Les Délices Parisiens

By Jillian Boyd

The first time it happened, I dismissed it as a mistake. A very tasty mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Then, the next day, it happened again. And again. In fact, it kept happening for an entire month. Not that I was complaining, of course. I mean, who would complain in a situation like this?

But I just couldn’t figure it out. Every day, at 8.30am, my doorbell rang. And every day, when I went to check, there was no one or nothing there. Well, nothing except a box of chocolates.

Chocolates that just happened to be the most amazing, mouth-watering, spontaneous-orgasm-inducing chocolates in the world. Or at least in the city of Paris - I hadn’t tried all the chocolates in the world... yet.

They’d come in different flavours every day, too. The first box was all milk chocolates. Now, a month later, I opened my door to find what turned out to be an assortment of dark chocolates with chilli flakes. I had to admit - this mystery benefactor knew his material. Any chocolate that makes a woman squirm with pleasure at that time in the morning is good stuff.

“Putain!” said my colleague, Audrey, after eating one. Her big brown eyes lit up. “This can make any girl’s knickers damp with just one bite.”

Audrey wasn’t one for swearing, but whenever she did, she meant it. Good or bad. We were on our lunch break in a café nearby, filling up on caffeine and office gossip. I’d been telling Audrey all about the mystery of the suddenly materialising chocolate, and she had demanded I bring her some to taste for herself.

From the way she was wolfing them down, it was safe to say she approved.

“Seriously, whoever makes this sort of confectionery should be studied in a laboratory. It should come with a warning for your libido.”

“I don’t even understand. It’s just chocolate. It’s not supposed to make me want to jump the next man I see!” I said. “More to the point, where the bloody hell is it coming from?”

“Maybe you have an admirer with good taste?”

“Oh, right, because I have them lining up on my doorstep, I’m so popular.”

“Maybe it’s someone you wouldn’t expect?”

“Okay, scaring me a little bit, there.”

“It’s not scary, it’s exciting! This is Paris, the city of romance. If there is an attractive guy who wants your attention, then this is a perfectly romantic and magical way of letting you know.”

“Knowing my luck, he won’t be even remotely attractive. It’ll probably be that weird bloke from the admin office. The one with Brie breath and wonky specs.”

Audrey furrowed her brows. “Wankee sex? Honestly, British people and their weird vocabulary.”

I nearly snorted out my coffee. Audrey just stared at me, like a confused cat. “What? What is so funny?”

“Nothing. All I’m saying is that I highly doubt Cupid’s on his way to draw back that bow for me.”

“And I’m saying that whoever’s bringing you these chocolates must... how do you say... fancy your pants. Honestly, Ellen, you’ve got to believe in a little Parisian magic.”

The expression on her face was so serious, I didn’t dare contradict her. Or tell her that the correct expression wasn’t “fancy your pants”.

***

I’d moved to Paris four months ago, after a friend of a friend made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Fortunately, no horses were harmed in the making of this offer. This friend once-removed was the head of a small company in Paris, and had heard about my bad luck with jobs back home. Coincidentally, he had a secretarial post going in his company and would I be interested in relocating to France? To be honest, I didn’t hear much of what he said beyond “in Paris”, because I’d practically packed my bags by the end of that call.

It was an amazingly lucky streak. Soon, I’d found a little attic room to rent for a pittance and was on my way. I quickly made friends with Audrey, the other secretary, and tried to settle in as best as I could. It was weird to be in such a giant of a city. I mean, the Eiffel Tower is a bloody big step up from living in Binsey...

That evening, I made my way home through the backstreets to the quiet side of town. You could argue that there is no quiet side of Paris, but my little bit of it did just fine. It had small cafés, cobblestones and - my favourite bit - a genuine French confiserie.

Having a candy shop across the street from my flat was a godsend. I stopped in front of their window every morning and every evening, just to salivate over whatever things they had in. Brightly coloured candy canes, pink puffy marshmallows and Callisons and Tagada Strawberries... It was enough to drive any sweet tooth insane. Even the name alone was an invitation - who could resist a shop with a name like Les Délices Parisiens?

I’d never dared to go in, mind. I’d stuck to window shopping. All their stuff looked so beautiful, it was almost pornographic.

“Madame?”

I turned around to see an older man with greying black hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses looking at me. He was dressed in a pink Hello Kitty apron, smudged in chocolate and sticky stuff. It was an unusual get-up, to say the least.

He noticed me staring and smiled warmly. “Oh, pay no attention to that. It’s just the remains of a long day of working.”

