Chateau de Loire

OOC: Closed for Commendatore and Luna

http://img25.imageshack.us/img25/4069/clara2j.jpg Clara "Claire"


CHATEAU DE LOIRE (Newport, RI 1781)

Clara Bell was twenty years old when the young Englishwoman arrived on the shores of Newport, Rhode Island to become the ward of her mother's half-brother, Christophe Dessay. Her mother had passed away when she was only a child and her father was killed in an unfortunate shipwreck off the coast of Ireland just before her 20th birthday. Clara had never met her uncle; the family had been estranged from the Fremchman, although Clara did not know anything about the history of the rift.

Dessay's home was a sprawling mansion set against a remote section of the rocky Newport cliffs. Its architecture was based on a French castle from which its name derived, Chateau de Loire. It was a peculiar residence, with its polished gray stone, Gothic archways, and long, drafty corridors. Newport's new money referred to Monsieur Dessay as “that eccentric Frenchman” and did not bother with him much. Dessay was too blasé to either care or take notice. The mansion was complete with its own intricate hedge maze. Many marble statues of Greek and Roman deities graced both the interior and exterior.

Clara's uncle had a stern demeanor and yet he did not bombard the pretty, pert blue-eyed blonde with many rules. She was told to stay our of the labyrinth hedge maze, although he promised to one day take her through. She was also instructed to avoid one of the eastern corridors of the mansion, specifically a door that led downstairs that was always locked. Other than these two rules, Clara was able to go where she liked and do as she wished. Her uncle indulged her with all of the latest fashions from France, her blushes seemed to amuse him when the dressmaker outfitted the young lady in gowns with decolletage that would have been considered scandalous in her native England.

Clara had been at Chateau de Loire for a little over a year. Although she had many freedoms within the mansion, she often felt isolated and lonely. The house was strange, although Clara could not quite discern what was amiss. She felt often as if she were being watched, although she was far too sensible to believe that the place was haunted. She felt it most in the evenings as she would undress for bed; she felt as if there were a pair of eyes on her as she slipped out of one of her elaborate dresses into her silky white nightgown.

To help assuage her boredom, Clara made use of her uncle's vast library, which had helped her cope with what had been an inordinately rainy and dreary spring. Like her uncle, she shared an interest in classical mythology. As she browsed through this section, she spotted a leather bound volume written, like many of her uncle's books, in French. Its title was peculiar and tantalizing: Convoitise Divine or "Divine Lust."

As Clara opened up the book, she opened to a random page that made her gasp. It was an illustration of the abduction of Persephone, the goddess of spring, by Hades the god of the Underworld--who was also the goddess-maiden's uncle. Clara had seen paintings of the scene before but this was extremely graphic. She had never seen anything like this. The god was taking her maidenhood in his black chariot, Persephone's gown ripped and her hands pinned up above her head while he ravished her. The accompanying text described the scene in detail just as graphically as the illustration. Clara knew that no self-respecting lady should be reading this salacious volume but she could not put it down. A heat came over her body as she read its naughty pages and there was a fluttering in her stomach that was part fear and part something she could not name. It both repulsed and fascinated her. The other tales in the volume were just as lewd. The satyr god Pan was shown grabbing a nubile nymph's soft hips as he thrust inside her from behind and Zeus himself was shown with his head buried between the thighs of the sea-goddess Thetis.

Clara came back to this book more times than she would care to acknowledge or admit. Every time she looked for it, she fully expected the volume to be gone but it was always there waiting for her. She would recollect the images sometimes as she lay in bed at night, in the quiet and stillness of the evening. These fantasies would make her breaths come more rapidly and her heart beat faster. A feeling of shame, stark fear, and dark pleasure would wash over her in wicked waves, and there was an ache between her thighs that she did not know how to quench.

