The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe - Willow & Tara Forever

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 Post subject: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 8:25 am 
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Posts: 2086
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Title: Fresh Moods
Author: watson (hiddenwatson [at] gmail [dot] com)
Distribution: please email me first
Rating: PG to NC-17, see individual entries for rating
Disclaimer: BtVS characters, concepts and dialog belong to Mutant Enemy, Fox, The WB, UPN and others. The stories contained here are of a personal nature, non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.
Summary: My contemporary short stories are housed under the Coffee Moods umbrella. Fresh Moods are short stories that don't come under the CM category. In other words, stories of the non-caffeinated variety.


*****


Fresh Moods #1: The Dressmaker's Hands

Summary: "You have the best hands."
Setting: An undefined historical period
Rating: NC-17


Part 1/4

"She will see you now."

I was too tense to respond. I knew I had to get my muscles to move, but the signal wasn't getting through from my brain.

"Are you coming or not?" The voice grew impatient. "She doesn't have all day. Bloody commoner." The last two words were muttered under her breath, but loud enough for my ears.

I swallowed and stiffly pushed myself up from my perch on the low stool. I was careful to keep my eyes on the ground, my master's words echoing in my head. Keep your head bowed. It's not your place to look at those of a higher station. You'll dirty them with your look.

I shuffled behind the portly woman, watching the hems of her thick dress brush along the floor as she stomped off. Out of habit, I appraised the material -- uncompromising coarse cotton, roughly weaved and oft mended. A working garment, as was the maker's intention.

We stopped outside a decorated door, a thin net curtain interestingly draped outside it. Peals of laughter could be heard faintly from beyond. The housekeeper rapped respectfully, waited three seconds, then opened the door.

I stepped in behind her and it was as if I stepped in through a portal to another universe. I was instantly dazzled by the blazing sunlight that illuminated the whole space. It was more than a room...it was a living palace that was more than double the entire size of my master's workshop. Glittering chairs, lush carpets and a four poster bed dominated the area.

But more so than the furniture were the shapes and sounds that were floating with carefree glee around the room. I stole a glance at the company of young girls skipping and clapping in a circle, their voices rising and falling in an unknown song. I'd barely registered that they were 'dressed' in only the starkest meaning of the term -- sleeveless tunics and knee-length breeches that left vast areas of skin exposed -- when they parted and I saw with my own eyes the embodiment of the goddess herself.

Honey hair and skin that glowed brighter than the noonday sun. I stifled a gasp at the sight and was pierced by a strange sensation that sunk deep into my belly.

She threw her head back in abandoned laughter and the strange sensation turned into liquid. I shifted uncomfortably, desperately wanting to cross my legs while standing but not knowing why.

Silence when her gaze found me.

"Well. What have we here?" Her voice was a melodious lilt, a hint of challenge touching up bemused recognition.

"From the dressmaker's," the housekeeper said.

An offhand wave and the nymphlets faded away. I stood transfixed as I was unabashedly appraised from top to bottom, just like how my master appraised a new garment. I had no sense of mind to think about whether I bathed that day, or whether my shirt was buttoned up correctly. The strange liquid sensation at the top of my legs persisted.

"What happened to Master Ira?" she asked. It was a tone that expected immediate answer, but was not unkind.

"He is indisposed. He sent word that Wil--" the housekeeper started to explain.

"--that will be all," her mistress cut her off and with a look, the servant was dismissed.

We were alone.

I dared to raise my head to make eye contact. It took her a small second to recover from the indolence and a tiny upturn of her lips gave me courage to hold her stare. She was no older than I, though her beauty was far richer than my modest history.

"Well?"

It took me a long minute to remember that I was the only other person in the room, and hence she would be addressing me, and me only. My brain was functioning to a certain extent, but that didn't extend to speech. I knew I was staring, and I knew it was forbidden; but I could no more help it than I could breathe air.

Years later, she told me that it was a wonder that she didn't lose her temper with my impertinence. And it was the moment when it clicked for her.

"You have something for me?" she asked more specifically. "Or is that not a package in your hands?"

I snapped to attention quickly. "Um yes. Sorry, miss. Master Ira was taken ill, he sent me so there is no delay in getting the dress to you. Miss," I remembered his instruction to liberally dot my conversation with honorifics. I fumbled with the paper package that I'd gripped to death; almost ripping it, my hands were shaking so much. Luckily, as soon as the material emerged and touched my hands, I was instantly calmed. I removed the dress from its confines carefully and with a delicate flourish, shook it out in all its glory.

Master Ira wasn't the most sought-after dressmaker in the province for nothing. The handiwork was meticulous, the material perfectly manipulated to produce a picture-perfect gown. I knew this dress was intended for the Spring Festival on Saturday. Master Ira only took one customer order for this event, and it was for the Baron's daughter who was standing in front of me. She took one look at the dress, another look at me, and stripped her undertunic off.

If it weren't a lifetime's training for the care of finery, I would have dropped the dress straight onto the floor. As it were, I staggered one step backward at the sight of the most exquisite naked body I had ever laid eyes on. Well alright, I'd never actually seen any naked body apart from the blacksmith wife's new born baby, but I'd had fantasies and heard enough of Xander's boasts about what he and Anya got up to in the dark alley behind the inn.

"Don't stand there like the village idiot. Dress me," the Baron's daughter commanded.

Decorum demanded that I averted my eyes and focus on the task of helping her into the dress. But her skin was so enticing, her scent so soft that I quivered in her proximity. I deliberately held the dress at arms length, closing my eyes when she slipped into the material that was custom-made for her body. Belatedly I realized that the bodice fastened at the front, with a double row of tiny hand-sewn pearl buttons. I had to step in front of her, and her naked skin was right in my line of sight.

"How long have you been Ira's apprentice? You are his apprentice, aren't you?" she asked, as I tried to concentrate on the buttons and nothing but the buttons.

"Um yes, miss. My stepfather too," I answered.

"Your stepfather is Ira's apprentice too?" Oh lord. She was a tease.

"Um no, miss. Master Ira, he's my stepfather," I said.

"What happened to your real father? Ran off, died or what?" Lest we forget, she was an upper class lady addressing a lowly villager. Tact was not required.

