Paul's French Maid - Instalment # 3 free porn video

Paul & His French Maid ? 10 ? by: Justin Silk Copyright © JustinSilk 2002. All Rights Reserved Legal Notice: The following story contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts. The story is a work of fiction and has no basis in reality. Don't read this story if: ** you are not 18 or over, ** it is illegal to read this type of material where you live, ** you object to non-macho males. ** you don't wish to read about people who might be gay/bi in love or having sex. The author retains copyright to this story. Placing this story on a website or reproducing this story for distribution without the author's permission is a violation of that copyright. Legal action may be taken against violators. Please enjoy. PLEASE GIVE AUTHORS FEEDBACK. Chapter Nine : Gasp!! A Big Shock I was awakened by the phone. 'Allo darling. Were you asleep? After that, what do you call it, 'boffing' you gave me, you must be h-exhausted.' 'I'm fine. What time is it?' 'Half past six. About.' 'About the worst time of day for you,' I grinned. 'Worst? Why?' Nicole asked, evidently thinking very quickly through all the possible answers. 'Hapasicz is the most difficult time for you to say, you sexy, sexy woman. And why aren't you tired?' 'Darling, I am tired,' then whispering, 'But I have work to do. That helps. And I wondered if you would 'elp h-also. Huh-arvey wants to h- ask you a question. Will you speak to him?' 'Do I have a choice? I'm in his house, my lover is being paid by him. Put him on.' 'Hey. Paul. Can you get over here real quick?' 'Of course, but to do what?' 'To find out what I want you to do, ten minutes, baby?' Baby! I mean. Really! 'Ah!' I thought, staring stupidly at the phone. 'There's the other side of Harvey. The tough guy entrepreneur.' From the garbage can I retrieved the note with the room number on it. Twelve and a half minutes later, I pulled shut the door to our suite and made my way to 'Wardrobe'. I entered the main building, climbed the stairs and followed the signs. If you could read, it was easy. If you couldn't, well-drawn graphics accompanied the words. 'Men' had a big cock peeing. 'Women' had a sort of 'w' thing. Also, I assumed, peeing. There was a lipstick with mascara brush. A shoe and, towards the end of the corridor, a bra, I guessed that I was in need of a bra. As I had walked along I had mused how pleasing it was that the symbols for male and female washrooms weren't ambiguous. For me, the greatest torture imaginable is trying to remember, at an airport and as my bladder comes close to exploding, whether the door I'm looking for is the one with the pictogram of a person with one leg or two. Entering the bra door (Wardrobe: Inc. Lingerie [f]) I was greeted by a very pretty receptionist. 'How may I help you?' she purred. 'I'm looking for Harvey,' I smiled back. 'Would that be our Mister Harvey, the owner? Or our other Mister Harvey? The lingeriste?' 'I'm sorry? The what?' 'The lingeriste, he's the Mister Harvey who looks after the undies. For the videos and the live shows. And the boutique.' 'I think the Mister Harvey who doesn't look after the undies is the one I wish to see.' 'And that's me. That's who you wish to see. Or who wishes to see you. Come on in, Paul. Mistry, this is my friend and neighbour, Mr Paul.' 'Hello, Miss Tree,' I said, extending a hand. 'Just call me Paul.' 'We call everybody here Mishter or Missh, Mishter Paul. So I'm Missh Mishtry. Pleased to meet you.' There was something odd about her hands. And I think pronouncing 's' as 'sh' was an affectation. 'I see,' I said. 'Apologies, I thought your family name must have been "Tree".' 'Oh, right! No, that's my chosen name. M. I. S. T. R. Y. As in puzzle. As in "that girl is a mistry to me". As in ? ' 'Yes, Miss Mistry, I get the picture,' I laughed hurriedly. 'And this is that Mister Harvey,' I added, quick as a flash. A chortle. An arm around my shoulder that almost made bone meal of it. This wasn't the lingeriste. 'Yeah, right,' he replied. Likely, he hadn't been listening to me at all. I could have said that his dick was hanging out of his pants and he would still have answered 'Yeah, right.' 'You wanted to see me?' I asked as he started to guide me down a corridor, on the walls of which were pictures ? photographs and drawings ? of exotic creatures with apparently perfect figures in the most beautiful lingerie. 'Yeah. You went to Xtase. I'm opening Xtases in Europe. You're creative. I need creative. You wanna help launch Xtase in Europe?" 'Not unless you learn to pronounce it right.' 'Come on, Paul, don't give me that shit. I've had that for weeks from Nicole and Andre. They're French. I'm not. Nor are you. I say X tase. They say X tass. I own the joint, so it's X tase. OK?' 