As spring moved slowly to summer Clara decided that she would have to delve more deeply into the mysteries of Chateau de Loire and its master.

http://www.pirates-cave.com/brotherhood-of-the-wolf162.jpg

Christophe Dessay had seen the direction of Imperial France and left the Continent. The monarchy was still enthroned, but it was only a matter of time. The English and Americans were easier to deal with. All they cared was that you pay your bills. Monsieur Dessay had seen to that, finding several advantageous ways of parlaying a small fortune into a grand one, and had moved to America, recreating in Chateau de Loire a bit of his home in the chosen refuge from European uncertainty. America had just beaten the British with French help; business had never been better, and his time was where he willed it.

When his young niece had been sent to live at the Chateau, Christophe had been somewhat disappointed. He wanted a young doll to dress and play with; a young woman to introduce to the pleasures of life from whatever approach. But she had seemed fearful and bored, and what is more, boring. Only rarely did he see the spark from her he wished to. He played voyeur once in a great while, observing her as she dressed, but even then there seemed to be no spice in her dish.

Then he noticed a volume of erotic myths, Convoitise Divine, had been moved and read. He began to observe her reading of it, watching for the times its movement would indicate further perusal. He seeded other volumes from his erotic library in and about the shelves to further spur her interest, to see if the filly could run after all.

May arrived and brought April's rainy tyranny to an end with its warm sunshine and balmy breezes. The change in weather lifted Clara's spirits. She still felt isolated in her uncle's large estate but she was learning to like the independence that went with it. Her father's death had hit her very hard. An only child, he had been her world, and it seemed impossible that he could be irrevocably gone. But the passage of time was helping to heal her sad heart. Clara's uncle was practically a stranger to her but even though she barely knew him, she did feel a sense of quiet gratitude to the man who had taken her in.

Clara decided to go to the library and pick a book to read outside since the weather was so inviting. As she perused the shelves, she spotted a misplaced volume simply entitled "Ariadne." She had always like the tale of Ariadne and Theseus and the labyrinth. It didn't take her long to discover that this was another racy book. Morality dictated that she should put the volume back but curiosity easily won the battle. This book was perhaps even more shocking than the other that she had read previously. The minotaur was a creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man, essentially a monster. In this version of the myth, the beautiful Ariadne was taken by the creature. This book did not have any accompanying drawings but the scene was so vividly detailed that Clara could see the young woman with the beast writhing over her as it penetrated her core. Clara was stunned and repulsed by what she read--but these feelings were accompanied by an elusive feeling of forbidden arousal, primal and as yet unawakened. The tiniest moan, unbidden, escaped her soft lips as she read.

Clara would not dare take the book out of the library, lest someone see her with it. But her curiosity about her uncle's hedge maze had been piqued. With heart racing and flushed cheeks, she made her way through the maze. No one was around so she was fairly confident that she would not be discovered. She knew that she disobeyed a direct request but she decided that the worst he would do to her was give her a talking-to. Besides, no one would know. She would be careful.

The maze was not terribly difficult to navigate and Clara easily found the center. There was a building in the middle, perfectly round-shaped. Clara expected the door to be locked but was delighted to find that it wasn't. An adventure at last! she giggled quietly to herself as she opened the door.

What she saw inside caused a soft, shocked, "Oh!" to escape her pretty lips. In the center of this circular room was a statue carved out of dark marble. It was a statue of the minotaur, perfectly life sized and utterly naked, imposing and blatantly erotic with its erect phallus springing up unabashedly toward the viewer.

Monsieur Dessay returned au cheval from the field, where he had bagged 6 quail, and beat the dust from his hunting clothes as he unhorsed. Entering the wing of his apartments, he drew a small keyring from his vest pocket and entered a door that seemed not to be there. Descending a spiral staircase, Christophe entered a low arched passage, and turned right.

This leg of the tunnel connected the Chateau with the cupola at the center of the hedge maze, one of many secrets within Chateau de Loire. Ascending, he entered a screened mezzanine that overlooked the main floor, then descended once more to approach the door. The thread he'd laid against the back of the door was gone, she'd disobeyed and come. Ariadne had failed to see this thread. Christophe allowed a slightly crooked half-smile.

