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Today was the day! Yes, it was finally here. And he felt great, not even the tiredness that plagued him of late. Tossing aside the sheets, Laurent De Berger took a quick peek out the window. Uff! Same old fastidious blue sky with the glaring sunlight. Dallas’s usual weather and today was no different. Parbleu! How can the sun be so bright on the thirty-first of October, practically November? It was beyond him.

Living in the damn city, he missed his Paris drizzle, the cool, if not downright cold falls, with dead leaves clogging street gutters in their range of colors dimming to winter’s grayness. Nothing here to mark the passing seasons, no changing hues or temperatures, just the same dreary blue and hot yellow fixture in the sky. Then again, he couldn’t do much about either or for being there in the first place.

With a sigh, he remembered how he had come to be an exile from his native country…either that or end up in prison. Well, the choice seemed easy—better Dallas’s insufferable weather than seeing comforting gray skies from behind bars. Not his fault French Internal Revenues Department hadn’t caught up sooner with call centers or their earnings, realizing only much later how much money they really made. By then Laurent had a flourishing bank account stashed in Switzerland’s secreted vaults and wasn’t about to give it up for some stupid mistake on the government’s part. And to think the business was going great, too. At age twenty-five, he managed one of the most profitable call centers in all of France, something he had started as a way to pass time while searching for a job more in line with his Sorbonne University degree in Economics.

A friend of his asked him to lend a hand in a new sort of enterprise, and Laurent accepted readily. To his surprise, it turned out a gold mine, quite worth the challenge, to the point only three years later he was earning more than his father ever did during his employed life. This, though, didn’t mean Laurent was entitled to keep it all, at least according to the French Treasury. Waking up after years of being unaware of the venture’s enormous potentials, the newly learned accountants came on to Laurent and requested an outrageous sum of money, claiming huge tax evasions for the entire period the business had run. Well, options seemed limited, but instead of forking over half his bank account, Laurent bought a plane ticket to Montreal and was out of Paris before anyone could lay a finger on him or his money.

Gone from his country for good, Canada was an acceptable replacement. The choice was hardly casual. His intended destination had a very favorable legislation toward holders of French passports in need of fresh starts. Few restrictions and many advantages gave Laurent the right, mostly the time, to seek jobs and stable settlements without any pressure. In addition, it was his type of place. Cold and with marked seasonal changes, he loved both the people and the city, also because they talked his language. And that was no small advantage.

Though he knew English well enough, nothing beat his French when hustling a lap dancer working in the middle of nowhere. It was part of the beauty of this fascinating nation. To drive for hours in a magnificent countryside until he’d come up to a place that, along with food, offered lap dance shows on the side. And Laurent had always been partial to women and could never resist tasting the flesh they displayed so freely.

But Canada wasn’t a land of opportunities for sex alone. At twenty-seven, Laurent was more than ready to start over on a new and different career, whatever came his way. At his age, he wasn’t choosy nor could he afford to be. And meeting Julie Walters certainly proved this point.

As head of a start-up company, she was conducting interviews for a sales position in an uncharted field, or so it was when Laurent first heard of it. At that time, seven years ago, biotechnology was the future. No one had any clear idea on what they were getting into. Most distrusted it outright. That stuff about genes and cloning seemed pure sci-fi, meddling with something closer to God than science, which couldn’t be tolerated or encouraged.

Still scientists were moving faster than public opinion, and in the best capitalist tradition were turning high profile research into business. Companies were beginning to take their first steps in a market that would soon become richer than Midas’s gold, particularly in Canada with its great fervor of underground activities, increasingly remunerative for anyone insightful enough to grab this unique chance. Exactly like Laurent, broad-minded and with a knack for giant profits. So what if he knew next to nothing about it? He had gone to the interview anyway and liked Julie more than he did anything she said about the job.

Petite, skinny, long dark hair, a sad look on her face, Julie was definitely his type. And the fact she was married, like the wedding band on her finger claimed, made it all more exciting. So they talked, and he seduced her into giving him the job in spite of having absolutely no experience, not just in scientific matters, but in the sales department in general.

It was inevitable. Through the entire interview, she kept staring at him the way women do to tell a man they’re ready to spread their legs for him. Yes, he had played the field too long to mistake it. Maybe it was his good looks that turned her on—his athletic build kept in shape by rigorous gym sessions, his long chestnut-gold hair tied in a ponytail, his green-yellowish eyes that a lover once defined as tiger eyes. Either way, she had fallen for him.

The first days on the job, her eyes followed him everywhere as she took on the task of training him, something usually delegated to a lesser ranking manager. He made no outward moves. No use screwing the boss if he had no intention of staying long. So he kept a low profile to weigh the pros and cons of the sector he was beginning to know. Only once he determined it would be his fast-lane ticket to a colossal fortune did he go for Julie.

