La Boheme

[Morgana]

For the moment, this is a closed thread for Ariosto and Morgana. We invite you to read along with us. This thread is based on Puccini’s opera La Boheme. The action, however, begins about 6 months before the actual start of the opera and will focus on the meeting of Marcello and Musetta.

Paris, 1830

Musetta

A sudden awareness of movement wrenched Musetta from her slumber. Christophe Bordeaux, artistic director of the Paris Opera House, was standing by the base of her bed, hastily buttoning his cloak. She sat up.

“Leaving me so soon, monsieur,” she said coyly, watching him struggle with the tie at the neck. “Let me do that,” she said, moving toward him, the sunlight streaming softly on her voluptuously naked body.

“I have to go,” Chistophe told her abruptly.

“When do rehearsals start?” Musetta queried.

Christophe looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Did I say this season, my pet? I meant next season….so it will not be for quite a while.”

“And the voice lessons you promised with Madame Vallon?” she pressed, “Are those also for next season?”

“Mme. Vallon is booked, cherie, surely you must have mistaken me…”

“You lied to me,” Musetta told him icily.

“No no….not lied….I got caught up in the moment with one so beautiful,” he replied, kissing her hand,” I may merely have exaggerated my….my….er…abilities to be of assistance to you.”

Musetta pulled a sheet over her shoulders and stepped out of bed in one swift moment. Her blue-green eyes were filled with stormy rage as she stared directly at Chistophe.

“If you don’t do something for me, as you have repeatedly promised me, I will come to the opera house and I will make a scene that you will never ever forget. I promise you.
And I keep my promises.”

Christophe eyed her warily. 5’8 with that sweet, cherubic face and generous mouth—she was irresistible. With her light eyes and strawberry blonde hair, she reminded him of a painting he used to admire of Venus lying in the arms of her Adonis. He remembered the day she had stepped into his office, music in hand, requesting an audition. There was an intensity about her that had made him pay attention. He had seduced her; there was no doubt about that. Her inexperience had charmed him but he had been completely unprepared for the fiery conviction of her wrath as she stood before him now.

“There’s a little café in the center of the city. They are looking for a singer. I’ll make the arrangements. It’s a completely respectable place. Not opera but it will give you performance experience.” And so began Musetta’s employment as a chanteuse at the Café Momus.

Musetta had been at the café for a few months. The money was good enough that she could keep a small apartment only a few blocks away. In the late mornings, she was allowed to practice her singing, to use the stately grand piano as she worked through her music.

On a beautiful moonlit night at the very end of May, Musetta got dressed for the evening’s entertainment. She wore a very pretty light blue gown with a plunging neckline and princess waist. It clung to her body in all the right places and accented her soft curves. Her boss knew that it was her sensual manner and fine figure that kept the customers rolling in, as much as it was her pleasing voice.

Musetta started the evening off with a couple of sultry torch songs, making her way through the crowds while they sipped their wine and ate their sandwiches. She flirted with the men while she sang, placing an arm on one’s shoulder, touching another’s face with the curve of her hand, and even sitting on the lap of a man toward the front dressed in a soldier’s uniform.

Her third song was a love song, one of her favorites. It wasn’t the kind of crowd pleaser that the early selections were, but she loved the beautiful lyrics and plaintive melody. She noticed a solitary man in a white shirt and black trousers, standing toward the back of the room, a glass of wine in his hand. He was listening to her and watching her intently. The way he looked at her gave her butterflies in her stomach and made her cheeks flush with warmth. Her own eyes were drawn to him like a magnet and for a few moments she could have sworn that it was only herself and him in the room. As she sang the words, each phrase was meant for him alone and Musetta felt that rare but extraordinary magic where art and life meet.

As the rest of the evening wore on, Musetta forgot about him until she had finished singing, when the café was getting near closing time. She was sipping on a glass of Merlot that the soldier had bought for her when an elbow jostled her. Red wine splattered in droplets over her hand and onto a man who was standing to her left. She recognized him immediately as the one she had noticed earlier, his white shirt covered in splotches of burgundy.

She turned. “I’m so sorry, monsieur!” she exclaimed, her eyes meeting his.

 

[ariosto]

"Please, It's nothing. Nothing at all. Most of my shirts are stained with more than wine."
His voice was a rich baritone, she noticed that in everyone she met. Their voices...his was deeply shaded, smooth...perhaps a slight inflection from the South.

"I'm a painter you see. I came her tonight in my best shirt just to hear you sing. Marcello's my name...may I?"

