Open wide the doorway to your heart.
Let me see the inner reflection of your soul.
Into enchanted dreams I will ride.
Taking flight into eternity's threshold.
~ Roses At Midnight by Rick Ryckman
Mmh, yes,
Then I'd taken the kiss of seedcake back from his mouth
Going deep South, go down, mmh, yes,
Took six big wheels and rolled our bodies
Off of Howth Head and into the flesh, mmh, yes,
He said I was a flower of the mountain, yes,
But now I've powers o'er a woman's body, yes.
Stepping out of the page into the sensual world.
Stepping out...
To where the water and the earth caress
And the down of a peach says mmh, yes,
Do I look for those millionaires
Like a Machiavellian girl would
When I could wear a sunset? mmh, yes,
And how we'd wished to live in the sensual world
You don't need words--just one kiss, then another.
Stepping out of the page into the sensual world
Stepping out, off the page, into the sensual world.
~ The Sensual World by Kate Bush
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| Orchid by ILoveCloudyDays deviantart.com) |
Bless Me Father
Heathdene, Kent
1842.
A quaint little English village with a community of just over three hundred.
Situated in the suburbs of Kent and surrounded by the River Dene - Heathdene was the quintessential English village.
St Jude's Church.
It resided at the heart of the village.
An old medieval church full of austere character and charm.
Father Andrew.
It was almost a year since the young priest had replaced the ancient Father Thomas.
And already he had caused quite a stir among his parishioners.
The priest had curly blond hair and a handsome chiseled face with clear blue eyes and a cleft in the chin.
Father Andrew had the face of an angel.
His congregation were as taken with his golden looks as they were by his stirring sermons.
And one such parishioner in particular was transported by the handsome young priest.
Daisy Hardwicke.
"Father Andrew is the prettiest man I ever set eyes upon!" Hardwicke declared dreamily.
She and her sister were looking up at the full moon from her bedroom window.
"You shouldn't say such things!" Molly Hardwicke entreated her "It's a sin"
But there was no mistaking the dreamy look in Daisy's eyes.
And there was no mistaking the smile on her glowing face.
Seventeen and flourishing like a May flower in the noonday sun.
Daisy Hardwicke was pretty and sweet with a spray of freckles across her cheeks.
She had long strawberry blonde hair which she loved to plait beneath her bonnet.
The young girl never went far without carrying a small black leather Bible in her pocket and small gold cross at her chest.
"You must have noticed how pretty he is!" Daisy Hardwicke asserted.
"This is nonsense!" Molly Hardwicke replied "He is a priest!"
"And a man too!" Daisy exclaimed.
The Hardwicke's were good Christian pilgrims.
At the head of the family was Edgar Hardwicke.
Hardwicke was a labourer and counted as a pillar of the community.
He was tall and good looking with bushy black hair, brown eyes and a ruddy complexion.
His wife Abigail was a cleaner at the local school.
She was small and pretty with blonde hair and grey eyes.
By the time she conceived Molly and Daisy, Abigail Hardwicke had already buried four children.
Infant mortality was part of life at this time and all four of Abigail's children had died in infancy.
They were buried in the village cemetery.
Molly Hardwicke was older than Daisy by two years.
She was petite and attractive with long black hair and bright green eyes.
Molly Hardwicke was regarded as the brighter sister.
Daisy Hardwicke was the dreamer.
And something had happened to the Daisy.
Something she had never experienced before.
Infatuation.
"I am sure the Lord would not begrudge me the appreciation of his creation!" Daisy Hardwicke informed her sister brightly.
"Oh sister -you'll get yourself into trouble for talking like that!" Molly Hardwicke chided her.
But Daisy did not care.
Father Andrew was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Daisy Hardwicke was of an age when a handsome face could easily turn her head.
And Father Andrew was not like the immature lads of her own age
They were still wet behind the ears.
Father Andrew was young enough to be in her orbit.
And old enough to know what to do with her.
He had eclipsed everyone else.
And when Father Andrew smiled, it was like the sun rising in the sky.
