8 comments/ 19102 views/ 5 favorites Feldare Tales: Virtuosa By: mack_the_knife Deanara pulled the bow across the strings of her violin and magic wafted outward. The dignitaries, nobles and merchants from all over Vilders, were enthralled from the very first note. Up until today she had been called a prodigy. It was Deanara's eighteenth birthday. This day was her first as a virtuosa. Her head was lowered over the violin, reverentially, and her thick chestnut hair flowed around her face, forming a cowl, out of which peered her piercing green eyes. Many thought her severe. Others said that she simply dedicated the entirety of her mind to her art. That was easily believed, for how else would one explain the gift she possessed. Every member of the gathered wealthy folk was concentrating upon her. However, they did not truly see her, only her talent. The heard the magic, but could not feel the real Deanara beneath. In truth, Deanara was a spectacularly lonely young woman. Those frightfully intense eyes peered out at the crowd, at the mesmerized faces. She could read each as if they were telling her their innermost secrets by simply listening to her music. That man, there, he was being unfaithful to his loving wife - with that other woman, there. Her eyes flicked from one to the other, and she knew in her heart that they felt her accusation. Their guilt was writ large and Deanara also knew, in that instant that they would never touch one another again. Tears rolled down the man's cheeks, and the woman, a young merchant's daughter blushed deep crimson in shame at her own actions. That man, a tall, skinny man wearing the pin of one of the major trading houses had been embezzling, and now swore that he would replace every mark he had stolen. Deanara was confident that he would do so. Every person there had a dark secret that, while she played, she could see. Some were petty things, and almost laughable in their scope. Her emerald eyes came to rest upon a young man, little more than a boy and she felt nothing. The virtuosa's eyes widened as this void formed before her. How can he not bear some tiny guilt? she wondered. He looked on, with the rest of the crowd, but the music was not gripping him, it slid off of his form like water off of oilcloth. She had come to the end of the 'Requiem for the Heart', finishing the set she had committed to in taking this job. Deanara was fantastically in demand among the wealthy of Vilders, and she could pick and choose whose parties she would play. She refused two-thirds of the invitations she received, and constantly increased her fee for a performance. The wealthy merchants and petty nobles about the city happily paid them. The song ended as she dropped the violin to her side and bowed her head in a curt motion that left her eyes peering upward through her feathery bangs. She could not stop looking at the young man who was now returning her stare with icy blue eyes of his own. The crowd broke into thunderous applause, as they always did. She loved the adulation, make no mistake, she reveled in it. This night, however, she was quite distracted by this man, unmoved by her music. An enigma she must unravel. Her manager, her uncle really, approached with the leather case for her violin and held it open for her as she placed the instrument inside with gentle care. She turned her eyes back toward the dispersing crowd and smiled past several nearby folk that insisted on complimenting her skills firsthand. The young man was gone now, though not with the main press, where she could see them fanning out from the double doors that led into the ballroom. "Uncle Tomio, did you see that young man in the crowd?" she asked. Tomio closed the case and looked toward the assembled seats. "I'm not sure what young man you're talking about," he said. "Do you plan on playing another set?" She shrugged. Deanara retained the privilege of playing a second set on the veranda, but only if she desired to do so. If the party was a good one, and she enjoyed herself, she would usually do so. So far, this party had been only frustrating, as she pondered the man who could resist her siren song and was immune to her magic. He had not gone into the ballroom, and there were but two other doors out of the parlor where she had played. One led to the smoky environs of the pipe room. She grinned, thinking of all the deals that were decided at these events, in that very room, with a fog of dense smoke wafting about powerful men with far too casual a disregard to the happiness and well-being of others. The other, she knew, led to the library. "You should beware, getting involved with young nobles and merchants' sons, dear," said her uncle. The gave her mother's brother a patronizing look. "I know, uncle," she said quietly, patting his shoulder. "Please put my violin somewhere safe, but keep it handy, in case I decide to play another set." In those few words she reinstated their relative positions. He was indeed her senior in years, but he was under no illusions as to who provided the income between them and who was in charge. He moved away, his expression a little sour, but mostly just accepting. Deanara