He took her hand in his and bowing down kissed it with a flourish.
He was a handsome man. Tall with black hair and eyes, his skin too indicated a more Mediterranian background.

"You came to hear me sing?"
She was somewhat taken aback by his statement.
"Where did you hear...."

"From a mutual friend Musetta. From Monsieur Bordeaux our distinguished Director in fact."

Her face colored at the mention of his name.

"He is a bastard, isn't he? He still owes me 300 francs from the painting I did of his hideous wife. I think he sent me here hoping that the sound of your voice would be payment enough."

"And is it, Monsieur...Monsieur...?"

"I am Marcello my dear, that's all. No Monsieur Anything and yes I consider the debt well paid. You have the voice of an angel."

She flushed again but not in anger.

"Please sit by me Marcello until I sing again. Tell me are you a rich and famous artist?"

He laughed and sat down in the offered chair.
"Oh no...not yet. I've had a few paintings in the salon but only a bit of praise. No money I fear...In fact that's another reason I'm here."

"Oh?"
She sipped her wine and he drank her in with the eyes of a painter that caressed her like a brush of full oils. She was very beautiful and she was or had been Bordeaux's whore.

"You see these drab walls of Moma's?"
He gestured broadly around the room. She nodded...

"Soon they will be graced by the grand and stunning murals
of yours truly.
It appears Musetta, that you and I will be working together for awhile."

 

[Morgana]

Musetta

They made a striking appearance sitting together in the Café Momus, Musetta with her northern French fairness and Marcello with his dark Mediterranean good looks.

“It appears, Musetta, that you and I will be working together for awhile.”

“I’d like that, I think,” she smiled, “and I assure you, Marcello, that I’m much less trouble than our darling benefactor….I usually wait for at least a few weeks of acquaintance to pass by before pouring wine all over my male companions--but it seems you were an exception.”

Flirting had become somewhat of a habit for Musetta, something she did as naturally as sipping a glass of water or getting dressed in the morning. The men of Paris had taught her all too quickly that it was her beauty they desired, more than her wit or talent, and she played the game. Her survival had depended upon it and Musetta was a survivor.

She admired Marcello’s candor. There were few who would speak so openly about Monsieur Bordeaux, especially when they worked for him. Although Musetta no longer shared Bordeaux’s bed, he remained an unpleasant presence in her life, constantly dangling a carrot in front of her, promises that she knew he would never honor.

“What brought you to Paris, Musetta?”

She laughed.

“The opera. I wanted to study here—to be an opera singer. I lost my mother when I was 10….she died in childbirth. My father followed her with consumption when I was 18. A little over a year later, I took the little money that was left to me and came here to audition for Monsieur Bordeaux, our mutual ‘friend.’ The café does good business, Marcello. Perhaps someone more worthy than Monsieur Bordeaux will take notice of your work here.”

She liked the sound of Marcello’s name on her lips. She found herself wondering why she had just been so open with him. Usually she said very little about her past. She also wondered how much he knew about her and Bordeaux. He probably thought she was nothing more than a mercenary little tart, sleeping her way into success.

“So are you working tomorrow morning, Marcello?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring you some breakfast, if you’d like….it’s the least I can do after ruining your best shirt.”

“I’d like that.”

“I promise not to make another mess,” she joked.

“I’ll take the risk,” he answered with a smile.

 

[ariosto]

He stayed for her last number, sipping absinthe and smoking from a dutch clay pipe. He could well imagine her on the opera stage, singing one of Rossini's pieces perhaps. Her voice easily filled the little café and she was obviously capable of much more.
As he watched her he dicarded the idea of going to L'Maison Bleu and finishing the evening in the arms of a prostitute, deciding instead to wait patiently until closing, offering to walk her home or...he checked his wallet...yes, hiring a hackney cab.

Oh no I could not let you do that!
Her face was flushed and she was still breathing heavily from her last songs as she drew on her gloves and picked up her hat.

Please then let me walk you, I believe we live in the same direction.
It was a lie of course, his room was twenty minutes in the other way.

She smiled and he felt himself going soft inside.
Very well then Monsieur Artiste you can tell me all about yourself as we walk.

It was past midnight and the Momus was not in the best neighborhood. Having Marcello with her was in fact a great comfort and she slipped her arm through his...

I'm a native of Toulon whose precocious talent and soaring ego led me to Paris ten years ago. Alas I think my skills are more
precarious than precocious and my ego now walks rather humbly ...but I get by.

She enjoyed his voice, it was slow and full of warmth. She could almost hear the mediterranean crashing on the beaches as he
rambled on.