And when Father Andrew spoke his resonant voice sent shivers down Daisy Hardwicke's spine as it echoed around the old church.
His big commanding voice.
His fine white hands - delicate and elegant.
His curly golden hair.
His angelic face.
Although Daisy Hardwicke was too naive to know about sex; she yearned at night for the touch of Father Andrew's hands.
She was an innocent yet she had inklings...
Daisy had observed her parents love play when they thought nobody was looking.
And she had seen couples kissing and heard their sighs.
Father Andrew was a priest.
And he was also a man.
A man of substance.
The Hardwicke's were a religiously observant family.
And they attended church every Sunday.
Abigail Hardwicke was diligent in giving her daughters religious instruction.
And of warning them of the dangers of the flesh.
"Lest you find yourself with child!" Abigail Hardwicke informed them ominously.
Father Andrew had transformed the community of Heathdene.
His youthful energy and verve stood in stark contrast to his predecessor.
Ancient Father Thomas could not hold a candle to the dashing new priest.
"He is perfect!" Daisy Hardwicke sighed.
At night she dreamed about Father Andrew.
And by day she imagined she was his wife.
Daisy Hardwicke believed that life with the priest must be bliss.
And she pictured herself by his side surrounded by admiring parishioners.
Everything was ideal.
In her dreams.
Daisy Hardwicke would have been a fool to think that Father Andrew was unaware of her attentions.
The priest could tell by the teenager's bright eyed stare that she wanted more from him than a prayer and a communion wafer.
Sunday morning.
Father Andrew was standing on the church steps as his congregation gradually filed out into the bright spring day.
Many of the parishioners expressed their gratitude to the priest for his sermon or briefly requested a prayer for some pressing matter.
"Great sermon, Father!" Edgar Hardwicke pronounced as he vigorously shook the priest's hand.
"It's good to see you, Edgar!" Father Andrew informed him with a smile.
Daisy Hardwicke followed her father expectantly.
"Good day to you, Daisy!" Father Andrew addressed her.
The young girl smiled broadly and blushed brightly beneath her bonnet.
She was beaming brightly as she passed.
Molly Hardwicke followed her sister.
She smiled sweetly at the handsome priest.
"Good day to you too, Molly!" Father Andrew cried with a slight nod.
"My daughters are like two summer flowers" Abigail Hardwicke observed as she stood beside the priest.
"Ripe for the plucking" Edgar Hardwicke added as they watched the giggling teenagers walking ahead - arm in arm.
"Indeed they are!" Father Andrew replied with a knowing smile.
As the weeks grew into months Daisy Hardwicke's infatuation with the parish priest only intensified.
In her mind's eye, Father Andrew was everywhere.
She breathed him.
The fires of passion were burning within her.
And Daisy Hardwicke was convinced that she would die if she could not be with Father Andrew.
She had been regaling her sister for weeks with her dreams about the handsome priest.
But Molly Hardwicke's silence had become eloquent.
She no longer responded to her sister's fantasies.
"Clever Molly"
She would never allow herself to be so disordered.
Molly's reticence only intensified Daisy's yearning.
As the weeks passed the love-struck teenager became determined to express her feelings to Father Andrew.
She was of an age.
And so was he.
Girls of her age were already wed.
Everything seemed ideal.
Daisy Hardwicke could only imagine the joy in Father Andrew's golden face when she expressed her true feelings for him.
He would be gentle with her.
There was always a happy ending.
It was late Tuesday afternoon.
Daisy Hardwicke crept into St Jude's Church.
It was a frequent occurrence for the young teenager who came more for the sight of the stunning priest then for prayer.
Daisy Hardwicke lit a candle and crossed herself.
Then she found herself a pew and sat down; bowing her head in supplication.
Hardwicke closed her eyes.
Hoping that when she opened them again he would be standing over her.
Father Andrew would smile down at her and she would quiver in anticipation.
And then after listening patiently to her, he would express his true feelings to her.
He would be hers.
And she would be his.