looked down at her emerald-colored gown. It was an elven dress, imported recently through the Windy Isles, now that trade had resumed. It had cost her five performances worth of silver, but was well worth it. She loved the delicious way it felt against her skin, and was more than pleased at the way it clung to her. It displayed her very, very well, and even managed to turn a few heads with its immense simplicity and elegance. The men she met at these events, however, seemed to only see her talent, not her. The marble floor reflected the chandelier overhead as she walked across its polished surface. Her footsteps echoed across the mostly empty room and she approached the library door. She turned the lever and pushed it open, peering into the dimmed lighting of the library. When these parties were held, the guests had run of the entire house, excepting private chambers. However, when a noble desired a room to be less than inviting, and keep the guests from loitering within them overlong, they would intentionally keep the lighting low in them. It was not a particularly large library, and she peered around the long rows of books on their oaken shelves. Lastly, her eyes came to rest upon the form of the young man, his back to her, hunched over one of the writing desks. He was a slim young man with close-cut brown hair. His jacket was military cut, though that meant little, as most men wore military or quasi-military coats these days. Another grin came to her triangular face as she thought of the incongruity of the men wearing tights beneath those jackets, and how it left little to the imaginings of a young woman. "Am I disturbing you?" asked Deanara as she stood in the doorway. The young man did not deign to notice her words. Her first thought was to leave and not press herself upon someone who obviously was not eager to make her acquaintance. Something, though, stayed her feet. She stepped into the library and closed the door behind her, shutting out the noise of the ballroom quartet, beginning their set for the guests' gratification. She walked more quietly now, and looked down at the woven carpet beneath her. Libraries were meant to be quiet, and the owners of this home intended it to be so in every way possible. Deanara walked up behind the young man and he was still intently hunched over the table. She saw a quill moving over paper in his hand, and now knew he was writing. A fit of naughtiness overcame her and she peered over his shoulder at what he was penning: I fell in love with a muse this day. A beauty with red-brown hair and eyes of green. She is a musician, and I will never hear her play. This, alone, more than anything on my birthday, saddens me. I seldom have lamented the loss of my hearing, but today, I believe I will begin mourning it forever. As I looked upon the enraptured faces of the others at my party, I desired like nothing ever before, to hear what was making them love her. It must be the height of irony that I know, in an instant, that I love a musician. Deanara gasped as she read these words, then covered her mouth. The young man sat upright, sniffing the air. He then spun about in the chair, looking at her with his icy stare. The look of shock upon his handsome face made Deanara regret having read his private words. His expression immediately turned to one of dismay, then resignation. His mouth moved a few times, then he said. "I hope you did not read that." He enunciated slowly, but clearly, and his voice, though a bit odd was more cultured than her uncle's. She shook her head and smiled. "No, of course, I didn't," she stammered, and knew instantly that he knew she lied. He blushed as he smiled weakly. "It is okay if you did, I do not write lies." "How is it you can speak so well, if you are deaf?" asked Deanara, deciding that since he knew, there was no point in being coy about it. Another smile came to his face. "I did not go deaf until I was ten," he said. "I see," said Deanara. She was silent for a moment, then added, "That is even sadder, I think." The young man nodded. "I did not think so until this very night," he said. "Now, I regret my loss more than ever." Tears welled in Deanara's eyes as she thought of how painful the loss of her own hearing would be. Many people say that the players grow immune to the magic of their own music. She knew this was a lie, though, and she made herself cry quite often with a softly played song. The young man saw her tears forming and held out a hand. "Please, this is my birthday party, and I wish none to be sad upon it," he said. She sniffed loudly, and then realized he could not hear it. A tiny smile formed on her lips and she took his offered hand. "Thank you," she said. The two walked from the library and through the parlor to the ballroom. Heads turned to see them together, and holding hands, but he quickly turned to face her and bowed. He was inviting her to dance. Deanara's eyes widened a little at the offer and she said, quietly, but moving her mouth normally, "But how?" He pointed toward the quartet playing the music that the crowd was currently waltzing to. The cello player was tapping his foot in time to the music. "I