The Diary of Cozette (25 page)

“What do you see?”

His enthusiastic face appeared over my shoulder, pulling me from the downward spiral of my assessment. I swore in silence that I would never look upon another mirror for the rest of my days. I faced him, most aware of my deplorable state. “
Must
I, Mr. Rodin? I have far better an imagination.”

He turned my chin to face the mirror.

“No, this is of the utmost importance. Trust me, my dear. Look at your clothing, stare deep into your eyes, see the beauty of the soul inside.”

“It is futile, Mr. Rodin. I am as I am, and I cannot be the beauty you wish me to be.”

He smiled then.

“I do not wish you to see what you cannot, I wish you to see the beauty that I see. Beauty, my dear, is not limited to what you see. It lies here…within.”

He placed his palm over my heart and though fully clothed, the heat from his warm hand seared my flesh.

“You possess great courage. Look how you hold your chin, so proud.”

I forced myself from his gaze in the mirror and met mine. I’d often thought of myself as rebellious, even to a fault, but never once considered myself as a person of great courage.

“And yet there is gentleness as well, a soft, feminine side that is alluring to the astute male. You don’t parade it as some women, because of your courage. You have no need to.”

I studied my reflection with keener observation, listening carefully to each word he uttered. I do not pretend to understand his skill in seeing through to my very center, but he did.

“Even so, Mr. Rodin, it has been my most unfortunate experience that there are far fewer astute men in this world.”

“Ah.” He shook his head. “I see that your experiences have left a bitter taste in your mouth?”

His fingers brushed softly over the side of my cheek and I fought not to lean into them.

“Perhaps we can see if we can change all of that.”

He deftly undid the remaining buttons of my blouse and slipped the fabric over my arms until it hung at my waist, baring my shoulders. I wore a thin cotton camisole that pulled taut with the tightening of my breasts in the cool air. I could see the rosy brown hue softly muted beneath the material.

“Take note the gentle slope of your shoulders…come, don’t be afraid, look. Your beauty, Cozette, goes much deeper than what the eye can see.”

He stood behind me, his hands perched lightly on my bare shoulders as our images focused on what was in the mirror.

“Do you see it yet?”

My gaze narrowed as I truly attempted to see what he saw.

“Art is an awakening to your sensual side. To become familiar with it as much as you would come to know your lover’s body. It is indeed very similar to a sexual awakening.”

His eyes darkened as they held mine in the mirror.

“I needn’t bother with trivial explanations, must I, Cozette?”

I could only stare at him; my body hummed at his nearness.

The corner of his tempting mouth quirked.

“As I suspected,” he said quietly. “And yet, there remains an innocence, which is most alluring, most beautiful…very carnal, if I may be so bold.”

My brow rose, holding his gaze.

“Carnal, Miss Cozette. That hunger which glistens in your eyes, and I daresay, the sensation of that exquisite, delectable moistness, that even now seeps between your milky white thighs.” He sighed. “Ah, yes, a paradise awaiting exploration of a new lover.”

I glanced at my reflection, noting my cheeks tinged pink, my eyes bright with arousal.

“Am I correct, Miss Cozette?”

Whatever courage he claimed I possessed wavered at that moment. I said nothing.

He smiled and it was genuine, or so I believed. “Your secret is safe with me, Cozette. Indeed sexual freedom is one of God’s greatest gifts, though I doubt the parson would advocate it. It is sad that in our society such expressions of freedom are permitted solely to men. Do you not agree?”

I blinked, realizing he’d spoken the very words I’d so often thought in silence.

“Yes, I can see that you agree.”

I knew it bold of me to utter a single word, but his manner compelled me to speak. “I have never understood the standard set for one gender being quite so different for the other.”

A slow grin graced his handsome face.

“Someone has trained you well in the fine art of protocol, Miss Cozette. However, let me assure you that whatever occurs or is said today will remain between us. You have the honor of my word.”

He waited for my response, and after a moment, carried on.

“It is as though women are not meant to take pleasure in such things as sex. Nevertheless, I can see that you are a woman of thought, Miss Cozette and of deep, inner beauty as well. Tell me then, do you agree that a woman, say for example a woman such as you, might have needs every bit as potent as a man?”

His golden gaze held mine in the mirror, and my pert tips tented the cloth covering them. Without preamble, he closed his hands softly over my breasts, weighing them in his palms, caressing his thumbs over my tight buds until they ached.

“Sweet and succulent as a piece of forbidden fruit,” he whispered, his mouth closing over the heated flesh beneath my ear. His hands fumbled with my skirt, finding the hook that held it at my waist. As his hot breath tasted my naked shoulders, I saw in the mirror my skirt fall in a pool at my feet. It was odd to watch his hands caressing my body and dip between my legs to rub over the damp juncture of my thighs. The image of the young woman in the mirror taking pleasure at the hand of another was indeed far different from the one I’d viewed but a few moments before.