"Um, miss. You see, well, Maman never said. She told me it's better I didn't know," I stuttered. This was not helping. Being interrogated while working with fiddly buttons while trying to ignore the pounding in my heart that was the direct result of being inches from the most forbidden of forbidden-ness was torture.

"Do you start every sentence with 'um'?" She was laughing. At me? With me? I had no idea. All I knew was she was talking with me, and she was the most important person who'd ever spoken to me.

I shook off my blush and took a deep breath before answering. "No, miss. Only when I'm nervous." Oh boy, that was an inappropriate answer.

She stiffened, exhaled and let a cold silence wash over us. "Am I making you nervous?" she whispered, softly, as if asking herself.

I didn't trust my voice. I nodded.

I'd worked my way up from the bottom of the bodice, and I was tantalizingly close to the top hem. I was thankful that she had decided not to speak any further, as I would not have been able to make any coherent sound.

The last of the buttons in place, I stepped away and indicated vaguely in the direction of her chest. "You'll need to make a little adjustment, at the top there, to, um, align..." To correctly accentuate her cleavage, her breasts needed to be lifted and centered. I'd seen Master Ira skillfully lift and push a hundred times, yet his touch was always clinical and precise. I had neither the skill nor the control to be just clinical.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" she questioned.

I didn't know what to say. She was right of course, and she had every right to throw me out in humiliation. Even report to my master. "I, I don't know--"

"Don't know, or don't trust?" she said gently.

I wanted to tell her how much I wasn't myself and hadn't been since I took my first step into her room. I wanted to whisper to her that I was overcome with emotions and a drowning ache like I never experienced before. That if I touched her I would do something that would almost certainly lead me to the gallows.

Years later I told her that this was my moment.

I didn't tell her any of this. Instead I stood there like a dumb hat stand, waiting for my fate. My eyes darted around the room, at the door, the window, the metallic speck at the top corner of the bronze mirror, anywhere but at the beautiful creature in the amazing dress beyond my reach.

Just as the strained silence was about to crack, she closed the gap between us and grasped my hand. I had no time to reflect on the softness or the heat coming from her touch, all sensation exploded when she placed my palm firmly on her breast. My immediate reaction was to pull back but she held me firm. I saw stars, I heard chiming, I heard the thunder of a thousand heartbeats and I was surrounded by a musky scent wafting around us.

"Your being a dressmaker's apprentice, you're serious about it? Is it what you want?" she asked.

"Yes," I hesitated. She was asking about my job, now?

"I can smell you. Do you know what that is?"

"No," I squeaked.

"Your desire."

I blinked. "Please," I begged. I wanted to have control of my hand back. I wanted to dig my fingers deep into her flesh. I wanted her vibrancy to course through me.

She tightened her grip, twisting my hand so my fingers grazed a hard nipple, visible beneath the fabric. "How old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen."

"Have you ever touched a woman in intimacy?"

"I-- no."

"Have you thought about it?"

I squirmed. This was becoming much too personal. But I couldn't escape her. "Sometimes," I confessed.

"You're aroused by me. I could sense it as soon as I set eyes on you. I like that, it's flattering," she smiled. Then her voice hardened. "But you'll touch thousands of women in your career. How can you be a good dressmaker if you get this way every time you touch a woman?"

"I--"

"Are you going to abuse your position of trust? Innocent women, all willing putty under your fingertips. Does that make your heart pound, thinking about the impossibly delightful flesh?" [sup]1[/sup] she spat out the last few words, in provocation, in admonishment. I didn't know what.

A far away voice of warning fought against the lustful haze, my master cautioning me on the taboo of familiarity. But I was awash with courage, and the offensive voice flickered out of existence. "I can't imagine any flesh other than yours that will tempt me," I said simply.

She let go of my hand then, and fumbled with the buttons of her bodice. "Take these off. I want your hands on me," she called urgently. She almost ripped the delicate pearls off violently, so burning was her desire.

I stilled her frantic hands and slowly drew the nubs through the eyehooks. As the fabric peeled away with each unfastening, my stillness grew. There was detached fascination when I coaxed the confining material away to reveal full, ready breasts. I cupped my hands on each with the same reverence as we treated the most fragile silk. They were heavy in my hands, but I kept my touch feathery.

"My master says dressmakers' most important tools are our hands," I said slowly, feeling a boldness in my heart that was not there before.

With a strangled cry, she pushed me against the wall and crashed our lips together. It was a bruising kiss, one that I gradually returned with equal fervor. She grabbed my hand, and my protestations at the loss of contact was stifled when she pushed it inside the V of her bodice, past her underbreeches and then I had the smoothest, softest heat surging on my fingers. She twisted us around so I had her trapped against the solid wall, and I found myself with instincts I'd never known before. I shoved one knee between her thighs and plunged my hand into her hotness. Our hips were grinding, and we were moaning inside our kiss. One, two push and suddenly she flexed, bore down and broke into a primal, rapturous wail.

She was still pulsating around my fingers when my knees buckled and I fell unceremoniously on my back. I looked up and my breath stopped. There she was, an angel with wild golden hair haloed above her head, her hands spayed behind her gripping the wall, her dress delinquently disheveled. She was panting laboriously, and was probably too overwhelmed to notice that she was nearly naked from the waist up.

Slowly I got to my feet. Without breaking our eye contact, I brought my fingers up and inhaled her scent. With slow deliberation I licked off the coating, a brash grin appearing as I savored the sweet sour taste, committing it to memory.

I had no doubts that I was going to hell for this, but if I had to forfeit my life at that moment I would have gone willingly.

"These hands, they will touch so many. And with each one, I shall grow more jealous. Give me your hand," she implored.

I held back just for a bit. "Why?"

"Shut up and put your fingers in my mouth."

What could I do? I was but a poor dressmaker's apprentice, and I had to obey the Baron's daughter's every whim.

I tenderly traced around her lips before gently giving her the taste she asked for. Her lips were too swollen, too inviting -- I had to have my taste too. The next kiss was less frenzied than the last, but held a glimmer of promise.

"What's your name?" she murmured against my lips.

"Willow."