watch him," said the young nobleman. She smiled and then curtsied. He put his arm around her slender waist and led her off on the spinning movements of a waltz. She watched his eyes, which split their time between gazing at her and flicking toward the cellist to reorient his timing. He was a fine dancer, and she knew that they were being watched by many of the folk at the dance. For one, they all knew whom this dance was in honor of, and she was dancing with him. Another reason was that she had managed a fashion coup, and was the only woman at this ball wearing an elven dress. Most of the women wore the corsets and petticoats that would soon be last year's fashion. She moved gracefully in the unrestricting dress, and her slim form was well-shown in the shimmering cloth. She had feared that the sheer material and how well is displayed a woman's anatomy would scandalize the gathering. However, compared to the rather obvious display the man wore beneath their jackets, she was the height of modesty. The song ended and the dancers all separated. Another song, an older one struck up and settled into its rhythm, it was a very slow, intimate dance. The young man offered her his hand again and she took it. He pulled her close to him and she pressed against the youth. He smelled of lilac, which mixed well with the rose-based perfume she wore. She realized in a flash how he had known she was behind him in the library, the scent of her perfume. Other couples danced about them, though almost all were married pairs. It was an intimate, romantic dance, and most of the more casual dancers were not ready for such personal contact. Still the young man watched the cellist, but less and less so. She did not care, though, if they stayed upon the beat that the band established. She was following another beat now, one in her chest. He was superb at this form of dance, even more so than the waltz. Her pleasure at how the intimacy of this dance made her feel was very evident to her, and she wondered if he was aware of it. His own pleasure was quite apparent, and she felt it pressing against her belly. She knew this was an evil of the current fashion, and prayed that it would end soon. This once, however, it did not upset her to feel a man's swollen organ against her. A broad smile formed on her face as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder and her belly against his swelling cock. A part of her mind warned her against leading this young man along, and another part responded that she was not leading anything on, except her desires. Deanara was inexperienced with men. She was common born, and no virgin, but she had only been with other lads from her home neighborhood. Those gropes in dark places had been short-lived and sporadic at best. The young man she moved across the dance floor with was a different sort, older, by a few years, and much more handsome. She had always approved of her own appearance, but her talent had always come first. Most of the people she had met loved her talent, and she was all but forgotten in their excitement to view her skills. This young man was immune to most of the effect of her talent, and was simply a man with her. She aroused him, and just her, not her skill with the violin. His pole hardened beneath his jacket, and lengthened. A look of surprise flowed into her eyes as it kept on growing, moving down her belly, and even onto her thigh. He looked down with a worried expression and asked a silent question with his eyebrows. She mouthed the words, "I don't mind," silently and he smiled and pressed against her again. Deanara was a bit alarmed, though, that his pole kept growing to such a massive size. She had thought to try to lie with him this night, and was now a bit frightened at the prospect. He had moved them toward the double doors leading out onto the patio as they danced and as the song ended, he ushered her out the door in two short steps. Out on the darkened patio, she relaxed, knowing the erect nipples beneath her dress would have been boldly obvious inside, as would have the long protuberance in his tights. Deanara giggled at their mutual discomfort and looked up to see him smiling down at her. He held out his arm and she took it. They walked to the very edge of the illumination leaking out the great bank of windows to the ballroom. She stopped and looked up into his eyes, flickering with reflected, distant light. "What is your name?" she asked. Wearing a grin, "Luchurio," he said. She noted a few other couples on the darkened patio, and even some out further, in the even darker gardens. The nearest couple was about thirty feet away, kissing passionately. "We do not have to do that," he said, noting her gaze upon the couple. She turned back toward him and donned a wide smile. "Is that you saying we could but won't or that we can't but you would like to?" she asked. Luchurio returned her smile. "It is me saying that I very much wish to, but do not require it of you." Deanara looked up into his blue eyes again. "Let us walk, you talk too much," she said. They walked out away from the house. She could hear the tinkle of water in a fountain ahead and it emerged slowly out of the darkness as they neared it. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the near blackness around them. "This is your home?" she asked. He did not reply. She looked up and saw that she could barely make out his face in the dark, and knew he could not read her lips now. She could not talk to him anymore, until they got to a place with light. His large, powerful hand upon her back felt good and in a bold move, especially for her, she took it from his back and placed it upon her bare upper back, at the edge of the cloth. He kneaded the smooth cool flesh of her spine and moved the hand upward to her shoulders. Her muscles were tense from the playing and the squeezing he did felt good. Deanara leaned into him and moaned deep in her throat, sure of her silence to his ears. He stopped and looked down at her curiously. She blinked up at him, with equal wonder, then realized he had felt her moan with his chest. He could communicate in all the ways of a man, but it had to be translated to other senses, she now knew. She leaned back into his chest and purred again, and his hands started massaging her shoulders again. When he moved them downward to the middle of her back, the pressure forced her against him tighter and she felt his manhood again, and it was once again, growing. Emboldened by the darkness, she supposed, she pressed more firmly against his pelvis and wiggled slightly at the gentle, strong touch of his hands. His manhood pulsed against her belly and thigh again, and she felt it throb through the sheer cloth of his tights and her silken gown. It did truly leave little to the imagination, and she could even feel the swollen head of his prick on her thigh, stretching the tights mercilessly. She once again looked upward, to see what expression he was wearing, and when she did, he kissed her. It was no weak, tentative kiss, either, and his lips pressed firmly to hers. Deanara inhaled sharply and then gave into the kiss, as it was what she wanted, anyway. His tongue brushed over her lips, and she opened her mouth to him, letting him slide it deeply inside. Again she moaned, and heard him moan in reply. Deanara liked this changing of senses for feedback and tried her level best to stop hearing herself, just to put them on equal footing. She felt him rocking his pelvis slightly in excitement, and knew he was terribly aroused now. It echoed her own feelings, though, and she more than welcomed the touch of his erection. It still frightened her slightly, but far less than it excited her. She pulled her body back a bit, but kept the intense kiss going, moving her small tongue into his mouth and tickling the roof. His eyes opened, and he wore a slightly worried expression until he felt her hand moving over his thigh inward, toward his swollen organ. Far from offending this muse, she was eager to touch him with her hands, rather than just her belly. It did not take long, moving from his hip inward, to come across his manhood. If anything, her belly had underestimated its girth. She gasped as her hand slipped over it, then her fingers enwrapped the thick pole. He groaned softly as she moved her hand down it, following its length to the head. Her other hand had been moving in another direction, and was just now reaching the top of his tights. It found the cord there, that held them, and untied it. Both of her slender hands moved to the top edge of his tights, and pushed gently downward. His penis did not spring free until she had moved the tights over halfway down to his knee. When it did pop back up, it did so spectacularly, actually hitting her belly as it bobbed. With a deep swallow, she looked down at his massive cock. "Oh, my," she said quietly, "I've gotten myself into something big." He had noted her expression, if not her words. "You do not have to go farther," he said in a soft voice. "I know I am not to every woman's taste." She swallowed again, and moved both hands toward his bobbing shaft, gripping the soft, supple skin with both hands. The look of slight fear returned to her face when she realized both hands covered only about half of it's length, and her fingers were over a half inch from meeting her thumbs. "One protect me," she said. A broad smile came to her lips and she looked up at him. "We can try," she said, "but no promises." Feldare Tales: Virtuosa He thought he made out what she said. "I promise to stop if it hurts too much," he said. Deanara slipped the thin strings of her gown off her shoulders and it fell to the ground at her feet, the green cloth puddling around her ankles. She was nude beneath it, as was required by the ultra-sheer silk of this sort of gown. It was now his turn to gasp at her thin-waisted form before him, and her gently swollen breasts. He put his hands on the narrow of her waist and they kissed again. As they kissed, he moved her gently around him and she felt the fountain's edge against the backs of her knees. It had a wide rim and she found she could easily turn and lay upon it. This was handy, as what was about to happen would be best served by her reclining. However, she had no intention of laying just yet, and found herself