Fri Jul 10, 2015 8:25 pm by Merisa
That smell, that sweet alluring fragrance leaving caution to the nostril. So hot, as the steam curls within the air, a transparent temptress dancing upon the stage. The handle positioned, waiting for the fingers to grip, to guide the cup to its destiny, your lips. Such plump and juicy lips. Parting to steal an opened mouth kiss! So erotic it appears, to give just a sip, a simple sip. The tea pour down your throat like a waterfall, cascading its droplets and taste to satisfy you. How adoring it appears, the hint of honey, a dip of cinnamon, sugar…such a delight.
The tables draped with the luscious fabric as the teacups mounted each saucer. The stainless steel teapot, long stout, The trunk of the spout curling as it lead the tea from its base. Candles lit, as the mirrors tilting, aiding the light of the sun to shine upon the room. No desks needed, no board to write for this was the freedom of Formalities. Present yourself, with a bow tie or gown, a decorated gift to make the occasion. Margo would keep you forever and eternity as her little trinket as her adoring Lady Fair or Lord.
The spice closet woken, the dust blown off each label and lid of her specialties. In the corner, pulled away from the tables was her rocking chair. The chair teetering as it awaited for her so, the knitting needles following the past row. Each yearning for her to sit. Yearning for her to create. The small end table beside the chair, the drawer would open and shut, slowly it would slam, a jolt within the pause, demanding her attention, insisting that she comes close.
Margo stood before the door. One hand gripping along the handle of the towering frame, her other, resting along her lower back. Her head turned, her chin tucked away within her shoulder as she glared towards her own station. “Oh come now my darling! Be patient! Soon I shall come to you, once you are needed. So useful, so helpful. Oh darling hold still!” The drawer shut and remained as it was told. While the chair finished its final lap, the squeaking ending from the rejection of the floor, pushing away at the legs of the chair. The needles bundled themselves back in the yarn ball as they rested on her chair.
Margo wore a strapless black gown, the tulle underneath cause the skit to bellow out. A silver shawl wrapped around her shoulders and upper arms as her hair was left in loose curls. A rose weaved within the strands tucking behind her right ear. She stood in attention, as she backed away from the door. Her lips curled into a tight smile as she stared at the wood. Her whisper crept underneath the door as searched within the hall. Each ending syllable from each word was held on into a crisp precise ending.
“Gather my Lords and Lady Fair’s time for tea.” Margo giggled lightly as she turned and walked back to her chair. “With patience they shall come.” As she sat the chair continued on with the rocking as her hands scooped up the ball and needles as she continued on. “There, there, not so bad my dears. I have returned.”
The tables draped with the luscious fabric as the teacups mounted each saucer. The stainless steel teapot, long stout, The trunk of the spout curling as it lead the tea from its base. Candles lit, as the mirrors tilting, aiding the light of the sun to shine upon the room. No desks needed, no board to write for this was the freedom of Formalities. Present yourself, with a bow tie or gown, a decorated gift to make the occasion. Margo would keep you forever and eternity as her little trinket as her adoring Lady Fair or Lord.
The spice closet woken, the dust blown off each label and lid of her specialties. In the corner, pulled away from the tables was her rocking chair. The chair teetering as it awaited for her so, the knitting needles following the past row. Each yearning for her to sit. Yearning for her to create. The small end table beside the chair, the drawer would open and shut, slowly it would slam, a jolt within the pause, demanding her attention, insisting that she comes close.
Margo stood before the door. One hand gripping along the handle of the towering frame, her other, resting along her lower back. Her head turned, her chin tucked away within her shoulder as she glared towards her own station. “Oh come now my darling! Be patient! Soon I shall come to you, once you are needed. So useful, so helpful. Oh darling hold still!” The drawer shut and remained as it was told. While the chair finished its final lap, the squeaking ending from the rejection of the floor, pushing away at the legs of the chair. The needles bundled themselves back in the yarn ball as they rested on her chair.
Margo wore a strapless black gown, the tulle underneath cause the skit to bellow out. A silver shawl wrapped around her shoulders and upper arms as her hair was left in loose curls. A rose weaved within the strands tucking behind her right ear. She stood in attention, as she backed away from the door. Her lips curled into a tight smile as she stared at the wood. Her whisper crept underneath the door as searched within the hall. Each ending syllable from each word was held on into a crisp precise ending.
“Gather my Lords and Lady Fair’s time for tea.” Margo giggled lightly as she turned and walked back to her chair. “With patience they shall come.” As she sat the chair continued on with the rocking as her hands scooped up the ball and needles as she continued on. “There, there, not so bad my dears. I have returned.”