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| Desire (by adeb1113 deviantart.com) |
And the wonder of his smile.
She did not have to wait long.
When Daisy Hardwicke at last opened her eyes, Father Andrew was indeed standing over her.
The light from stained glass windows had caught his brilliant blue eyes.
He looked like the Archangel Gabriel.
But he wasn't smiling.
Father Andrew sighed.
"Daisy Hardwicke!" He said simply.
"Father, I am here to make confession!" Hardwicke declared earnestly.
There was an unmistakable invitation in her bright eyes.
"Go home, Daisy!" Father Andrew informed her firmly.
Her attentions were becoming tiresome.
The young girl was wounded but determined to proceed.
Father Andrew must be trying her.
"Do you ever have fancies, Father?" Daisy Hardwicke dared him.
"I am a priest!" Father Andrew replied sternly.
"And you are a man, too!" Hardwicke responded "I have fancies!"
"This is not meet for the house of God!" Father Andrew asserted "Come now - go home!"
"You are flesh as well as spirit!" Daisy Hardwicke informed the priest.
Father Andrew was silent.
"You are a man!" Hardwicke added.
"This is an unholy alliance and I demand that you leave at once!" Father Andrew commanded her angrily - pointing to the church door.
"If only you knew how much I burn for you!" Daisy Hardwicke declared earnestly.
She reached out a trembling hand to the priest.
But Father Andrew shrank from her touch.
"I demand that you leave this house of God forthwith!" The priest demanded.
Tears were streaming down Daisy Hardwicke's cheeks as she slowly rose to her feet.
Father Andrew had turned his back to her.
The teenager ran out of the church sobbing loudly.
Outside in the bright spring sunshine - Daisy Hardwicke wept with despair over her unrequited love.
One Month Later
Daisy Hardwicke had fallen gravely ill.
Unable to eat and too weak to rise from her sick bed.
They called for the doctor.
Doctor Drummond pronounced Daisy Hardwicke as suffering from "melancholia".
A series of cold baths and "purges" were administered.
But the teenager was slow in regaining her strength and spent days lying in bed and staring into space.
Daisy Hardwicke was plagued with guilt over Father Andrew.
Only she and her sister knew about the infatuation and it was weighing heavily on her conscience.
She felt ashamed and humiliated and only verses from the Psalms would calm her.
One Sunday afternoon Abigail Hardwicke had a message to impart to her daughter.
"Father Andrew asked after you" Abigail informed her gently "he said to tell you that he is praying for you"
Suddenly it felt as if a candle had been lit in a dark room.
It was dawn again.
Daisy Hardwicke could not hide her joy.
The dark shroud that enveloped her had been lifted.
She was was no longer looking into the mouth of the grave.
As the days grew into weeks - the teenager was feeling stronger and more vital.
Soon she was able to sit up in bed and eat without assistance.
Her life was being restored.
And only one thing would absolve her and set her free.
The forgiveness of Father Andrew.
Daisy Hardwicke believed sincerely that she must request the priest's absolution.
For only then could her troubled soul find peace.
"Bless me Father ... please forgive me Father ... for being a foolish girl who forgot herself"
Three days later
Daisy Hardwicke walked purposefully to St Jude's Church.
It was now Autumn.
And the ground was covered in red and gold leaves.
Daisy Hardwicke was perplexed to find the church door bolted.
This was highly unusual during the day.
She walked across to the old vicarage.
Daisy knocked at the door and waited.
There was no response.
Then she walked round the side of the vicarage and peered through the small latticed window.
Daisy Hardwicke could see the unmistakable form of Father Andrew.
He was standing with his back to her.
When he finally turned round, Daisy could see her sister Molly too.
She was wearing the green dress that she only ever wore to church on Sunday.
Molly Hardwicke had taken off her bonnet.
And shaken out her long black hair so that it was cascading over her shoulders.
The wanton act shocked Daisy Hardwicke.
It was as if she were naked before a man of God.
Daisy Hardwicke suddenly felt ashamed.
