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The following story has been submitted to the 2020 National Nude Day contest.
Many, many thanks to AwkwardMD for beta reading this whimsical tale and offering her constructive insights!
My name is Gisele d’Évreux?, born of nobility to Auguste and Jeanne d’Évreux in the grand apartments of the Château de Versailles? at the time of King Louis XIV’s reign. I have been told that on that day the phlox began to burst with their clusters of golden-yellow flowers as the sun drew near to its highest point in the sky, thus marking the commencement of midsummer. It was a time when the sun appeared to pause in the sky and a period of transition was at hand.
My family spent many summers at Versailles, along with several other families and government officials. The palace complex had various amenities: elaborate gardens, a hall of mirrors, extravagant fountains, a private zoo, and a great many other remarkable things. What I rarely had at my disposal, however, were my mother and father. Father was often off busying himself with diplomatic concerns. My mother and I had been close growing up while she ensured that I was well-educated and disciplined. Though, as I grew older, my mother distanced herself more and more, handing me over to my growing independence and the emerging duties of womanhood. She expected me to marry well and raise my own family.
If it weren’t for my best friend, Antoinette, I would have greatly suffered at the cruel hand of loneliness. Antoinette and I had grown up in the palace together, spending the warmer months there when we were not busying ourselves with our studies in Paris. From the start, she was like a sister to me… or something more. Together we ran through the sprawling gardens and played by the reflecting pools telling stories to our wavering images. We picked flowers and assembled them in our hair before running off to the cool shade of the groves to lounge about eating grapes and stolen truffles that the bakers carelessly left unattended in the kitchen… until someone caught us red-handed, faces messy with chocolate.
Antoinette and I naively imagined that our lives would remain this way indefinitely; forever playmates making merry in a world of constant whimsy. However, as we reached the age of eighteen a sadness grew inside us. Antoinette was preparing to be wed to Lord Morris, Earl of Chester and would soon leave France, moving far away to England to remain by his side, perhaps never to be seen by me again. It was no secret that neither of them was in love; such unions were highly political and to be anything more than that required a stroke of luck so rarely heralded by the Fates. I, too, would be subject to such a fate; left alone to review my suitors one by one, considering which would be the most strategic partner to serve.
I would rather have flung myself into the wide, cold sea.
No — I would rather have spent the rest of my life with Antoinette, skipping out on the extravagant balls to go frolicking in the gardens under the twinkling stars with the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine and other exotic imported plants from the greenhouses filling the night air. As the date of Antoinette’s union to the Earl grew closer, she and I spent more and more time by each other’s side, desperate to cling to our last moments together before fate cruelly tore us apart.
One evening, Antoinette and I had run off to my private quarters to indulge in a hot bath, a treat we occasionally shared. I had a room all to myself at the end of a long hallway in the east wing of the palace where many of the wealthy children were raised together. Laughing and making silly, we ducked inside and carefully locked the door behind us, relieved to return to a comforting sanctum where two girls such as us could do as we pleased.
“I will say, though, that if running is to not be permitted in the gallery then it should not have been constructed at such a tempting length!” Antoinette declared, collapsing at the edge of my bed.
I began giggling. “Did you see Madame Bouthillette’s face when you nearly collided with his Red Eminence?!”
“Ugh, I’ve always detested that painting,” she replied.
“I will tell you one thing — if I were made to suffer under as many robes as Cardinal Richelieu, I am quite sure I would not have been able to remain on my feet long enough to pose for a portrait such as that.”
“It is made all the more silly with that absurd mustache!”
I grinned at Antoinette as she made a brief mockery of him. “At least he was a patron of the arts,” I added thoughtfully.
“Yes, I suppose one must give him that. He gave us Diana at the Bath, after all.”
“The bath!” I exclaimed. “I shall check on it.”
I ran into the bathroom; a private domain which only Antoinette and the maids had access to. No one could bother me there as I whiled away the hours in the fantasy of my mind, gazing at myself in the mirror and conducting experiments with a selection canlı bahis of paints and powders. Most of all, I cherished my collection of rare scents gathered from the farthest-flung corners of the world.
