Earthgoddess
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 16, 2000
- Posts
- 1,676
Carefully slipping my needle into the sampler, I sat up and eased my sore back. The shade from the wisteria was fading as the sun had begun his fiery ascent. I glanced at the roof of the gazebo and saw the web,beads of crystalline dew drops clung tenuously to Mme. Spinner's fine weaving. I lost myself in girlish visions of diamonds clinging to my neck and hands, all the better to win the attentions of an admirer. I saw myself gracefully whirling and curtseying to the throes of the gentlemen all begging to be on my dance card. My fan fluttering as they pleaded for minutes of my time and attention, begging for a lock of my hair to carry with them as a keepsake. Listening to the imaginary swishing of my silk petticoats I scarcely noticed the shadow that had fallen across the gazebo. No gentleman caller was this,and no fancy mademoiselle was I to be squired about at the proper parties-he cleared his throat and the subtle tapping of his boot heel resounded in my mind.
I fell quickly into a curtsey that was almost utterly graceless, and managed to spill all of my sewing notions upon the dirty floor. Silken threads scattered among the dry leaves and my lackluster stitching landed at his feet.
"I am so sorry Sir," scurrying to gather my sewing I apologized repeatedly. Shaking his head he watched as I unraveled too many skeins of thread and in my struggle to contain them my combs fell lose. Painfully I took stock of my torn apron and smudged face-my new frock now dirty, the lace on my petticoat dragging- I looked like the influenza orphan he had taken in years before. Blushing with shame,
I looked up at him, through a tangle of unruly curls and waited for the inevitable reproach.
I fell quickly into a curtsey that was almost utterly graceless, and managed to spill all of my sewing notions upon the dirty floor. Silken threads scattered among the dry leaves and my lackluster stitching landed at his feet.
"I am so sorry Sir," scurrying to gather my sewing I apologized repeatedly. Shaking his head he watched as I unraveled too many skeins of thread and in my struggle to contain them my combs fell lose. Painfully I took stock of my torn apron and smudged face-my new frock now dirty, the lace on my petticoat dragging- I looked like the influenza orphan he had taken in years before. Blushing with shame,
I looked up at him, through a tangle of unruly curls and waited for the inevitable reproach.