THE FIRST SERVANT
Our lips separated. “Unlace me.” Her breath warmed my shoulder. With a start, I realized she’d unbuttoned and peeled my shirt partly off. She turned adroitly and took a step away. The night garment covered her in white. The overlaying corset, though of the lightest type, performed to excellent function. Reinforced by the stays, Amber presented a sleek feminine profile as if cast in a foundry.
To my surprise, the taut, crisscross laces proved uncomplicated to unravel. With tension released, the halves of the rigid garment parted. “Better?” I asked in response to Amber’s relieved breath.
She faced me in preparation for completing the removal. “Not so bad. This is not made for sleeping, but to kindle other…uh…nocturnal activities.”
I began to undo the fasteners, a vertical line of brass eyelets and opposing hooks from breast to navel. One by one they separated, each revealing an increment of the implied marvels beneath. With the last, the molding attire fell to the floor. Only the gauzy thickness of a cotton layer covered her curvaceous shape. She stood before me, stock still with arms at her side. Thick hair spiraled down over a shoulder and rested on the cleavage exposed by a partly unlaced bodice. A hint of make-up, nothing like the lavish applications when in Dudley’s presence, enhanced her stunning features. The slight uplift of her head called attention to a straight nose to make proud the revered artists of ancient Pellia.
Presenting herself with demure innocence, I understood if we never saw each other again, the image of her at this instant had become a permanent fixture of my consciousness like the superfluously-colored butterfly trapped in a glacial drift. An incorruptible picture, always fresh, a reminder to sustain me through whatever time remained in this doleful life.
She slipped from the last of her outerwear and for the first time I looked upon a naked woman’s body in full light. My child bride as well as the women I consorted with on occasion insisted on trysting in darkness.
I tried not to stare but couldn’t help myself. To my confused senses, she held the pose for an eon before breaking into a smile. Laughing, she jumped into bed, a lovely warm inviting laugh. The overwhelming sensation of participating in something beautiful and enduring swept away the last vestiges of reluctance over participating in her deflowering.
“I’m ready.” Her voice, almost a whimper, brought me to the edge of tears. I embraced her with all the tenderness of my being and we joined in passion. In periods of recuperation we cuddled. After several magical hours, she fell asleep in my arms. Unable to freeze time, I endeavored to prolong every instant together by fighting off the incursions of sleep.
As Dawn’s gray fingers probed the open areas of the Deland gardens, foreshadowing the end of our time together, I remember wondering if I’d have the strength of will to leave as agreed.
To my surprise, the taut, crisscross laces proved uncomplicated to unravel. With tension released, the halves of the rigid garment parted. “Better?” I asked in response to Amber’s relieved breath.
She faced me in preparation for completing the removal. “Not so bad. This is not made for sleeping, but to kindle other…uh…nocturnal activities.”
I began to undo the fasteners, a vertical line of brass eyelets and opposing hooks from breast to navel. One by one they separated, each revealing an increment of the implied marvels beneath. With the last, the molding attire fell to the floor. Only the gauzy thickness of a cotton layer covered her curvaceous shape. She stood before me, stock still with arms at her side. Thick hair spiraled down over a shoulder and rested on the cleavage exposed by a partly unlaced bodice. A hint of make-up, nothing like the lavish applications when in Dudley’s presence, enhanced her stunning features. The slight uplift of her head called attention to a straight nose to make proud the revered artists of ancient Pellia.
Presenting herself with demure innocence, I understood if we never saw each other again, the image of her at this instant had become a permanent fixture of my consciousness like the superfluously-colored butterfly trapped in a glacial drift. An incorruptible picture, always fresh, a reminder to sustain me through whatever time remained in this doleful life.
She slipped from the last of her outerwear and for the first time I looked upon a naked woman’s body in full light. My child bride as well as the women I consorted with on occasion insisted on trysting in darkness.
I tried not to stare but couldn’t help myself. To my confused senses, she held the pose for an eon before breaking into a smile. Laughing, she jumped into bed, a lovely warm inviting laugh. The overwhelming sensation of participating in something beautiful and enduring swept away the last vestiges of reluctance over participating in her deflowering.
“I’m ready.” Her voice, almost a whimper, brought me to the edge of tears. I embraced her with all the tenderness of my being and we joined in passion. In periods of recuperation we cuddled. After several magical hours, she fell asleep in my arms. Unable to freeze time, I endeavored to prolong every instant together by fighting off the incursions of sleep.
As Dawn’s gray fingers probed the open areas of the Deland gardens, foreshadowing the end of our time together, I remember wondering if I’d have the strength of will to leave as agreed.
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