Stop!...I have a knife...I'll use it!

The man who lept in front of them looked more like a loathsome ape than a human but the knife in his hand was very real and wicked looking.
Musetta's heart almost stopped.

Marcello raised his hands above his head and nodded for her to do likewise...

The fellow has us my dear...Go on take my wallet if you must but leave her alone...she is young...innocent...

The robbers eyes drifted to Musetta as the painter knew they would and without a second thought he brought his arms down hard on the fellows knife hand.
The blade skittered into the gutter and the creature ran off into the night holding a shattered wrist.

Are you all right?
He put his arm around her. She was tembling.

Perhaps we'd best flag down a cab afterall.

 

[Morgana]

Marcello helped her into the hansom. She was still shaking.

“Thank you, Marcello. You’re not hurt, are you?”

He shook his head. “You have no business walking home alone in a neighborhood like this,” he told her gruffly.

“I wasn’t walking alone,” she replied with an impish smile that made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss that full heart-shaped mouth, to explore every inch of those soft curves with his hands….with his mouth.. She smelled like orange blossoms and he wondered if she tasted like that, too.

The hansom pulled up in front of an aging residence that looked like it was in much need of attention.

“Please come inside with me. I’ll make you a cup of tea or some absinthe. I think I have a little left. I don't want to be alone just yet." She wanted to be near him. It was more than just the comfort of his presence that she needed. The telltale inner stirrings of her body as they sat so close inside the cab told her that.

Marcello nodded. He did not need to be asked twice.

Musetta’s flat was nicer on the inside than it was outside. She had two little rooms to call her own and she had decorated as well as her modest budget would allow. There were several vases of fresh flowers and what must have been an heirloom lace tablecloth covering her small table. The walls had been recently painted a pale buttery yellow that gave the place some added warmth. A shelf contained book after book of opera scores and sheet music, some old and tattered, others new. Marcello knew how expensive music was--and voice lessons--and language instruction. He thought about how hard she must be struggling to attain her dream, a young woman alone in Paris.

Marcello offered to help her light the candles and Musetta watched him from a distance. She liked the way he moved, the way the flickering light illuminated his handsome face. It felt good to have him here. Vaguely, she realized that she was trembling again, only this time it wasn’t from fear.

Musetta stood on tiptoes looking inside her cabinet for absinthe but there was nothing left, just some sherry and an old, cheap bottle of champagne.

She turned around.

“I’m all out of absinthe.”

He was looking at her, his lips curved into a boyish smile that spread to his dark eyes as he gazed at her.

“I don’t want absinthe,” he told her, his eyes resting on her lips.

Musetta moved toward him, and in what was almost one motion, he drew her against his chest and tipped her head back, kissing her with an aching tenderness. Her lips parted eagerly and she sighed audibly as his tongue explored the sweetness of her mouth. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. She could feel his heart as it beat rapidly against her own and Marcello felt the exquisite softness of her breasts pressing up against his chest.

She bent her head to nuzzle his throat and neck, nibbling and then sucking softly until she heard him groan, his hands sliding down her back and cupping her buttocks, squeezing gently and molding her to him. His fingers found the laces of her dress while she moved up to kiss him, sliding her tongue inside his mouth in a teasing rhythm. She could still faintly taste the absinthe he had drunk earlier. He slid her dress down, letting his hands linger over the roundness of her breasts, his thumbs barely caressing the taut nipples through the light fabric of her chemise. Musetta slipped Marcello’s stained shirt over his head, smiling at him as she did so. She trailed kisses all over his chest and down to his navel. He shivered as he felt the tip of her tongue enter his belly button. He undid the pins in her hair, watching the reddish blond waves as they fell past her shoulders.

Musetta inched her way upwards until she found his mouth again for another searing kiss. She was even more beautiful with the rosy flush of passion that stained her cheeks and reddened her lips. He could more easily feel the warmth of her body without the hindrance of her dress but he hungered for more of her. Her hips moved softly against him while they kissed and she could feel the growing evidence of his arousal pressing against her thigh. Marcello was torn between wanting to explore her slowly and wanting to ravish her.

 

[ariosto]

Their blood had been heated by the near brush with violence on the street that night and Marcello had the fiery temprement of the South, patience especially sexual patience did not come easy to him. It was all he could do to keep from tearing the remainder of his own clothes and hers from their bodies and taking her right there on the floor in front of the warm fire.

Musetta though, he knew would bloom more fully under the gradual caress of knowing hands and lips and with a will he restrained himself and stepping back looked at her...