She was surprised and bewildered to see her sister this way.
Alone with a man.
The couple appeared to be deep in conversation.
And Daisy Hardwicke suspected by the expression on their faces that it was a matter of some gravity.
Suddenly Molly giggled delightedly.
And it sent an icy shiver down Daisy's spine.
Father Andrew leaned in close and kissed Molly Hardwicke full on the mouth.
Daisy Hardwicke gasped with shock as her hand flew to her mouth.
She looked away for several moments - struggling to comprehend what she had just seen.
"Bless me father"
When Daisy Hardwicke looked again through the small lattice window - Father Andrew was holding her sister in a passionate embrace and kissing her tenderly on the mouth.
Time had suddenly become obsolete.
And Daisy Hardwicke had forgotten why she had gone looking for Father Andrew in the first place.
Just then a large crow squawked loudly as it flew overhead and alighted on a spindly tree.
And They Never Said A Word
The Louvre, Paris.
One of the largest museums in the world and a central landmark in the city of love.
There were over 7,500 paintings in the collection including Leonardo da Vinci's celebrated masterpiece.
Mona Lisa.
She looked out at her audience with her enigmatic expression and mysterious smile - utterly inscrutable.
More than 9.7 million visitors passed through the Louvre every year.
From all corners of the globe.
He noticed her gazing at the Mona Lisa.
She seemed to be drinking in every facet of the 500 year old half length.
An elfin beauty with warm brown eyes and abundant raven hair.
She was wearing a summer hat and was dressed in a filmy green Agnès B summer dress that clung to the curves of her body.
A gamine young French woman cast adrift in a vast ocean of tourists.
Gazing in awe and admiration at Leonardo da Vinci's 500 year old masterpiece.
But the young man only had eyes for her.
He was Scandinavian.
Tall and athletic with flaxen hair.
Square jawed and handsome with a glint in his sky-blue eyes.
He was dressed in a tight blue Bench t-shirt and tight blue Levi's that accentuated his muscled body.
She hadn't noticed him looking at her until she turned to him and caught him smiling at her.
And suddenly everybody else in the gallery seemed to vanish.
It was just her and him.
And the dance of love.
The young man's appreciative gaze caused the young lady to smile back.
A seed had been planted.
And already it had sprouted into full bloom.
The flower of love.
With its intoxicating aroma of desire.
He was looking intensely at her.
Devouring her with his keen sky-blue eyes.
She was opening herself up for his pleasure.
And noticing how toned his taught body was beneath the tight Bench t-shirt.
While he imagined slowly unzipping her Agnès B dress.
There was a frisson between them.
An unmistakable animalistic sexual energy.
The Mona Lisa had all but been forgotten.
And they never said a word.
Within a heartbeat he was standing beside her.
Their eyes were still locked upon each other for the longest time.
The electricity between them was undeniable.
And there was a sultry atmosphere in the gallery now.
Even as a swarm of noisy school children and officious teachers surrounded them - the young couple continued to hold each other with their eyes.
Feeling each other.
And they never said a word.
Desire had a language all it's own.
The Louvre had been transformed into a haven of carnality.
A temple of love
In the city of romance.
And a sanctuary for the thrill seeker.
As one young couple gave themselves over to the promise of sensual entanglement.
A curate smiled knowingly as he observed them.
He had seen it countless times before.
Two people finding love in the great museum.
There was passion in the air at the Louvre.
Eventually the woman moved away and walked slowly over to another painting.
His hungry eyes were following her all the way.
She knew that this was the all important moment.
The young woman closed her eyes.
When she finally opened them - he was standing beside her.
And they were both looking at a painting of a Parisian lady of the night lying upon a red velvet chaise longue with her breasts exposed and her red mouth slightly open with desire.
The couple smiled together at the suggestive old painting.
As his hand lightly brushed against hers.
As he fixed her with hot eyes.
And as she returned his intense gaze with large brown eyes full of longing.
An unmistakable surge of yearning coursed through their eager bodies.
