While not blogging I was very busy doing somethin far more important, i.e. sinking into a new story, which started out as a short, light hearted, fetishy story and is slowly morphing into a full-blown, emotional, still fetishy novel!
I have another beautiful, androgynous, cross-dressing hero (sorry, it can't be helped, I developed a thing for men in heels), Raphael, and another somewhat broken heroine, Nadia, but there is also another man in the picture, Hugh, and more than a sprinkle of bdsm and art, and music, and gasp, cats.
Rapahel inspiration is the spectacularly gorgeous German model and actor Paul Boche.
Did you click on the link? Good, then you will understand why I have been somewhat lost in my dreamworld. :)
It would be wonderful to finish this story before Christmas, but I don't believe in rushing the muse, so we shall see.
Here's a tease, now. (completely unedited)
"Because Lucie was essentially a nocturnal animal, her day started at about 8 PM, with a long hot shower and a thorough shave.
Lucie was a creature of long, pale, lean limbs, covered, but not much, in red and black lace.
Long, long, skinny legs in black stockings, with a trim of lace at the top. She had gone creative tonight and added a band of red lace, just under the black. She had cut it out of a pair of red stockings she had loved, until they got wrecked at the knees. Her stockings tended to do that a lot.
The red and black theme was fun and fitted her name. She always painted her lips scarlet (like her fingernails), and made up her eyes in thick black eyeliner and mascara. Because her eyes were of the palest blue the effect was slightly unsettling, and it had been known to stop men (and women) in their tracks. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and fluffed her mop of ash blond hair in a wild mane that framed her face seductively.
When she stooped to pick up her red chemise her opulent breasts swayed delightfully in her black bra. She put on the chemise, red and silky, definitely see-through, and edged in lace, and a stringy black thong.
She piled a host of bracelets on her slim arms, black leather, and red beads, and strapped on the black leather collar. She felt a shiver of anticipation as the stiff, silky, cool leather pressed lightly at the nape of her neck and at her throat.
She padded to the bedroom and extracted a box from under the bed. Her favorite boots, black leather, thigh high, with 6 inches stiletto heels, were carefully folded in tissue paper, almost pristine. Lucie didn’t go out much after all. She zipped them up, and almost felt dizzy with expectation when she stood again, balancing skittishly, like a long-legged foal. She was tall enough barefoot. In these she was practically airborne.
Then she walked, like a pro, on her tall heels, to the living room.
Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no 2 was on, as loud as was admissible in a city flat, and Hugh was sprawled on the sofa like a big cat, soaking in the music. He had already taken off his shirt, but he must have gotten cold because he had snuggled under a plaid.
“Took your time,” he said, with a yawn.
That was his typical style.
“Rachmaninov, really?” she asked. “Bloody neo-romantic noise.”
He waved his hands like a cook wafting some elusive cooking smell to his nose. “At least, as classical music goes, it’s got some hair on its chest.” And that was the highest compliment Hugh could pay to a musical composition.
The recording was terrible, crackly and tinny. Horrid. Hugh seemed to divine her thought.
“It is himself, on the piano. In 1929.”
Lucie shrugged, then bit her lower lip and bowed her head. She could taste lipstick on her teeth, which was sexy as hell. Oh well. Rachmaninov would cover the sounds, at least. Mostly.
“Come here then,” said Hugh, throwing the plaid aside, sitting up and patting his knee invitingly.
He was a middle height man with short, fuzzy, dark hair thinning slightly around a widow’s peak and a semi-permanent stubble (greying now) on his chin and jaw. He was neither especially good looking nor in any way unpleasant, and dressed rather shabbily at almost all times. He was in fact an entirely unremarkable man, except for a limited set of small ticks that betrayed a rather more active and nervous mind than most. Which is why most people would have been flabbergasted by the impressive set of tattoos that adorned his chest, shoulders and upper arms. They were somewhat faded and partly obscured by the rather luxuriant growth of dark hair on his torso, but even so, they gave him a distinctly wicked look, absolutely at odds with his completely harmless everyday manner.
She went and kneeled by the sofa (another pair of stockings would die today) and laid her forehead on his thigh. He didn’t seem to notice. He was still engrossed in the music.
“I find it fascinating that Rachmaninoff, who was known for his huge hands, which could have easily managed the large opening chords, chose to break the chords apart and roll them instead. Why?”
Lucie didn’t answer.
“Maybe he did that so that less, shall we say, well-endowed pianists would not be discouraged from altering the opening chords to suit their capabilities? He did state, purportedly, that the second piano concerto was uncomfortable for him to play.” He caressed her head, sinking his fingers into her hair to massage the back of her neck. “I choose to take it as a reminder, that just because you can do something, it does not mean that you have to do it. Or like it. It’s always a Matter of choice. Just an interesting point for thought.”
Lucie remained quiet through his musings, using the time to collect herself, to find that seam in her mind that allowed her to slip down, through and out...
She took a deep breath, and leaned into his thigh and suddenly his hand was in her collar, pulling roughly, choking her, until she lay across his lap. The first blow across her butt made her squeal out loud. The second and third landed on her thighs and hurt even more. He was laying them down with all his strength tonight, no gentle introduction with small slaps, grabbing, kneading. She panted in the pause after the third blow, bracing herself for the next one..."
Like Lucie so far? Stick around for news of her in the next weeks...