The Huntress and the Nightingale Ch. 02

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for everyone's patience and encouraging words. It has really helped me to keep writing so I can bring you more of these two! This is the second chapter to this story, I highly suggest reading the first so some parts can make more sense. I do also have a third chapter planned but I hope you enjoy this until then.

Please feel free to leave nice comments, they keep me motivated!

Thank you!

II.

When morning comes, Clara does not come with it in favor of sleeping in and she finds that she does not have to face Constancia either.

One of the plump pretty maids, the freckled one, wakes her by drawing the curtains and smiling brightly. The girl follows directions well enough and dresses her quickly but she speaks French with an accent so thick that Clara can scarcely understand her. When she is done dressing and styling her hair, the maid escorts her to the breakfast table hurriedly with Sebastien trailing along at their heels.

The young singer breathes a sigh of relief when she sits at the end of the table furthest from the doors in the breakfast room and the maid disappears to fetch today's morning meal from the kitchens. Left alone, she looks about as if expecting Constancia to magically appear from a corner ready to pour her tea or bring her breakfast.

It was strange being served by someone else after the older woman was by her side for these very moments for the last few weeks. The poor maid was doing her best but she was clearly not used to such things. Gathering her little spaniel in her lap, the bronze girl began to wonder where the Housekeeper might be or if last night things went too far even if she returned the affection.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, the freckled maid appeared with a cart of all the usual favorites. A fresh baguette, an array of fruit spreads, sweet pastries, and hot tea already being poured. Clara did her best to eat well despite her anxiety, her tutor would arrive soon and she had a long schedule of music classes ahead of her.

Today he was the strictest she had seen him, yet still gentle with his guidance. He wanted her to learn a somewhat difficult piece that was challenging but played to her strengths. The two practiced for hours, the castrato on the harpsichord and Clara at the instrument's side crooning along.

They even had their lunch in the music room, something different but not unwelcome by either at all. A meal of roasted game hen, truffles, and red wine brought in by the freckled maid. As Clara sang she would throw pieces of meat to Sebastien but once he noticed his mistress was again focused on her music, the little dog padded off to find a quieter spot to nap.

Her tutor did not leave until the sun nearly set and Clara was glad the strenuous lesson ended. It was already time for dinner. She returned to her rooms to freshen up at her toilette and have a moment to herself. Sebastien was nowhere to be found but at this time of day that was not uncommon, Constancia would often take him to the kitchen and have the cook make him something. The young soprano assumed the freckled maid likely did it in her place.

Sitting at her vanity, she looks herself over in the mirror as she begins to pull at the ties of her dress to disrobe herself. It would be much easier if she called for one of the other plump housemaids but she just can't bring herself to hear any chatter or give any direction.

Just as she began to pull at the laces of her bodice the door to her inner chambers clicks open. In comes Constancia wearing a deep green dress and white apron, her iron keyring still at her waist. It is the first time that Clara has ever seen the woman in something other than black or grey. The familiar click of her heels as she approaches soothes Clara and she knows she will be taken care of just as she likes.

The women play their roles in silence, neither choosing to acknowledge what happened between them not far from where they stand. The soprano allows her servant to undress her and wipe her down thoroughly in a low tub filled with lukewarm water. She shivers as she scrubs her brown skin clean and slides the washcloth between her legs, the older woman muttering an apology about the water's temperature. Clara remains silent and doesn't complain. Since she arrived, Constancia has done this routine so many times between full baths but never with the lingering memory of what the older woman's fingers were capable of or with such surgical precision.

From the back of her neck, under her arms, between her cheeks, and even the pale soles of her feet the young woman is scrubbed clean.

Afterwards, Constancia dries her and scents her naked body as she pleases for dinner. She dabs behind the young woman's ears, her wrists, between her breasts, at the small of her back, between her thighs, then lastly behind her knees and at her ankles. Her choice in scent is not surprising, Clara was known to love a feminine floral perfume but the dress made the young woman's heart flutter. It was the royal blue one with the plunging neckline and silver embroidery that she arrived in. Louis' favorite of her wardrobe that she didn't get to see. She glances sharply over her shoulder at Constancia as she expertly ties her gown in place but the dark-haired woman gives nothing away.

