Gothic Blue

by Portia Da Costa

  Once again, she silenced Miles with a chilling look, and saw him bite his lips to keep in his exclamations.

  Standing in a crumpled pool of linen and satin lining, she knew she looked the very rising goddess. The steely-coloured basque ended just above her navel and her long legs were encased in hold-up stockings, but between these two she wore no other garment. She could feel Miles staring hard at her luxuriant pubic bush and the shimmering ooze of juice that was already trickling through it. She saw him lick his lips as if imagining her flavour.

  Ah yes, my dear naïve little Miles, you will get to taste me, mark my words, she thought, stepping neatly out of her skirt and shoes, then slipping her feet back into the slender high heels. You’ll use that soft mouth in my service until your jaw aches.

  ‘Stay there,’ she ordered softly, realising he was once again about to move. Retrieving her wine from the drinks table, she took a long refreshing swallow, then removed a glove and dipped her fingers into the glass. When they were sufficiently moistened, she opened her legs a little and rubbed her throbbing clitoris.

  The weakish alcohol tingled only a little but the pressure alone was enough to make her climax. She groaned gutturally as waves of pleasure passed right through her. Her distended bladder edged each one with a delicious pain.

  ‘Thank you, goddess,’ she murmured to the deity whose image rested between her breasts, as self-possession returned from out of chaos. Withdrawing her scented fingers from the niche between her legs, she lifted the talisman and pressed it to her lips. ‘For everything,’ she added, thinking of a blue-eyed nemesis whose soul would soon be hers.

  Opening her eyes, she surveyed her pleasant if rather nondescript diversion. Ah well, he would pass a little time.

  ‘Come,’ she murmured, holding out her left hand to Miles and smiling narrowly.

  And like a willing lamb for the sacrifice, he walked towards her.

  Where on earth has he gone? thought Belinda as she stepped into her bedroom. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen, the bed had been made, and her clothes had been picked up and spirited away out of sight. The casement window stood open to the sepia-toned twilight and there was a strong scent of pot-pourri in the air. The room no longer smelled of sweaty sex.

  ‘I suppose I’d better get ready for dinner then,’ she muttered, wondering just who had been in and tidied up. One of Jonathan’s blonde friends, she presumed, or perhaps the silent but strangely friendly Oren.

  She was just about to shuck off the black robe and see if she could find anything suitable to wear for taking formal dinner with a continental blue-blood, when there was a soft rap on the door.

  Not again! thought Belinda, tempted not to answer. Who was it this time?

  ‘Come in!’ she called out resignedly.

  The door opened and two young women entered. Two beautiful blonde women who smiled at her warmly but didn’t speak a word. One was carrying a notebook and a pencil, and the other had her arms full of clothing.

  These were Jonathan’s silent paramours, Belinda realised, the wood-nymphs with whom he had frolicked by the river.

  ‘Er … hello,’ said Belinda doubtfully, unsure of what to say to them. Could they even hear, given that they were mute? Oren had perfect hearing but that didn’t mean to say that these two could also hear. ‘My name’s Belinda,’ she offered tentatively, patting her chest, then felt awfully self-conscious. What if they both understood her perfectly and were insulted?

  To her relief, the smiles of both the young women broadened, and the taller one, whose flaxen hair was tied back in a ponytail, gestured gracefully with the pencil and notebook, then quickly wrote a few words on the first blank page. Holding out the notebook, she showed them to Belinda.

  My name is Elisa, the girl had written. And my cousin’s name is Feltris. Our master has sent us to assist you in any way you require. We have brought fresh clothing, so you may bathe and change for dinner.

  As Elisa took back the notebook and placed it to one side, the younger girl, her cousin Feltris, stepped shyly forward with her burden. As she must have done with the shift and the French knickers Belinda had worn earlier, the graceful blonde began to lay out the clothing on the bed. This time there was more though, and Feltris arranged each item with tender care. Belinda was astounded at the sight of such beauty.

