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Lady Cecelia Ch. 03 Pt. 02 free porn video
For two days she had prepared the cases wardrobe and accoutrements for Lydia’s journey to Agincourt which allowed her Lady to be at Cecelia’s side in support of Cecelia’s’s bid to secure William of Edenbridge’s release from the hands of the French. Each waking moment, had found Annalette laboring with new instructions from Lydia so that by the appointed hour for departure Annalette found respite from her Lady’s constant demands as she left in the rescue vessel departing the shores of Lindisfarne.
That same evening in Lydia’s room, Annalette closed the door behind her and went to the devotional of which small case remained untaken. Of this Lydia’s handmaiden knew yet said nothing of reminder to include it in Lydia’s hasty preparations.
There the case sat forgotten waiting for Annalette’s first ever inspection of their contents. Opened it revealed the vials, horned talisman, book and packets Lydia used when her devotions reached the culmination of necessity. These Annalette began to handle as if discovering someone else’s secreted treasure. She pried the cork from an opened vial, took the silver thimble and sipped the barest amount of its sweet liquid for herself.
On board the ship carrying Cecelia and her entourage Lydia would fret over its loss to her, furious that her handmaiden Annalette had said nothing of reminder.
The Count of Corofin, County Clare Ireland’s appointment through alliances with the Tudors had placed Lydia’s family in the Court of Lindisfarne Castle and with it had come Lydia’s service to Lady Cecelia on Holy Island on the east coast of England.
In Lydia’s homeland on the cliffs of Moher on Galway Bay lived a barren maid: part of her family and Lydia’s mother’s distant Aunt. The old woman was Druid, Celtic Druid and a ‘Cailleach draiodir mna’, a witch and conjurer. Upon hearing of their departure for Lindisfarne, this strange Aunt had searched out Lydia’s family, separated Lydia from the rest of them for the brief amount of time it took to press to Lydia’s hands a small case containing that which this ‘aunt’ thought the youngest Corofin maiden would need while living among the royals of a Noble Court.
Within this case were talismans fetishes lace and potions: potions she claimed (amid stern confidences and warnings) would melt the heart of the most stubborn man. Young Lydia was to save them for the blossom of her maidenhood and use the potion at an opportune moment.
Assured the vials packed safely in a cushioned felts would advance Lydia’s purpose when she had come of age and at the time she so chose, she was told to administer a thimble-full to the goblet of an unsuspecting Noble and thereby change him into a heartsick and willing suitor.
There would come a day, she was told, when time would portend nothing else would serve her purpose but this elixir. This advice and gift she presented to the unsuspecting girl under vow of secrecy leaving Lydia with a small wooden case which aroused no suspicions. This case Lydia brought to England and there in her chambers it rested untouched for two years.
One day, urged by her own curiosity, she tasted it herself. When the fever of its effects broke hours later, Lydia swore to never share even one sweet drop of this elixir with any other but her own tongue.
On that special dark night when her nurturing of Cecelia involved breast play at its most intense, Lydia had dismissed her Handmaiden, bolted the door and surveyed the bedchamber. The hearth with its new wood illuminated its lower ceilings, vaulted curtained windows between tapestries.
That night Lydia had cast her eyes on the single most luxurious necessity in her wardrobe: a high bed covered by a large canopy containing its own curtains for warmth and privacy. The elaborate pergola was supported by four heavily hewn posters of oak. Each polished pillar soared upwards from a carved lion’s paw encompassing a turned ball on ball shape sweeping tapered above to its top post carved flame finial.
Lydia’s bed commanded the room. She would be intimately involved with its structure soon. Unbeknownst to her that involvement would be performed under the unrelenting eyes of her handmaiden.
Annalette had been performing the errands of wood and water that evening. Lydia, on her knees at her devotional, reached as she had so many times before to the small wooden case on the floor beside, opened the lid and removed a vial and silver thimble.
Removing its cork she carefully poured its liquid to full, replaced the vial in its box and brought the liquid to her lips tasting its sweetness again. Swallowing quickly she gazed at the triptych’s images opened before her. Her eyes fed on these images of angels beautifully rendered in azure skies. As had become her habit, she studied these erotic renderings as the effects of druid elixir seeped slowly into her being.
Aloft on high hovering on beating wings transfixed with spiritual ecstasy their loveliness was a stunning vision captured by an Italian artist whose meticulous detail transformed the sterile renderings of the church to something vibrantly preserved in classic nakedness. This was the subject matter of her triptych. The angels, many more than necessary, were sensual women done in loving detail. Like sweet Sirens the angelic females of her triptych glorified none but themselves.
The artist had excited her with this tri-fold mural. As she had at each of her ‘devotionals’ Lydia feasted her envious eyes on their detached beauty. They floated in a blue firmament. For Lydia her small open triptych was a window into a different heaven. Glorifying open arms revealing a thinly veiled eroticism the countenances were brimming with sensuality. She sensed no difference between her own souls building rapture and these angels exposing their beauty on high. It was only a picture, but and incredibly sensual one. They beckoned her to a much different body of worship. A feminine entreaty to self-pleasure.
