Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: LeKinkyTaco on 13-03-2013, 02:39:31</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>LeKinkyTaco</strong> on <strong>13-03-2013, 02:39:31</strong>
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				<br>Chantal's room, like the other rooms at Madame Velvet, were large and spacious in the manner designed to make the wealthy clientele comfortable.&nbsp; <br><br>The walls of the room were decorated with a striped wallpaper pattern of oyster and gray faintly tinged with hints of blue.&nbsp; Inside the stripes were a fleur-de-lis of purple and white.&nbsp; There was a large framed watercolor of the Louisiana bayou at sunset in tones of indigo, red and gold with an egret taking flight above the mantle.&nbsp; Upon the dressing table was a gold oval frame containing another watercolor of a pretty dark-skinned woman dressed in old-fashioned finery, one hand resting lightly upon a necklace of white pearls around her neck.<br><br>A folded screen stood in one corner, beside a carved dressing table and armoire that matched the bed, offering a bit of privacy for changing or other personal functions.&nbsp; A smaller table held a black ceramic pitcher&nbsp; of water and a basin, with several small, folded towels beneath.&nbsp; A large upholstered chair and a small ottoman sat near the window, which looked out over a large honey-locust tree.<br><br>The largest piece of furniture in the room was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the bed.&nbsp; It was a a carved four poster with a canopy of purple with a dark mosquito netting and drapes that could be drawn for privacy or comfort.&nbsp; Near the door was a large, oval mirror, angled so that it reflected the view from the window, and a portion of the bed.<br><br>The room could be lit with a small, gaslight chandalier and small wall lamps in strategic locations, as well as a goodly number of candles that could be lit at need.<br><br>The floors were bare, polished wood, with the only rug a small woven square at the foot of the bed.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>19-03-2013, 23:38:04</strong>
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				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u"><strong>►Chantal◄</strong></span></span></span></div>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>Chantal led the way up the stairs and around the landing, and then down the hallway to her room,&nbsp; the last along that hall.&nbsp; She opened the door and invited him in, both with a small sweep of her hand and acknowledging with a proper invitation, in case he required it.&nbsp; <em>"Welcome, Lord Richleau ... entrez, s'il vous plaît."</em><br><br>She waited until he had entered, then closed the door behind them ... and then locked it.&nbsp; <em>"To ensure our privacy, nothing more.&nbsp; At times, zhose at zhe bar lose zheir manners in zheir glass."</em><br><br>She moved into the room's center, inviting his gaze upon the the room where she practiced much of her art, a small crack into the window of her soul ... a fact that most chose not to see.&nbsp; &nbsp; There, she waited, watching him with eyes both curious and smoldering with the beginnings of hunger.&nbsp; <em>"And how do you wish to begin zhe dance, my lord?"</em><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>24-03-2013, 08:05:06</strong>
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				<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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; <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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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?&nbsp; 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.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>25-03-2013, 13:47:12</strong>
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				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u"><strong>►Chantal◄</strong></span></span></span></div>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br><br>As Triste complimented her taste, Chantal spared a small moment to glance around the room herself and was pleased by the expected sights.&nbsp; The furniture she used was her own, gifts from Étienne as part of the settlement for her Plaçage and she had selected the design and sewn the fabric for the drapery herself, with assistance from her mother as they talked of things her life would bring and what was expected of her in return.&nbsp; &nbsp;The things in the room had seen and absorbed the essences of many things both good and bad, and their familiarity had lent her strength as she adapted to a life her mother could never have envisioned.<br><br>She inclined her head at Lord Richleau's compliments in acknowledgement more than modesty.&nbsp; <em>"I am flattered by your regard, my lord, and happy that what you see gives you pleazhure." </em> His accent was very different from the ones she was accustomed to hearing, but it suited him well, silken elegance over something hard and sensual and, she thought, slightly rough around the edges.&nbsp; Mahogany, perhaps, that exotic wood that so many of New Orleans treasured for their finest pieces, yet still in the process of being worked by a master craftsman.&nbsp; Chantal shivered pleasantly at the deepening of is voice, letting herself be drawn in by the opening notes of the dance as he slipped off his jacket.<br><br>His presence in the room felt natural, as he both blended into the atmosphere and made it his own.&nbsp; Her eyes followed him as he made the circuit, and then her head, for the simple enticement of watching him move.