The Low Lovers of Anastelle YraibyNaokoSmith©
Copyright 2012 Naoko Smith
His fingers fumbled at the buttons of her shirt. She pressed her mouth to his. He was so excited that he could barely put his lips together for the kiss. His mouth was wet and loose to her pressing soft mouth, she moaned with the pleasure of his pleasure. He was trembling with anticipation.
They had barely got in the door to his tiny room when his hands went to her clothes to tug them off. She had already been shrugging her fur-edged coat off onto the floor. In an hot-blooded passion for each other's bodies they were oblivious to the cold. Outside the snow lay thick all about P'shan Palace and the streets of Erjeine in the H'velst Mountains. The tiny room of the library clerk was so small there was no fireplace, he probably depended for warmth on the wall by his narrow single bed but as it was daytime and the servants who shared the larger room next door would be out and about, there would be no fire lit on the other side.
She started to try to help him with her shirt buttons then she went to pull at the string in the band of his wide-hipped woollen trousers. They were so eager neither of them quite knew what their fingers were doing. He gave an involuntary shove at her with his hips and as she began pulling at the sleeves of his shirt and jacket, they fell onto the narrow bed and began kissing, kissing. His hands gripped on her hair, disarranging the long dark locks put tidily up, he pressed her head up into his wet eager kiss. She wrapped her arms around his half-stripped thin chest, holding him to her body with a moan before pushing to the kiss again.
He managed to stand up and throw off his jacket and shirt, tug free of the wide-hipped trousers without undoing the string, they just slid down over his pale slender hips. She lay with her shirt half-unbuttoned, panting with excitement and grinning to see him naked by the bed. There was that typical soft luminescent sheen to his skin that came from lack of good food and exercise. He was slim and young, the line of his waist and hips flat. She cast a lingering lustful gaze slowly over the jutting curve of his small hip bone, the dark hair in his crotch and rising from it, his eager cock. The fragility of his pale skin, his dark hair and eyes and the reddish bud of the head of his cock, in his young lust for her he had the beauty of almond blossom emerging in Spring on the wet black branches in the nut orchards.
He was panting with anticipation, looking lasciviously on her voluptuous plump young curves half-tumbling out of her clothes over his narrow little bed. She sat suddenly up and leaned to press a kiss to the soft hollow curving in from his hipbone then out to his small belly. Oh darling one! so pale and soft. His hands came pushing her head in mute appeal, with a sigh that was already nostalgic, storing the memory of the hollow in his hip, the blossoming skin luminescent with poverty, she moved over to take his cock in her mouth.
She tilted her head up and saw his wet lips curve with the ecstatic laugh, his slanted dark eyes sparkle in his smooth pale young face. He grunted and grinned, his hands gentle in the grateful caress on her jawbone and entangling the long dark hair he had already disarranged. She sucked softly on his cock but not for long. He was too excited, when he started pushing harder and in quicker rhythm into her sucking soft mouth, she let his cock slip from her red lips, squeezing a small buttock in promise and standing up to pull the last few buttons from her shirt and grab his hand to press it on her breast in her bodice.
His groan of frustration changed back to the grunt of desire, his soft pale fingers with the faint ink stains on them came eagerly to unhook the white bodice with the lacing of pink flowers over it. Only once his hand caressed the pretty bodice, his eyes flicked to enjoy the sight of it before he was pulling the hooks undone to free her round breasts. As she shrugged the bodice off, his hand was already on one breast, his mouth on the other. She pulled his head harder in to her breast, laughing at the joy of his tongue over her nipple, at the same time she was trying to reach the string of her own wide-hipped trousers -- she could not slide hers over her hips, hers were plump rounded womanly hips, the string of her warm felt trousers had been knotted round a little waist curving deliciously out. He was trying to help her while still sucking on one breast and fingering the other, their fingers were fumbling at each other's fingers instead of the string, they started snorting with laughter and fell into the bed again.
The string was undone and they were shoving off her trousers and the knickers she no longer cared sufficiently about to regret that she had not worn the ones matching her pretty bodice. While he pressed his loose wet mouth to her neck, she managed to get into the pocket of her trousers, "I have one," he panted, pulling away from her neck to lean out of the bed and scrabble in his own pocket.
