<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br/><strong>► Triste Richleau</strong><br/><br/>As Chantal’s voice filled the room with its rich and tawny tones, Triste closed his eyes for those few moments and his fingertips pressed a little more firmly against her ribcage as he loosened the dress that she so gracefully shimmied off.  The notes were felt both in the vibrations that his touch detected from deep within her lovely chest, but were also felt through his ears, the closing of his eyes allowing Triste to concentrate upon his other senses and envelop himself in a sweet cocoon of the short bit of melody Chantal gifted him with,<br/><br/>“Magnifique!” he exclaimed not in excitement, but in soothing pleasure and an evocative appreciation for the finery of her voice and the small glimpse into her soul that the lines of the song had provided in the way they were sung.<br/><br/>The sound of her low, soulful hum and the sway of her lithe body as she took his hands into hers was creating that rhythm and song each had spoken of, drafting the prelude to a sonata all their own.  When Triste’s hands were guided to the underside of her breasts, he knew then that this woman was all he had hoped for.  So few of either gender appreciated the subtle perfection of caressing a breast in this fashion, all too often grasping the entirety in a crude grab for that which made a woman different than the man she was with, or far too quickly focused like a laser upon the ultra-sensitive points that were a woman’s nipples.  Such an act was, to Triste, an attempt to foreshorten the pleasure of each, as if nothing more than the climax of pleasure was sought, not the ethereally enjoyable journey to that wondrous destination.<br/><br/>The underside of Chantal’s bosom, even through the thickness of the finely made corset, had a wonderful softness to him and, he knew from experience, a delightful and enticing sensitivity for her.  The feeling of the weight of each in his hand, his eyes still closed to further pronounce his sense of touch, told him what his eyes had already drunk in.  Chantal had the body that any French man would die for, even those whose lives were seemingly immortal.  Her curves not over large and nor boyish and too slender, but those of a woman who might as well have carved from the soul of a block of moonstone by a master like Rodin.<br/><br/>“Perfection, that is truly unattainable, but dear Chantal, you make perfection weep, for you are so near to it and yet far more appealing,” his voice intoned, smooth and golden as aged bourbon.<br/><br/>He nodded at her words, and with each nod grazed his lips upon her bare shoulders.  Long and skillful fingers topped those shoulders then, tracing parallel paths down her upper back, the sharp, natural angles of her shoulder blades guiding his otherwise wandering touch.  Lips followed, placing a kiss upon each vertebrae that his fingers passed, continuing even as the laces were quickly undone atop the garment.<br/><br/>Snaking and intertwining with the silken strings that held the corset in place, a garment that only accentuated the wondrous curves Chantal was blessed with by the gods, Triste worked the laces loose in sections, until it was in such a state as to still cling to her form, but only until her body writhed a bit and shed the corset of her own whim and will.<br/><br/>Triste took his hands away for a moment, unbuttoning the bottoms of his sleeves and the top button of his own blouse, as he whispered to her,<br/><br/>“You need no adornment to steal a man’s will, his soul, if he has one, and his heart, if you wanted it, Chantal, but needing and deserving are two very different things indeed,” his voice brushed warm breath over her earlobe and neck on the right side and then something passed in front of her eyes and a cool, firm sensation settled in around her lovely throat.<br/><br/>“Life has made us each like a diamond, Chantal, stunning to gaze upon, harder than stone and with facets that only a true craftsman could create and appreciate.  Yet, though you deserve the blue diamond within this piece, I ask of you to consider our night together as like the pearls which surround the unbreakable, cold gem.  Created by nature to ease away the discomforts of life, to heal, with an ephemeral beauty that all the more quickly warms to your body’s touch, that is what I wish this coupling to be.  Not so cynical as to see each other as client and sustenance, for the latter is what far too many woman have meant in my life, nor foolish enough to ask for or pretend that be in love or being a love of someone’s life exists in our world…but for this night, while I do not seek love, I do seek a lover, and offer myself to you as the same.”<br/><br/>His fingers easily closed the rear clasp and the four stranded pearl choker with the large, marquise shaped, light bluish hued diamond centerpiece was snugged perfectly around her neck, the colors contrasting with her naturally tanned skin tones in a way that made both the woman and the piece all the more brilliant together than even they were in their own right.<br/><br/>“The mirror, Chantal, gaze upon the impossible beauty that so entrances me,” he offered in his most seductive tone.