Retracing his steps, he reentered the wing of his apartments, bathed and dressed, and retired to his study for reading and cognac, sitting in a leather wingback chair and desultorily smoking hashish. Dessay summoned a maid after a time and instructed them to send Clara to him.

He had tested her curiosity, and her wit. Now he would test her mettle.

Clara's heart hammered in her chest as she made her way back out of the hedge maze, her mind racing. It was certainly obvious. Her uncle had unusual sexual tastes--not that she knew much about such things. But she knew enough to be certain that most people do not have books with fornicating satyrs resting on their library shelves or life sized statues of lascivious mythological creatures amidst their lawn greenery. She would never speak of what she discovered to anyone and she would certainly no longer engage in her surreptitious reading of her uncle's sordid literature. But even as she steeled her resolve to put all of this behind her, a burning curiosity still lingered.

A couple of hours later while Clara was having her afternoon tea, Kitty informed her that her uncle was requesting her presence in his study. A tinge of fear rushed over Clara. What if her uncle had discovered that she knew his secrets? She quickly dismissed the notion. He was hunting all morning. No one had seen her. Besides, he would probably be so embarrassed about the whole thing that he would never speak of it.

Clara's shoes echoed against the mahogany floor of her uncle's study as she entered the room. She had freshened up before coming down to him. She wore a new dress, a lovely lavender confection. She was a petite girl, about 5'5 with blond hair and vivid blue eyes. The dress did exactly what the style of the day intended it to do. It accented her narrow waist and soft breasts. She gave her uncle a quick and graceful curtsy.

"You wished to speak with me, Uncle."

"Yes, dear Clara. Pray, be seated. Do you require anything? Kitty will be along to see to your needs." As he spoke, he gestured with an ornate ebony pipe, then placed it on his desk.

Monsiuer Dessay was dressed simply, loose white Egyptian cotton shirt with black cravat over close-fiitting black velvet trousers and boots, visible as he pulled a cigar from the humidor. Taking his seat, he interrogated her.

"What have you done recently that might have cause to worry you, Clara?"

He motioned to cut her off. His steely blue eyes fixed her with a penetrating gaze.

"No, no. First let me say something. This interview may go any way you choose- what is in you will determine that. You have done something that was proscribed to you for les bons raisons. Let us not even prevaricate upon that point; it is a fact. Now. You will answer all my questions with complete frankness." His manner was animated, energetic, but not hostile or threatening. It was rather the approach a hunter takes when his prey has done something novel. He wanted to give her her head, to see how she would run. He looked at her appraisingly. The dress suited her fantastically. He said so. Then he began.

"Why did you go into the hedge maze?"

Clara had underestimated her uncle. He had given her so many freedoms since her arrival at Chateau Loire that she had presumed he would not even notice her little transgression. He obviously had.

Clara did not answer her uncle's question immediately. She considered lying to him for a very brief moment. She could simply deny that she had entered the maze. Or she could tell him that something had startled her and that she had fled into the maze by accident. Clara was about to deny the whole thing when her uncle stopped her from speaking.

He motioned to cut her off. His steely blue eyes fixed her with a penetrating gaze.

Christophe Dessay was a mystery to his fair niece. But she knew one thing about him that was unquestionable.

He was not a fool. Clara quickly re-considered her course of action and made a decision. It was only the space a few seconds that these thoughts passed through her mind. But even so, to a keen observer, her hesitation would be evident. She decided to tell him the truth. She just wouldn't elaborate. She needn't tell him that it was the story of Ariadne and the minotaur--the book from his library--that precipitated her journey into the maze.

"Ah, I see that you discovered my secret. Yes....I did go into your maze. I was curious," she told him truthfully. She carefully omitted what she had seen in the center of his labyrinth.

"You have been very good to me since I arrived here. I hope that you will forgive me for disregarding your request." Her words were genuine.

Clara met his gaze. The intensity of his blue eyes on hers made her quickly look away.

