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Nobody's Business but the Turks | 26th late evening- Xmas 1677


Guest John Bramston

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The House of the Countess Hawthorne

 

Set behind lightly trimmed hedges, and a rambling garden, the Hawthorn House's white granite sits in stark contrast. The house sprawls our over the property rather than attaining the three story height of many of it's neighbours - and abounds in alcoves and secrets alike.

 

The front door is painted a deep green, a woven bell pull hangs along side which might summon forth a servant from the bowels of the house.

 

Naturally, John showed up dressed as the Sultan, an outfit put together by giggling servants and family members. It was totally inauthentic but played to the oriental stereotypes, with a turban (solidly secured against his head twitch), a vest, and a flowing robe with a few last minute ribbons tied on. His cane's handle had been extended into a crescent and he had horse tails hanging in random places.

 

John was accompanied by a servant in similar garb, his valet who would understand the strange combination of French, Latin, Greek, and Old English John intended to claim was Turkish.

 

It was silly, perhaps, but John found it hilarious. And he'd never really expected to be taken seriously, especially not by someone who so casually spoke of lovers. Besides, a bit of silliness would soothe him. And if they were to mock him, at least he was taking it no more seriously than they.

 

The servant knocked of course. He imagined the Sultan of Turkland was above knocking on doors.

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A liveried servant answered the door. "Good evening sir, please come in." it seemed that Maldon was at least expected, it also seemed that no sight on the Hawthorn doorstep could surprised this oddly stuffy-looking servant.

 

The servant waited a moment in the generously proportioned foyer to relieve the Sultan of any outerwear he might wish to shed. Plainly enough the Countess was not short of a penny, opulence on par with Versailles dripped from cornice to kickboard. Not that John was given much time to admire the surroundings, before he was escorted deeper into the abode. Down a marbled hallway lined with sculptures and paintings.

 

Stopping at the third doorway they came to, a room one might expect to be a dayroom, the servant put hand on door handle and frowned. "Her ladyship... ah. Err, please go on through." It seemed that they were to forgo the usual etiquette of announcement.

 

The tall door pushed inwards upon a semi darkened room, bowers of ostrich feathers and multicoloured draperies closed in the ceiling, while the light of fireplace in the rooms interior beckoned the Earl in. It was surprisingly warm... with a soft click the door closed behind him.

 

"You came..." a voice purred amongst the shadows, and as his eyes acclimatised to the darkness the figure of a dark haired woman draped in silk came into focus, lounging turkish style. Concealed somewhere in the room a lone musician played a tanbur. Lucina smiled contentedly of the sight she saw, "ah, my sultan, come sit with me." discarding the picture book she'd been enjoying, she patted a cushion.

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John was no stranger to opulence but he was impressed by the taste. Versailles seemed gaudy to him but the art here was well placed and of interest, at least by the glance. As for being lead along, John did not allow himself to be hurried but didn’t insist on lingering or stop.

 

John waved off his valet before he entered. He gave the liveried servant a bemused look as he was apparently dumbfounded. But a moment later he was astounded by what he saw. It was liked something out of one of his books and Lucina might have a moment of John gawking before she drew his attention to her.

 

John smiled at her invitation. John sat somewhat awkwardly on the cushion Turkish style, moving his bad leg with a tug. He placed the cane standing straight up, its base being wide enough it could stand freely. The crescent at the top would catch light (and perhaps reveal that it was a normal headed cane with hasty additions).

 

He looked at this wealthy, silky woman floating on a Turkish couch. John suddenly became aware he was very, very out of his depth. He stuffed down a rising feeling he was ridiculous. He needed to think of something to say. What would Caroline say?. ‘Say? Loot the room and carry her off!’. What would an evil Turkish sultan say… “You,” John finally settled on, “will m-m-make an excellent addition to my harem.”

 

The implication of such words actually escaped him. He intended to mean that she would play the part of a Turkish maiden waiting to be rescued well. She was obviously enthusiastic.

