The Silver-Tongued Swain

Mine are the eyes that gaze upon your wondrous form in constant adoration. Your subtle splendor renders my lips mute, but provides the ink for my quill. My mind blazes with a million unspoken thoughts. Yours is such a quiet, graceful beauty, yet one I find so fiercely tempting. Each occasion I behold you warrants, I believe, a celebration.

Oh, my darling, Miss Grainger, how my heart yearns to know you more deeply. How I wish you reciprocated my desires.

Leah finished reading the short letter and looked at her friends, gauging their reaction to the note from her silver-tongued swain, as she'd secretly dubbed him. Having her own devoted admirer, one who expressed himself so elegantly with the written word, was so far beyond anything in her mundane experience that the excitement of receiving his notes, and now reading them out loud, almost had her heart bursting. She struggled to maintain her composure as she waited for her friends' response.

"Goodness. He's not a very accomplished poet, is he?" Constance said with a laugh.

"He's certainly not of Lord Byron's caliber, but..." Lady Roberta paused, then motioned toward the letters in Leah's hand. "There's definitely emotion in his words. Read another."

"How many did you bring?" Grace asked.

Leah ran her hand across the well-worn pages. "Only four."

"Only four?" Lady Roberta smiled. "How many has he written?"

In spite of her determination appear unaffected in front of the younger women, heat rose to her cheeks, making her blush, and Leah wanted to curse her fair skin. A former governess of twenty-five shouldn't be embarrassed, or even remotely swayed, by such notes from a mysterious admirer. Compared to the other sexual stories she and her four friends had written in the past, what she'd just read was extremely tame. But Leah also knew what remained in her hand, and how her body had responded to each and every word. "Including this one, I've received sixteen letters."

"Sixteen?" Constance repeated, either aghast, or possibly in awe at the number. "You've gotten sixteen love poems written to you by someone you don't even know? Oh, I am thoroughly vexed now." She sat back in a huff and crossed her arms over her chest.

Leah wondered, not for the first time, if she'd made a mistake sharing the letters with her friends. Maybe instead of bringing these to this week’s gathering, she should have taken the time to compose her own wicked fantasy, which had been the assignment, after all. But she hadn't been able to stop reading the literary expressions of her admirer. He had grown so impassioned of late. "They aren't poems, really, more like letters." The governess in her couldn't help but correct Constance. "Whatever has you so upset? It's not as if I asked to receive these."

"Oh, no!" Constance waved her hand, as if brushing away her annoyance. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to imply that I'm mad at you in any way. Not at all. On the contrary, Leah, I think it's lovely that you have a secret admirer who spends time not only contemplating your beauty, but writes odes to it, as well. It's quite smashing, really."

"Do go on and read the others. Please," Grace encouraged. "I think it's terribly romantic."

"If you're all sure..." Leah hesitated, still curious about Constance's swift change of mood.

"Yes," Roberta said. "Read the others. I cannot wait to hear what else this mystery man adores about you."

"All right." The dratted blush was warming her from the inside out now, heating Leah's vitals as intently as the man's intimate words heated her heart. It was an effort to breathe normally. "Since we were each supposed to be writing about our own wicked fantasies, the other three letters I brought with me... Well, I'm not sure quite how to say this because I’ve truly no idea who keeps giving me these, but they've become more detailed recently. Each time I read them, I am quite beside myself with the wonder of what he describes.” Leah leaned forward, her voice softening as if she told a secret. "I do believe if I could learn this man's identity, I'd be quite tempted to undress and offer myself to him on the spot."

"Now that's the spirit!" Lady Roberta smiled with enthusiasm typical of her experience all life has to offer attitude. After all, turning their weekly writing sessions from analyzing modern literature into composing saucy tales had been Roberta's idea.

"Would you really?" Grace breathed, as if the notion shocked her overly pious sensibilities beyond the pale.

"Read the next one! I am quite beside myself with impatience!" Constance gestured to the pages.