"Did I not ask for complete frankness, Clara? Do you take me for a fool?" Dessay paused and regarded her directly. "Do not dissemble when I ask for honesty, it is an insult to us both."

"I know very well that you were curious, but that is of little consequence. Of course you were curious. It was forbidden to you. Only a dullard would observe such an asinine restriction. What I want to know is why you were curious, and you know that very well."

"And before you consider whether you will hold something back from me yet again, perhaps you would care to discuss your taste in literature?"

Christophe placed Ariadne on his desk gently, within full view of them both. He perused his chess board casually for a moment, then moved his knight, putting White in check.

Clara blushed a deep shade of crimson when her uncle produced Ariadne. He would not be outmaneuvered. He would have her tell him everything. He was stripping away her defenses. Yet even in the utter misery of her embarrassment, he made the tiniest smile play about her lips when he referred to his own restriction about forbidding her to enter his maze as "asinine."

"My taste in literature...," Clara swallowed hard. The next few sentences came out in a jumbled rush. "I found those books in your library quite by accident one day. I had never read anything like them before. I was fascinated. The books--I--they made me feel....I knew I shouldn't be looking at them. Everything that I've been taught tells me that they are utterly wrong. And yet I would come back to them. Over and over again. Repelled and yet--drawn to them. I--don't know what to say. When I found Ariadne I almost felt as if someone had left it just for me. A clue of sorts. Of course it would lead me to the maze. To Ariadne's labyrinth."

Clara stopped mid-speech, realizing what she had just said, articulating a connection that she had always known and felt but that she had not dared to acknowledge, even to herself.

What if her uncle had left the book for her? What did that mean?

Christophe watched bemused as his niece blushed, squirmed, and blurted. He savored her discomfort as one might a cleverly prepared confection. He allowed her to finish, observed the play of emotion and growing illumination on her face, then spoke.

"If everything you have been taught tells you such things are utterly wrong, then you have been tutored by fools, Petite Cheri. Each of us must come to understand such matters and feelings and become their master, or we live our entire lives a slave to them. Have you observed the Tarot? The Devil has much to teach us. Should we decide to live in ignorance and shame of our sensual natures, they plague us incessantly and cause much damage. I would spare you that."

He arose, poured more cognac, sat, swirled the heady liquid in the snifter, and inhaled deeeply of it, closing his eyes.

Dessay continued as he enjoyed the spirit's aroma:

"Have you never wondered about such things? Would you have plodded on in darkness until the day you married, ready to have your entire sensual life defined by your husband's knowledge and whim? Are you not curious to experience such things for yourself, to face life with eyes open and armed with a sense of your own pleasures and powers?"

He opened his eyes, cocked one brow interrogatively, his sensual mouth in a slight smile, and awaited her reply.

Clara listened to her uncle's every word with singular and rapt attention. She watched him inhale the scent of cognac, observed the way he did not taste it but first reveled in the aroma of the amber liquid.

"I have never seen a Tarot deck, Uncle. I have heard of them, of course. They are used for divination, are they not? What would the Tarot devil have to teach me?"

She continued hesitantly, slowly gathering more confidence as she spoke. "Of course I have wondered about such things but was told little. Yes, I know the logistics of the--," Clara paused searching for the right words. She decided that her uncle would prefer bluntness over a euphemism even if it would make her blush again. "Of the sexual act. A woman's duty to her husband. Like most women, I had hoped to find a compatible spouse who would teach me the rest. I was taught that sensuality without marriage is a sin and completely off limits. Given these restrictions, given the lack of opportunity, how would I have behaved otherwise?"

They are used for divination, are they not? What would the Tarot devil have to teach me?