Not a man to waste time, Laurent took advantage of the first time he found her alone in her office. It was late evening, past dinnertime. He had stayed behind to check out revolutionary methods of targeted drug delivery in patients affected with liver cancer. Apart from commercial reasons, it was a fascinating read and in French, too, which made it faster and easier to understand. Immersed in the subject, he almost missed the noise at the end of the hall. And since it seemed to come from Julie’s office, he went to investigate and what a surprise—Julie’s back bent over a cabinet as she rummaged noisily through stacks of papers.

Well, words weren’t needed, not after the eloquent come on she kept sending him from the day she hired him. In fact, it was only natural she should turn to him and say absolutely nothing. No, she didn’t even move—perhaps to shake her derrière briefly, or was it Laurent’s impression? Either way, he went up to her and clutched the hips to crush her buttocks against his crotch.

To his intense satisfaction, his cock immediately stirred to hard alertness, already trying to find a way into an ass he had fantasized about at night. Small wonder it was the part he most loved to possess, so tight and narrow sometimes it proved an effort, particularly for his huge equipment always craving for more space. Hers promised to be especially cramped.

Derrière up in the air, back bent, Julie remained in the same exact position while he slid up her skirt and down her panties, already flicking impatient fingers inside the tiny hole squeezing them forcefully. That it wasn’t used to frequent penetrations was a truth she confessed later on. She could’ve saved her breath. The extra tightness only added to his sense of anticipation, requiring as it did a thorough wetting before just the tip of his erection could break inside.

Dropping on his knees, he obliged immediately, pushing his tongue through the small entrance that sucked viciously, pulling out only to drench the edges in a continuous rimming that was driving Julie wild with desire. Not that she said anything to that effect. He gathered as much from the rhythmical throwback trapping his tongue in the confined space he longed to try with a completely different piece of equipment. And her cunt dripping honeydew on his chin, literally, was clearly indicative of her reactions. Then the faster butt spins convinced him she was ready for it.

Straightening up, he deepened the sensual play with his fingers to keep her hot while he took out what had become a stone-hard erection. Then fished in his pockets for the condom he always carried with him and slipped it on. Now he, too, was ready for her.

At his first shove, she retracted slightly, signaling that imagination and reality didn’t always coincide. Fortunately, she didn’t move far enough to prevent him from clasping her sweet derrière and dragging it back to him, to his cock precisely, to screw it without any further delays. The deeper he went, the less she squirmed to get away until he planted it all inside, balls excluded. It was a delicious pleasure to have the restricted passageway at his entire disposal to enlarge an inch at a time. Accommodating the length and thickness of him wasn’t easy to begin with. Laurent knew it well, having refined his technique for crawling into apparently impossible jams and sticking to them to the inevitable end. He was so good anyway, they all found it irresistible to let go despite his frantic pumping, the same way Julie’s ass walls pressed on every side to hold him prisoner. So his resistance wore out in a bursting jet of seedy fluid flooding the condom.

Thus had started a great working and sexual partnership he found exciting and stimulating, at least for five years, at least until Julie told him she was divorcing her husband and would love a steadier situation with him. Of course, the mere mention of the word steady was enough to cool his enthusiasm. Sure, she had a great butt, one he used often, though not exclusively, during the five years. But to turn a satisfying ass fu** into a relationship and with the boss, too, he needed much more of something he would’ve been ashamed to confess to his best friend.

Despite his rationality’s vehement scorn, he couldn’t let go of a deep yearning to find that something special, the one being connected to him in a way no other ever could be, beyond sex, stronger than love or whatever other deep emotion people could share. Most of the times, his analytical mind refused even to consider the possibility, throwing it all back at him like another of the heterosexuals’ myths or mumbo jumbo designed to produce more prolific couples. If forced to admit it, though, Laurent craved to recognize at a single glance his significant other, as literature and gossip now defined them. To have the same thoughts simultaneously was his dream, if not the similar stuff romance authors loved to describe at length in their stories. Having read more than his share of such nonsense type books, he could never bring himself to scorn them entirely, like they deserved to be. A deep-rooted and tenacious belief held him back from throwing them away contemptuously. Et s’il c’était vrai? Yes, what if it were all true? So reading of two souls linked by fate, past lives or whatever only made him wish—no, believe—someone like that existed for him, too.

Of course, Laurent had more sense than to say any of it to Julie’s face, simply looked for a job elsewhere. By then biotech had become the big thing she had foretold—yeah, the smart ass had vision all right—which made it very easy for him to have his pick of companies willing to pay his outrageous salary requests.

The one bidding highest had to be in Dallas, damn it! But since location wasn’t an issue, in fact the farther from her the better, he immediately accepted and here he was.

The Demon Waiter, by Laura Tolomei
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