My perfumes took me places, whether it was to the Amalfi coast with its salty ocean spray and fresh lemon tang, or the hot baked earth of the desert with its spices and myrrh, warm breezes fragrant with sandalwood and jasmine. Oakmoss and musk opened a door one day, marine accords and bergamot the next, filling my mind with images of intrepid expeditions through many an exotic land. And then there were the bottles. — Oh, the bottles! Some sculpted like spindly sandcastles, others gaunt and sleek, still others squat and fat like oversized, ornamental dewdrops, each of them translucent and glittering on my counter, filled with all the colors of the rainbow.
I confirmed that the hot water I had summoned was awaiting us in my large, clawfoot tub. It was a long, porcelain vessel with four heavy paws at the base, achieving a stylized look. I recalled how, as a small child, I imagined my tub was a powerful lioness. I would sink into the warm water, giving myself a soapy beard to pretend I was a military general. I would imagine the tub springing to life, hoisting itself up onto its paws and then marching out of my private quarters. There I would be, giggling and sloshing about inside as it marched right out the door to my room and down the hallway as I barked orders to imaginary soldiers.
I left the water to cool to the right temperature and rejoined Antoinette who had already wrestled out of the tight bodice of her dress before breathing a sigh of relief. She and I stood by the windows, undressing in the moonlight. Upon removing her corset, the glow from the windows cast her skin in a silvery sheen, splashing across the flat plane of her stomach and deepening her silhouette. Antoinette’s rosy nipples caught the light and drew tiny shadows upon her breasts as they firmed up in the evening air.
I had watched Antoinette’s body transform, emerging from youth to blossom into an elegant woman, so full of unparalleled feminine charm and grace. Her entire body was a wonder and I could not help but covertly admire the majesty of it as we undressed. Being so curious about the unspoken tracts of the female body, I was especially intrigued by the secret garden between her legs. It was a place I only explored on my own body in private; a complex world unto itself that only another woman could really know. I felt I had only just begun to unlock its hidden potentials for pleasure, knowing instinctively that there was a world beyond this which my body was somehow a gateway to.
Antoinette’s mons was covered with a fine, smooth layer of light brown hair, much like the silky fur of the rabbits I enjoyed petting at the palace zoo before I discovered, to my horror, that they were only deposited there until suppertime. Beneath this fur were two delicate lips, pinkish with the loveliest blush. I adored them and wondered if her body would respond as mine did when it was touched there.
I looked down at my own body, mildly embarrassed that the hair between my legs was thicker, darker, and more tangled with unruly curls. However, I posited that my rosy lips were just as dainty and worthy of Antoinette’s adoration. I wondered if Antoinette ravished my body with the same secret, subtle glances as I did hers.
Antoinette laid back on the bed, the splendors of her proud womanhood on full display without any shame, for if we could not trust each other together in that room then we could trust no one. I joined her there, excited by the softness of her skin as she accepted me in her arms, and I in hers. Antoinette sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. I knew what depressing matter she suddenly dwelled upon but I wanted to be her escape. I embraced her more vigorously, our bodies cocooned together, sharing each other’s warmth, innocence, and nudity. There I consoled her by playing with the long, wavy locks showering across her shoulders like a waterfall curling into small ringlets at the tips. They flowed across her lively breasts where small nipples blushed like rosebuds, ripe to be plucked.
After some time, Antoinette turned her head, smiled, and squeezed my hand. “Come, let us bathe,” she said, surmising that the water had sufficiently come to temperature.
She leaped from the bed and made swift progress across the room. I laughed and chased after her with my arms out, scheming to snatch her up in my arms and tickle her all over. Antoinette squealed; her happy breasts dancing about her chest as she fled to the bathroom. When she reached the tub, she bent over the edge, thrusting her fingers into the water and exposing her round bum, soft and flecked with downy hair, which I could not help but be tempted to pinch with devilish enthusiasm. Antoinette squeaked, then hopped back onto her feet to announce that the water temperature was suitable for bathing.