After helping her charge step into her shoes and arranging her tightly coiled brown hair with a pearl clip, and matching earrings, and necklace, Constancia steps back to assess her work. The deep blue and silver accented with pearls lends enough contrast to make Clara's warm brown skin appear an even richer hue in the candlelight. Smiling, she says the first thing that evening in hushed French as she follows Clara out of her apartments, "You look just as ripe and fresh as you did when you arrived."

The younger woman is left speechless.

Swallowing to curb the sudden dryness in her throat, she follows Constancia down the familiar halls of the wooded chateau now lit with candles as the sun had long set. She turns down a different corridor leading to the larger dining room rather than the smaller breakfast nook where she ate this morning. This was different as well, Clara had always eaten alone given the only other people in the mansion were servants so there was no need to use this space.

The main dining room of the estate was painted a deep, rich red and its walls held large landscape paintings of the French countryside. On one side of the longer walls were three tall windows that overlooked the front courtyard. The other sports yet another of the house's many large fireplaces already roaring, with a hefty log to feed it, fighting off the autumn night's chill. At its feet lay a thick carpet with two heavy high back chairs. A polished table takes up the middle of the room and at the far end it, two dining sets and a full decanter of wine for dinner.

Constancia pulls back the chair for Clara to sit at the head of the table and a shot of fear went through her as she sat down. Had Louis returned or was there someone else? What if she had come back but only for dinner? The girl's head swirled with thoughts as the olive woman exits the room, the click of her steps echoing before she closes the door behind her.

Clara is left utterly alone.

The dining room is bathed in the warm light of the multiple lit candelabras and a rustic ironwork chandelier above the table. Biting her bottom lip, the soprano struggles not to fidget and instead concentrates on the dark night outside her window. She could see nothing in the inky blackness but the broad leaves and sticky stems of crawling ivy creeping at the edge of the glass. Even as the weather cooled, they did not give up their quest to overtake the windows before the first snowfall.

Clara did not have to wait long until the door at the other end of the chamber opens and her heart stops.

After over two months of waiting, Louis finally appears dressed handsomely as always in a deep blue coat and breeches the same color as Clara's dress. Her pressed blouse is missing its caveat and has been left undone, revealing freckles across her broad chest. Her olive skin holds the tantalizing shadow of her small breasts, tanned as deeply as any peasant from the outdoors. Long dark hair spills in curls over her shoulders, obviously freshly styled, brushed, and framing her angular face.

As the tall woman approaches the table, Clara rises from her seat and curtseys deep and dutifully. She remains there with her arms spread over the widening length of her dress and her eyes fixed on the silver buckles of Louis' leather boots. Constancia's words last night to not forget her place echoed in her mind. She was right that she had forgotten herself.

Above her, she hears the deep distinctive chuckle of Louis and feels her bare hand gently caress her cheek. The pads of her fingers are rough and calloused, more so than usual, but to Clara it is one of the sweetest touches she has felt in a long time. Her long fingers pass under the singer's chin and lift her head, giving the bronze girl permission to look into her patron's hazel eyes.

"My sweet girl," she says in husky French, a smile pulling at her lips, "rise and have dinner with me."

Clara fights back tears at those words and lets out the breath she was holding. There is nothing that she would like more at this moment.

That night the two dine on venison, one of the very same that Constancia mentioned was hunted the night before. Both women feed each other affectionately, steal looks from across the dinner table, and recount their time while they've been apart. Not one servant appears save between serving courses, Louis makes sure that both of their glasses remain full until they finish eating.

Clara talks of her trip from Vienna to the estate, music lessons, Sebastien, and how well the staff has looked after her. She even mentions her attraction to Louis' portrait as an incarnate of the Goddess of the Hunt and how surprised she was that Louis so resembled her father. She carefully confesses that she feels close to Constancia but does not mention what happened last night before bed.

