Cadence of Dusk [MF] [Fiction]

The darkness of twilight had just begun to settle beyond the horizon of the western sky. Abigail Livermorny rested her shoulder against the doorway to her chambers, watching the oranges and yellows fade to pinks and blues in the evening sky. The castle walls nowhere near tall enough from her tower to obscure such a majestic view. The evening breeze, warm and smelling of heather brushed the sheer veil of her robe against her legs. The robe did nothing to protect her fit form from the breeze, and the feeling drew a sigh from her lips.

She was waiting. Patience had never been a virtue for Abigail. Despite how little she spoke, she was a brash girl, impatient, and needy. But she was the quiet daughter, or so she made the courts think. Lord Livermorny proudly displayed her at parties and then let her retire to her tower whenever she wished. She never mingled. She was not the one to make alliances like her sisters or brothers had been. Simply a piece to show the other lords and ladies that even the duchy had beautiful daughters still left for marriage. Not a single suitor would remain when their courtship faltered. Not a single man could stand to be around a woman who did not speak to them.

No, there was only one man who had captured the girl’s interest. A storyteller was who she waited for so desperately, standing in the warm breeze nearly bared to the entire estate her father owned if anyone could even see. She had had dreams of the adventures he told to her, wild and exciting dreams that made her heart beat faster than she thought it could. Dreams that when she woke left a warmth in her loins that she could not describe. There was a longing in her gaze as she studied the horizon…then the garden below her tower.

He had promised to come after their night in the stable house. He had shown her the ways of love, such sweet words that he lavished her with. She could barely remember the feeling of their connection. Her skin raised with the memory of his voice. It took effort to shake herself from the recollection-

And there he was.

A man barely older than her 19 years, pulling himself over the edge of her balcony, what looked like a hook of sorts handing off the wooden banister. She was sure it had a rope attached. He stood; golden blonde hair being brushed behind pointed ears as he met her gaze with that boyish grin he always wore. He had his leather armor donned, a hand and a half sword draped over his back with a bow and quiver and a golden lyre which she recalled graced the ears of her father’s court with the most beautiful melodies. Feathered pointed hat resting on his head, and an emerald cloak fluttering behind him- he looked dressed for travel.

Abigail frowned, her arms crossing under her bosom as her expression grew sour. The storyteller frowned as well, looking over himself then back to her with a small sheepish smile.

“I told you I did not have much longer here, milady.”

“You said you would ask my father to stay…”

“And I did. He denied me that after your stable boy regaled him of our evening two nights ago.” The smile he gave was wistful as he spoke. He approached her. She did not back down. When he kissed her, she kissed back delicately, arms unfolding and moving to his sides.

Their lips broke. “Stay with me.” She begged him.

“For the night, and no longer.” He whispered back, pressing his forehead to her own. Her eyes closed as she breathed in his scent.

“Take me with you.” She pleaded.

“You know I cannot.” His tone was firm, and she knew pushing further would ruin the evening. He had told her so many times before. Her place was here, his was on the road.

“Play your harp for me again…” She looked into his eyes, and he stared back intensely. A smile spread across his lips once again, and she smiled back.

She took his hands in his and pulled him into her chambers, closing the door to her balcony behind her. The fire blazed in the hearth across from her bed as she turned and pressed her bare back to the door, facing the storyteller. He had doffed his weaponry and sat by the hearth, lyre in his hands as he eyed her over. His emerald green eyes glinted as gemstones set in ivory warm and reflecting the fire beside him. The heat inside of her burned brighter under his intense gaze, before his hands touched the strings.

He began to play. The melody was slow and beautiful. Transcendent, as it always was. The harp’s notes were beyond description, sweet and warm and rich, rising and falling in melancholy music. He shaped chords with ease rising and falling with the dance of the flames. Abigail’s own inner fire lilted, faltered and crescendoed with the music. She felt herself leave the balcony doors, slowly slipping off the sheer gown she wore, leaving it to pool behind her on the floor as she crossed halfway to the middle of the room.