sitting down before him. His thick, long cock was still in her tight two-handed grip, and right before her face. The bulb of the head was far too wide for her mouth to encompass, as she had a few lads before. But she could still lick the head and shaft, which she set about doing. Her little tongue flicked over the sensitive skin and around the wide glans. She then opened her mouth and slid the curved side of his organ over her lips, down to the base. One hand slipped down and cupped a testicle. She was unable to get both in her small hand at one time, so large they were. He watched her move over and around the long pole. Her little mouth felt wondrous on his shaft, and her tongue was similarly exciting to the head. "You do not have to do that," he said quietly. Her hands moved over the now wet skin of his shaft and she sucked gently on the tip of the head. Just holding this massive cock in her hands and pleasing him with her mouth was exciting her quite a lot, but she wanted more now. She pulled back, trying to lie upon the stone. However, as she reclined he stood back up. "Not yet," he said, kissing her breast. Deanara ran her fingers through his brown hair and he kissed his way downward to her excited moans. He could feel them through her body, and revelled in the sensation of her arousal. A loud gasp came from her as his tongue lapped at her entrance, his nose burrowing into the fine, wispy hairs that formed a triangle at the top of her slit. She rose to meet the gentle probing of the tongue, and slowly began to rock her hips upward. His hands remained upon her breasts, and he felt the quick panting she was doing now, rather than the slow, sedate breathing of a person at rest. With a final twitch, Deanara climaxed, bucking upward and pulling his hair. His mouth was forced tight to her entrance, and his tongue buried itself deep into her slit. She cried out so loudly that he felt it through her body and smiled to know how wild she had just become. A sense of urgency overcame her and she tugged upon his hair, pulling his head up to hers. Deanara passionately kissed him as he moved above her. Again, one hand wrapped about his thick pole and pulled it into alignment with her tight opening. The reason for her urgency was simple: If she did not get it over with, she feared she would back out. Her feet slipped up his thighs and then around to meet over his rump. They locked together, and the massive head spread her open. She grunted as even that tiny fraction of his cock entered her. He was a patient lover, though, and waited for her lead. She was not, however, and she knew if she did not get the pain over with, she would never be able to. Her hands moved onto his waist and gripped him tightly there. With every ounce of strength in both her arms and legs, she pulled him into herself. Instead of him, alone, moving, she slid down the granite partially, as well, and their pelvis' met in one quick stroke. She screamed an exhalation as the wide pole spread her insides wide and plowed far into her body. Surely, she would be bleeding, but she cared little, she had taken him in, now, and knew that it was easier from here on. For long moments, he simply lay there, his pole impaling the young woman. Her eyes were closed with a mixture of pain and joy and her breathing slowly came down from the near panicked pattern it had been in. The cold shakes left her after that, and her body adapted to its new status of accommodating his giant cock. Slowly, he pulled it halfway out of her, and she felt it pulling at her innermost places, the absence was palpable as it slipped out, then she sighed in satisfaction as it slid in again, refilling her. One of her hands moved to her taut belly, and she could feel it moving within her, displacing the muscles of her stomach. "It did not hurt too badly, did it?" asked Luchurio. She decided a little white lie would suffice here more than the truth and shook her head and smiled. "No, lover, it's perfect," she said, though she did not know if he could read her lips. Luchurio fell into a rhythm of stroking into her and pulling forth. Soon, she was relaxed and enjoying it enough to join in the pattern, pushing up to meet him and relaxing as he pulled forth. She was soon gasping again, as another climax approached. The young nobleman began to pump more enthusiastically into her, thrusting his massive pole deep into her welcoming body. When the climax gripped her, she clung to him as if she were drowning, her arms and legs wrapping about him and lifting herself from the granite ledge she lay upon. His spike filled her insides as she contracted around it and squeezed his organ at the base. He cried out as she regained her wits and began to relax. Her climax had pushed him over into his, and he was now filling her womb with his seed. She felt the surprisingly cool semen filling her deepest places and his organ pulsing as it spilled the seed into her. Deanara moaned against his chest in pleasure as the last pulses died down and his organ slowly, very slowly, began to shrink within her. She clung to him as it did so, deciding to hold him within her until he was fully flaccid. He did not