“Right. Long day.” I said, repressing the urge to snigger. “I’m sorry for dawdling in front of the window. I’ll be off.”

“Madame, pardon me for asking, but why do you never come in? I see you at the window so many times, but you do not come in and taste. Why is this?

“Oh... ehm...”

I scrabbled for answers. Yes, why didn’t I go in? It was a perfectly charming little place, and they had cheap and homemade candy. It wasn’t exactly like salivating over a necklace outside Tiffany and Co. That’s a whole different kind of guilt there.

The older man laughed heartily and shook his head. “Come in. We have just hired a new chocolatier as well. I’m sure you will be enchanted by what he has to offer. And, just for today, it is on the house. Come on. Indulge.”

What was I supposed to do? Indulging wasn’t really in my nature - I could actually hear my mother’s voice in my head, berating me for even wanting anything sweet. But she was quickly silenced as I stepped over the threshold into a world of wall-to-wall candy.

“Sit, Madame.”

The man gestured to a little chair at a table in the corner, which he politely pulled back for me.

“Tell me, what is your name?”

I sat down, eyes agog at the number of lollipops displayed next to the table. “Chupa Chu...Ellen! My name’s Ellen. Ellen Reilly.”

“Ah, ma belle Elaine, petite Anglaise. I am Patrice, and this is my shop of wonders.”

It was rather wonderful indeed. I was half expecting Oompa-Loompas to appear from the back, ready to serenade me.

“Eh... I wouldn’t know where to begin, really. It all looks very lovely.”

“Ah, but I know exactly where to begin. One moment, please.”

Patrice, in his cartoon feline apron, darted around the shop collecting delicacies for me to try. The next thing I knew, I was being fed copious amounts of artisanal candy by a man who, after each of my moans of approval, looked ever more like a gleefully evil candy genius.

And just when I thought I was going to collapse, he brought out his masterpiece.

“Now, to finish you off...”

Oh Christ, I was going to drop dead, wasn’t I?

“... a little truffle our chocolatier likes to call... Le Petite Mort.”

I gave him the side eye. “That’s a bit of a weird name. Am I going to go all When Harry Met Sally when I try it?”

I had meant it as a joke, but Patrice looked incredibly serious. Shrugging, I tentatively picked up the little truffle. At first glance, it looked a bit like what you’d get from your Aunt Madge at Christmas. But there was something about it that seemed familiar in a different way... Something about the way it smelled, the way it was shaped.

And then I tasted it.

The flavour was so incredibly rich, dark and mind-blowing that I was reduced to noises rather than words. It was only when I could bring myself to think coherently again that the pieces of the chocolate puzzle seemed to fall together.

“It is because you die a little inside upon tasting something so perfect,” said Patrice, laughing.

“This is... well, it’s brilliant! Is your chocolatier here right now? I could kiss him!”

Right then, a loud metallic clank interrupted my rapture. Clearly, those words had the desired effect. I turned my head towards the back door to see a young man with shaggy brown hair, blushing.

“Oh merde! Je suis désolé, Patrice, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Nonsense! Elaine, this is Eric, our new chocolatier.”

His blush only intensified. Our eyes met, as Patrice tutted something about Eric being a genius and that he shouldn’t be so shy. Eric scrambled together the bowls he’d dropped and disappeared into the kitchen, while I sat back in my seat and smirked.

I hated to admit it, but Audrey was right. My mystery benefactor was very attractive indeed...

***

The following morning, there were no chocolates. In fact, my doorstep stayed chocolate free for a good week, until I finally told Audrey about it.

“So? Is he hot?”

“That’s not the point!”

“I know, but is he George Clooney or George, the drunk from the park who sings Edith Piaf all day?”

I shuddered involuntarily. “Ew. Definitely not George the drunk. Seriously Audrey, what do I do?”

Audrey leaned back in her chair. “Just go and talk to him. Ask him if he likes you. And who knows, maybe you’ll get a taste of his Parisian delights?”

***

As was nearly always the case with Audrey’s advice, I did the exact opposite. That night, I sat on my little sofa, peering out at the stars over the buildings. Well, the visible ones. The rest was just a bunch of lights in random flats, dotted around like flecks of yellow on a painting.

Weirdly enough, there was a light on above the candy shop. I didn’t realise someone lived there. Curious, I got up from my sofa and peeked through the curtains.

From what I could see, it looked like a little flat, not unlike mine. There was one light on, illuminating a sofa. And on the sofa was an absolutely gorgeous and absolutely naked man. For a moment, I panicked, thinking it was Patrice. But then I noticed the mop of unruly brown hair, flipping to and fro.

