Songs of Seduction - Silk and Skin

"Fuck, yes, baby, take me. Harder, sweetheart, squeeze me... ooo, ye...ees." Francesca's breath came faster. "That's it."

Jude fucked her, fingers creamed and slick with Francesca's shiny wetness. She leaned over to rub her own breasts against Francesca's back. She nuzzled against the back of the older woman's neck, then whispered in her ear, wickedly.

"Do you want me to fuck you, my girl-cock inside you, is that what you want?"

She knew it was.

"Jesus, fuck yes, don't..."

Jude didn't wait. She slipped her hand from Francesca's hot wet pussy and stroked the juice around the head of her long clit-cock. With one hand gripping the base of her sex, she pressed its head up against the other woman's labia and slipped it in. Jude gripped Francesca's ass cheeks in her hands, spread them wide and began to fuck.

Francesca moaned, a long drawn out rasp of passion. She loved the pinch of Jude's hands on her ass, the way the younger woman leaned her weight into her. She pushed back, needing to be taken deeper. She couldn't resist reaching her own fingers to her belly, rolling her flesh in circles round her clit, to speed herself along, but in doing so lost her balance and she fell forward onto the couch. Jude toppled with her.

"Woops," laughed Jude, "I'm too fierce!" She re-arranged herself face to face with Francesca. "Anyway, I want to kiss you, that's much nicer."

It was. They slowed themselves right down, then built up their arousal over and over, judging each other's plateaus, knowing when to stop. They lost themselves in each other's bodies, taking turns.

But then Jude's mood shifted, and she softened, her arousal dropping.

"What is it darling? Where have you gone?" Francesca cradled the girl's face in her hands, and kissed her gently on the cheek. She'd seen this before, sudden shifts in Jude's moods. She'd mentioned it once to Sebastian.

He'd explained. "She gets overwhelmed, too excited. She takes in too much sensation and it's like her brain sparks, then short circuits. I usually just cradle her in my arms, tell her a story. Let her hear my heartbeat. It doesn't take long to sooth her. Repetitive stuff works too, like brushing her hair. I don't know, maybe it's the sound, like a whisper. Or the repetition.

"It's almost like she drifts off to sleep, but she doesn't. There's a difference. When she falls asleep she'll let go your finger, but when this thing's on her, she'll cling like you're saving her life. It's a knock-on from when she was sick. Maybe a mild form of epilepsy, something like that. The doctors poked and prodded, but we don't really know."

"I'm sorry, Francesca." Jude confirmed it. "I need my brain time. Can I snuggle up to your shoulder?"

"Of course you can, sweetheart. Here, let's pull my gown up around us to keep warm."

Francesca held the girl in her arms, slowly stroking her hair. As Sebastian had said she would, Jude clutched her finger, wouldn't let it go. Until, after ten or fifteen minutes, she did. Jude moved her leg, and Francesca felt the slim shaft hot against her leg.

"Let me do this, Francesca. And then you can do me."

Jude kissed Francesca, tasting her lips, gently biting like a playful cat. She murmured, but Francesca couldn't make out the words.

"What, darling?" Francesca asked, not caring what Jude said but wanting her to do it.

Jude smiled. "Wait and see."

But she didn't wait. Shifting slightly, she eased her fore finger and middle finger in, entering between Francesca wet lips, pressing into her deeply. Discovering the velvety richness of her g-spot, Jude beckoned with her fingers and began to rub with a slow, rhythmic pressure.

Francesca lay back, her breath coming in short pants. Her legs twitched, and her whole being was at the whim of Jude's insistent calling.

Jude sensed the base pleasures she was stirring in the other woman's body and would not let her rest. She found herself in the same rapture and lowered her mouth to Francesca's nipple. Unable to resist the urge to bite, she nipped and tugged until she heard a yelp, then soothed it with the lightest circle of her tongue in a rhythm of stricture and release that matched the growing pace of her lover's ecstasy.

It was too much for Francesca. For a moment she held Jude at arms-length but unsteady, then she rolled back on the couch. Jude followed and pinned her down, never once letting the swirling rhythm of her fingers break the rising storm in Francesca's body.

Jude became her incubus, poised above her, sent to fill her soul with pleasure. She had no strength or reason to resist and let the girl possess her, abandoned herself with shaking limbs and shuddering breaths.

The scent of Francesca's sex filled the room, making Jude's head thick with desire. She flickered her fingers inside Francesca, relentlessly drawing the pleasure down from her cunt. She doubled it, with quick fingers and a hard rub on Francesca's clit. She gave the woman nowhere to go but over the edge.