Louis tells her of the hunt and that the Sun King had a voracious appetite for it as his favorite activity. This time it was to celebrate the legitimization of the children with his current favorite mistress. She also told Clara of the court at Versailles and how all the nobles had essentially moved into the growing palace with the exception of her own as they lived on and kept the royal hunting grounds. Her brothers maintained a rotating face at court, to not have the Sun King see you was to be completely forgotten and bereft of his favor. To be banished would mean almost certain destitution if not death.

Soon the two grow quiet and Louis reaches for Clara's hand as the servants enter to take their plates away. Constancia mentioned that within these walls everyone was well aware of Louis' lifestyle along with her preferences but it felt strange that they did not have to be discreet. She could feel the rising tension between them, where the songbird felt shy the Huntress was bold, much bolder than usual on her home turf.

Still holding her hand, Louis gestures for Clara to stand then leads her around to sit on her lap. Being so close, Clara can smell the richness of Louis' cologne and feel the hardness of her body beneath her clothing. Even in her lap, it is obvious that Louis is heads taller than her when standing or sitting. Her heart pounds in her chest when an arm curls around the smallest part of her waist to pull her closer. Eyes fixed on Louis' lips, Clara can smell the wine on the woman's breath.

A rumbling rises in the tall woman's throat as she leans down to nuzzle her face into the crook of the soprano's neck and sighs at the feeling of her soft, honeyed skin against her cheeks. This too makes Clara shudder in response and release a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her fingers curl around Louis' open jacket and blouse as the woman begins to dot her sensitive flesh with lingering kisses.

Louis' grip tightens as her kisses become peppered with sucking lips, biting teeth, and her tongue tasting Clara's skin. It makes the smaller woman squirm and gasp in her arms but she makes no move to stop her. She only becomes increasingly flushed and bold herself, one of her hands reaching into the masculine woman's waistcoat to squeeze a small breast over her shirt.

As Clara's thumb flicks over her lover's nipple, Louis grunts and murmurs darkly in her native language, "I have missed you, little songbird..."

"Louis, you have made me wait for so long," Clara interrupts in German, pulling away just enough so that she can look her lover in the eyes, "I prayed to God that portrait would come alive every night."

Louis' mouth turns up into a wide grin at those words and she pries further, "Did you ask to become prey, little songbird?"

"I would ask to become anything that would capture your attention and your energy so fully." Clara confesses, her voice barely above a whisper meant for Louis' ears only. As soon as the words leave her mouth, Louis pulls the woman in for a deep and longing kiss that leaves her breathless.

It has been months, nearly two seasons in fact, since the two women were able to last taste each other and it shows in their near desperation. Their tongues entwine as they spar and their teeth nip at each other's lips hard enough to leave a mark. Louis gently cradles Clara's face in one hand, her fingers tangling in her cloud of hair, while her other around her waist slips downwards over her ass and then beneath her thigh. Even through the dress and layers of skirts, she can still feel the curvaceous shape of her and it makes the Huntress become heated with arousal for the woman in her arms.

Breaking the kiss, Louis presses her forehead affectionately to Clara's and breathes in her perfume before lifting her up onto the dining table. The leftover plates and silverware rattle at the sudden drop of weight and Clara squeaks in surprise. At this height, her full heaving bosom is in perfect line with Louis' mouth and she takes advantage of it immediately.

Clara's fingers curl in the Louis' auburn hair as she buries her face into the soprano's ample cleavage and kisses at the dark mounds of flesh. The scent of her perfume is strongest between her breasts, it has the noble Huntress enraptured with the memory of why she loved this dress on Clara so much. Her fingers only need to tug at the low collar for a hardened dusky nipple to spring free.

And as soon as it is, Louis moves to cover it and suck the tiny nub into her mouth with a pleased moan. That moan is soon followed by a higher pitched one from Clara and the clap of her hand covering her mouth, the only sounds breaking the steady crackling of the fire. The sight incites Louis to grab the girl tighter around her bound waist and suck harder at her breast, intentionally making it more difficult for her to muffle her cries.

As she sucks and rolls her tongue around a velvety nipple, Louis finds herself wanting to feel and taste the opera singer elsewhere. She releases Clara's breast with an audible 'pop' and whispers huskily into her cleavage as her hands plunge themselves beneath the woman's skirts and skate up her stockinged legs, "Let me hear you, cherie. Let me hear that beautiful voice of yours..."

