THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LOUIS AND ELLE.
Chapter Twenty. Every Little Breeze
The fish swimming by the second-floor bedroom window were particularly brilliant this morning, Louise the maid thought without much surprise or interest. It was a bright late-winter morning in the East Hills, and the shoals of fish wheeling around outside the window caught and reflected the sun in a kaleidoscope of colors she found dazzling and yet oddly soothing.
Louise was by nature calm. Tidying and cleaning house was pleasant and satisfying. She enjoyed her work and was grateful to have this fine job in the United States. Her Mistress was the finest Mistress she could imagine and she was thrilled to devote herself to caring for this wonderful women. She wished for nothing more, ever.
She had just finished tidying Mistress Murphy’s bedroom, a duty she approached with reverence and gratitude. She’d found the Mistress’s high heels, black cocktail dress, silk stockings, and admirable French lingerie scattered to the four corners of the bedroom. Had she been the curious sort, she might have speculated that the Mistress and her husband had enjoyed a pleasant game of cache cache before bed the night before. But a professional maid is first and foremost discreet, and Louise chose not to speculate, but instead to pick up each garment reverently, hanging the dress in the closet, lovingly dusting the high heels—so chic!—and placing them in Mistress’s walk-in shoe closet, and carefully placing the silk panties and wispy brassiere in the fine washables bin. Then she made the bed—it was quite disarranged, not that she noticed, really, but it took a good deal of neatening—and surveyed the room. It was at last tidy enough for the Mistress.
A shoal of what looked like bluefin tuna flashed past the bedroom window. She took a moment to study herself in the mirror. Mistress liked her to maintain a professional appearance. She smoothed her uniform across her hips. She thought, with professional detachment, that it suited her. Mistress—and Louise—disapproved of revealing clothing on the job. But as she looked in the mirror she saw a uniform that was perfectly tailored, clean, and comfortable. It was satisfying, and she knew she pleased her Mistress.
At that moment, her cellphone buzzed with a text message: “Deux cafes complets! Tout suite!”
She smoothed her skirt one more time and floated happily downstairs, where all was ready. The milk was warm in the frother, the kettle was singing. She pulled it off the stove to allow the water to go just off the boil, then opened a bakery box marked EAST HILLS BOULANGERIE and took out the two flaky croissants she had purchased early that morning. She arranged them on an earthenware plate and put it on a tray, then stacked small ramekins of fresh butter and strawberry jam on the tray beside them. By this time the water had cooled just enough; she poured it into the coffee press, stirred the mixture, and then put the plunger lid in place. Next to it she placed a digital timer that would sound after 3 ? minutes, telling Mistress it was time to push the plunger.
She picked up the tray, crossed to the kitchen door, and used her hip to swing open the door. As she turned her back to push the day open, she saw bright zebrafish swirling past the kitchen window.
Mistress was seated in the sunny breakfast nook with her guest. “Ah, Louise,” Mistress gave that smile that always made Louise a bit weak at the knees (though naturellement she would never show it). “Voici mon amie Juliet,” she said, gesturing at her friend.
“Enchanté, Madame,” Louise said, making a small curtsy. She snuck a look at Juliet from downcast eyes. Tres jolie, Louise thought. Juliet’s skin was bronze, almost glowing—full lips, huge almond eyes, curvy and fit. Louise, who wore her own hair as short as a man’s, envied Juliet’s hair—dark and lustrous, it fell past her shoulders in dramatic curls.
At once Juliet began to jabber at Louise in English. She smiled awkwardly and bobbed her head as she explained that she only spoke French. “Je suis desolé, madame, je ne pas parle anglais.”
Mistress waved a dismissive hand. “Merci, Louise, partez. Je pense que tu as besoin de repos. Asseyez-vous et allez dormir.”
Louise moved to a chair against the wall and sat. The mistress had suggested sleep, and suddenly she felt tired and heavy. Her eyes fell shut and she knew no more.
