<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br/><div align="center"><strong>Triste</strong></div><br/><strong>► Company: Chantal</strong><br/><br/>Triste simply smiled knowingly at Chantal’s suggestion that they find a song that was unique to the pair, appreciating this woman’s mind and passions evermore with each passing moment in her presence and company.<br/><br/><strong>“Cher, you have a timeless beauty and an ancient soul in such a young body, if any may claim to be beyond nature here, I believe it is you, my lady,”</strong>he told her, his lips grazing her cheek near her ear before taking her hand and following her lead through Madame Velvet’s establishment, anxiously awaiting all the more he would yet learn of this woman.<br/><br/>Not a step was taken, nor a breath taken by Chantal, that Triste did not watch, sense and experience along the way, capable of truly immersing himself in a woman’s essence and being, when properly motivated, he found himself in that state now and thoroughly enjoyed the sensations of it.  Though Velvet’s magic rendered many of Triste’s powers less than they might have been elsewhere, no doubt for the safety of the women there, his skills had grown over centuries to be something beyond which his cursed life had empowered him with.<br/><br/>Entering the room, he released her hand, with his fingers tracing across her palms and over her fingertips as they parted, at least for the moment.  The décor of the room both impressed and relaxed Triste, the stylings so classic and the colors regal, yet with a feeling of the regality of nature, not solely that conferred by one man or woman upon another.<br/><br/><strong>“Impressive, Milady, nearly as much so as the woman whose sensuous and elegant touch is embedded in every choice made, every hue chosen, and each piece selected from amidst so many others.  Your eye for beauty matches my own, I would say that it exceeds it in some ways, yet my eyes have drunk of your own loveliness so deeply that I daresay, none can match the wonder of my vision at the moment,”</strong>he noted, his Norman accent coming to the fore, a bit more guttural than Chantal’s refined French and Cajun blend of tones.<br/><br/>Triste slipped the jacket from his shoulders and off of his arms with a movement as natural as taking a breath, alighting it upon the back of a chair as it folded nearly perfectly, his very particular and certain way of things exuding a confidence that never bordered on either the arrogant or the humble.<br/><br/>He strode around the room, circling as if taking in all of the sights into a catalogue in his mind, yet the circle spiraled inward, with Chantal’s lovely form as the center of the gravity which drew him closer and closer until he walked in front of her, his hand and the white silk fabric of his shirt, where it covered his lean and muscular arm, caressing across her hips and taut torso, until he spun o his heel and both of his large hands rested on her shoulders as his body pressed lightly against hers from behind.<br/><br/><strong>“Do you sing, Chantal?  I know you have the heart of an artist, and in truth, you have all of myself now as well, but our song, if my touch and rhythm finds it within you, will you sing it for us?”</strong>he asked with an easy smoothness as his fingers slid across her shoulders and slipped beneath the fabric of her dress, sliding it down her arms as his fingers traced warm, firm lines in its wake.<br/><br/>His hips pressed against her rear, his manhood able to be felt though their clothing, though not crushed against Chantal in any blatant way, its length and his height resting his phallus from the top of the curve of her ass and up along the small of her back.<br/><br/>As his hands peeled her dress down to her hips, Triste gripped here there as his lips kissed and suckled the bare, supple flesh of her right shoulder and his body began to sway to a rhythm, a dance to a yet unheard song, calling hers to join his, even as her dress slipped from his grasp and pooled silently at her feet.<br/><br/><strong>"Sing to me, Cher, guide my hands to the places that bring a sog to your sweet lips,"</strong>he asked and opened his hands to her own.