“Oh my Christ, is that Eric?” I said, to absolutely no one. But it was Eric. Sitting down, or lying on a sofa, completely starkers. Big arms, tensed muscles, trembling. A distant, enraptured grin on his face.

Then it slowly dawned on me what he was doing. Part of me felt guilty for spying on him in the middle of an intimate moment, but most of me couldn’t look away. His body arched under apparent tremors of pleasure. His lips moved, perhaps faintly moaning into the silence of his flat. I was entranced.

I kept watching him until he came. And for a while after that, as he momentarily disappeared to clean himself up. He came back to turn off the lights, possibly to go to bed, ready for an early rise.

And as I did the same, undressing and slipping under the sheets, my bare flesh broke out in goosebumps as one thought swirled through my head. Was he thinking of me?

***

It seemed Eric was a creature of habit, always sitting down in that chair, naked, hard, at the same time every day. Between that and the chocolates, he had routine down to a tee. And I, meanwhile, developed a routine of my own. I’d pull a chair up to the window, sit down and watch what I could see.

And even though it was scarcely little, it was enough to arouse me. Watching him... being the voyeur made my pussy so wet that, by the third day, I didn’t even bother wearing underwear. I’d sit there, as naked as he was, with my legs spread and my fingers exploring. The street light cast a faint glow over my partly hidden body, but surely he wouldn’t notice... would he?

***

Eventually, I cracked. That Saturday, I dragged myself out of bed at an unmentionably early hour. I figured chocolatiers had an early start, considering he’d delivered the boxes at 8.30 every morning. So my plan was simple enough - wait for him to appear, and pounce. And the urge to do a bit more than just pouncing was already bubbling up in my chest.

I positioned myself in the little alley next to the shop. The smell of early morning bin-gunge hit me in the nose, in a way that was so much the opposite of the scents inside it made me gag.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes. I wondered if I’d made a mistake, but at 5.30 sharp I heard a rattle from the wrought-iron staircase nearby. It was Eric all right. He was dressed up in a snug hoodie and whistling a tune. He looked fucking sexy for a man who’d just got up. Bastard. All hair and teeth.

“Oi!”

I couldn’t stop myself from blurting something out. So much for the classy come-on I’d had in mind. Eric stopped in his tracks to look at this brash intruder to his personal space.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, chocolate boy.”

Jesus, Ellen, you’re trying to talk to him, it’s not Mortal Kombat.

“Elaine? What are you doing here? The shop will not open for another two hours.”

“Is there a reason why you’ve been leaving chocolates on my doorstep every morning? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate free chocolate as much as any sane person would, but why every morning? Why me?”

“Look, I cannot talk about this right now, because if I don’t get started on all the work I have today, Patrice will hang my derrière from a lamppost.”

He made his way further down the staircase and disappeared into the back door. But I couldn’t let it go. I had to follow him and tell him what I was thinking.

“Eric! Just tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Elaine...”

“It’s Ellen, you bloody idiot! I should fucking hope you don’t scream out ELAINE when you come every night.”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. The sudden tension hanging in that small, steely kitchen was almost unbearable. But I quite liked it. I liked how Eric slowly strode back towards me, until he was so close I could smell the aftershave on his jaw. My heart shot up into my throat and I tried my best to look away from him. If looks could make someone spontaneously combust, he’d be the expert.

“Either you are making a very educated guess as to my nocturnal habits, or my suspicions about you are right.”

I trembled in my sneakers. “Suspicions? Which suspicions are these?”

“You are a voyeur. You like to look, but not to touch.”

“What makes you think that? What makes you think that I don’t like to... touch?”

“Because it is so obvious. You’ve been salivating at the shop window nearly every day for God knows how long, yet this week was the first time you came in.”

“Your chef dragged me in here.”

“I know. I have ears. I could hear him, tutting at your face, wondering why you would not come in and indulge in his freshly made praline. It is because you do not indulge. Because looking is indulgence enough for you. Why do you not taste?”

I straightened myself, daring to look straight into his questioning eyes. “I’m a proper, well-brought-up British girl. I don’t have time for indulgence.”

He burst into a fit of deep, roaring laughter. “My dear Ellen,” he started, overemphasising the pronunciation of my name, “for someone who, just last night, was standing in her window, fingering herself while watching someone else do the same on the other side of the street... I call bullshit.”

My face instantly felt hot. He’d seen me, he’d bloody seen me, and the sudden wave of white-hot embarrassment was so overpowering I saw no other way out than through the door of the kitchen.

