She had been swaying tantalisingly round the dance rooms of the old seaport of Ilmarel, transfixing elite of society and then walking away. Laughing at the recollection of their stares, she could almost have been speaking in Balinese for all they had understood. It was so frustrating to watch their goggle eyed stares, astonished at her discourse, hypnotised by her shadowy form, until she trod heavily with spiked shoe on their feet to bring them back to the reality of her presence. And now here she was alone.
At three or four in the morning, she had let the carriage drop her in the red dust fields near the old mountain gardens. Here among the weeping willows she had heard that the trolls gathered at dusk. It was much later now, though. Pitch black night and she was waiting for the Count, to exchange a gift of words. She stood up and sighed, closing the little gate in the fence that surrounded the lake. She walked onto the dusty fields, swaying impetuously, knowing that she was being watched and seeking to engender indiscribable feelings in that watcher.
She sashayed through the darkness in her silken oriental dress - a pattern of exotic wild birds strewn across the bodice and the skirt. It almost seemed as if the cockatiels with their garish plumage could talk when she moved, their likenesses so vivid in the moonlight. Would that watcher have wanted to bring out the colours of the plumage, even as he might one day bring out the blushing colours on her face? His desire would be enhanced by his love of her wisdom. Her blossoms would soon be covered in dew and not all of it from the damp grass round the willows.
She let in the the embroidery on her dress infest his desires as he approached. He leaned over, caught her laughing in his arms and kissed her. A hard, deep kiss. Probing, tasting, teasing. Promising the one thing that could build an illusion. He held her and, together, they both listened to the river trickling past in the silence of the dark night. Just stroking her neck and kissing her cheek was enough for him. In any case, she constrained any other action by holding his palm to her lips and touching his skin lightly, barely touching.
As the first birds began to chirrup before dawn broke, his kisses moved to her neck, then to her throat and finally to her soft pouting and oh so teasing lips. He began to feel her respond, moving sensuously against him. Her hands found his collar and pulled it aside. Her tongue tastes him for the first time.... sweet tingles ran over her. She laughed her sweet teasing laugh and he smiled before engaging his lips to her in a vigorous morning delight, his hands wrapping around her, slidding up and down her bare back, as if he were playing her like a musical instrument. Indeed it was evident that she was well tuned for the sweetest lyrical sounds emerged softly from her larynx, garbled murmurs and indecipherable moans....and she whispered meaningfully to him:
"Shall we dance this dance?
"Do we find love and lose old friends?" He responded quietly.
Then slowly, to the orchestra of a thousand waking birds, under the canopy of the trees, they began to turn slowly, arm in arm in a mystical dance of delight and contemplation of one another's forms and emotions, each striving to give pleasure to the other, by the most delicate inflexion of a face muscle or the deft enterprise of a hand wandering indiscretely, to a button on the others clothing. She slid her hand across his chest in a tender caress. Moving with his body, they swirled and span in the harmony of the night.
Dew layering on silk skin, fingers grazing lower. touching, encouraging, asking. He looked at her in the half-light and could not resist kissing her brow as they stood so close and danced in the day so methodically, crunching the gravel path beneath their feet into the ground with their earthy intentions, knowing that he would gather her to his arms when the moment came and take her tired form up to repose and gentle love making in the sunny south tower of the castle of Miramur.
She felt as if she had been enchanted, walking besides him. Miramur lay ahead - a distant promise of delight and design to pull them into each others arms. They suited each other in many ways, yet knew that they would never be complete together. He lifted her up over the muddy paths to save her dress. As he carried her, his hands strayed impatiently under the folds of her silk gown, touching a thigh or a hip, feeling her tense slightly and then relax as she remembered who she was with. She knew she could lie back in his arms in the knowledge that she was safer than safe with him and he would never make invidious demands upon her, for he enjoyed too much these thousand words that, like magic spells turned into her caresses - caresses and cuddles worth a fortune in friendship to him.
"You fill up my sky, MiLord," she murmured. "I love musing with you."
There again, thought he mischievously, slipping his hand ever upwards to feel the delightfully firm bulb of her bottom, it might be the exception that proves the rule. He looked up and gazed at the dubious instruments of chastisement that hung unused on his wall since he had sent his last submissive off in a gentle farewell and wondered, did he need to keep in practice. He looked down at her resplendent form and wondered - would she squeal shrilly or huskily as he applied himself.
She wondered whether she would ever allow such behaviour or bite her lip and moan in delight, as she settled at his side in the room, warm in the fire light. He was so caught up in his musings that he did not notice the movement of assent from her and merely nodded as she murmured: " MiLord the fire needs building up".
