Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03 - Sex Stories

Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03

... women writhed and moaned, other women stepped forward, forming a queue. I laughed and swept my gaze across the room, squinting due to the growing clouds of red mist, which further complicated my attempts to see if I could recognize anyone.

That was precisely the point, though. This wasn't about names or individuals. This was aboutme. My triumph. My celebration.

My hungry smile vanished at a curious sight in the far corner. Two men sat at a table, wearing black outfits and masks just like the man whose tongue was proving to be quite popular. They were the only people in the entire room not engaged in lovemaking or ogling the others.

Instead, they looked to be playing some sort ofgame. They moved little pieces back and forth across a circular gameboard, sipping on wine and not paying one bit of attention to the debauchery around them.

That was downright unacceptable as far as I was concerned. Affixing them with a glare, I swept down the staircase. Gentle hands reached out, coming within inches, though no one dared take hold of me fully.

I delayed at the couch in the middle of the room, just as the man in black leather ignited a screaming, sobbing orgasm from a buxom redhead. Licking my lips, I watched as his tongue lapped firmly at her clit, and I nearly groaned at the sight of sweat rolling down the woman's luscious breasts.

For the moment I forgot about those two impudent men in the corner and slowly approached the redhead. Smiling, I brushed my fingers ...

... through her hair, cradling her as she sobbed and whimpered through the aftershocks.

"You can have my place in the queue, my lady," whispered a delicate blonde woman standing next to the couch.

"Nonsense," I purred.

As the redhead rose on shaky legs and the blonde took her place, I gazed down at the man with that skilled tongue. He had a slender, athletic build, with a strong jawline and a faint hint of stubble. Bright green eyes regarded me through the small slits in his mask. The dew of his lovers dripped down his chin, which he made no effort to clean up.

"When you find a break in your busy schedule, sir, I would like the honor of experiencing that tongue of yours," I purred, placing a red feather upon his shoulder.

Without a word, he collected the red feather, gave it a little kiss, then nodded and tucked it into his collar. With a laugh, I brushed past him and strutted over to those two men in the corner.

Neither of them looked up from their game, which seemed to be a contest of wits and strategy, with little figurines of varying colors.

Given that their black leather outfits and masks matched that of the man with the skilled tongue, I suspected they were all comrades or close friends.

One of the game-players had a lean and wiry build, which reminded me of the sailors in the city's navy. His skin was tanned and a bit weathered, though he was clean-shaven. Dark grey eyes stared down at the game-board, not paying me even a passing glance. Short, dark red ...