"How?" George threw his gnawed pork bone to one of the waiting wolfhounds of which there were three on the grounds.
Madame got up from her chair and came around the end of the table. She kneeled in front of George. Opening his pants, she felt around inside until her fingers gripped his enormous cock. It was always semi-rigid. She loved the feel of it, its thickness, the heat it threw off, but especially the weight of the monster when she'd raise it up and down in one hand or the other.
Cradling his cock in her hand, she looked up at him. He was reaching for yet another pork chop bone. When she growled and then scowled at him, he obediently threw it to the dogs.
Madame Andre loved to lick and kiss his huge prick while he sat at the table. There was something romantic, lewd and vulgar all at the same time as she did this.
She loved to play with it while one hand was up under her long, ankle-length dress, twiddling with her clitoris or just fingerfucking her cunt.
She loved to lick up and down the shaft, often spitting on his cock, then masturbating it to full erection while he just sat there looking down at her, or perhaps smoking a cigarette, or leisurely drinking a glass of red wine.
When Madame Andre would finally open her big mouth and let George slide the monster down her throat with one full thrust, then standing up, begin to fuck her in the mouth as if he were fucking a sheep from the rear, the French woman would almost go out of her mind, drooling, breathing like a stuck pig and finally gasping and almost choking to death when his monstrous cock would begin spewing his scum down her throat in great gobs until she couldn't take it and was sure that she would gag to death if he didn't pull the fucking thing out of her throat.
But she loved every minute of it afterwards.
She also loved another variation on the theme.
This was for her to expose her huge breasts while she kneeled in front of him and sucked his naked cock. As she kissed and sucked, licking up and down the thick shaft, she would play with her breasts so that George could be amused.
With her hands busy this way on both breasts, her fingers squeezing, pinching and stroking her nipples, his prick at her command, standing up straight, often George leaning back, his hands behind his head, pipe in his mouth staring up at the ceiling, she would get lost in thought, often her mind going back to the days of her unhappy childhood that she reviewed with alarming frequency as she grew older.
Then, George, knowing her well, would shock her out of it by using one trick or another.
And one of his favorites was to use the muscles of his prick, making it jump inside her throat, or suddenly pulling it out and leaning forward, start to whip her face with his huge member.
Madame Andre would redden with embarrassment, but then get busy making her man happy the way he wanted.
This instant, when they were discussing the frontal attack they would need to wage on the new upstairs maid, Madame Andre, down on her knees, her huge breasts now more swollen than before from her constant playing with them, her nipples fully erect, George spread his knees.
She smiled up at him. She knew what he wanted.
Gripping his cock with her teeth, her mouth so wide open it would have accepted a rolling pin handle, she began to bite and chew on the rosy head until George was moaning in that special kind of ecstasy only a woman's mouth can give.
Knowing how her man responded, Madame Andre just bit and chewed away, always squeezing, mashing her giant breasts at the same time.
Finally, his cock all fiery red and throbbing, his balls churning up scum the way a farmer would churn up butter, Madame held both breasts high up while the Frenchman put his cock between them. Half of his enormous cock was hidden in the crevasse of her breasts now.
George began pumping up against her breast bone. Madame Andre kept pumping back and massaging the shaft of his huge cock with the insides of her curvy breasts. When the friction became almost unbearable, the French woman would lower her chin, the drop great gobs of spit down between her breasts, these gobs of saliva often splashing on the cock that kept punching in and pulling out from the breasts she pressed so tightly together as if she were trying to imprison his prick.
The spit would lessen the friction but at the same time it would increase the lubrication in which the great prick wallowed.
Soon, Madame Andre knew, by simply looking up at George's screwed up face, his prick would be exploding. This was the moment she always looked forward to in this particular position.
For when the prick exploded, she had two things to do quickly! She would first feel the prick give it's initial throb and first small spurt between her warm, wet breasts.
Then, in those split seconds before the second interior explosion within the urethra, she had to flip over completely on her back, put her head way back so that her upturned face was under his prick.
Then she had to cup her heavy breasts, hold them up high with the pointed nipples as targets for George's cock to shoot at.
Of course, he often missed her nipples, his gobs of thick sperm plopping on her upturned face, falling short of her breasts and bombing down on her eyes, her nose, or her open mouth with her tongue hanging out, hoping against hope that he'd drop a load right on her tongue.
This wasn't a daily scene but when it happened, Madame Andre's devotion to George increased tenfold.
"So, what we can do," Madame Andre went on, "is organize the blackmail situation so that she, the new maid, is compromised by the both of us."
"I don't understand. You mean, at the same time?"
"No, stupid, I do not."
"Then what do you mean, Madame Andre?" George always called her Madame Andre in the kitchen. He was idly jerking off his cock as he listened now.
"Well, it's this, and I read it in one of those cheap novels by Hugo, you catch her doing something with me and threaten that you'll tell Madam Staunton."
"I think I understand," he grinned, showing very strong white peasant teeth.
"… then, George, I catch her in some compromising position with you, and I threaten to inform on her. How's that sound?"
So this was the plan but it backfired. Some plans do this, despite the fact that they are cleverly organized and executed.
The evening following Nellie's arrival on the estate grounds and once she was settled in her apartment, George helping her with her luggage which wasn't all that much, he went down to the kitchen to bring her up something to eat on a tray. The girl was very tired from the long journey.
While she was eating, George went into her private bathroom. Quickly, he took off his clothing and he waited for the secret signal he expected from Madame Andre whose purpose it was to catch the naked or semi-naked George alone with her.
But what happened was that when Madame Andre did arrive, George had inadvertently locked himself in the bathroom.
As he was banging to get out, and at this point, Nellie didn't understand what the banging could mean, because that was all she could hear. The walls of the chateau were so thick that she couldn't hear him yelling.
So, she just went on eating normally, drinking a glass of new wine, thinking over how fortunate she was.
At this point, Madame Andre barged into Nellie's apartment, hoping to 'catch' George and the new maid in the act.
"Where is George?" she asked.
"I have no idea, Madame Andre?"
"What do you mean, you have no idea?"
"As I said. I have no idea."
"What is that banging?"
"I have no idea, Madame Andre."
"Look," said Madame Andre, somewhat perturbed and not a little worried, "is George in here, or is he not?"
She shook her little head. "No, he went out the other door. I have no idea where he is. Sorry."
George spent the night in the fortress-like bathroom until morning when Nellie tried to get in and couldn't and this is where Madame Andre found him, sound asleep in the giant tub…