Now they were obliged to fulfil the promise they had made with love.
Or Eros.
He continued to hold her with his gaze as he moved slowly away from the painting.
She obediently followed him as he strode purposefully towards the exit.
The couple were walking on clouds.
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| Red Orchid (by emilymhanson deviantart.com) |
And she was smiling too - as she imagined stroking his firm chest with her hand.
She followed him out into a bright Summer day.
As hot as their desire.
They were walking silently down the street.
Every passerby melted into the sun.
The couple only had eyes for each other.
His elegant Parisian apartment complex wasn't far away.
The beautiful young woman followed him in.
Her heart was beating fast as he took her up in the big silver lift.
And their bodies were vibrating with throbbing desire.
They barely noticed who entered or left the lift.
She followed him out of the lift and into his tasteful apartment with its minimalist chic.
And into his designer bedroom.
With its big designer bed.
And they never said a word.
Even as they devoured each other with passionate kisses.
Even as they slowly undressed one another.
Even as he gently led her by the hand to the big designer bed.
And bought her to ecstasy.
And she gave him her joy.
They enthusiastically consummated their love.
In the big designer bed.
Countless times.
In imaginative ways.
With the bedroom window wide open.
As ancient and knowing Lena Marcel sat out on her balcony in the apartment beneath his.
Stroking her silky black cat as she listened to the couple making love from his open bedroom window.
The feline purred with contentment as the couple groaned in ecstasy.
Jonah and Clemence Nilsson.
An adventurous young couple.
Fanning the flames of passion.
Role play was part of their love play.
Meeting in countless venues and make believing it was their first time.
Toys and ploys adding to the pleasure.
Of their erotic rendezvous.
Finally the young couple came away from each other.
It was already getting dark outside.
Jonah and Clemence Nilsson lay naked on the big designer bed.
They were drenched in each others body fluids.
The couple smiled at each other with satisfaction.
And they never said a word.
Kiss The Orchid
Baybary, Oxfordshire
1830.
Baybery was a delightful market town situated in Oxfordshire, England.
Fleurs du Soleil.
A charming little florist in the heart of town and an olfactory haven for all erstwhile lovers and connoisseurs.
A floral experience for the senses.
The refined aristocratic woman had deigned to pay a visit to Fleurs du Soleil that bright Autumn afternoon.
It was her sanctuary.
Leyla Fairfax, Countess of Baybary.
A raven haired beauty with slanting black eyes and full pouting lips.
The Countess had impeccable manners and always dressed with panache in colours that set off her olive skin.
And she always moved on a wave of Mille Fleurs.
Today, the petite woman was wearing a pretty hat and dressed in a red silk dress with puffed sleeves.
Countess Leyla Fairfax was a sultry woman whose presence commanded attention.
And as she moved quietly among the exquisite flowers at Fleurs du Soleil - she relished every moment.
Sighing with pleasure at every turn.
While her elegant footman waited patiently outside atop the hansom cab.
The Countess mouthed the name of every flower as she passed.
Like a lover remembering their bedfellows.
Every species of flower had its own botanical name.
And Countess Fairfax knew them all.
A visit to Fleurs du Soleil was an epicurean experience.
And the Countess basked in the unabashed sensualism as she roamed around the shop.
Her hand brushed lightly over the delicate flowers.
As if she were gently caressing them.
And enticing them with her fine fingers.
Occasionally the Countess paused to feast upon the unique resplendence and perfume of a particular flower.
Their petals were open to receive her.
And the dusky Countess leaned in close to gently cup the exquisite flower in the palm of her hand.
As she breathed in their intoxicating scent.
And sighed with pleasure.
Like a lover.
The Countess closed her eyes as if she were momentarily transported to a secret place of olfactory delectation.
She smiled broadly with gratification.
The portly shop keeper's wife observed the illustrious visitor in silence.
As she waited patiently behind the counter.
Alice Goodwin.
A short and plump redhead with small grey eyes and a vivid imagination.
Her husband Aiken Goodwin was out of the shop this afternoon to run some errands.