With a scream of pleasure Francesca came, bucking her sex up against Jude's fingers, her relentless hands. She quivered, aftershocks slamming through her body.

"Oh god, oh god, that's..."

"Something wonderful, Francesca. Your pussy, it wouldn't let me go. That was so fucking hot. Hearing you scream, god...."

Jude clambered beside the exhausted woman, content to hold her. She wasn't worried about herself. Francesca would stir later and reciprocate, but right now Jude liked the role reversal, she liked holding the helpless woman in her arms.

But what she was really thinking about, as she lay there, was Francesca being fucked, hard and powerful, by Sebastian.

And she was wondering what that would be like.

* * * *

Violet

"The violet dress, Francesca. Whatever happened to it?"

Sebastian had reviewed several years worth of Francesca's diaries, with her permission, with the intent of tracking down and displaying Bonnard's 'lost dresses'. The designer's early records were careless, kept with little regard for posterity or, for that matter, recognition. As a consequence, many exhibition reviews and newspaper cuttings left tantalising traces of lost works, photographs with out of focus backgrounds in which models, like soft ghosts, could be glimpsed wearing mysterious dresses.

Every now and then, Sebastian found articles in weekend editions of popular papers with faded colour photographs or illustrations from Bonnard's design books. Images given, or stolen, he assumed, leaving traces of lost glory. One in particular, a long, open-backed dress, faded violet in some images, pale grey in others, was a promise of something fabulous.

"The violet dress?" Francesca smiled. "Of course I know where it is. It's upstairs, packed in a box. I've not opened it in years."

Sebastian's eyes lit up. "Can I see it? It really should be displayed."

"Displayed? I suppose it should be. But worn, not displayed in a glass box. It needs living flesh, to really flow. But it's a dress for a young woman, it's not for me to wear. Not now. Not after so long." She looked wistful. "It won't fit," she said. "I'm too thin."

"Jude..." They spoke simultaneously, each the echo of the other.

"Jude could wear it. Yes. It should be on closing night, a last showing." Francesca touched Sebastian's arm. "She could do it, if you're there to escort her."

Sebastian looked at Francesca and nodded. "She could, couldn't she? Wear the lost violet dress."

"The curator and his sister." Francesca imagined them. "Could you be more beautiful, the pair of you?" Could either of you be more desirable, she thought to herself.

Sebastian was already thinking of ways to promote it. "I'll talk to Jude. She'll need a fitting."

* * * *

"God, Seb. Will it fit?"

"Of course it will, Sis. Like a velvet glove." He pictured her in it, her bare skin, the back of the dress cut low to the cheeks of her bottom. "You'll need a press and tuck. No excitement."

Jude laughed. "Just make sure you don't describe other beauties to me. No fair, I can't see them."

"Always got fingers, Jude; can feel 'em," Sebastian said.

She touched his arm, stroking a finger down it lightly.

"Always got you, Seb." Her voice was low, a sudden shift in her tone. Only four words, but the way she said them.... Sebastian looked at her, felt her take away her finger as if she'd been burned.

"Describe the dress again." Jude changed the subject, and Sebastian knew it. Something was up with his sister.

He described the dress one more time, and after a while, forgot about the strange moment.

* * * *

"Wait," said Francesca, "the fall's not quite right. Here, let me."

She adjusted the skin-tape just inside Jude's waist, clinging the fabric to her skin, making the drape fall like water, spiralling to the floor like smoke from a flame. Francesca ran her hand lovingly over Jude's bottom. Sebastian watched, remembering what she'd said about Bonnard's touch, long ago. 'He never once touched my skin.' He saw the same reverence now, for his sister, and for the violet dress.

"Now, Sebastian, your fingers. Lightly on the outside of her waist will be best, to guide her like you're dancing, to guide her like she's on ice. That's it. Are you ready, Jude? I'll go announce."

When she was gone, Jude whispered to Sebastian. "Your fingers, Seb. Just inside the cloth, touch my skin. What would Francesca know about brothers, where to put their hands?"

Sebastian did as instructed, not thinking much about it. Jude smiled. His fingers were warm on her skin and would gently steer her down the long corridor and around the room.

"Are you nervous, Seb?"

"Me? No, I'm fine. I'll be invisible, anyway. They're not here to see me."

"Nor me," Jude replied. "Just the dress."

