The Huntress and the Nightingale

By the end of the fifth week, Clara and Constancia became quite close.

One night, while Clara bathed in a bronze tub, Constancia told her a little about herself at the singer's insistence. She explained that she was the daughter of a former poacher turned huntsman that worked under the Héroux family tracking prey for the royals. Her mother was a Versailles handmaiden when the Sun King was a boy which explained her aristocratic mannerisms and education. She and Louis grew up together on the royal grounds and were close well into their teens. When she inherited the estate she was happy to accept the proposal to become her Housekeeper and had remained with her ever since.

Constancia answered every question she could from her young guest about the house's history and who was who in all the portraits they passed.

The two young men she didn't recognize of the newer portraits when she first arrived were Louis' younger siblings. Twin boys in their prime, their faces were similar to their older sister though their eyes were brown. They weren't much older than Clara.

She showed Clara her patron's parents as well, two separate portraits though the subjects faced each other as if they were in the same scene.

Louis and her brothers strongly resemble their father in the left one. They inherited all of the strong, cut features of his face and body, as well as his olive skin. He was very handsome, even as a middle-aged man, with piercing eyes that were almost black and auburn hair peppered with white. In his veined hands he held a musket and his knuckles were scattered with fine dark hairs.

Their mother, to the right, was the essence of femininity and they looked nothing like at all. She was a soft woman with dark hair and pale pearlescent skin who didn't appear as if she could kill a housefly, let alone use the golden bow and arrow in her delicate hands. What her daughter did inherit were the color of her bright hazel eyes and the fullness of her rosy lips. Two things that Clara knew many women swooned over Louis for, she had her mother to thank.

Then there was that painting of Louis that she passed when she went into the salon or even had to go down that hall. She couldn't help but look at it each time. Louis' real face was much sharper but she was just as beautiful and her hazel eyes seemed to follow her. There were nights when she couldn't sleep until she touched herself to the mental image of the handsome woman in her hunting garb chasing, catching, wrangling and having her way with her in the forest.

If she thought hard enough she could almost feel the lithe Huntress's body atop her own or her calloused fingers sinking into her flesh. As Clara rubbed her hard clit and moaned beneath her quilts, she pictured Louis with her breeches pulled open and her leather phallus ready to penetrate her. The thought only further highlighted the emptiness between her legs that her fingers couldn't fill but Louis had many times before.

Other nights Clara saw her with no breeches or phallus at all, only her strong lower body and cunt scarcely hidden by sparse auburn hair. Clara pictured her lover standing above her, gathering her thick head of hair in a strong grip and guiding her open mouth to the slick warmth between her legs. She wished even more for her to hold her down and grind her bare cunt rhythmically against her own until neither could tell who was wetter.

She closes her eyes to the portraits of the Héroux family's female ancestors surrounding her as she brings herself closer and closer to orgasm.

The young woman couldn't deny that after so much waiting she longed to even hear Louis' voice. As her fingers rubbed slick circles around her clit and slipped between her moistened folds, she imagined that it was her Huntress not only possessing her but telling her everything she loved to hear during their lovemaking.

Not once did she dare ask again about Louis' whereabouts, it was his Majesty keeping her away not her Housekeeper. Still, as the trees began to rust then shed their leaves and the weather grew cold so did Clara's patience wear thin.

One night, as she combed her hair in the blue rooms assigned to her and Constancia readied her bed she could be patient no longer. Sebastien was snoozing happily on a plush velvet pillow before the popping embers of a fire and Clara found that she envied the little dog for being able to sleep without a care. Setting her comb down, she looks over her shoulder at the woman pulling back the thick quilts.

"Does she normally stay out this long when his Majesty calls her?"

"Not always," Constancia replies as she smooths out the sheets, "it depends on the hunt, it depends on his Majesty. This time they have brought down three stags but she must remain at court in Versailles to see to the royal stables, the dogs, and visit her brothers who also serve as royal gamekeepers."

Clara sighs and leans back against her chair in a dramatic pout. This reasonable answer was not what she wanted to hear. Louis brought her here but how many more lonely nights would she have to endure before her return? Pushing herself up from her chair, her bare feet hardly make any noise on the polished floors before she slips into bed and Constancia pulls up the sheets and blankets as she did every night since she arrived.

But this night, she didn't leave right away, she sat at the edge of the bed with her hands in her lap and her dark eyes lit by the candelabra on the nightstand. The housekeeper reaches out to gently stroke the side of Clara's face, her thumb running affectionately over her cheek, and the two women look at each other for a moment.

"You miss her, don't you?" Constancia says sweetly, a warm smile lighting on her lips, "The Master's nature is very obvious, she doesn't hide herself and you do not have to do so either. You are safe within these walls and can speak freely with me."

The reassurance and the question makes Clara draw in a breath, she knew that she was much too obvious but she couldn't help herself. She missed her patron, her lover, and being completely surrounded by everything that was Louis' while she waited for her return wasn't helping. Was it so obvious by just her expressions throughout the day? Or did she leave suspicion wet spots in her sheets that signaled to the Housekeeper just how much she missed her.