&nbsp; Chantal remained otherwise still, allowing him to set the pace and tone of the dance, and only closed her eyes as his abrupt movement closed the distance between them.<br><br>She could feel his heat through the fabric, and welcomed it, leaning into his touch and assisting with the removal of the dress with slight graceful movements of her shoulders and arms, her breath quickening ever so slightly as his fingers slid down bared skin.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"I sing, Lord Richlieu, and play the pianoforte with passable skill - my mere's gift and her determination." </em> The pretty words he spoke resonated within her, despite her knowing them false ... or if not false, truth found only in the moment ... but she thrilled to them nonetheless, just as her body responded to the light, gentlemanly press of his arousal at her back.<br><br>Though she was not sure whether he truly wished to hear her voice, or merely wanted the assurance that her body sung to his, she nonetheless sang a few notes of a lullaby her mother had sung to her, in more innocent days before she knew the double entendre of the simple words.<br><br><em>"Au clair de la lune,<br>On n'y voit qu'un peu."<br></em><br>The words faded away to a soft, melodious hum from low in her diaphragm and throat as she matched the sway of his body, resisting the temptation to move closer as he coaxed the dress from her body and she felt the burn of his lips upon her shoulder.&nbsp; Only when the fabric had crumpled to the floor did she rest against his length as their hips swayed together in the beginning movements of the dance.<br><br>Beneath the dress, a corset with ties drawn tight nipped in her waist snugly, cupping full but not overlarge breasts to display them to full advantage.&nbsp; Her only other undergarments, a nod to the sultry climate, was a snug bit of silk and lace that shimmered faintly in the light from the window, hugging the curves of her behind and hinting at the soft nest of curls beneath in the front.<br><br>At his request, Chantal continued to hum softly as her fingers slid over his, tracing the lines of the digits' joinings lightly and then delicately parting them so that her own fit between.&nbsp; She continued to sway as she guided his hands to the outside of her thighs and then upward over the constraining fabric covering her stomach and higher to the underside curve of her breasts.<br><br><em>"If you would be so kind, my lord, as to undo the ties at my back, and allow me to help you remove your shirt, the easier it will be to discover zhe right strings to be plucked together."</em><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>29-03-2013, 03:09:06</strong>
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				<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.&nbsp; 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>&nbsp;<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>&nbsp;<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.&nbsp; When Triste’s hands were guided to the underside of her breasts, he knew then that this woman was all he had hoped for.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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>&nbsp;<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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Chantal had the body that any French man would die for, even those whose lives were seemingly immortal.&nbsp; 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>&nbsp;<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>&nbsp;<br>He nodded at her words, and with each nod grazed his lips upon her bare shoulders.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Lips followed, placing a kiss upon each vertebrae that his fingers passed, continuing even as the laces were quickly undone atop the garment.&nbsp; <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>&nbsp;<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>&nbsp;<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>&nbsp;<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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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>&nbsp;<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>&nbsp;<br>“The mirror, Chantal, gaze upon the impossible beauty that so entrances me,” he offered in his most seductive tone.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>31-03-2013, 00:21:17</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>Though the clients, or lovers, that Chantal preferred were not men entire, Chantal still thought of them as such in her heart of hearts.&nbsp; The ones wealthy enough to afford such rates as Madame Velvet's had learned more patience than the true men she had known, but perhaps that too was simply an artifact that the security of wealth and time had purchased. Lord Richleau's courtesy and adeptness at teasing her senses was to her the steps of a new dance, the verses to a song whose chorus was unknown in its entirety but familiar nonetheless.<br><br>The heat from his hands as he lightly tested the weight and fullness of her breasts was delicate, like a drop of warm honey suspended above the tongue from one of the kitchen's flaky pastries.&nbsp; The air itself caught the taste and scent of the pleasure to come and communicated it to the senses with an intensity that was all the sweeter for its foreshadowing.&nbsp; Chantal closed her eyes and savored it, enjoying the sound of his voice and the timbre of it that spoke of a slow rising arousal like the bayou tides.<br><br>Her eyes felt heavy as part of her succumbed to the spell of his praises, folding away the other side that had seen how fleeting the words and desires of men could be like a coverlet made temporarily unnecessary by the winter sun's warmth.