'X tass. Or count me out. Harvey, in Europe it matters. You can't use a French name in Europe and not say it right. You blow half its value. In this country, in England, in Australia, the whole English-speaking world, maybe. But not on the Continent.' 'OK. X tass. X-tase. No more lectures. Listen. Here's what I have in mind.' For half an hour Harvey and I talked Xtass in his office. Sharee wandered in and said 'Hi Paul, How ya goin'?' before putting a file on Harve's table and undulating out through the door again. In the file was a script Harvey had written, sort of, for the promotional film he wanted to show his potential German backers. I hated it. Why do people like Harvey imagine that writing a video is easy? Some of the ideas were Ok, but not the way they were cobbled together. Finally, we agreed that the writing of the script would be left to me. 'Let's get a drink,' Harve suggested. He stood and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. 'What can I get you?' Harve asked as he reached up to a large, leather- bound copy of the complete works of Shakespeare. As he touched it, the bookcase swiveled to become a bar. Very fifties. 'Hey,' I said, 'that's neat.' 'You never seen one of these before?" 'Only in the movies.' 'Watch this.' Harvey touched a bottle (of Pernod, actually) at the back of the bar and once again the unit swung out of sight to reveal a third 'compartment'. A paneled door matching the room now faced us. Harvey slid it open and showed me a tiny room with a chair, a TV monitor and a sort of shelf. 'This is a kind of spy chamber. Step inside. Go ahead. Now, slide the door shut and press that button. The one with the left-pointing arrow. You'll then be hidden from view, but you'll be able to see and hear everything that's going on in this room on the monitor. Turn it on. Try it.' I did. The monitor lit up and, when I pressed the left arrow, the capsule swiveled me out of view. On the screen I saw Harvey sticking his tongue out at the camera. I felt like I was a character in a spy novel. Or was this a medieval mystery? On the shelf was the camera's remote control. Very basic, but I made a quick adjustment. Now I could indeed see everything. And I discovered that the door by which I had entered now opened behind another door which itself opened on to the corridor outside Harvey's outer office. 'Now press the other arrow,' I heard Harvey say in less than CD-quality sound. I pressed the button and was swung back into his office. I stepped out of the compartment and Harvey leaned into it, pressing the button so we could get to our drinks again. 'Neat, huh?' beamed Harvey 'Very neat. So you have complete control? Mister Macchiavellian, hey Harvey?.' 'Nah, not me. This whole thing was installed by the previous owner who liked to spy on his staff. This was his manager's office. The owner could get in to the box from the corridor. And, when he unlocked the outside door, the one in the corridor, the system locked the swing mechanism. Not my go. I disconnected the door locking mechanism. I only use it for the bar.' 'And the library,' I reminded him. 'Yeah, right,' Harvey agreed with enthusiasm. We chatted and Harvey was just pouring a second scotch when I heard my favourite voice. ' 'soir mon homme.' I looked over my shoulder and saw my grinning lover. She was leaning provocatively against the doorjamb and looking very directly at me. 'Hey, Nic,' said Harvey. 'Wanna a scotch?' 'No, thank you,' replied Nicole, somewhat coldly. 'I want your h- opinion on this being worn by Gast, Gaspard.' Nicole held up a wicked- looking corsetry thing in red satin with black ribbons. A man in what looked like a very expensive suit and open-necked white shirt was coming up behind Nicole, having walked across the large open space beyond the outer office. As he drew closer I noticed that what I had taken to be chest hair, wasn't. I shouldn't have been surprised after the conversation I'd been having with Harvey, that the darker area in the 'v' of the shirt was actually a hint of black lace and satin. Just a hint. It wasn't what, perhaps, you'd expect the well-dressed businessman to wear. But it gave me an idea for the video. 'Hi,' Harve said to the man, but without introducing us. 'Ya wanna drink?' The man shook his head. Harvey, noticing Nicole and I mouthing words to each other, added, as if to himself, 'You two wanna fuck?' he laughed. Then he was all businessman again. 'Show me, Nic.' 'Nic'. I didn't like that. Too familiar. Nicole could never be Nic. Holding up the gorgeously-lurid garment, Nicole said, 'The red and the black satin for Gas ? Gaspard to wear in scene 16.' 'Gaspard, who-the-hell's Gasp? Ah, Gaspard, right. You. No problem. That looks much better than the other one.' 