Sat, May 19 2012
| TITLE: | The Spring's Fever |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | moishouki |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | Adult-Het |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Passepartout and some new character |
| DESCRIPTION: | I had written that long ago for Marielle and Suzan had been kind and had agreed to be the one to edit the text for me. So in a way to a late thank I'm posting that now. I hope you will enjoy the reading. |
| STATUS: | Adult-Het |
The Spring’s Fever By Moishouki
Jean Passepartout had been sent to the market for the usual runs by his Master, Phileas Fogg. The domestic was happy in the spring weather in London. The sun was there and the clouds and the usual fog had decided to take vacancy for few days. The day seemed ideal. Passepartout rose early and had benefit of the young morning to handle his tasks. The man was feeling happy and was humming while he was at his domestic work. Yes, the spring weather had only bought him to his best mood, even if he was almost always in a good mood.
The sun was almost at its summit. Passepartout went to the market with his note in hand on which he had written all he was in need to buy. He went into the next shop carrying the things he had already purchased in his basket. He had caught a vegetable when his hand came in contact with another hand. A bit surprised, Passepartout carefully removed his hand from the vegetable to take another, while his finger lightly skimmed the other hand’s soft skin and said, “Sorry, it’s yours. Passepartout will take another.” Without looking at the other person, Passepartout continued his shopping - he was a bit in a hurry. Jules Verne was waiting for the afternoon train, Miss Rebecca Fogg was at White Hall and would attend dinner, as well as his master, Phileas Fogg, who was to pass the day at his club but only until the time he would take Jules to the train station.
Passepartout went to the next place on the list, the baker’s shop. He went inside and waited in line with the other customers. But in taking a step forward to allow room for a woman, he felt something beneath his foot and heard a feminine sound.
“Oh!” the lady had said.
Passepartout turned around. “Passepartout is very sorry, mademoiselle.”
The lady smiled at him and answered, “That’s all right, mister.”
Something in her eyes said to him that she was more than happy to oblige him in taking his apology. The clerk asked him what he needed and he forgot the lady for a moment as he reviewed the contents of his list with the clerk.
After he had paid and put the breads in his basket, Passepartout went to his last stop, which was the butcher shop. He needed to buy a chicken for the meal, but a man carrying a large box came out and Passepartout moved quickly to the side. But in moving he pushed someone, who fell to the ground. He turned around hurriedly to help the person in distress. Passepartout was totally amazed to see the pretty woman he had pushed on the ground was the same woman he had crushed a bit on the toes. Passepartout was red with embarrassment and didn’t know where to hide himself for his shame. Crushing the toes of so pretty a woman by accident, and again pushing her to the ground afterward! The poor man was almost more affected by his actions than the lady herself, who was smiling at him.
Passepartout hurriedly knelt by her side and put down his basket. “Are you all right, madam? Passepartout is so sorry! That man is coming outside with his box and Passepartout was in the passage and . . . And . . . And. . . .” Passepartout stopped his procession of words and took a deep breath to calm himself, amused finally to see the woman sitting on the ground laugh. Passepartout laughed too, and helped her get up and take back together the contents of her basket, which had spilled on the ground.
The woman giggled again and finally spoke to him in her beautiful voice. “That’s the third time you’ve touched me and we are not even introduced one to the other.” She giggled at the red color that rose in his cheeks. “I’m Violette de Grandpré, and you, mister?”
Passepartout took his bowler in hand and introduced himself, being a bit more in his usual state, but totally absorbed by her beauty and her laugh, “I’m Jean Passepartout, Mademoiselle.” She gave him her hand and he took it delicately, kissing it with again more care. “Delighted to meet you, Mademoiselle. I’m seriously sorry for my behavior with you.”
Violette gazed at him with lovely eyes and with her words made his embarrassment goes away. “That’s all right, Mister Passepartout, I’m fine. I’m also delighted that you finally saw me, after having met me twice this morning without taking the time to talk to me.” When she saw him look at his feet, being full of shame again, she added, “I was disappointed you didn’t see me, you seem to be a gentleman and a charming one.”
At that, Passepartout smiled and released her hand. “Miss de Grandpré, Passepartout is a bit uneasy with good comment.”
Violette smiled at his state; he was really charming and she found him handsome even with the dark clothes of a domestic and his lightly barbered face. “I think you have shopping to do here, just like me; why don’t we go in and we can surely meet again, other than by accident.”
Passepartout smiled and agreed. “Yes, we should meet again. I would be very delighted if we should meet again - surely I could make up for jostling you with so much clumsiness.” Violette smiled and took the basket he held for her. Passepartout opened the door and held it for her. Once she was inside, he followed her and let her ask for her order before him.