He was sitting up to put the condom on. She lay smiling softly, charmed by his consideration. He was back now to lay his thin pale young body alongside her plump warm young curves. They stared into each other's slanted dark eyes, suddenly intent. She put her hand down to quickly feel her sex and ensure she was wet and soft. He came crawling to lie between the plump curving legs which she opened to his legs with a luxurious sigh, he lay down on her chest, his knees pushed her knees wider, he looked deep into her eyes and she felt his cock nudging at her cunt and with a thrust he was in.
"Mmm!" Her hips came up to meet him as he thrust down, she felt the exciting pressure to her sex, to her clitoris, the satisfaction of his cock inside her. He moaned and took a grip of her hips, made a squirm of his own hips to get in deeper. She felt his cock touch her sweet spot and her eyes and her thighs went wide, it all began rippling out. She clutched her arms about his thin chest to hold him close. Her pelvis began tilting up to him, her muscles in motion, he was thrusting urgently into her cunt, grunting into her neck, the feelings rippling out and suddenly she went over, crying out to him, gripping his small buttocks to press them hard, to press him into her, in his excitement he began going over too.
Afterwards they lay contentedly snugged in the sheets and blankets and quilt, the warmth each felt from the other's body heavily emphasised by the cold of the little room. He moved only to reach out of the bed for a wooden luncheon box which he brought up and opened to show her the two buns inside. She smiled into the slanted dark eyes which had become dreamy in post-coital happiness. One bun had some stewed meat and vegetables in it, the other was sweet. He shared them with her although it was not quite enough for two. Later he could get a good dinner in the servants' dining hall. It was one of the advantages of working in the Palace, that once a day he could feed himself completely full in the servants' dining hall, he had not quite got over how it felt to actually be full, even sometimes to have eaten too much.
Anata passed a caressing hand over his head. In doing so her eyeline crossed his little window and she saw that the light coming through it was becoming hazy and soft. Regretfully she crawled out of his warm embrace to search out her scattered clothes and get dressed. He lay snugged up watching her with the smile starting to be wistful on his loose wet mouth. Once he sat up and pressed an hand onto the pretty bodice she was hooking back up around her beautiful round breasts and her curving plump ribcage, tracing his soft ink-stained fingers with a wondering pleasure about the pink lace flowers. He lay back into the warm nest in the bedclothes, saying: "Do you live here in Erjeine? Shall I walk you to your house?"
She turned her head with the smile sweet on her soft red mouth at this kindness. Her dark slanted eyes sparkled warmly on him. "No my dear," she said in a lazy aristocratic tone that made him grin surreptitiously and a lustful flicker shiver down his loins. "It is a two-three hours cart ride I have ahead of me. You had better not come; unless you were wanting to be formally introduced to my brother."
He laughed, embarrassed at the thought, pulling the quilt about his shoulders and watching her finish dressing. She went to a small mirror he had hanging on his wall and did her best with her hair although it remained appealingly untidy here and there. Her face was all soft and warm with the favour she had given him, she smiled to see her beauty flushed with splendour like the snowfields on the H'velst Mountains towering over P'shan Palace tipped golden and pink by the rays of the setting sun.
Angels! she must get on or the sun would start to set and her brother would curse her and refuse to bring her with him next time he came into Erjeine. She turned to the young man and knelt by the bed to lean in and give him a final hug and kiss. Close she pressed her soft red mouth to his lovely loose wet mouth, he ran his tongue round the inside of her lip to make her smile, he pressed his tongue in her mouth, pulling her head to him and disarranging her hair again.
Finally she parted from his kiss, picked up her fur-edged coat knitted into a bright picture of the sun rising over the mountains and shrugged her arms into the sleeves. She flung her delicate floating turquoise scarf about her head, grabbed her fur hat and in a flashing last smile on him, she was gone.
She went quickly through the Palace. This part was unfamiliar to her and as she hurried down the narrow stairs and a bare corridor she thought she should at the least of it have asked him to take her to the entrance hall. Then she saw round a corner a big elaborately carved arch looking out onto the H'velst Mountains, she knew it must lead onto a wide veranda and felt relieved to be near the end of the servants' quarters. She trotted along with more confidence.
