Monday, September 17, 2012

The Muse Is Thy Master 2

click here for part 1

"Milady? Milady?"

The young lady awakens to the sound of an elderly gentleman's voice bathing her ears with a softness that defies description. She looks around at her surrounding and finds to her surprise that she is no longer sitting on the beach.

"Milady? Milady?"

Instead, she finds herself laying on a soft grassy knoll surrounded by waves of wildflowers. She also finds to her surprise that she's completely nude.

"I'll be damned. That little peon stuck me somewhere in the past," says the young lady to herself.

'I strongly suggest you answer your footman, as he's turning a major shade of red.'

The young lady momentarily narrows her eyes, then in her chirpiest voice says, "Yes?"

The footman quickly faces the other direction and says, "Milady,  you wanted me to remind you when yo had a half hour left to your sunbath."

"Thank you...um..."

"Gerald, milady," answers the footman.

"Thank you, Gerald," says the young lady as she sits up.

"Will there be anything else, milady?"

The young lady looks around for a moment, then asks, "Clothes?"

Gerald points to a rock some twenty feet away and says, "Over there, milady."

"Thank you again, Gerald. That will be all."

"As you wish, milady," says Gerald as he walks slowly back to the carriage.

The young lady waits until Gerald is out of sight, then collapses back on the grassy knoll and happily rolls herself into the bank of wildflowers. When she sits up some several minutes later, her hair is completely festooned with brightly colored wildflowers. She crawls over to the rock and starts going through her clothes. A minute later, she pulls out a small handheld mirror and crawls back to the grassy knoll.

When she looks into it, the mirror jumps out of her hand and impales itself in the ground. The young lady squats to pick it up, but the mirror takes root and rapidly grows into a full length mirror made of dark cypress and edged with honeysuckle.

Taken aback, the young lady peers around the back side and spies a rather large snow white owl. The owl hisses its displeasure at being looked at, and quickly takes flight. It zooms so close to the young lady that she is momentarily knocked from her feet. Before she can touch the ground, a honeysuckle vine shoots out and wraps itself around her toned stomach to keep her upright.

A peaceful feeling comes over the young lady as the honeysuckle vine pulsates vibes through its leaves and coats her skin with an intoxicating scent. A few minutes later, a soft whistle breaks through her psychedelic haze and the young lady suddenly finds herself not on the grassy knoll, but on the veranda of a medium sized English country house.

She starts to walk around but a sharp voice from behind stops her cold.

"Please don't move. The sun is finally in the perfect position for me to paint."

The young lady turns around and finds herself staring into a pair of the darkest hazel eyes she's ever seen. For the next minute, her heart literally melts as those eyes carefully and passionately bore a hole straight into her heart. A snap of the fingers makes her blink and when she refocuses again, the painter's muscular physique comes to the forefront and brings her to her knees.

A yearning to be hungrily ravished slowly comes over the young lady, and every key component of her body becomes so overly sensitive that if the painter exhaled in her direction, the result would be orgasmic.

With her heart racing and her body aching to be touched, the young lady slowly walks towards the painter. When he turns around to pick up his palette, she is right there in front of him. He sighs for a moment and waits for her to make the first move. When she touches his cheek, he holds it there for several seconds, then removes it and sensually kisses her fingers.

He stands up and walks her back to the railing. Caressing her cheek for a moment, he clears his throat and takes a couple of steps backwards.

"If I was that kind of man, I would give you such a day of passion that I daresay would take you forever to recover from. However milady, I am not that kind of man. I do keep my body in superior condition for my lover, and not only does he appreciate it, but so do the other discreet members of the same circle that milady travels in. Which is why my nudes are of the highest quality and of the highest demand on the continent."

To be continued...

(c) 2012 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

8 comments:

  1. I like the fairy tale feel to this one so far.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Charles: Thankee.

    Right now, I'm just letting my imagination take control of this story.

    ReplyDelete
  3. As someone who has drawn n clay sculpted from nude models, I do detach myself from personal passion to render the essence of the figure. I've never had an affair with a model yet... Of course being attractive always helps the art motivation.
    Sounds kinda like you have trouble keeping your Muse in just one theme as your settings change by whim...
    I had the thought when she rolled thru the wildflowers of rolling on a bee n getting stung! Just my odd thought n imagination working overtime-

    ReplyDelete
  4. Snaggle: Not so much as having trouble as just simply rolling with whatever my imagination gives me.

    With these adventures, I'm trying to use the strong points of my writing, so more often than not, she'll be jumping from style to style and genre to genre. I kind of like this particular background, so I may stay with it for a while.

    ReplyDelete
  5. SisterWife Annie: Thank for stopping by to comment.

    My writings can be a bit strange to say the least. But I can promise you it does get better.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Excellent! I could use a day like that ;)

    ReplyDelete

Originality. Is. Good. Be original. Be thoughtful. But most importantly, make me think.