Read Online Simply Shameless by Kate Pearce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Pearce
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aroma of fresh coffee and croissants wafted across the kitchen to tantalize Helene's senses.
"Bonjour, Madame Dubois."
"Bonjour, madame. Comment-allez-vousV
"Je suis bien, madame, et vousV
"Bien aussi."
Madame Dubois flicked a cloth over the scrupulously clean pine table and motioned Helene to sit. Within seconds, Helene's mouth was full of warm chocolate and the buttery layers of flaked croissant. She sighed and sipped at her coffee. Madame Dubois made the best croissants in London and made sure Helene had one for breakfast every day. Over the years, Helene had employed a lot of French emigres who had fled the successive regimes on the other side of the channel. Madame Dubois had been with her for the longest time, and Helene hoped she would never leave.
Rising from the bench seat, Helene murmured her thanks, put her mug and plate in the sink, and took her apron off its hook. She doubted any of her aristocratic clients would recognize her in this dull garb. Each morning she liked to take stock of her business from top to bottom. If some of her employees thought her a little eccentric, none of them dared say it to her face. In her mind, she was responsible for every little detail, and success was in the details. She had learned that lesson well over the past eighteen years.
She took a deep breath and climbed four flights of back stairs to the very top of the house, under the attics, where the smaller, more private rooms were situated. Here, where the ceilings were lower and the hallways narrow, the scent of sex and cigar smoke hung heavily in the air. Helene checked four of the small intimate bedrooms and then headed for the more public area.
For once there was no one lying asleep on the floor, or worse still, chained to the wall.
Helene frowned. It also appeared that all the equipment had been put back in its proper place. Whips, gags, chains, masks, and leather straps all hung in their allotted spaces on the black-painted walls.
Helene picked up her skirt to avoid a dark stain on the floor.
There were patches of blood and other bodily fluids on the plain wooden boards, but that was to be expected. Clients who liked to hurt each other, or to be hurt themselves, would be disappointed in their evening's play if a little blood wasn't spilled.
The servants who cleaned the upper floor were paid higher wages to ensure their complete discretion as to what and whom they saw in these rooms. No future Prime Minister or Lord of the Admiralty would want it known that he liked to be dominated by a woman, tied up, or fucked by a man.
Helene stepped into the second room and found one of the manservants already cleaning up.
"Good morning, Michael."
"Good morning, madame." He bowed, his face pink. She noted his shirt wasn't tucked in and that his uniform was rum-pled.
"I thought I'd make a start on the rooms, madame, seeing as how I was here quite late myself last night and all that." Heiene studied his expression. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
He met her gaze without shame. "Yes, madame, I did." "Then all is well. Thank you for your efforts, but don't forget to go and get something to eat and rest before your next shift."
He grinned at her and picked up a bloodied flogger someone had left underneath a chair.
"I will. And, madame? Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work on this floor. I feel quite at home here already."
Helene inclined her head. "I'm pleased to hear that, Michael, but remember, even though you are a servant here, no one can force you to do anything you don't want to do."
"Yes, madame."
Michael licked his slightly roughened lips and glanced down at the flogger. He stroked the leather tails and shivered, a dreamy smile on his face. Helene left him to his task. She had a talent for spotting the particular sexual interests of both her paying clients and her staff and had sensed Michael's curiosity about the more extreme sexual acts early on in his employment.
She retraced her path and went down a flight
"Bonjour, Madame Dubois."
"Bonjour, madame. Comment-allez-vousV
"Je suis bien, madame, et vousV
"Bien aussi."
Madame Dubois flicked a cloth over the scrupulously clean pine table and motioned Helene to sit. Within seconds, Helene's mouth was full of warm chocolate and the buttery layers of flaked croissant. She sighed and sipped at her coffee. Madame Dubois made the best croissants in London and made sure Helene had one for breakfast every day. Over the years, Helene had employed a lot of French emigres who had fled the successive regimes on the other side of the channel. Madame Dubois had been with her for the longest time, and Helene hoped she would never leave.
Rising from the bench seat, Helene murmured her thanks, put her mug and plate in the sink, and took her apron off its hook. She doubted any of her aristocratic clients would recognize her in this dull garb. Each morning she liked to take stock of her business from top to bottom. If some of her employees thought her a little eccentric, none of them dared say it to her face. In her mind, she was responsible for every little detail, and success was in the details. She had learned that lesson well over the past eighteen years.
She took a deep breath and climbed four flights of back stairs to the very top of the house, under the attics, where the smaller, more private rooms were situated. Here, where the ceilings were lower and the hallways narrow, the scent of sex and cigar smoke hung heavily in the air. Helene checked four of the small intimate bedrooms and then headed for the more public area.
For once there was no one lying asleep on the floor, or worse still, chained to the wall.
Helene frowned. It also appeared that all the equipment had been put back in its proper place. Whips, gags, chains, masks, and leather straps all hung in their allotted spaces on the black-painted walls.
Helene picked up her skirt to avoid a dark stain on the floor.
There were patches of blood and other bodily fluids on the plain wooden boards, but that was to be expected. Clients who liked to hurt each other, or to be hurt themselves, would be disappointed in their evening's play if a little blood wasn't spilled.
The servants who cleaned the upper floor were paid higher wages to ensure their complete discretion as to what and whom they saw in these rooms. No future Prime Minister or Lord of the Admiralty would want it known that he liked to be dominated by a woman, tied up, or fucked by a man.
Helene stepped into the second room and found one of the manservants already cleaning up.
"Good morning, Michael."
"Good morning, madame." He bowed, his face pink. She noted his shirt wasn't tucked in and that his uniform was rum-pled.
"I thought I'd make a start on the rooms, madame, seeing as how I was here quite late myself last night and all that." Heiene studied his expression. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
He met her gaze without shame. "Yes, madame, I did." "Then all is well. Thank you for your efforts, but don't forget to go and get something to eat and rest before your next shift."
He grinned at her and picked up a bloodied flogger someone had left underneath a chair.
"I will. And, madame? Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work on this floor. I feel quite at home here already."
Helene inclined her head. "I'm pleased to hear that, Michael, but remember, even though you are a servant here, no one can force you to do anything you don't want to do."
"Yes, madame."
Michael licked his slightly roughened lips and glanced down at the flogger. He stroked the leather tails and shivered, a dreamy smile on his face. Helene left him to his task. She had a talent for spotting the particular sexual interests of both her paying clients and her staff and had sensed Michael's curiosity about the more extreme sexual acts early on in his employment.
She retraced her path and went down a flight
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