She kissed my cheeks, my throat, my hands.

"You have the best hands, Willow. You may call me Tara."

*****




[sup]1[/sup]from the title of a story by Sadbhyl

*****

tbc

[br]

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 8:40 am 
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DIBS!!!


ETA: Aw skippy, Watty's back! :banana :eatme :banana :eatme Now that is one way to get my blood pumping at 8:30 in the morning! I love the set up and how you introduce the girls.

Quote:
The last of the buttons in place, I stepped away and indicated vaguely in the direction of her chest. "You'll need to make a little adjustment, at the top there, to, um, align..." To correctly accentuate her cleavage, her breasts needed to be lifted and centered. I'd seen Master Ira skillfully lift and push a hundred times, yet his touch was always clinical and precise. I had neither the skill nor the control to be just clinical.


Cause we know how much of a breast gal she is!!


Quote:
With a strangled cry, she pushed me against the wall and crashed our lips together. It was a bruising kiss, one that I gradually returned with equal fervor. She grabbed my hand, and my protestations at the loss of contact was stifled when she pushed it inside the V of her bodice, past her underbreeches and then I had the smoothest, softest heat surging on my fingers. She twisted us around so I had her trapped against the solid wall, and I found myself with instincts I'd never known before. I shoved one knee between her thighs and plunged my hand into her hotness. Our hips were grinding, and we were moaning inside our kiss. One, two push and suddenly she flexed, bore down and broke into a primal, rapturous wail.


This is quite possibly the sexiest thing I've ever read. So full of unbridled passion and lust . . . yum.

What a fanatastic start, Watty, and I can't wait to read what you have in store. I have no doubt our girls are in capable hands.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 9:53 am 
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*le sigh* what a wonderful way to continue my thus-far good day. You've made it so much better, Watty. I've loved all your stories, since when I was a wee lurker, and I'm so happy you've picked up the pen(clicked the keys?) again. This was so.....good. Love historical situations when the balance of class is another layer to the tantalizing relationship for our girls, and for some reason I love it when Willow is the commoner. And your Tara here is just....god, she's a pistol, isn't she? And I love love love that you gave us snippets that indicated a future with the two of them. It does something to the soul knowing those two are together no matter where or when.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 10:07 am 
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Great beginning...

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 5:29 pm 
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oh my god... i love the plot. i'm a sucker for such settings (barons and stuff). you see i love my royalties, haha! :luv
Quote:
"These hands, they will touch so many. And with each one, I shall grow more jealous. Give me your hand," she implored.

...wow, jealous tara, eh? i've always love that image! :D
more, more, more! you're a great writer watty. thanks for sharing your talent to us :D


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Wed Apr 16, 2008 10:14 am 
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Now if that wasn't a delightful (read: drippingwethot) way to start to day...

Check out the baby dykes! Hee... This is just so cool. And how adorable that Willow here is the one with the stutter.

Quote:
"Have you ever touched a woman in intamacy?"


I wanna live in ye olden times so that I might hear a pick up line like this. Don't know why, but it kinda flipped my switch. To be Willow -- the quivering virgin...

Quote:
"Shut up and put your fingers in my mouth."


Uhm... Uh... Tara! You little minx! Me-owwww!

Me and Willow thank you for the "strange liquid sensation."


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Wed Apr 16, 2008 11:16 am 
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Are you sure these will be de-caffeinated? Cos this one has my pulse racing and my heart beating and craving more!

Ooh, what a vixen your Tara is, confident, domimant, strong and sexy as hell, and Willow, well for an apprentice that was one hell of a learning experience, and i bet by now she can lift and adjust with the best of them!

I love short stories, they pull you in and tell you just enough about about the characters, they get you interested in the plot and wanting more and then they thumb their nose at you and 'nah, nah, na nah na!' it's over, no more to be had and you're left wondering what happens next. Pleasure and pain in one sitting ;-)

I loved the stories in the coffee moods series, so I know I'll enjoy these ones just as much, as I do all all your stories. Thanks for a lovely read.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Wed Apr 16, 2008 12:03 pm 
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Didn0t you know that not only caffeine gets people high but sugar too!!!!!!!!! call it sugar.... {more like...um...swentess?}
go you!

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 7:50 am 
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Foomatic -- hello there! It's (kinda) good to be back. There's not as much interaction on Pens as before, when I was more active. But that's another discussion. You picked out a couple of pretty hot passages. We all know how sensual the girls can be, even at 16 and innocent. Thanks for stopping by and congrats about the dibs. :)

Zooeys_Bridge -- hiya. Thanks for your lovely comments. I know I have to read your story, but I'm guilty of neglecting many of the newer stories on the board. I have a poor knowledge of history and mythology (I've been meaning to read Mythology for Dummies for ages :P), but this setting just appeared in my imagination. You're right, it's interesting to put some class difference between them.

Quote:
your Tara here is just....god, she's a pistol, isn't she?

:lol you're saying she's a sharp shooter? I'm gonna commandeer this phrase.

Zampsa1975 -- thank you.

shane -- thanks! I was reading The Spanish Pearl series by Catherine Friend, and I liked the historical setting. I didn't want to specify date or location cos it's a short story and too much backstory takes away the brevity, you know.

katjetson --

Quote:
drippingwethot

niiiiice description. I like it. And Willow the quivering virgin, hee, that gave me images. :lol


Paint the Sky -- :hm probably de-caffeinated but with another kind of booster? If this were a long story, I would have liked to explore Tara's emotions a little more. Plus which, it's written from Willow's pov. I have in mind that Tara isn't really the vixen she seems to be here, that she too was nervous, and it was seeing Willow for the first time that gave her courage. Heh, it would have been interesting...

[quote]I love short stories, they pull you in and tell you just enough about about the characters, they get you interested in the plot and wanting more and then they thumb their nose at you and 'nah, nah, na nah na!' it's over, no more to be had and you're left wondering what happens next. Pleasure and pain in one sitting /[quote]
That's one of the reasons I like writing short stories, because it gives me the writer an opportunity to explore characters, settings and ideas without being bogged down by having to write a 50k long fic. Thanks for you kind comments. :)

jay/wt4evr -- sweet! Nice, thanks!

