It is a weird story, I know... and it gets weirder and weirder, so you are warned.

A Gothic Tale



The streets and plazas of Neu Venedig are full of swirling black cloaks, and red desert sand carried by the icy winter wind.
It’s dawn, of course, it has been dawn for 14 GSdays, the slowly, slowly rising sun climbing the edge of the horizon, one painstaking inch every day. And now its glowing copper sphere casts a further layer of tawny blush on the bits and fragments of laughing faces visible through the Black Carnival masks. The sky floats deep purple overhead, incredibly clear, and at the eastern edge, where the spiky masts of the galleys mark the edge of the waterfront, it shines mellow orange, and then bright golden.

I sit on the marble pedestal of the statue of the Seven Whisperers. If they are whispering now, poor old souls, their voice is drowned by the almighty din of the Carnival. But their large bronze presence offers good shelter from the worse of the wind, and for that I am grateful; still I hold my heavy velvet cloak tight around me as I scan the milling crowd. My sketching pad and watercolours are beside me. I am waiting for one beautiful picture to charm me, in this dazzling swirling maelstrom of beauty. I smile to every mask, every feathery, lacy wig and diadem that passes under my lofty look out. I am drugged with the sensual beauty of the Carnival. All but the most drunk wear furs and velvets to keep out the cold wind and the red sand from the desert. Under the heavy cloaks, the finest lace, merlets, beads and pearls , twinkle, shine and glitter at every step. Long deep slashes in the rich dresses, show skin and shapes, veiling, unveiling, revealing, suggesting. The real carnival fineries are uncovered more boldly in the sheltered porches, arcades and patios, and in the echoing grand halls of the palaces of the old city; but I need to sit here in the streets now, waiting for a muse to pass.

“Hallo? Hallo, my lady?”
A close voice pierces the general noise of the crowd. Where? Who?
“Hallo? Up there! I’m here!”
She is right under me, and I only see her now. A tumbling mass of honey blond ringlets, probably her own, nestles in the hood of her cloak, that she has pushed back. And she wears a black velvet cat half-mask, glittery with jet beads and silver lace. From here I can see nothing else – apart from her eyes, large amber golden eyes that infuse her sombre mask with light and life.
“Wohoo! I thought the Whisperers had whispered your ears away! Pull me up!”
I am too surprised to do anything but comply. And why not? One can be social at the Carnival. I can surely draw something for the new book later. I help her up on the pedestal, or more likely, she helps herself up. My hand is symbolical, I realize. She’s as nimble as the cat she chose for a mask.
“Well met, Alizarin” She touches her forehead in the elegant greeting gesture of the indigenes. She may be a tourist, but if she is, she picked up the local style impeccably.
“Ivory, and well met!”
“Woo, quite a crowd, isn’t it, Ivory? Quite a vista from up here, too. Well chosen. If you are looking for vistas, I mean.”
She stands on the edge of the pedestal and glances down at my sketching set.
“You didn’t come to the Black Carnival for drawing, did you?”
“Possibly.” I say, a bit defensive.
“Don’t worry, I will take care of you.” she sighs.
And she leans over, and she kisses me.