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Like a burbling brook, mellow toned laughter slid from her lips, eyes appreciative of his jest. "I would beg to know what the specifications are for such a station?" She was never the less appreciative of the tenseness of the young man, but if anything that only delighted her more.

 

The room's decor had been embellished over the years, what had begun as a theme night for her amusement with Louis, had been augmented and refined. There was homely state of wear upon the layered draperies, rugs and such, that buffed away the 'staged' look that the room might otherwise have had.

 

Which of course led to her original question, the enquiry placed within note to him. "Mmm... teasing him further she rose an eyebrow of his uncomfortably upright cane, "for your part such an erection recommends you highly."

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John didn’t have any idea what the specifications were, beyond that he’d turned down Sophia because her husband wouldn’t appreciate it. Even then, she’d been allowed in, just not as a harem girl or kidnapped princess or his ‘wife’. She’d settled on the ever so humble title the Goddess of Snow, Queen Chione.

 

So he stalled, “A sultan is d-d-deaf to begging,” John replied in an overly serious manner, pretending he’d conquered Asia. Much of the harshness of that statement was sucked out by John’s lack of smoothness. He was not a trained actor and the role fit him a bit like a poorly tailored suit. But he moved on to distract, “Afraid you’re n-n-not up to the task?” His taunt was, in contrast, gentle and bemused.

 

The innuendo flew clear over John’s head, “Oh, it’s a m-m-minor province in my skills. Any fool can m-m-make an erection, it’s… how you use it that matters.” John’s tone was fairly confident here, because John, of course, was talking about architecture and how outbuildings were placed in gardens. Or perhaps his snow castle. “Do you have experience with erections?”

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His reply to flirtatious question caught her by surprise. "Did I sound so febble?" Was that arrogance or contrariness? He seemed to be taking his mock-role as Sultan rather seriously...

 

It seemed an apt time to drink. "Would you do the honors." she gestured to a nearby tray, there amongst a litter of dried figs and dates sat a decanter of raki nested about with small glasses.

 

Meanwhile the Countess considered the man before her, a young man who had seemed something of a straggler from the pack. But perhaps she had misjudged him, and the possible mutuality of benefit an association might make.

 

He was different from the young man she'd sampled after the Ball. No blush to her teasing use of the word 'erection', instead, with bald face he turned the question back upon her. Again, she'd not expected such a challenging demeanor. It was as though someone somewhere might now be laughing mockingly at her.

 

Was this Louis doing? Though if it was, then Chatham would be the last to know.

 

"Your snowball fete, Lord Chatham." her tone shifted and she pressed to question at hand. "A novel concept, wont you tell me of it's origin? My friends tell me you are an associate of Lord Basildon, could the distracting theme be at his provocation?"

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John did not know how to flirt. And he was actually deaf to the meaning of being invited alone into a warm room with a woman reclining. No doubt when he was older and wiser he’d smack himself over the missed opportunity. Though he’d keep missing them until someone taught him better.

 

His brow furrowed at her comment, “I d-d-do not know a Lord Chatham.” John said quite sincerely. There was an awkward pause and after a moment everything about him became softer as John dropped his act, “Ah, p-p-perhaps you mistook us? I’m the Lord Maldon.” He had not been announced or addressed by name up until that point. John smiled a bit awkwardly at the lady, trying to ease the misunderstanding.

 

Now out of character, John got up and carefully poured the raki. His hands were shaking, as usual. He held out a glass to her and then returned to his seat, keeping the bottle closer at hand. His spine was significantly less like a ramrod than it had been and his pose a good deal less practiced.

 

John drank the raki and managed to swallow it but broke out into a coughing fit from the strength. “I wanted to d-d-do something fun. And there are enough b-b-balls and dinner parties in the world, don’t you agree?” And John disliked balls anyway. Besides, he needed to do something to fight off the creeping depression that was greying the edges of his vision. There was a moment there where John seemed uncertain, perhaps unhappy.

 

He recovered. “It wasn’t Lord Basildon.” John doubted Basildon was paying him any mind at all. “The Turks are my own d-d-design.” He grinned, pleased in a childish sort of way at his own creativity. He finished his glass and reached to refill.