[br]

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 7:55 am 
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Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2005 5:15 pm
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Topics: 1
Title: Fresh Moods
Author: watson (hiddenwatson [at] gmail [dot] com)
Distribution: please email me first
Rating: PG to NC-17, see individual entries for rating
Disclaimer: BtVS characters, concepts and dialog belong to Mutant Enemy, Fox, The WB, UPN and others. The stories contained here are of a personal nature, non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.
Notes: My contemporary short stories are housed under the Coffee Moods umbrella. Fresh Moods are short stories that don't come under the CM category. In other words, stories of the non-caffeinated variety.


*****


Fresh Moods #1: The Dressmaker's Hands

Summary: "You have the best hands."
Setting: An undefined historical period
Rating: NC-17


Part 2/4

"She will see you now."

I nodded to the housekeeper and picked up the package sitting next to me. This time when we approached the net curtained door, it was I who rapped respectfully. Three times, as was the custom.

I stepped inside just enough for the door to click shut behind me. I was motionless against the doorway, watching the animated tableau in front of my eyes.

Tara and her coterie were finishing their midday meal. Tray upon tray loaded with exotic delicacies, which the ladies freely fed each other by hand. I was impassioned by the sight, but it was not my place to join nor to judge the proceedings, which was why I carefully stowed away any expression apart from patient reverence.

I had gotten good, very good, at compartmentalizing my emotions when I was with women customers. They gladly submitted to me touching them in intimate places because I was anything but intimate. I gave them comfort, warmth and a carefully drawn professional line which I never crossed.

That was, with one exception.

The ladies were done with their feasting and the Baron's daughter dismissed them curtly. She never gave any indication that she had noticed my arrival. Not until the last one of her followers had exited and she herself bolted the door with a resounding clang.

The next moment, she was in my arms and her lips soft against mine. The package in my hands was an obstruction between us, but I had too much care to drop it unceremoniously on the floor. I held onto it as much as I could with the onslaught of heady kisses and intoxicating touches.

"I missed you! I thought today'd never arrive. Don't you dare ever go away for this long," she sobbed.

I ran my hands through her hair and trailed a caress along the back of her neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver. "I'm sorry, there was flooding and Master Ira decided to take a longer route," I said gently. I'd missed her so too, and every pore in me wanted to become re-familiar with her.

"Did you get me anything special?" she asked.

I grinned. "What do you think?"

"I think you'd better have, otherwise there will be punishment," she said with a straight face.

"Well, my lady, if you untrap me I'll show you what I have in this package," I said.

She did let go of me, but not without planting several more kisses on my lips. I could taste citrus and sugar, I had to stop myself from exploring her mouth to find more flavors.

I took the fabrics out of the package one by one, and carefully laid them out on a nearby table. Fabric to a tailor was our tool, and our heaven. Each piece had been carefully chosen and considered before I purchased it. Only the best would do.

The first piece was a fine gossamer chiffon in the most subtle midnight blue. The softness complimented the softness of her skin and the blue reflected the blue of her eyes. I took a long time picking this while my master was haggling with the wholesaler about broadcloths and yarns.

"Oh Willow, this is beautiful!" Tara gasped as I presented the fabric, on both hands like a painting. "May I touch it?" she asked shyly.

"Feel it on your fingers, feel the layers. Imagine it on your skin, flowing in a train behind you as you walk down the central staircase," I said as I draped it on her shoulders, as if it were a finished dress.

She tentatively stroked the delicate material, smoothing it along her torso and gathering it below her waist.

"This is almost...whimsical," she whispered. I reveled in watching her admire the texture and complexity of the material. I'd talked about textiles so often that it seemed some of my enthusiasm rubbed off on her.

"I was thinking, this would be perfect for your brother's ball." I watched as she admired herself in the mirror, turning slightly to show off her profile. I could imagine the finished dress in my mind, and was already thinking of sequins and stitching.

Her lips brushed mine. "You went away thinking about dresses again," she said softly.

I blushed. "Yes, I'm sorry. It's so easy to imagine wonderful things on you, you're so beautiful." I gathered her by the waist and pulled us together. Before I knew it, our kiss turned fiery. Hands were everywhere, on skin, under the material, finding more skin.

"Put this away first," she muttered.

Hurriedly I unfurled the chiffon and folded it quickly. I made sure it was placed properly on the table, then the next second she was pulling me across the room and into her bed. We were a tangle of limbs and sensitive body parts before ripping off the last of our loose clothing.

"I've been thinking of you so hard," I breathed as I crawled on all fours along her length before resting my body full against hers. She lay back against the mountain of pillows and took me in her arms with a sigh.

"You feel so good, baby," she said softly.

I propped myself up with an elbow, my free hand I cupped her face and pulled her toward me in a gentle kiss. She shivered against my touch, which drifted lower until her breast filled my palm. I didn't have to think. While I was busy exploring her mouth with my tongue, my hand worked its way all over a path it knew so well. A soft brush accelerated her breathing; a squeeze was rewarded by a moan; a well-timed sweep and she was flushed all over. When I finally reached between, she was as ready and open as she ever was. With my wrist, I gently spread her thighs further apart and before I was inside her hips were already rising up in rhythm. A flutter, then a swell and she came bountifully on my hand.

She stopped me when I was about to withdraw. Small throbs continued to reverberate inside her, and I took my time, keeping two fingers inside. "Should I stay in?" I asked gently.

"For a bit."

"Anything for you."

Later, after she had me on my back and thoroughly consumed, we settled inside each other's embrace. I took her hand in mine and held it against my heart, she was a treasure that I had no right in having, and I never forgot that. I had been coming to her bed for almost a year, since that first innocent visit. Each time I passed through the mansion gates I would be petrified that the baron's, or the sheriff's men would be waiting for me. Tara had her reputation to lose, and I knew for certain I had my life. Would I stop seeing her? That was an impossibility.

"What's the matter?" she must have picked up on my morbid musing.

"Nothing." Relationships were built on sharing; but our circumstances were different. My burden wasn't hers to bear.

"Is it me?" she asked worriedly.

"No, not you," I backtracked quickly. "It's never you."