&nbsp; <em>"With words as sweet as yours, Lord Richleau, you hardly need zhe the touch of your hands or zhe press of your lips to captivate.&nbsp; I am&nbsp; all zhe more fortunate zhat you have chosen to grace me with all three."</em><br><br>The words came easily to Chantal, but she realized with some surprise that truth and flatterey blended so closely as to be one in the same. The loosening ties of her stays were sweet torture, leaving her longing for the moment when his hands would roam over skin laid bare and when she might touch him in return, to watch his eyes darken and feel his body quicken to hers.&nbsp; So hypnotic was the anticipation blending with his words that she almost missed the full import of his words until she felt the cold caress of metal and pearls as he drew it slowly across her throat to fasten it in place where she felt it warm to her skin in much the same manner as her body had heated to his lightest touch.<br><br>Her fingers moved up to touch the pearls, and she turned to the mirror slowly, leaning back against Lord Richleau as if her body gravitated toward his warmth.&nbsp; She lifted her head, and turned slightly so that the gem caught the light from the window, and drank in the beauty of their mingled reflection, all the lovelier for the presence of Triste's dark, seductive beauty in the background.<br><br>A shrug of her shoulders released the corset's loosened grasp, and it slid slowly down to the floor, leaving her upper torso bare save for the lovely adornment presented by Triste that glowed against her skin, highlighted by the frame of the man behind her.&nbsp; &nbsp;After a moment, she shook her head almost regretfully.&nbsp; <em>"Lord Richleau, I am honored beyond words, but it is too great a gift.&nbsp; I would welcome you as my lover this night for zhe pleazure of your company and your touch alone."</em><br><br>A spell indeed, for Chantal had thought she had learned that such tributes were the only things that truly lasted, long after the sweet words had turned stale and the memories of pleasure had faded to a lifeless ache.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>01-04-2013, 00:35:24</strong>
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				<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br><strong>► Triste</strong><br><br><strong>► Company: Chantal</strong><br><br>Triste listened to Chantal’s voice and words, basking in the sensuality of her tone as it indicated a warming of her body and mind to his presence, an arousal of a most rare kind that they seemed to share almost as much as the rising desire for each other that now marked its implicit presence on every word, movement and tone that that either produced.<br><br>Saying nothing at first, Triste’s hands slipped down the velvety smooth flesh of Chantal’s body to rest upon her hips, where his strength asserted itself in a gently firm manner to step out of her dress and corset more fully and to face the lovely antique mirror, angled so perfectly, straight on now.<br><br>“Is it a gift, Chantal, or truly a thing meant to be in the very place it now rests so gloriously, and upon the singular woman whose own beauty and ethereal charms could enhance its magnificence as only yours does?&nbsp; The oysters that made those pearls, they have no use for them any more than I do, and the diamond, created in the heat of a volcanic eruption that is far more ancient than even I…would you have it placed back in the cold, soulless ground, in the utter darkness where no eye or heart or passion could be dazzled by its sparkling ways?&nbsp; No, Chantal, it, like I, have waited patiently for time that seemed never to end until it could find the place where it truly belongs,” he intoned and as he spoke, Triste’s fingers slipped along the thin outer band of her panties and they seemed to melt at his touch and fall away in tatters, any heat not burning Chantal’s skin, but simply warming it in ways never felt before.<br><br>One hand and the loose sleeved arm that accompanied it glided up her taut, firm belly, his fingers strumming across her breasts, first one, then the other, fingertips drawing small circles around her stiff, fleshy points, then teasingly caressing them in turn.&nbsp; <br><br>The other hand moved to the soft, dark curls that hinted timorously and seductively at the pleasure that lay below their nadir.&nbsp; His finger tips stroked the hair that graced her sex, flitted at times across the soft flesh atop her thighs, urging them apart just a bit, as his teeth nipped and pulled upon her earlobe with deft care and unabashed wanting.<br><br>Then just as the fingers of one hand touched her brilliant gem that adorned Chantal’s neck, another digit far blow slid once, twice and more, across a very different pearl, one that lead it to folds moist and dewy as if they had been misted by the spray of a warm and exotic sea.<br><br>Matching his eyes to hers through their joint reflections in the mirror, Triste whispered,<br><br>“A living jewel is what you have gifted me with this day, Cher, one I intend to take and take again.&nbsp; This cold, lifeless stone I have given you, that snugs itself to your flesh nearly as desirously as I do, how can that be something too much, when in truth, it is a part of you that was simply missing from your life, and mine, until now.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>02-04-2013, 04:16:58</strong>
