The Love Story. Delphin Enjolras.

A half naked lady is sitting on the end of a couch reading her novel. There are pretty pink flowers behind her. This is one of many paintings of the artists wife on here.

The End Of A Novel. Delphin Enjolras.

A lady lying nude on a couch has just finished her book. She has lovely long legs and a cute face as she ponders the ending of the story. Sitting behind her on the lamp table is a vase of white flowers.

The Impatient. Delphin Enjolras.

When will my true love arrive? Why is he taking so long? Doesn't he know I want to feel the warmth of his body against mine? I need love now!

The Little Favorite. Delphin Enjolras.

A semi nude woman is sitting on a green cushion in front of a fire. A kitten is playing in her pink night gown as she is watching it play.

The Murmur of the Sea. Delphin Enjolras.

The sound of the tide rushing in has sung the lady to sleep as she reads her book as she has dozed off in a chair in her elegant night dress with some pink flowers in her hand.

Woman Adjusting Her Stockings.A painting by Delphin Enjolras.

Lets get those seems straight she is thinking. If I am to get ravished when I get to bed, I have to look like I want to be ravished. I need love!

Woman Lying Down. Delphin Enjolras.

The lady is stretched out on the couch in a pretty pale pink night dress in front of a warm fire. I wish they'd hurry up and invent television. It's so boring without it.

Woman Reading Illuminated By A Light. The painting is by Delphin Enjolras.

The girl is enthusiastically reading a book under a table lamp and a vase of pretty white flowers as she sits on a couch.

Woman Seated By A Fire. Delphin Enjolras.

The lady is working her way through a pile of letters from her lover. The girl sits bare breasted in front of a warm fire. She is reading through his romantic letters which in turn are making her horny!

Woman Sitting In Bed. Delphin Enjolras.

A semi-nude lady is sitting on the edge of her bed. The golden haired girl is in deep thought. How do I get him in the mood tonight? I'm hot and horny for it!

PS. Have a look in the mirror!

Woman With A Bouquet Of Lilacs. A painting by Delphin Enjolras.

A lady in a sensuous off the shoulder dress enjoying a vase of pretty lilac flowers.

Young Woman Picking Bunch Of Dahlias. Art by Delphin Enjolras.

A lovely lass is picking pretty yellow flowers for home.

THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI.
I
The King touched me with his finger and roused me from that sweet pleasure of sleep which one truly savors only at dawn. His beard was unadorned; he tilted his head to the side, appearing to look upon me with pity, and his gaze lacked the customary serenity of those familiar with divine matters.

This account is undoubtedly the work of a Greek, situated somewhere between the influence of the late skeptics and the birth of the empiricism--or ancient positivism--that flourished in the early centuries of our era. It is known that in Persia, where our philosopher lived, men took pride in the title of "Philhellene," even after the Sassanid Magi--kings had restored national hegemony. The Attics, however--doubtless somewhat reduced to the role of entertainers, if not buffoons--must have adopted, in the presence of that despotic and religious Majesty, a taste for paradox that is all too evident here. We would not publish this fragment were it not for the singular blend it presents: a scrupulous accuracy in certain details (confirmed by Pliny, Philostratus, etc.) and the plausibility of its broad outlines (such as the Journey of the Persian Ladies) give it the character of one of those scholarly rhetorical exercises that graze the loftiest subjects without truly grasping them.

He urged me to feel shame for sleeping at the hour when jealous Dawn, extinguishing the stars, prepares to close the book of Destiny.

"Master," I replied, "Destiny may tell me that the dreams of this childlike hour are over for me, but it cannot tell me that better dreams will come to caress the senses whose harmony blossoms into the flower of my soul." My dream is richly adorned with noble, tender forms steeped in fragrance, and everything within it proclaims my beauty. Your Majesty’s munificence would be ill--suited to showering me with such beneficent falsehoods. Let me simply smile at both faces of Destiny.

Yet the King began to grow heated, cursing what--with a strange irreverence of speech--he termed the short breath of our Hellenic race. "Gentle flute--players," he declared, "compared to the resounding clamor that occult wonders will soon unleash upon human ears."

As he spoke, he hastened to seize, with his august hand, the traveler’s staff I keep constantly near my couch to signify the transient nature of my present sojourn; and he commanded:

"Arise! For wonders have come to pass."

II
I followed the King, my master, with measured steps to the inner courtyard, where a vast throng of people of every caste was assembled. There were also forty camels--to use the local idiom, implying a number beyond counting--along with a great deal of baggage on mules, sturdy horses, and a dense, clamorous crowd of officers and slaves. I ventured to ask if the true marvel was not simply that so many people were up and about at such an early hour. But my voice--which draws its clarity only from the cup of Cypriot wine that graces a wise man’s rising--grew raspy in my dry throat and was lost amidst the murmurs and the shuffling of feet.

