Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03 - Sex Stories

Crimson Clockwork Pt. 01/03

... burly mainlander a pat on his cheek. "Aren't you?"

The only reply I received was a soft growl.

I looked forward to hearing more of those growls in a different context before too long.

My 'mentor' laughed and went back to the lesson, explaining the importance of each of the different colored squares. This was not how I had imagined my evening going, but there was a certain thrill to be found in casually disregarding the debauchery around me and allowing the anticipation to build.

Our lesson was soon interrupted by two amorous lovers who bumped into the table, jostling some of the pieces. The mainlander growled and shoved them away; they replied with a laugh and spun over towards a nearby pile of cushions.

As the lesson resumed, I removed a sandal and rested my foot within the other man's lap. He tensed in his chair, his words trailing off.

"A quick match, then," I said with a nod, confident that I'd learned enough to give it a go.

Not only was I keen to try out the rules, I was growing increasingly distracted by the rising cries of the woman pleased by that skilled stranger.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she wailed. "Gods' graves, right there, you beautiful bastard!"

Laughter and cheers drowned out her cries. Smirking, my opponent laid out the pieces and our game began.

I lost within four moves, overlooking a crucial rule regarding the movement of one of his pieces. In retaliation, I wriggled my toes within his lap, then rubbed the heel of my foot gently ...

... over his crotch. A triumphant smile splashed across my face as I felt his cock harden. His trembling hand dropped one of the pieces.

"Allow me," I purred, reaching out to take the pieces and array them for the next match.

As we dove into our next bout, I squirmed and wriggled my toes in his lap. My eyes fluttered each time I felt him squirm. The brute chuckled at my antics, though I silenced his amusement by wriggling in his lap again, rocking a little against his erection. The haze of red mist grew more intense. I could barely see anything beyond our table save for a few faint outlines and silhouettes, isolating our little game from the wickedness around us.

The distraction I unleashed and the lessons of that first loss allowed me to persist much longer in the second game. It took the masked stranger a full twenty moves to finally defeat me, at the cost of nearly all of his pieces.

"You're a quick learner."

"So is your friend over there," I said, keeping my eyes upon him as I gestured into the red fog. The cries of yet another woman sliced over the tumult of the other revelers.

"How do you know we're friends? Maybe we all just share a tailor."

"Another game," the mainlander beneath me grunted. "I'll help you this time."

Intrigued, I set up the pieces for another match. Occasionally the mainlander intervened, his scarred hand reaching for mine and redirecting a few of my moves. That technically violated the rules of the Rite, though I was having too much ...