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				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size">►Chantal◄</span><br>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>Without protest, Chantal followed the guidance of Triste's hands as if every movement were steps of a dance.&nbsp; She left the discarded fabric upon the floor without more than a glance, and her near nudity discomforted her not a whit.&nbsp; On the contrary, she enjoyed the contrast in their reflection while feeling no lesser for it.&nbsp; Lord Richleau's growing arousal was, to her, as heady an accomplishment as was his refusal to accept her demurral of the gift.<br><br>There was not even enough time to register alarm as her remaining garmet dissolved from her body with a pure heat that did not smoke or burn, but only freed her from further barriers to the caress of Triste's hand.&nbsp; Her eyes widened as she watched, but she did not pull away or demur but obediently shifted her stance at the light direction of his fingers so as to let his fingers explore as he pleased.&nbsp; Her eyes closed for a moment at the first teasing touch across the tips of her breasts and then again at the nip of his teeth against her ear and the warmth of his breath, but only momentarily.&nbsp; It was fascinating and incredibly decadent and arousing to watch the movement of hands across her body in the reflection as well as witnessing her body's reaction with the sound of Tristan's voice and breath its own lovely melody setting the pace.<br><br>She made only one sound, and that when his hand slipped lower across her stomach and over the softness of her thigh to slip between soft folds to tease out the single pearl nestled there, a soft gasp between parted lips as she abandoned the coldness of the mirror's reflection for a heat more encompassing than the rays of the sun that filtered through the glass to the surface of the bed.<br><br><em>"Lord Richleau, would you allow me zhe pleasure of discovering the beauty hidden beneath zhe clothes you yet wear?&nbsp; Though your tailor has chosen a magnificent case, I am certain zhat it cannot compare with zhe rich tones and lines of zhe instrument within." </em> Slowly, she turned to look up into the dark mystery of his eyes, shivering delightfully at the desire smoldering in his gaze, and half raised one hand toward the buttons of his shirt yet to be undone, hesitating only for his approval.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>04-04-2013, 02:36:35</strong>
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				<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br><strong>► Triste</strong><br><br>As Chantal turned, Triste’s fingers glided across her skin with an effortless, yet purposeful touch, until as she faced him, his fingertips danced almost delicately upon the point of her elbows, having graced each inch between their points of departure and arrival with his admiring caress.<br><br>“Who am I to deny you anything that you desire, Mon Cher, certainly not when it is my want as well.&nbsp; I would ask one small, wonderful favor of you, if indeed I am worthy of your favors,” he noted with a curiously coy smile, then bent just enough to touch his own very warm lips to the softness of her own, his tongue seeking not entry, not yet, but rather painting the line between her lips with its tantalizing presence.<br><br>“For each button undone, for each pull of a fastener, I ask that you grace me with a kiss, wherever and however pleases you the very most,” he whispered, his lips kissing as much as speaking and forming words now, grazing the soft skin surrounding her mouth.&nbsp; His hands slid up the back of Chantal’s arms, until his hands cradled her head full of dark and lovely hair as he kissed her more deeply now.<br><br>Breaking the kiss, Triste took one half step back, just enough to allow the soft and tawny light bathing the room to guide her eyes and fingers in the tasks they sought to accomplish.&nbsp; Hands and arms releasing her fully, Triste’s body resembled a relaxed looking cross, his easy way of moving still seeming to be present even when the only movements made by his body were the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the grazing of his eyes over her incomparable form, and the slightest bit of almost electrical tension that sparked invisibly each time her talented fingers touched his person.<br><br>“I am yours, to do with, as you wish, Chantal, lady and lover,” Triste offered as he indeed offered himself to her tender mercies.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>04-04-2013, 20:04:49</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				►Chantal◄<br>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br>Chantal's skin was somewhat the color of dark honey, with little exposure to the sun to darken it further, hinting at the use of parasols, gloves and other protection to keep her skin smooth and supple.&nbsp; Various bottles upon the dressing table, as well as a light sheen upon her now-bare body, also indicated the pampering that she indulged in to maintain her body's perfection and allure.&nbsp; Far from being shy, she basked in Triste's gaze and turned to his touches both to welcome the pleasure they brought and because of the sense of fulfillment and substance that his desire afforded.<br><br>She responded to the press of his lips and the presence of his tongue with a slight pursing of her full lips, welcoming the tease but not attempting to intensify it, though she missed its tickling warmth as soon as the contact was broken.<br><br><em>"But of course, Lord Richleau.&nbsp; It is no favor, but yet another gift to me.&nbsp; But, if it please you, would you sit upon the bed instead?&nbsp; You are very tall ... très grand... and I would very much like to use zhe care and attention zhat such a gift deserves in zhe unwrapping of it."