'Whoever he might turn out to be, we don't have a scene 16 yet,' I said. 'Yeah. Right,' Harvey glowered. 'But that don't mean Gaspard doesn't get to wear it. How'd it look on him, Nicole? Hold it up.' 'E-rot-ique,' said Nicole, holding the garment against the man's chest. 'Show me. Bring it here,' commanded Harvey. Nicole let Harvey finger the corset. 'Silk?' he asked. 'Silk,' she confirmed. 'Niiiice,' he said. I wondered: What was this tableau, this charade the three of them were playing all about? Who was Gaspard and why was I uncomfortable about that little exchange? I went on: 'One assumes that this gentleman, since you haven't thought to introduce us, is Gaspard.' [Yes, yes, very English and pompous. But I am English and pompous. One likes sometimes to exercise one's Englishness, doesn't one?] Gaspard and I shook hands. And exchanged suspicious glances. 'I take it that Gaspard is going to wear that corset?' I asked Harvey, before looking at Gaspard again, more closely. 'Basque,' said Nicole, blowing me a kiss and disappearing out of the door. 'I see. A basque. Oh, well, that's all right then,' I said, loudly. 'For a moment, I thought you'd have the poor chap wearing a corset.' 'Basque,' Harvey said, reduntantly. 'Sure, why not,' he went on, solemnly. 'The guy's in a basque. Why is he in a basque? Because he's in a promotional video - the video I wrote and that you hate so fucking much. Playing the part of a TV, a trans ? To promote my X tase clubs in Europe. They are, unless you can convince me otherwise, clubs for men who like to wear women's clothes and for transgendered folk and for their significant others. You got all that Paul?' Harvey put an arm around my shoulder and took me over closer to Gaspard. 'Paul, Gaspard's decolletage? Do you like the black silk and lace? I think it is very sexy. But what d'you think?' 'I didn't until now. Think about it, I mean,' I lied. 'More important,' I said, 'what does the man himself think?' Gaspard's black eyes engaged mine again as I appraised him. There was nothing foppish or effete about Gaspard. He was about the same height as Nicole. His hair was dark. Carefully-coiffed. Above a broad forehead. His high-cheeked face was smooth and tanned. A cleft chin led the eye to a strong but elegant neck which became, under the suit, not especially-broad shoulders. He was slender, but strong. And, I imagined, quite tough. Below, Gaspard's olive chest had a gleam to it. And there was good separation between left and right of the chest. 'Hi, Gaspard, I'm Paul. How do you feel about wearing silk undies?' 'It's OK with me.' Gaspard's French accent was much less pronounced than Nicole's. He replied, 'I like it. I have wore silk lingerie before. For a very important party at Xtase. Sharee, Harvey's lady, ask me to wear some little silk panties.' 'And you didn't feel effeminate in them?' 'To the contrary. I think it make me feel more masculine. At the club, I do not think about male or female. I did not think "White silk satin" means only women can wear. I thought these panties look good on me. I like the way they feel on me. Sexy. So it's good. I have no problem.' Gaspard then took on a quite new persona. He shaped his lips into a little rose bud and half-closed his eyes. He mouthed a kiss at Harvey and then one at me. 'Silk is the sexiest fabric in the world. Sooooo sexy against the skin. You should try it. It can change your whole outlook on life, Paul.' 'It doesn't make you feel at all like ? a pansy? A fairy?' Gaspard suddenly stiffened. 'You are serious? You think I am a Pansy? A fairy?' Whilst I might have been out of line in what I'd just asked Gaspard, there was a reason for the question. 'Gaspard. Don't be offended. I think you look masculine, too. The reason I ask is that what I have in mind for the video demands that you should look completely relaxed. The camera will know if you aren't. So it doesn't matter what I think half as much as what you think and feel. 'Some of the people we want to influence with the video aren't usually openly anything other than 'straight'. 'Or hypocritical wankers,' muttered Harvey. The phone rang and we took a break as Harvey shooed us out of the room. Gaspard walked me out to the reception area just as the other Mister Harvey, the lingeriste, laden with garments, was entering the wardrobe department. The Miss Mistry introduced me. 'Here's the other Mister Harvey.' Gaspard excused himself and, walking out through the door, lit a cigarette. The lingeriste peered over his bundle of silks and satins at me. 