"Very well." Leah tried to contain her own excitement and remain outwardly composed. It wouldn't do for her friends to know how very fast her heart pounded. "The notes started becoming more descriptive about three months ago. He wrote this one for my lips. It's--"

"Even your lips get there very own letter?" Constance interrupted, sounding duly impressed.

Leah nodded diffidently. She had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling. Inappropriate or not, the letters had been very flattering to someone that had never thought of herself as exciting or beautiful. "This one is called A Summer's Day."

A summer's day is not unlike the joy I feel when gazing upon your smile. Even in the heart of coldest winter, a fire rages through my body at the thought of pressing my lips to yours, of tasting your warmth, of sampling the sunshine of your smile with my mouth.

The ice that has become my scarred soul thaws at the thought of touching your tempting lips. My saliva boils in readiness to mix with yours, as our tongues fight a duel on the battlefield named Desire.

Oh, how I long to pay homage to your wide, generous mouth...to trace your lips with my tongue, to gently pull your supple flesh into my mouth...to suckle, to caress...to press my own lips against yours firmly...

My dear Miss Grainger, only the sweet curve of your gentle lips can return the sun to the wintry darkness of my existence. I dream of you. My mouth runs dry at the thought...

Silence met Leah when she finished reading. She had no idea what her friends were thinking. Her stomach quaked as she pulled forth the next letter she planned to read and placed it on top of the others. Before anyone could comment, she began, "I found this one a month ago…"

Confession

I intended to halt my one-sided discourse. No doubt, you do not need to read the lustful ramblings of a broken man. But, just as thoughts of you heat my blood and warm me through the cold, lonely nights, my heart must share with you what is in it. Only it is not my heart that speaks tonight. Nothing so elevated, I fear. It is another part of my anatomy longing to be heard.

But I refuse to give it a voice. Not unless I know that you are, at least in some small way, receptive. So if your delicate sensibilities can stand the thought of being exposed to the lustful musings from the part of me that longs to join with you, please wear your red scarf one day this week. If I am fortunate, I will be in a position to see it.

And if you choose not to respond, as I wish with every breath I take you will, please know, my dear Miss Grainger, that I am forever in your debt for the hours of succor and comfort you have, no doubt unknowingly, provided as I drift off each night. I dream of holding you in my arms, of removing your night rail and smoothing my hand over your bare breasts, of turning your body toward mine and gazing at your fine form in the candlelight. Of thrusting my tongue within the moist cavern of your mouth and plunging my cock in your honeyed heat until such time as we both scream from pleasure.

Forgive me. It seems that my quill has a mind of its own...

"Oh my." Grace blinked, her eyes dewy with tears.

"Forget what I said earlier. He's wonderful," sighed Constance. "Did you do it? Did you wear your red scarf?"

"Tell us you did!" Lady Roberta gasped, for once, appearing almost as young as Constance.

Leah took a deep breath and sighed with relief. She hadn't been wrong to share these letters with her friends. They were affected by them as well. She nodded. "I wore my scarf every day that week. Just in case he didn't see it the first day."

"And did another letter come?" Grace asked, clasping her hands to her heart.

"Yes." Leah retrieved it from the pile. "Two weeks ago. I haven't heard from him since, though."

"Read it!" All three of her friends exclaimed at once, encouraging her with their excitement.

My Desire

My Dearest Leah, I saw you, complete with red scarf today, and my heart soared. To know that I can continue to speak to you of my desires, to describe my body's rampant urgings in such ways I have not yet felt free to express, fills me with such relief. And such responsibility.

For this is all we can ever have. A few words scribbled upon a page in the dead of night...

Well, it is now incumbent upon me to get this right, is it not? For, though I could be mistaken, I believe this wicked correspondence may yet be your introduction to the finer points of fornication.

But I digress into the realm of impending guilt--for myself, my dear, not you. I fear, and rightly so I am sure, that one such as I corrupting an innocent such as yourself is only confirming his already-tendered reservation in hell--but that is not your concern.