He was a rotund man with a jovial personality.
Aiken Goodwin had ginger hair and mischievous hazel eyes.
And he was even more transfixed by the sight of the beautiful Countess than his wife was.
Goodwin frequently found himself tongue tied and flaccid in the presence of the stunning and mysterious woman.
She was as inscrutable as the Sphinx.
And her flashing black eyes and sweet tongue rendered Aiken Goodwin immobile with breathless admiration.
The shopkeeper's wife watched the Countess gliding gracefully among the flowers.
She surpassed them all in beauty.
For she was an oriental flower of the Levant.
The Countess had been born in Beirut as Leyla Abadi.
Nobody but the Count and the lady in question knew much about her origins.
The Lebanese beauty spoke with a charming accent that nobody could place.
And her English was peppered with French and Arabic words.
The shopkeeper's wife remained resolutely in her place - accustomed as she was to the Countess's weekly visits.
Alice Goodwin was in complete awe of the captivating beauty.
And not just because she always paid a pretty penny for her flowers of choice.
But because Alice Goodwin was mesmerised by the sight of the exotic Countess wandering gracefully among the flowers in her stunning attire as she revelled in all their olfactory glory.
And Goodwin's overheated mind was filled with romantic images of the exotic Near East with its unexplored and unimaginable pleasures.
The licentious East.
The shopkeeper's wife fanned herself lightly as she flushed at the anticipation.
Alice Goodwin wondered what might be lurking beneath the surface with the mysterious Countess Fairfax.
What might be lurking beneath the French silk and crinoline.
Countess Leyla Fairfax was unfathomable.
And there was much chatter among the chattering classes about the origins of the mystifying beauty from the Near East.
One rumour advocated that the Countess was the daughter of rich Arab sheikh while another suggested that the Count had bought his future wife at a curious Lebanese bazaar.
Still more indiscreet tongues opined that the Countess had once been a "lady of the night" and that the dashing Count had rescued her from a life of vice.
Charles Fairfax.
The swaggering Count.
A strapping and strikingly handsome man with tousled brown hair, clear-blue eyes and a fine curling moustache.
The Count's reputation preceded him.
He was a war hero and an adventurer and many people were secretly in love with him.
Alice Goodwin surmised that the Count must be away on some business matter.
Perhaps he was inspecting the orphanage that he was building in Bulgaria.
"Such a good man"
The Count and Countess were pillars of the community.
Alice Goodwin remembered an unforgettable banquet at Fairly Manor - the huge and rambling abode of the distinguished Fairfax's.
The sumptuous residence had seventy-four rooms and was surrounded by countless acres of land.
Aiken and Alice Goodwin were dressed in all their finery but they felt singularly out of place among all the grandeur.
Surrounded as they were by other more eminent guests - ranging from the privileged gentry to minor royalty from around the world.
Alice Goodwin had stared in awe around the enormous dining table as the servants served them dinner from large silver platters.
All this because the Countess bought her flowers from Fleurs du Soleil.
Alice Goodwin kept nudging her husband and pinching herself in case it was all a dream that she would soon wake up from.
But it wasn't.
And the humble Goodwin's had been invited to one of the most coveted soirees of the season.
Alice Goodwin was struggling to take in all the splendour.
Presiding over it all like a King and Queen were the Count and Countess of Baybary.
The Count was charming and engaging as he held every eye and ear with his beauty and tales of his escapades around the world.
His bellowing laugh sent ripples of delight among his guests.
And ripples of desire.
As many of them secretly wished they could be his Countess.
His hazel eyes were shining fiercely as he regaled them all with his tales of adventure in a resounding voice.
The captive audience were spell bound by him.
By his side was the captivating Countess.
She was elegantly dressed in a yellow silk dress with an elaborately worked gold necklace about her neck and diamond encrusted rings on her slender fingers.
Her thick black hair was piled high upon her lovely head and two intricate ruby earrings glittered in her ears.
The Countess was as Cleopatra.
