“The Mirror of Courtesy”, part three

December 4, 2008 Danae Klimt
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A Tale of Nouveau Montmartre

“Now, you’ve watched yourself fingerdreaming, and you’ve watched me, and we’ve done it together. Time for another step in your training. This is my friend, Josephine.”

Jerome gaped up at her, obviously struck by a woman nearly as tall as Fionn, and then gave her his very best “gotta love me” smile. Josie flashed her eyes at Fionn and returned the boy’s smile coolly. “Hello, Jerome. You can call me Josie, if you like.”

Fionn tugged at the boy’s sleeve, and he sank down beside Fionn, not taking his eyes off Josie. He’d seen plenty of naked women so far, of course, but seeing them casually naked in the gym, the baths, in class, was not the same as watching a fully trained, experienced female Courtesy stripping for him–and Josie was definitely putting on the show. Fionn hadn’t done anything more than set up the appointment, which was standard training, and he’d wondered how she would handle it. Would she go formal or casual?

Formal it was, and no doubt the boy needed it. She was dressed in shimmering layers of white, gauze and crystal beads and fringe that parted and closed and parted again. Her dark skin gleamed, and the scent of her signature perfume was strong, amber with undertones of patchouli and musk. Every Courtesy was trained to undress and dress again in a pleasuring, alluring manner, but not every sod could carry it off like Josie, who’d trained as a dancer for over a decade before coming into the life. Even Fionn was still impressed when she raised one leg straight in the air, her knee just about touching her ear, and stood perfectly balanced while she unsnapped her sparkling garter and rolled the stocking up and off.
She didn’t take it all off, of course. A stocking here, a scarf there, a few layers let to slither away with a whisper of crystals, and enough glittering white left against her sleek dark skin that it seemed to glow. She sat down at the foot of the chaise longue, and the fringe that was all that covered her thighs parted, just so, to let them see her pussy. Jerome’s lips parted, interested, and then his eyes lifted, just as they were supposed to, to watch Josie unwrap her turban. That was the best part of the undressing, the way Josie did it. As if you knew, after all, what pussy and tits would look like underneath the glitter, but a woman’s hair, now, that was unpredictable. Josie’s hair was unpredictable, for certain. She’d gone at times from knee-length locks to half an inch of dark bronze fuzz. Fionn was almost as spellbound as Jerome as her fingers peeled away layers and layers of white, fine as the skin of an onion.

Her braids unwound in a spiral, a galaxy of red and amber stars–bits of garnet and of amber woven into the lengths of hair. Jerome’s mouth formed an “O”, and if he hadn’t been aroused before, he was now, poking up in his loose trousers. Fionn crooked a smile. He’d been afraid, at times, that the boy didn’t respond to women well enough; this test was laying those fears to rest. With a smile that justifiably bordered on smug, Josie lay back on the chaise and spread her legs.


Entry Filed under: Nouveau Montmartre

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