[Hi, loves. This is my first written story, and it's a bit different. My writing style is naturally a bit convoluted - but I hope you enjoy it. Please leave me comments with your thoughts. I'll eventually continue this, but I only had about an hour to write down the vague ideas. If it's something that fits with the caliber of this site, I'd be happy to finish more.]
Libretto had never been a patient, kind, or considerate man. On the contrary, his narcissistic, phlegmatic personality had lead most people to instant revulsion. Despite his obvious short comings, society was enraptured – totally ensnared by his deliciously, eternally perfect face, and more importantly, by his music. Libretto was a musician, a congenial, dark knight able to wield any instrument from the elegant bow of a glossy violin, to the gleaming fluting stem of the clarinet with irrepressible skill.
Libretto was gifted, and likewise cursed, with the insatiable desire for innovation. As a result, his flowing sonatas each held a sweet, irreplaceable sound, completely individual: as perfectly personal as a fingerprint. Libretto tired quickly of his lavish homes, rich clothing, and lusty beauties – in fact, the only element of his vain life which pleased him on a regular basis was his absolute love for his own fame. But like all things, that changed.
He didn’t know her name, and made no attempt at attaining it. In his mind, he had already assembled a vast collection of names for her, and he felt no compulsion to relinquish the intimate secrecy and mystery of this woman. She, for that was all he knew her as, was invulnerable to his intoxicating melodies, bored of his extravagance, utterly unimpressed by his strong stature – but nightly, she would obediently attend his concert hall. And nightly he would labor to draw his majestic musical movements to newly tremulous heights, hoping to elicit the same sigh of ecstasy from her as from the rest of the swaying crowd, but nightly, he was disappointed, and while his audience grew drunk by his composition, he fell violently for the shimmering shroud of luminescence she surrounded herself with.
Libretto was by no means an ordinary man. His grievances, which were deep and marring to the tolerance of any, were covered with an alluring polish; his thick, glistening auburn hair cascading gently over a pair of piercing azure eyes. His eyes were remarkably true to the old cliché – they were windows to his soul. They would flicker, the cerulean tumult raging stormily within, his irises thin blades of ice, hardening to a deep gray at the core of each sapphire. His almond eyes were feathered with a fringe of shadowy, seductive lashes, and his nose followed the smooth, strong contour of his profile, before melding into sensuous carmine lips. He was tall, the breadth of a lady’s hand above six generous feet, and his body was hard, toned, and built to a cruel, cold perfection. Every night, he would shun the cooing, simpering women of his willing collection, and instead pluck a voluptuous maiden from his crowd, soothing his selection’s enraged husband with a quick word of praise. Libretto’s charisma was paralleled in his attitude only in his music.
This lady, she was a beauty among beauties, a queen Aphrodite reigning with a crown of stars and a scepter of allure. Her feminine figure seemed to have the consistency of water; curving lusciously at the smooth, aquiline lines of her milky breasts, drawing in to the tapered, taut sweep of her waist, before gently fluting outwards into provocative hips and shapely, impossibly lengthy legs. Her hair was spun gold – always slightly tousled from the elaborate twists, falling gently upon her sloping shoulders, the glossy tresses sweeping tantalizingly with each enchanting movement of her elegant neck. Hey eyes – Libretto could lose himself in the startling depths of her widely-spaced, fawn-like eyes, always slanted by her thick, sultry eyelashes. Her lips were perpetually pouty, supple and deepened at the corners of her alluring mouth, always composed into a soft, bona fide smile.
By night, he had wooed her to no avail, each frustrating failure leading him to desperation. He finally turned his wrath to his courtier husband, pulling his strings of influence likes the thrumming bands of a mandolin, beating out a staccato samba for his marionettes to dance to. And dance the man did – soon leaving his wife for a secured life of social extravagance. And then, his little angel, his fleeting, teasing maid was his.
-- He broke her will down slowly.
“Don’t fret, my tiny songbird, your frown brings clouds to obscure the moon.” His voice was husky, rich, and aesthetically pleasing to the ear. Libretto patiently encircled her bare shoulders with a willowy arm, and pulled her coaxingly to his body, burying his statuesque face in her luxurious curls. He could feel electricity run through her slender body, and she bristled against his skilled touch, subtly pushing him away.
