Dinner Time at Ca'del Bosco

Don Winslow

 

 

"I have a confession to make, James." Helmut began smoothly, once the Cognac had been served and the servant had discreetly backed his way out of the room; the carved double doors closing with a muted but definite, click. 

"I had my reasons for asking you to dinner."  He paused, looking at me with an amused twinkle in his eye.  "You see, I most especially wanted you to meet my Liese."

 Meet her indeed!  It was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the slender, dark-haired woman, who sat, elegantly dressed in a little black dress, directly across the table from me.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"  he asked, in a hushed voice, talking about our dinner companion as though she wasn't there.

                 It was obviously a rhetorical question: no red-blooded man could resist the allure of that mouth-watering, sleek-bodied creature who sat so exquisitely poised in that revealing, sleeveless dress: her slender arms, delicate shoulders, and finely sculpted neck and chest, all left deliciously bare in the soft glow of the candlelight.  She held herself with the perfectly composed, slightly detached air of a high fashion model. No man could help but being captivated by that pale, cool beauty, the chiseled features with those lovely eloquent eyes, and classic high cheekbones, that lithe, small-breasted body, and of course, those long gorgeous legs of hers, sheathed in smooth black nylon, their splendid lengths exposed from the high-riding hem to the gleaming points of high-heeled strapped sandals.

Not knowing what else to do, I smiled politely and nodded my agreement.  Helmut never noticed, for his eyes never left that striking face that he so obviously adored.

"Liese!  Come here, Kitten."

Those dark eyes flickered, met the man's for just a moment; something passed between them.  Lowering her eyes prettily, the young woman quite deliberately sat down her glass, removed the napkin from her lap, folded it carefully, and placed it on the table before her.  We watched the beautiful girl rise to her feet and come around the table, to take her accustomed place at her lover's side.  For a split second she glanced down at me.  Those eyes were large, perfectly shadowed, with seductive long lashes. They were lovely eyes; but for me, they held only bland indifference.  She raised her gaze to stand with chin held high, remote, looking over my head, far off into the distance.

Like a well-trained model, the girl slid easily into a rakish pose, one hip thrust forward, as she  shifted her lanky weight, instinctively presenting herself to be admired.  But her paramour never turned to regard his elegant mistress waiting patiently at his side.  Instead his attention remained focused on me as he sat back from the table, and studied my face, seemingly fascinated by my reactions.

                 "You know, James, in my life I have found only two true passions: horses and women."

As he talked, his hand reached up behind him to come to rest on the jutting curve of  the girl's hip;  he let it idly caress the sleek feminine contour of those long strong flanks, stroking the stunning brunette, moving the thin dress she wore under his fingertips, sliding it slowly, up and down that nyloned thigh.

                 "Things that I collect because I am helpless before them: hopelessly smitten.   I can do no more than surrender to such unspeakable beauty."  His handsome blond head nodded in contemplation; the hand continued moving absently on the skirted haunch.

                "Take my Kitten, here.  Exquisite, isn't she?"

He spoke as though lost in his own thoughts, thoughts that had nothing to do with me, yet I 

felt compelled to somehow respond.  I mumbled something inane, how she was very pretty indeed, just to be polite, and immediately felt rather silly.  But my host seemed not to have heard me, and the dark-haired woman stood still as a statue, as the slowly caressing hand adored her black-sheathed body.

                 "Yes, most exquisite...that face, perfection itself, don't you think, with a kind of haunting quality; although the silly girl thinks that her lips are a bit too thin.  And such a well-formed body: economical, no line wasted, a streamlined, the feminine curves in some ways blatantly obvious, while in some ways slight and subtle."  I watched his hand move, hypnotized by the lazy circuit it was making and the way it slid the slippery dress over the nyloned column.

"Liese thinks her hair is her best feature. Women!  Still, it is glorious, to be sure, especially when she lets it down and one is allowed to appreciate the heavy fullness, the warm softness of that silky perfumed mane."   His eyes closed to savor some happy memory, while I looked up at the neatly pinned chignon, upswept for the elegant formality of the dining room.

                 "But as for me, I am particularly enamored of her darling breasts. Have I told you about my Liese's breasts?" he asked, as if inquiring about the weather.  "Not too large, as you can see.  Personally, I've never been attracted to women with large breasts, though I can understand how they might appeal to some men.  Liese has a rather small set to be sure, but they are unique, and really quite interesting.   And she has the most extraordinary nipples!"  He paused to let me consider that bit of singular information.