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Meanwhile Lucinda had been anything but subtle. Who might know what it would take to open John's eyes... one might only try.

 

"Lord Maldon I mean." where had that come from, she stood corrected*.

 

As to Louis involvement, it became plain that her erstwhile lover was not playing games. "Ah, I cannot more wholly agree." she replied to John's aversion to the cliche of dinner parties and balls, "as you can see...." she then gestured, about the room, "I have sought escape from the mundane for some years. You can imagine my entrancement when I heard of your event. Though of course, I an fondest of more private affairs."

 

She moved up from lounging posture to accept the drink. "A toast?" she invited his conjuring, for however naive he was with the ways of men and women, he plainly had an imagination still.

 

 

 

 

OOC: sorry for my mistake of name then, if I do something obviously a mistake like that again please contact me so I can edit! Save my embarrassment!

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John smiled and looked around, “It’s a… wondrous room.” He removed the coat with horsetails tied to it, which was a bit uncomfortable, and laid it to the side, before resting to lean back on a pillow. “Have you found your escape?” He asked, curious in an innocent way.

 

Private affairs… John wondered if that was a euphemism for a lady who liked taking lovers. John wondered (for he really was this dense) how one went around getting lovers anyway. “Like t-t-tonight?”

 

John moved up as well, and raised his glass, “To the exciting. And t-t-to new…” John looked for her to fill in exactly what their relationship was.

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Her eyes warmed with his appreciation of the room, "I might draw from it a metaphor for life?" she idled, in a voice soft and low as she looked about the room once more, "there is something about the layering of so many patterns, the gathering together of a rather eclectic mix, almost as though nothing expires or becomes obsolete." giving her head a small shake she looked back to the youth. Fresh faced as he was, and with a wonder in his eyes.

 

"Tell me of your attraction to the theme?" she asked.

 

"Tonight?" she chuckled again, if she'd not realised his lack of guile she'd have thought him eager to begin. "... or more like tomorrows night, perhaps." she tread more slowly. "Tonight is something else again, can you feel it, the slow dance we are upon, the placing of words and measuring of man, of woman, not all evenings lead to something more. Though indeed, I remain in mind of it." He was different to any of her more recent lovers, an interesting contradiction of a man.

 

His toast, open ended. "...entanglements?" her eyes held his, and percieving that the word might only confuse the inexperienced she added, "it's a word of fashionable nonchalance, for lo, who would wish betray deeper emotions might be at play. Yet that is what we each seek, isnt it?" she held his gaze, reading the man.

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“Oh, I read a g-g-great many adventure books when I was young.” John said with a fond smile of remembrance, “Evil Turks, heroes who b-b-break into harems.” He expected that she would know the sort. “And now…” John trailed off, trying to search his own motivations in the moment.

 

His voice turned a little quiet, “Now, I think, there are so many things… I d-d-don’t know, I haven’t experienced. But I want to. P-p-perhaps that’s what I’m trying to conjure.” That and the youthful belief that good, or at least the hero, always won out in the end.

 

John was confused by her reference to tomorrow night. I wonder if I’ll be invited then too. She asked if he could feel it and John might have said no… but her tone, the way she hefted herself. There was a tingling in his spine, a primal instinct she had, through perseverance, begun to tap into. It seemed to draw ever closer to the surface with each lady who taught him just a little. He caught himself staring at her a moment and then very suddenly found the carpet behind her very interesting (though not interesting enough his eyes didn’t wander back). “I d-d-don’t know what I feel.” He said, the dryness of his throat in his tone.

 

He was glad when she spoke again, “Entanglements.” John accepted the term and drank to ease that dryness, this time managing without coughing.

 

Yet then her words found their mark. He didn’t understand innuendos, or the mechanics of sex, but he understood feelings. His eyes locked on hers in a sort of longing shock when he realized what she was suggesting, at least in the abstract. He turned as red as the carpets and silks around him, and looked down out of embarrassment. “Ah, so… ah.” John felt like a fool.