'I've heard so much about you, Mister Paul. The way that Miss Nicki goes on about you, you'd think you were the only man in the world. But I can see why. Oh, do excuse me.' I laughed. Here was a genuine English queen. I said, 'Mister Harvey, thanks for the compliment. Very nice to meet you. I imagine we'll be seeing more of each other over the next couple of days.' 'I do hope so. By the by, Harvey's my surname, dear. They all call me Mister Harvey just to get everything all muddled up. Please call me Alex. It's short for Alexander. 'Or Alexandra. Depends how I'm feeling really. Know what I mean?' Nicole appeared and coming up beside me put her arm around my waist.. 'So you've met Alex. Another anglais. Isn't he a lovely man? When he isn't a gorgeous woman.' 'You French women, such flatterers. But thank you darling anyway. Could you help me with these?' 'I will carry those for you.' Garpard, coming back into the reception area, smiled at Nicole and I and, taking some of the garments from Alex, disappeared down the corridor. For the first time in hours, I could take Nicole in my arms. 'Harvey ? boss man Harvey ? has asked me to get some thoughts on paper for the script. I told him I thought his script stank. So I'm going back to the suite.' I leaned down and kissed Nicole. 'But I wouldn't mind getting writer's block in about half an hour.' I was starting to feel horny again. 'Do you think you could oblige? Help put some lead in an elderly scribbler's pencil?' I squeezed Nicole's shoulders and reflected on what a lucky man I was. 'I will see you in about two h-ours time, darling. I have to discuss a few things with Alex. I know you haven't finished the script, but you also know that for the Xtase h-audience, the clothes are just as h- important as the people wearing them. So Alex and I have to have everything ready if we are to shoot tomorrow.' Nicole reached up and did one of the many sexy things I adored her doing. She took my nose into her mouth and gently bit it. I had a big stiffy now. Removing my mouth, she whispered, 'Then I will sharpen your pencil.' 'You make me feel so horny,' I said, kissing her lightly before smiling 'adieu' to Miss Mistry and starting my stroll back to the suite. I had just stepped off the sweeping staircase in the entrance hall and started to walk along the corridor towards the residential suites when one of the pissing prick signs suddenly made me think about the script. 'Bugger,' I said. I'd left my notes in the secret Box [as Harvey had called it]. I looked at my watch. It was now twenty minutes since Harvey had shooed us from his office. The things a writer will do to put off writing. I walked back down the corridor, back up the staircase, back through the door into reception, and, after a little chat with the delightful Miss Mistry, back down the corridor and into Harvey's outer office. I was about to knock on the door when I heard what was clearly a very aroused male. Actually, it wasn't just any male, it was obviously a very aroused Harvey. 'Ooooooh, baby. Ah! Oh yeah!' This was a guy well on the way to the satisfaction that, back in the last century, pop groups wrote songs about not being able to get. I assumed that the 'baby' referred to was Sharee. Being by nature discreet, I decided not to knock. I edged back from the door and into the corridor so that I could get in to the secret Box without disturbing Harvey and Sharee. I tried the door and as Harvey had said, it wasn't locked. I opened the outer door, slid aside the Box's own door and stepped inside. I closed the doors behind me, then I pressed the button to switch on the monitor. As the monitor lit up, I picked up the remote and panned the camera until I could see some evidence of human life. A hand came into focus. It was a very elegant and well looked-after hand with beautifully- shaped finger nails which appeared to be fondling a nipple. But I'd inadvertently gone to ECU, or Extreme Close Up, so it was hard to tell more than that. Even harder when the object of the camera's attention kept moving out of frame. I could hardly shout 'Cut. New Set?up' without giving myself away. I could still hear what was obviously Harvey's voice, or throat or whatever made the noises, expressing extreme pleasure. Of course, it was Harvey playing the male lead. But what I now saw as I pulled back to a mid shot made my eyes pop. Sharee wasn't his leading lady. It was Gaspard who owned the beautiful hands. It was his polished nails pinching the nipple. The man with the smouldering eyes was now the woman with the smouldering eyes. The lashes were longer. Careful make-up had softened the face. I could see that, standing in front of his boss, Gaspard had Harvey spellbound. He still wore the perfectly cut and immaculately hand-stitched suit. But, on the shirt, a couple more buttons were undone. As he fondled his chest through his black lingerie, a glimpse of which I'd been asked to comment on less than an hour ago, he smiled and moved closer to Harvey. Taller than I remembered from our earlier brief encounter, Gaspard, I could see when I widened the shot even further, was now wearing high heeled court shoes, about four inches high. The sort a businesswoman might wear, very elegant, plain, black, shiny very shiny, with very slim heels. Harvey was totally bewitched by this hypnotic 'executive' in his or her designer suit and Jermyn Street shirt. And especially the lingerie, it was obviously from one of the grandest houses of Paris. 