seem inclined to move, and simply laid most of his weight upon her and panted into her long, auburn hair. Her slender hands played up and down his back, over the tunic, and over his bare rump. She made sure to moan and even purr to him, so that he knew how happy she was at this moment. Eventually, though, they both knew that they must reappear at the party. He stood up and picked up her wispy gown. As she sat up, she felt her insides shift with the semen he had filled her with. She clamped down with her muscles and held it in place. She was so full that it actually churned somewhat as she moved about. Deanara's entrance was delightfully sore, as well, and she knew that she would bear a reminder of that little bout of passion for many days. Once she was confident that his seed would not spill from her, she slipped into the gown and helped him don his tights. They spent a few more moments kissing, and then making sure they were both presentable. They joined arms once again and walked back toward the distant lights of the house. Deanara had never had relations with the people who hired her before, and was unsure of the proper etiquette of it. However, it had been Luchurio's parents who had hired her, not he, so she was not even sure of how that related, either. Her uncle was on the patio as they emerged from the darkness. "Where have you been, Deanara?" he asked. "I've been learning how to speak with a deaf person," she said, a smile forming on her lips. He blinked for a moment, then went on. "Will you be playing another set this night?" he asked. He had probably promised it, even without her permission. The thought, alone, upset her slightly, but not overly so. "Yes," she said, "as you know, I always play a second set when I enjoy the party." He fetched her violin and she took it up. The virtuosa walked over to where Luchurio sat and took his hand and put it against the neck of the violin. "Touch it here," she said. People started coming out from the house as the patio filled with the sweet, seductive music she played. Some even noted the slight change in the tenor of it, the subtle shift to something more sultry, and a bit more filled with desire. Luchurio's parents smiled to see him grinning broadly at the feeling flowing up from his fingertips as she played. She could once again feel the crowd as she played, only this time, instead of seeing their secret guilt and dark secrets, she saw their hopes and their cherished memories of happiness. Cold men embraced their long-neglected wives among the crowd, and warmth flowed from her violin to raise the heat in every heart around the gathered folk. Several couples moved out of the ring of light and out into the darkness, no doubt to speak quietly with one another, she thought with a smile. Her eyes moved to Luchurio and she felt his desires, too. He was not immune to her music anymore, but he had already seen past it, and was not totally mesmerized by it. Deanara peered into that secret place in his heart as the music opened it to her and she saw her reflection there. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a cascade of joy to see that she was not just a fleeting thing in the young man's life, but someone he would remember. Perhaps they would be able to continue their relationship. She played for over an hour, far longer than any set she had commissioned before. Luchurio sat through the entirety of it. His smile was so florid that his face was hurting slightly, but he could not stop. When the last note died down, Deanara looked about to see half the crowd was gone. She was far from upset by this though, as she knew they had not gone off in boredom or lack of interest. They had gone off for the opposing reason, due to intense interest, in one another, to do something very exciting to both parties. "That was wondrous," said Lady Vedisti, Luchurio's mother. "I've never seen him smile like that." She looked down at the young nobleman and the handsome face with the massive grin. "It is his birthday, after all, milady," said Deanara, giving the young man a smile. "I only hope I have given him a gift that he will remember." - - - - - - - - - - Epilogue - Deanara sat upon the balcony of the townhouse she and Luchurio shared since their wedding. She played her violin over the crowded street below. People in the market sat and stared up at her music and marveled at her skill. They had long ago learned that she played not for money upon her balcony, but for their pleasure, and they happily showed that they were indeed being given it. Luchurio came out through the double doors and stood beside her, pressing his own violin to his chin and pulling the bow across the strings. The crowd applauded, knowing that they were in for the treat of a duet that they played together, and had made them famous throughout the City States of Ghant. He kept time by watching her bow dance upon the strings, and she marveled that his pitch was perfectly aligned with hers. All she had to do was keep his violin in tune, which was a trivial task. The traffic on the street gound to a halt beneath them as they played their counternotes and the notes flowed out over the crowd.