My body, not as curvaceous as Mrs. Farrington or my mistress, was yet appealing in a way unanticipated. The years had changed me, true enough internally, but physically as well. No longer was I the skinny scarecrow of a girl with the figure of a board, but my legs were long, my hips curved, but slight, and I had a waist. My breasts had changed, to some degree of favorability if Mr. Rodin’s ministrations prove adequate measurement.

“See the transformation, my dear?” he whispered as he stroked the length of my arms. “See the beauty that I see, the beauty I need to capture, to be at one with.”

His hands snaked around my waist, drawing the string that held up my drawers and, without effort, they followed my skirt to the floor. I wore no more than my thin top, my black stockings and my slippers. Between his mesmerizing whispers and what I saw in the mirror I sensed my body coming alive with a wonder of all of my senses. There was concern, though admittedly I shoved it in the farthest recess of my mind that the possibility of being caught existed and so my services immediately revoked. Yet as he drew his finger over my moist, aching petal, I could think of nothing else except the pleasure engulfing me in flames.

His hands smoothed over my buttocks, caressing as a sculptor molds his clay, rounding to the front of my thighs. He stood close, pressing his crotch against my bare backside.

“Embrace your needs, Cozette. I am here to serve you, to be your guide to discovering the beauty inside you. See now how your face is radiant, your body glistening with fever from the passion seeping through your very pores, yearning for release.”

I leaned against him, watching as his hand trailed over my pale skin, drifting lower, teasing my moist garden. The sheer pleasure of his touch caused my eyes to drift shut.

“No,” he growled soft in my ear, “you must see the trans formation as it happens.”

I opened my eyes following his instruction, my gaze and my body captured by his gentle coaxing, his finger glistening with my juices each time he withdrew.

“Look now at your face lost in your freedom, how sweet and natural it is. This is the very image I wish to capture on canvas.
This
is your essence, Cozette. How a woman who enjoys her freedom should look when she is satiated.”

He brushed his cheek over my naked shoulder like a cat rubbing against his master and at once, I could not ignore what he offered most plainly. I straightened, speaking boldly my thoughts, driven by my need. Closer perhaps to the hysteria I’d heard Mrs. Farrington speak of. “Then sir, satiate me well, for I am about to burst from need.”

“Indeed,
mademoiselle
.”

He grinned as he peeled off his shirt and as he began to unbutton his breeches, I stopped him with my hand.

His engorged cock bulged with appreciable size through his breeches and I wanted nothing more than to ride him freely to exhaustion.

I knelt before him, glancing up to take pleasure in his determination to hold himself as I drew his trousers over his hips and flicked the tip of my tongue over his smooth, glistening crown. I drew my palm down the length of him, imagining the pleasure about to occur…for the both of us.

His strangled gasp caused me to glance up just as he grabbed my hand and waddled, with his pants secure around his ankles, to the closest chair.

He sat and patted his thighs and I straddled his hips to face him.

“Oh, my dear, if only for this one time, you must see the beauty of your pleasure.”

He drew my shirt over my head and urged me then to face the mirror, as he drew me to his lap. His lips pressed between my shoulder blades as his hands parted my thighs.

“See how beautiful you are, Cozette? You have more power between these delicate folds of rose-petal softness than you are aware. You can bring a man to his knees.”

His finger brushed over my petal as our eyes met in the mirror. The sensation caused a rush of tingles over my flesh.

“Sweet Cozette,” he whispered as he placed a kiss on my shoulder. “I am at your mercy, dear woman. Save me, I beg you from this torturous rapture.”

Seeing the desire on his hot gaze, I braced my hands on his knees and lifted on tiptoe to accommodate the ease of taking his formidable member fully inside me. A sigh escaped my lips at the glorious sensation. I had not had such pleasure in so long. It was pleasing in a manner far different from François, perhaps because there is nothing of my heart involved in our coupling, or perhaps it was residual anger that drove me to find my own pleasure. Selfish or not, whatever the reason, the pleasure is true and very real.

“You have bewitched me, young woman,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against my shoulder.

He grabbed my breasts, this time with less gentility, as I shifted to find the rhythm I knew would bring me pleasure. Heat coiled low in my belly and my hands joined with his over my breasts. The sweet bounce reminded me of an early morning canter and I smiled to think what Mr. Coven would say if he knew.

“Sweet, sweet heaven,” he choked.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my bottom. I viewed our coupling in the mirror and noticed for the first time a sense of raw power in my eyes. I have long believed my determination in life, wrought of my experience, was fierce, but I had never before faced that ferocity in my own reflection.