</em><br><br>Chantal offered her hand to provide an unneeded escort to the spot she had named, both for the elegance of the gesture and because the attentions he had lavished upon her were deserving of a like response.&nbsp; His elegance and langour set him apart from the Lousiana society that she had experienced, though in observing it she finally understood what some of the wealthiest tried to mimic but failed. To have said so would have sounded like blatant flattery from her lips, however, and she contented herself with a slow appreciation of his movements and form with her eyes, and with her lips as she delivered the favors he had requested.<br><br><em>"I would start, my Lord, with your boots." </em> Before releasing his hand, however, she brought his fingers to her mouth, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss upon the tips of the two that had so deliciously explored the pearl nestled between her folds, her eyes slowly rising up to his as her lips closed once and then again over the tips.<br><br>Once he had sunk down upon the bed, Chantal performed a similar movement, easing down to kneel before him, sitting back upon her heels as she determined the lacings and reached out to undo them.&nbsp; There was yet no good point of access to bestow the favors he had requested, so she counted the fastenings instead silently, and drew the boot gently away before setting it aside and reaching beneath the leg of his trousers to find the hem of his fine stockings to carefully draw it away from the warmth of skin.&nbsp; When the foot was bare, she gently soothed it with her fingers and palms, then bent and lifted so that her lips could press the four kisses owed for the fastenings upon the upper arch, followed by another to the top of the ankle for the stocking.<br><br>Men's feet held no particular fascination for her, however Triste's foot was nearly as elegant as the rest of him.&nbsp; Feet were, however, quite sensitive to the touch, and a part of the body that was often overlooked in the rush to pay homage to the more accepted erogenous zones. As Chantal gently placed his now bare foot to the rug upon which she knelt, she looked up into his eyes, to better gauge whether he wished her to continue at the same unhurried pace.&nbsp; She took her time even doing that, gaze drifting in a lazy burn of appreciation up over his pants-clad legs and groin, to the muscular lines of his stomach where the cloth of his shirt was drawn taut.<br><em><br>"Shall I continue, Lord Richleau ... mon bel amant?"</em><br><br>Chantal continued to address him by his name and title, and would continue to do so unless he requested otherwise, though the endearment tasted sweet upon her tongue.&nbsp; She enjoyed the reminder that it was no common man she took to her bed that day, and the knowledge that he had chosen her, almost as much as she enjoyed the slow-building heat in both their bodies.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>10-04-2013, 04:33:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br><strong>► Triste Richleau</strong><br><br><br><br>Trist smiled desirously at Chantal’s elegant manner of taking charge, her movements silky smooth and rich like her honeyed skin, her tone polite, yet effortlessly sensuous.&nbsp; He sank down onto the bed, laying back just a bit on his elbows, savoring the slow and timeless are of seduction that she practiced upon him.&nbsp; <br><br>In another place, a brothel that did not possess a creature of such incredible skill and soulfully romantic eroticism in her very being, and he was sure no other place in the world did for Chantal was truly of a singular nature, the sight of a woman kneeling before him on a bed would have meant one thing only.&nbsp; It was the thing most men craved in the crudest and most instinctual of ways, and one that would have bored a being of Trist’s stature and experience almost to tears.<br><br>But with Chantal, even in such a short time as they had been in each other’s company, he had come to expect more, and less, with the less being far more in its own wonderfully fulfilling way.<br><br>Her touch was light, deft and nonetheless left him both feeling afire wherever she touched him, and nearly breathless with each kiss she so sublimely planted upon his skin.&nbsp; That this woman knew the places on a man’s body that brought sensations anew and plentiful, sensations uniquely gratifying and enlivening, only made Chantal and her smoldering gaze all the more enchanting.<br><br>“I have known more than a few sorceresses in my time, Lady Chantal, and despite their immense and oft seductive powers, none could hold a dim light to the brilliance of your own magic,” he replied, his eyes caught in the inexorable gravity of her own, of the moment that she had created.<br><br>“If I died now, Mon Ami, I would end my days in a way no other man nor beast could claim, to have died in the midst of heaven, such that any afterlife would pale in comparison…but given that each time you take my breath away, in the next moment you cause me to draw it deep and sure, I could no more lie and tell you to stop than I could stop the sun from rising.&nbsp; Please, I ask not for you to continue, instead the greedy man that I am, I simply beseech you for…more,” Trist’s voice rolled from his lips in a deepened drawl, clearly affected and aroused in a way he had not felt in a very long time.<br><br>As she turned her attention away from the bare foot whose flesh she had so wonderfully blessed, Trist took his time and care to run the soft and nimble side and tone of that foot along the side of her silken thigh, and farther up her back, just behind her ribs, luxuriating in her presence and essence, even as he sought for his own touch to enliven his intoxicating lover.