person made him feel physically ill.

  He pressed a hand hard against his still aroused and aching penis, wishing the horses would move faster or the driver would encourage them with a few cracks of his whip. One way or the other, and with or without madame's cooperation, he intended to possess and be possessed by Honey whenever he so desired. To do that, he needed to reach his rooms without delay and start planning his strategy.

  And what if he'd misjudged madame and she'd told him truth. Was it possible the ailing guest did, in fact, exist, and Honey was his property?

  The thought had come out of nowhere, taking Antoine completely by surprise. Even so, just because madame's outlandish story had sounded like something she was making up as she went along—especially the part about Honey entering the salon out of curiosity, didn't mean that she had. Truth was often stranger than fiction, and Antoine knew better than to assume anything without proof. If he hoped to see Honey again, he must first learn Honey's true status under madame's roof—whether Honey was, as he'd first suspected, madame's property, or whether he was the property of a guest.

  In the event the latter was true, any delay on his part could cost him his heart's desire. The moment he got back to his mother's house, he would solicit the help of her secretary—a man who'd assisted him with certain delicate undertakings on a number of other occasions. Denis St. Amand was a silver-tongued charmer with the manners of a gentleman and the slippery talents of a pickpocket when it came to extracting information—the one person Antoine could depend on to find out whatever he wished to know in a timely manner without anyone else finding out.

  * * * *

  The following morning, Antoine awoke feeling depressed and out-of-sorts. What little sleep he'd been able to get had been full of highly erotic dreams involving himself and Honey. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except each and every time he was on the verge of an orgasm, madame burst into the room, br
andishing a fearsome red-hot poker and forced them apart.

  Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long for his mother's secretary to return with the information he sought. He'd barely finished his pétit dejeuner and poured himself a second cup of coffee when his manservant entered the room and informed him that M'sieu. St. Armand was in the ante-room and craved a moment of his time.

  "Send him in,” Antoine instructed, then waited for the manservant to withdraw and close the door before turning his attention to his visitor.

  St. Amand looked younger, but was several years older than Antoine, and Antoine regarded him without speaking for a moment. Finally, he put his cup and saucer back on the table, and said, “Well? You have good news for me?"

  "Very good news, my lord.” The secretary gave him a sly, self-satisfied smile. “What the madame told you was the truth. The servant you mentioned is the property of a guest—a certain English lord who was taken ill while enjoying the amenities of the club. Something to do with eating oysters while drinking cognac. I understand the two do not agree and are known to cause a sick stomach."

  "What English lord, pray tell?"

  "Your aunt's husband, Lord Whittlesea."

  Antoine could not contain his surprise. “Whittlesea's here in Paris?"

  "Not only is he here in Paris, my lord, the moment your mother heard he was ill, she instructed me to send a carriage to fetch him. She felt it her duty to have him recuperate here in this house for a few days prior to returning to his home in England."

  "Did she indeed?” Antoine smiled. “And how, may I ask, did my mother learn of Whittlesea's unfortunate indisposition?"

  St. Amand shrugged. “From me, of course. Who else? Forgive me, my lord, but since the man is married to her sister, I thought she would wish to be informed of a certain disturbing rumor I'd heard was making the rounds."

  "Perfect! And what about Whittlesea's servant?"

  "That's where things became a trifle complicated."

  Antoine frowned. “Complicated? In what way?"

  "We both know the man is not a servant in the regular sense. And we both know his lordship swore to cease gambling and give up any romantic liaisons with young men of that particular type when he married your aunt. In fact, I believe these conditions were included in the marriage contract, yes?"

  "That is my understanding, too. Did you ask the young man how he came to be involved with his lordship?"

  "He said some months ago his lordship won him in a card game somewhere here in Paris. However, certain arrangements had to be effected before he could join his lordship in England. His lordship left without giving him any money or providing him with a place to stay, so, in order to support himself, madame allowed him to remain at the club on the condition he work for her."

  "And now, I suppose, these arrangements are complete, and Whittlesea is here to claim his prize."

  "From what the young man said, it appears his lordship has leased a suitable pied-à-terre in London where they can meet secretly."

  "Has he indeed? Hmm...” Antoine added a little more sugar to his coffee and smiled. He recalled there had been considerable negotiation prior to his aunt's marriage to Whittlesea. And, as he stirred his coffee, he tried to recall the major points of the contract. The nuptials had taken place slightly more than one year ago, and it had been no secret both bride and groom each had something the other desperately wanted. Gambling and loose living had left Whittlesea virtually penniless, so he'd wanted the money Francine had inherited from her first husband, and Francine had wanted the title of Lady Whittlesea.

  "His lordship's an idiot even to consider engaging in such a dangerous game,” Antoine said thoughtfully. “My Aunt Francine is no fool. She knew all about his reputation for gambling and his sexual preference for young men long before they were married, and for that reason I know she took steps to ensure her money came with strings attached."

  "I wonder how she managed to do that?” St. Amand murmured.

  "I believe there's something in the contract to the effect that if Whittlesea breaks his promise to abstain from gambling and consorting with young men, he'll get no more money, my aunt will leave him, and the marriage will be over."