 

“I…” He trailed off again. He was seized by an urge to flee but beat it down. “I’m no good at nonchalance. And I d-d-do not know the steps.” He was still blushing furiously. His eyes peaked up at her, and his look appreciative and shy as he realized she was a woman and attractive.

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His gestures and animation as he was sure of his topic, made all the more contrast as he became quiet of the uncertainty he then discovered. She felt moved that he was honest enough that he did not even try to hide it from her. His trust was a gift. And 'It', which she was now certain of, was lack of experiance sensually.

 

"Well here we have a sanctuary, you need not pretend to be anything. Here, perhaps, new experiences may unfold. Yet there is no rush." she spoke softly. "Like any journey, the destination is but the finale. Time need be taken along the way to savor the sights, the sounds, the tastes..."

 

His falter, nervousness, and yet his strength to meet her gaze once more. She divined he was ready for an education, yearned for it even if he was uncertain of what that meant. While she; this light shed years from the once stunning Countess, and the gleam of desire in her eyes added to her allure.

 

“Then lets leave nonchalance for the likes of Whitehall." she chuckled, generous and soft breasts jiggled, the sleeve of her robe slipped off her shoulder. Unconsciously she lifted it back to place.

 

"Lovers value other currencies. Your honesty, it is arousing, would it surprise you to know you quicken my heart? My fascination, alas, is less than pure, of the things I might show you if we traveled that journey together - and the pleasure of sharing the joy of your discoveries." her eyes held his, her head tipped as she let go of her robe, the shoulder slipping free once more and exposing a round of creamy smooth flesh.

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John had not yet imagined what a woman should be. This was all new, and he had no frame to judge Lucinda’s age or anything else. He only knew she aroused him (and even that was a stirring long ago buried). That made her beautiful.

 

“Yes,” He said to her eloquent words, “Yes, I… umm…” He almost apologized. He was already thinking he was going to mess this up somehow. But Lucinda had already tolerated his fumbles and spoke of wishing a journey, not just a night. He knew it would be something of a project to draw him out and wanted someone who would enjoy the work and who could set herself to it without scandal. He hoped he’d found it in the countess.

 

John’s eyes fell with her sleeve, not to her shoulder but to the cleavage it revealed. “It w-w-would.” He admitted. John was only warming to the idea he was not ugly and unlovable. The idea people found him attractive… well, at the very least he believed what Lucinda told him. “Let them be impure, so l-l-long as they are fond.” John found desires welling up without images to go along.

 

His eyes were held by hers but they darted down to the exposed breast. He unconsciously licked his lips and blushed a bit more, remembering the incident with Nicolette. His heart beat loudly in his chest and he felt almost lightheaded. His eyes caught hers again

 

He stood and shuffled over to the couch but stopped in front of her, almost dazed, at a loss for what to do. He leaned in slightly but hesitated, uncertain. His eyes darted to her shoulder sleeve, the one still up, then her lips. He looked at her with questioning eyes, tinged with a fog of lust that had not been polished into desire yet.

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"Impurity has it's own allure don't you agree, dirty minds make fine lovers...shall I dirty you a little?" The seductress' eyes flashed with a desire to do just that.

 

Men were such visual creatures, she saw from his looks that he desired to see more, dartling eyes, an awkward intensity. She ran her finger down the toppled neckline of her robe inching it lower, "your eyes flatter me with their need, I feel my breasts ache their need in response," tenderly she explained, while a cheeky rouged nipple popped free. "You have a power my sweet and gentle boy." her voice had a happiness to it, of being an object of desire.

 

He moved closer, she caught his idle hand and drew him down to her bosom, coaxing his hand to mould her flesh while she whispered, "gently gently we begin, mmm, ahh, I need to feel your lips upon my neck."