Juliet turned to Elle with amazed eyes. “What just happened?” she asked. She put a hand in front of her mouth. “Oh, sorry, will I wake him?”
Elle gave her best well-fed-cat smile. “I told her she needed a rest,” she said. “She won’t hear anything until I call her. And, anyway, she doesn’t speak English.”
Juliet’s wide eyes opened even wider. Her mouth gaped, and she covered it with both hands. “You did all that with hypno—”
“Juliet, you know I hypnotize Louis—you saw me do it at your house the night we met!”
“Well, yes,” her friend said. “But I thought it was kind of a party trick—this is—”
“Honestly, Juliet,” Elle replied. “Have I taught you nothing? It is a good deal more than that. It’s a lifestyle, it’s a philosophy, and it’s the key to a happy marriage.”
“Oh, Elle,” Juliet said. “I mean—really? I know you and Louis are happy, but—”
“But what?”
“Well—”
“I mean, this is Louis, Elle—he’s witty, he’s smart, he keeps us all laughing—he’s not some kind of zombie—”
“Zombie?” Elle delicately arched an eyebrow. “You really think that’s what’s going on, Juliet?”
“Well—”
“Why do you think Louis is so happy so much of the time, Juliet? This is an important part of his life.”
“It seems so—well, he wants to be a servant? He wants to be turned into a French maid? Really?”
“Let’s find out,” Elle said. She turned to the sleeping “Louise” and said, “Louis? Louis, you can hear me. Nod your head if you can hear me.”
Louis’s head nodded.
“Louis, when I count to three you will open your eyes, come over to the sofa, and answer all of my and Juliet’s questions. You will tell her everything, without holding anything back, do you understand? Good boy, of course you understand. 1-2-3!”
Louis opened his eyes. He still managed to look sleepy and peaceful. A big happy smile spread over his face, but he said nothing. He got up, walked over to the sofa where Juliet was sitting, and settled down next to her.
“Hi, Louis,” Juliet said.
“Hi, Juliet,” Louis said.
“Louis,” Elle said, “Juliet wants to know what you were doing just now.”
“I was Louise,” he said simply.
“Explain yourself,” Elle said.
“You hypnotized me a long time ago and put in a trigger. When you give me the command, I change into a French maid named Louise whose only job is to clean up the house and serve you.”
“What’s the trigger?” Juliet said.
“Elle told me not to remember it.”
“Good boy,” Elle said.
Louis looked like he wanted to wag his tail.
“Don’t you feel—well—you know—do you feel all right about it?”
“I’m sorry, Juliet, I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“You enjoy being turned into a girl?”
“Not ‘a girl,’ Juliet—a French maid. You should see me in the mirror! I am quite attractive, and my uniform is very becoming.”
“Well—isn’t it degrading?”
“Why would it be degrading to clean up after Elle? I love Elle. Elle is the center of my life. Elle is the key to everything I do. I would do anything for Elle. Elle is—”
“That will do, Louis,” Elle said. She snapped her fingers and said, “Louise, j’ai besoin d’un service de ménage.”
Louis’s face went blank, his stare glassy. He stood and said, “Y aura-t-il autre chose, madame?”
“Non, Louise,” Elle said. “Montre et faire un petit somme.”
Louis turned on his heel and left. After a few minutes, they could hear his footsteps as he mounted the stairs.
“That was the trigger—what was it, j’ai besoin—”
“Forget it, Juliet, it won’t work for anyone but me.”
“What did you tell him?” Juliet asked.
“I said to go upstairs and take a nap,” Elle said. “I will check on him later. Anyway, is there anything you want to ask?”
Juliet seemed to be fumbling for words. “I—well, I guess—I mean I knew you are a hypnotist—”
“And you thought I used it just to do tricks at parties?” Elle laughed merrily. “Juliet, I haven’t had to lift a finger around the house since before we got married. But that’s the least of it. It’s the key to our marriage, Juliet. And we are both very happy. You heard Louis.”