                Feeling as though I had been invited to freely consider those small, jutting breasts,  I now took full advantage of the invitation.   My eyes fell on the girl's hidden nipples.  Were the little bumps I could see poking against the front of the dress evidence of that first stiffening that comes with early stirrings of arousal?  Or did the girl's deeper passions remain unruffled, as evenly placid as the detached, remote expression of that handsome face?   In which case, the impression of hardened tips jutting forth might be no more than the state of repose that nature had bestowed on her?  It was on such speculation like this, that I often spent my idle hours.

In either case, it was obvious that the distinct impression of  those thinly veiled nipples, confirmed my earlier speculations -- the girl had not bothered with a brassiere!  Under the thin dress, those unsupported breasts stood out proudly by means of their natural firmness, their inner resiliency.  I managed to keep the polite smile plastered on my face, and tear my eyes away from the topic of conversation.

                 "Would you like to see them?"  This astonishing question was delivered in the same casual, off-handed manner he had been using all the while.

                 "If the lady has no objections," I managed to get out through my awkwardness and the sudden dryness in my throat.

"Liese!  Objections!"  His playing smile broadened at what he undoubtedly considered my English innocence.  He gave a shrug of indifference; it was nothing, a trivial matter.

"But of course, she has no objections!"  The object of this conversation moved not a muscle: the slightly bored expression on those pretty features never flickered.

"Come closer, Kitten," he beckoned her down over the table.

She obediently came to him, lowered head and shoulders, and stood stooped over.  The single string of pearls swung forward, hanging down, as he reached up behind her neck to unhitch the back of the slinky gown.  The girl waited patiently for inept male fingers to undo the little catch, and work open the few bottoms at the top of the curving neckline.  With the bodice loose, he brushed the thin straps off her shoulders and the dress promptly slithered down, exposing the top of her smooth chest till its descent was arrested, caught up on the very ends of those small, jutting breasts.  To bare her breasts completely, it was necessary for the girl to slip out of the loops of the flimsy shoulderstraps that bound her upper arms, and this she now did at the silent urging of her lover.  It was done with the casual efficiency of a woman undressing in the privacy of her bedroom.

No longer suspended, the loosened dress slipped lower, its descent helped by Helmut, who grabbed a fistful of the sagging bodice and drew it away from her, down her front, exposing those hard little  breasts in one impatient gesture.  Now he took his time, smoothening out the disheveled dress, arranging it in carefully folding pleats around the girl's slim waist.

                "There, that's much better!" he pronounced with finality.  "You may stand up, now."

Allowed to straighten up to her full height, the dark haired woman stood once more at her lover's side, proud, with chin held high, lanky shoulders pulled back, freely exposing her succulent breasts to me for the first time, two taut cones, jutting outward in their audacity.  They sat low-slung on that long, lean torso, sporting prominent nipples that were oversized for their narrow, pointy shapes.  Helmut was right about the girl's rich cocoa nipples, they stood out boldly, brazenly: the wide aureoles puffy, the nubby tips distended and protruding.

"Well, what do you think?" His craggy face broke into a smile of pride; beaming to show off his newest possession.

I tried to be as nonchalant as my host, blaze, sophisticated -- a man of the world, who took such provocative displays in stride.  But below the table my penis had surged into a powerful erection, and was suffocating in the tangle of my underwear.  I slipped a hand below the tablecloth to surreptitiously ease my demanding manhood.  I shifted in my seat.

"Quite nice," I managed to reply, choosing my words carefully, yet trying for the impression that I knew was expected of me -- the dry understatement of the proper English gentleman.

"Perhaps you'd like to see a little more?" Helmut asked, in an equally dispassionate manner, as if suggesting another glass of Cognac.

                 A ripple of excitement shot through me; my straining penis twitched with a renewed surge of interest.  Trying to keep my eyes on my charming host, I smiled politely.  It was all I could think of to do.

"Kitten, our guest would like to see you nude.  Get undressed, please." 