His eyes never left her. He muttered a few words under his breath, and the fire surged out of the hearth, forming into a hand the same size as his. The harp floated away from his grip strings magically plucking themselves as it moved to the hands of flame that began to play the instrument as he had. Mesmerizing rising runs and sudden drops rung through the chamber as he stood and approached her.

She worked quickly as the music began to quicken, a fast waltz that instilled the image of the dance in one’s mind. The fastens and bindings holding his armor were no match for a woman of house Livermorny. The expression on his face faltered several times from pride to awe at how quickly he was undressed. Each piece she removed, she tossed aside, nearly tearing the tunic he wore beneath his armor asunder to press her nude body against the firm wall that was his stature. She took his cock in her hand, lithe digits wrapping smoothly around the thick throbbing shaft of his manhood. Her core throbbed with aching need. There would be no foreplay tonight.

The music did something to her mind whenever he played. Without realizing it, they were in bed, the harp’s notes all-encompassing to their senses. The music rolled in waves over their bodies as their lips met. Sweet kisses, gentle suction. Her voice joined the chorus of the song as he took her, and her need was satisfied. The song slowed to meet his tempo, the lilting melody rising with every moan she made. Their bodies met, and she felt full, warm, loved. She craved this feeling from dawn to dusk for two days.

Their bodies rolled in perfect unison. Hips meeting her ass and thighs in slow forceful thrusts. His lips showered her in lavish kisses along her face, neck, shoulders, and chest. Her breasts heaved with every thrust. The dance was mesmerizing, and Abigail could feel her mind slipping into the void. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, gripping him tight to hold him still. The music stopped just as he did.

Heavy breath and the crackling of the fire filled the bedchamber as they met their gaze. Her dark hair hung in messy strands around her face, and he was no better, both breathing hard as they looked at each other, her in desperation, him in confusion. “Slower” She spoke between hard breaths “I want to remember…” She searched his gaze, wondering what he was thinking. The storyteller had always been so mysterious, and even now, he hid his feelings behind a shroud. He simply smiled gently, and nodded, before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on the heiress’ lips. Then he began again, thrusting in short firm bursts, the clap of their skin meeting resounding around the silent room. The instrument hung silently in the air as a spectator to their lovemaking.

Abigail could feel her skin flush from her cheeks to her breasts as she kissed back. She had never heard herself in the throes of ecstasy in silence. His music had always spared her the embarrassment, but now, he simply wanted to recall the memories of him when he was gone. The firmness of his hold on her as he filled her to the brim with every thrust. The cries against his lips that he drew from her until finally, everything came crashing down. Her fire burned over, spreading down her legs, through her chest, releasing in a loud cry as she broke the kiss. Her body trembled in his grasp.

He held her throughout the ordeal.

~~~

They sat on the hearth, as he released inside of her, her arms around his neck as his face pressed into her bosom, sighing gently as she received the gift, she so desperately craved. His breathing came shallow as the gushing of his cum inside of her subsided. He lifted his head to look up at her, the bare whiskers on his chin tickling her breasts as they met their gaze. He gave a small smile, one that she did not realize she reflected. The harp had begun to gently play again, a lullaby of sorts, from what it sounded. “You will leave me this gift then?” She spoke softly, brushing his blonde hair from his face. The storyteller frowned now, before pressing into her breasts again, her right nipple taken between her lips and gently sucking on it. She sighed gently, resting her chin on his head, her core gently milking every drop of him from his cock. She would accept this to remember him by…

~~~

The night had come fully, as he stepped back out onto the balcony, a full moon lighting his path as he checked the security of his exit on the balcony’s rail. Abigail leaned on the door again, sighing gently as she watched him before speaking up “Come back to me someday…”

He stopped and turned, gently smiling “As you wish, milady.”

She smiled gently before approaching him and kissing him one last time. “Fare-thee-well, Cadence…”

A single hand brushed her left cheek before he turned and dropped off the side of the tower, slipping down the rope and disappearing under the shadow of the night through the garden. Her eyes lifted from the garden below to the horizon afar, a hand dropping to her stomach. “Return soon, my storyteller.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/edspq7/cadence_of_dusk_mf_fiction