'When I am en femme, I am just as convincing as any of those sluts you see in drag shows, 'Maybe a little more masculine than some of them. 'But when I go out for business meetings as a man, I like that the men I am with do not know that I am wearing sexy lingerie under my suit, at first, anyway. 'I looked like a man before, yes? 'Yeah, yeah, definitely,' said Harvey, trying to look cool and rational. 'But you know that I am a woman.' 'Excuse me?' Harvey wasn't keeping up with the seduction. For the first time, I saw Gaspard smile. If that's what it was. He reached out and pulled Harvey close to him. 'I find it very erotic to reveal such a tiny hint of lace to a man who talk about rugby or football or boxing. 'Very often I can see that they are disturbed. Of course. They are disturbed by the mixed messages they are getting from their brains. After a few drinks they begin to be confused as well as disturbed. 'I see they want to ask me if I am a queer. But they do not dare, because they can see that I am strong. Maybe I could hurt them badly.' Gaspard was looking very closely into Harvey's eyes. 'Sometimes, say at a convention, I invite a man to my room. 'He will say "Yes. Why not? Just for a nightcap." 'In my room, I will invite him to relax. I will go to my bathroom. And when I return I am a woman. I am the woman he has convinced himself I always was. The whore he came to visit in the first place. '"Quoi d'extraordinaire!" he will say. 'One man said to me, "why do you dress up like a man?" It's true.' 'And these men, if I were to tell them that I am a man, they will deny it. At least to themselves.' Gaspard leaned forward and kissed Harvey on the lips. This was really startling stuff. His hand went to Harvey's crotch and squeezed. 'Because these men, Harvey, already they will have a hard-on.' As he caressed Harvey's cock, Gaspard was peering deeper and deeper into Harvey's eyes. 'You are the same, Monsieur Harvey. Your cock tells me that. Lock the door.' Harvey did as he was instructed. The boss had lost control. Gaspard went on. 'These men who come to my room, they do not can resist this creature in black silk and lace standing in front of them, her legs sleek and irresistible in the soft light reflected in her silk stockings. This woman who they no ;longer wish to remember was a man. It is very exciting for them.' Harvey, silent, was rocking his pelvis back and forth and back and forth against Gaspard's massaging fingers. 'And for you, Mister Harvey, mon ange.' I would have sworn that Gaspard had hypnotised him. The Frenchman had certainly seduced his boss. I knew I should not be watching this, but it was impossible not to. I was captivated to see this man who had become, even as I'd watched, a woman, seduce a powerful man and make him so very susceptible to every suggestion. And Gaspard had become a woman. Had all the skills of a woman. Wore women's clothes to the same effect as a woman. Even his suit and shirt were adjuncts of his feminine persona. Above the chic shoes with their plain patent leather authority, the suit paradoxically enhanced Gaspard's femininity. Just as silk satin panties had increased, so he claimed, his masculinity for the ladymen who patronised Xtase. At this moment, he was the spider and Harvey, King Harvey the Hard, was the fly. Still looking Harvey in the eyes, Gaspard took the zipper of Harvey's pants and very slowly pushed it down. I was enthralled with this very strange encounter. I couldn't resist moving the camera in on Harvey's pants as Gaspard drew out the hard and hot and heavy shaft. When I had been throwing the ice cube at it on my terrace I had been very reluctant to stare at Harvey's cock, having learned as a child that staring is very rude. 'I want to see you like a chick. 'In your lingerie.' 'Now.' 'Please?' I heard Harvey say 'please'. Something you didn't hear every tick of the clock. I pulled back again, just in time to see Gaspard's striptease begin. 'I am a chick. A femme. A woman. And this room, your office, is my boudoir.' Removing his jacket he thrust it at Harvey, instructing him to hang it on the back of his chair. When it was done, Gaspard ordered Harvey to unbutton his shirt. And remove it. And put it over the jacket. 