“Didn’t he—didn’t he just say that because you told him to?”
“You heard me tell him to tell you the truth and not hold anything back, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Well if I could tell him what to say then I could also tell him to say what he really feels, right?”
“Yes—but—couldn’t you tell him to—well, make him feel that way?”
“That’s a good question,” Elle said. “What difference would it make if I did?”
“Well, if he’s happy because you told him—”
“If that was true, he’d still be happy, right? What makes you happy? Do you enjoy happy times? Would you want someone to come along and judge your life and tell you you aren’t really happy, you just think you’re happy? And that you couldn’t feel happy unless you prove to someone else that you are happy because you’re happy to be happy, that happy you is really you?”
“Stop, Elle, you’re making me dizzy.”
“That’s my point. If you start thinking that way you’ll fall down the rabbit hole. Listen, Juliet, Louis is the love of my life and I am the love of his, and I can promise you that long, long before he met me he imagined me. He’s told me that since he was a teenager he secretly wanted a mistress would own him and tell him what to do. It’s not all that surprising—to be frank, it’s a pretty common male fantasy—even if they don’t all know it.”
“Common?” Juliet said, obviously skeptical. “That’s not my experience.”
“Well, now,” Elle said with a knowing smile. “Now we are onto a subject worth talking about. How is your love life, anyway? Still seeing what’s-his-name, Ben?”
“Oh, God, that man is pre-history,” Juliet said, waving a hand as if to dissipate a stale odor.
“Really? What happened?”
“Oh, Ben—well, I enjoyed his company but I got the feeling after a while that most of the time he would rather be fly-fishing than—well, let’s say our love life was lack-luster.”
“Ah,” Elle said. She nodded as if the story in some way had proved a point she wanted to make. “And there’s been no one—since?”
“I met a guy named Brian through Tinder.”
“How was that?”
Juliet smiled ruefully. “Well, I couldn’t complain about—lack of interest ….”
“Oh, really,” Elle said, again with that upraised eyebrow. “So there was action—”
“Plenty,” Juliet said, nodding. “But after a while I realized that it wasn’t coming from a great place. He was—a very angry man. And anger can be—exciting—because it feels like the man really wants to reach you, get to you, but then if you’ve been around the track once or twice, you see where that anger is going to take you both eventually, and it’s not a good place.”
Elle nodded as if ticking off an item on a list. “So—hot, angry sex…”
“Yes—it turns . . . cold.”
“Nobody after that?”
“Well, there was Ralph—but that ended when I found the porn sites in his browser history … Oh, God, I am pathetic, I sound like a column in COSMOPOLITAN, don’t I?”
Elle laughed merrily. “You sound like my beloved Juliet, darling—brilliant, spunky, beautiful. Too good for most men. But what if you could make a few adjustments and find someone worthy?”
“Worthy? What does that even mean?”
“Well, let me ask you this—wouldn’t you want a man to be—well, attentive, focused on you and your needs? Eager to please only you? Eager to cook and clean and serve and—pick up your dry cleaning or anything else you asked him to do? Never to leave your side at parties unless you send him off to get you a drink? Sexually available at the snap of a finger, but no trouble when you aren’t in the mood? A man who will study you and adjust to your moods and try to make you happy instead of the other way around? Don’t you really think—deep down—that’s how it should be?”
“No!” Juliet said as if involuntarily. “Of course not—I mean—I wouldn’t—you mean—like Louis? Would I—there’s no—Oh, my God, is it hot in here?”
Elle laughed again merrily. “Think for five minutes and answer me again, Juliet,” she said. “You’re a woman—you’re brilliant and healthy. I know the answer, and I can help you get what you want.”
Juliet covered her eyes as if embarrassed. “Oh, come on, Elle—It’s like you captured the only unicorn in the world—don’t rub it in….”
Elle threw an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Juliet, darling,” she said. “There’s a Louis for you out there, I promise—and we will find him and capture him and train him to please you in every way a man can please.” She smiled mischievously. “And, yes, darling, it is hot in here.”
