Feldare Tales: Virtuosa
It must be the height of irony that I know, in an instant, that I love a musician.
Deanara gasped as she read these words, then covered her mouth. The young man sat upright, sniffing the air. He then spun about in the chair, looking at her with his icy stare.
The look of shock upon his handsome face made Deanara regret having read his private words. His expression immediately turned to one of dismay, then resignation. His mouth moved a few times, then he said. "I hope you did not read that."
He enunciated slowly, but clearly, and his voice, though a bit odd was more cultured than her uncle's. She shook her head and smiled. "No, of course, I didn't," she stammered, and knew instantly that he knew she lied.
He blushed as he smiled weakly. "It is okay if you did, I do not write lies."
"How is it you can speak so well, if you are deaf?" asked Deanara, deciding that since he knew, there was no point in being coy about it.
Another smile came to his face. "I did not go deaf until I was ten," he said.
"I see," said Deanara. She was silent for a moment, then added, "That is even sadder, I think."
The young man nodded. "I did not think so until this very night," he said. "Now, I regret my loss more than ever."
Tears welled in Deanara's eyes as she thought of how painful the loss of her own hearing would be. Many people say that the players grow immune to the magic of their own music. She knew this was a lie, though, and she made herself cry quite often with a softly played song.
The young man saw her tears forming and held out a hand. "Please, this is my birthday party, and I wish none to be sad upon it," he said.
She sniffed loudly, and then realized he could not hear it. A tiny smile formed on her lips and she took his offered hand. "Thank you," she said.
The two walked from the library and through the parlor to the ballroom. Heads turned to see them together, and holding hands, but he quickly turned to face her and bowed. He was inviting her to dance.
Deanara's eyes widened a little at the offer and she said, quietly, but moving her mouth normally, "But how?"
He pointed toward the quartet playing the music that the crowd was currently waltzing to. The cello player was tapping his foot in time to the music. "I watch him," said the young nobleman.
She smiled and then curtsied. He put his arm around her slender waist and led her off on the spinning movements of a waltz. She watched his eyes, which split their time between gazing at her and flicking toward the cellist to reorient his timing. He was a fine dancer, and she knew that they were being watched by many of the folk at the dance.
For one, they all knew whom this dance was in honor of, and she was dancing with him. Another reason was that she had managed a fashion coup, and was the only woman at this ball wearing an elven dress. Most of the women wore the corsets and petticoats that would soon be last year's fashion. She moved gracefully in the unrestricting dress, and her slim form was well-shown in the shimmering cloth.
She had feared that the sheer material and how well is displayed a woman's anatomy would scandalize the gathering. However, compared to the rather obvious display the man wore beneath their jackets, she was the height of modesty.
The song ended and the dancers all separated. Another song, an older one struck up and settled into its rhythm, it was a very slow, intimate dance. The young man offered her his hand again and she took it. He pulled her close to him and she pressed against the youth. He smelled of lilac, which mixed well with the rose-based perfume she wore. She realized in a flash how he had known she was behind him in the library, the scent of her perfume.
Other couples danced about them, though almost all were married pairs. It was an intimate, romantic dance, and most of the more casual dancers were not ready for such personal contact.
Still the young man watched the cellist, but less and less so. She did not care, though, if they stayed upon the beat that the band established. She was following another beat now, one in her chest. He was superb at this form of dance, even more so than the waltz.
Her pleasure at how the intimacy of this dance made her feel was very evident to her, and she wondered if he was aware of it.
His own pleasure was quite apparent, and she felt it pressing against her belly. She knew this was an evil of the current fashion, and prayed that it would end soon. This once, however, it did not upset her to feel a man's swollen organ against her.
A broad smile formed on her face as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder and her belly against his swelling cock. A part of her mind warned her against leading this young man along, and another part responded that she was not leading anything on, except her desires.
Deanara was inexperienced with men. She was common born, and no virgin, but she had only been with other lads from her home neighborhood. Those gropes in dark places had been short-lived and sporadic at best. The young man she moved across the dance floor with was a different sort, older, by a few years, and much more handsome.
She had always approved of her own appearance, but her talent had always come first. Most of the people she had met loved her talent, and she was all but forgotten in their excitement to view her skills.
This young man was immune to most of the effect of her talent, and was simply a man with her. She aroused him, and just her, not her skill with the violin.
His pole hardened beneath his jacket, and lengthened. A look of surprise flowed into her eyes as it kept on growing, moving down her belly, and even onto her thigh. He looked down with a worried expression and asked a silent question with his eyebrows.
She mouthed the words, "I don't mind," silently and he smiled and pressed against her again. Deanara was a bit alarmed, though, that his pole kept growing to such a massive size. She had thought to try to lie with him this night, and was now a bit frightened at the prospect.
He had moved them toward the double doors leading out onto the patio as they danced and as the song ended, he ushered her out the door in two short steps. Out on the darkened patio, she relaxed, knowing the erect nipples beneath her dress would have been boldly obvious inside, as would have the long protuberance in his tights.
Deanara giggled at their mutual discomfort and looked up to see him smiling down at her. He held out his arm and she took it. They walked to the very edge of the illumination leaking out the great bank of windows to the ballroom.
She stopped and looked up into his eyes, flickering with reflected, distant light. "What is your name?" she asked.
Wearing a grin, "Luchurio," he said.
She noted a few other couples on the darkened patio, and even some out further, in the even darker gardens. The nearest couple was about thirty feet away, kissing passionately. "We do not have to do that," he said, noting her gaze upon the couple.
She turned back toward him and donned a wide smile. "Is that you saying we could but won't or that we can't but you would like to?" she asked.
Luchurio returned her smile. "It is me saying that I very much wish to, but do not require it of you."
Deanara looked up into his blue eyes again. "Let us walk, you talk too much," she said.
They walked out away from the house. She could hear the tinkle of water in a fountain ahead and it emerged slowly out of the darkness as they neared it. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the near blackness around them. "This is your home?" she asked.
He did not reply. She looked up and saw that she could barely make out his face in the dark, and knew he could not read her lips now. She could not talk to him anymore, until they got to a place with light.
His large, powerful hand upon her back felt good and in a bold move, especially for her, she took it from his back and placed it upon her bare upper back, at the edge of the cloth. He kneaded the smooth cool flesh of her spine and moved the hand upward to her shoulders. Her muscles were tense from the playing and the squeezing he did felt good.
|
LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
|
|
 |
|
Send to your friend