I could say I am surprised and shocked, but I am not. It’s the Black Carnival of Neu Venedig, after all.
Our half masks clash softly while our lips meet. Velvet and lace against my softly shining silver foil; I don’t hold back. Her lips have the faintest roughness to them, may be from the dry cold wind, her tongue feels softer and moister by contrast. She tastes of peppermint, and, faintly, of something piquant and spicy. I smile.
“Ah! I knew I could save you.”
She sits down beside me, shoving my pencils and things out of her way between the feet of the nearest Whisperer.
She is petite, but still taller than I am. She has a pixie-ish, pointy chin. She smiles well. One of her front teeth is slightly, only slightly crooked. It makes her smile more real. It helps believe that under the cloak and mask breaths a real person.
She lifts a side of her cloak and edges closer. I move mine aside, and she passes her arm around my waist. We embrace and kiss again, longer, deeper. Her tongue explores the top of my mouth, the underside of my tongue, the back of my lips. Her hands are caressing my back, and my sides, rustling on the heavy brocade of my corset. Her own is a softer, more welcoming velvet. My exploring fingers feel beady embroideries on the front. The pile of the velvet draws the hand to caress her body round her sides, to the lacing on her back. My fingers find their way between the twists and turns of the lacing, nearly to her warm skin. I don’t dare to touch her, my hands are so cold. I follow the swelling of her sides and caress her hips, draped in a long soft chenille skirt. Her gloved hands trace the slight form of my breasts, and I feel suddenly excited. I break the kiss for breath, and then lay my lips on the side of her white neck; the skin is soft and cool, but a warmth of blood and joy seeps through. I kiss and bite very lightly on her skin, following the shape of her throat down to the tiny hollow between her clavicles. She smells of flowers and vanilla. I wander down her décolleté and push my tongue in the narrow hot wedge where her breasts meet, held high and close together by the corset.
“Mmmh… I think you should call me Aliz…”
Her hand is moving in circles around my sides, and then it moves to my thighs, modelling the folds of the velvet of my skirt to follow their shape down and up and deep and then it’s caressing very softly, through several layers of fabric, my excited pussy.
A shuddering deep sigh escapes my lips. While she massages my pussy my own hand has found a slash in her skirt. I hesitate for a moment, then her voice, softer and very slightly hoarse breaths in my ear.
“Go ahead… I like a cold touch there…”
I push my hand in her skirt, between her warm legs. She wears smooth stockings with taut garters… but when I edge my way along the ribbons I find only a rose of soft, moist, hot skin. We shudder in the same instant. I am still kissing softly her décolleté but I am admittedly getting somewhat distracted. I slowly trace the front of her naked labia, turning my hand to slowly insert it between her thighs and cup her pussy. There’s a thin stripe of short hairs on her mons. There are dangling jewels spilling from the folds of her pussy. I pull them very lightly and she moans softly in my ear. The clit clamp holds her labia closed, but a slick moisture coats the thin slit that is left. Her clitoris is warm and slightly engorged. I play very lightly with it, holding a large bead between my finger and it. She sits up, opening her legs wider, leaning back on her hands. She has let go of my pussy while I rub my finger faster on hers, moving her clit a bit to the right a bit to the left circling the centre of her pleasure. She is looking at me with half closed eyelids, breathing deeply and quietly as I keep rubbing her clit with my finger, looking straight into her amber eyes. In this position her breasts are more prominent, and they are calling at me. Without letting go of her clit, keeping my rhythm steady, I use my freehand to lower the zip on the front of her corset. With the zip half-open her tits rise and bloom like fleshy petals from a tight bud. They are not large, but round and perky, beautifully pale. She wear jewels also on her small, erect nipples, trailing silver chain glittery with cut stones. I lower my lips on her right nipple and she abandons her head back. I am rubbing her clit even faster, sucking on one nipple and lightly tugging on the dangling jewels on the other, her breath is becoming a bit faster, some what broken. I change finger on her clit, smoothly trapping the dangling bead between it and my thumb pushing my middle finger deeper in the folds of hot moist flesh, running it through the wet closed slit of her labia, and over, until I find her anus. I push lightly on its tight, round opening, I can’t really reach far enough to plunge far in, but far enough… far enough. Inside, her living flesh seizes the tip of my fingers and a sudden gasp goes through her tense, rigid body, and then her pussy is contracting on the palm of my hand, once, twice and again, and again, and more. She comes without a sound, her body, rocking back and forward a few times. I look up at her face, her features are hidden by the mask, but her mouth is open is as sort of silent scream. She is still very softly brushing her pussy over my hand.
“Aliz, you said?”
She looks at me once more, and gives a satisfied, but not necessarily sated little smile.
“Aliz will do, yes.”
She looks somewhat dishevelled, her legs open, her skirt lifted, her corset open, and yet, still coolly elegant, too. At some distance now, I can see the glittering jewels adorning her pussy. I must lick her, suck her, or go mad.
“I happen to have very comfortable lodgings in town… if you wish to go on” I say.
She smiles, mischievously.
“Of course.”

There will be more, I dare hope?

I did write more, but it is not finished yet!

This is an incredibly sexy beginning to another Ivory story. Bring on the weirdness...I love it!

Love it!

(gotta get me some body jewelry!)