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>11-04-2013, 19:45:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size">►Chantal◄</span><br>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>Though Chantal knew Lord Richleau meant his words only to express his pleasure, she still tutted softly, giving a little shake of her head but smiling to soften her words.&nbsp; <em>"You should not speak of death so glibly in a place such as zhis, my lord.&nbsp; Zhe walls of zhis place have sheltered many acts of living, but death walks here also.&nbsp; Do not invite his attention, even in jest.&nbsp; Zhe world would be an uglier place zhan it is already without your presence."</em><br><br>She had only the vaguest idea of what sort of creature he might be, but the smattering of mythology that she had learned from her mother and the serving girls she had employed suggested the touch of the loa at the least.&nbsp; Her mother's interest in Voodoo had been marginal, a curiosity only, and though Chantal had been fascinated by the legends in younger years, she had quickly come to the conclusion that the rituals to appeal to such spirits were as likely to bring woe as weal.&nbsp; Whatever loa or the like found their way to her at Madame Velvet's, she preferred it be at their will.<br><br>Even as she spoke, she continued her efforts to remove the second boot and stocking, using the fingertips and thumb to gently massage the other foot as well, then gently and slowly pressed her lips along the tender skin over the arch and to the top of his ankle. <em> "Even so, I am happy to know that I please you.&nbsp; Zhis night, I would wish for nothing more."</em><br><br>While Chantal had once read voraciously, she no longer had the appreciation for the absolute value of words that she had once had.&nbsp; Now, they were simply part of a beautifully coreographed movement, like a dance or perhaps a duel.&nbsp; They enhanced, they decorated, they lifted into the air and slammed into the earth, and the degree of sincerity behind them was as fluid as the sexual pleasure derived from a caress or kiss.&nbsp; His compliments were as the brush of his foot or the rovings of his hands earlier, a pleasure to be savored and perhaps even remembered, and she welcomed and accepted them as such.<br><br>There was certainly a great deal of pleasure to be derived from removing Trieste's clothing, both for her appreciation of the beauty of his form and for the unhurried acceptance of the simple joy of touching and being touched with desire unmotivated by any darker motive.&nbsp; The shoes and socks, neatly folded, went under the bed to be retrieved later before Chantal rose and stepped lightly to the side so that she could maneuver her kneeling body behind her lover where he sat.&nbsp; Slowly, she brushed away the dark curls that rested above his collar with her fingers before leaning softly in to his back and dipping her head low enough for her lips to caress the outside of his neck while her hands slipped further over his shoulders to the buttons of his shirt.&nbsp; Rather than a punctuated series of kisses, her lips moved over the warmth of his skin without lifting, sometimes pressing more firmly than others as her tongue flicked outward to taste his skin, and her teeth pressed ever so gently.&nbsp; Each breath against his skin just above her mouth was warm as the evening bayou sun and her fingers moved slowly but with hardly a pause as she freed each button, pulling upward to reach the last fastening as she teased the tucked portion of the fabric from beneath his waistband.<br><br>Her heart beat strongly, the rhythm of its drum subtly quickening with the steps of the dance they wove, and she arched her body just enough to coax the shirt off his shoulders, the backs of her fingers and nails lightly running over the smoothness of his skin.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>24-04-2013, 00:58:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br><strong>► Triste</strong><br><br>Triste allowed Chantal’s words of caution to pass through her lips unabated, knowing what she meant, but having a very different perspective on the concept of mortality.<br><br>“As you wish, so I shall be, Chantal, a sentiment that I offer rarely, quite rarely,” he replied, and continued to revel in and savor the artful manner in which Chantal could make the simple removal of a boot into an experience that was far beyond the ken of a normal human to truly appreciate.<br><br>When she moved behind him and lifted his hair away from the target of her succulent lips, Triste groaned lightly, though the feeling of her kisses, of her teeth, making their presence known and their more rapacious attentions deeply desire, causing him to slip into a bit of a trance.<br><br>“You enchant me, my Lady, with each word and touch, by what you give and even moreso, by the promises made of so much more each time your body blesses mine with its elegant warmth…mmm…passions burn slow and intense within you, Chantal, they are controlled for now, but when the inferno is set fully ablaze, I will immerse myself in your glorious and beautiful flames,” his voice intoned as she continued her kisses and completed the task of unbuttoning and uprooting his shirt.<br><br>As her nails slid teasingly, tantalizingly across his skin, Triste pivoted in his seat to face her at an angle.&nbsp; His skin was smooth, remarkably so, along a very long and lean torso.&nbsp; His piercing and the runes that were inked into his skin all had meanings, though many of those meanings had altered in form and thought over the years.