Dawn flowed gently down the slopes of the hill against which the Palace rested; atop the double staircase, the manes of the human--headed hippogriffs caught the caress of its milky hues, while their ringletted beards still glowed red above the flaming torches.

We left the city by the southern gate, and the procession had to spread out beneath the daylight--traversing the undulating terrain all the way to the riverbank--before the true size and splendor of the gathering could be fully appreciated. I shall not attempt to describe it; suffice it to say that the cream of ancient Istakar was present, brilliantly arrayed and attended by a multitude of servants. Men and women were there in equal numbers, a balance that immediately fostered a serene mood, despite the various perils inherent in so mysterious an expedition. I spent the first morning in the company of the ladies--as carefree as they, thanks to pleasant conversation and confidence in the royal whim. Along the water’s edge, we admired the fanciful jewelry of dew upon the lush foliage and, on the surface of the polished waves, the harmonious play of daylight hues--rivaling the craftsmanship of Babylonian fabrics. In the afternoon, we unleashed the bird of prey, skilled at dealing a fatal blow with its beak to hare and gazelle alike; the hours flew by as swiftly as those agile creatures, and the evening meal was both delicious and merry.
The King, who never strayed from the circle of priests, kept watch through the night, observing the heavens with subtle instruments. The air was mild, and the darkness gentle, thanks to the myriad lights above. My powerful master spotted me leaning against an old, gnarled vine--stock near the edge of a grove of stripped olive trees.

"Man enslaved to matter, yet possessed of a spirit supple, delicate, and refined," he said as he passed, "would you not care to join us in watching the Heavens continue the book of mankind--a sublime collaboration! Or, if you prefer, to read in the patterns of that vast inverted bowl--if not the Destiny you scorn, then at least the causes behind the shifting moods of that human spirit you pride yourself on valuing second only to the flesh of women?"

"Master," I replied humbly, giving the flexible vine--stock a rhythmic sway, "aside from the fact that I have no desire to see the Heavens corroborate books in which--by Apollo!--I would not wish to have inscribed even the tiniest iota with my stylus--for I assume you refer to those compilations by the wretched Hebrews, so incoherent and excessive--I am currently savoring the divine aromas of the earth, at which I see all your stars blinking with a jealous eye. Furthermore, back in my tent, between my lit lamp and my little Caucasian slave--girl, I have two or three Homeric fragments, a few lines of Sophocles, and some short, spirited mimes of pure design; for, to the shifting impulses of the undulating human spirit, I confess I prefer the triumph of that spirit in those rare instances where it has shown itself to be perfect." I therefore implore you, O King, to be pleased to leave me upon my vine--stock, there to receive the evening’s caress--that delightful harbinger of the fondling of lovely, perfumed fingers and the soothing sway of noble thoughts expressed in exquisite language.

III
The King’s face appeared radiant the next day. This was taken as a favorable sign, and no one concerned themselves with anything other than following that august countenance and resting in the assurance of such omens. Nothing is sweeter than being led.

However, as we had to cross a significant stretch of the Arabian Desert that day--and as our spirits began to feel the effects of the surrounding aridity--we experienced a certain unease even before the sun began to set. I gathered that the lords and ladies wished to know whether the King, not content with the wonders already foretold, intended to put our patience to the test as well. I was soon entrusted with this delicate inquiry, thanks to the indulgence the monarch showed toward my dual status as a wretched sophist and the heir to a lineage that had once plunged the kingdom into fire and bloodshed. I was about to carry out the task when a dusty cloud appeared on the sandy horizon; it swelled steadily and, in an instant, made us forget everything else.

The cloud concealed a group of young black boys--naked save for their necks, wrists, and ankles, where braided roots held up humble, nameless objects that served as talismans. At their approach, the ladies let out a loud cry and shielded their faces with feather fans; yet, they soon grew eager to surround--and almost touch--these ebony slaves, who were highly amusing in their affectation of mimicking the bearing of free men. The height of the hilarity came when we realized, from their jerky and ungraceful gestures, that they were escorting someone among them--a sort of king--who did not hesitate to seek a face--to--face audience with the mighty Lord of Persia. You can well imagine the state of our minds when we learned that the royal tent had been thrown open to that whole frolicking tribe--creatures with slender limbs and backs that glistened like those of beetles. What is more, the little black king was admitted the following night to observe the starry heavens; we learned that, after nearly swooning at the first sight of our instruments and the symbols in our books, he found the results to be in such profound harmony with the rudimentary knowledge possessed in the Kingdom of Sands that a touching scene ensued, in which King, Magi, and naked African embraced in a flurry of emotion.