HOT!!!!!!!!!!

On the way down an absurdly narrow alley, we are nearly engulfed in a large group of wildly giggling youngsters, most probably half drunk, and certainly very rambunctious. We find ourselves tossed here and there for some moments, I hold on to Aliz’ hand, lose it, find it again. She drags me to the side, under a shallow porch, we are both light-headed and gigglish in a shameful way. SO we don’t even notice that we have bumped into someone else until the someone else lightly coughs, the kind of cough that generally stands for ‘if you would please remove your weight from my foot…’. The coughing comes from a large looming cape topped by an amazingly fine silver mask. A sophisticated pattern of tiny silvery reptilian scales, vaguely pearlescent, follows exactly, so very exactly the shape of his nostrils, cheekbones and eyebrows, and shades away into his living skin.
And then I realize that the silvery scales are not a mask, but are embedded in his own flesh. He is a Sand Rider.
“Holy crap.” whispers Aliz, rather faintly.
“Indeed.” I echo, much in the same tone.
He holds a plain white mask on a stick lazily in his hand. He is obviously not wearing it. He is the first unmasked person I have seen in town since the all celebration began.
“Down to town for Carnival, sir, yes?” flutters my friend, quite tremulous, but flirtatious nonetheless, squeezing herself against the wall to shelter from the passing crowd.
He smiles, amused. His eyes sparkle jade and aquamarine.

I need to draw him.

“Call me Delft”. He must be six feet at the very least, and large, but his voice is soft, little more than a melodious whisper.
“And are you all alone, Delft?” Aliz enquires immediately.
“Not at all. I am standing in a VERY narrow door with ...”
“Ivory” I say, speaking for the first time “and Aliz. And you are coming with us. If you please. If it pleases you, I mean. I mean.”
He sketches a bow with his head, courteous and ironic, at the same time.
Alizarin stares at me wide eyed.
“And I thought you were a shy one!” she observes, in an exaggerated stage whisper.
“Shy my ass.”
She shoots Delft a mock scandalized look. He smiles.

We walk well together. Delft moves fast, and yet he seems to merely flow on the ground, his every movement deceptively soft. The silk cloak flutters behind him, a lighter garment than our velvets and furs. He is silent, but not uncompanionably so. He has the knack of quietly opening a path in the crowd. We follow in his wake. I occasionally shout directions, and we finally reach the vast square and waterfront that are the pride of Neu Venedig. The harbour is alight with lanterns and shining fairy lights. The galleys are all alive with parties on the decks. Everyone wears masks, not everyone wears clothes, but mostly they have still the good sense to keep their cloaks on against the chilly air. I suppose this may change later on the night.

We push our way over the worse of the crowd, which is more or less stationing in the older part of the harbour, and reach the yacht quay. The solar yachts are a more sombre apparition than the galleys. Squatting silently under their solar shields, useless in this season, they wait for summer. The Alhambra is not very large, but not one of the smaller either. She has drifted some four or five meters away from the wharf, and I must pull on the mooring line to bring her closer. Delft stands by, ready to get hold of the line close to the bulwark, and I jump onboard, followed by Aliz. He jumps last and lets go of the line. We drift again towards the sea. Only a few meters. But it’s enough to feel alone.

“Wow, is this yours?” Exclaims Aliz flopping into a soft leather sofa of respectable proportions.
“Nope… let’s say I am borrowing it. The generators are down, we have to make do with candles.” I am lighting candles in safe glass holders and lanterns and the luxurious interiors of the yacht are acquiring a warm and soft atmosphere. Of course the batteries would still supply light, but this is nicer, and I’d rather keep the power for running the shower. I pour three glasses of excellent brandy from the bar to warm up after the cold outside, and bring them to the sofa.
Aliz has let her cloak fall on the plush white carpet. She sits with her knees close to her chin, her slashed skirt showing her beautiful pale legs. A twinkle of crystals shines where her legs meet. I gesture Delft to the sofa, and watch him dropping his own cloak, gloves and silk scarf and sitting next to her. We all sip our brandy in silence for a long moment, they, sitting on the sofa, I leaning against the bar. They are beautiful together. The black clothes dramatically framing the bits of pearl pale skin, Aliz’ golden hair and Delft silvery, scaly mask. I could draw them like this, if I had the patience for it. Right now, I haven’t.