No...for you, my dear Leah, you must only know how I think daily of whisking you away to a private spot--a secluded meadow for instance--and placing your virgin hand upon the hardened ridge of my cock, making you fully aware of that part of me.

You stand in the sun-drenched meadow, staring at me, waiting, wondering. Will it be as wonderful as you've dreamed? Ah, how vividly the images fill my mind…

Giving you no time for doubt, I’d tear your gown from your body, rip away your chemise and leave you standing before me, gloriously nude, except for your long red scarf tied loosely around your neck. The ends hang between your breasts, the delicate fringe caressing your womanly stomach and hips.

Paying no heed to any missish fears, for you wouldn't have any, as this is my rendering, I command you to touch yourself, to caress your breasts and squeeze your nipples while I watch.

You bite your lip, but do as I ask, driving me wild with desire. Standing before you, I remove my own clothing with a ferocity that leaves you stunned and dripping with passion as a your body prepares to receive mine.

Once naked, I urge you to lie on the grass and widen your legs. You eagerly comply, lying before me in open invitation.

Holding my heavy erection, I get on my knees between your legs and admire the succulent view. The flushed dark pink lips of your hair-surrounded quim shield Heaven. I must go there now. Blood rushes to my prick, and I ache for you with an even greater intensity. Spreading your slick lips wide, I place the head of my cock at your entrance and push myself in.

One strong glide and I am embedded. Your feminine muscles tighten along my shaft and squeeze, pulling me in deeper.

I am all you've ever wanted.

You cry out my name as I plunge inside your impossibly narrow channel.

My hands grasp your breasts and hold the glorious mounds. Their weight is perfect in my palms. I adore them with my eyes, my fingers, and my lips. The taste of your skin provides all the nourishment I will ever need.

My hips pump faster and you moan beneath me.

The sun beats down on my back. The flowers surrounding us bloom in a profusion of color. You bloom for me, arching against my cock. You cry out, shuddering with your release.

I thrust within you. My seed erupts, flooding your womb.

I fall upon your body, spent, my cock still pulsing within you. You touch my sweat-dampened face, kiss my lips, and ask me to love you again.

Forever, you say.

In my dreams, I reply.

Goodbye, Dear one...

The stillness surrounding Leah when she finished reading was absolute. Her heart pounded in response to the words. No matter how often she read them, they affected her every time. One part of her cried from the beauty of it, while the other part cried from the loneliness. Would she ever know who penned such beautiful writings to her?

"Is that all?" Grace seemed disappointed.

Leah carefully folded the letters and took her seat. "Yes, and I fear he may not write another. He's never said goodbye before."

"Perish the thought," Lady Roberta said firmly. "A man doesn't describe such heated, fervent longings then abandon the object of his desires overnight. You'll hear from him again, I'm convinced of it." She tapped her chin, deep in thought.

Everyone waited, for it was clear that Roberta was hatching yet another scheme. Leah tensed, still throbbing internally from reading the letters.

Roberta straightened. "Ladies, I daresay we have a mystery on our hands and Leah, if you want to know the identity of your admirer, I am sure the four of us can work together and discover who he is."

"Truly?" As much as Leah longed to know, she had been afraid of pursuing the fantasy. What if, in reality, the man was much less than his letters? Did she really want to know? Or would it be worse if she were left always wondering?

"I'm positive. When have you ever known me to fail at anything?" Roberta asked with a confident smile.

"Never!" All three of the other women responded, then laughed, as some of the tension in the room lessened.

"Let me think about it," Leah told them.

"Certainly," Roberta said. "And, now, Constance, it's your turn."

"After Leah's love letters, I only hope my story doesn't disappoint."

"I'm sure it won't," Leah assured her, caressing the pages in her hand and looking forward to this evening when she could be alone and read the letters yet again. Then spend the night dreaming...