As I ran onto the street and back to my little flat, I could swear I felt all the blood rushing from my face to my cunt. I crawled under the still-warm sheets and let my fingers relieve the throbbing in my clit.

***

I’d had a stupendous orgasm. I’d had more sleep. And still, I couldn’t shake it all off. Pacing around my flat, I wondered what could distract me. Without any plan, I grabbed my bag and headed out to the streets of Paris. If I couldn’t distract my mind, I could easily distract my wallet. Opportunities enough for that.

See, on the right, a hip clothing boutique... Called Cocoa for some reason, but I could get past that. Just as I could get past the actual smell of chocolate in the store. And the posh chocolatier whose window display existed of a fountain of the stuff. And the couple in the park sharing a chocolate éclair between them. And George the drunk having added Sweet Like Chocolate to his anti-musical repertoire.

It was no use. Everywhere I looked, there was something to remind me of chocolate and sex and how much I wanted to lick chocolate off a certain handsome chocolatier’s bare chest...

The final drop came when I wandered into a backstreet and chanced upon a sex shop with a giant chocolate cock in the window. It was an affront to the eyes, it had crème ejaculating out of the tip and it was the very thing that made me decide I should just go home. Not entirely surprisingly, there was a little package on my doorstep. It contained five little chocolate drops, and a handwritten note.

Come to the shop at 8pm.

Knock twice on the door of the kitchen.

Let’s talk about indulgence...

Eric

Somehow, I didn’t think talking about indulgence would be Eric’s main priority...

***

At 7.55, my trembling fist knocked on the door of the kitchen. I was early, but the wait was driving me mad. I was too nervous, too aroused - I half expected Patrice to open the kitchen door and see me fidgeting about in my little black dress. The little black dress was a mistake, as were the frilly black knickers barely covering my bum underneath. Every slight breeze made me uncomfortably aware of my slick pussy lips.

With a croak, the old metal door opened, thankfully revealing Eric, and not his chef. Although they did appear to have a similar taste in aprons, as Eric sported a fetching blue Hello Kitty number.

“Nice. Are they standard company uniform?”

He laughed. “Luckily, they’re not. Besides, it’s not the kind of pussy I prefer.”

Seemingly from nowhere, he produced a small piece of chocolate, and before I could protest, it was in my mouth. I moaned my approval.

“There’s much more inside. Come.”

He took my hand, instantly smearing it with chocolate, and led me inside the kitchen. Clearly, they’d had a busy day; everywhere I looked, pots and pans and spoons and whisks were covered in sugar and cocoa. The scent hanging in the air made my nose twitch.

“So?” I said, levering myself up onto an empty counter. Eric didn’t face me; he just kept working.

“So what?” he said, chopping hazelnuts.

“Thought I was here to talk, not to watch you make Nutella.”

“Ma belle Anglaise, part of the enjoyment of indulgence is in the wait. It is... how you say... all in the tease?”

I felt like I’d been teased enough. The state of my now-sodden panties was evidence enough. “I don’t like to be teased.”

He swivelled around and handed me a chocolate truffle. “You say that, yet you have eaten every single piece of chocolate I’ve left on your doorstep.”

“That was hardly teasing.” I said, before taking a bite of the truffle. “That was more...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The urge to practically swallow the rest of the truffle whole was overwhelming.

“That was more... what?”

“I don’t know. A very elaborate seduction?”

“Seduction and teasing... very much the same, mais non? And you clearly enjoy it more than you are willing to let on. Already your panties are wet enough to leave marks on my work surface. I am guessing it will not take an awful lot to drive you completely over the edge.”

“You’re a very smooth talker, you know.”

“I am French. It is what we do. It may be a cliché, but we do know how to seduce.”

“By feeding an innocent English woman so much chocolate she can barely...”

He didn’t let me finish my sentence. He dipped a wooden spoon into his melting pot of chocolate and held it in front of my willing mouth. I needed no coaxing; my lips messily devoured the concoction on the spoon, leaving stains all over my nose and mouth. And then my lips were messily devouring his lips, the chocolate meshing with the taste of him. One long, sticky and sweet kiss, making my body prickle with desire.

I pulled away to get my breath back. He just grinned, like the handsome, lippy bastard he was.

“Basically, yes.”

“Well,” I breathed, completely dizzy with lust, “it’s very effective.”

He kissed me back, harder and hungrier than any man had ever kissed me. I stumbled backwards, against the surface I’d been sitting on earlier. My heart beat a frantic drum as he lifted me up on the counter and practically ripped off my dress. It was like he’d been possessed by a demon - before I could even brace myself, my knickers had been replaced by the feel of his warm mouth on my labia and his nimble tongue circling my clit.