"We have all night do we not?"
She could read in the timbre of his voice a barely contained urgency. She flushed with pleasure knowing that she was doing this to him.
"Yes....all night."

He unbuttoned his baggy trousers and let them fall to the floor. His shoes and underclothes came next. In the mellow glow of the firelight and candles he seemed to be made of burnished golden oak.
Marcello's physique was more powerful than she had imagined and she watched the well defined muscles work beneath his coppery skin as he disrobed with growing eagerness. She watched with fascination as his erection, now released from it's confinement began to rise and thicken before her eyes. She wanted to touch it...hold it....

He stood naked before her. Extremely self confident...
He smiled...
"Shall we go on?"
She laughed and nodded, the look on her face was one a mix of eager anticipation and sensual abandon.
"Oh yessss...she whispered.

Kneeling before her Marcello began to unbutton her shoes, first the left then the right came off. She etched designs across his broad shoulders with her nails as he worked...
His hands, large and a little rough moved slowly up her legs, carrying her chemise up with them. She was grateful that she'd decided to wear her last good pair of stockings that night. His hands were gentle but knowing as they caressed their way higher and higher up her satiny thighs.
They paused at the ribbons that held her stockings in place and she felt his lips against her skin...

Marcello loved the shape and feel of her legs, he touched them with an artists hands, trying to memorize each swell and curve.
He began to kiss them, trailing his lips in the wake of his fingers up the taught smooth length of them. When he reached the bare pearly flesh above the stocking tops, and just below the white fabric of her last undergarment he began to lick her ...his lips and tongue moving sensuously over the tender flesh just inches away. Inches away from her....

The thought of his tongue there...his mouth there, sent a shudder through her body. Musetta's fingers laced into his hair and pulled his face closer into the fevered warmth between her legs...

"Don't stop....don't stop..."

 

[Morgana]

Musetta felt the heat of his breath between her thighs. When the first strokes of his moist tongue licked the tender part of her flesh, so close to her throbbing center, she shuddered and entwined her fingers in his hair. He swept his tongue slowly and firmly across her heated sex. He could taste her, even through the fabric of her undergarments. The wanton way she pressed against his face filled Marcello with pure unabashed lust as he eagerly drew down her stockings, cupping and stroking her thighs. He drew the last of her undergarments down, kissing her ankles as she stepped out of her underclothes. She was utterly lovely in her nakedness, with the kind of soft curves that would draw the eye of any artist, and he knew he would have to paint her someday.

Marcello swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and knelt between her thighs. He caressed from the top of her thighs to her knees in one bold stroke, parting her legs. Beneath the soft strawberry blonde curls, her swollen sex glistened with moisture, begging to be tasted. He bent his head and flicked his tongue lightly between her nether lips. Musetta gasped. He licked her again, from her vulva to that little swollen pearly bud of pleasure, darting his tongue in rapid circles. He took the little bud between his lips and sucked then nibbled. Her hands were in his hair, guiding him. Musetta watched him the whole time, the sight of his head between her spread legs was intensely erotic and as he licked faster….harder….Musetta’s body trembled with pleasure, the spasms pushing her deeper against his mouth.

When Marcello moved upwards to kiss her mouth, Musetta tasted her own juices on his lips. She ran her hands all along his muscled back and buttocks. She loved the feel of his hard body and delighted in exploring him. She felt the heat of his cock pulsating against her abdomen and when she reached to stroke him, to touch him there for the first time, he almost seemed to twitch beneath her curved fingers. She encircled the tip of his cock between her thumb and forefinger then stroked upwards and then down again, loving the feel of his velvety hardness. She ached to feel him inside her.

“Marcello,” she whispered in his ear as she continued to stroke him with those maddeningly deft fingers, “I want you so badly.”

 

[ariosto]

Her teasing fingers and the salty taste of her sweet juices on his lips were driving him mad.
He looked down to see her hand wrapping around his cock which was now hot and burning, stiff with pulsing blood...aching with desire.
She began to stroke him. He looked at her desperately... he knew he could'nt take much of this. He hadn't had a woman in a long time and never in his life a woman that looked like this one .

Musetta.. he breathed,
I must have you...I must have you...I..

She saw the look of alarm in his eyes. Felt him tense up quivering and shuddering in her hand.

Oh God!,
he tried to roll away, to stop what was coming!

She pressed him back, one hand against his chest while the other tightened on his pulsing swollen cock, increasing the tempo of the strokes...suddenly she wanted him to cum, to see him explode in her hand, to watch as....

