The day had died long since when Milady looked around the room and considered the possibilities. She was intrigued by the intimacy of this early hour of the morning now that the revelry in the chateau had died down: And here she had found little group had collected in this anteroom ready for serious talk and, perhaps, amorous seductions.
Two of the men were sitting back and swilling large brandy glasses, trying to recollect snippets of old poetry, now that MiLord, their host had shooed them out of the library for the night. They had imbibed too much to protest and were happy to continue their gruff, intermittent and leisurely conversation here.
"Is our host a dominant man then, Sirs, to throw you so forcefully from your books?" she asked, trying to ferret out a little more information as always.
"He does his best, Milady," a voice behind her responded quietly and a reasurring hand touched her shoulder. It belonged to a younger woman, little more than a girl really. This young woman had scarcely been noticeable at first for she had remained silent in the shadows up to that point. Yet she seemed to perk up and shine at the mention of their host.
She looked keenly at the woman, asking: "And you, Milady, you are a lady of pleasure?"
Milady had no chance to respond for a slightly drunken poet slid into the room and brooking no contradiction demanded aggressively: "Anybody want a poem?"
"Wherefore art thou poetry?" the young girl sighed as the would-be bard sat down at a corner of the table. He poured himself a glass of wine from the tumbler. He giggled sottishly.
"I love the pleasure of good verse," Milady murmured taking sheaves of paper from the poet.
"Is his poetry full of thunderous passion?" the girl asked teasingly.
"Hey these pages are blank, you fraud!"
"Perhaps it is blank verse Milady," the girl smiled and both women laughed.
"The words have been stolen away," the girl added, "behind our host's chair by the little meeses?"
"Oh, I understand," Milady laughed.
"Explain it to me then," the younger woman giggled.
"The dao that can be seen is not the dao," Milady clarified briefly and turned towards their host. " Stolen away like our host's library."
There was no response from the brandy fortified bookworms, lying semi comatose in their armchairs now.
"We have to please ourselves in the silence, Milady," the girl pouted.
"Why are you so silent, Sirs?"Milady enquired turning to the gentlemen. "Are you not pleased with us?"
"I am who I am," one of the two intoned ponderously.
"He is who he is," the girl giggled.
"I think we are to much for these men," Milady sighed. "I think I shall depart."
The young girl walked over to her and reached up to kiss her cheek.
"I would go, but I do like a young girl's kisses," Milady laughed. "We can have a gossip dear and a little tongue in front of these foolish men."
"Men are so ignorant of what we desire, my young friend," Milady advised, letting her fingers begin a journey up the younger woman's leg, as they cuddled down together, their breasts rubbing together under their respective silks. "If they know in their hearts they are afraid to expound their knowledge."
"Yes, I can believe that," the younger girl blushed as Milady kissed her ear and whispered women's secrets. The girl nodded and understood, reaching her hand up to the love bite that Milady had just offered her.
"Our poor silent host is perhaps no longer Master of his own chambers," Milady laughed and licked the girl's hand. "I am yang when the yang is weak."
"The tang of yang?"
"I like the tangy taste of you, child."
One of the men deposited his glass and leaned back, sighing as he remembered a piece of late eighteenth century poetry.
"We have stirred him Milady," the girl chuckled.
"Good, I like men who are aroused."
"It's a bad habit of mine," the gentleman muttered.
"From turgid silence to erect declamation?" the girl teased.
"Erect declamation where? where?where?" another newcomer laughed, slipping her head round the door and smiling as Milady blew her a kiss.
"Welcome, come and play with us, here. What do you say young lady?"
The younger girl pouted jealously but nodded assent. Milady rewarded her by unbuttoning her blouse and pushing her back onto the cushions strewn on the floor. Milady smiled again at the newcomer and then eased down with the girl.
"You are too bold, Milady," the girl exclaimed fatuously as her skirt was slid above her knee. The split in the skirt revealed a pink thigh.
"When men hide, what choice do we women have but to be bold."
"Men hide from many things, it is different for us all," one of the gentlemen smiled, raising an eyebrow, but the others just sat and watched. "It's an obvious irony."
"I think I prefer them silent," Milady taunted, sticking her tongue out.
