Twelve Days of Hawtness

Day 9 | The Exploits of Alfie Tell (3) | AJ Marella

THE SIREN

The first thing I noticed about my Siren was that her hands were shaking. She held them, clasped neatly in front of her, folded tightly as if I wouldn't notice. Thanks to the humidity of the bathhouse her nipples were still soft and pliable, easily visible through the dress she wore. The thin straps revealed small, pale shoulders, soft upper arms, slender forearms, and the most fragile of wrists. I would be able to fit both wrists in one of my hands easily.

I wondered if she knew that I'd chosen the dress myself, chosen it for its simplicity, its angelic quality, and the near transparent quality of the muslin. I'd had a matching blindfold made, which covered the deep blue eyes underneath and sat like a headdress upon the pale halo of her hair.

I took my time undressing, watching her incline her head at the rustle of fabric, grinning when she swallowed hard at the sound of my zip. I sank into the warm, inviting water, and settled myself against the cool stone edge. I stretched out my arms to either side, resting on the edge, and gazed at her. She stood at the other end of the long, rectangular bath, like an offering. She looked more like a human sacrifice than a Siren. And she was a Siren. She had called to me just last night when I'd watched her perform at The Bolshoi Theatre. It occurred to me now that I didn't even know if she actually was Russian, but that didn't matter.

"Sing," I commanded. My voice echoed, hitting the walls and reverberating up into the arched ceiling. I remembered now why I'd chosen a bathhouse for this meeting. The acoustics were fucking incredible.

The Siren opened her delightful, rosebud mouth, and began to sing.

I felt weightless as I listened to Casta Diva pour out of her. Every part of me had turned to air, except for my dick which was as hard as granite. Her gestures were miniscule and understated, letting her voice do all the work of transporting me, but I noticed them all the same, as I noticed everything. I noticed the turn and flash of her inner wrist. The movement of her throat as she worked her vocal cords in a complex series of motions, each perfectly synchronised to create the angelic sound. Such a sound from such a small thing, such a Siren.

The aria ended, slowing and then flickering out like a candle flame. She was breathing harder now, exertion or nerves I wasn't sure. I wondered if she wanted to remove the blindfold or if she was grateful for it. Her trembling hands clasped together once more as she awaited her next instruction. I cocked my head, wondering what to do with her.

"Take two steps forward," I told her. She took them with the tentative air of someone who didn't trust the instruction giver, as if I might trick her somehow.

"Step down." She lifted her dress, baring to me the most delicate of ankles, stepped, and gasped when her tiny left foot sank into the water.

"Come to me," I commanded. She moved carefully, each step taking her further into the water. Her dress lifted and floated along the water's surface, spreading out behind her like a bridal train. Her hands stretched out slightly. Was she guiding her way or reaching for me? She came closer, closer, the water lapping at her thighs. Her breath hitched as it reached her core, then rising higher until it lapped at her waist.

She was close. 10 feet. 8 feet. 5 feet. Before she could reach me I stuck my leg out, bringing her to a gentle halt with my foot, my toes resting just beneath her breasts. Her breaths were shallow, and I wondered if she would hyperventilate. I withdrew my foot and leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees, and looked at her closely— her slightly parted mouth, the rise and fall of her sternum... Though sitting, I was on the highest step and we were eye-level, not that she knew that of course.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked her out of curiosity. I had expressed to my Tellers my desire to meet this Siren, but I had no idea how much they had told her.