"Why do you call her 'Master' of all things?" Clara asks, changing the subject and genuinely curious. The question; however, must have surprised the olive-skinned woman. She drops her hand and raises a brow bemusedly.

Scoffing, she smiles wryly and replies, "What would you call her if not 'Master' then, mademoiselle?"

Clara opens her mouth then shuts it, realizing that if she were in Constancia's position she would likely be calling Louis much the same thing. It was only a sign of her privilege and position that she did not. Noble and close to the crown as she was, Louis was still far from a "Mademoiselle" or even a "Madame". Being known as the "Master" in her own estate suited her much better.

"I..." the soprano trails off and closes her eyes, "I do miss her. I have come so far at her request and she has made me wait for so long-"

"She will make it worth your while, mademoiselle, I would trust in that." Constancia replies, her hand returning to pat the young woman's cheek in assurance. The contact makes Clara open her eyes once more to look at this olive-skinned woman in the warm candlelight. The glitter of her dark gaze, the fullness of her lips, the warmth of her fingers stir the singer and she can feel her nipples harden against her gown beneath the sheets.

"I must admit, mademoiselle," the Housekeeper whispers, a soft smile on her lips, "that I miss her too."

Such an admission from another woman would normally incense Clara but she finds herself feeling the warmth of camaraderie instead. Who better would know of Louis' games, her commanding power, and perhaps even her sometimes bottomless lust than her? This makes the younger woman push herself up on her elbows to sit up in bed, her inquisitive gaze fixed on the smiling Housekeeper. She found herself wanting to ask a question she'd been longing to know of during their many conversations but was much too polite to ask.

"Constancia, have you-" Clara hesitates when the woman raises her onyx eyes up in response, "Have you and the Master had- I mean, has she or were you once..."

The soprano trails off, unable to find the words that she hopes won't offend Constancia. Even so, the Housekeeper is more than able to answer her as serenely as ever.

"Lovers? When we were younger it was more so along those lines, yes." The woman smiles warmly then lowers her eyes as she fingers the iron keyring at her waist, "We would sneak off to empty parts of the house or into the woods. When I married it broke her heart, she thought that she could still have me and I felt that I must be faithful. I had to explain to her that I did not have the privileged life that she did. It hurt her but she accepted it."

There is a moment of silence between the two women and for just a brief moment a crack of sadness in Constancia's normally calm demeanor. The woman quickly covers it with an amused chuckle and raises her gaze to meet Clara's before continuing, "We have both moved on since then, we were young."

"And now?" The young singer reaches for the olive woman's hands to hold them in her own, the two women interlace their fingers and squeeze, "What of your husband?"

"He died last year and left me a childless widow..." Constancia replies, her sadness reappearing again through a crack in her voice, "I did love him very much but without him I could no longer live in the hamlet. The Master allows me to live on the estate as most Housekeepers would."

Clara sighs, shakes her head, and lifts Constancia's fingers to her lips, affectionately kissing her knuckles. The gesture draws a small gasp from the olive woman but she does nothing to pull her fingers away even as the bronze woman's lips linger and whisper, "I am sorry for your loss...both losses. It must be lonely."

Both the contact and the condolences appear to warm the Housekeeper once more and she leans forward to press her lips to the younger woman's smooth forehead. Yet, as she pulls back Clara tilts her head upward and catches Constancia in a close mouthed but pleasantly soft kiss.

The older woman is at first clearly taken aback but soon her eyes drift closed and she accepts it, her mouth lingering as if she were open to it potentially deepening. Clara obliges her and parts her lips slightly, just enough to nibble lightly at Constancia's lower lip and accept the woman's probing tongue when she kisses back.

Now grasping each other's hands, the two women become increasingly passionate with only a sleeping spaniel and portraits of the Héroux's female ancestors to witness it. The wetness of their lips meeting, tongues tasting, and breaths gasping break the silence in the quiet room as they have their fill of one another. Soon they break their hand holding to cup each other's faces and grasp their shoulders.

Constancia's bosom heaves against the bindings of her dress while Clara pushes her full breasts beneath her loose nightgown against her. So close to the older woman, she can catch the scent of rosewater and lavender.

For just a little while their loneliness is abated, etiquette is abandoned, and the world around them is forgotten. Perhaps they were both only using each other in Louis' absence but in the moment it felt too good to try and think deeper or even care. Clara herself was already moistening between her thighs and all she could think is that Constancia must feel the same - aching for the other woman's touch. Perhaps even to see what their shared lover saw in the other.

Suddenly hungry to feel the hand cupping her cheek slip between her thighs, Clara guides Constancia's fingers beneath her nightgown and between her legs. Her folds are incredibly hot, swollen, and soaking wet. So much so that the older woman gasps against the soprano's mouth before her fingers stroke and explore her further. Clara's hand abandons her between her thighs to cup Constancia's face and continue their kiss.