"Don't think so, Jude, don't think that at all. You're forgetting how beautiful you are. People, they're not going to see the dress, they're going to see the beautiful woman in it."

"And the man beside her." She touched his hand.

"Him too. Wait, that's me."

"Idiot!"

Sebastian's fingers, just inside the cut of the backless dress where it clung to her hip, were hot on her skin. Jude shivered, momentary goose bumps, momentary nerves. She steadied herself with a hand on his arm, and raised a palm to his cheek.

"Kiss me, Seb, for good luck. So I know exactly how tall I am, next to you. These heels...."

Sebastian turned to Jude and lightly brushed her lips. He hardly had to dip, as the heels were high and Jude was standing tall beside him. Was that the tip of her tongue?

"Love you, Seb. Let's do this."

"This, Sis?" He rhymed, to lighten her tension.

"This." Jude had other plans, and wanted to get this bit over with. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, which was already tingling.

Down the corridor, they heard the ring of a spoon on a glass, and a hush as Francesca caught the gallery's attention and began to speak. She'd agreed to give a short presentation about the Bonnard collection, and, as they'd rehearsed, would only make a passing reference to the famous lost dress.

Jude and Sebastian began to walk. He was dressed all in black, a dark shadow beside the deep violet dress, Jude's blonde hair a contrast of gold and pale honey.

Sebastian didn't know how Bonnard had done it, how he'd managed to get the silk to simultaneously cling and glide and swirl, but it did, hugging to Jude's slender body and legs in one moment, freeing away in a swirl like gossamer on a breeze the next. She seemed to flow down the corridor like water, the train of the dress making the lightest sound as it brushed on the floor, or that might have been the sigh of her silky smooth skin. Who could tell?

Sebastian's fingers gently guided her. Jude became aware of her sex, which she'd taped back between her legs and pushed her soft fruits up into her body. To stop herself becoming aroused, she focused instead on the sound of the room, the acoustics changing as they entered it.

Ahead of them, on the stage, Francesca was speaking, telling a story about Bonnard designing what he called the 'impossible dress'.

"'I can't get the fall, Francesca, it will never work. The silk won't behave.' He must have said it a dozen times, and then, miracle of miracles, he found a bolt of silk with a flaw running through it. And there it was. The impossible dress."

She watched Jude and Sebastian glide around the back of the room, the long dress like dark water flowing, mist swirling. Francesca kept talking, following them with her eyes. Someone in the audience saw where she was looking and turned to see, craning her neck. Someone else turned, and another, and astonished gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as the audience realised who was walking amongst them, what she was wearing.

"Is that Jude?"

"Who is she?"

"Sebastian's sister."

"My god, the dress, will you look at that dress!"

"Will you look at the girl wearing it!"

"Have you ever seen..."

"Wasn't she..."

"Isn't she..."

"I thought...."

A low flutter of applause began, swelling to fill the room just as Jude and Sebastian stepped up onto the stage. He held her fingers ever so lightly, their arms outstretched, held high in the air. Jude was the centre of attention, shimmering with excitement, wearing Bonnard's fabulous dress.

"All yours, Sis," Sebastian whispered. "I'm off to your right, four steps."

He let her fingers go, and, as they'd rehearsed, hers fluttered after his like leaves on a breeze, before her arms closed around her torso. Jude turned once so that the dress swirled wide around her, shimmering with movement as she bowed down to the floor. She raised both arms above her head, fingers clasped together like a classical ballerina, then she bowed low to the floor, her back taut and quivering, her hands stretched out before her.

The dress fell still and the room held its breath.

Jude held hers for as long as she could, before slowly lifting her head, tears shining on her cheeks.

The whole room gasped, then erupted into applause.

Sebastian stepped forward with Francesca on his arm, and they both bent low. Francesca whispered something in Jude's ear, and the girl smiled. She stood between them, her arms linked through theirs, before Sebastian stepped backwards, leaving the two women arm in arm on the stage.

Moments later, they began to mingle in the crowd, and the astonishing presentation was over.

* * * *

"Seb, I get the sense someone's watching me. Is there someone?"

Jude's sixth sense, an uncanny thing that waned and wafted like smoke, had kicked in. Perhaps it was the open space of the gallery, the sight-lines she knew were there but could no longer see. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She reached out to touch the wall, as if knowing the geometry of the room could help her calculate the acoustics of the place, to hear each heart beat, each pin drop.