I walk to the sofa and kneel on the carpet in front of them, without any precise plan, just touching, exploring, discovering. Delft leans forward to unclasp my cloak. I had not noticed that I was still wearing it. It falls rustling around me, caressing my shoulders as it goes; I shiver.

I stand up, and move up to sit in Delft’s lap, straddling his legs and sides, but I lean out sideway to pull Aliz closer to us: she seem to unravel from her coiled up position, smoothly getting on her knees while we join our lips in a deep kiss. I can feel her hand down my back, and Delft hand on my butts, and I know I am getting frantically excited. I softly grind my thighs and pussy on the fly of his black velvet trousers, in a sort of circular motion which must have been the very beginning of belly dancing. The pile of the velvet lends texture the movement, a touch – feel rendering of the sound of breaking waves. The skimpy black lace thong I wear is hardly a barrier between me and the soft, now damp velvet. Delft’s body is warm, quietly heaving and falling with his breath. He smells of sandy wind and leather. His silk shirt has intricately embroidered patterns. I can’t see, my eyes are closed in Aliz’ long kiss, but I feel it with my fingertips, that are caressing his stomach, his lean side, his chest. He has hard nipples under the smooth silk fabric. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers wandering on his chest unsteadily. I feel a hand opening the top half of the front of my corset, if his or hers I know not, but it’s Aliz that kisses her way down my chin and throat and chest to kiss my breasts: I moan quietly, while her lips close on my left nipple. I feel fingers around my right nipple. I finally open my eyes. The fingers are Delft’s. He looks at me and smiles slowly while Aliz lifts her head and takes my damp nipple in her own fingers. The symmetry of their hands close together on my chest over the open corset catches my imagination for a moment, then I am lost to my desire. I lean my head back, pushing my pussy harder.
“Ah!” Aliz exclaims “Not so hasty, Ivory!”
She pushes me gently back, to perch on Delft’s knee. I moan, my nipples screaming for more of their touch, and then resuming my grinding over his leg, but slower, lighter. Aliz is opening the front of his trousers, while delicately, tentatively kissing his mouth. His hand rises to pull her closer, demanding a deeper, deeper kiss, and her hands seem to get distracted. I step in to help, opening the unbuckled belt, the top button, and the second and third, and fourth. They are breathing faster and harder, at least as excited as I am. As I pull lightly on his trousers, Delft lifts his hips slightly from the sofa, to let me pull them down a bit. At the movement Aliz breaks the kiss, and we both look down: under black, tight, stretchy boxers, strains the unmistakable form of his hard penis. She smiles at me. We pull down the boxers, and while I slide down from his leg our lips meet just over his cock. He shivers, his hips pulling up slightly, brushing his cock against our faces. We smile together. We take our time: our tongues meeting and leaving, sucking on each other lips, licking lightly. Finally we lean down and both start kissing his cock, one on each side, kissing lightly at first up and down his shaft, all the way to the smooth testicles, and then up, our lips meeting again on the tip of his head. In unison, we open our mouths, and start kissing again, his head caught between our lips and tongues, dancing and bouncing in our kiss, tongues circling and licking and lips sucking, back and forward, we pass his cock from mouth to mouth back and forward, and again. Delft is shuddering lightly, and Aliz puts a warning hand on my shoulder. We both draw back, panting a bit, to watch him. His wet cock lays on his belly, long and pale, as he is, quite beautiful. He looks at us through half closed eyes, his scaly expression unreadable. I lean to brush my cheek against his balls and shaft, lightly, at first, then harder. Aliz gets up smoothly from the sofa stretching like a cat, her hand running along Delft’s lean leg; I keep fondling Delft’s balls, brushing, and licking and sucking. Aliz is unbuttoning my skirt and pulling it away; I am kneeling in front of Delft, in my half open corset and gartered stockings and my ass and legs open at Aliz’ touch. Instead she leans over me taking my hands in hers whispering something in my ears. I cannot understand the words, just the soothing tone of them. She gently pulls my hands away from Delft’s crotch, and behind my back, and after the shortest pause I feel something silky soft brushing