Marcello let himself go...he could not wait. The wave rose and took him over the edge. He came with a rush, deep churning forces sent his spend erupting from his purple swollen glans!
He looked in helpless fascination as Musetta continued stroking him, his ejaculation geysering upwards, catching her face and her hair...she never stopped ...on and on and on, until there was nothing left.

He fell back on the bed, his arm covering his eyes.

I'm sorry Musetta, I couldn't hold it. I couldn't...

He heard her laugh and then...unbelievably felt her begin to...

 

[Morgana]

....Marcello felt her silky hair on his torso and when he moved his arm away from his face he saw her, felt her moving downward. She licked the still warm milky fluid from his abdomen and thighs. She lapped the glistening juices from his member with slow, lazy strokes of her tongue. She had wanted so much to taste him, to show him without words the complete pleasure she took in his release.

Musetta nestled beside her lover, resting her head against his chest. She could smell the musky scent of their bodies, the smell of sex in the air. She turned to kiss his forehead, his eyelids. She nuzzled his cheeks and then opened her mouth against his so she could taste his lips again. The electricity between them was still so strong.

In between kisses, Musetta told him, "....Oh, my Marcello, you are the perfect lover...and I am all yours.""

 

[ariosto]

The gas light guttered out but the sky had cleared and moonlight flooded in the one narrow window.
Coal embers burned in the small tile fireplace but most of the heat in the room was contained beneath the the thick quilt that Musetta's Aunt had made for her when she left home.

Though they had talked of many things the last hour Marcello was constantly aware of the warm naked presence of the girl curled against him. He stroked her hair and shoulders...caressed her cheeks and throat. His hands played across her breasts...cupping them, gently squeezing them. His fingers glided on the smooth warm skin of her back, down over the curve of her buttocks and along the silken length of her thighs.
He pushed his knee between her legs and felt her mons, gently mounded and moist against his skin.
His lips met her a thousand times and passion whispered in their ears.

The bells of Sainte Adeline tolled across the brittle night as she took him once again in her soft hands and brought him quickly to a feverish state of arousal. Musetta threw her leg over his and felt the soft tip of his cock press against her sex.
.
Take me she whispered...take me now Marcello...

 

[Morgana]

Those dreamy caresses of his kept Musetta in a constant state of desire. She loved the feel of his large, strong hands roaming over the swell of her breasts, making her nipples erect, and sending shivers up her spine when he found that sensitive spot at the top of her inner thigh. She felt a growing moisture gathering between her legs and the longing to feel him inside her was a burning craving that she had never before experienced.

The soft laughter and sultry whispering of the two lovers filled the space of the room while they explored one another. Musetta lightly caressed his chest and laughed when she felt his cock harden at her fluttery touches across his abdomen and over the taut bronzed skin of his thighs. She brought the very flat of her palm against the tip of his rapidly swelling member and rubbed in firm, rapid circles. Her other hand played with his sac squeezing gently, stroking underneath until she heard him gasp. She began to rub him more firmly, rounding her hand to fit around his shaft and moving up and down, reveling in the sensation of his smooth flesh against her hand.

Musetta knelt between his knees and threw her leg over his. She felt the soft tip of his cock press against her sex.

Take me she whispered...take me now Marcello…

Marcello slipped his arms around her waist and guided her toward him. The sight of her naked body, drenched in moonlight, intoxicated him. She opened her legs wider as she felt the tip of his cock sliding exquisitely over her clit. She arched her hips toward him, pushing her body slightly upwards until she felt his cockhead slip inside her slick warmth. Her first movement toward him sent Marcello sliding deeper within her trembling body and the two lovers moaned in unison. Musetta’s movements were at first slow but deep and Marcello pushed against her with the powerful force of his ardent need for her. His eyes roamed over her lovely flushed face while his hands sought the breasts that bounced with her movements, enticing him to squeeze and caress, her nipples pushing against his palms.

Musetta’s ecstatic cries mingled with Marcello’s low, husky groans and the sound of their bodies moving together in rhythm. Musetta dug her knees into the bed, sliding up and down the length of his cock with almost violent abandon. Marcello sought her hardened clit and it seemed to burst between his fingers, covering him in her salty juices.

“Musetta….Musetta….." Marcello moaned breathlessly, knowing that his release was imminent. He could already begin to feel her convulsions driving him deeper still inside of her....