Sebastian looked around slowly. The crowd shifted and turned - Francesca holding court in front of the famous green dress, talking to a tall man with a silver beard; a little further away, the Arts Minister, a special guest, flirting with a pair of pretty boys, hopefully avoiding a scandal. She had quite a reputation for handsome women and beautiful men, but somehow, remained discreet, never found out, no photographs.

Ah, there she was, on the other side of the room, standing by herself, looking their way. A tall girl, long limbed, long legged. A sight path cleared, and Sebastian momentarily saw a short plaid skirt under a tan jacket tailored from some soft material. He noted the wide shoulders and immediately thought, athletics; just as many people saw Jude and thought, swimmer.

"Yes, there is. Someone I met the other day in the bookshop. We started chatting. Films. Semiotics."

"Is she...?"

"Interested? I think she might be. Shall I call her over? Hannah. Her name's Hannah."

Jude touched Sebastian's arm. "Is she taller than me?"

"I'd say so. A bit."

"That might be nice."

Sebastian looked at his sister, saw that look she got when she was determined, wanted something. He grinned. "Okay, kitten, shall I give her the nod?"

"Yes, please."

Sebastian looked across the gallery, held the girl's gaze and gave a nod of his head. She quickly looked behind her, looked back. Me? He saw the silent word, and he nodded.

"Here she comes now. Would you like me to stay?"

Jude giggled. "I'll kick you in the shins when I want you to go." But she touched his arm, her fingers lightly stroking.

"But no, Seb. I'll hold court for a while, but I promised... Francesca something. Something involving you."

"Me?"

"Yes, my darling brother. You."

"I'm intrigued. Are you plotting? Ahh, keep it for later. Here she is."

"Hello again! It's Sebastian isn't it?" The woman greeted him, welcomed by his smile. "Thanks for your book suggestions the other day, I bought them both in the end."

The woman realised where she was, who she was with, and took a breath. "So... how's the show going? Lots of amazing people here... who clearly know far more about fashion than me, because I've worn totally the wrong thing." She gestured down at herself.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she continued, turning to Jude. "I famously talk too much when I'm nervous. I'm Hannah."

Jude sensed the flutter of energy, and was immediately attracted by the woman's quick English accent. She leaned forward to touch Hannah's arm.

"Hi, Hannah, I'm Jude," she introduced herself. "Have you been offered a drink? Seb has a caterer doing the rounds." She poked her brother's arm.

"Do... do you both work here... or...? " Hannah looked from one to the other, and Sebastian replied.

"No, I'm the only one who's working. Jude's my sister, my lazy twin sister." Sebastian looked fondly at his sister, winking at Hannah to bring her into the tease.

Jude grinned at the rebuttal, but at that moment Sebastian's attention was caught by another guest, and she didn't have time to reply.

"I'm sorry. Duty calls, would you excuse me for a minute?"

"Not too long, Seb. I'm tired. Hannah can look after me for a little while, but we mustn't take up her time."

"Ten minutes, then."

In the end it was fifteen. Sebastian found the two women in front of the blood red and ivory dress, with Jude encouraging Hannah to describe in three words what she saw. He heard Hannah say, "Passion" and nodded. She'd certainly got that right.

"Ready to go now, Sis? Can I steal her?" he asked Hannah. He saw a shift of sadness in her eyes as he spoke, the look of longing she gave Jude.

Sebastian let Jude say goodbye without rushing her, and later in the car he commented, "Hannah likes you."

"You think?" Jude replied.

"Yes. You should call her."

"Not tonight, Seb. I got you. All I want, tonight, is you."

"Names of songs, Sis?"

"No. Not songs."

He looked across at her, intrigued by the cryptic comment. But they were home, the car wheels crunching on the gravel drive. He brought the car to a stop.

"Hold on," he said, "I'll escort you." He got out and came round to the passenger side and opened the door.

Jude's foot appeared from under the hem of the fabulous dress. Sebastian gave her his arm and they entered the house, the train bunched up in Jude's other hand so it wouldn't fall on the gravel.

Once inside, the door locked behind them, Jude turned to Sebastian and placed her hands on his chest.

"Dance with me, Sebastian, before I take off this dress."

"Very formal there, Sis."

"It's a special occasion, a celebration."

"It was, wasn't it? Tonight. It went even better than planned."

"Idiot. Not that. This."

Jude leaned forward and kissed him, and as she did so, she deliberately placed her brother's hands at her waist, where he found her bare skin. She closed her eyes and let him hold her.