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“Yes.” John agreed, his throat still dry. John valued goodness, kindness. Purity had never really been a concern. John visibly hitched when her breast slipped free but after a few moments looking at it his eyes returned to hers. He sought her eyes often, in comfort and shock, curiosity and lust. His heart nearly leapt as she spoke of his power, of her aches, and even John knew she wished relief…

 

She drew his hand to her. John began to gently knead her breast, watching her reactions carefully, astonished at what was happening. His hand shook not only as it did but with deep nervousness. He gently moved to the nipple, one of the few things he knew was that it was sensitive, and gently played with that, hoping to give her pleasure.

 

She asked for his lips on her neck and he sat next to her, his other hand finding her hip to steady himself. He leaned over her and planted long, gentle kisses there. He was almost reverential of her flesh, but there was just a hint of hunger underneath. Long suppressed urges had been coaxed and were bubbling to the surface with a vengeance. He was... aware of so many things. Her scent, the candles in the room, the softness of their clothes. And he desperately wanted to do... something.

 

Sometimes he would look up, trying to make sure she was enjoying herself, looking for approval. Her lips seemed inviting and he moved up, kissing her. It was amateurish but not entirely without skill, and filled with a passion yearning to express itself. A more experienced man might have used it to guide her down to lay but John was not experienced.

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OOC: Just confirming that Lucinda is semi-reclined

 

A hand cautious kneaded, while she gave encouraging murmurs, arching into his touch, and mewing approvingly as he teased her nipple. His hand trembled, but that was hardly an impediment, rather, a novelty to her pleasure. She encouraged him down, to join her in her recline.

 

Kisses trailed along her neck, while an experienced man might have then progressed further, in innocence he did not. "Does your excitement grow?" she missed his honest speech, and capturing his jaw coaxed his face to look to her once more.

 

"Tell me, of how you feel, reveal to me what is new, what is not, have you a fear, have you desire, or perhaps both." her hand slid up into his hair, caressing free his locks, as she indulged in a kiss, before breaking apart and looking into his eyes, his soul, his sincerity of intent.

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OOC: Ooops!

 

John moved to recline next to her, guided gently by her. She asked him to speak and he hesitated a moment. His eyes showed that he was seeking the words for a great swirl of emotions, “I’ve t-t-touched a little, never… so much. And I’ve kissed.” John said. He blushed, embarrassed by his own inexperienced.

 

Excitement, fear, desire… yes, she knew what ran through John’s mind. “And more.” John said, his eyes locking on hers. There was trepidation, there was fear, but there was also trust and longing. All of it was plain on his face. He was watching her closely. Lucinda held him in thrall, “I’m t-t-terrified. And…” He trailed off, his voice quivered, “I d-d-don’t know if I believe it still.” They were treading over old wounds. “But I feel… I feel safe with you. And you are b-b-beautiful.” His voice was filled with the sincerity he felt.

 

John’s head was close shaven to allow for a periwig. He was wearing one, but as Lucinda free it she might realize that. “I d-d-don’t know what to do.” His tone was an apology, but full of almost painful want.

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His words (as uncomfortable to John as they were) increased her excitement. "Mm... tell me more, you charm me to into yearning with such tender words." It might take some lessons before he fully understood how much of lovemaking was within the female mind. Some men never learnt this at all, but then those men had not had this teacher.

 

"...and I shall show you all you need to know, until you are a master of the art." she crooned, and abandoning caress of his hair she caught his hand and moved it under her robe, then coaxing his exploration down. With his hands movement, inch by inch the filmy fabric slid away, revealing curves so pale they fairly glowed in the candlelight. "Move your hand down my thigh, caress me tenderly my dearest boy, and kiss me too, do not forget to kiss." she allowed herself malleable for this his first tour.

 

Come time, she might become rather more demanding.

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Faint memories stirred of advice John hadn’t understood at the time. “I, uhm, I haven’t, I’ve wanted to…” John took a deep breath. He gathered himself, “You are a… goddess, a queen of desire.” He was still rouged as he said these words, but he at least managed to say them, “You stir my p-p-passions beyond my control. I want this. I want you. More than anything else, that’s what I f-f-feel. The rest it’s…” John was obviously feeling this in the moment as he communicated, “It’s d-d-draining away. That’s…” It’d never happened before. His nervousness had always reached a fever pitch but he was… he felt calmer. Like his desire had consumed his other feelings.