He laughed, and the sound was as if he had woven together the silvery pepper of the sky to smith perfect starry bells, ringing out with the charm of the heavens. He murmured something incoherent, a wicked smile manipulating his sweet lips into a smirk, before he brushed the sensitive skin coating the graceful nape of her neck with the textured pads of his fingertips, watching in fascination as tiny goose bumps rose from the sensation of his touch. She was his clandestine dream, but she was still a merely a woman, for all the appeal, and he knew how to pleasure any woman.
A curling finger tipped teasingly beneath the hem of her neckline, and tugged downwards with a slow, languid deliberation. As soon as he had freed her breasts, his lips followed the trail of his dancing fingertips, moving like liquid fire down her throat, rounding over the silky intone of her collarbone, curling affectionately over her pearly, pert breasts. The creamy skin tensed as he flicked his tongue through his lips, tasting the residual almond from her oil, tracing the crescent of skin below her pale breast, coating the firm orb of flesh with barely detectable, feathery kisses. As his flicking tongue reached her darkened areolas, he delicately nibbled the miniscule bumps on the flushed skin, and he felt her feminine figure melt into his arms, dissipating into liquid, as a quivering moan simmered from her abdomen to her lips, pouring from her mouth like rich, sweet syrup.
He relished in her enjoyment, and ground the tip of his tongue firmly into her enlarged, swollen nipples, rotating his mouth on the hardened flesh, his gentle hands grasping her tempting breast and dragging across her skin with light, quick jumps, to finish at the hardened, rosy bud of her nipple, twisting it smoothly upon the pad of his thumb. His head was buried in her flesh, and he could hear her heightened heart beat, letting it resound in his rhythm-drunk mind, before hungrily pulling downwards on the waistline of her gown. It slipped tantalizingly, revealing her slim stomach – the type of innate, casual beauty which could only be naturally attained forming her slender torso into a perfect taper. Libretto followed the curve of her belly button, over the soft, inviting v-shape of her hips, to the small of her back, where he imparted a fiery kiss to each of the vertebrae raising a bump on her alabaster back.
His traveling mouth reached her neck, and his fingertips finally left her round, perked breasts to entangle themselves roughly in her hair as he rocked her, begging the blood in his groin to slow, and allow the moments to linger slowly. His strong hands pushed out of the silken strands, and traces over her shoulders, beneath her graceful arms, and down to her hips, dropping the fabric of her dress over her slender, silky legs in a whisper of rich material.
He inverted, and repeated his path down her spine, gently coaxing her silky thighs open, her happy, whimpering sighs causing her legs to quiver. His tongue darted out and followed the curve of her legs, lapping at the glistening wetness which was trickling in small, delicious rivulets down her thighs. His tongue rubbed against her aroused pussy, and the same golden haze which crowned her magnificent head protected a perfect slit of pink. The tip of his tongue dipped through her lips, extending through her pussy, dancing in small, concentric circles, before teasing slowly beneath her hood. Her taste dribbled over his lips, and he felt his knees weaken with desire, his already stiff erection threatening the expensive, tented fabric at his crotch. He teased her hardened clit from her silky folds, and suckled at it, swirling around it while placing a palm forcefully against the flat expanse of her belly, steadying her swooning, tightening frame. He could feel her body writhing sinuously, about to split with the sexual tension, ready to release, and he drew his mouth cruelly from his legs. Her protest had taken a new note, and she groaned, his little pet begging for the touch she had been so repulsed by previously.
“Now, now, my sweet pet. The sun is rising, so you must hide yourself in the shadows. I refuse to touch you, refuse to see you by the garish light of day. So flee.”
His little angel refused, still thrust into the turmoil of passion and despair. And it broke his heart, but he tangled his curling digits in her silky tresses, and dragged her forcefully, remarking in the smooth, graceful movements of her body, even while so horribly conflicted. He threw her from his rooms, and closed the doors, and caressed the satiny mahogany of his violin instead, and the sweet notes thrummed almost as sweetly as her hungry body.
Over time she was trained, and his passion for fame and fortune diminished just as quickly as her potent will. The majesty, the pure perfection of her sculpted body bathing in the silky, silvery moonrays left him breathless, and despite his complete and utter fascination, he always left her once the gray crescent had faded into the silky expanse of deep blue. Even on the verge of orgasm, he thrust her from his bed, unwilling to let the intimacy of her mysteriousness be cleared by the light of day.
It has been said that the luminous sun reveals all.