We no longer doubted that we were being led toward wonders, and our ladies, their spirits lifted by that beautiful horizon, regained a serene appreciation for the journey: the grace of the mornings, the clear unfolding of the day, the stirring variety of the twilights, and the voluptuousness of the nights.

IV
The journey was long, and I shall not describe it in detail. Yet the benevolent gods saw fit to dot our path with welcome oases, and we were kept in a state of constant excitement. One day was filled with the idle gossip of a prying noblewoman regarding a princess--whose name I shall not reveal, though in the eyes of men she possesses the velvety bloom of the peaches I once saw laid out as an offering to Aphrodite in the golden sunlight of Paphos. There was much spirited debate, the occasional clash of arms, and the sight of blood--which served to calm everyone down. My lamp ran dry of oil one night while I was composing an ode in the style of Sappho; the little Caucasian girl was sleeping so soundly that I dared not wake her. A lady fell in love with a black man. On a hillside, Greek actors performed Euripides’ *The Bacchae* for us. These were the events that left the deepest impression on our minds. Did I mention that we met an elderly man of dignified appearance who claimed to be a fellow student of the secret sciences--a man who wears a crown and, on every clear night, joins our Lord, the little black king, and the hoary--headed initiates in their fiery rites?

V
One day, when he was in high spirits, the King deigned to express--under the guise of playful words--his surprise at my perfect and blind submission to the venture he was leading.

"What!" he said. "You head into the unknown with the same insouciance as all those princes and lords who possess less philosophy than their own mounts, or those ladies whose souls resemble the slender dragonflies that brush past us by the riverbanks during our midday halts?"

"Master," I replied, "is it a sign of such mediocrity to find satisfaction in admiring the wisdom with which Your Majesty--biding your time--leads these fragile ladies toward some ineffable revelation? For my part, I do not know the word you keep hidden; yet I sense that to utter it would be to exhaust its power. For that which holds no more mystery exerts no influence upon the minds of men. Conversely, your reticence magnifies--in their eyes and in ours--that toward which we journey with growing interest; a journey we would doubtless be content to continue forever."

The King smiled, yet a look of concern immediately furrowed his brow.

"The mountain ridge you see over there," he said, "is that of Lebanon--rich in cedars, the fragrant wood King Solomon used to build a renowned temple; and all signs lead me to believe that we are nearing the journey's end. I owe it to my people to speak at last, and I wish to give you advance notice."

"Sire, I am reaching the age when novelty leaves little mark upon the hardened tablet of judgment; "I have drawn a clear line marking the boundaries of my knowledge, and the shape of it pleases me..."

"Dear, indolent soul," sighed the King, moved by the weight of his secret, "yet that shape will change, just as the world’s does, for... In any case, I can hide it from you no longer..."

His voice trembled, and a tear hung in the corner of his venerable eye.

"The Messiah," he said, "you know, the Messiah..."

"Yes, I have read many books; several contain that beautiful promise, and it is a popular one."

"Well! The Messiah has been born!..."

"That is a great misfortune! For whom, then, shall we wait from now on?"

But the King suddenly flew into a rage:

"Vile Greek!" he cried, "soul molded from the mud that slaves scrape from the sandals of rhetoricians and sophists! How could you utter such blasphemy and still stand before me?"

"Sire, that is indeed within my power--though a power I usually deem quite meager. Yet I must point out to Your Majesty that a Messiah who serves as a hope cannot fail to diminish once realized. What can be measured by the finger never matches the stature of the images contemplated by visionaries. The divine Hercules is great only because of the long labor of minds that, over time, embellished the renown of his actual exploits. And your Messiah would fare the opposite way! The most enlightened souls will be those who do not believe in him."

The King suppressed a gesture of impatience, and his face once again became devoid of anger. I never knew whether my words had touched him or if he was listening only to his heart, which was visibly overflowing.

"Sire!" I added, appealing to his sentiments, "I beg you not to announce this unfortunate event to your people. They will, to be sure, show great joy--but it will be a fleeting blaze, both in its duration and its consequences. I know that in their darkest hours, the hope of this beautiful illusion sustains them." What will happen when he learns that the Messiah is here, yet the hours are passing just as badly as before?