I watched her pause, ponder and decide. "So what is it? And do not," she punctuated her words with solemn seriousness. "Do not say it's nothing."

I held her tighter. "I just don't want to lose you. I feel like we're on borrowed time and any moment the bottom will fall out from under us," I confessed.

She smiled humorlessly. "I can't help being who I am, just as you can't help being who you are. I don't know what to do either."

"It would help if I can buy a title. But a dressmaker? Even if I worked every minute of the day for the rest of my life I'll never earn enough."

"Ira should pass the shop to you."

I hesitated. There were reasons why my master continued to work, even though he should be slowing down and planning for his retirement. He needed the income for his habits, and only my mother and I knew about them.

"The master's name is much respected in the province. Courtesans travel throughout the hinterland to our shop and they want him, not his apprentice," I explained. "Besides, most master dressmakers are men. I have a longer way to go to make my own name."

"Most lovers of women are men, and that hasn't stopped you," she said. "And I know for a fact that you are a most excellent lover."

"Been comparing?" I asked insolently. When she stiffened, I knew I had said something insensitive. "Um, sorry. I mean, it's your prerogative."

She rolled away from me and sat at the edge of the bed, her back a grim barrier I dared not breach. "You don't trust me?" she asked into the air.

I tried to reach out, but stopped short inches from her skin. "It's not that. Your station, your title...I have no right to claim you or your fidelity," I dropped my hand sadly on the bed. I was never so aware of our differences. I never asked her "why me?" because I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

She sighed. The impossibility of our circumstances hung heavily. "There must be a way," she said determinedly. She turned back toward me and stroked my arm firmly. "It's you I want. There is no one else."

"May be I should join the King's army, come back a hero and claim your hand," I mused. "Come lie down with me again."

She eased back into my arms, it felt so good. "You're no more a soldier than I am a farmer, Willow," she said as she continued to stroke my arm, extending to my collarbone and the base of my neck on several passes. "Besides, I don't know what I'll do if you get hurt."

"Everyone's going to war," I said idly. "But you're right, I'll be found out before I leave the barracks, even with Xander's help." I slumped in defeat. "I don't have any idea what I can do about our future, Tara."

"No thinking now," she whispered. Her touch on my skin grew more insistent. She shifted closer, snaking her arm around my waist and along my back. Her lips replaced her fingers in their exploration of my skin, which was becoming sensitive and hot. I closed my eyes with the rush of emotions that engulfed me whenever her touch was on me. It was my marvel.

We shared an unspoken assent. I weaved my fingers along her fine hair, brought her mouth to mine and we began. Our movement pitched high and low, our groans breathy and deep. There was no pattern except for the boiling need to absorb, to drown, to fill, to bring. When she threw her leg over my hips it was a possession and a plea.

I absorbed her desire.

I drowned in her devotion.

I filled her tightness.

And then I brought her to the beginning and the end of a jubilant delirium that had both of us screaming and writhing and choking with love.

I stayed with her up high, and I gently guided her down back to our soft reality.

Her tears were on my face.

"You have the best hands, Willow."

*****
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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 8:12 am 
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Yay for excellent update-y goodness... I hope Willow & Tara will find a way for them to be together "legally"....

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 7:20 pm 
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Oh, wow, again you've smitten us with the magic of your words. I feel this is an epic tale, yet you've only given us two small snippets of these two women! And what snippets they are.

As much as I adore the loverly goodness of them just cuddling(and doing other things) together in bed, I love the tension that is foreshadowed even more. It makes the story real, brings it alive with problems and issues of impossibility I have no idea how you'll breach. But I trust you, and that's more than good enough for me.


Quote:
"You feel so good, baby," she said softly
with all the intricacies of Tara's speech, this plain, simple line was enough to make me sigh. I dunno why, but in so many stories I feel that it is Willow who frequents the 'baby' endearment. Tara saying it after seeing
Quote:
I breathed as I crawled on all fours along her length before resting my body full against hers. She lay back against the mountain of pillows and took me in her arms with a sigh.
made me all squishy and happy inside.

My only problem with this story is that it's a mere four(right?) parts long. Far too short for my greedy eyes :P

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 19, 2008 2:11 am 
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Great writing :read


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 19, 2008 6:08 am 
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This for me was a bitter-sweet blend of beautiful lovemaking tinged with an undercurrent of uneasy feeling.

I love that despite them being equal in bed you still manage to extol their inequalities in many ways, the imbalance being further compounded by only showing their relationship from Willow’s pov.

I get the feeling, at the moment, that Tara has resigned herself to the fact that their relationship can go nowhere beyond what they have now, and Willow, being the more aware of their stations, is reluctant to force the issue, so it will be interesting to see what happens when things come to a head.

I loved your use of compartmentalising; it sums up Willow, her life and her relationship.

Can’t wait now for number three to see if the bottom has fallen out of Willow’s world.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 6:49 am 
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watty wrote:
I absorbed her desire.

I drowned in her devotion.

I filled her tightness.

And then I brought her to the beginning and the end of a jubilant delirium that had both of us screaming and writhing and choking with love.

I stayed with her up high, and I gently guided her down back to our soft reality.


such deep words... you are a great writer watty. i really love that you do not just tell a story, but you also spend the time to make everything sound so wise and so eloquent... i commend you for that.

great update... i'm looking forward to more


Last edited by sinkinghearts on Mon Jul 16, 2012 9:21 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 12:25 pm 
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Ohmy, these warm, teasing and deliciously delightful details! I love the soft kisses/soft fabric, their uneasy talk and worry of an uncertain future followed by their needy lovemaking ending in tears... With this update you've taken us a whole year ahead, yet, I feel like we've missed nothing in that time. Perhaps because they love and need each other just as much as that first meeting. I'm so into this short story. And I wanted you to know that it's inspiring me to be more yummy detail-oriented in the little bit of writing that I do.

Not sure why, but I can't stop thinking about this:

Quote:
"I missed you! I thought today'd never arrive. Don't you dare ever go away for this long," she sobbed.


I loved how non-chalant Tara was while Willow waited for her, and then once the eyes that could and would judge her left the room, she was all heart, all sincerity, all desire for her love. It kinda broke me a little.