My gaze was sharp, my eyes shining with a brightness of purpose. I leaned forward and studied my reflection, watching my breasts sway with each bounce on Mr. Rodin’s lap. I braced against his knees, stretching wide as I rode his cock long and hard, a fire burning for release driving him deep into my core.

A ringing buzzed in my ears, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sound of his guttural moan, but gave it little thought as I rode on in my quest for satisfaction.

At this moment in time, I had no gender, no social protocol, and no classification that made me who I was. I would have them all be damned to hell to try to stop me from completing this journey of self-discovery.

He grabbed my hands, entwining his fingers with mine, providing balance as I took the dominant role with a freedom so new and sweet to me I sensed a laugh bubble in my throat.

“Look at your face, my dear woman. Look at the passion as it rises in your belly, consuming you with its fire, licking your precious rose even as I long to do.”

The image of his mouth pleasuring me skirted me even closer to the cliff I teetered upon. I reached out and grabbed the sides of the mirror, my fingernails scraping its ornate gold edges.

The position gave him greater depth and at last, my body broke from its fevered pitch and a divine wave of ecstasy consumed me, wickedly engulfing every sensitive part of me. Beneath me, Mr. Rodin’s body tensed as he pushed deep into my core thrice before he finally collapsed against the chair.

“Fair woman,” he gasped breathlessly, “quick, before the moment passes, lay down.”

Dizzy yet from the residual effects, he ushered me to the settee, propping me on my side, and tossed a lap robe haphazardly over me. My body still throbbed with the aftershock of our union, but I fought to bring my focus to look as I thought he would want me to look.

Naked, he grabbed the canvas and placed it on the easel, his face intense with his work, his eyes still dark with passion. He sketched furiously with a bit of charcoal and I cannot deny the very image of him engulfed in his passion made me wet again with arousal.

Truly, this man believes in his passion as a lover and as an artist. I can not help but admire him.

~Lady C.

Day two with Mr. Rodin.

“Is this what it would be like to be married to an artist then, Mr. Rodin?” I heard his low chuckle, but he did not look up from his work. His silence carried on as I lay there, my body relaxed from the sex we’d just had on Master Archibald’s desk. I draped my arm over my head, settling into a peaceful bliss, realizing the scent of sex lingered in the air along with the lemon polish I’d used on the furniture in my chores before dawn. “Exquisite,” a man’s voice whispered.

I opened my eyes, not realizing I’d been dozing, though I was not sure for how long. Mr. Rodin stood over me, his smile as strong and even as his sword which was once again stiff, jutting between his thighs.

I smiled sleepily, blissfully aware that my body craved him again.

“You asked me a question that I’ve yet to answer. Were I to marry one such as you, milady, I would never get any work accomplished.”

He knelt over me with a peacock feather plucked from one of the library vases and proceeded to trail it between my breasts. My nipples responded, tightening even as his smile grew broad.

Like a wanton, selfish child deprived too long of her favorite toy was I. Mr. Rodin, I would discover after a number of tutored experiments, was quite varied and creative in more than his artistic skills.

He pulled away the blanket, and teased my flesh with the feather.

“Have I told you how much you inspire me?”

His lips followed the feather’s path, and instinct drew my heels to the cushion, pressing firm even as I spread my knees. My fingers laced in Mr. Rodin’s thick hair at the top of his head, as his mouth sampled my jewel. The thought of endless days in his company, of afternoons spent like this in languid, sensual exploration entered my mind, even as his tongue entered my quiver. Indeed, it was he that inspired me. His tutoring of my sexual freedom, his challenge for me to claim it and embrace it, for that I would forever be grateful.

My body tightened with an urgency that shook me to the bone.

“Come, nectar of paradise,” he whispered his tongue delving deep.

I was unsure that I had the ability of more, but by the heavens, he was able to find my secret spot of profound pleasure. I uttered a quiet gasp as my hips writhed against his face, riding each succulent wave of pleasure.

I opened my eyes and Mr. Rodin knelt above me, licking his lips, as he bent my knees to my chest and entered me swiftly.

His eyes held mine, his hair hanging in the space between us as he mastered his movements, starting slow and teasing me with his smile. His thrusts soon quickened, commanding my body to join his frenzied dance. I curled my fingers over the polished, smooth wood of the settee, my fingertips pressed against the ornately carved finishing that I obediently dusted each day. My breath caught in my throat as yet another climax ripped through me. In the clarity of the moment, I realized that we’d made exquisite use of several pieces of furniture in the room and yet I had yet to see any of his creative work aside from his carnal pen.

I pushed against his chest with all my strength, rendering Mr. Rodin quite shocked. I sat upright clutching the blanket.

“Woman, are you mad? I was not yet finished.”