Excited bahis siteleri by the prospect of a warm, soothing bath together, we scrambled over the high walls of the old tub and abandoned ourselves to the heated depths. I lay back against one end of the tub. Instead of claiming the other side, Antoinette crawled into my arms and we lay there, one nested in the other, sticking our painted toes out of the water at the other end to admire them.
From time to time, I tenderly observed Antoinette as she took long, slow breaths in my embrace. The swell of her body caused my sensitive nipples to harden and slide gently against the slippery flesh of her back. She was so beautiful — in all the ways I wished I was. I squeezed her tightly and sunk further into the warm bubbles scented with rose, taking her with me. She giggled as I watched the soapy water rise and fall through the deep chasm between her breasts, leaving them shiny and glistening. We snuggled like that, sighing happily at the sensation of each other’s body resting against our own.
“After this,” Antoinette said with an air of sadness, “I shall only bathe alone. It will not be the same without you.”
Intending to lighten the mood, I said, “Oh? Would you rob your future husband of a tender kiss in the bath?” I gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Ha! If only his kisses were as sweet,” she replied, blushing.
“What? Does he not kiss you like this?” I said, playfully kissing her on the cheek again and then on the tip of her nose. Antoinette giggled. “I suppose he does it like this,” I continued, kissing her little ear and her neck. “And then here and here. Saying, ‘Oh, Antoinette, how lovely you are! How exquisite and beautiful! A perfect flower!'”
I mimicked the Earl’s voice, rough and cumbersome as it was. “How sweet you are!” I continued. “The finest specimen of French charm and elegance an Englishman has ever seen!” The two of us entered a fit of laughter as I continued to cover her with playful kisses. She squealed and squirmed in my arms, suffering my indulgences until suddenly she turned to look up at me. A kiss I had intended to land on her round chin instead landed squarely upon her red lips.
In an instant, a kiss made merely in jest became something quite real.
I felt something stir inside me as I lingered there for a moment. Finally, our lips parted and I saw her expression; it was suddenly serious and full of want. As I savored the sweet memory of her mouth, not wishing it to fade from my mind nor my lips, I felt a warm tingling; the special tingling that always seemed to lace our friendship with momentary sparks of bliss. The same one that visited me at night as I lay quietly in bed, recalling the time we’d spent together that day.
Neither of us spoke for a moment but our eyes were so telling; we both wanted to try it again. It was not even a matter that warranted discussion. We both leaned in and returned our lips to one another.
Antoinette repositioned herself as we ventured to do more. I felt her hands sliding over me, then the flutter of butterflies; it felt strange, exciting. Not that we hadn’t made contact with each other’s bodies in so many ways as we spent long hours enjoying each other’s naked embrace. However, this was the first time Antoinette had ever touched me so boldly and directly; with such purpose. I felt my legs wedge apart as her fingers moved between my thighs.
I felt a shiver of pleasure and gasped. She had touched me where I had only ever touched myself… and it felt a thousand times more thrilling.
Antoinette stopped suddenly and gave me a look of concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face breaking into a panic.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, brushing the damp hair away from her limpid eyes.
There was only silence as I felt a confusing mix of emotions. I loved Antoinette with all my heart, more than I could ever love any of the suitors that would be presented to me. I felt terrible that she had stopped and I wanted to restore her hand to the place where it had been. However, I also felt a tinge of unease.
“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?” I asked, filled with fear and uncertainty, despite what my body screamed for.
“No!” Antoinette replied, sharply.
Antoinette seemed to be mulling something. After several moments of silence, she requested that I rinse off, dry myself, and wait for her on the bed. She quickly climbed out of the tub, patted herself with a towel, and hastily threw on a simple tunic. Antoinette hurried out and was gone for a few minutes, leaving me alone to wonder what mischief she might be up to without me.
I climbed out of the tub, wrung my hair out, and tied it back. After drying myself, I powdered my body with lilac so that I would smell lovely for Antoinette. I exited the bathroom and reclined patiently on the bed, void of any desire to be dressed in anything except for the tender embrace of my close friend. After several minutes, bahis şirketleri Antoinette returned holding something wrapped in a discolored heap of her grandmother’s old lace. She threw off her tunic and crawled onto the bed, depositing herself by my side. I watched as she unwrapped the package carefully.