She smiled knowingly at the shopkeeper's wife as she gazed at her from across the immense dining table.
And Alice Goodwin suddenly noticed how full the Countess's dusky bosom was and how it heaved up and down when she breathed.
Suddenly Goodwin's eye was inexplicably drawn to the handsome Count's crotch.
And the unmistakable bulge between his big legs.
The Count turned to Alice Goodwin and grinned broadly showing his sharp white teeth.
And the shopkeeper's wife felt an abrupt ripple of desire race through her plump body.
Alice Goodwin gasped slightly.
Looking above the Count's head she suddenly noticed a painting of a nude.
A voluptuous maiden with large breasts sitting in a chair with her lithe legs wide open.
Alice Goodwin gasped again as her hand flew to her mouth.
As the mysterious Countess of Baybary kept her slanting black eyes fixed firmly upon her.
Smiling shrewdly all the while.
At the end of the glittering night, the Count announced to his guests in the huge and tasteful drawing room that he would be donating a small fortune to various charities to rapturous applause and terms of endearment.
"A dozen orchids!" The Countess informed her.
Alice Goodwin was snapped out of her reverie.
"Wild orchids"
The most exotic flower in Fleurs du Soleil.
And the most erotic.
All flowers were said to resemble the female genitalia.
Open and quivering.
Red orchids.
Red as the Countess's silk dress.
"The scarlet woman"
Alice Goodwin let out a small gasp as a plump hand shot to her mouth.
Countess Fairfax was gazing intensely at her with her slanting black eyes and smiling knowingly at her.
As if she could see into her soul.
As if she knew all her secrets.
And Alice Goodwin suddenly felt naked and trembling before her.
"A dozen orchids, please"
The shopkeeper's wife diligently obeyed and gathered up the flowers into a bouquet.
He was peering inquisitively into the shop window.
Goodwin had never noticed how striking he was before.
With his sharp green eyes and curling black moustache.
The shop keeper's wife felt a vulgar rush of desire.
Fleurs du Soleil was no longer a flower shop.
But a temple of love.
And the Countess of Baybary was the goddess Aphrodite.
Casting a spell of desire with her slanting black eyes.
Alice Goodwin handed the bouquet of orchids to the Countess.
And she received the flowers as if she were receiving a lover.
"I look forward to seeing you in church on Sunday!" The Countess declared brightly as she breathed in the scent of the orchids.
Suddenly Alice Goodwin felt ashamed.
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| Red (by iamBlackfox deviantart.com) |
"We live by faith, not by sight!" The Countess reminded Alice Goodwin reverentially "2 Corinthians 5:7 - good day to you!"
Alice Goodwin blushed brightly.
"Good day, Countess!" The shopkeeper's wife replied quickly.
"I should be ashamed of myself"
Alice Goodwin watched open mouthed as the beautiful Countess of Baybary glided gracefully out of Fleurs du Soleil leaving an unmistakable trail of Mille Fleurs in her wake.
The flower shop suddenly felt very quiet.
Alice Goodwin pondered the exotic Countess for the remainder of the day.
Her effortless elegance and charm.
Her Near Eastern exoticism which left her pale faced contemporaries in the shade.
But above all her faith.
The Countess of Baybary was a good Christian woman.
Leading a pure and blameless life.
Not a heathen after all.
Alice Goodwin sighed with envy.
The Countess was perfect.
And Alice Goodwin could only admire her from a distance.
Within half an hour, the hansom cab pulled up outside the imposing front door to Fairly Manor.
The Countess descended from the carriage gracefully holding her bouquet of orchids like a precious jewel.
She dismissed her maids and servants for the day and they gratefully departed - beholden to their generous mistress.
The Countess retired to her richly furnished private quarters and placed the orchids in a designated glass vase.
Save for one.
She took up her white Persian cat and nuzzled her nose into its warm coat.
The feline purred contentedly.
As the Countess caressed her pussy.
The sun was setting and the sky was streaked with red.
Soon he would be home.
