Ruse: Etoile: Prologue: NSFW

[amichan]

Prologue: NSFW

Content: Lesbian sex. 

Full story is set around age seventeen when Remy is sent with her sister-in-law Mercy to Paris to recover a necklace called L'etoile du tricherie, (The treacherous star). 


The racks that the rising bread are on rock back and forth next to us, shaken from the vibration of the shelves we're up against. Her left hand is on the shelf by my right shoulder. Her right hand on my opposite shoulder resting, in part, on my hair. Her knees are braced partly on me and partly against the shelves, giving my right hand access to her slit, three fingers buried in their folds. She gyrates against them as I carefully slip the fourth inside, manipulating her clit with my thumb. I keep her stable with my left arm if she falls into the ingredient shelves behind us flour will go everywhere, as she has warned me repeatedly, and there will be more than a little evidence of our tryst.

A musical beeping from the phone she left on the floor urges her to move against me faster, digging her nails into my shoulder and pulling some of my hair free of it's tail as she does so. Her other hand slips and finds footing on my breast squeezing so hard it almost breaks my concentration. I find her mouth with mine and we kiss fervently for a moment, before she pulls away in climax, and then releases herself from my embrace, trying to find her footing on the floor.

She stumbles making a sly comment about sea legs then braces herself against the flour bags for a moment, looking around for her panties. I point them out to her as I wipe my hand on the hand towel she discarded as we made our way into the back. She picks up the panties with the toes on her left foot and bends to pass them to her hand.

“I do like de way you do dat, ma Belle.”

“Why you t'ink I do it?” she wiggles her way back into the panties and smooths down her dress and the silly apron they make her wear over it.

“Torture.”

“Somet'in' like dat.” She kisses me again, snagging the towel. As she kisses me she pushes me backwards a little and we collide with a sink cabinet. She leans around me to turn on the water and I back out of the way as she sprays water from the spout at me, “You dun have to be filt'y,” she says, “Wash up and wipe down.”

“Belle, you dun have to tell me 'bout fingerprints.” I wash, clean everything up, and then neutralize the offending towels.

She picks up her phone as it starts to playing it's sad beeping melody once more and goes to check the ovens. The whole front of the store smells of sweet batter—there are cupcakes cooling. The rising breads on the rack still need to bake but the target food is elsewhere.

In about twenty minutes the shop's baker will come back from lunch to finish up the orders. In the mean time there is something Belle has to lace, “Now, get...” she waves a hand at me, “shoo! Shoo!”

“You just goin' to use me and dismiss me like dat?”

“Of course, cherie. You know what's going on. Don't be sniffin' round here while I got work to do.” but she's laughing.

“You're so cruel,” I tell her, “Next you'll be telling me you have some fiancee somewhere.”

“I do.” She answers, the corner of her mouth has it's mischievous tick, “and she a dirty rotten t'ief, so you best get before she show up.”

“Oh, you a scoundrel too.” I fall behind the counter away from her and kip back up in the the middle of the shop's main floor, “breaker of hearts, mine and hers.”

She leans on top of the counter giving me a view of her magnificent breasts, “Just yours, cherie,” she says, “What I do for work is what I do for work.”

“Its just as well you have such beautiful tits,” I tell her, “otherwise I would really be mad with you, right now.”

She waves me towards her and kisses me on the nose, “Work, work, work, cherie.” She continues, “which I really do have to do. If someone t'inks you interfering with dat we have a world of trouble.”

“We engaged, Belle.”

“Yes, and you is here when I'm s'posed to be workin' don't you have some work to do too?”

“Pssh. I'm a dirty rotten t'ief—we dun keep banker's hours.”

She throws a small bundle at me as I walk towards the door, which I catch. I begin to munch on the contents, “You have tasty buns.” she says, “but get dem outta here.”

“I know.” I answer, “and fine. I will.”  

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