And ooh, I love how each update has ended with softest/best Willowhand talk.

My words here aren't the most eloquent, but they're super sincere. Hope you get that. And hell yeah, I'm looking forward to 3/4!


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 2:56 pm 
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Watty - I like this very much. It's quite sensual and romantic but there's that undercurrent, or maybe overcurrent, of their situations bearing down on them. There's no way it can work out with Tara being a barron's daughter and Willow the dressmaker's apprentice and her father some sort of addict or whatever he is. Can't go well but I'll keep reading to see. I like the voice you've chosen.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 10:53 pm 
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Watty,
Much as the book "Perfume" and the accompanying film described in vivid detail the sensory stimulation which the mixture of plant and other organic essences can produce in anyone from the hands of a skilled chemist, you are showing us that same effect can be felt by a tailor's use of fabric.
From a discerning selection of organic materials with which to weave and produce items of clothing to entice and inflame the sense of touch, Willow and Tara have discovered that social status is no match for the seductive power of silk, satin, velvet, against milky white porcelain skin and that the insatiable fire of their lust can not be quenched.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 2:14 am 
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Zampsa1975 -- thanks! I guess it's not so much legally than 'accepted socially'. But we'll see, eh? :)


Zooeys_Bridge --

Quote:
I feel this is an epic tale, yet you've only given us two small snippets of these two women!

I agree. If I had time or, more importantly, inspiration, I would have made this a longer story. But it didn't turn out that way. I'm glad you're enjoying these little snippets, and I always believe in 'show not tell' and to give the readers a little space to fill in the blanks with their imagination.

There is definitely tension foreshadowed. I'm reading a book (by a professionally published author, mind you) right now that has me very frustrated. I want to like this book, a romance by the way, but the two main characters are just so...perfect that I'm grinding my teeth every time I read about them being all PDA in a toy shop (grown women, in their 30s, okay?), or sending each other flowers while they are hanging out together in the same house, or jetting off to the Caribbean on a last minute vacation. I mean, real life is not like that!!! grrr.

Ooops, I digress. It's just that there's romance, and then there's romance. I prefer to be more rooted in reality, that's me. Thank you very much for reading, and your wonderful comments. :)


SJ -- thank you!


Paint the Sky --

Quote:
a bitter-sweet blend of beautiful lovemaking tinged with an undercurrent of uneasy feeling.

Oh wow, you've described it way better than I could. If I were a book, can I put this on my jacket? :P

I know in such a short setting it's hard to explore the class difference, I hope I did okay in showing it. There will be a way for them to be together, of course there is.

Quote:
Can’t wait now for number three to see if the bottom has fallen out of Willow’s world.

Heh, I think you're a mind reader. :)


shane -- I'm glad you liked that bit. Smut is always hard to write, to give the right atmosphere and feeling without being clinical. Thanks for the comments! :)


katjetson --

Quote:
the soft kisses/soft fabric

Definitely yes. A woman's skin can be so well compared with the finest, softest, most luxurious fabric can't it? Mmmm. Makes me gooey thinking about it. Thanks for picking up on the small details.

Quote:
Quote:
"I missed you! I thought today'd never arrive. Don't you dare ever go away for this long," she sobbed.
I loved how non-chalant Tara was while Willow waited for her, and then once the eyes that could and would judge her left the room, she was all heart, all sincerity, all desire for her love. It kinda broke me a little.

I hope it's the good kind of breaking. That Tara is all too well versed in how she should behave is very clear. But Willow has her heart, and when they are alone, she can be herself. Thanks! :)


Debra -- :bigwave Hey! Welcome to the world of short stories. I'm looking forward to more Random Bits. :) You're right, there is no way it can work out for them under the current situation. But things are bound to change, if not for the fact that you know I'll change things. Thanks!


taralicious -- your comparison with sensory stimulation of plants and fabric is very astute. There is sensuality in how a skilled tailor touches (caresses, almost) the sheerest fabric, just like how to revere a woman's skin. Thanks muchly!



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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 2:19 am 
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Fresh Moods #1: The Dressmaker's Hands

Summary: "You have the best hands."
Setting: An undefined historical period
Rating: NC-17


Part 3/4


"I HAVE to see her!"

All around me was an undercurrent of panic. People walked around in a daze, their speech stilted, their expressions blank. Every few days there would be a run on one staple or another -- grain, salt, eggs. Paranoia ruled, and money was scarce. Needless to say, no one wanted dresses made anymore. My family was destitute, but that was no different from the other families on our street. At least we still had our house; a large portion of the city had burned to the ground.

All this paled into insignificance as I pounded on the door of the Baron's mansion. I had been unable to get close to the mansion for days, and my anxiety had grown, until I could not stand it. Even though I had to climb precariously over the rubble and skirt around mud-flooded streets, I was resolute in my determination.

"For the tenth time, she's not here," was the insistent reply.

I shifted back and forth, trying to peer pass the small gap of the door. The servant's face obscured most of my view, but he couldn't hide the shouting and jostling coming from inside. A rotting, evil smell drifted toward me.

"Please, tell her it's Willow. I have to speak to her, it's urgent," I pressed.

He wasn't buying it, I could tell from his dubious expression. Any minute now he would slam shut the door, leaving me without hope. "Just, just give her a message. Please," I begged.

Desperation must have been etched on my face. He still looked at me with suspicion, but the impatience softened. "I can't tell you anything, Willow. I wish I can, but I can't."

"At least tell me she's safe."

His eyes darted behind me, and he visibly swallowed. "No one is safe. You better get back home before it gets dark and the marauders arrive. Go now, I can't help you anymore." He hurriedly pushed a few coins into my hands. And with that the door slammed in my face.

I barely made it home in time before curfew. My stepfather was not home, having made the tavern his new place of business, business being gambling and whoring and drinking. My mother was too numb to notice. I managed to buy some flour with the coins the servant gave me, and set about making flatbread. At least my family would not starve for the next few days.