Her worship had lifted Lydia from her knees and took her to the looking glass she kept covered with a shroud. This drape Lydia removed revealing to her own self the full length of her body head to toe.
‘Sin of self-love possesses all mine eye and all my soul and all my every part. And for this sin there is no remedy. It is so grounded inward in my heart. I know no face so gracious as mine. No shape so true, no truth of such account. And for myself my own worth is defined. For my beauty in all other worth’s surmounted. The glass shows me myself indeed, gloriously fair surpassing all known or seen. My own self-loving is an iniquity. It is thee, I that I praise. Painting my desire with the beauty of my days’
Lydia directed every attention, every thought and every word of the sonnet she knew by rote.
As she had so many times before Lydia stared intently as she lowered her cape to expose the thin sendel beneath. The exquisite fine silk clung to her body highlighting all that glowed beneath its shimmer. The cloak dropped to her hips. It hung against her buttocks before sliding to the floor her treasure and the pleasure of her own body unveiled.
In the sheerest drape of sarcent she stood absorbed by her own image warming at the very sight of herself. In her narcissist heart she knew no woman alive possessed her attributes.
The druid elixir began to thrill her very being. No one was as fair as she! Her features possessed a face exquisite, her eyes deep hazel like no others, cheekbones high and flushed and the perfect line of her nose as the rosebuds of her lips shimmering in the firelight. Look at my hair, my throat, the way it sweeps to collarbones and how perfectly it sweeps from my milky skin!
Her shoulders were smoothly holding up the lustrous satiny translucence. She verily glowed beneath its drape watching how it sloped out to breasts its weightless silk hanging from the tips of magnificent nipples.
Lydia reached up her sides and gathered the gown at her brea
st line to see and feel its sheerness clinging to her magnificent bosom.
In self-appraisal she reached for them, fondling their slope, their sides, letting her open palms tease hardened nipples feeling the effects of silk between hands and breasts.
How she adored them reveling in their feeling and response to her own touch, they were hers rich luxurious and warm. Re-harnessed in the gathered soft cinch of silk against those breasts Lydia turned slowly side to side before the mirror and watched as they moved across her vision adoring the manner in which stiffened silk-brushed nipples had hardened beneath its cling. They stood perfectly, privately before her own gluttonous eyes. She released the gown to reach for her own thick head of hair above.
No woman possessed any like hers. Great full thick chestnut hued locks of it went into her fingers luxuriously. Lydia lifted it to the top of her head allowing it to spill in increments back to her shoulders. She gathered it behind and turned to admire her long smooth neck. It had the poise and attributes sought after by the finest painters to be rendered in oils for eternity.
She tilted her chin in the fullness of wanton pride. She was surrounded daily by tedious plainness! Lydia gloried that true beauty was hers alone and so reached down her sides sliding hands across hips and waist: so exceedingly fertile. She turned slowly again. Her derriere, her alluring buttocks, that wonderful ass she possessed stood high proudly highlighted by firelight and she allowed her hands the pleasure of caress.
‘It’ was waiting for her as it always had. Lydia displayed every intention of resistance entertaining thoughts of ‘just this’ and then to sleep and dream.
Yet unrepentantly her smooth hands used long fingers to loosen each ribbon that held her nightgown closed. Once one had been pulled every tie came loose. The miniscule weight of iridescent sarcent opened in increments.
In a thrill of anticipation Lydia drew the gown behind observing her pointing toes, her delicate ankles, long languishing legs and thighs in form and beauty, hidden from view by the demands of civility, here exposed in all their beauty. How they would slave for her soon!
The heart of all that commanded her impatient desire revealed itself to adoring eyes. Lydia tilted her hips towards her image in the glass. The mound of her womanhood, swelling with a richness of proffered curls was visible soft and fine with hair the color of her locks.
The fairest lips of labia separated in perfect symmetry. It glistened with dampness. Lydia slipped one hand over her ribcage, her belly and against the tightened musculature above then ran her fingers through those delicate curls. A fairest bud of clitoris stood waiting for fingers. She raised her eyes from these intentions to watch the wantonness in the mirror. Inevitability had begun gnawing at her insides. A flight among her angels waited in patient silence. Unalloyed Lydia would soon be a lover to herself in a way no one could possibly fathom.
This sensual self-litany was witnessed to completion from Annalette’s view from outside Lydia’s chamber door. The stirring sight of it had caused her to take herself obliviously there and then in the hallway.
The experience beyond that door Annalette would have for herself in a perfect imitation of Lydia’s witchcraft she had witnessed so often before.
Forgotten was her Lady lying in a sea cabin bed fretting over the abandonment of the case she needed so desperately.
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