Ephemera & Tales

A little smut for humpday - their index is linked here if you would like to know more. Comments always appreciated.

***** ***** *****

Sometimes it's hard to remember that this is a performance, that there is an audience, and that some – maybe most – of Talen's attention is on that, not on him. He can't think that it won't matter if he arches just a little this way, or allows a hiss to escape underneath the choreographed moans, because Talen's broad hand is knotted in his hair, drawing his head back, bowing his back, and his lover will know. Will read him, without ever loosing track of the three duke's sons sprawled on the couches being tended and tempted by the rest of their troupe.

( snipped for smut )

How he could be so hungry for touch with so many people now, touching and stroking and oiling and cleaning and measuring and nudging and straightening and correcting and groping and grabbing he doesn't know. Even good touches, people who seem to care about him who's attentions he welcomes, are not longer in rationed supply, and yet the second Tal's fingers brush the back of his hand, he still inhales sharply, floods with feeling. His eyes stay shut, and he couldn’t lift his head from the running board of the rattling cart if there were jewels and gems bet on it. There he is, smiling and glowing, at just that tiny touch.

He squirms back lazily, so his shirt rides up a little, baring skin at his lower back. Talen takes the bait, settling a large hand there, fingers working at Kes's tired muscles in soft slow circles. He is probably purring if Tal's chuckle is anything to go by. He feels like purring should feel – warm and boneless and content, the cart's motion transformed into a lulling rocking by Tal's presence. He wonders idly if he is meant to get up now to take his turn riding with the horses and let someone else sleep, but those weren't the words he wanted to say even if he had the energy to make words out loud at all.

The slight whimper when Tal's hand moved away and straightened the cool fabric over his skin instead of touching him more is almost entirely unintentional, and his eyes are heavy and won't open even though he want to see Tal's body, shadows against the stars.

"You did well. Rest now, beloved."

Tal's voice is soft and deep, like velvets and furs and sleep whispering over his neck, sliding under the road noises, and then the feeling of Talen leaning over him, close and warm, is gone and sleep is come in his place.

OK - so I don;t think this meets th spirit of your request, so I'll try and write you something pornalicious later, but this is what I got : Performance - verse - an argument that leads to a kiss

****** ****** *****

The raised voices and the flaming of his cheeks he was used too. Embarrassment, fear, and a sort of sick self loathing were getting to be almost comfortable in their familiarity in the long weeks since he'd left his father's house, convinced that nothing could be worse than staying. The sharp slap to his face, though, that was shockingly new.
( Read more... )

Introductions : an extract from an early letter
A letter regarding unusual clients

Chosen
Annointed
Training
On the road
A day's work
Privacy

"Are you nearly finished"

Even in this crowded attic room Kes can still creep up me utterly noiselessly. His fingers brushing my arm as he speaks make me startle, scratching the pen across the paper. How he managed to silence the door I do not claim to understand.

"Nearly done, Kes-sweet, nearly done."

He's been taking advantage of having a proper bathroom available, his skin still damp, his shirt unbuttoned where he's walked back to our room. He leans against the back of the chair, keeping contact with me while he towels at his hair with an old shirt.

( Read more... )

The very first night that they touched Kes had been entranced by Talen's shining skin. His fingers had been gready for it, his eyes wide with such wonder when Talen offered him a taste.

The first night after Kes was accepted into their group the touch of oil on his own skin was enough to bring him the full hardness only seconds after the warmed spiced oil touched his shoulders. No more than four strokes of Talen's shinning hands around his cock mingled Kes' seed with the liquid.

And now, leaning back in the curve of Talen's arms, his back resting on Talen's chest, his head cradled in the curve of Talen's shoulder, the young man watched as Karin annointed her lover, Skein's pale cream and gold skin becoming burnished under the sweep of Karin's hands.

The fall of Karin's hair conceiled her expression, but Skein's pleasure was written bright and clear on her sharp features as painted nails scored lines in the oil on her belly and pinched her nipples to red fullness. All the while the women kept up their low throbbing song.