"Oh, Louis I-" Clara's answer is interrupted by Louis' strong grip on her hips flipping her over onto her stomach. Once again the dinnerware clatters dramatically with the sudden change of weight and is soon joined by the sharp sound of the noblewoman's chair scooting forward against the floor.

The soprano sucks in a breath when her skirts are pushed up unceremoniously and her plump bottom is exposed to the air. Her stockinged legs dangle for only a moment before her patron's calloused hands find them, spread them, then guide them to rest on the arms of her chair. Heat rushes to Clara's cheeks as she is so put on display for her lover, as though she is the last course to dine on. Her bare pussy, wearing a thin coat of coarse dark hair, is even laying where Louis' plate of venison was not even an hour ago.

Biting her bottom lip, Clara struggles not to moan when she feels warm palms knead her round ass and curious thumbs spread her lower lips. She's slick, glistening with wetness, and flushly pink with arousal. The contrast against her walnut skin and even the pinched tightness of her asshole is a beautiful sight that makes Louis sigh wistfully aloud.

"There's my very good girl..." Louis murmurs darkly in French, her thumb slipping easily into the dripping passage of her waiting lover. It is quickly followed by her tongue descending to taste the puckered ring sitting pretty between plump brown cheeks. The action elicits a gasp and wanton cry from the little femme as she struggles to keep still.

Louis' mouth is warm and wet, her tongue lapping yet gently probing. Clara's cheeks get hot with a mix of arousal and embarrassment and her toes curl in her slippers. As her fingernails dig fruitlessly into the varnished table, she tries not to squirm as Louis holds her down until she has had her fill. After all, somewhat mortified as she is, there is no denying her increasing wetness from the intimate act.

Behind her, the taller woman replaces her thumb with one finger and then adds another to slip into Clara's hotly gripping walls. Louis' tongue continues licking and her lips keep wetly sucking at her ass while her fingers slowly fuck her quarry. Clara is a gasping, squirming mess, struggling to keep quiet and yet unable to ignore how much doing this debauched act so openly makes her tremble more than she imagined.

"Louis!" Clara's voice is a pleading whisper followed up with a single sharp cry when her patron's tongue finally dips into her ass. She claps a hand over her mouth and bites her bottom lip, struggling not to make so much noise again. The footmen and maids may be just outside the doors and she would die of embarrassment if they walked in.

But Louis wasn't making it easy.

Her snaking tongue makes it hard to think and what was once a slow and tender pace of her fingers had become more direct and forceful. They press against a spot she never could get in the same way on her own, the very same that Constancia found the night before but was more than familiar with Louis. The tips of her digits curve just enough to apply more pressure and all thoughts leave the soprano's head as a current of electricity courses through her body.

Her climax is sudden and strong. Her ass clenches around Louis' tongue and her walls hold the woman's fingers tightly in place. Clara forgets her earlier worry about the servants hearing her and lets her pleasure be known, her voice echoing in the empty dining room.

The rising tide of her orgasm crests as Louis sucks firmly around her asshole and her fingers continue their thrusting against that sensitive spot within her pussy through it all. Each time she pulls squirt after squirt of raw fluid from the soprano, leaving a wet spot on the table cloth plus a few splatters on the front of her blouse and Clara's petticoats.

When Louis is sure the younger woman has had enough she pulls away and withdraws her hand. A silvery string of fluid connecting her fingers and lips to Clara's sex twinkles in the candlelight before abruptly breaking. Louis sighs happily at the sight before her as she licks her fingers and circles her tongue around her lips to catch the last leftover tastes of her lover to sate her.

Clara's body shudders but she remains still and panting, trying to catch her breath in her excitement. Her bare breasts are pressed against the table and her skirts are bunched up around her hips. Louis can get a clear view of her winking asshole and pulsing, swollen pussy - both entrances slick with gleaming wetness under the flickering chandeliers overhead. A thrill runs through the French woman at the sight of her handiwork and her body warms with the need for more.