Juli 29, 1788
Cher D.
I find myself lost. Here on my bed, draped in nude desire. Replaying your words in my head. Your proposal… as bold as it is taboo. Tempting me with things I dare not mention, except only to you. It started as a mere parlor game between party guests dodging ennui. The boredom of French aristocratic chess. Until all the usual things failed to impress. Your wealth, my wealth, your chateau, my chateau, Voltaire or Rousseau. The catalogue of things that made us more jaded than the Orient.
Then you did it. Stepped out of bounds. Looking me right in the eyes, asking me which do I prefer… douleur ou plaisir… pain or pleasure. It fit into the conversation as smooth as a smile. That sparkle in your eye made me know you were serious. Right then the chandelier faded, murmuring conversations muted. You had caught me, unprepared.
Funny how your keen bluntness so intrigued. I sipped my champagne, pried my eyes away from yours. Mulled over my response. “Une peu des deux,” I said, trying to sound like a little of both would make me worldly.
That is when your finger traced the crook of my arm. As innocent as it was wicked. It was then and there that I first signed our contract, sealed the pact.
Tousjours Votre Soumise (Always Your Submissive)
s.
Delicious!
I would like more please. Definitely more.
Beautifully penned, LDF. Seductive read my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Tender and seductive with the magic of a first encounter. You are as gifted with prose as poetry, my friend. This shines.
John