The beat of it drove Karin's hands, deft and sure, weaving a pattern of pleasure. Skein in turn wove her signs and cries into a melody deigned to carry their audience with them into abandon. Amet's low echoing drum beats threaded through as naturally as if they were a heartbeat, and the strings of bells that wrapped Karin's wide hips flowed into the music, tying them all together as sure as ropes and knotcraft.

It is only the fifth time Kes had been part of this ritual showcase we go through.

You can see it in his eyes, that he still can’t quite believe that it’s real. He whispered to me in the first light of dawn after the very first time he stood with us, black leather, white satin, golden gleaming skin. Whispered and the words just flooded out of him; about things we’d done and how it felt to stand there, being watched and weighed and chosen for the first time, and to know that he held his place with us by his merits. I teased him a little, that he should be dreaming of being a kept man, a jewel for my quarters without ever having to lift a finger. I will not do that again. In some ways expectations have weighed heavy on his past, but in others … No matter. He is wanted for his skills here, and more than pays his way.

And it is he who is wanted most of all this evening, if I judge our patrons well. The Lord Knight who sent his messengers for us seems disinterested – he will be footing the bill, no doubt, but this is not his fancy. No, it is his young wife who walks around each of us, and flicks her eyes comparing each of us to some mental template. She is very young, and pinched thin, though it cannot be through any want of food, and her eyes are large in her face. There is something not altogether healthy about her look, nor her swift, pecking motion. I do not have to turn my head to know that Skein is considering this carefully, calculating which questions to ask, what to permit and what to forbid at the bargaining table. Oh yes, it is my boy who takes her fancy tonight, and as her Lord Knight’s eyes have scarcely left her since she stood to inspect us more closely, I suspect that he will pay for whatever she wishes.

You ask, Tammlin, how unusual the tastes of our clients can be, and I find I have no answer.

Working as we do gives one a different perspective, I think, to that of any clerk of the courts, no matter your personal interests or upbringing. Sex and violence, punishment and pleasure - almost anything that these words conjure in your mind I am sure we have been paid handsomely for at one time or another. That or we have turned it down. Some people may have a birthright that will protect them from the consequences of the occasional unexplained death amongst their serving girls, but that does not make such a thing conscionable to any of us six. Some of these southern Knights seem perhaps to feel that the law is far away from their concerns.

( Read more... )

Jarret is the only one of us who you could really call skinny. Amet is all luscious taut curves, and Karin tends to the voluptuous, with Skein somewhere in between – Amazonian is one term. Jarret is a tall stretch of skin and bone, while Kes is somewhat chubby. I myself am pure Knight’s build – broad muscles and long legs - so between the six of us, there is something for most tastes, which is, after all, the point.

Our show is – unusual. Rarity is always a valuable commodity, and Karin and Skein set out from their start to make sure that they always had an edge on the competition. Brothels are scattered at every street corner, it seems, and bordellos scarcely any rarer. The sort of private entertainment’s that we provide is more suited to the upper reaches of the courts than the scrambling of those with pretensions to nobility. Although if they scramble hard enough and spend their coin wisely – well a job is a job.

None of us started out half so picky – well none of us save Kes, but that’s what happens when you seduced noble-born boys to run away with the circus. It is fortunate that his father is insufficiently influential to make things uncomfortable anywhere outside Czen city. Seeing as Kes has sworn up, down and backwards that he’d rather face the sword than go back to that provincial staging station, it’s hardly a handicap.

Kes’s talents were more than enough to warrant his joining the troupe, even if he hadn’t found a place in my own heart with remarkable alacrity. The boy is a deep dyed natural hedonist, has enough alchemical training to play with flame, and turns the formal poses of a knight’s combat training into a slow stretch of eroticism that is having an effect even from memory. His blade play is exquisite, and he takes training delightfully. To borrow a phrase from the Crush : what’s not to like.

I am fortunate – we are fortunate – that the two ladies who brought this group together are themselves lovers. It makes them tolerant. Perhaps one day we shall be eight – thus far Jarret has kept his interest in Amet purely professional. Amet was briefly under the impression that I might care for her company more often. I suspect Kes joining us has thoroughly disabused her of that notion. It’s fortunate – again I trust to Lady Fortune more than is wise perhaps – fortunate that she is not the jealous type. She would be hard to replace within the group, and there are precious few who have her way with knots.