  St. Amand appeared faintly confused. “How can she stop him spending her money, my lord? Under English law, a man takes control of his wife's property upon marriage."

  "I knew that, and so did Francine. And I fear the knowledge cost her a few sleepless nights.” Antoine chuckled, recalling the look on his aunt's face when she told him how she intended to protect what was hers by right. He and Francine were only a year apart in age. They'd played together as children and remained confidants. “Her ladyship is an extremely clever woman by anyone's standards. She knew her husband-to-be thought he would have full control of her money once they were married, and she did nothing to disabuse him of the idea.

  "However, with the help of her previous husband's brother, a man well versed in matters of finance, I understand a way was found around the English law with a series of irrevocable trusts and clever financial arrangements that make my head spin to even think about. The end result being Whittlesea will never have control of anything greater than the amount of a monthly allowance, which will cease immediately in the event the marriage fails."

  Antoine took a sip of his coffee and pushed the cup away. “And knowing my dear aunt as well as I do, if she finds out about his lordship's latest escapades, not only will she make certain he's left with nothing but the clothes on his back, she will also do everything within her power to have him thrown in debtor's prison."

  "What about your mother?"

  "What about her?"

  "I was merely wondering what she might do if she knew the exact location where his lordship was taken ill and about this so-called servant. Do you suppose she would inform Lady Whittlesea?"

  Antoine knew his mother to be a gossip of the first order. If she knew the truth of this particular tidbit, not only would it upset his own plans as far as Honey was concerned, the whole household would be in an uproar for weeks. “If my mother finds out, a sick stomach will be the least of his lordship's problems. So, I suggest you make sure that doesn't happen. What did you tell her?"

  "That Lord Whittlesea was taken ill in a café."

  "And what have you done with the servant?"

  "Rather than risk gossip by giving him a bed in the servants’ quarters, I've put him in that small room in the attic—the one your mother's maid swears is haunted."

  "Who knows he's there besides the two of us?"

  "No one, my lord. I instructed him to remain at the club while I brought his lordship here, then went back and fetched him myself. I took him to the attic via the back stairs. It was well after midnight and the whole household was abed, so I'm confident we were not seen."

  "And what if he lets the cat out of the bag by wandering about the house?"

  "You have no reason to worry about that, sir.” St. Amand smiled as he produced a key and showed it to Antoine. “The young man understands the situation and the need for secrecy. Anyway, this is the only key to the attic."

  "And where will his master be?"

  "Your mother thought Lord Whittlesea might be most comfortable in the rooms formerly occupied by his wife."

  "Meaning the front corner suite on the second floor on the other side of the house—the one with the view of the park?"

  "Exactly. I trust this arrangement pleases you, my lord."

  "C'est parfait!" Antoine shook his head, a little amazed by the man's quick understanding of the situation and consequent clever maneuverings in separating master and servant before any harm could be done. In point of fact, the arrangement pleased him immensely. He picked up a small pouch from the table and tossed it in St. Amand's direction. “Of course, the young man cannot stay here. He must be moved elsewhere quickly, before his presence becomes known."

  The secretary smiled as he caught the pouch and slipped it into a pocket. “You have somewhere in mind, my
lord?"

  Antoine handed St. Amand a scrap of paper on which he'd written an address in the hope it would be needed. “A house on the Left Bank, just off the boulevard St. Germaine. When it becomes dark enough for you to leave here unobserved, take him there. Someone will be there to let him in and attend to his needs."

  "And what should I say if his lordship inquires as to the young man's whereabouts?"

  Antoine laughed. “He's in no position to make such an inquiry, and I doubt he will. If perchance he is foolish enough to bring the matter up, say you have no idea what he's talking about. That he was brought here alone, and you know nothing of any servant."

  As the door closed behind his mother's secretary, Antoine chuckled gleefully, unable to believe his good fortune. His ownership of the house on the Left Bank was known only to a few close friends and was, in fact, the perfect hideaway. With Honey living there out of sight, he could fuck the beautiful young man with the golden skin as often he wished, and without anyone but the two of them knowing a thing about it.

  The thought excited him, and he closed his eyes, imagining Honey's surprise when he paid him a visit. He would, of course, have to content himself in patience until tomorrow when he could leave the house openly and without comment. He would have his carriage drop him at that new Left Bank café and tell the driver to return in a few hours. The moment the carriage disappeared, he would slip around the corner to the tiny house on la rue Violette and knock on the door.

  The servant would let him in, and then ... he opened his breeches and slipped his hand inside. He drew in a deep breath. The mere thought of Honey had made his cock hard as a rock, eager for attention, and there was no possible way Antoine could wait until sometime tomorrow to find the relief he so desperately needed. He began stroking his engorged member slowly, stretching out the moment as he tried to imagine his fingers were Honey's mouth, licking and sucking, gradually moving him closer and closer to the ultimate satisfaction.

  For several minutes he managed to hold himself on the brink, enjoying the delightful sensation of knowing he was about to orgasm ... until, finally, it happened. He trembled with excitement, feeling his heart rate increase and the blood rush through his veins as his juices spurted forth in a hot shower that covered his hand and his legs.