His Secret Sins Read online

  His Secret Sins

  by

  Henri Couesnon

  Copyright © 2016 Henri Couesnon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except for the use of brief excerpts in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published by Henri Couesnon

  Cover design by TheBookCoverDesigner.com/Misha Richet

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: From Russia, with Lust

  Chapter Two: Caffeine and Cocaine

  Chapter Three: Marital Duties

  Chapter Four: The Observant Neighbor

  Chapter Five: The Office Boy

  Chapter Six: While the Cats are Away

  Chapter Seven: Share and Share Alike

  Chapter Eight: Threeway—the Only Way!

  Also by Henri Couesnon

  Chapter One: From Russia, with Lust

  It was a Friday morning, in summer, in Marseille.

  Elise loved her job. As a result, she always arrived at the office building early. Today was no exception. She was already comfortably installed at her desk in the reception area when the elevator door slid open, and her boss swaggered in.

  Marc Remy was the most handsome man Elise had ever met. She had a crush on her employer, although she always did her best to hide it. Nor was she alone. Monsieur Remy was the idol of the secretarial pool, and Elise was the envy of her coworkers.

  This morning, her boss was looking exceptionally attractive. He was not yet thirty years of age. He had an athlete’s body, which was barely concealed by the impeccably tailored three-piece linen suit which he wore. He had long, silky chestnut hair, which touched his starched dress shirt collar, and a matching mustache. His eyes were blue and sensuous, his mouth full and habitually pursed in a secretive, self-satisfied smile.

  On the third finger of his left hand, he wore a broad gold wedding band.

  His wife, Ghislaine, was a local socialite, one of the best-dressed women in Marseille. The Remys were often described in the local press as “Marseille’s golden couple”—an appellation which Marc routinely and modestly dismissed, as “just so much nonsense.”

  Elise fully appreciated the fact that being the secretary of such a successful executive gave her a certain cachet.

  “Would you fuck him, if you could?” one of her girlfriends in the secretarial pool had asked her, recently.

  “Of course I would,” she replied. “He can throw me down on his desk and take me, any time!” she joked. “But he’s devoted to his wife. And who can blame him? She’s so beautiful … so glamorous. She’s always being written up, in the magazines.”

  “Still, they don’t have any children, yet,” another one of Elise’s girlfriends pointed out. “Maybe their sex life isn’t so great.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly.” Elise retorted. “Look at them! They’re both so beautiful, so sexy … they probably go at it together every chance they get. They probably fuck like a pair of minks!”

  Her memories of that conversation were interrupted when the male mink in question passed by Elise’s desk, and he treated her to his usual silken, seductive smile.

  “Good morning, Monsieur Remy,” Elise murmured.

  “Good morning, Elise.”

  “Did Madame Remy leave on her trip, all right?”

  “Oh, yes. I dropped her off at the train station just now, on my way to work. Thank you for making the travel arrangements for her.”

  “Oh, that was no trouble at all. It was my pleasure.” Elise looked wistful. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, to go to Paris and spend the weekend shopping for clothes,” she said.

  Marc laughed. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t have to imagine it. Because I’m the one who has to face the reality of paying the bills! Ah, well—so long as Ghislaine has a good time, that’s all matters.”

  “Your mail is on your desk, monsieur.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marc retreated into his office, closing the door behind him.

  He gave the mail on his desk blotter a cursory glance. There was nothing which couldn’t wait.

  Now that his wife was on her three-and-a-half hour train ride to Paris, where she’d be staying with one of her girlfriends, he had other priorities.

  Ignoring the telephone and the computer on his desk, Marc picked up the brown crocodile leather briefcase which he’d brought with him from home.

  He opened the briefcase, and took out two items—both of which he used for his own personal business, unrelated to his activities while he was at work. One was a small laptop computer, which he opened and plugged in. The other was a cellphone—an extra one, reserved for special communications.

  Marc punched in a number on the cellphone. It was a local escort agency. Marc often availed himself of its services. With his customary discretion, he’d waited until his wife was safely on the train to Paris, before he called the escort service to arrange a rendezvous.

  “Bonjour! This is Les Hommes de Marseille. Gino, speaking. How may we assist you today?”

  Marc recognized both the name and the voice. Gino was one of the guys who manned the agency’s phone line. Marc had never met him face to face, and he had no idea what Gino might look like. But Gino had an ideal “phone voice”—deep-pitched, warm, masculine, and sexy. Marc always enjoyed conversing with him.

  “Gino, it’s me—Marc Remy.”

  “Oh, how are you, Monsieur Remy?”

  “I’m fine. But I’m also horny as hell. I know the weekend’s coming up, when you’re always busy, and this is short notice. But I’d really like to book somebody for tonight.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Let me see who’s available. What time were you thinking about? And would you like an in-call, or an out-call?”