After leaving the butcher’s shop without any other accident, they smiled at one another again and Passepartout was the first to speak. “We should meet again. How about Sunday? I know it’s far from now, but with my job and my master, it seems be the only day I’m free. And I should be very disappointed if I can’t make up for these accidents.”
Violette smiled and took his free hand with hers. “Sunday, Sunday afternoon, at the pub here at the corner of the street.”
Passepartout smiled and squeezed her hand in his. “A rendezvous with you, even if I need fight with my master. Sunday by one o’clock, I will be there.” He was happy like a schoolboy, and kissed her hand. “This week will be the longest of all my life,” he said, smiling before adding, “Au revoir, Mademoiselle de Grandpré, see you Sunday.”
And he returned to the number 7 of Saville Row.
As Passepartout had thought, the week was the longest of all his life. He looked like a puppy missing his mother. Jules and Rebecca had not lacked remarking on that fact to the main person interested, the master of the man, who had only said he didn’t know the reason. He even tried drawing the information from his domestic, but Passepartout was not wishing to speak of it. Phileas Fogg considered the matter as not too important when the domestic suddenly become himself again, if excited, but it was better than the initial state of beaten puppy, the master thought. It was enough to cause Verne and Rebecca to stop worrying about Passepartout. If only for that, Phileas was thankful.
The Sunday finally came. Passepartout had been feverish the last day and was not unhappy that his master had decided to pass the day at the Reform Club for his meals, as well as playing games of cards with his fellow members. Rebecca had agreed to pass the day with Jules, since a new show was at the museum and a friend of his was there to explain to them the most recent collection. The good domestic had made all ready for them upon their return, and went to the pub a bit in advance to be sure not to have Violette wait for him.
Passepartout had asked for a drink while waiting for her, as well as to calm the intense feelings each time that he thought about her. The feeling was only more present and less manageable when he saw her enter the pub. She was so pretty, Passepartout thought. Her hair was dressed at the back of her head and she wore a light make up, her features so well put in value that Passepartout could feel his heart’s pulse and his breathing reacted to the vision.
The woman arrived at his table. “Hello, Mister Passepartout, I’m happy see you’re here.”
Passepartout rose, being totally absorbed by her presence, and almost fell on the floor as he got his foot caught between the chair’s legs and the ones of the table. He stabilized himself quickly with the gifts of an acrobat and gazed at her with his wild dark eyes and happy smile. “Passepartout is really happy see you too, Miss de Grandpré.” At his words, she giggled and allowed his help with her chair.
Once seated in front of one another and lacking a bit in words, they were about to say something in the same moment, but a waiter came to take their order. A bit uneasily, Passepartout asked for another beer; he didn’t drink it usually and was on his second. Violette, for her part, asked for a cup of tea and a light meal. Passepartout changed his order for the same thing as the lady, and asked for the bill as well.
Waiting for the meal was again done in silence, until Violette decided to open the discussion. “So, Jean Passepartout. . . oh, if you will permit me to call you that?”
Passepartout smiled. “You can call Passepartout, ‘Passepartout,’ everybody does.”
At his words, Violette burst into laughter and soon Passepartout followed her. When his laughter ended, she asked him as seriously as she could, “Referring to yourself as Passepartout is a bit funny. Do you never say ‘I’ or ‘me’ when speaking about yourself? If that’s how your employer addresses you, I can understand, but this is between friends - well, I hope we’re friends.”
Passepartout smiled in thought – yes, they were friends - but he saw her as something stronger than that. And, secretly, Violette had the same idea about him. Both in the silence of their thoughts searched a way realize their wish.
Once the meal was placed before them, they ate it accompanied by a low discussion about everything and nothing. When the meal finished, Passepartout took the bill and paid for it before returning to the table and offering his arm to Violette, asking if a stroll in town would please her. Sharing an enthusiastic smile, they went for a walk through London.
After half an hour of walking, Violette bit her lower lip and whispered in his ear. “Why we don’t benefit from the warmness and comfort of a hotel for a moment?” she asked without shame, knowing the feeling she had for him was the same for him with her. He nodded and stopped walking to hail a cab for a small hotel. Once there, Passepartout was amazed to see her take a room under a false name, as if they were married.
She took the key of a room and brought the record card to Passepartout for him to complete it. “Come, darling, finish the card. The trip has been long and I’m seriously in need of a few hours of rest before we take the train for Liverpool”, she said, like an actress intent on being totally convincing.
Passepartout smiled and went easily along with her game. “Oui, mon amour, I will complete it now.” He filled the record card with the name she had given the clerk.
When the bellboy opened the door of the room for them, Passepartout kissed Violette’s cheek without thought about whether that was what made her kiss him on his lips afterward. The bellboy closed and locked the door behind them, leaving them in the intimacy of the hotel room.