<br><br>Taking her hand, he guided it to the one place that was not smooth, to the nearly two inch diagonal scar, raised in a perfectly straight line, the slightly pinkish flesh had healed, but the scar of the wound remained where it had been inflicted, just above where his heart beat, rapidly and powerfully at the sight, touch and scent of Chantal.<br><br>“You spoke of life and death, and true that neither is a subject to be trifled with, Milady, but a long life is worth little, in many ways the longer one lives, the less life is appreciated and desired.&nbsp; But you…Chantal, you are an exception, an extraordinary exception to the banality of a life lived beyond its intended fate.&nbsp; For too long I have wished for time to end, for immortality to prove itself a lie…” he paused and pulled her closer, into his arms as his own large, smooth hands caressed her soft and sensitive back and her breasts pressed into the strong, sinewy muscles of his own chest,<br><br>“…you make the moments by which one measures time and truly, a life, into precious treasures.&nbsp; I gifted you with what many would call a treasure of jewels, but without the luster of the woman in my arms at this moment, they would be as dead and cold and lifeless as fate long ago meant for me to be.”<br><br>His lips pressed against hers after staring into her eyes for a several long moments, the kiss deep and delicious, as his hands roamed from her well defined shoulders to the sumptuous curves of her rear, his body hard as a rock, yet melting into hers all the same. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>26-04-2013, 18:06:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size">►Chantal◄</span><br>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>There were two kinds of truths, or so Chantal had come to believe.&nbsp; The first were truths that drew people -- or individuals -- together, forming a bond that might be long lasting or so tenuously fragile that it would crumble at the first test.&nbsp; These truths were particularly conducive to sexual experiences that kindled in the mind and burned there brightly as the fire spread by touch and kiss, thrust and pull.&nbsp; The second kind were truths that cut like a blade, baring the soul and stripping away the insulating protection of convention and society.&nbsp; For those with wisdom, those brutal truths were the anathema to physical pleasure and passion, so Chantal did not offer her perspective on life and its length or worth.<br><br>Instead, she took his words as she had his gift, as compliments to add color and luster to the work of art they were engaged in creating.&nbsp; <em>"You honor me truly with your words, Lord Richleau, and more with your regard.&nbsp; Let us zhink upon the beauty of zhis moment together and let zhat fire burn away, if only for a time, all zhe unpleasantness that has come before."</em><br><br>Her fingers remained where he had placed them, even as Triste drew her into the kiss.&nbsp; Her fingertips roved softly over the scar tissue as if with them she could brush away the memories or the pain that had come in the marring, or else to chisel it into her memory, this one imperfection in the work of sculpture that he had made of his body.&nbsp; It was a reminder that however they might differ, they both were capable of experiencing both the heights of pleasure and the depths of pain, and both extremes left their mark whether they could be seen or not.<br><br>Chantal made no effort to deepen the kiss or hurry the exploration of mouths and bodies, though she willingly parted her lips to meet and caress his, and let his hands mold their forms together as he wished.&nbsp; His hands followed her curves with all the knowledge and appreciation of an artist's, as warm and intimate as the caress of the sun thorough the window panes, making her long for more and for the freedom to similarly explore his body, all the more fascinating for the markings and additions that had turned his natural primal beauty into something even darker.<br><br>In that moment, she deeply regretted the cloth that separated them still, but not the anticipation of stripping it away.&nbsp; Though a frame or well-chosen surroundings could enhance almost any work of visual beauty, in this case she could think of none more suitable than his dusky, silk over marble skin against the softness of sheets.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wyatt</strong> on <strong>30-04-2013, 04:24:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatright"> (http://cimarron.wdfiles.com/local--files/ella/Trist.jpg) </div><br><strong>► Triste</strong><br><br>Triste took comfort in Chantal’s well chosen words, though he knew that his more than occasional bouts of moroseness had no place or purpose in this moment, when her words were so true that their passions should set to flame and ash all other worldly concerns and troubles.<br>&nbsp;<br>He had learned many things in his long years, and some were quiet pleasant and enjoyable skills.&nbsp; The first benefitted him personally as Triste was able to feel and discern and appreciate each disparate and yet simultaneous sensation for its own wonders, and those that it added to collectively.&nbsp; The feel of her fingertips clinging to and exploring the scar, as if to find something within himself that was more than the bleak outer marking indicated, and in doing so, she did just that, making him very glad that his heart still beat and that hot blood still flowed though his veins for her.