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My Lord

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My lord comes back to his chambers, tired, but uplifted after a pleasant evening, spent in conversation and dancing and drinking sparkling wine. I follow him, bringing his lute and a box with his own Stones set. Lord Vanity was very interested in the name of the master who carved the wooden board with such an intricate design, and was seriously dissapointed when my lord kept this secret away from him.
As soon as I enter the chambers, I put the bucket with water on fire and help my lord to take off his jacket. I clean it up and put in the wardrobe, careful of numerous folds on the collar. My lord is sitting in his favourite chair, a glass of wine in his hand, but he isn't drinking, just watches the colors in the warm light. He is like a picture, a portrait painted by a genius, and everything around him is a frame for him. I have seen it long ago, and I see it now, and marvel on the complicity and immediacy of the beauty he is and the beauty he creates around himself.
Never giving me a single glance, he reaches with his hand to me, and I unfasten his cuffs on each sleeve in turn. Then, I kindle the aroma sticks in the corner. The water is boiling now, and I pour it into the basin and add some cold water and scented salt. Taking the shoes from my lord's feet, I look up on his face: it's dark golden in the fire's light. He smiles a little, slipping from the game for a moment, when I put his feet into water, his touch inside me warm and grateful, and then the mask is back and so are the shields between us.
'It's too hot again, Tom', he says capriciously, and I rise up. 'Where are you going?", he asks immefiately.
'To add some cold water', I answer.
'Don't. You'll pour too much, and I'll freeze. I will endure what I have'.
I shrug and kneel in front of him again. I wash away the tiredness from his feet. I hear a contented sigh from above me, and my lord puts his glass on the table and relaxes his entire body. I put one of his slender feet on my knee, wipe it dry with a soft cloth and then start massaging it, rubbing the lavender oil into skin.
'Mm, Tom. Now I remember why I still keep you'.
'Only now?', I dare a question, hiding my smile, and take his other foot.
'There are other moments', he admits, and clenches his fingers on the arms of the chair, like a satisfied cat. I caress the high ark of his foot, and then put my mouth on it. My lord gasps as I cover his warm wet skin with kisses.
'You like it, Tom', he says in a husky voice. I feel my cheeks redden, but still I answer, 'Yes, milord'.
With the toes of his other foot he raises my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. It would be humiliating if not for his gaze, dark, piercing, demanding. I feel myself trapped, and I don't want to escape.
With his toes he caresses my cheek, and I have only to turn my head to kiss his toes, one by one, sucking lightly on the tips. He sighes and lets me do whatever I want for a while, so I use his permission fully, kissing, licking, sucking and nipping at the sensitive warm skin. In a minute, his sighs sound more like moans. I move higher, to his ankles and calves, caressing them with my hands and mouth. While taking my time with one of his slender legs, I have to put the other down, and his foot moves up my thigh, slowly and surely, until it rests on my swollen groin. Now I'm sighing against his skin. He wriggles his toes, and I can't stay this calm and purposeful any longer.
With several quick movements I unfasten his leggins and force them along with everything under them down his long legs. My lord never stops me, just raises his hips a little. Discarding the clothes, I go down on him, on the gentle skin of his thighs, stopping just a moment from his velvet hardness, though it looks unbearably fetching. I kiss and nip and bite and suck again, and his hand slids into my hair, a silent encouragement. I raise my head and take his wrist, and with my teeth I took the glove away from his fingers and kiss and suck each of them in turn. My lord smiles, his breath uneven and hard, and gives me his other hand. I do the same with it, and when I take the silvery fingertips into my mouth, he moans suddenly, deep in his throat.
The sound unleashes the beast within me, and his gaze is the only thing keeping humanity in me, stopping me from taking him here and now.
Instead, I stand up and gather him in my arms, never leaving his gaze. I take him to the bedroom, every step a slow burning of need and desire increases.
'Tom, I can walk, you know', he whispers to me, turning my attention back to the game.
'You'll dirty your feet, milord', I answer, as I put him on the bed.
It takes me a couple of moments to get undressed, and then I'm next to him, nibbling and licking on his skin everywhere, from his toes to his long neck, so vulnerable beneath my teeth. His skin is scentless, so I touch him everywhere, leaving my own scent on him; his skin has a taste, very light, very gentle flavour, so I seek for it, never being able to stop. I feel half a beast licking its mate, and half a human tasting his lover. When I kiss his lips, the human wins for a while, and I let our tongues play in the intricate dance. When I move down again, the beast takes over, and I lick him hard and wet, so that he can't stop me and can't stop his own quiet moans and shudders of pleasure.
He gathers his wits for long enough to remember of our little game, but it's only so that he could order me, 'Take me, Tom. Now!' I surrender to his will with immense pleasure.
In the end, his feet are on my shoulders, and his hands alternate between clutching on the sheets and reaching for my face, while I still nibble on them, on his toes and his fingers, between my thrusts, until I can no longer think and can only move, as a beast and as a human alike - then he forgets the game, and cries, 'Beloved!', falling over the edge and taking me with him.
Lying with him later, I lower my sheilds, which I held up tight all the time, and the feeling of his presence fills me. It makes us whole again; it's hard to enforce the division, but for the games he always has in mind, it's nesessary, because in our unison, we reach the completion too fast. He gasps and moves closer still. We bask in each other's afterglow, warm and sated and content.
'That might cause some talk about the keep, that milord calls his unworthy servant "Beloved"', I say softly. He makes a 'puff' sound.
'That might, and then that might not, if I'm not calling you this in a daylight... though I wish I could', he sighs. I kiss his brow. His elaborate hairdress is all astray, and that little makeup he uses is flowing. He is the one most beautifull thing I have ever seen.