 

[ariosto]

He stilled his movements long enough to feel Musetta's shuddering contractions on his throbbing erection. She controled the tempo of her delerium with his rigid pole the center of her actions....Up and down, up and down....He watched her with his own fevered eyes...watched his cock as she sank down on it then tensing her thighs sliding up again and down...up and down...
Her movements were coming faster, more abandoned. Marcello grasped her hips to steady her...unable to restrain himself anymore he met each of her downthrusts with a powerful arching of his hips...driving himself into her even deeper.

Her breasts were wet with perspiration her nipples pointing outwards crying to be squeezed, crying to be sucked...He wanted to be two men and ravage her breasts while she rode him to oblivian.

Her hair was a tossing wild mane around her flushed face, her eyes were ferel...unfocused. He had a tiger loose on him. Musetta the tiger...Muset....

Goddddddddd...MarcellOHHHHHHH!"

He felt her coming...
His hands slid up and covered her sweat slick breasts...crushing them. She cried out, shuddered and began to violently release herself.
His cock was suddenly bathed in warm oils...she fell against him, her hands knotting into his hair, her teeth biting into his shoulder.
She was grinding him to pieces!, squeezing him in two! Cresting over and over as he continued to drive himself into her right through one orgasm and into the next.

 

[Morgana]

Musetta felt herself splinter into a thousand pieces with the intensity of her orgasms. With each spasm, Marcello felt the shuddering, squeezing motion against his rod, their cries sounding together in harmony. His fluid gushed between her thighs as his impaling thrusts matched her own fevered frenzy, his seed spilling deep within her womb--like a benediction.

She sank against his chest and for a few moments the only sounds in the quiet room were the labored, heavy breathing of the entwined pair. Musetta rolled off of him to snuggle within the crook of his arm and felt his lips on her forehead and his hand brushing through her hair.

Soon sleep claimed them both and it was not until Marcello felt the sun in his eyes that he awoke.

 

[ariosto]

He slipped out of bed and into the chill morning air of the room.
Stretching to his full height and yawning he seemed to fill the cramped space completely. He walked to the window which had been left open. The breeze raised goosebumps on his naked body. He closed it and gazed out.
Paris...the rooftops of Paris with their chimney pots and pidgeons, stretching away as far as the eye could see. From here he could see the truncated steeples of Notre Dame and realised just how far from home he was.
He laughed it had been well worth the walk.

Musetta was still sleeping and he wished for a moment that he had his tools handy, he would love to sketch her as she lay there. Perhaps another time.
He decided to get dressed quietly and slip away. He should have begun working at Momus allready, she'd not need to be there until tonight.
He was a curious man and could not resist the urge to pick up a small miniature painting here, a book of poems there, he even took up her garments held them to his face and reveled in their texture and scent.

Marcello was almost at the door when he looked down at her sleeping face once again. Leaning down he kissed her lips softly and then her throat. He slipped the covers down and his mouth found her breasts and he kissed them a hundred times, light butterfly kisses.
Musetta moaned softly and he felt her fingers lacing into his hair...

 

[Morgana]

Musetta dreamed of Marcello. She dreamed about him nibbling and kissing her neck, his warm breath sending chills up her spine. His mouth moved to kiss that soft space in between her rounded breasts. Then she felt the exquisite softness of his lips trailing kiss after kiss over her left and then her right breast. She could feel his nose sliding against her skin, inhaling her scent, making her nipples harden with the feather light contact.

She moaned and slid her fingers into his hair. When she opened her eyes, the slow realization dawned upon her that this was no dream.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he told her, his voice muffled as he pressed his lips yet again to her skin, kissing his way up to her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her pointed nipples pressing against the fabric of his shirt.

”Any chance of a little breakfast together,” she inquired, reluctantly breaking the kiss.

Marcello smoothed his hands up and down her lovely back. ”As much as I’d love to, my Musetta, I’m already late for the Momus. I’ll be painting murals but I’ll be dreaming of you,” he smiled.

”Would you be kind enough to accompany a lady home again this evening, monsieur Artiste?” she asked him, already knowing his answer.

“Unquestionably."

Musetta kissed him again, longingly, her tongue sliding into his mouth, meeting his own for an all to brief tango. He caressed her cheek and murmured a husky farewell in her ear.

Marcello grinned as he made his way to the Momus that morning, hoping that it would be a short day and a very long night.

 

[ariosto]

"Shut up Rodolfo!"
He'd been trying all afternoon to paint the imagined faces of the happy clientele of the Momus for the mural behind the bar and time was running short. He'd have to pack everything up and put it away before the crowd began coming in.

"Marcello your my friend! I can't eat I can't sleep. I'm lost without her!"
With a sigh he gave up and came down the ladder wiping his brushes on an evil smelling rag.
"You sent her away you idiot. Now stop whining!"

