Absinthe & Seduction

from my supernatural~romantic novel set in Regency England

from the diary of Betsy Corning, Darlington, England, September 1815

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am undone!

I have given into temptation and trod the left-hand path. I did not tarry there long, I yet have a semblance of a conscience. But little good will it do me - I will be punished for it sooner or later.

But oh, should any ladies read this, perhaps you, at least, will understand what provocation I had endured and grant me some forgiveness. For this world is a man's world and a woman is expected to wait for a man to take action. But I took action. In the grimoire I found there was an entry on bending another's will to one's own. And strangely, the grimoire seemed to bend my own, for immediately I began to imagine how I might use this to influence Oliver's behaviour towards myself.

And I will not deny it - was a most sublime experience, almost worth the certain knowledge of what I will endure for my transgression.

Yesterday Chesterton had been trapped in the rafters of the green-house and I asked Oliver to fetch him for me. He was very rude to me at first but finally relented. It was so good to see him, and while he was working out the best way to retrieve Chesterton, I determined to try the recipe on Oliver that very night. I invited him to dinner and he was finally persuaded.

I had absinthe on hand, and this was one of the ingredients needed, as well as catmint, ladysflower, St. John's wort and wormwood to add strength to that already present in the absinthe itself. The wormwood gave some trouble in the attainment, but I had finally succeeded. While waiting for my servants to prepare dinner, Oliver amused himself playing with Chesterton and my other, very shy cat Griselda (Oliver was the only person besides myself and my late husband whom she allowed to pet her) and this gave me the time I needed. I quickly created a tincture and poured it into the absinthe.

We had Oliver's favourite dishes for dinner, and a good stout Burgundy. He was already in a pleasant and sophorific state by the time we retired to the study. I presented him with a humidor of the finest Cuban cigars and I sat and watched him smoke. Then I said:

"Oliver, my dear, I wish to serve you absinthe - have you ever had it before?"

"Alas no, Betsy my dear" he replied most amiably. "But I sense that I will remain absinthe virgin only a little while yet."

It occurred to me that I might succeed in seducing him at that moment without the help of my conjuring arts, so mellow was he, so sweet and accommodating - but I did not wish to risk any rejection and I was very curious to see what results I might obtain from the recipe. I invented a lie:

"Well my darling, it is haunted by a spirit, the spirit of the Green Fairy, and we must call to her through an incantation."

He broke into a grin - "Betsy, you did not tell me you were a sorceress! Yes, do let's have an incantation!"

"We must have fire." I said and I lit a small candle. I poured some of the entinctured abinthe into a silver bowl and held it over the candle. I waited for it to begin to simmer. Then, as advised by the grimoire, I breathed in the vapours and recited the incantation:

Je crois boire un vin de Boheme

Amer et vainqueur

Un ciel liquide qui parseme

D'etoiles mon coeur

Directly after I said the last word, there was a moment of perfect stillness and I felt the forces of the left-hand path gathering within me - the feeling is quite different from the forces of the right-hand path - an invigorating, martial impulsiveness took hold - a will that knows no bounds. I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror - my pupils were dilated so that there was no iris visible - they were as black as blackest night. I noticed Oliver gazing at me with a look of concern. I turned and faced him full-on, staring directly into his eyes - pouring my will into him through his eyes, overcoming his own will. I felt my relentless influence over him, but I addressed him with all courtesy and sweetness:

"Oliver my dear would you kindly remove your cravat?"

He did not hesitate for a moment - did not ask me why I should request such a thing. He simply murmured: "But of course" and did so immediately.

It almost took my breath away to have my request met with such immediate and incurious compliance. "Of course" he said, as if it was the most unremarkable thing in the world for an unmarried woman to request that an unmarried man remove an article of clothing. And so great is my desire for Oliver that the simple event of his removing his cravat - his neck still covered by his high collar - was enough to heighten my lustful impulses. And because I enjoyed it so, and because I wanted to test my powers further, I said "Oliver, darling, could you please put your cravat back on and then remove it again, but very slowly?"

"Of course, Betsy" he said and did as I had bidden him. I congratulated myself on a spell very well cast, but felt somewhat disquieted. Normally Oliver would, at the very least, inquire why I should ask him to perform such a pointless repetition. It was a strange sensation indeed to be obeyed so readily by Oliver, of all vexatious people.

"Would you kindly unbutton your shirt, Oliver my pet?"

"But of course."

"Is that all you can say: 'of course?'" I asked, a bit irritably.

"Of course not" he said, and smiled. "What else would you like me to say?"

That dear smile comforted me - this was the Oliver I knew, not a mindless automaton. He unbuttoned his shirt and undid the top button of his waistcoat in order to unbutton the final button of his shirt. Literalness of interpretation in response to commands, I discovered, is one of the features of this particular spell: I told him to unbutton his shirt, and so he must unbutton it entirely, as I did not explicitly declare otherwise. And well I did not for now an exquisite "V" of exposed chest was visible to the bottom of his breastbone.