"They are only believed divinatory by mystics and charlatan's thrall. What they truly are is archetypal images. With all the myriad ways man can be, we tend to repeat timeworn patterns, fall into the same traps. The images and their meaning give one grist for the mind's mill of self-improvement and ennobling graduation from ignorance and fear. The Devil has much to teach us, and particularly you, young lady. You read the books. You felt shamed, repellent, wrong for doing so. Yet you could not resist. Again and again you revisited the plates and passages that titillated you. The very wrongness of it held you in bondage. The perverse images made you feel a dawning energy you could scarce control. This is the message of the Devil. We hold ourselves in chains forged from our own ignorance and shame, only we may release us. We must understand what holds us prisoner by steeping ourselves in it. Only then may we tap the power that encompassing the darkness brings and leave our bonds behind."

His manner was philosophical, sensual. Christophe regarded her in a feline fashion, appraising and seeming to scent the air.

Given these restrictions, given the lack of opportunity, how would I have behaved otherwise?

"The lack of opportunity I may excuse. It was somewhat beyond your power to control."

Dessay moved close to his youthful niece in a languid manner, at ease. He inhaled deeply of the cognac once more.

"But you are not thus encumbered at present, Claire." He looked frankly into her eyes, not asserting anything, not holding anything back.

Clara listened to her uncle's description of the Tarot and its imagery of the Devil. There was sense in what he said, about human nature's predisposition to repeat destructive patterns, and more importantly, to her own situation in particular.

"I cannot deny that I yearn to know more about the sensual side of my nature, about the conflicting feelings that have been awakened in me: desire and doubt, lust and shame, self-control and reckless passion."

No one had ever called her Claire before, the French variant of her name. Her English father seemed to want to forget that his petite fille was half French herself. She liked the sound of her name on Dessay's lips.

Dessay moved closer to her and she did not step away, mesmerized by the grace of his movements and the singular intensity of his intentions.

"But you are not thus encumbered at present, Claire." He looked frankly into her eyes, not asserting anything, not holding anything back.

Clara made a decision. She spoke quickly--before self-doubt could take hold.

"I would be your student, Uncle, if you would guide me...if you would choose be my tutor," she told him softly. Her eyes looked into his squarely for a moment. But then, just as quickly, she had to look away, as she often did when he looked at her like that. For Clara, it was like reaching too close to a smoldering flame.

She knew that this would not necessarily be an easy journey for her. But it was one she wanted to take.

I would be your student, Uncle, if you would guide me...if you would choose be my tutor

He almost smiled, then extended a searching glance to her. Then a slightly mirthful movement of his mouth alone.

"Petite fille, I will be much more than a tutor. I will be a mentor, a confidante, a pontifex, and a master."

He came very near to Claire, standing more than a half-foot taller, overshadowing her. Close up, he had to look down sharply to meet her eyes. His posture was open, inviting the exchange of energy, of veracity.

"Make absolutely certain you wish this. I will brook no reproach once you indicate that you assent. To indicate that you do, pull the bell, and ask that a pomegranate be brought to us. Then go to the shelf near the window, pull down the volumes Aretino and Grivoiseries, and bring them here."

Dessay stood close enough to her that she could feel the heat from his body and he could, no doubt, feel hers. His height was imposing and yet she found his words strangely comforting and wickedly enticing. Her body ached for something that she couldn't name, something that she instinctively knew that he could give her. His intellect was as potent as his physical form and just as alluring. Desire mingled with fear of the unknown--both parts equally intense, fluttered through her young mind and body.

Claire rang for one of the servants. While waiting, she did as her uncle instructed and searched the shelf near the window for the volumes that he had requested. She found Grivoiseries first and dearly wished that she knew the meaning of this peculiar word but she could not translate it en englais and would have to rely on her uncle to explicate it.

She was still looking for Aretino when Kitty arrived. Claire turned when she heard the maid's footsteps.

"Please bring us a pomegranate, Kitty....Merci." Claire sounded vaguely flustered, her voice breathy.

"Oui, mademoiselle." The maid curtseyed to Dessay as she parted.

Claire finally found Aretino . She must have overlooked it at least twice as she searched. The volume was high up on the shelves. She had to stand on the very tips of her toes to reach it. As she loosed the book from its place with the tips of her fingers, she did not have a firm grip on it from her angle and it tumbled to the floor.