"No, stick your tongue in, Milady," the girl begged and was rewarded with a nuzzle to her bared hip. She spread herself willingly and receptively. The girl closed her eyes and thought on the man's words as Milady's hands encompassed her bottom cheeks. She gasped at Milady's artistry as her cheeks were pulled apart.
"Does the wolf take the meat as soon as he finds it?" one of the gentlemen mused idly, gazing at the congress of the two women before him and licking his lips.
"No," his companion countered. "Only if he is alone."
"The wolf watches and bays emptily then," the girl smiled up from the floor.
"Wrong again," Milady advised, inhaling deeply. "The wolf watches and waits. If he is hungry enough he only sniffs a little before he eats."
"So take it now , while you're still blind," the other man advised.
"So, I am just meat to you all then?" the girl retorted.
"A good point, but I am not hungry - so you are just a comparison," said the man slightly abashed.
"No, pet, you are far more than that for I do not eat meat," Milady gasped. "You are the flesh and the juice from the delicious fruit."
"More mango than tango, Milady?" the girl giggled and was rewarded by a long and lingering tongue, that seemed to luxuriate overlong in her nether parts.
"The fruit of the goddess," Milady added, fondling the girl's face.
"I'm a juicy fruit," she giggled again, but Milady was reading from a parchment provided to her by one of the gentlemen. "Absent though you be, mine host, I do like your writing."
"It needs work," the gentleman eventually responded.
"He has a sensitive soul. It is difficult for a man to be so sensitive."
"Whip it into shape then, Sir?" the girl quipped. "Beat it into submission?"
"It is difficult for anyone to be who they are," the man addressed Milady, ignoring the girl.
"Time will tell as time is inclined to do,"Milady replied, delivering a sharp slap to the raised buttocks of the pouting young woman and biting her sex lips, lightly, hissing: "Do not make fun of your elders and betters."
"Sorry Milady," the girl moaned softly and writhed sensuously across the floor, devoid of philosophy, but with a warmth to share and moist well to drink at. She lay next to Milady, pillowing her head in her arm, receiving gentle kisses, to nurture her through the spring night.
"Most men are unfortunately not worth meeting more than a few times," Milady commented as the girl ran her hand down to the woman's wetness, sliding into the receptive crevice. Milady's mouth opened with a moan at the girl's welcome hand and looked at their host. The touches were gentle, delicate and tender. The fingers stroked and slipped, caressing and teasing. The lady moved her lower body, swaying in time with the girl's fingers, perfectly atuned to the pet lying at her feet. In her turn, the younger woman watched the viscous flows, learning to breathe through their lust and explore all that lust hid.
The voices discoursing above her blurred into unreality as she focused on the warm waters flowing within her ladyship and concentrated on teasing those thighs apart. The tang of sweat, the glow of excitement both paliatives to her restlessness, a comfort that could prove a dangerous medicine when flavoured with nebulous words from the verbose gentlemen.
"Tell them to stop boring me with their treatises, Milady,"she curled up under her chosen Mistress of the moment.
"You are with me. Let go of boredom and drink from me," the woman reassured her, taking the girl's head and guiding her lips to full breasts. The obedient girl suckled lusuriantly, clamping firmly onto the proferred teat.
"Bite if you like. I like a little pain," the woman advised soothingly as the girl looked up quizzically, wide eyes searching the woman's smiling face. Then her lips descended once more to lick at the aureola, cupping the other breast with her hand.
Unbeknownst to them both, their host watched them, the view and their exchanges healing the engraved anxieties on his face. The girl's naive sassiness was far more expressive than any nebulous worry. With Milady, she formed a constellation - the plump of her belly, the hollow of Milady's groin - a speculative firmament that leaned in from dawn in a gesture of play.
Would her fondling create new skies for him to visualise before sunset? He could see skies coloured as pink as Milady's moist sex, cupped in the palm of the girl in a gesture of solicitude. He could envision the morning darkening to a red as deep as the blaze on the girls face, as Milady stroked its lovely contours. The two women squeezed one another, as if stealing dew from the grass at dawn - tightly, firmly, positively - to wish themselves and their host a wonderful new day.
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