my wrists: it’s Delft’s black silk scarf, and she is winding it in and out of my wrists, sealing it finally with a tight knot. My heart is racing. She caresses the inside of my thighs her hand running so smoothly over the stockings: the thin lace of my panties is soaked through and feels cool on my clit. I feel her fingers pulling the fabric aside, brushing the wet inner labia of my pussy, and I lean even deeper in Delft’s crotch, filling my mouth of his balls. I know that she is going to kiss me when her breath puffs warm-cold on my pussy. The touch of her lips still comes as a delightful shock, their wet softness enwrapping me from behind, the tip of the tongue stealing forward to brush my clit. I moan deep in my throat, while her tongue now enters my slit, stiff, and warm, rolling and curling inside me. I tremble. Her mask is brushing on the skin of my legs. Delft sits up and softly directs his cock into my mouth. I suck on it greedily, slowly taking his whole length in my mouth, while pleasure comes in waves from my pussy. Aliz’ fingers come to touch me again, spreading my wetness all over my labia and clitoris and up to my anus, massaging, twitching, and tormenting both orifices with acute delight. While two fingers enter deep into my pussy I feel something unbelievably cold and smooth and hard touching my anus. For a minuscule moment I go stiff and then relax again, shivering in anticipation. Aliz brushes the plug on my slit, its coldness giving stars to my closed eyes. I am nearly biting into Delft ‘s cock and I try to relax a bit, sucking in slow deep movements. He is shivering too. Aliz wets the plug into my dripping slit and finally pushes it into my anus, slowly, slowly, its head spreading and spreading my tight muscles, carrying me on a thin, thin line of trembling balance between pleasure and pain, and finally brushing past and home. All my body seems to jolt alive anew, every sensation resounding through me like wind chimes.
“Move up” she whispers.
For a moment I don’t really know what she means, lost as I am in my sensations. She pushes me lightly up and forward; her hand is between my legs, cupping my pussy, her thumb has smoothly slid inside me, and she seems to lead me where she wants me to go, holding on the very middle of my feeling body. I get up, painfully awkward because of my tied hands and turn, opening my legs as I lower myself on Delft’s body. I feel him lifting his cock, and Aliz’ fingers hold my slit open while his head enters me, and I slide over and over, and around him, his length filling me up, completing my body. Aliz face comes to lean between my thighs, her skin silky soft, the mask rough with gems and stiff lace. Her lips come to hold my clit while Delft’s hands reach my breasts from behind, his thumbs and forefinger squeezing hard on my nipples. My head falls back. My eyes close and my lips open in a long silent moan. I clench my muscles around his hard cock, rocking slowly back and forward, Aliz mouth is a circling ring of pleasure around my clitoris, her teeth a deep hard ridge confining my body to a single spot of bright orange light. Every slow thrust of Delft’s cock hits the base of the plug, echoing deep inside my anus, I feel I am going to scream. The sucking lips hold me even tighter, a flicking tongue in the centre of the middle of my world. I feel something like a foam of sparkly heat budding and blossoming in my flesh, exploding silver green in my lower body, bending me backward and forward, clasping muscles and shuddering skin, and a long trembling moan. An orgasm like a rumbling storm. Oddly, I feel like crying.

WOW!.....i now have a huge erection to deal with....great stuff!

*drool*

More, more, more...

Wow, that was defintely worth the wait! That Ivory sure has an interesting life. Hope we'll hear more of her!

mmmmmmmmmm

is that mmmmmmmmmmmmm...yes!

or mmmmmmmmmmmmm...good!

or mmmmmmmmmmmmm...i'm cumming!!

quote:

Originally posted by Phoenix:
That Ivory sure has an interesting life.

Yes, the lucky bitch. I am here welding my life away, scrubbing floors and making all the housework, and she goes and falls in the arms of any handsome stranger and has all the fun. Makes me furious to think of it!

quote:

Originally posted by hjfan:
More, more, more...

That depends on my muse sorry... took me the best part of a year to write the above episodes!

Snowflake... If it's any consolation to you as you are "welding my life away, scrubbing floors and making all the housework," your story is making a grown man hard on the other side of the world.....

Don't be furious, just enjoy the thought of the effect you are having on us.