Violette put her arms around his neck and kissed him in a passionate manner. Passepartout returned her kiss with the same passion, even if he was a bit nervous, not having touched a woman in a long time. She loosened his bow tie and undid the first buttons to put her sweet lips on his neck and on his throat. Passepartout closed his eyes and savored the feeling. When her hand caressed him over his clothes and lower on his front, Passepartout sighed and moved his arms around her, caressing her. He placed his lips against her neck as well, and whispered his need of her. When she removed his coat, he helped her and again put his arms around her to unfasten the closures of her dress.
The garment slid slowly to her feet and Passepartout took a full look at her in her undergarments. She was beautiful, no matter what she was wearing. When Passepartout remarked she had a fixation on some part of his anatomy, he smiled mischievously. “We should move ourselves closer to the bed.”
Violette smiled in the same way. “I would follow you until the end of the earth if you wish.”
Passepartout kissed the tip of her nose and took her hand. He sat on the bed with her before him and she pulled his shirt from his trousers while he was trying to remove his shoes. She stopped him and playfully pushed him back onto the bed, then knelt over him. Violette kissed him on the lips before removing his shoes. He giggled to see her kneeling over his stomach, her back to him as she untied his waistband and moved to the treasure’s haunt. Passepartout felt himself in heaven when she found and freed him. Coming back to himself, in jerky moves he untied her corset while finding himself in her warm and humid mouth. The feeling was almost too good for his control.
The corset ties finally gave way; Passepartout needed to change position because his time was at hand. He sat up and put his arms around Violette, asking her to turn around. She released his male part in a full state of excitation and obliged him. Passepartout benefited from her change of position, able to give back what he received and caress all he found interesting with his hand and mouth, and sometimes his tongue. Her sounds of approval and appreciation were the softest music to his ears and he continued his ministration, sliding his hand lower in the front of her pantalets. Her voice achieved more of a soprano tone when his finger found the sweet spot of her womanhood. Passepartout had not touched a woman long since, he thought, why hurry things? After all, longer was better and who knew when would be the next time?
Violette had a different idea; she wanted him, there and now. He was about to make her spend and she chose that moment to press herself more against his hand. She wanted to spend and spend again, but this time with him and for him. The climax arrived and she felt herself in the middle of a tornado, her head spinning. She was pained because she was only focused on the feeling and the effect of his touch on her. The intoxicating feeling passed and she gazed on his lovely face.
“I think you appreciated that, mon amour,” he said, in a charming tone of voice.
Without further thought, Violette made him see how much she had appreciated his ministrations on her body, kissing him deeply and with passion.
Once the kiss was broken, Violette removed the remains of his clothing. Hungry to see more, he made her do the same afterward. They both lay down on the bed, now easily caressing and seeing the entire body of the other, pleased with what they saw and touched, sharing now and then passionate kisses. Without moving too quickly or too hurriedly, Passepartout made her lie on her back and installed himself on top of her. After few kisses and caresses, he entered the most secret path for a man that she possessed. The feeling of his trespass set both of them breathing harshly. She had been ready for him for a bit now, but the passage was narrow and the sensation only wonderful for both of them.
Once ready, he started to move inside her. First moving shallowly in and out and then with more speed and deepness. He was again to hear her soft and lovely words and she repeated his name, Jean. He was happy she remembered it and the name at his ear was sweet as the honey on his tongue. Passepartout’s motion and whispers said her name in answer.
Their movements were as complete as a dance and their voices rose together in a song of love on the rhythm of the bed’s fame hitting the wall. She had put her legs around his hips and had gathered her internal muscles around his shaft, as the climax was ready to come again. Their bodies both calmed as a warm wave of extreme pleasure came over them. They stayed still a moment, reveling in each second of their own pleasure as he spilled the last drops of his seed within her.
When Passepartout could no longer hold himself above her, he rolled onto his side, keeping her beside him to share a few more kisses and sweet words of love. He whispered in her ear, “You’re beautiful and you’re all my love.”
Violette smiled happily while he brushed away the hair from her face. “How I can be certain you aren’t saying that because what of we did?”
Passepartout gazed at her with a look full of love and kindness. “Because, Passepartout never says something he not think really.”
It was enough to appease her fear and she snuggled herself against his body to kiss him. “I love you, Jean Passepartout.”
Passepartout placed his arms around her and kissed her passionately. “Je t’aimes Violette de Grandpré. I can’t live away from you another week. Let’s take a bit of rest, do again this thing between us, and then introduce you to my master. If he refuses to allow you with me, I will--”
She cut him off with another deep and passionate kiss. Passepartout answered by encouraging her to further activity – much better than a visit to Saville Row. There was always another time to worry about Phileas Fogg, Passepartout thought, while returning each caress and kiss he received with equal or with more passion. One thing was certain in his mind, Violette was now a part of his life and nothing or no one could change that.
The End.