I had an irrepressible desire to put my hand on his chest, and I stepped right up to him, almost nose to nose. He did not withdraw, he simply smiled at me. I returned the smile and slipped my hand into his shirt and pressed my palm directly against the center of his chest. I closed my eyes in pleasure and stood a moment, enjoying the touch of the warm skin and the silky hair on his chest. I noted his scent, sweet as always with a deep note of masculinity underneath. I might have stayed like so for hours, but for the anticipation of many other delights. I shivered a little with excitement. I did not mean to kiss him right away, but standing so close to him, his dear beloved face before me, I seemed to fall into him, to blend into him, to plunge in, ravenously, as if dying of starvation and suddenly presented with a dipper of most exquisite honey.

I kissed Oliver for quite a long time. He was perfectly content to allow me. For an instant I did sense his will attempting to reassert itself, but I stared into his eyes until it was quiet again. Surfeit of kissing, I moved on to other pleasures. I stepped away from him for a moment to enjoy the sight of my prize.

He is not an especially handsome man, but he is always very well-dressed and this adds immensely to his charm. Although he endeavours to behave casually about his wardrobe, I know him well enough by now to understand that he is very aware of how he is attired. He does not as a rule dress flashily, but even so he is something of a fashion plate, Darlington's very own Beau Brummel. I find it unbearably charming, his sartorial vanity, especially as it is so rare in men.

I stood and admired him in his creamy white shirt, still unbuttoned most enticingly halfway down his chest, and his waistcoat, made of a lovely embroidered doe-skin brown silk. His trousers were form-fitting and equally well-made and he wore dark-brown riding boots. His hair was a bit tousled (my hands were not idle as I kissed him) and this added to the aesthetic pleasure - the counterpoint to the carefully selected and well-cut apparel. And Oliver's hair is one of his best points - lovely chestnut brown, thick and silky. All this, and the look of uninhibited (for once) arousal on his face combined to make him the absolute pinnacle of beauty in my eyes. He was Desire incarnate.

"Betsy, why do you stare at me so?"

"You are pretty as a picture, dear heart."

"I don't know about that, as I am rather disheveled at the moment." he replied and attempted to rebutton his shirt.

"Don't!" I cried, with more vehemence than I had intended, and my sharp utterance caused his hands to fly away from his shirt as if propelled by a great physical force, throwing his arms out, fully extended, as if he was being crucified for modesty. After a moment of surprise he dropped his arms and was in full possession of his limbs, but the event startled us both. I realized that this was the result of my preternaturally augmented will, and vowed to myself to take care to avoid such unpleasant side-effects of the spell.

I returned to him and took his right hand in both of mine. His hands are another of his superlative features. They are not feminine in any way, but are possessed of rare grace and sensitivity. I love to watch his hands when he is petting Chesterton, or holding a cigar or glass of wine. I kissed his right and then his left hand and said:

"My darling, I am going to undress you further. This is amenable to you... of course?

"Of course Betsy" he said, with another of his devastating heart-breaking smiles. Oh to have sway over such a paragon of masculine charm. I unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it, and then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders and down his arms. The suspenders hung from his trousers, which were so well-fitting that they stayed up entirely sans their aid. In a motion I pulled his shirt out from his trouser-top and over his head and stopped to gaze in joy at his bared torso. I fell upon him, kissing his belly and his nipples and chest. I pushed him down onto the sofa and proceeded to kiss his exposed flesh in a state of absolute erotic ecstasy.

I know not how long I lay on Oliver kissing him everywhere from the top of his trousers to the top of his head and back again. I was in a kind of erotic trance and time meant nothing. He meanwhile was threatening to burst through his trousers and was moaning very prettily. On several occasions he attempted to wrap his arms around me, but I would not let him - a whispered "don't" was enough to instantly move his hands away. I wanted to revel in him as long as possible, to make up for all the months of privation, and allowing him any further response would bring the proceedings to a sudden ending, I well suspected.

But at last my conscience got the better of me and I wished to give him relief. And I wished to see him, finally, entirely naked.

"Oliver darling" I said, standing up "kindly remove your trousers for me."

He removed his boots first, and then slowly slid his trousers down. His member was at full mast - it bobbed a little as it was released from its fabric enclosure. I looked at it for long moments - it was larger than my late husband's, the only other engorged male organ I had ever seen. Once again I stepped back. There he was in full naked glory, like a god of heavenly delight. I ached to mount him, to introduce him into my little thatched hut, but once again my conscience dominated. Dread monstrous conscience that can master even my own augmented will! What sin had I committed to be damned with such a pitiless conscience? It told me that what I had done was bad enough, to take Oliver so far against his will, but to risk becoming pregnant by him, against his will would be to go one step too far down the left-hand path.

I had heard of a practice in France, something they called "faire une pipe" and resolved to attempt to perform this myself. I knelt before him as if praying at the altar of an obscene pagan god. I buried my face for a moment in his groin, breathing in his savory masculine aroma, and then took his organ's shaft in my right hand, and with my left hand I lightly tickled his bullocks. I tilted the head of the member towards my mouth and licked the tip, around the opening. Oliver groaned, gasped suddenly and immediately my face was baptized by a great deal of male essence. I choked and gasped for air from the deluge.

"Betsy! I do apologize!" he said, as if he had committed a terrible faux pas. He found his handkerchief in his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Then he collapsed back onto the sofa.