Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Historical, Slow,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Ian finds his way to romance in the least likely of places. Romeo and Juliet-esque.

There was no choice in the matter; Ian was to attend the ball whether he liked it or not. There were upsides and downsides to being a personal servant, despite his dislike for his position. There was nothing more he hated than having to be the escort, of sorts, for his master at the promenades that were always being set up by the other nobles of the land. He loathed being in England, always yearning to be back home in Ireland.

But there was no choice in the matter. He was to attend, as everyone else, and he would be prim and proper, as everyone else. He hated everything about anything formal. It always meant that he was unable to be comfortable, sitting stiffly in whatever he was wearing at this gala or that, always going to every beck, call and whim that his master wanted.

Thankfully, though, this was the one time Ian was allowed to be himself. He was already told beforehand that he was to enjoy himself. Trying to act his place, he vehemently denied any such privileges, but his master simply laughed in his face. Ordered to have a good time. What was the world coming to? Try as he might, Ian could not understand what he had done to deserve this kind of reward.

Fortunately for him, the carriage ride was as normal, and he made his wishes known one last time. Still his master insisted. Ian sighed with resignation, and made himself believe that this was what his master truly wanted. He fitted his mask over his head, still disbelieving he was wearing one in the first place. As he made it inside, though, he understood. There was nary a person without one. Not a servant in the entire building was recognizable.

Ian's breath was taken away, and his master clamped a hand firmly over his shoulder. "Even the hardest masters can be forgiving, Ian," he said quietly. "Please, enjoy yourself."

With a half-smile, Ian wandered off, mumbling, "Yes, sir," reveling in the new experience. Never had he been to a masquerade he was able to actually be on his own. He was always tied to his master; always there by his side, save for when the lavatory was needed by either.

Luckily, he had had the opportunity to be taught various dances that were to be done. This was the case at every ball, and he had always itched to be able to be out on the floor, rather than waiting behind nondescriptly at some table while his master was enjoying himself. Master Jackson was indeed in a gracious mood tonight, though. He was not told that he was not allowed to drink, as it was plainly obvious that other servants had been told by their glasses of water. He was certainly planning on tasting some of the luxurious wines and champagnes that were available to his disposal.

Left to his own devices, though, he moved across the outskirts of the room, choosing carefully. He wanted once, only once, to be partnered with anyone that he would normally consider out of his league. Lanky as he was, he did not see it happening, but he knew that he was a very good dancer, when it came to certain dances.

Of a sudden, an elegantly dressed woman approached him. Her dress was a deep, emerald green, inlaid with intricate, gold embroidery. The neckline of the dress was square-cut, lacy at the edges of it. There were slits down the sides, revealing layer upon layer of scarlet petticoat. Her hair matched the embroidery of the dress, and her eyes, the most beautiful jade he had ever seen in his life.

"Good evening, sir," she said softly. Her smile was one that dazzled him and puzzled him all at once. There was an air of regality surrounding her, and the rose-red lips, fair skin, and the ringlet curls were almost too much to bear.

"Good—" he croaked. Clearing his throat, he began again. "Good evening. My Lady." He shifted his weight nervously, bowing awkwardly.

She stifled a laugh, her smile broadening with amusement. "Please, don't refer to me as that." She rolled her eyes. "I simply abhor that term. Among other things need not be discussed. But Father said I should take my part in this ball. 'It is, after all, for you, ' he says."

Ian gaped at that, his jaw dropping slightly. "I—I can't dance with you. It wouldn't be right."

Her eyes met his flatly. "Don't tell me what is and isn't right. I will dance with whomever I choose. And I choose you." There was a smirk now, her lips a tight line, but curved slightly. That look was triumphant, he noted, and he simply nodded and took her hand, leading her down the few steps from the tables.

The first notes of a Viennese waltz were playing as their feet touched the floor, and Ian's eyes grew wide. "I don't know this dance," he said quickly.

"Don't worry," she said simply. "It's not hard to follow." She winked and they began to dance.

Worried that he was going to fumble in ways still unimaginable to even himself, Ian somehow pulled through, gracefully, eloquently. He counted himself lucky that it was not as different as he thought it was. He had, oddly enough, actually enjoyed it. Somehow, he was grateful; he managed not to stare at anything improper. As he tried to leave, though, she touched his arm.

"Please," she insisted, "don't go. I like dancing with you." Her smile was sweet, but something about it demanding, and somehow venomous. He didn't know what to make of it, but instead swallowed hard, and nodded. It was not his place to deny one of the ladies of the house her wish.

The staircase along the opposite side of the ballroom had a dual set of staircases, with one broad expanse leading to them both before they forked. The woman's father stood there, red-faced, angry and embarrassed at the same time. It was all Ian could do to not bury his face in shame.

"And what is it I should call you," he asked, "if you will not allow a proper term?"

The woman in the elegant green dress laughed as they moved in their dance. "My name, if you hadn't known it already, is Amelia." She punctuated her statement with a smile. There was no getting out of it, Ian had decided. He had somehow managed to make himself her prey, and he couldn't get out of it, try as he might.

And he did, but failed with each attempt to leave the floor. Considering her reasoning, as she had explained during their various dances, though, he did not blame her. "I do not want to be one to have my fate decided for me," she had said. "Why am I not allowed to wed of my own accord?"

He had agreed with her, but he knew there was nothing he could do to help her make her own decisions. It was not proper. Then again, neither was the fact that he was her partner in dancing. Everything about the night struck him as off-key. It was more than a dizzying experience for him all around, but there was something about Amelia that he couldn't understand. He couldn't wrap his head around it, but he somehow knew that things weren't going to end with that night.

Amelia never had taken partners with anyone else that night, he reflected later on after arriving back at his master's home. He thanked his master for the night out, and retired to his room in the servants' quarters. He shook his head before blowing out the lantern in his room and lying down in his bed. Thoughts races in his mind as he attempted to sleep, but it was a long while before it did. Still, he eventually fell asleep, and dreamt.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Historical / Slow /