He sat on the floor, surprise on his face, his cock at full mast. He blinked as though unsure how he’d wound up on his naked bum.

“Mr. Rodin, it has come to me that you have kept me here for nearly two days and more than half that time has been spent in attempting to inspire you. Not that it hasn’t been most pleasant, of this there is no question, but I must insist that you allow me to see what you have been able to accomplish beyond ravishing me to the point where it may leave me bow-legged as a horseman.”

He sat there still, unashamed of his nakedness and listened to my rant. I was appeased he had the decency to look a touch contrite.

“Are you quite finished?”

My heart beat wildly even as I watched him uncurl his exceptional body from the floor. “Yes,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

He grabbed one of many canvases and I noticed then the score of parchment sheets scattered about the floor. He turned it toward me with the flourish of a magician.

I blinked at the image before me, unable to tear my eyes from it. Tears stung at the back of my lids. It could not be me! This woman, and the several sketches of her, was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. “This…this is truly how you see me?” My gaze studied each drawing, seeing the fine detail of my hands, the way my hair curled over my shoulder.

“Are you not pleased,
mademoiselle?
”

I covered my mouth, for plainly I was overcome with emotion. “It is most intriguing, Mr. Rodin. I am astounded. Forgive my rant, but I don’t believe I have ever seen anything quite as beautiful.”

In return, he graced me with his slow, handsome grin.

“What will you do now?” I reached forward, mesmerized as I brushed over the texture of the canvas. At that exact moment, the rogue artist pulled the canvas away and my fingers froze inches from his manhood.

I knew it well. “Mr. Rodin, you are quite insatiable, how ever, I am quite certain that my mistress will no doubt require my services soon.”

His mouth lifted in a wicked smile, as he flung his hand over his heart.

“Ah, but my dear, could her needs be nearly as urgent as mine at present?”

“Are you professing your undying love for me then, Mr. Rodin? Are you prepared to take me to your next social gathering and introduce me as your wife?” I smiled as I took his hand. “You know I am only teasing.” I drew him to the settee, and he sat as I straddled his lap, impaling myself on his still rigid member.

“Alas, poor woman, you would soon tire of me, for your passion is far greater than what I could offer you even for a lifetime. Yours drives you and the quest is fierce, even as mine is to capture that passion on canvas.”

A gasp caught in his throat, and he held my face in his hands, crushing his mouth to mine as together, we tumbled over the edge.

As we had the day before, we lounged draped beneath the lap shawls on the settee, sampling the lunch Mrs. Farrington had made. The morning had been a long and arduous endeavor of sensual creativity.

Mr. Rodin plucked a grape from its stem and held it to my lips. I drew the tip of his finger in with the fruit and offered him a smile.

“You are my wicked muse.” He popped a grape into his mouth with a grin.

My legs propped over his thighs, I glanced around the library that I had heretofore only seen when dusting. I’d never paid attention to the details, the dark wooden shelves built from floor to ceiling and stuffed with every kind of book and tokens of Master Archibald’s travels.

I munched on an apple slice and wondered what Master Archibald would think of how this day we’d claimed every piece of his stately furniture.

“So, have you considered coming away with me?”

His question snapped me from my reverie. “Coming away with you? Whatever for, besides being your
wicked muse?
”

His brows raised in mock surprise. “But, of course. I could introduce you to the Brotherhood.”

“Was it not you who remarked that you would never get anything done with me beside you?”

His hand massaged the soles of my feet and for a fleeting moment, I thought of what life would be like with him. He would be attentive, without question a wonderful lover, but I knew that in part what sparked his spontaneous muse was in fact the unknown. And soon his work would bring him to another delightful discovery even as I cared for our precious children conceived in our passion. I would no sooner see his passion bridled by me, than with chains.

“You are indeed a passionate man, Mr. Rodin. One I will venture to say with a great future and a great many more adventures ahead of you. In that, you and I are very much on the same road. Though our passion quest is different, it is no less what drives us both.”

He nodded, and gave me a grin that indicated he understood.

“I will never forget you, but you already know that, don’t you? I’ve never met a woman like you, Lady Cozette,” he said with a gentle tone lacing his voice.

I smiled, content in the companionship of his company alone if only for a short while. “As I will never forget what you’ve taught me, Mr. Rodin.”

Indeed, in looking back on the day, it was for me an awakening. Not only did I find that the world does hold a few men who believe that a woman’s pleasure is as important as theirs is, but more so. Nonetheless, I am no longer captive to the idea that my passion should be sequestered, hidden behind society’s standards that are far too rigid and full of lies and double standards at any rate. Indeed, it is that very passion, as Mr. Rodin states, that drive us to be who we are.

And perhaps of greater importance, I am most pleased at the woman I see when I look into a mirror.

~Lady C.