<br>&nbsp;<br>The firm sumptuousness of her rear cupped in his hands, the taste and feel of her on his lips and tongue as the kiss played its course out, the closeness of their bodies, one to another, he could sense them all, along and together, savoring each and knowing that each told him something he already knew innately…Chantal was special in every way a woman can be.<br>&nbsp;<br>Her manner was controlled and patient despite the chemistry and sparks that brewed between them, and while he appreciated her unhurried, sensuous nature and ability to make each moment last, it was not in Triste’s nature to proceed at a singular pace, but rather to make passions come alive, to fan the flames of need and want, to make every moment not only last, but to feel desperately urgent as well.<br>&nbsp;<br>Sliding his hips closer to Chantal, just aside her as she kneeled on the silken sheets, Triste lay back and lifted Chantal by that delightfully firm rear until her body hovered over his just so.<br>&nbsp;<br>His lips trailed over the honeyed flesh of her chin and the line of her jaw, catching along with the subtlest hint of his teeth upon the sensitive area of her right collarbone, drawing his affections there with his mouth as the implement of his artistry, then continuing on down her taut and perfectly posed body.&nbsp; <br><br>Chantal’s breasts hung to their fullest in this position, the hard points of her nipples and dark areolas accentuating and demarcating their lovely presence.&nbsp; Trist moved effortlessly beneath her, his long torso giving him advantages that few men enjoyed in such a wondrous manner, his kisses finding sensitive and needful places as he moved beneath her.&nbsp; The delicious curves of the underside of her breasts were explored in full by his lips, his talented tongue drew itself threw the valley between her tawny peaks, and at last, one, then the other nipple was taken between his rich, warm lips.<br>&nbsp;<br>Suckling and grazing each with the very edges of his teeth, his lips making larger and smaller circling caresses around and upon them, and his tongue teasing and tantalizing until her stiff and perfect point seemed to reach out to him, then taking them, in turn, fully into his mouth, with the softest of cocoons encompassing the sensitive wonder of each nipple as his tongue stimulated it fully and freely, conferring on Chantal the benefit of hundreds of years of love making and knowledge of a woman’s body and needs.<br>&nbsp;<br>He did not hold her still or in place, allowing Chantal to move as she wished, to explore his body lain out before her, mirroring her movements as needed to continue his rapturous assault upon her senses, and lightly stroking her thighs with one hand and her silken hair, as it too hung down over him, with the other.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madame Velvet's Brothel: Chantal's Room</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>01-05-2013, 22:58:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size">►Chantal◄</span><br>► Company:&nbsp; Triste<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br>The slight widening of her eyes was the only indication Chantal made of surprise as she was lifted and pulled more fully astride Triste's long, lean form.&nbsp; Though she was not a particularly heavy woman, still it was no mean feat to accomplish the task so effortlessly and without momentum to aid the movement.&nbsp; She was, however, appreciative of strength in all its forms, particularly when it benefited her, and when it indicated that she had met with some success in eroding the control of her lover over his desire.&nbsp; Without demur, and also without physical indication of the thrill that playing with that particular fire gave her, she adjusted to accommodate the change in position.&nbsp; Her long, supple fingers splayed out over Triste's shoulders and back, trailing over the smoothness of his skin and the play of muscle beneath, curling at times so that the light rake of nails occasionally offered contrasting sensation to the smooth tickle of her fingertips, particularly as his teeth grazed delicate skin and tongue and lips tickled and teased along her breasts.<br><br>Though Chantal had been taught from her earliest memory that her well-being and success was dependent on bringing pleasure, she was not so selfless as to deny herself the luxury of enjoying being pleasured.&nbsp; Triste was effortless expert, or so it seemed, and well disposed to detail.&nbsp; As his lips explored, Chantal bent her body in response, hands slipping with some regret from his shoulders to the bed to allow and encourage his touch and kiss.<br><br>Effortlessly, or so it seemed, he discovered the areas most sensitive to his caresses, the bottom half of each aureola and underside of her nipples.&nbsp; As his tongue and teeth probed there, Chantal's breath caught in her throat, and she shivered with delight.&nbsp; One hand left its support on the bed to run though his curls and to press against the shudderingly delicious sensation all the harder, though she retained enough of her instincts to be alert for his reaction and adjust hers accordingly.<br><br>The hand upon her thigh was as warm as the sun, and gentler.&nbsp; Though she could not quite reach to finish the rest of his undressing, she turned her head as his free hand slid through her hair to press her lips against his palm through the dark strands of hair that swung free, letting her lips drag against the movement.&nbsp; She did not speak, but the responsive movements of her body and the catch and pace of her breathing betrayed a growing arousal that ever so slowly pushed against the careful controls she had learned to keep them in check.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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