  “I want him to come to my place. And I’m flexible. Any time this evening after six will work for me. I’d like to get home and make myself some dinner and relax a little beforehand—that’s all.”

  “Well, I know you have your favorites. I’m afraid most of them are already booked for tonight. Would you be willing to let me make a recommendation?”

  “Sure.”

  “We have a new guy. He’s only been working here for three weeks, but we’ve had nothing but positive feedback about him. And already gentlemen have started to request him again. He’s available this evening. The new hires often agree to be on call as backups, you know.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “His name is Dimitri. He’s a Russian, obviously, but he speaks very good French. He’s here on a work visa—he has a day job. He’s twenty-two, blond, and really built. And he’s definitely not gay-for-pay. He likes gay sex, and he’s versatile.”

  “Have you met this guy in person, Gino, or are you just reading from a script?”

  Gino laughed. “Now, I wouldn’t steer you wrong, would I? You know me better than that, by now. Sure, I’m met him. He comes here and hangs out sometimes. I’v
e talked to him. He’s not just hot—he’s got a really great personality. If it wasn’t against the rules, I’d ask him out on a date myself.”

  “Rules are made to be broken,” Marc observed, idly.

  “Not around here, they aren’t. Anyway, you needn’t take my word for it. Do you happen to have your computer handy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Open up our website, then, and click on our list of escorts. Then just hit ‘D,’ and he’ll pop up. We’ve got some really nice photos of him posted there.”

  “Give me a minute.” Intrigued, Marc did as Gino had suggested. “Fucking hell,” he exclaimed, under his breath, when Dimitri’s profile and photo gallery popped up on his screen.

  “Told you so,” Gino said, more than a little smugly.

  “Is that dick real, or has it been photoshopped?”

  “Now, Monsieur Remy. We wouldn’t stay in business for long if we engaged in false advertising.”

  “And that ass. That smile. I think I’m in love,” Marc declared, not entirely facetiously. “This son of a bitch looks like a frigging Russian Adonis. I want him. Can you arrange it?”

  “Of course. I’m hitting the keys even as we speak. Would eight tonight suit you?”

  “That’d suit me perfectly. And put me down for a two-hour session. No—make it three.”

  “Done. Would you like to use the debit card we have on file?”

  “Please.”

  There was a brief pause. Then Gino said, “You’re all set. I assume you’re at the same address?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give Dimitri directions, on how to get there. He’ll be there at eight. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

  “Gino, you are a jewel. When are you going to come work for me?”

  “What, in the corporate world? When you get rid of your dress code. Be grateful you can hear me, but you can’t see me. I’m definitely casually dressed—in fact, this morning I look like a slob. One of the perks of this job.”

  For Marc, the afternoon passed in a haze. Outwardly, he functioned, as the efficient executive he was. But internally he was smoldering, the prey of his barely suppressed secret lusts. After work, he told himself, more than once, as he watched the clock. After work, as soon as it’s quitting time … I’ll go home, and I’ll get comfortable, and I’ll get myself ready for sex. Oh, damn! Already, I don’t know how I’m going to be hold out until then.

  I’m almost tempted to go into the washroom and jerk off. But no … I don’t want to waste a load. I want to save my cum … save it, for that hot blond Russian bitch!

  I need a man! I need to be with a man, any man. I need his cock and his ass … oh, I’m going to go crazy, wanting it, before this day’s done!

  This Russian hustler … this whore … he’d better be good. He’d better be all he’s been cracked up to be. He’d better satisfy me!

  Quitting time arrived at last. Not lingering in the office for a moment longer than was necessary, Marc drove home. His first task, after entering the house, was to strip naked, hang up his suit, and treat himself to a long hot shower. After drying himself off, he pulled on a favorite old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Barefoot, he went into the kitchen, where he opened a bottle of wine and made himself a thick sandwich, while heating up some soup.

  He ate and drank with relish, and then he poured himself another glass of wine and took it with him into the living room. Settling himself on the large leather couch, Marc used his cellphone—his “official” one, this time—to call his wife.

  “So—you arrived safely?” Marc asked Ghislaine, when she answered.

  “Of course. Claire met me at the station.” Claire was an old friend of Ghislaine’s. They’d gone to finishing school together. Claire lived in Paris, with her second husband, and they were putting Ghislaine up for the weekend. “We’ve been catching up. Lots of girl talk.”

  “I can imagine,” Marc said. “Be kind, though, when you talk to her about me.”

  “What else, darling? You are the ideal husband, after all. Now, what are you doing, all by yourself on a Friday night?”

  “Oh, I’ve brought some work home with me,” Marc claimed, lying as naturally as drawing breath. “That’ll keep me busy this weekend, until you get back. I’ll go to the gym tomorrow. But right now, I’m just relaxing, over a glass of wine.” This, at least, was true, so far as it went. “I’m looking forward to making an early night of it,” Marc added. “Going to bed early—and getting some sleep.” Going to bed and getting laid, is more like it, he thought.