  The first garment was a dress; an ethereal shimmering thing that Belinda was instantly compelled to touch. Constructed from layer upon layer of embroidered silk gauze, it was a glorious blend of peach and orange in colour, and cut in a low-waisted Roaring Twenties style with a straight bodice and an intricately-scalloped hem-line. The dress was lined in satin and when Belinda bent to examine it more closely, she discovered it was hand sewn, every facet of it individually crafted. There was no label and no indication of either a designer or a brand name, and something told Belinda that the dress was an original, deriving from the Jazz Age itself. What she was being given to wear was a genuine haute couture antique, and was probably worth hundreds if not thousands of pounds.

  ‘I can’t wear this,’ she protested, itching to stroke her fingers over the exquisite fabric but afraid to. ‘It’s too precious. It should be in a museum.’

  But the girls just nodded their heads and smiled, encouraging her to examine the dress more closely. Elisa took Belinda’s hand and put it gently against the shining silk.

  ‘OK. If you say so,’ Belinda conceded, her senses thrilling to the delicate smoothness of the rare and feather-light fabric.

  The lingerie was a match for the dress: elaborate, fabulously fragile and so lovely it made Belinda gasp with pleasure. An ivory chemise and long knickers in crêpe-de-chine were both encrusted with soft flounces of lace and tiny embroidered roses. There was a suspender belt too, which was just as pretty, and stockings in off-white woven silk. For her feet there was a pair of satin ballet pumps the same colour as the dress, and beside them lay a tiny matching bag, a lace hankie and a scented corsage.

  ‘And you shall go to the ball, Cinders,’ murmured Belinda, transfixed by the beautiful clothes and accessories. So much opulence for one simple dinner.

  But what if the count had guests? What if his melancholy solitude was just something she herself had conjured up? Despite the initial image it projected, he had a lovely home; it was a perfect venue for entertaining and parties.

  And yet somehow she still knew he was lonely and that all this finery was purely to please him. Maybe not Cinders after all? she thought, lifting the chemise’s shoulder strap and discovering it was as light as the very air around it. I’m being decked out and adorned to suit his taste and his fancy, like a concubine being prepared for her master.

  Strangely enough, the idea didn’t repulse her. Instead she felt an electric anticipation; an excitement that flowed and flowered between her legs. Clutching the black robe closer around her, as if her arousal might be visible, she turned around to face the two waiting cousins.

  ‘OK. I’m ready. What’s next?’

  Elisa’s answer was to take her by the hand and lead her to the bathroom, with Feltris following silently behind them.

  Once inside, the two worked as a team, setting out fresh towels and apparently unopened toiletries that seemed to have replaced the ones used earlier. Belinda frowned at the evidence of such efficiency. So far she had encountered only Oren and these two, but the count’s establishment seemed to function as if there were scores of household staff in attendance. It was yet another mystery to add to a lengthening list, and as she pondered it, she realised Elisa was reaching for her robe.

  Belinda hadn’t really thought about what the other woman had written in the notebook, but now she panicked and clutched the thin black silk around her. She had shared communal showers often enough, but she had never actually been bathed by a woman, at least not since the days of her earliest childhood. And judging by what Jonathan had said, the cousins were lesbians: they would not look at her nakedness with cool detachment.

  ‘It’s OK, I can
manage from here,’ she said nervously, trying to snatch back her sash from Elisa’s grasp. ‘Thanks very much, but I’m used to looking after myself … Really.’

  But the blonde girl would not be gainsaid. With great deftness and determination, she teased the sash back out of Belinda’s hold, then handed it to Feltris, who was standing close beside them. Smiling, she reached forward and touched Belinda’s face, then leaned towards her and kissed her on the cheek. It was a very soft kiss, but full of reassurance.

  Confused, Belinda released her grip on the robe and allowed Feltris and Elisa to peel it from her, revealing her body bare and flushed from their little tussle. She felt an overpowering urge to try and cover herself – with an arm across her breasts and a hand shielding her pubis – but she realised that would only make things worse. Acting like a shrinking violet would only emphasise the fact that their sexual nature scared her. If she behaved nonchalantly, they wouldn’t realise she felt threatened.