Later, after Juliet had departed in a welter of embarrassment and titillation, Elle walked upstairs to the master bedroom, where she found Louis sound asleep—or to put it differently, in a deep trance—in their king bed. She looked down at him. Moments like this made her imagine she had lived a previous life as a peregrine falcon or a red-tailed hawk, gliding above peaceful valleys on near-motionless wings looking for prey, and then spotting a big tender hare dashing across a meadow and swooping on the creature, watching as its shadow terrified and then paralyzed him, seizing the motionless animal with her talons and carrying him off for a long leisurely feast . . . .
She shook herself out of her reverie and strode over to her sleeping husband. “Louis,” she whispered. “Louis, my love.”
His eyes flickered behind their lids.
“Shh, shh,” she whispered more urgently. “You can remain in a deep trance ready to follow my every command in deep hypnosis.” Then, on a sudden impulse, she reached down and grabbed his crotch, feeling his erection through his jeans. “Louis,” she said, “listen to me. For right now, Louis, I am taking this. This belongs to me. You want me to take it from you. I am going to fuck you with it and you are going to scream like a girl when I give you an orgasm. Now take off your clothes, ma cherie—NOW!”
Within seconds, even without regaining full consciousness, Louis lay spread out naked beneath her like a beautiful undiscovered country waiting for her to take possession of it. She had remained clothed; she slid her panties off, lifted her skirt, and lowered herself onto his erection, feeling it fill her and split her and at the same time feeling his cock as her own as if she were thrusting deep into the generous female body of Louise, her submissive French maid, and she rocked on him for an unknown time, reveling in her female power and her male urgency until he did scream, “Maitresse!” and he came inside her and she came inside him and she collapsed beside him on the bed and glided almost all the way down into sleep.
After a time she found herself toying with his hair. He was coming back to wakefulness. She saw his lips form a smug smile as he sorted between dream-images and sense-memories.
“Louis?” she said.
“Hello, old tiger,” he said, his eyes half opening as if to reassure himself that it was really Elle beside him.
“Louis, do you remember talking to me and Juliet?”
He thought for a moment. “That … wasn’t a dream?”
“No, darling,” she said. “I told you to tell her everything. And I want to ask you—well, were you embarrassed—are you embarrassed—by what we told her?”
His eyes opened fully then, and he looked at her in astonishment. “Embarrassed?”
“Well, yes—you told her that I was your owner—you told her everything—were you—”
“Embarrassed? Elle, are you serious? Elle, that was the sexiest moment I’ve had in a long time! I am so proud of you and how you run my life—sometimes I want to put it on Twitter. I want to tell strangers at the Home Depot.”
“Really?” She was trying to stifle a smile.
“And anyway, Elle, don’t you realize that everybody knows all that already?”
“What? Oh, no, darling—we’ve been very discreet—Juliet was surprised—”
“Well, if she was, she is the only friend of ours who is! You should hear my friends when we are alone—they tease me but I can tell they really want to know what it’s like—what it’s like to do your chores and obey you and wake and sleep and write at your command—they know and they are so envious…”
“Louis,” Elle said. “Every time I think I know everything about you, I find out something new. Louis, darling, you’re happy—aren’t you?”
“Yes, my love,” he said. “When I was younger, I never—never ever—imagined it was possible to be this happy.”
“Not just because I tell you to imagine you’re happy?”
“Well—I don’t know, if you could make me feel this good why wouldn’t I want you to?”
Elle turned away quickly to disguise her smile—and her blush. And she thought, we really can find someone for Juliet. And we will.
“I’m very glad, darling,” she said, and caressed his cheek. “But you know something? Right now, the front room and the study are a mess. If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I think we need maid service. Right now, ma cherie!” She snapped her fingers. “Tout de suite, Louise!”
All through that sunny late winter afternoon, the fish swirled brilliantly outside the second-story windows. By the time darkness had fallen, the house was so clean it sparkled.