She trotted round the corner, hoping to see a wide passage alongside the veranda and one of the huge marble staircases of the aristocratic quarters, and ran straight into a big velvet-clad body.
"Oho!" said a familiar deep masculine voice. "Well met in the corridor, Dame Anastelle Yrai."
She took a startled step backwards, lifting her head to look up into his dark eyes which were always sad in contradiction to the laughing rich red mouth.
Commander-Lord Tarra el V'lair van Athagine: louche player in the pink-fingered set at court, his mouth pursed in delighted appreciation of this chance meeting and his sad dark eyes narrowed to see her flushed and soft of face, running down the corridors with untidy hair and her hat in her hand.
He was the muscular powerful commanding officer of a field troop, heir to all the wine-growing lands of Athagine. Some years before he had been through a scandalous divorce because of the tyrannical ways of his family which he had insisted his Lady wife ought to submit to but she had refused. There was a knotted rough reddish scar on his chin which Anata knew he had picked up in revenge for an act so dishonourable that he was lucky not to have had his throat slashed for it. He had other scars of course, thin white honourable scars from the duel. His nose sprawled sideways from where someone had broken it for him in some other disgraceful brawl.
She was so taken aback that she completely forgot her manners and just stammered out: "Wh-what are you doing here?"
He laughed. "I might ask you the same thing," he said, turning his dark-haired head to look at her in amusement. "Dame Yrai. Coming along the corridors of P'shan Palace -- from the servants' quarters." His glinting eyes flicked back in the direction from which she had come.
She made a quick sideways step to get round him but he was there before her: bloody expert in the duel, well he was such a dishonourable dog that he needed to be. "What do you know of the servants' quarters," she said with a scornful grin but he only laughed back at her at that, she blushed to think of the familiarity with which he probably sneaked in and out of the maidservants' rooms. "Why are you here in P'shan?" she said, successfully making her tone of voice careless instead of cross.
"I have come for the sport," he said with his louche grin. "The winter sports," he elaborated, the grin broadening on his rich red mouth, full as a bowl of wine.
"You like skating about, do you?" she said, casually tossing her scarf round her head and putting her fur hat on. She tilted her head up at him and realised that she had made another mistake. His eyes narrowed and the laugh fell from his mouth. She had forgotten that, framed in the turquoise gauze and with the halo of the fur hat around it, her face would have the alluring appeal of an Angel of Charity: creamy magnolia petal skin echoed by the pale fur of the hat, her cheeks flushed and soft with the favour she had just bestowed, her dark slanted eyes sparkling with the fun she had enjoyed, her mouth soft and red with kisses.
"You like to play," he murmured. He was moving in to back her against the wall, she went slowly backwards, "but you will be hunted down and pinned one day."
There was the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor and in the second he turned his head in distraction, she managed to slip under his arm and run off down the corridor. The servant she was running past tilted disapproving eyes towards her then she saw his eyes go to see el V'lair and become more sympathetic but she was beyond caring for propriety. She ran on down the wide stairs only slowing to a demure pace more proper to her status when she reached the enormous red-carpeted staircase going down to the huge echoing marble hallway of the Palace where many different kinds of people: servants in heavy woollen cloth, nobility in velvets, soldiers in their red and green felt uniforms, went to and fro about their business.
Jamies was cross and refused to let her sit in the front of the cart with him, giving the seat to the twins instead. They laughed mockingly at her as they scrambled onto the bench beside him but Anata only pretended to be disappointed, settling herself into some straw in the back of the cart where she could chew over the odd appearance of el V'lair van Athagine in the palace of the el T'fels van P'shan: a family so high in their morals that it was said they had moved to the mountains to accommodate them. With a vague sense of dread, Anata acknowledged that the only reason he would have come would be in the hopes of a good sniff at her bottom while her friend Tashka el Maien van H'las was at war. el V'lair had flirted heavily with her when she met him at the el Maiens' hunting party a two-three months previous but he was not willing to risk Tashka's glove and had left it at that. He was so notorious that his own friend, Tashka's brother Lord Clair, had even apologised to her for introducing her to his attention and had said she could threaten el V'lair with his glove too if there was any unpleasantness. But the el Maiens were engaged in a bitter civil war, el V'lair had clearly decided that he had an open field and he had imposed his disgusting company on the el T'fels in order to fish for her favours.