The young woman shudders against her as she finds that the Housekeeper is capable of kissing her deeply and quickly bring her near her peak at the same time. It has been a long time since anyone other than herself has touched Clara yet it still surprises her how dripping wet she has become and how easily her moans pour from her with every swirl of the widow's fingers. Spreading her legs wider, she slips her tongue into Constancia's mouth adoringly and tugs at her dress as she falls back against the pillows.

Above, the servant follows her charge's silent commands dutifully and lays atop her. With Clara's legs so widely spread, Constancia slips one then two digits within the young woman's slick brown lips and purrs her approval when her heated inner walls grip her fingers. Clara gasps and moans into the older woman's mouth, still unwilling to let their lips part fully but unable to hold back her cries as the pace quickly increases.

Constancia's fingers are incredibly talented, they crook themselves inside Clara to rub against a spot so sensitive it makes the woman quake. Again and again she caresses it, slipping in and out at a rhythmic pace that elicits gasps and high pitched squeals from the soprano. Each time she grows too excited or too loud, Constancia kisses Clara deeply to silence her and slows down to pull her back from her peak.

The first time she does it, Clara is astonished by how quickly the older woman was able to get her there. The second time she feels flushed and embarrassed, she's so wet that a spot has been left on the sheets. The third time the brown-eyed girl can hardly think, she's afraid that if she opens her mouth she'll beg Constancia to finish her off.

However, it is Constancia that breaks the kiss first, sits back, and pulls her hand from between the singer's legs. The encounter had its own effect on her as well. Her black eyes are two lust-filled pools while her cheeks and mouth have become flushed with a pinkish hue. She struggles to calm her excited breath but all she can manage is a bright smile as she brings her coated fingers to her lips for a taste.

Closing her eyes, she savors the clear fluids on her tongue, murmurs something beneath her breath in French and sighs, "Mademoiselle, we... we shouldn't have done that."

Panting, Clara sits up in bed, her hair now mussed around her confused face, "W-what?"

"Though I am here to serve, we are both lonely for the Master. It is not appropriate..." Constancia explains, gently cupping Clara's face and stroking a thumb over a soft brown cheek. She leaves a small smear and the woman shudders, she can smell her pussy on the older woman's hand, "But you are a very sweet girl. I do not regret it."

"Neither do I..." Clara pants and lowers her eyes. Still flushed herself with arousal, her hard nipples poke more pronouncedly beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. She knows that she should feel some shame, she would harry Louis for lesser infractions with her fellow sex but was she not allowed some comforts in her loneliness? Was Constancia?

For a long moment the two women look at each other longingly. Constancia fighting the urge to stay and Clara struggling not to ask her to. They both know that she is right, they cannot forget themselves and the woman they both love and depend on. No matter how close they become or how lonely it gets, there is a line they cannot cross on their own.

Again, Constancia makes the first move and rises from the bed. She extinguishes the candelabra on the nightstand and crosses the room lit only by the warm glow of the crackling logs in the fireplace. Just as she places her hand on the doorknob to exit, she turns to Clara and says quietly, "Be patient, mademoiselle. The Master will return for you soon enough."

With that, she closes the door behind her with a soft click. Not long after, the sound of the olive woman's keys at her waist and the sharp gait of her steps soon fade away down the hall.

Met with silence save for the dying fire, Clara falls back against the pillows. She glances over at Sebastien still sleeping with his back to her then to the portraits of the pale and tanned women around her. There is still that warm tingling between her plump thighs demanding attention and her sensitive nipples brushing against her shift. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to will her desire away.

She has touched herself under the watchful gaze of these portraits so many times before but tonight she knew her own hand was not what she wanted.

Turning on her side, Clara grabs an extra pillow, lifts her gown and shoves it between her thighs until it brushes against her pussy just right. Sighing in relief at the feeling, she draws the heavy quilts and sheets over herself then begins to move her hips. The fabric and the softness of it rubbing against her folds makes the young soprano whimper as she squeezes her legs and holds the pillow close to her body.

She thinks of Constancia's soft yet passionate kisses and the feeling of her body pressed to hers earlier. The memory of the woman's fingers circling around that pleasurable bundle of nerves and sinking inside of her make Clara gasp aloud. She thinks of that portrait of Louis coming to life and taking her roughly in bed with her leather cock, her body ripe with the fresh scent of the hunt. Her hips jerk with a shock of pleasure when she thinks of the last time she saw Louis, how she fingered her pussy and sucked her tits all morning before she left Vienna to return to France. She'd made her cum and taste herself so many times that morning she missed rehearsal.

Gasping, Clara keeps working her hips and squeezing her thighs, humping and putting pressure on just the right spots. Her cunt gets so juicy there is a brief moment where she wonders if she might stain the fabric but a single squeeze of her thighs makes her not care.

She felt Louis owed her after leaving her alone for so long.

Not long after, her walls clench sharply and a shiver of intense pleasure creeps up her body. Biting her lip and stilling her hips, Clara has a silent orgasm that satisfies her enough to relax after it passes, leaving her limp and breathless.

Just before her eyes shut, she releases the pillow from her thighs and sighs at the post-orgasm throbbing between her legs. The girl doesn't know how she will face Constancia in the morning but she hopes that she has enough time to take care of herself before she does.