This remarkable order, like the previous one, was taken in with the same sang-froid that I came to so admire in the well-trained girl   Maintaining that expressionless face, eyes still locked on some distant horizon, the ex-model, slipped her thumbs into the half-masted dress that bound her waist, gathered up the bunched material and shoved it down her hips, letting gravity take over at some point so that it fell the rest of the way down those tall nyloned legs to land in a soft heap ringing her ankles.

Still holding herself perfectly erect, she raised each knee in turn, simply stepping free of the inky puddle with the unassuming grace of a mythical faun.  The pointy toe of shiny black pump nudged the crumpled dress aside to leave it on the thick carpet at her feet.

Now we were presented with that superb figure: the long lithe form of Liese's V.'s streamlined body -- splendidly naked but for her stockings and underpants.  From the hips up the young woman wore nothing but the short string of pearls.  Her breasts, swaying provocatively as she removed her dress, had now, with a taut jiggle, settled into place, jutting out in defiant pride, oversized nipples at the ready.

  That finely sculpted torso tapered slightly to a pair of long narrow hips, encased in low slung, black silk panties: see-through lacy, with an shiny, opaque wedge just at the crotch where the snug briefs were plastered to the soft mound of  the girl's sex.  Tucked folds of fleshy labia, dimly evident, were half-hidden, just between her legs.  The tops of her tapering thighs were left splendidly naked by the pair of dark-tinted nylons she wore.  Full length stockings with wide top-bands of snug elastic, embroidered with fine lace, banded those mouth-watering thighs two thirds of the way up, sheathing those magnificent tall lengths in smooth dark nylon. The pointed toes were set side by side on the carpet, smoothly tapering legs, straight and close-set, as the slender woman held herself -- one shoulder raised and slightly forward.  It was a classic pose; one designed to allow mere mortals to worship the sensual beauty of this dark-haired goddess.

Helmut, met my eye, beaming and nodding his blond head like a mechanical doll.  He seemed to have a hard time containing his burgeoning pleasure.  His smile widened.  My prick was aching, and I felt warm, my palms, sweating.

"Go on, Kitten, the rest."

For the first time I thought I saw just a slight curl at the edge of those painted lips, as she looked down to study her lover.   It was no more than the suggestion of  a smug smile, a wry trace of amused indulgence, such as a mother might give to an irrepressible boy-child.

I watched elegant hands rise up to the waistband of those sexy briefs, her thumbs hook in the front and slide around to each hip.  And then, without fanfare, she drew her panties down to her knees, raising each foot in turn while bending forward, breasts swinging out as she freed herself from the silky scrap.

As she went about slipping off her shoes and peeling down her nylons, I examined her sex, the vulva richly matted with soft curlings of pubic hair that formed a little puff at the apex between her legs; the pouting lips heavily shaded by the riot of thick, soft dark curls.

After taking a chair to pull off the clinging nylons, she slipped her bare feet back into her shoes, in what I thought was a curious gesture. Helmut had said not a word to her, yet the woman seemed to know what was wanted.  Had this strange pas-de-deux been enacted before, perhaps before an audience, other guests who had sat in this very chair?

I got the eerie feeling that this was indeed a routine, some bizarre ritual that had been repeated many times, when Helmut looked up at his naked mistress and, still without a word, pointed to a small sofa set against the wall across the room from the table.   It was a narrow divan, backless, and upholstered in a fine velvet of deep forest green.  A large scrolled arm at one end provided a place to rest one's weary head.

                 It was to this divan that Liese now retired.

I watched in fascinated silence as the sleek nude, in nothing but her heels, a jeweled wristwatch, and that short string of pearls, turned her back on us, causally picked up a drink, and nonchalantly walked away.   My eyes adored the long lean slope of her bare back, the seductive flare of her long hips.  It fell riveted to the seductive sway of that shapely behind, fascinated by delectable rearcheeks rhythmically moving, churning with each step of those high heeled shoes, as she sauntered across the room.

Placing her naked bottom on the velvet padding, she slid up to recline back, pulling up her long lissome legs, to lay extended out along the padded length of the divan.  Turned onto one hip so that she was faced us, she lay back languidly, propped herself up with an elbow braced on the thick scroll.

                 We drained our glasses.  Helmut offered me a cigar.  Another glass of the golden Cognac was poured, and we settled back to talk of things quite ordinary, while this exquisite nude sipped her drink, and regarded us from her velvet couch with those deep, eloquent eyes.

 

 

The End

 

@ 1999, Don Winslow