Message-ID: <17589eli$9811280429@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/17589.txt>
From: miramalin@aol.com (MiraMalin)
Subject: Let the tears fall slowly part 4 (m/f romantic)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19981127195719.21560.00001491@ngol08.aol.com>
A romantic tale following on from three previous tales on a.s.s.m and a.s.s.
If you have the patience to skim this tale sans ribaldry, then, I hope you
enjoy it and remember if you forward it/repost it or whatever to give credit to
Mira and Milady J
τΏτ ~Ώ~
Clouded into tears
She would always remember how in the early morning she lay awake in a tender
ecstacy of delicious excitement, her cool cheek pressed against the soft linen
of the pillow. The pounding of her heart echoed the great pistons relentlessly
thrusting the steamer that bored her gently through the remains of the night,
away from childhood, away from the quiet impeccable silence of familiar
domesticity to unknowable new terrain.
She could even then recollect how that abandoned family would be adopting their
usual refrain in the house that she had left behind, folding and putting away
their day time lifes as they readied themselves for sleep, halfway across the
world. Would her sister linger over the torn ribbon and would her mother trace
a line down the faced photograph of her father again? Would she feel again the
pang of loss, the tremor of anxiety that her eldest had now fled the nest and
ceased in a way being her cub to becoming someone else's special pet?
She recalled that lovely dress that had carried her away even as he had done,
with his ferral smile, wrapped in tissue paper and a fine cream box like a gift
of crystallised sweatmeats. And yes, there was there a dress for her mother
too - a black dull silk of widowhood, reflecting the prismatic sheen of oil on
water, yet finer than anything worn since her husband had gone and to reflect
the departure of her child.
Now and then a fading burst of starlight spattered the porthole, as if the
shipping company had lit the very seas to celebrate her vestal trip. Her dress
had now been shaken from its wrappings and had slipped over the pointed
breasts, a supple garment for a nubile woman. And now, teasingly it caressed
her, insinuating, clinging, nudging against her thighs as she walked restlessly
aroiund in the little cabin, waiting for that unknown moment.
Waiting for that kiss, that kiss with tongue and the graze of teeth hinting at
further delightful tremors through her frail form. She could almost hear his
steady braeathing and the pounding of his chest against hers as he swirled her
gently around the floor to silent music. In her mind's eye she gazed up at that
face, in stillness as he listened to her breathing, with eyelids half folded
over heavy eyes that even in her tired restlessness, still disturbed her by the
fullness with which they reflected the moonlight and the glow of her roseate
flesh - be it an arm, a leg or a more intimate part of the creation that he had
now made his.
As the first grey streamers of dawn now flew in the sky, she knew that all this
had conspired to seduce her utterly. She could not feel a twinge of regret for
the familial hearth, as the ship's engines began to throb dully again in
delighted anticipation of the distance that it would carry her away to his
castle on the chalky cliffs - Vraidex - with its battlements of misty grey
stretching into the sky forever on the very brim of the sea, with gulls crying
about its crenellations. Crenellations that parallelled the furrow of his brow
above the smiling eyes with which he would greet her, bowing low in welcome,
with the same exquisite tact as the dress gifted to her.
Would he smile and welcome her to his home and to all those velvet nights to
come? Would she share with him all that voluptuous dark treasure of postponed
delight, pinnacled amidst the high cliffs on the sea path that wound its way in
and out of her drowsy thoughts. That pathway to pleasure would she knew, as
the night drew into morning, dissolve into the mist in her imagination and
then cloud into tears. For she knew her destiny was hidden and obscure and
that never after that perhaps she would not share with anyone.
Love and Light
Miramalin
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>