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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
tall, slender, leggy brunette in that little black dress, who sat 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, ex-model who sat so exquisitely poised in
that revealing, sleeveless black dress: her slender arms, delicate
shoulders, and finely sculpted neck and chest, all left deliciously bare in
the soft glow of the candlelight. No man could help but being captivated
by that pale, cool beauty, the chiseled features with those lovely dark
eyes, and classic high cheekbones, that long waisted figure, and of course,
those gorgeous tall legs, sheathed in black nylon, their splendid lengths
extending down from the short dress she wore to the gleaming points of her
high heeled shoes.
Not knowing what else to do, I smiled politely and nodded my agreement.
Helmut never noticed, for his eyes never left that striking face.
"Liese! Come here, Kitten."
Those large dark eyes met the man's for just a moment; something passed
between them. Lowering her eyes, she 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 woman 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 the well-trained model she was, 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 better!" he pronounced at last. "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 erect, she raised each knee in turn, simply
stepping free of the inky puddle with the unassuming grace of a mountain
nymph. 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 netherlips,
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 topbands 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 that formed a
little puff at the apex between her legs; the pouting netherlips heavily
shaded by the riot of thick, soft dark curls.
After talking 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 just like me?
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 tall 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 flare of her hips.
It fell riveted to the seductive sway of that shapely behind, fascinated by
delectable rearcheeks rhythmically 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, unwavering eyes.
END
@ 1999, Don Winslow http://www.nauticom.net/www/lchan