 

He kissed her, hoping that communicated better than his words did.

 

John’s heart leapt at her crooning. He blushed furiously as the fabric slid away, yet he could not conceal his curiosity. He looked, entranced, his eyes wandering along her body. Every inch of skin imprinted on his mind, the differences noted with care and desire. Realizing he was staring his eyes came up to hers again. He hesitated, started, and then sticking his courage his lips met hers. The taste was sweet, but it was also different. He was suddenly seized by the urge to kiss, and to feel, and to…

 

John his hand moved down her body. It ran along her skin, a clumsy sort of caress. He went over her hips, rounder and smoother, but he was drawn to the biggest difference towards its center. He felt her for a moment, his touch was tender, gentle, soft. He was hesitant, afraid he might hurt her or do something wrong. “Tell me,” He whispered, “How… I uh, I w-w-want you to feel good.”

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In effort to please her, he erred somewhat to vocal excess. Still, it was adorable in it' own way, and did her good to feel so wanted, so admired, so... pivotal in his life. Why possibly, really, he wooed her as much as she truly needed.

 

A groan of desire escaped her lips as they joined, his kiss of increased passion emptying her mind utterly... till breaking apart she was left breathless. Then to laugh with surprise and delight. "Maldon, you glorious wonder!" she arched to kiss him again, eyes closing as she coaxed his hands lower upon herself.

 

Could any skin be softer? Her curves rolling and smooth, and at one point his movement seemed to send a shiver up her body.

 

A triangular portion of hair, smooth and fairly devoid of further clues. "There, you have found your prize, the seat of untold pleasures." she smiled to his face, his eyes more busy looking to her sex yet without an understanding. Encouragingly she eased from her side onto her back letting her legs separate, "my dear sweet boy, quest your fingers into hidden lips, these too love to be kissed, and you must surely guess what else you can place there." breathily she watched him, encouraged him to discover daring.

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Like a teenaged love letter, the words of a young lover needed to let passion and sincerity (and frankly, the fondness of the hearer) make up for their clumsy and awkward nature. No doubt it would make good fodder for gentle teasing. But it was not mere flattery. As clumsy as the expression was, he did seem genuinely taken with her.

 

But it appeared his lips could express passion in better ways than words. John felt both shock and a warm glow at her exclamation. Lucinda actually enjoyed this! In that moment John gained more confidence than a thousand friendly words could have given. He did not yet believe himself good at any of this, but for the first time the world held the possibility he could be. His lips met her eagerly, joyously, and passionately. And relieved.

 

She spoke of questing fingers, of secret kisses… John had a realization, and he felt the tugging desire to try kissing there… but for the moment his fingers were closer. They hesitated then plunged in. His other hand fondled her and he kissed her breasts, remembering another lady who’d wanted that. He moved over her and she might feel a growing hardness, still trapped beneath clothes at this point. Long buried instincts were re-emerging. But like all instincts it was the beginning but not the end. He fondled and kissed but he still lacked skill.

 

Still, for the first time it seemed like John was not nervously exploring but actually moving towards sex. And without nerve or panic to interfere. Still, he could not help glancing at her face from time to time, wanting to make sure she was enjoying it.

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It was a foolish taboo of an older woman inducting a young lover, though perhaps that too added to the thrill of it? Lucinda took great delight in this, the adoring looks of the young man discovering the beauty of the female form, the prospect of teaching and moulding him to please her. And he, filled with youthful vigor, and ambition to overachieve.

 

Yet for now, her own gasp of delight at his desperately revealed passion, boosted his confidence that he revealed even more. Her breasts jiggling as she chuckled of his delight, her lips then firmly muted as he reveled in a passionate kiss. Bodies pressed, her soft form undulating beneath him, though for now Lucinda avoided brush of hand to his centre, although she was keenly aware that his own awareness of it must be growing.

