Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03 - Sex Stories

Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03

... an owl-shaped mask even reached out, his fingers coming to within an inch of my robe. I chided him with a little tap of a feather upon his nose and swept on past.

After making my way up the rickety staircase to the balcony, I tapped the bard on the shoulder and he ceased his song. Beaming, I braced my shaking hands against the railing and swept my hungry gaze over the other supplicants.

I undid the first clasp of my robe, earning a few whistles from the crowd.

"Before I accept your offerings...I should like to bear witness for a time. Enjoy yourselves, my friends. Frolic and fuck in my name! Fill this wretched old manor with your screams and moans! Let your lust rise and entwine with the holy incense! Prove yourselves worthy of my touch!"

With that, I tore off the last few clasps of my robe, exposing the skimpy, silken outfit I'd kept hidden during the long journey to the manor. Had I donned that particular garment in public, it would have unleashed a damned riot.

The fine, sheer silk blended in with my pale skin, and contrasted nicely with my raven-black hair. An amethyst-studded choker clung to my neck, and matching anklets adorned my feet. At the suggestion of a friend who had attended such Rites before, the gem had been chosen to align with my dark blue eyes.

The manor trembled beneath the explosive cheers from the revelers. They immediately fell upon one another, tearing off their clothes. Those who had been frolicking prior to my command went back to ...

... work, tasting and teasing.

For a few moments I simply reveled in the display, elated at the power I had over them, at the sight of writhing bodies and the sounds of rising moans.

The bards immediately set into a wild and raunchy tune, and I continued to gaze like a conquering queen over my subjects.

As the red mist spread from the censers, a sharp cry tore through the haze of moans and whimpers. Splayed out upon a couch in the center of the room was a plump young woman wearing a frilly, feathery dress and a mask shaped like a swan.

A man in a black doublet and leggings knelt between her legs, tonguing fiercely at her sex. A black-feathered leather mask covered the upper half of his face, and a raised cowl obscured his hair.

Whoever he was, the man had a damned talented tongue. His chosen lover wailed and sobbed, thrashing her wild curls from side to side. As her head thudded back against the couch, her chest heaving with the agony inflicted by that climax, two more women stepped forward, clearly aiming to take advantage of the masked man's skill.

A squabble looked about to break about before the masked man murmured something to the two eager women. Immediately they both splayed out beside each other on the couch, and the man alternated between them. Within minutes the pair were whimpering and giggling, clutching at each other's hands while the masked man worked.

Oh, I would most certainly have to pass a red feather to that one.

Even as those two young ...