She laughed as she cast the first of many revered instruments onto the fire burning merrily in the hearth: turning red hot, melting into small puddles of his imagination. He loved her, resplendent and triumphant in this way - the look of her plump cheeks, shapely thighs and svelt legs victorious for a moment. A concentrated scowl on his face turned into a wicked grin, as he recollected her tight dress ridden up above her rear, pink white flesh coming into view a splendid sight, a sight denied to her for the blindfold allowed no light to seep through. All she could have heard then was his scurrying round the room and digging through drawers.
Then she would have felt a tugging at her dress so that it was completely out of the way. He would have sighed then and stood back to admire the exquisite target. Before placing his heavy palm on her right cheek, he would have knelt besides her to smell the reek of sex from her tousled curls, to her full pouty lips and glorious figure. He smiled and sensed the rising heat from the fire, redolent of the heat of her warm backside, when he applied his favourite instrument to her wanton posterior - a gentle hand, to excite, not to punish, but as a prelude to other pleasures. She wriggled and backed up against his hips, catching a rhythm in the fires crackle she swayed indolently against him.
Pleased with her night's work she sat back, and tantalisingly raised her skirts to knee level, leaving them to dangle and swing and watching his head sway like all the others, a hypnotised cobra under the spell of her limbs. She dropped her shoes to the floor and reached for the top of her stocking. Sliding fingers inside the top of the silky garment and wriggling them down her leg.dropping them off her toes, she bent awkwardly and then stood, turning her back to him.
All the while he had been considering her, wanting just to nuzzle next to her and stroke her hair, while reaching his hand around to fondle her bottom tenderly, remembering that lovable sway and how he wanted to capture her at this moment, sitting there, licking her lips, letting the wine stand by her side as she sought words and new encryptions to respond to these conjured images.
As she unbuttoned the bodice and slowly pulled it off her shoulders, he watched her gradually divest herself of her clothes, shifting her position to stay warm next to the fire, taking in each sensual movement, excited by the picture of enticement that she presented. She reached behind her. untying the knot that held the skirt tight at her waist, allowing it to drop to the cold stone floor. He held his breath at this revellation and the fact that just a slip and her hair tie was all that stood between them. She moved closer to the fire to stop the shivers, took out the clip and laid it on the mantle.
A gasp at the adorable form now revealed to him in its womanly fullness. He bowed and indicated the chinese screens, should she require a little privacy. She moved behind the screen, but with a light shining from behind he sees as she slides the straps of the slip off her shoulders. He turned away from her momentarily to calm his heated imaginings, walking to the curtains and pressing his head between the thick velvet, against the cool glass to bring him back to his senses. She wiggled the slip down over her hips and lifted it with her foot to her hand, laying it over the top of the screen.
He was still gazing out of the window it seems, a smile rising to his lips, for he had carefully placed a mirror behind the screen to reflect her form in the glass of the window. A long pause followed and , eventually she peeked out from behind the screen, wondering why he was apparently stuck to the glass. She stepped out gingerly, arms open and standing tall, laughing at him, for the cold air outside was such and the reaction to his hot lugubrious thoughts has effectively cemented him firmly to the glass. For all that he might struggle desperately, he could not escape without tearing his lips to pieces.
She moved to the fire, shivers running down her back as he curses his importunate peeking that appears to have cost him so dearly. Apparently ignorant of his plight, she took up his robe and a warm glass of wine, giggling to see him making fun even in his distress, flapping his arms helplessly like a captive penguin. She moved to the window and dripped the mulled wine over his lips, releasing him slowly from the sordid prison of his own making. Finally, he is unstuck and she touches him gently. In that breathless moment he saw her eyelids flutter and close as her lips parted in an unmistakable sigh. She pressed her lips to his, tasting the drop of blood that had formed. He reached out in the briefest of touches, thankful to his rescuer, as her kiss elicited a tiny gasp and an involuntary glance around the offered contours before him.
She returned to the fire, the cold of the room sending goose bumps over her. He followed her with his eyes and though her back was turned, the communication was instantly complete: She knew that he was only too well aware of her desires. For the time being that was enough. In one ultimate moment, she opens the robe and turns toward him, and he knew that she was mischievous in her way too, for she was he knew after all A tease. He noticed that she was in mixed mood - tenderness and yet agitation - somewhat nervous and flushed - bright eyed.
Sensing her intentions, he sat beside her at once, somehow knowing this was not really true, but rather a gambit of some sort. Or perhaps a ruse to cover her flushed breathlessness. As time passed he could see her eyes taking on that dreamy look. Sleep was obviously what she had come in for. Rising in response to that need, he walked over to the coverlets, pulling them back and, turning to her, beckoned her over. He smiled,as she came to him to lie down. He wished her sweet dreams and fine repose through the remainder of the night, watching her close her eyes even before he blew out the candle.
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