-- Be silent! Be silent! All arguments are flawed now; we must no longer reason as we did yesterday. Even the celestial calculations are disrupted by the appearance of a new star: the universe is illuminated by a light hitherto unimagined…

At this point, I began to mourn that ancient wisdom from which my powerful master--mage though he was--had rarely strayed. He went on speaking with great volubility; I could not keep pace with him. He used to say: "Remain standing, but let your thoughts sit." I felt a strong urge to quote his own words back to him. But my company no longer sufficed; I watched him walk away, his eyes burning, his lips eager to speak. I realized the crowd was about to be told the news, and I ran to cover the ears and blindfold the eyes of the little Caucasian girl who depends solely on me.

VI
I shall not attempt to describe the excitement that swept through our circles once we learned, from the King himself, that we were to behold the Messiah. There were some who had suspected it all along; their restraint was praised. But most were deeply stirred--so much so that eating and drinking were nearly forgotten. Ladies spent their nights gazing at the stars with their beautiful, unadorned eyes, harboring a secret hope for some special sign. A few confessed they had received personal confirmation of the event. We endlessly described the appearance we imagined the Messiah to have. We neglected the slaves. We forgave one another past insults. We fretted over what to wear for the presentation. We lamented not having been warned sooner--what with the gowns and finery to consider. Tempers flared, insults flew again, and the mood turned wretched. The King’s household was forced to abandon several rich and venerable tapestries--even though Xerxes had commissioned them to depict the capture of Athens and the victory at Thermopylae, triumphs he claimed as his own. They were cut up, divided among the people, and used to cover the saddles of horses and mules. Only my little slave and I spent our nights in calm; I would unbind her hair and tell her stories--the kind she loved best: tales of things that could never come to pass.

VII
We reached a land remarkable for its poverty. Yet, as signs and reports concurred in identifying it as the place where miracles were wrought, everyone vied to extol its charms. In truth, the town consisted of large, regular white blocks--devoid of porticoes, columns, or any trace of carved or unhewn marble, and lacking those vividly colored depictions in which Persian artists excel. Bare trunks of fig trees and vines twined amidst this squalor. Never had such delicate taste been seen; there was something heroic and divine in the austerity of those hovels. Certain lords dispatched slaves to tear down their palaces in Istakhr; tapestries from Athens and Thermopylae were cast aside, and the rest of the retinue trampled the dazzling fabrics underfoot. Camels slithered through the mire, and the croups of white horses were spattered with filth. Men taunted one another, calling each other Babylonians and effeminate, for they could scarcely conceal their revulsion. Yet it must be admitted that, at the wells, women gazed upon us with wondrous, astonished eyes.

At last, the group of Magi leading the procession came to a halt, and the very flower of Persia felt their hearts race and their eyelids grow moist.

Inside one of those hovels--scarcely sheltered from the biting wind--sat a woman nursing a newborn infant, while a man stood nearby, watching them with a timid, gentle gaze. Our numbers and magnificence did not seem to move them greatly. They were honest, unlettered folk; they knew neither the Persian tongue nor Greek, nor the language of the Romans. When at last we managed to reach them with a few words of Hebrew and Syriac concerning the purpose of our mission, they nodded with a smile and seemed to slip back at once into the placid serenity of their union. The King opened some coffers; the gold gleamed and clinked. The King could not help but take up the child, and he said, his eyes filled with tears: "I hold him in my arms!"
"Master! Master!" I said in a low voice, and in a tone of pleading remonstrance.

They smiled again and seemed abashed. The other magus also had gifts. But the little black king--who was making strange, animated gestures to explain the virtues of certain shriveled objects, like fruit pits, that he was offering--amused the child. The boy waved his hands and moved his lips, still moist with milk. The tension had been so high that a great sense of relief now washed over everyone. One could hear the whispers of the lords mingling with the light laughter of the ladies. A large opening in the wall offered a view of the rest of the attentive retinue, perched high on their mounts, on the baggage, and even on the necks of the camels. A princess dared to approach the child and kissed him. All the ladies wanted to come near and kiss him. He was passed from hand to hand. They began setting aside everything he had touched, but soon found the task impossible to keep up with. They promised him a hundred different gifts. They wanted to take him away and raise him in warmer surroundings. In hushed tones, they even criticized the father for remaining so calmly in a freezing shed. They took pity on his swaddling clothes; even freed wet nurses shrugged disparagingly at the way he was wrapped--following the custom of the land. The little one seemed patient and good--natured; he enjoyed the caresses and shook the gold necklaces with his hand. Eventually, they sat down wherever they could and spent the rest of the day playing with the child in the simplest possible way.

VIII
It so happened that the next day, they passed by the spot on their way back. The sun was mild. The father, the mother, and the child were sitting in the doorway of the hovel. As we were in a hurry, we gave them a friendly little wave.

©9th June 2023 sexyartforwomen.

Sexy Art for Women. Delphin Enjolras 4. Horny girls love female erotica and feminine beauty.