 

He'd fallen silent again, with this latest task absorbing his intellect, he was proving most diligent too as he managed to multitask caresses to her breasts. That boded very well. Meanwhile his hand at first moving reverently over her mound, before fingers made a plunge. "Mmm, yes there," her moist folds separated upon digit, clinging even, his diligent finger pressing further down to her very opening.

 

"Slower, dearest." never the less Lucina shamelessly bent her knee, "It is a wondrous complexity," she whispered, "abate your kisses, I would allow you to look...learn this instrument you shall come to master," her own pleasure would come soon enough,"parts there have name worthy of greek gods, vulva, labia, clitoris, and from there you might rule me utterly if you wish, sending pleasures untold at a touch." Her eyes were dark and lustful as she watched the innocent.

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John was pleased by the way she moved and jiggled. There was something delightful there. John still hadn’t really taken hold of his own feelings and they washed over him without control or pretense. “You are b-b-beautiful.” He whispered again, with awed sincerity.

 

The feeling of her insides was a strange one, moist and malleable. It seemed to mold around his finger, to pull it in, but it wasn’t at all unpleasant. And the way she reacted was very pleasant so John moved that way in repetition, hoping to please her. Like so many young and inexperienced men he presumed that speed and force, though not so much it ever stopped being gentle and attentive, was the way to boost her pleasure. She corrected him shortly and he took the lesson.

 

John’s ministrations slowed immediately at her request. They did not return to that halting hesitance, but his motions became lighter, more delicate, and slower. She spoke of words that meant little to John. He could only interpret them literally: vulva meant womb, labia lips, clitoris latch. Yet in looking he could see some logic to it.

 

Gingerly but more firmly he explored with both hands, touching and seeing her reactions. When something seemed to do little he moved on quickly but when she was sent to gasp or moan he would focus on that, exploring and trying to find just the right way to drive her further.

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So he explored, and she became a musical instrument, making peeps and groans, encouraging him on as she watched with delight his fascination. Moment by moment his confidance grew, and she watched as long as she could till her eyes slid shut, upon the edge of that beautiful thing. So close. She trembled at his touch, shuddered. So close! Her sex slick with need.

 

He'd awakened her impatience, even an urgency.

 

Her hands begun to pull and tug at his britches.

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John had never had quite this effect on a woman, but he enjoyed it. Soon he, clumsy though he was, was eliciting those reactions purposefully. He was still too inexperienced to keep her on the edge or push her over, but he’d awakened her, and that was what he wanted.

 

She suddenly reached out and began to tug down his breaches. John felt the fabric over a part of him that was suddenly very sensitive and squirmed with a surprised gasp of his own. He didn’t know his own body any better than he knew hers. But still he helped her take them off as best he could and moved close to her. Words, half remembered as musk and lust clouded him, implied he was supposed to do something with what his hands now touched.

 

He moved over her, putting the two of them close, and he felt a very strange heat. An urge to do… he hesitated in his inexperience.

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In time Lucinda might wonder of how it was even possible for a man so well equipped to be naieve to it's use. But for now, with need for fulfillment, her thoughts were elsewhere. Their hands knocked together as they fumbled, belt buckle loosed, buttons, fabric pushed down over hips...

 

"You marvelous creature!" the woman crooned as he spilled free, her eyes flaring with appreciation of what she found, hands reaching for and clasping. Now that had been a pleasant surprise. The unassuming fellow had been keeping a delicious secret, known not even to himself.

 

Drawing him by his 'lead', though in this he seemed to understand the neccessary position, Lucina shifted about that he might kneel positioned between her legs. In a pause she looked up into his face, virgin right now, soon no longer. Her touch upon his cock altered, softly sliding up and down his shaft, slipping down further at times and caressing his sack, mentally relishing what was about to come. "Let me watch your face as you do it, as you fill me, don't look away."

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John smiled and blushed at her praise, her flaring eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what she found pleasing yet, but he was delighted to think any part of him pleasing. His face twisted in almost confusion as she stroked him, at first a heavy breath and then an unrestrained moan. He did not know enough to restrain it, or to want to.