"But I had too, you see I could not take care of her I..."

Marcello turned on him.
"You are a spoiled child Rodolfo, afraid of any responsibilities...you make me sick sometimes!"

The poet cringed under the verbal onslaught but fired back.
"It's easy for you to sit in Judgement, to say what's right and wrong. You've never in your life been truly in love...NEVER!"
Rodolfo slammed his drink down on the table and stormed out into the cold.

that may have been true yesterday my friend, but today?...I'm not so sure.

 

[Morgana]

As the months passed, Marcello and Musetta became inseperable. Their quarrels were infrequent but stormy, although they never seemed to last for very long. Musetta became friends with Marcello's roomate, a poet named Rodolfo, and Rodolfo's girlfriend, Mimi, a seamstress with pale blue dove-like eyes and cheeks that were all too often flushed with fever. Poverty in Paris was cruel.

On a cold night, when the streets were covered with snow, Musetta made her way to Marcello's flat. Rodolfo was out for the evening and Marcello wanted to paint her.

Marcello immediately recognized Musetta's familar step as she shut the door and walked inside. He was in his room, sketching a drawing. She still found herself becoming instant mush when he flashed that devastating smile of his. She watched him as he gazed critically at his drawing.

She walked over and kissed his cheek, peering over his shoulder.

"It's good.....very good.....but then so is everything you do," she told him. "I have a present for you, Marcello.

She handed him a package.

He sat down at the end of his bed and opened it up. It was a white dress shirt. Marcello held it up to himself. It was about two sizes too large and the left sleeve was longer than the right.

Marcello looked at her, his eyes filling up with mirth.

"Um.....thanks, Musetta. I.....I can't wait to wear it. You made this, didn't you, love?

She nodded and let out a loud laugh.

"Yes, it was to replace the one that I ruined when we met. I wanted to make it myself. I think I should have taken Mimi up on her offer to help me out. I'll have to ask her to help me fix it."

"I love it, Musetta, because it's from you---even if you can't sew worth a damn," he told her grinning.

As he stood up, Musetta gave him a playful swat on the bottom. He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her against him for an intimate and lingering kiss. Musetta loved the scent of him--spice mixed with the smell of the paints and oils that he used.

Breathless and heated by his kiss, Musetta queried in her melodious voice, "Do you still want to paint me tonight?"

 

[ariosto]

A voice cried out in his mind, a voice he'd heard many times before...
*NO! Take her now! Make love to her...make her hot with passion, flushed with arousal, Enter her, possess her, fill her with yourself!...and then when your finished, paint her!*
It was a voice he'd often heeded but tonight he knew that to follow it would lead to an evening of sensuous delight but no painting whatever would get done.
Yes, let's paint. I've wanted to since I first laid eyes on you...you vixen!

He made a grab at her but she danced away grinning and disapeared behind the dressing screen.
How much shall I leave on my Marcello? Or do you only wish a portrait done?
There was laughter in her voice and then her shawl flew over the partition.

He swallowed hard,
Well a simple portrait would be very nice but..

Her peasents blouse landed at his feet.
But?

He bent to retrieve it, held it to his face breathed in her scent.
Maybe partially undraped, perhaps...

Her skirt flew out followed by her undergarments!
She stepped out into the lantern light.
So here I am mon artiste, partially draped, will this do?...Marcello you are not wearing my sweater!

He didn't hear her words. He was dumbstruck.
She stood before him in shining black shoes and white silk hose that climbed halfway up her thighs and were held in place with delicate rose ribbons.
He wanted to tear them off with his teeth!

 

[Morgana]

Musetta found the lustful look in Marcello's dark eyes to be the most intoxicatingly powerful of aphrodisiacs and she smiled impishly, the dimple on her left cheek showing. Cupid himself could never have looked so alluringly naughty, as she did at that moment.

She draped herself luxuriously on an old, beat-up settee in the corner that must have been older than their grand-parents. She turned on her side, one long leg bent on top of the other, leaning back and supporting her head with her hand.

There was a bowl of fruit on the end table next to her and Musetta suddenly changed her position for a moment, reaching over for a banana.

"I'm absolutely starving," she told Marcello as she peeled the piece of fruit open. In what seemed like one motion, Musetta opened her lips around the banana and half of it disappeared down her throat.

Marcello's jaw dropped

He couldn't keep his eyes off her as he watched her chew and swallow, finishing off the rest of her snack in the same fashion.

Her eyes twinkled as she shifted around on the settee.

"How do you want me, Marcello? I think you'd better come over here and arrange me."