So much for grace. Claire thought to herself as she bent down to pick it up. She returned to her uncle and handed him the two volumes. She wasn't certain, because he could be a difficult man to read, but he almost seemed to be observing her with amusement.

Dessay watched with some amusement as his niece, in her state, completely ignored the library ladder just steps from her. He then watched with some satisfaction as she bent at the waist to retrieve Aretino from the floor. Her form was pleasing to him, now that her mind and spirit were as well, his enjoyment of her was increasing on all fronts, the army of his desire moving to capture and possess her.

He'd keep to himself that the volume she'd dropped was worth as much as two wardrobes full of silk dresses from Paris. No sense overtaxing the girl's mind and destroying her focus at such a threshold moment. A small smile played at his lips.

He took a seat on the leather sofa, and bade her sit next to him as she returned. Christophe reached to the side table, cut the pomegranate in half and took one piece in his strong left hand. Dessay's grip tightened, and a burst of the jewel-like seeds shot from the rind onto the plate, scattering droplets of crimson juice. He took several in his fingertips, faced his pretty young niece, and offered the succulent fruit to her petite and well-formed mouth, his eyes directly on hers.

He had opened Aretino to the engraving of Hades binding Persephone in precisely the same ritual.

Claire sat down on the leather sofa next to Dessay. She watched as her uncle deftly cut the pomegranate in half. She had never tasted one before. The fruit was costly and exotic, rather like him she mused. His own Persephone parted her soft lips and ate the proffered fruit from his fingertips. She nibbled delicately, tentatively, and slowly. A drop of red juice trickled down her chin and ran down, with its sticky sweetness, to the cleft between her breasts. She looked at him while she did this, fighting the urge to look away, wanting to express her willingness to please him in a way that she could not yet explain. Her mouth made contact with the tips of his fingers and she blushed as she swallowed the succulent juices and seeds of the pomegranate. Her lips were redder now and they glistened a shimmering shade of ruby.

Christophe allowed his fingers to play a bit in Claire's mouth as he fed her. It was soft as silk, tender and untutored, yet firm and elastic; nubile. He allowed the sensation of it and its promise for the future to wash over him for a moment, then he spoke:

"We will teach you everything. You will be as a goddess, petite fille, aware of the subtlest nuances of life and of your own powers and desires. You will make your own destiny, not accept what others would thrust upon you. You are young, beautiful, and full of potential. We will help you become whatever you desire." His eyes played with hers, imbuing every word and bit of inflection with meaning. He had fire in his gaze.

Then, in an impossibly sensual, serpentine fashion, he leaned his head to her breast, and using his tongue, effaced every trace of the ruby pomegranate elixir from her damask flesh.

Christophe's words were magical. They were potent, like an incantation, and suffused with the same fire that emanated from his eyes into hers. When he lowered his head to her bosom and swept his moist tongue over her flesh, she emitted a surprised, sharp intake of breath. His bold tongue was utterly thorough. It tickled and teased, leaving no trace of the wayward red juice. The sensation of his lips and tongue against her throat and then between her breasts was exquisite. She tilted her head back and gave into the first waves of pleasure that the contact created in her heated body.

"I want you to teach me everything, mon Seigneur," she told him softly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, caressing them shyly. Her touch was uncertain, gentle, and light like the wing of a butterfly. She could feel the warmth and the strength in his body as her fingertips glided over the Egyptian cotton of his shirt.

I want you to teach me everything, mon Seigneur

"C'est si bon, Mademoiselle...I intend to."

He drew back slightly, regarding her, a bemused light in his features.

He rose, pulled the bell, and when Kitty appeared, he sent for his butler, Alain. After some moments, Alain appeared. Dessay drew a length of black silk from his desk drawer, and bade him sit at the piano. As Alain was seated, Christophe fastened the cloth about his eyes, blindfolding him.

