"Colin Greenland - A Passion For Lord Pierrot (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenland Colin)

never takes it off, not even with a woman. He has excused it to them,
to
Daphne Dolores and to all those who came before her, as a sentimental
attachment, a betrothal gift from his wife.
Lord Pierrot begins to undress Daphne Dolores.
She stands quietly on the rug as he reveals her body to the night.
Daphne Dolores is white and slim as a boy. Her hair is cut short, and
layered as closely to her head as the fur of an otter. Lord Pierrot
runs
his hand over her hair and kisses her throat. She shuts her eyes and
lifts
her chin with pleasure.
Her shoulders and hips are narrow, Daphne Dolores, her stomach flat.
She
has no breasts to speak of. Her nipples look like wounds in the dim
light.
It is scarcely conceivable now, but thus his wife, Lady Dove, used to
be,
ah, long ago, in the first days of their marriage. Lord Pierrot goes
down
on one knee to remove her stockings. With his lips he brushes her pubic
hair. He is consumed with desire for her. Rising, Lord Pierrot pulls at
the buttons of his gown. Beneath it he wears neither shirt nor
undergarment. His chest is narrow and hairless. He kisses Daphne
Dolores
as he tugs his arms from the sleeves and forces down his baggy
trousers.
His penis is slender, and elegantly curved. It lifts in the dark like
some
strange nocturnal plant of Triax, seeking for the moon.
 Lord Pierrot directs Daphne Dolores to take hold of it, and she does.
He
gasps in pleasure.
Later, when pleasure has had its fill, Lord Pierrot lies back against
the
pillows with Daphne Dolores nestling in the crook of his arm. She lies
lightly upon him, for which he is grateful, for the night is very hot,
and
they are both somewhat sticky.
Up in the rafters, something catches Lord Pierrot's eye: a small mass
darker than the darkness. It is sure to be a nest of the skylings,
which
persist in infesting his eaves. Every year at this time it is necessary
to
send an automaton to pluck out the nests of the skylings and cast them
into the lake. These nights Lord Pierrot shares with Daphne Dolores are
numbered; they are precious and few. The squawking of baby birds must
not
be permitted to disturb the making of love.
'You're very quiet, my love,' says Daphne Dolores.