 

He looked back at her, into her eyes, trusting but uncertain. His eyes flashed with understanding and he nodded and shifted. His hesitation was fading but there was still a bit of fumbling to the mechanics. A moment later, though, his head found her entrance. His eyes went wide at the sensation and he gasped sharply. He didn’t look away in embarrassment but his head jerked in the surprise before his eyes returned to her.

 

Then he slowly pushed inside her, coming down between her legs as he did, his eyes intensely focused on hers. Every now and then his head twitched, as it was wont to do, but it did not break. His face contorted, his breath became shallow, and every now and again some new sensation would burst into life and cause him to gasp or let out low, lusty moans. He pushed his way deep inside her, and when he was buried to the hilt came down to hungrily kiss her, his arms wrapping around to hold her. "Lucinda," He breathed her name, every syllable dripping with how he felt.

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"Yes, like that." she coaxed, her hands reaching to help guide his entrance, then pulling free so that they could watch. Johns face was an open book of emotions as he worked deeper. Lucinda smiled of it, rocking with him, swallowing him down inch by inch.

 

She was amply used and receptive, yet fortune had given her a lover of substance, biddable to her pleasure, and anxious to please, willing to test her capacity. "I take it that you like that Maldon?" she whispered, pleased of his achingly syllabled use of her name. Her arms wrapping around him, and kissing his face. Yet did he think that that was it? Her sweet boy seemed caught up with adoration, to the neglect of his task to hand!

 

"Now ride me sweet dear," she interlocked ankles around him as she pushed his shoulders, coaxing torso's apart, his weight to knees, "thrust that fine penis of yours. At a walk, a trot and then a canter. Work us to a lather." her hand slid down his shoulders to rub across his chest, fingers pressing upon his skin with an intensity that matched her lusty tones.

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Did he like that? “I like you.” He replied breathily. John had not learned to separate sexual intimacy from emotional. He hardly knew Lucinda and yet he already felt… not like he knew her, but that they were close.

 

John had been enjoying a moment, and before it could grow stale she told him to repeat. John took the metaphor. Experience, brief though it was, was teaching him now, as well as Lucinda's words and his own instincts. He moved with her touch, coming away yet still looking at her. He hardly knew what else to do with his eyes (and from this angle looking at her face gave him a lovely view of her jiggling bosom).

 

He pulled back. The first he went just a bit too far, leaving her completely, but then he quickly found her again and pushed back in slowly. And then again. And again, moving from a single low note all the way up the scale, a crescendo of pleasure. His face still twisted every time it discovered a new delight and he let out sharp sounds of pleasure.

 

As the speed became a gallop, one hand came to rest on her hip. The other… well, John was very eager to please her. His hand came down to the top of her thighs where he’d noted a particularly sensitive area. He touched it with his thumb, gently rubbing the little nub he'd found there. He wanted her to shudder as she had before.

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It was touching, these gentle troths, these reckless words of affection,. Lucinda smiled of him and kissed him again, but she resisted saying such things herself. Experience places caution in speaking those words that might bind.

 

Never the less there was a look in her eyes, an affection growing, and something akin to familial pride as he took so readily to his lessons. He plunged, and she gasped of the sensation, fingers tightening upon his chest. "Ah yes, yes that is the way!" she cooed as he picked up his pace. His face shifted and contorted marvelously as he filled her this way and that way, his thrusts jostling about her breasts that she then clutched. He hardly needed any encouragement at that point - though still she called harder and harder.

 

That edge she'd been upon before, was there again, he was upon the path to her fulfillment, when his ingenious took a shortcut. His thumb working that nub sent her over, gasping out a strangled cry her body tensed and shook repeatedly, a pulse that gripped his penis tight, body milking him deep within... till an overwhelming state of relaxation slacked her form.

 

Silent aftershocks within.

 

She smiled now, so softly, and reached to place and hand tenderly against his cheek. "Such a beautiful beautiful boy..."

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