Man and Muse
by
Laura Bryannan
Gwendal wondered at himself. Was it because of
Anissina's neverending torture that his mind leaned in such
directions? The master berates the man, the man beats his wife,
the wife spanks her child and the child kicks the dog. Anissina
experimented on him, so naturally his thoughts turned to...Gunter.
Beautiful Gunter, his muse and model. Gwendal couldn't imagine any
other looking as glorious in his creations than the luminous,
silver-haired angel.
It had begun innocently enough. Bored
with animal plushies, his creativity itched to explore new horizons
and thus he endeavored to knit a sweater. Of course, this required an
actual body to determine measurements, and who better to serve as
dress dummy than the perfectly-proportioned, mother hen of the
household?
Gunter demanded to try it on the moment it was
finished. The wool was the softest money could buy, and he made the
most appealing sounds as he fondled it, squealing, “Oh,
Gwendal! It feels so wonderful against my skin. May I keep it?
Please?” How could he resist? The daydreams that ensued after
finding his first achievement so enthusiastically received were even
more difficult to resist.
The creation Gwendal imagined next
required the largest needles, and he was rewarded with wide eyes and
pink cheeks as Gunter stripped to don the tunic, the chainmail effect
of the loose stitches leaving little to the imagination. It was clear
that such an outfit could not be seen outside Gwendal's chambers but
Gunter accepted the invitation enthusiastically, and Gwendal was
incredulous as fantasies he'd never dared take so far became
manifest. Gunter efficiently removed his uniform and snuggled
sinuously, the tickle of the feathery yarn luxurious against his
skin.
Gwendal embraced the beautiful man, kissing him deeply
as he carressed both the tunic and the body beneath. Unsure which
pleased him more, he concluded it was the combination of the two that
was so arousingly heady. Grinding, dancing, stroking expertly,
neither wished to remove the soft, sensual barrier between them. When
it was finally sullied, Gunter moaned in dismay but Gwendal laughed.
“No matter. The next piece is almost complete and I must see
you in it. Tomorrow night, perhaps?” The delightful spark in
the angel's eyes assured him of more than he could have ever
imagined.
The cedar chest hidden in the back of Gwendal's
closet eventually contained costumes too numerous to mention, all
resplendent and delicate as fairy's wings, but sized much larger than
one would expect such fineries. If the family was aware of the
nighttime fashion shows, they were too wise to tease, possibly
content to see fewer frown lines on Gwendal's brow, and a calmer,
more serene Gunter.
And, as for the infatuated pair, they
agreed their matching thongs, lovingly knit with yarn so ethereal it
sang the song of the spheres, were infinitely superior to even the
Maou's!
end