Anata gave an heavy sigh. The cart jolted down the snow-packed track across the slopes of the mountain behind the ponies in the softening light of the evening reflecting off the snowfields. Above her, the twins were chattering merrily either side of Jamies, she slid her eyes sideways at Jamies' stocky figure in his brightly coloured embroidered felt coat. Jamies had never said any thing but she had seen how disappointed he was whenever she turned her famously alluring eyes aside from yet another well-to-do merchant or pleasant aristocrat less stricken in poverty than themselves who came chatting in a besotted manner to her. Jamies had taken a farmer's daughter in marriage in the face of their father's complaints. He was not troubled about her low taste in men except for the money. Every time he saw her smile with flashing charm on some butcher's boy or junior clerk, his dark slanted eyes filled with gloom. His marriage had brought in an excellent manager of the household and she knew he had hoped hers would bring some material wealth but to what purpose? Their father remained a drunken sot who played away at cards whatever he could get into his hands. Since the death of their mother when the twins were born, Jamies and Anata between them had had to manage as best they could, sometimes stealing money from Captain-Sir Jamies Yrai's purse while he slept in order to get in food for the family. If he was in funds it was jewellery and rich garments for them all, he complained continually that they did not keep up an establishment he thought proper for an officer-aristocrat, but there were long periods of time when Jamies struggled alone to manage a living for them out of the steep hillsides on which their family fort was perched. The monies from Captain-Sir Yrai's pension and any thing else from the sworn Lords of course went in the card play and sometimes now, their father snuck into Jamies and Lallia's bedroom while they slept and stole money from Jamies' purse.
She knew what her father would say but what would Jamies say if Commander-Lord Tarra el V'lair van Athagine of Tenth Athagine came prowling round in his velvets and furs, offering her jewels and monies and an apartment in the el V'lair family rooms at court, some bloody suite in amongst the chained Girls his father kept. Anata bit at her soft red lip, her slanted eyes creased in distaste. That louche strong-muscled knowledgeable commanding officer with the well experienced hands, an oldest son of the high nobility, aggressive in pursuit of his pleasure; he was a kind of man she least preferred.
She liked soft tumbling puppies like the sweet young library clerk she had met that day on his day off. She had been poking about in the bookstores in hopes of some old novel being sold cheaply which she might read to Lallia. She pulled one from the shelf at the same time as he pulled a book from the shelf behind. Through this accidental hole in the shelves of dusty books, their startled dark slanted young eyes met. They both started helplessly sniggering and giggling and then she -- more confident -- put her hand through the hole: the little plump pale fingers waggling at him in inviting salute. And he kissed them.
Her body, still soft and warm with the favour he had thrust up into her, gave a quiver and she smiled to remember the hollow in his hip. He was young, fumbling and eager; so grateful for her tossed favour; not expecting any thing more. She did not want more. She did not want to marry some pleasant Knight or complaisant merchant and manage his household and babies while sneaking out for a bit of pleasure with the butchers' boys, she did not even want to marry some sweet young library clerk -- not that he would have the funds to support her. She certainly did not want to be taken down South by some bloody member of the high nobility and kept on the side to be shown off on his arm at disgusting parties of the pink-fingered set. Softly she kissed the fingers the library clerk had kissed, hoping that the van P'shan family would realise what el V'lair's game was and find some way to put him off the scent of her favours.
As she slid down the steep path of trodden snow from the shepherds' huts, Anata lifted her head to the shrill boy's cry echoing up the hillside and down into the steep valley below like the call of a bird. It was one of the twins; it was Fiotr. She tried to hurry some more, lost her foothold and had to grab at a bush to keep upright. The wiry bare twigs cut into her hand; she gritted her teeth and wished she had worn her gloves.