Mandy the Morlock: Prelude - Sex Stories

Mandy the Morlock: Prelude

(I had a set of stories rattling around in my brain for the longest time; people of Good Taste will likely recognise my Literotican inspirations, which are on my mind kind of constantly. I never got round to doing anything about it until I saw the 750 Word Project, and I thought that that might be a great way to put something down on e-paper without too much stress.

I'm a real dummy sometimes.

Anyway. First of a series, theoretically, so let's get in there and ESTABLISH SOME THEMES!)

*****

Candles burned on the tables surrounding the ballroom floor, illuminating the dancers in soft and shadowy light. To one side, a small group of women were charming us with their rendition of Satumaa, the firelight making their skin glow like embers. Waitresses in silvery moretta* passed gracefully between the dancing couples, bearing platters of fine brandy and delectable sweets.

(*Moretta are Venetian servants' masks, held to the face not by strings but by a ball gag. The Venetians were geniuses. Pity they make you look like the Flatwoods monster.)

As the tango came to its end, I shivered* as my partner pulled me close and pressed himself into my back to whisper lovely temptations into my ear. Lovelier still, I found, was the sensation of tweed pressing against my bare skin - for like all the men present, he was dressed in a full suit, and like all the women present, I wore nothing besides stilettos and a collar. I nodded my assent to the temptations, and felt cold ...

... metal around my wrists, and heard the clicks of handcuff locks. He stepped around me, licking his lips as he looked me over; and hooking a finger into the leash-ring of my collar, he led me to one of the niches surrounding the ballroom.

(*Given the above dress code, you must understand that I was shivering quite a bit in general. I mention it here for emphasis. The thermostat was Mandy's idea - she thought the cold would promote close contact and warming activities. I think chattering teeth are profoundly unsexy, myself.)

These apses were my proudest contribution to our party-house. Exedrae with altars to decadence and stained glass depicting unsaintly activities, where the chalices are metaphorical and the communion wine is sticky. Close enough for intimacy yet open to an audience; and over time, I realise that audience is what I find most enticing. The 'altar' here was a simple seat with many attachment points - he clipped the handcuff fetter to one behind me, and I was quite pleased to see partygoers rearranging their seats to watch; for here, the apse was ringed with mirrors, so everyone could see the goings-on from several angles, as long as everyone was standing in a way that didn't block the view.

My gentleman knelt before me, looking with religious adoration to my face, or possibly to my tits. He gently lifted one of my bestilettoed feet to one of the seat's legs, fastening it there, and then the other. With me secure-ish-ly in place, he placed his hands on my ...