I couldn't sleep that night. The shouts and screams from the pillaged village seemed to amplify and not even a thick cloth over my ears could shut them out. Every minute I thought about Tara, and fear, real fear, trembled through my bones. I prayed that the King would protect the Baron's family, but even I knew that we were too far away in the kingdom for serious protection. No one was safe, the house servant said to me. What was he not telling me? Why couldn't he even tell me Tara was in the mansion? My imagination ran rampant. I was rigid with dread. It was almost a relief when I succumbed to uncontrolled crying.

The next morning the whole village looked up toward the mansion and let out a massive groan as a huge fire blazed through it. It took less than an hour to burn down, there was no water to douse the flames.

No one knew if the grounds was occupied. No one knew what was the exact cause of the fire. Ignorant village speculation was rife.

"The marauders did it."

"The Baron turned against the King and had to be punished."

"Someone was after the Baron's gold."

"He's already taken his family up to the mountains."

"The marauders took his family."

"Tortured..."

"Killed..."

I had no recollection of how I got through the rest of that day. There as only pain. Cold, evil, agonizing pain crushing my heart. I couldn't breathe. Every breath was laced with the smell of smoke. I felt the sting of the acrid burning like needles on my skin.

After putting my mother to bed I mechanically swallowed yesterday's bread and waited for night. As darkness fell, I could see the embers of the burning mansion outlined in the sky. And then the lights and the torches in the village were extinguished in acknowledgment of curfew; and I could only see a dark hulk where the building stood.

I had very few possessions. A change of clothing, a hand-stitched blanket, my sewing needles, a plain leather hair tie that Tara gave me. Everything fit in a satchel and I was ready in minutes. I put on my sturdiest boots and my father's wool coat.