  “Yes, you do that, my dear. You work too hard.”

  “I’ll try to take it easy this weekend.” Another shameless lie.

  Husband and wife exchanged a few more pleasantries before they rang off.

  Left to his own devices for the time being, Marc drank enough of the wine to make him feel slightly woozy. He glanced at a clock. It was time to get things ready for his guest.

  He went into the bedroom, where he turned down the bed.

  Living a double life had its inconveniences, if a man wanted to be careful and avoid discovery. And Marc was extremely careful, to the point of being somewhat paranoid.

  The house was equipped with two concealed wall safes. The one in the bedroom was where the couple kept such important documents as their passports, a small amount of cash for emergencies, and—most importantly—Ghislaine’s really valuable jewelry.

  But Marc had arranged for a second safe to be installed in a small room which he used as his home office. He was the only one who knew the combination.

  There were two handsomely framed architectural prints on the wall in the office, facing the desk. The print on the right slid aside to reveal the wall safe.

  This was where Marc stored his “special” laptop and his “secret” cellphone when he wasn’t using them. The safe also contained more cash, a supply of drugs and drug paraphernalia, boxes of condoms and bottles and tubes of lubricant, Marc’s collection of porn, and a USB storage device. The latter was Marc’s equivalent of “a little black book”—he used the device to store the names and contact information of his tricks.

  Marc decided he wouldn’t need to get high this evening. He was getting a nice buzz from the wine. He slipped some banknotes into an envelope.

  He returned to the bedroom, where he deposited a box of condoms and a bottle of lube on the nightstand beside the bed. Fetching a clean towel from the bathroom, he put this beside the bed as well.

  In the kitchen, he took a second bottle of wine, a clean glass, and the corkscrew. Carrying these into the living room, he placed them on the coffee table, along with the envelope containing the money.

  He sat and drank some more wine, sipping slowly and cautiously now, because he didn’t want to get too drunk. Not when he was expecting a visit from a stranger! Had he forgotten anything? He didn’t think so. He sighed. Making these preparations, and then, afterward, having to put everything away and clean up, could be a pain in the ass. But it was the price a married man on the down low had to pay, for his fun.

  He heard a vehicle pulling into the driveway. Consulting the clock again, Marc saw that it was ten minutes to eight. The escort was prompt, which Marc appreciated. Sneaking a peek through the drapes on one of the living room windows, Marc saw an ancient Citroen, in need of some body work and a new paint job, parked in the driveway behind his own car. When the driver got out, he was indeed the young blond man Marc had seen in the agency’s photos. The male prostitute was casually but neatly dressed—and he was every bit as good-looking in person as his pictures had promised.

  Marc went to the front door and opened it before his visitor had a chance to ring the bell or knock.

  “Bonsoir,” Marc said.

  “Bonsoir. Monsieur Remy?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Dimitri. From the agency.”

  His French had less of a foreign accent than Marc had anticipated. He also had a rather shy, and altogether e
nchanting, smile.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been expecting you. Come right in.”

  “Thank you, monsieur.”

  “I don’t think there’s any need for us to be quite so formal. Make yourself at home. Call me Marc. Grab a seat. Will you join me in a glass of wine? I’ll uncork it here in front of you,” Marc added, matter-of-factly, “so you can see it hasn’t been tampered with.”

  Dimitri’s pink cheeks flushed a bit darker. “Tampered with? That hadn’t occurred to me.”

  “No? It should. As a general rule, a guy in your line of work probably shouldn’t eat or drink anything a client offers him, until you get to know him and you’re sure you can trust him. I’m sure most of the men who use your agency are reputable, and safe. Still,” Marc went on, with a shrug, “all it takes is one weirdo slipping you a ‘date rape’ drug to mess things up.” He smiled at Dimitri, who still seemed a bit flustered at the turn their conversation had taken. “Of course, you’re almost always perfectly safe with a repeat customer. Which I hope to become.”

  Dimitri accepted the glass of wine which Marc handed him. “You speak about such things almost as though—”

  “Yes?”

  “I was going to say, almost as though from personal experience.”

  “I do. When I was your age—I did a little freelancing, myself, to earn some extra money.” Marc laughed. “Not counting a few times when I gave it away for free, to ingratiate myself with somebody higher up on the corporate ladder. On those occasions, maybe no money changed hands, but for all practical purposes it was still turning a trick. There’s no shame in being a whore, if you’ll pardon the expression. The idea is to be a smart whore. You have nice manners. You should do very well in this business.”

  Dimitri relaxed. “Thank you. You’re a very handsome man. And this is such a nice house!” he exclaimed, looking around the room. “It’s so elegant. In such excellent taste.”

  “Thank you. Now,” Marc said, seating himself on the couch and patting the cushion right next to him, “sit down here beside me, and let’s start getting better acquainted.”