The Countess opened the Bible and read from the Song of Songs.
While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance.
My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi
Then she smelt the orchid and thought about his big hands.
And the way he cupped her ample breasts.
The way he kissed her with his full lips.
Sending little ripples of pleasure throughout her eager body.
And the way he rode her like his stallion.
Stay me with flagons,
comfort me with apples:
for I am sick of love.
The Countess's husband was away.
And she was waiting for the big Captain to return.
He was out riding his horse across the fields.
The stud.
Captain Edmund Sheraton.
Tall and handsome with sleek black hair and piercing black eyes.
The big Captain with his dark gypsy looks.
And captivating smile.
The Countess was dreaming about her lover as she entered her bedroom with the orchid in her hand.
She carefully removed her hat and took off her red dress and her undergarments.
Then she stood before the big mirror.
As naked as Eve.
The Countess massaged jasmine oil into her thick black hair and every hollow of her body as she imagined his big warm hands caressing her.
Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth,
therefore do the virgins love thee
She was remembering his firm muscled chest.
And the way he rode his stallion between his firm thighs.
Then she placed the orchid in her raven hair and lay naked upon the big oak bed.
At 4 pm the big Captain strode into her bedroom.
He entered the room as if her were entering her.
Captain Edmund Sheraton flashed his lover with a sardonic grin.
Her conqueror had returned.
Still breathing heavily from his exertions.
He must have been riding hard.
The Captain's shirts clinging tightly to his taught body.
And the Countess could smell him.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes
The big Captain was home again.
They kissed passionately on the mouth.
And the Countess tasted his tongue.
The big Captain peeled off his shirt.
To reveal his big muscular chest.
The Countess slowly removed his boots.
And the big Captain took off his breeches.
As the sensual Countess gasped with anticipation.
And the swaggering Captain grinned back in compliance.
Within seconds the couple were hungrily pleasuring each other.
There was no need for words.
The big Captain and the exotic Countess gave themselves up to erotic abandonment in the big oak bed.
They bought each other to ecstasy.
And then they began again as if it were their first time.
Countless times.
The elegant bedroom had been transformed into a temple of love.
And Countess Fairfax was it's High Priestess.
Admitting her High Priest to the private sanctuary.
For several hours of ecstasy.
As Dina the Persian cat purred contentedly from her red velvet cushion.
The big Captain and his maiden traversed Elysium in the big oak bed.
Until they were completely satisfied and fell away from one another.
It was already dark outside.
And the Countess was lying in her big oak bed beside her athletic lover.
She was clinging to his taut muscled body with contentment.
As the big Captain smiled down at her with a look of sexual gratification.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love
The Countess was remembering the countless hours she had spent in bed with her strapping lover as she nuzzled her face into his big hairy chest.
Then she remembered her husband.
The Count would probably be in bed with his Swedish mistress.
Margta Engberg was one of their maids.
Now she shared the Count's bed.
And gave her master his pleasure.
Anywhere his fancy took him.
And she wasn't the only one.
The Count and Countess of Fairfax were good Christian pilgrims.
They attended church every Sunday.
And read their Bible together.
They gave to the poor and the disaffected.
And said their prayers at night.
The Count and Countess of Fairfax were pillars of the community.
And an example to all.
And by day Captain Edmund Sheraton shared the Countess's big oak bed.
And Margta Engberg shared the Count's.
And all was well in their kingdom of pleasure.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me
The Countess and the Captain were looking deeply into each others eyes now.
And smiling knowingly.
The ecstatic moment had come.
Without uttering a word - the Countess took the orchid from her thick black hair and placed it in her lover's big hand.
The Captain slowly and sensuously traced her form with the exotic flower.
He followed the trail where his mouth had been several delicious hours previously.
Then the big Captain carefully placed the orchid in her vagina.
As they always did.
And Leyla Fairfax gave a final gasp of pleasure.
It was the climax of their tryst.
A precious ritual.
The big Captain put the orchid into her orchid.
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| Unmade bed (by sophieora deviantart.com) |
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