"Begin, Alain, with...Haydn, Sonata in D. If more is required, Sonata in C, if still more, Sonata in E flat Major."

"But Seigneur, how will I know to continue playing?", Alain asked.

"You will know, Alain. Now begin."

Dessay turned to his radiant niece, her skin flushed with first passions, eyes glittering. The notes began to float on the air playfully. He approached her, removed her pretty little silken shoes, two months wages for most. Then he bade her by motion to lie back on the sofa. His hands slid smoothly under her skirts and up to her thighs, and dexterously freed the fastening of her stockings.

Looking at her directly, he removed the stockings with sedulous care, then took one dainty foot into his mouth, adoring it. His eyes fixed her, and then traced a fiery line up her legs to the their joining, instructing her as to his intentions. Dessay smiled sensually and gave her pleasure all his attention, moving slowly with his mouth up her unspoiled flesh.

Claire laid back on the sofa as her uncle motioned for her to assume a reclining position. She gave one fleeting glance at Alain who had begun the sparkling first movement of Haydn's exquisite Sonata in D Major. She had definitely not anticipated the butler's presence, even if he were blindfolded. But when Christophe began touching her again, she forgot her nervousness.

Sound and touch enveloped her simultaneously and she began to feel heady from the sensations. Christophe's skilled fingers unfastened her stockings and peeled the silky fabric away from her thighs. "I think you're even better at removing those than I am," she whispered with a teasing smile.

As his mouth languorously kissed and licked her foot, she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan. His hands stroked her calves, slid over her thighs. His palms were warm on her knees as he fanned his fingers outward. He parted her legs.

It would always be one of the singular most erotic moments of her life, his gaze sweeping intimately over her exposed flesh while the sounds of the piano blazed in the background. He looked up at her for a moment with those cobalt blue eyes. She realized then that they were not a cold or icy blue. They were the molten blue of the center of a candle flame. He darted his head downward and plunged his tongue against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

But this time there was nothing Claire could do to suppress the rapturous moan that escaped her parted lips.

The sounds a woman makes in her first pleasures are more satisfying than hearing one's name honored by a crowd of thousands, Christophe thought to himself.

His mouth's adoration of Claire was languid, full of attention, and incendiary. Desire flowed from his mouth to her, fanning newfound sensations and prodding further dicoveries. Her body was an exquisitely presented gift that he savored to the fullest. Her sex was like the rest of her- dainty, flawless, insouciant. Dessay's tongue traced along the folds of her labia, circled and massaged the newly-hardened apex of her pleasure, treating all of her to his want. The silk of her dresses pooled up around her waist, her tender thighs spread, feet asplay on the sofa, Dessay moved lustily and delicately betweeen them, teaching her pleasure.

The music floated magically over them, punctuated by Claire's sweet moans of delight. A Concerto.

Just when Claire thought that she had surely reached the peak of pleasure, Christophe brought her to another height. The feeling came in waves and ripples, spreading from her sex outward through the rest of her body. His tongue and fingers seemed to be everywhere at once. She writhed underneath him, back arched, hands sliding through his hair. He took his time with her, slowly increasing the intensity of his ministrations. He sucked on her rosy clit and wiggled his tongue back and forth insistently....maddeningly.

And as Alain began the Sonata in E Flat Major, Claire came with an unmistakable shriek of pleasure, her soft moans punctuated by the tremors of her quivering body. Christophe sucked on her clit as she came, ringing one soft cry after another from her while the sweet sounds of the piano fluttered and echoed throughout the room, mingling with her cries.

The aftershock of such an intense orgasm continued to trill through her body as she lay there trembling for a few moments. Christophe gently caressed her thighs.

Claire sat up after a few moments. Her golden hair was eschew, her eyes glowed with the ardor of first passion, and her face was softly flushed. She slipped her arms around her uncle's neck and pressed her lips to his. She arched against him, kissing him long and full on the mouth.

Her kiss was soft, inquisitive. What it lacked in technique and expertise, it made up for in the promise of passion.