'Shit,' I thought. 'This man/woman is so hot.' I wondered if I wouldn't have been doing the same thing in Harvey's place. Very slowly, Gaspard pulled the black silk chemise from his pants and then, lifting the hem, commanded Harvey to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. They slid to the floor. Gaspard stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He was now all woman, and something extra. He ordered Harvey to strip. 'Strip'. Harvey did as he was told. Not with any grace, but that wasn't his job. He just wanted to be in a fit state to enjoy this now so feminine person in front of him. Harvey looked good, his rigid cock trembling close against his six-pack stomach. Gaspard, as he had stripped, had become more and more the girly it would have been impossible to imagine sixty minutes before. It was as if the clothes he wore had complete control over him. "You are what you wear. Clothes makyth man". Now, in the couturier lingerie, Gaspard had become the epitome of seductive and convincing femininity. The silk, black and edged with lace, seemed to flow across Gaspard's body. It framed the smooth olive skin of his muscular chest. With every sensuous movement of Gaspard's muscles, the fine material rippled over his flesh like the sea running up a beach. Or the rings that spread across a cold, deep lake into which a stone has been cast. I imagined how the lovely fabric must have excited Gaspard's nipples as it seemed to hiss across them, making them hard and erect and excitingly visible through the silk. 'Take me,' Gaspard's voice was soft and whorish. It was clear that Harvey found it irresistible. I was myself finding this performance enormously erotic. Gaspard's red talons drew the shining satin slip up over the sheen of sheer silk stockings. I was able to bring the camera to frame the rising hem perfectly and in sharp focus. A light on Harvey's desk provided, fortuitously, exactly the illumination that enhanced the sensuousness of the satin's surface. Gaspard was teasing Harvey. But eventually the contours of well-filled black silk panties were revealed by the rising slip. 'Take me now.' Holding the hem of the slip between forefingers and thumbs, Gaspard slid his other fingers into the top of the panties and began to push down. The tiny garment protected its contents for only a second or two. A hard, thick, throbbing cock sprang free, its taut-skinned helmet gleaming brighter even than the satin in which it had been wrapped until now. As a long, fine filament fell from the tip of this magnificent head, a tongue came into the shot and interrupted the flow before it could stain the carpet. In enormous close up, I watched the sexy skin slip between the lips of a greedy mouth. No sooner had the cockhead disappeared into the warm cave than it was being withdrawn, now slick with a film of its own lubricant. My heart was pounding. In what could have been slow motion, Gaspard guided Harvey's mouth to the side of his shaft and encouraged him to pleasure it with his tongue and his teeth and his wet and ample lips. This amazingly slow and slippery sexual ballet, this pulsating pas de deux, couldn't last much longer. A couple of minutes later a first long string of white-hot semen burst from Gaspard's prick to slide down Harvey's face. Happily, Harvey came too. And the Boss and the Girliboy kissed. They had both achieved what they wanted. Harvey was happy. Because, it was now clear, from the moment that Nicole had given him the basque to feel, he'd been excited by the prospect of having the she-boy Gaspard perform for him. Though he would have been reluctant to admit it, it was no accident that Harvey's most successful club was Xtase, "for men who like to wear women's clothes and for transgendered folk and for their significant others." And Gaspard now felt a little more secure in his employment. Especially when, the kisses completed and the encounter over, he opened the doors to my hiding place and, showing little concern at finding me there, turned off the TV. And ejected a videotape from the slot below the screen. This was hubris. Big time. 'I don't think Harvey would be pleased to know that you saw what we were doing,' Gaspard said. 'And I don't think he'd be overjoyed to know that you had made a video of your amorous encounter,' I replied. 'I think you should leave it with me.' 'OK,' he said, pushing the tape into my hands. And, lasciviously, pulling my face to his and running his tongue slowly around my lips as my mouth fell open. 'You can watch it with Nicole. He will like to see this. But don't wipe it. Harvey will be overjoyed to see it. Au revoir.' I now had rather more to think about than just the script.