  Yet as she stepped forward, trying to smile, she felt dizzy. Something seemed to rush through her like a wind, and she had a sense of being transformed, transmuted, utterly changed. For a moment she could have sworn she saw Count André’s blue eyes – not outwardly but within her mind – and a smile that was kind but gently mocking.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she gasped, swaying in the trailing edge of the experience, and almost immediately two pairs of arms were confidently supporting her. In a moment, they had her sitting on a chair.

  Pressing her hands over her face, Belinda tried to analyse what had just happened. Something had happened, but the more she tried to think, the less she seemed to know. She only knew that now it was over, she felt much better, and lowering her fingers, she looked out and down into a pale and lovely face.

  Feltris was kneeling in front of her, an expression of concern across her fine-boned elfin features.

  Oh God, she’s gorgeous! thought Belinda, astounded at the revelation. The younger girl was so pretty, so sensuous. So desirable.

  Desirable?

  But why not?

  Trembling, Belinda reached out and touched Feltris’s silky hair, then slid her fingers through it to cradle the back of the girl’s head. Their gazes locked, and in Feltris’s grey eyes Belinda saw tenderness and a kindly, encouraging lust. Without a second thought, she leant forward and began to kiss her.

  I’m kissing a woman, thought Belinda, savouring the delicately fresh flavour of her companion’s minty breath. The girl’s lips were soft, almost the texture of rose petals, and they seemed to melt and flex beneath the contact of her own. Belinda felt Feltris’s tongue dart into her mouth, flick around playfully, then seek out her own tongue. Automatically, she engaged it in a duel, and felt the young woman’s slender arms come up around her.

  Without the slightest awkwardness or need to consider her actions, Belinda slid forward, her mouth still pressed to Feltris’s, and allowed herself to be guided to the bathroom floor. The embrace seemed so much easier in a horizontal position, and as she went on to her back, she felt Feltris rise up over her and continue the kiss in a dominant, man-like style.

  Belinda was acutely aware of her nakedness – and that it gave her joy. She wrapped her arms around Feltris and pressed her bare breasts tight against her, then wriggled her bottom on the bathroom floor as she opened her legs. Feltris made a crooning, happy sound.

  What’s happened to me? thought Belinda dreamily, feeling her vulva open up like a sun-kissed flower. I’m lying on the floor without any clothes on, and I’m kissing and being kissed by another girl. It’s wonderful … but what do we do next?

  As if she had heard the question, Feltris answered it by shifting her body sideways and making Belinda groan a protest into her mouth. She felt doubly exposed without the mute girl’s warm presence lying over her, and the fact that they were still kissing seemed to exacerbate her nudity. Feeling profoundly lewd, she stretched her thighs wider and swung her hips.

  After a moment, she felt Elisa move in between her legs, a warm presence with experience and gentle hands. Belinda quivered as the older woman kissed her thigh, then kissed it again, but this time closer to her quim.

  Oh no … Oh dear God, oh dear God, she’s going to lick me, thought Belinda, as Feltris began sucking on her tongue. The two clever cousins were working as a team now, each conspiring with the other to give her pleasure.

  Belinda tried to cry out as Elisa prised her open, delicately folding back the fleshy petals of her womanhood; but her protest was absorbed by Feltris’s lips.

  I can’t … I can’t bear it … The words rang in Belinda’s brain because there was no way she could utter them. She tried to kick out with her legs but Elisa held them easily, then sank her soft mouth into Belinda’s tender sex.

  Cunnilingus felt just the same as it did when Jonathan used his mouth there; just the same, yet as different as night from day. Elisa’s tongue was smaller, slyer, and supremely nimble. It seemed to find areas of responsiveness that neither Jonathan nor Belinda – with her own fingers – had ever encountered. Roving the entire length and breadth of her sexual landscape, it lingered here and there, and in other places made quick and darting forays. Within just moments it was far too much and Belinda climaxed.

  The women held her tightly through the waves of sweet sensation; gentling her body with their wordless sounds of comfort.