She beckoned to him with one teasing finger, her eyes full of mischief.

 

[ariosto]

In the light of the lamps Musetta's skin glowed like pale gold. How smooth she was, how exquisitely formed.
Marcello ran his eyes over her body, squeezing and caressing in his mind as he did so. Every curve, every hollow was dear to him and by now he knew them all most intimately.
Leaning over her he could feel her heat, smell the perfume he'd bought her for her birthday.
He repositioned her right leg and ran his palm over the silk of her stocking up to the ribbon that tied them.
He paused, the creamy contrast of her skin to the dark silk top sent an aching shiver through him.
He bent to kiss the warm flesh, to lick it, kiss it, moving slowly to the down on her mons...
She moaned and ran her fingers through his hair...
"We won't get much done this way Marcello my Love."

In his mind he saw her lovely lips around that curving banana and honestly didn't care if they got much work done now at all.

 

[Morgana]

The heat of his breath between her parted thighs awakened Musetta's desire and made her moan softly. He knew her body so intimately. Marcello flicked his tongue from the back of her sex up to her swelling pearl and then back again in tortuously slow strokes, teasing her open. His reward soon came in the warm dew that seeped from her moistening tunnel. He grasped her hips greedily and pulled her against his mouth, eagerly lapping up her juices.

Musetta whimpered and thrust her hips against his mouth. He took her crimson bud between his lips and sucked on her while two fingers entered her slick passage.

Waves of simmering pleasure swept through her loins and Musetta could only gasp in ecstasy while her hips thrashed wildly under the ministrations of his lips and tongue and fingers. Her hands were tangled in his hair and she threw her head back, her lips parted. She moved her hands to the sides of his head and guided his mouth, spreading her legs wider and rocking her hips back and forth in a fevered frenzy. Marcello's shaft throbbed inside his trousers, her primal responses driving him mad with need.

 

[ariosto]

I want you...
I want you she whispered...a soft urgent whisper.

He could feel the heat and the aching stiffness of his erection but held himself back. To do as she wanted, to do as he was mad to do, would be to release not only the physical essence of his blind desire but also to sap his creative edge and tonight..tonight...he would paint her!
Paint her as she looked after being thrown into the violence of orgasm. He would bring her to the peak again and again all night long if he needed to. When the picture was finished and only then would he allow himself his own release.

I want you Marcello...

No, give yourself to me this way, to my mouth, I want to taste you.

Knowing now that this was not merely a delicious foreplay but her lovers true desire, Musetta spread her legs yet wider and drew apart the soft pink petals of her moist gate to allow him full entry into her passage.
She closed her eyes and drifted into the waves of
sensation that came from his long sweet tongue and hungry lips.

 

[Morgana]

Musetta's orgasm came in wave after wave of sensation. Marcello continued to lap at her with ravenous strokes through the shuddering crest of her pleasure, his face buried deep within her nether lips while his nose pressed maddeningly against her bursting clitoris. Her hips rose and fell against the settee as the tremors wracked her body and he heard her gasp repeatedly. The pleasure became almost too intense and Marcello felt her hands gently push his head away. But when he brought his mouth to her lips she kissed him with exquisite tenderness, tasting her own juices on his lips.

Marcello loved her like this, her body flushed with the heat of orgasm. Her skin glistened with perspiration and her lips were the vivid red of ripened strawberries. Her breasts heaved up and down with the ragged sound of her breathing, the nipples dark pink and swollen.

"Don't move," he told her, moving away from her toward his waiting canvas.

 

[ariosto]

Her face and breasts were brightly flushed with arousal. Her hair lay in a delight of disorder...her thighs were slightly spread and she looked the perfect wanton.
He began rapidly to paint. Very little in the way of prepatory sketches. All of it done right there on the canvas. She angled across the suface from corner to corner, in deep chiarascuro. His brush flew like a birds wing...

When he saw her beginning to relax he left the canvas and walked to the divan, kissingher lips and sending his tongue deep into her mouth, his hand opened her legs and he played with her, teasing her pearl and slipping his fingers inside,
moving them until he felt her delicious tightenings and the rising heat of her arousal.
Then he'd step back and paint in another violent flurry of activity
creating her beautiful face and lush body from nothing at all.

He would come to her and suck her breasts, toying with her nipples till they nearly hurt, Or he would slide his face between her legs and lick her until she gasped and begged him to stop painting and make love to her.

But he would not.
Not before the long night was over and she could see what he'd done.

 

[ariosto]

OOC....hoping for Musetta.