Inside was a long, smooth object, shiny and white, gleaming like a piece of ivory. It was striped at both ends with thin bands of mother of pearl inlay, interspersed with tiny designs that were reminiscent of the finest examples of Chinoiserie that could only be found in the palace theatre. To my unaccustomed eyes, the thing looked positively magical.
“What is it?” I wondered aloud.
“This,” Antoinette explained, “is used by women in order to achieve love together.” My eyes widened. “I once spied two young women using it in the company of men. I have heard some say it is not right, but I saw it right there, through the keyhole of the library one evening. There were ten or twenty men standing about drinking, smoking, and making merry. However, on the floor amongst them were two young women, their faces flush with heat and sweat.”
I gazed at Antoinette’s face as she described the scene, feeling flush myself.
“Their bottoms were together,” she continued. “Apart and together again. Back and forth. I did not immediately know why they did this, nor why they remained there on their hands and knees wearing nothing but delicate bands of lace about their necks. However, I then saw that they shared this, between them — as if both of them were men!”
Antoinette laughed so heartily at this comic image that I couldn’t help but join in, given the exceptional thought of that amusing scene. However, our smiles soon gave way to a quiet sense of wonder and curiosity.
“I should like to try it, I suppose,” Antoinette said with a shrug.
“But those girls are not like us,” I said, my breath quickening. “What if someone found out?”
“But they were like us! I saw how much they cared for one another, even when made to perform like that. — I will tell you something; we are not the only ones like this at Versailles.”
“Madame Charpentier for one, I suspect.” She paused for a moment. “Oh! I once spied on one of the footmen. Frédéric. He was laying with a stableman in secret while the donkeys brayed nearby. The two of them sounded very much the same!”
“He lay with another man? How?” I gasped.
Antoinette threw her head back and howled with laughter. “They had found a way… but the image will put you off so I shall explain some other day.” I scratched my head. “The important thing is,” she continued, “if men have their methods, then why should not we women, as well?”
I nodded quickly at her. “But how did you obtain the object for yourself?” I asked, burning with curiosity.
I could see Antoinette suddenly growing serious, her voice gently trembling. “I waited until they left the room and approached one of the men outside in the hallway,” Antoinette explained. “While they negotiated some payment, they briefly set their things down. The object was stashed in a small pouch which I’ve since lost. I snatched it as I walked innocently by, took it back to my room, and turned it over and over in my hands.”
I imagined Antoinette sitting there alone in her bedroom, curiously examining this object, scandalized at what she had just seen it used for.
“Oh, Gisele!” she cried, collapsing into my arms. “Their scent was still on it! It smelled lovely.” I smiled down at Antoinette. Her eyes became wet as they shone up at me. “I have only smelled that kind of scent from a woman once, since then.”
“Where? Who?” I quickly asked.
“It was when we–” Antoinette cut her statement short. Her eyes widened up at me and I held her close. Antoinette turned and wrapped herself in me, crying softly against my breast. My heart broke seeing her like that. I ran my fingers through her hair and rocked her in my arms.
“It was you!” she blurted. “It was you! It was you!” she sobbed. Between tears, she explained, “We had fallen asleep together, just like this. You were dreaming. I heard you sighing my name in your sleep. I rested my head on your thigh. I was damp… I turned to look. You were glistening — and I could smell you. Not the kind of scents we apply in the bath, which are also lovely. This one is lovelier still. Your true, natural scent. The scent of Gisele!”
She continued crying, her tears streaming down my breasts until they began to pool in the hollow curl of my navel. I shivered; never before had I felt so close to Antoinette, so drawn to her body, so feverish for her touch. I felt that tingling again, the one that always overwhelms me, only in her presence or in the mere memory of it.
“Do I… have that scent now?” I asked, trembling in her embrace.
Antoinette stopped crying and gazed up at me. Tears trembled at the edge of her eyelids, then broke free and streamed down her soft red cheeks. I saw her eyes searching mine. I smiled at her and saw her sadness and frustration give way to tenderness and wonder. Slowly, she lowered herself between my legs as I began to widen them.
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