He was licking and sucking me so fast, my head span and my mouth babbled out swearwords and cries. I grabbed on to his hair, pushing him further against me. My body shook so much that every pot and pan in the vicinity was shaking along with me. He feasted on my slippery wet centre, burying himself into me. His tongue seemed everywhere at once - circling my lips, flicking teasingly at my clit and lingering at my opening.

It drove me so wild that any manner of coherent thought had escaped; now replaced by a repeated chorus of “yes, yes, yes, more, more, more”. The lingering scent of chocolate in the air served only to arouse me even more. God, I wanted him. And God, I wanted his cock. I wanted to cover every inch of his body in chocolate and lick it off him until a single flick of my tongue on his cockhead brought him over the edge completely.

“Eric! Christ, please let me suck your cock, please.”

But he paid no heed and just kept licking me, until my heels banged against the steel of the counter, over and over again.

And just as my arousal swept me into a devastating climax, my heels gave the counter one final bang - tipping over a massive pot of cacao powder straight onto my naked breasts.

“Oh my God! Oh... oh my God!” was all I could muster up. Eric resurfaced, his chin and mouth glazed with slick girlcome. He grinned, before he made an assault on my chocolate-covered tits. His mouth lavished almost royal attention on my nipples, and his hands roamed the expanse of my body. Goddamnit, that man had me strung higher than a tightrope walker - and he bloody well knew it.

“Dark cacao on such lilywhite skin... it is like a work of art. Titian himself would be envious.”

I couldn’t speak. I could only moan as he undid his trousers and produced a condom packet. He tore it open with his teeth, taking his throbbing erection in hand and sheeting it. He gestured me to stand up, and I did so, barely able. He grabbed my wrist and span me around, bending me, spreading me and positioning himself so that his big, eager cock nudged hungrily at my opening.

I wanted it so much, that I didn’t leave it to him. I pushed myself onto his cock and gasped as it slid inside my slickness. He waited - seconds that felt like days, until he pulled back out, ever so gently... and slammed his full length into me.

My face lingered just above more of the spilt cacao. Holding on to the nearest steady surface, I breathed in the scent as Eric fucked me, properly, thoroughly, speedily and intoxicatingly. My ears rang with the sound of blood rushing through my body, along with the heated sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

The whole of Paris faded from my consciousness. All that existed only existed in this kitchen, in my cunt, the cock that was hammering into it, the fingers that were inexhaustibly frigging my clit and the smell of raw and dark chocolate filling the room. Everything shook and everything trembled. More pots of cocoa powder came tumbling down, dusting the entire counter a shade of red-brown.

And that was all I could see as Eric fucked me into a messy and sticky orgasm. My walls contracted around his sheathed cock, which pulsed with the makings of its own climax. As he came, his fingers dug into my sides, trying to keep us both from collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

After a few moments of silence, punctured only by heavy breaths, I let out a sudden and throaty giggle.

“Is it bad that I want more now?”

“Mais non, ma belle Anglaise. Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”

I kept giggling. You had to love a man who quotes Mae West...

***

“Putain, it really exists!”

“It’s a candy shop, Audrey, not Narnia.”

About a week after our little nocturnal rendezvous in the kitchen, I finally had the chance to spill the details to Audrey. She demanded I take her to the shop immediately, and had made it her priority to go there during our lunch hour.

“Mon dieu! I love Callisons.”

As if he sensed it, Patrice materialised from the kitchen, wearing his kitten apron. “Ah, mademoiselle Elaine! You’ve brought a friend! Who is this lovely lady?”

Audrey blushed as Patrice kissed her hand. “I’m Audrey. I work with Ellen.”

“And you say you like Callisons? I have Callisons the taste of which will blow your mind. We have an entire batch in the kitchen for you to taste.”

“Monsieur, you do know how to tempt a woman.” said Audrey, almost visibly swooning.

“Eric! Eric! Pouvez-vous apporter les Callisons ici?“

Sure enough, Eric appeared, sticky with chocolate and carrying a box of the candied sweets. It didn’t take long for Audrey to put two and two together.

“Is that him? Chocolate man?” whispered Audrey. As Eric caught my eye and winked, grinning, I smirked.

“Mon dieu. Some girls have all the luck in the world.”

“And I have chocolate too.”

Just for punctuation, I fished a little truffle out of my handbag, ready to take another bite of Parisian Delight.