  I can’t believe what just happened to me, thought Belinda, as the spasms faded and she was able to relax. Utterly content, she was aware of her two companions sitting by her, one on either side, and she almost purred when Feltris stroked her brow. It felt so right, and so appropriate, and the more she thought about it, the more she wondered why she had never had a female lover before.

  Perhaps it was just that she had never met the right woman? Or never met that woman when she was feeling so receptive? As she was now, in this weird but lovely place.

  All of a sudden, she sat up and laughed out loud. Elisa and Feltris looked puzzled for a moment, then joined in, their laughter a little muffled but still sexy. They smiled and touched her, as if they too had been struck by a revelation.

  ‘André von Kastel … you devil!’ cried Belinda, throwing her head back and gazing up at the moulded ceiling. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ she demanded of the absent nobleman, having not the slightest doubt that in some way he could hear her. ‘You’ve changed me. Made me like –’ She looked from one beautiful face to the other ‘– making love with women. I’ve never had the slightest inclination before, but suddenly I-I’m different.’

  At that moment, Elisa rose fluidly to her feet and reached down to draw Belinda to hers too. Beside them, graceful Feltris stood up also.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Belinda of the silent Elisa, looking her straight in the eye. ‘Has your master called? Told you to hurry?’

  The blonde woman smiled placidly, her eyes lambent and slightly teasing. With a lovely dance-like gesture, she pointed towards the bath, and as she did so, Feltris sprang forward and turned on the taps.

  ‘OK, I get the message,’ said Belinda, moving forward, aware that there was no way she was going to be allowed to bathe herself now. Even if she had wanted to. She smiled with pleasure as she realised her friends would be joining her, and as she tested the water, they were pulling off their dresses.

  Forty-five minutes later, Belinda stood before the looking glass in the bedroom next door, studying the image of a woman she had never seen before. A new woman, transformed by antique magic.

  In theory, the orangey-peach dress should have been hideous with her titian colouring, but in practice it was just the reverse. The strong, fruity shade seemed to light up her hair, her eyes and her lips and give her pale complexion an almost ghostly glow. In her flapper’s gown, she looked every inch the Jazz Baby, just as if she too – like her mysterious host – had stepped straight out of a portrait. It was a portrait she hadn’t seen, but she was sure it existed somewhere.

  ‘Boo doo pee doo,’ she murmured to her reflection, and to
uched the strands of hair that were curled forward across her cheeks, emphasising her bone structure. Behind her, Elisa frowned, then reached around and made a minute adjustment to the same curl.

  If she looked special, Belinda realised, it was because she owed much to the efforts of Elisa and Feltris. They had bathed her, perfumed her and preened her; assisted her with every last ritual of a woman’s intimate toilette, including some that had been more intimate than others. She had balked and blushed to the roots of her hair several times during the process, but always, within a moment or two, she had unwound. Until today she would have found it difficult to understand how she could communicate with someone who didn’t speak, but she found it easy to get on with the two young women. Not only were they friendly, they were also amusing, and their silence had a sly and jaunty humour. They were incredibly sensual too, and attuned to the erotic possibilities of even the simplest task. There had been slight delays, more than once, while they were getting her ready.

  Turning from the mirror, Belinda glanced at each of her friends and asked, ‘There! Will I do?’

  Elisa smiled and nodded, her eyes dark and expressive, while Feltris, who Belinda had discovered was the more demonstrative of the two, stepped forward and pressed an airy kiss to her powdered cheek. Elisa wagged a warning finger at her cousin, but Feltris had been careful. Neither Belinda’s gleaming hair nor her delicate make-up had been disturbed.

  ‘So?’ she queried again, and both girls kissed the tips of their fingers as a sign of approval.

  Belinda turned again to the mirror.

  But will he be impressed? she wondered, studying the sleek straight lines of the exquisite embroidered dress and the way it suggested rather than clung to her body. She smiled. Of course he will. How can he resist? she thought, remembering that intriguing mix of impishness and courtesy. The way he had kissed her hand, then later touched her body –