I didn't leave a note, and I didn't look back.

~~~~~

The fighting seemed to never end. Our armies made progress, then the enemy fought back. The front line wavered, then split into pockets, making it treacherous to travel. Those who could, enlisted or were pressed into military service. There was little civil order in the land.

It was remarkably easy for me to disappear. I didn't stop to examine my inner motives, all I knew was part of me had died. Looking at the mansion burn, not knowing where Tara was...if she was even alive, I couldn't bear to stay at the place I called home one moment longer if home wasn't with her. I didn't stop to think where I would go, where I was heading. I just needed to leave.

I met soldiers, drunkards and thieves. I slept under wagons, in caves and with goats. I barely escaped being abducted by lawless bandits for slavery, or worse. I wept at the benevolence of other travelers who shared their meals with me. In exchange I mended their torn shirts or patched their threadbare socks.

One day I came across a mother and child; the child crying over his mother's inert body, an arrow protruding from her side. I couldn't stand by and let her bleed to death. With vaguely familiar instincts I pulled the sharp tip out, and cleaned her wound. She had a fever that night, and I held her child in my arms, both of us standing vigil for hours. She lived, and I traveled with them until the next village where she told everyone about my deed.

And so I switched from sewing cloth to sewing people back together. I became good at it, learning to make best use of non-existing medical supplies.


"Will! Buffy needs you in the main tent," someone shouted at me, breaking into my idle thoughts.

Buffy came from a long line of doctors; tending to the sick and wounded was a calling she never tried to resist. We met a few months ago and decided to stay as a team, traveling where we were needed.

I ran toward the largest tent, which acted as infirmary, command post and storage area. In an area cordoned off by a make-shift screen I found her struggling to hold down a howling, convulsing two hundred pound man. He could hardly be faulted for his tortured cries -- he had deep cuts on his torso, one side of his face was swollen and bruised, and a huge wooden spike was impaled on his right thigh. Blood oozed out around the impalement in an uncontrollable rivulet.

"Where do you want me?" I shouted while reaching for our meager supply of bandages. "Do you want me to take over restraining him?"

My friend was covered in sweat and grime, for someone of her diminutive size she was holding her own against the strong patient. I threw the bandages on the man's chest and reached over to take his wrists. This would free up Buffy to work on him.

"No, no. I can't let go. You'll have to do it," she said between clenched teeth. "Get that thing out of his leg."

I looked around to seek help but everyone was busy. She was right, I'd have to do it.

My mind blanked out, focusing on nothing but what I needed to do. I elevated his leg and brushed off as much muck as possible with a bloodied rag. I would have to pull the object out sharply, as well as stemming the inevitable flow of blood quickly. He'd die of blood loss or shock if I got it wrong.

I glimpsed at his face. He looked so young, barely out of his teens. For a brief moment, a tremor passed through me -- he looked like Tara's older brother Donnie. Just as quickly as the thought entered my head I swatted the shadow away. It had been so long, I would not allow myself to think in that direction if I wanted to retain my sanity.

I nodded to Buffy as I grasped the spike in one hand and readied a bandage in the other. "Ready?" I asked.

I didn't wait for her acknowledgment. When the wooden piece came out, a mess of flesh and blood and gore sprayed on me and a blast of rotten flesh hit me hard. I ignored everything. I pressed the bandage on the wound with all my strength.

He had stopped struggling, having fainted with the pain. Buffy was by my side in a second with a basin of water. "Can you help him?" she asked.

"Yes," was all she needed to hear from me.

An hour later, Buffy and I sat exhausted outside the tent, someone placed mugs of hot tea in our hands.

"If he survives tonight, he might make it," she tried to sound authoritative, to convince herself that we wouldn't lose one more.

I sipped my tea. My hands were trembling, the warmth of the liquid couldn't reach through the coldness that was gripping me. "He, he looks like someone I knew," I whispered.

Buffy looked surprised. We rarely talked about our personal lives; it made losses slightly less painful. "Someone you...cared about?" she asked gently.

I took a stuttering breath to suppress an anguished sob. "Someone in his family, yes." I nodded in the direction of the tent. "If that is really him."

"You can ask him when he wakes up."

What she left unspoken was if he woke up. Most of the injured we tended to didn't. He wasn't expected to.

We were silent, each immersed in our own thoughts. After a while she walked off, muttering excuses about tea and patients.

I tried. I tried every means I could. I had trained myself to force out the burden of emotions from my being, because emotions meant suffering. For so long I purposefully kept my inner thoughts shallow, because deeper thoughts led to despair.

But a young soldier who had a passing resemblance brought back all that I have tried to smother. To my horror, I burst into tears, my emotions raw and open and unchecked. All I could see was Tara. Images of her, of us, flashed before my eyes.

Beauty. The personification of beauty, that was Tara in my eyes. Everything I ever felt in my life, everything I would feel in my future, that was Tara in my heart.

I finally let loneliness stab into me; and the devastation was as real as physical pain. With a gagging whimper, I stumbled to the back of the tent and emptied my guts. Each heave was accompanied by a sob. Each twisting ache from the pit of my stomach was followed by a keening. I had never felt so helpless or forlorn.

That night, for the first time in a very long time, I touched myself. There, in the crowded barracks, my hand snaked under my blanket and I tried to chase away the demon of my heartbreak. I imagined her weight on me, her thigh pressing on my sex, her breath on my neck. My fingers worked feverishly, at their own accord, scraping and kneading and pushing. I felt my orgasm building fast. As my back arched and my hips bore down I held Tara's image in my mind for as long as I could. Finally I could endure it no longer and I bit my lip hard to prevent myself from crying out.

I spent the rest of the night crying my heart out. All I felt, after coming hard, was a hollowness even more profound than before. It was a nightmare. I had no purpose in life. I missed Tara like hell. I knew the chances of her being still alive were slim. I'd had no word from home, nor had I sent any. My mother would most likely presume me dead, and I was momentarily bothered by how much I didn't care.

Tara occupied all of my consciousness, all of my soul. What I wouldn't give to hear her tell me one more time how she loved my hands.

*****
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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 2:39 am 
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Wow that was deeply emotional
I hope everything turns out well {...duh} wonder who was the man

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 3:55 am 
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Yay for excellent update-y goodness... I hope Willow soon finds her Tara alive.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 4:04 am 
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Powerful and emotional update!


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 5:21 am 
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Well, the bottom just hasn't fallen out of Willow's world, she's been torn a new one!

You portrayed her panic and dispair brilliantly, and the wild speculation of Tara, and her family's, whereabouts only add to, and heighten, both Willow's and our sense of bewilderment.

I loved Willow's gritty determination to keep going, but when she broke, I broke with her.

Quote:
All I felt, after coming hard, was a hollowness even more profound than before.


Empty orgasm, is there anything worse to really compound the lonliness that comes with part of your soul missing.

Ah, this was a bitter brew, like swallowing a mouthful from a long forgotten mug whose contents had long since gone cold.

I take some hope though, in that the wounded man survives and is indeed Donnie, and that the levelling of the mansion is a metaphor for the levelling of station and that Tara and Willow can face a new and peaceful world as equals.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 6:48 am 
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Quote:
Paint the Sky:Ah, this was a bitter brew, like swallowing a mouthful from a long forgotten mug whose contents had long since gone cold.


Methinks this line should be part of a story! Hmm? Hmm? Perhaps one day, friend?


Well, Watty, what a surprising chapter. I was expecting the dreaded turn in the story to be more central to our characters in that Willow and Tara's love affair would be discovered. But then I realized your way makes much more sense becuase there's really no way to get back from the class responsilities and status had they been discovered. The ending to that story would have been dull and predictable, (Willow under threat of punishment for defiling the Baron's daughter leaves the village and (Tara decides to forsake her fortune and duties and live in poverty but in sublime lurve with her darling dressmaker), and who wants a story like that? Becuase then, 'The Dressmaker's Hands' would have ended up far too much like that tasteless romance you're reading. So in retrospect, I'm glad you didn't do that. So you just decided to say "oh, fuck it. let's take the whole damn carpet out from under 'em. undefined historical period get ready to rumble and tumble." Which was great, becuase that's the only way to get WT on the equal footing their previously doomed/star-crossed relationship lacked.

..that is of course presuming Tara's still alive. But knowing this is the KB helps a bunch. Don't hurt her too bad, k?


I'll second what PTS said about the empty orgasms. That was really...majestful. You gave this story so much more with just that tiny insignificant(but not!) moment.

Quote:
I just needed to leave.
huh, kinda reminds me of what might've been running through Wills head after 'Grave' in Season Six.

and I really liked this line:
Quote:
And so I switched from sewing cloth to sewing people back together.
How interesting that Willow is saving the lives of others and putting people's lives back together(along with their flesh) when she's barely hanging on by a single thread. I dunno, somethig about that just grabbed me.


where the frilly heck are we gonna go now, huh?

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 8:37 am 
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32. Kisses and Gay Love
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Wow, what a wonderfully powerful chapter. I love Willow's industry. She goes from being a dressmaker to a medic. And seems to do it well. In a time of need, they accept Buffy and Willow as healers or at least sewers. I can hardly even imagine or hope how you will resolve this in the next part since it says 3/4 in the heading for this one.

The end is very emotional and powerful. I love the blending of sensuality and horror.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 12:58 pm 
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Great job Watty way to put a spin on this story I was just expecting a nicely written fluff story now it's a story I have many questions I want answered , and I can't wait for the next chapter!!


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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 1:57 pm 
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I could hardly contain my excitement when I saw a new thread from you watty, and then to finally be able to sit down and read it all was a lovely thrill.

You convey so much, it's too easy to get wrapped up in this world. The first chapter and Willow's desire for Tara was just exquisite, I gave a little gasp when Tara asked Willow to put her hands on her, it's exactly what I always want to happen when I'm watching a period movie and yet unless you're watching a Sarah Waters adaptation, it never does. Thank you for fulfilling my fantasies!

The third installment was so painful to feel Willow's helplessness at not knowing what has happened to Tara, and yet our heroine is plucky, rather than sit around and cry for her lost love she's out there looking for her, saving lives. Willow will find Tara and I know in your capable hands it will be magical.
Thanks watty!

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 27, 2008 7:19 am 
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Ms. Moderator Fantastico
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Watty I feel Willows desperation and fear for all that life is bring our girls. Having someone torn from you without knowing there fate is pure torture. I await the next installment as always love your story.

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 Post subject: Re: Fresh Moods (De-caffeinated short stories)
PostPosted: Sun Apr 27, 2008 6:59 pm 
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Wow...

Sad

Hope willow finds tara

:peace


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