Romance in Winter
By Jacqueline George
I do like snow. I love the Christmas card beauty of pine trees blanketed with fluffy snow, moonlight glistening on virgin fields, the swoosh of snow on cross-country skis. I really enjoy getting home or to a steamy café and tucking to hot winter soup.
On the other hand... Give me the tropical beaches and palm trees of north Queensland any day. This is the sort of climate people were designed for. If we had been meant to live in the frozen countries, we would have been born with decent fur coats. Last night I cooked chilli prawns and coconut rice. Just before I started, I went to the garden and picked the ginger, turmeric, chillies and coconuts. The prawns were fresh off a local boat and altogether, the meal was great.
Yes, it’s the tropics for me, but I still have a yen for cold and snow of Europe. And the history, of course. Modern Australia is far too young to have much in the way of history. So I sit in the gentle warmth, wearing just a sarong and with all the windows open, dreaming and writing about the cold. The Prince and the Nun could not be further from home. It has a castle, aristocratic soldiers, villagers, nuns, and heaps of hot, sexy romance. The fire is burning in the grate and the forests outside are quiet under their white blanket. Ah – just the way I like it!
Therese is no longer the Mother Superior of her convent. To stop village women being forced to serve in the officers’ bordello, she and some of the nuns have volunteered to run a night club where the officers can find all they need. But how will they learn what to do? The nuns will find the transition difficult...
Therese looked again in the mirror. The stockings made her legs seem very long. The black of the stockings and lace stood out against the white of her skin, and the neat patch of dark hair that Wanda had trimmed was framed by the straps of the suspender belt. Her hair did nothing to hide the furrow below and the pink frills peeping from it. She found the picture interesting. Did all ladies look like this under their dresses? Nuns certainly did not look like this under their habits.
“Stop admiring yourself and put this on.”
Therese reddened and reached for the dress. As she pulled it over her head, it seemed no more than un-sewn scraps of silky material. She pulled the straps up onto her shoulders, and the dress hung loosely from her.
“Wait a minute.” Wanda was behind her and fumbling low on her hips. She found the zip and started to pull it up. The dress tightened; first around her hips, and then upwards. It squeezed her and tightened about her chest as Wanda clicked the zip home. The bodice of the dress trapped her breasts uncomfortably, and she reached into the décolletage to pull them into place. The effect shocked her. The dress was cut so low that her breasts were almost completely exposed. Worse still, they were lifted up and offered like two ripe fruits on a tray. She stared in horror at the mirror.
Wanda stood back and looked at her critically. “That’s a very good fit. Especially at the front. Turn around!”
As she moved, she found her legs restricted by the tightness of the dress around her thighs. In the mirror she could see the shiny blackness moulding her hips and thighs. A lacy flare reached down from her knees to her ankles. Her bottom looked big and obvious.
Wanda clapped her hands and laughed. “Dear Serge! He loves a good dupka, though not usually female ones. He just can’t help himself. I must get a photograph of you. He’ll be so happy.”
“But it’s not like me….”
“Of course not. You used to be a nun, but now…now it’s perfect. If I looked like that I could be Queen of Vienna. Stop complaining and see if you can do your hair and makeup the way I showed you.”
The room was dark when they entered, lit only by the lights behind the bar and a single bulb of the many in the chandelier. Mefist sat at a table at the edge of the dance floor, and he stood to receive them. The table had glasses, a candle and a bottle of champagne. Wanda led her to him and twirled her around.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful? Serge deserves a medal, and he’s never even seen her.”
“My dear, you look wonderful,” said Mefist, bowing to kiss her hand, “and you too, Wanda. If you were in Vienna together, your beauty would set the world on fire. Sit down and we’ll toast the future.”
While Mefist filled their glasses, Wanda put a record on the gramophone. American music, Cole Porter. The curtain over the entrance to the girls’ rooms rattled aside, and they danced into the room.
Therese was stunned. After seeing the girls dance naked for so long, seeing them in their new clothes came as a shock. Not that any of them had dresses. They all wore stockings and heeled shoes, but none of them wore knickers. Above their stockings they wore a colourful mix of underwear. Short slips, lacy brassieres, bustiers or transparent night dresses, all different. As they danced in the semi-darkness, they hinted at sex and wickedness. Therese had seen none of this worldliness in them before.
“Dance with them,” whispered Mefist. “They’re your girls….”
Moving carefully in her high shoes, Therese was passed from arm to arm as she danced. Suddenly she no longer knew these girls, these beautiful women with their erotic clothes and their naked, siren sexes. They were elegant and smooth in her arms. Their hair swayed as they moved, and their red lips smiled at her. They frightened her.
More on The Prince and the Nun at Prince and the Nun
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com