Chapter 11
Most of the entertainers made an appearance before their platform, performing for the Master.
But after a while, Emmy wanted to do more than watch. She wanted to participate, but nothing in particular appealed, so she waited and watched, sipping her wine, reaching down to pet Spence while she talked to Zander.
She noted something else about to start, and a vampire in a towering wig and embroidered coat stepped forward, his voice carrying with theatrical flair. “Mesdames et messieurs, gather for the jeu de la plume, where feathers tease and tempt, leading to delights most decadent!”
The crowd formed a loose circle around a level three flock member, her body oiled and posed on a velvet chaise, wrists and ankles bound, legs spread so nothing was hidden.
Servants passed out ostrich plumes, their tips glistening with a subtle sheen.
“Henbane,” Zander told her. “Poisonous to humans, but shifter metabolism can heal faster than it harms. It sets nerve endings on fire for some, but for most, it just drives them crazy in all the best, most frustrating ways.”
The game began with elegant restraint: feathers brushing the woman’s skin, tracing collarbones and inner thighs, making her arch with gasps and moans.
As the oil mixture seeped in, her moans and pleas grew louder, her body writhed more.
And still, the vampires tormented — feathers painting nipples, dipping between legs.
And then gloved hands came into it, slapping her pussy, twisting her nipples, lifting her clit hood to rub the oil directly onto the swollen, red, throbbing bundle of nerves — and all the while, the lynx shifter writhed in what looked like both bliss and pain, her cries echoing the baroque melody swelling from the musicians.
Zander leaned close. “Shall we play, little dragon? A new experience for our boy?”
Emmy’s pulse quickened, heat and arousal humming through her like a live current. “Oh, yes.”
Within minutes, they had his breeches off, and he was on his back on their table. Zander handed Emmy a carabiner, and they each connected an ankle to a wrist.
Emmy was wearing gloves, so she wasn’t concerned about accepting a plume when it was offered.
Emmy trailed the feather over his oiled chest first, watching gooseflesh rise, his rouged areola pebbling around the jeweled nipple clamps.
Spence shuddered, a low groan escaping, his cock twitching hard.
“Look at me,” she ordered, and he opened his eyes and met her gaze, submission a palpable force that made her core clench.
“Beautiful,” she said softly, voice steady despite the thrill racing through her veins.
She flicked the plume lower, brushing his abs, teasing with how near she got to the head of his cock.
Zander joined, painting the oil onto Spence’s inner thighs.
Spence’s breath hitched, eyes glazing with need, his trust a gift that wrapped around her heart.
The crowd gathered around them, but Emmy focused on him, on the way his body sang under their shared command, the game a courtly veil for their deeper claiming.
She enjoyed being sexual in front of a crowd, whether it was being fucked on a soccer field after unsanctioned midnight dorm games, or whipping a submissive in a BDSM club, but this was …
more. The clothing, the excesses all around them.
As much as she enjoyed being fucked in front of people, she also thoroughly relished being the one in charge — working over a willing submissive the way a maestro directs an orchestra: commanding beauty, chaos, and obedience with a single lifted hand.
Emmy and Zander worked him over for perhaps thirty minutes, eventually getting to his cock and balls.
More entertainments began around them, and Zander gave Spence a handjob while denying his release before they finally handed their feathers back to the servers, connected Spence’s leash again, and released his wrists and ankles.
When he was once again back on his cushion on the floor, he was still naked, and his cock was deep red and standing tall.
Emmy focused on Felix once they were all seated again.
Fifteen yards away, ornate posts were lined up with level three masochists strung up between them, arms stretched high to chains at the top, legs spread and cuffed to the bases. And each had a vampire working them over from both front and back.
Overhead light bathed them in a warm glow, highlighting sweat-slicked skin and arched bodies. Felix was in the middle, his lean form taut, wrists and ankles secured so his body was like a bowstring.
One vampire wielded a small crop, snapping it against his cock and balls in rhythmic strikes that made Felix yelp and buck, adding to the existing red welts.
Another vampire plowed his ass from behind, hips slamming with brutal grace, the wet slap of skin mingling with Felix’s moans — pain woven with pleasure, his face a mask of heaven and hell.
He looked utterly wrecked and radiant, hurting yet soaring.
He was yet another piece of the excess in the room, decadence in every twitch and thrust.
Dancers entered in another portion of the room, spinning and cavorting. Masked partners swapped mid-step, somehow circling and doing an ancient version of dirty dancing despite the elaborate, exaggerated panniers.
Platforms turned to nests of tangled limbs — vampires bending flock over silk-draped benches, cocks plunging amid exaggerated courtly bows, moans harmonizing with the harpsichord’s trill.
A commedia troupe escalated their pantomime, harlequins “seducing” Columbines with exaggerated gropes that dissolved into real couplings, guests joining until the stage was a writhing mass of brocade and bare skin.
The air grew thick with gasps, slaps, and other sounds of excess.
Bodies writhed and pressed in heated clusters, venom bites injecting highs that turned laughter to low keens, the room a fever dream of erotic indulgence.
Emmy’s breath caught on a nearby trio: Maren sandwiched between two vampires, one thrusting into her pussy, the other her ass, her gown hiked up in a froth of creamy pink, head thrown back in ecstasy.
The double penetration hit like a spark, heat flooding Emmy’s core.
She leaned into Zander, voice low and throaty.
“You haven’t been in my ass yet, and if I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m a big fan of anal, and an even bigger one of double penetration. ”
Zander’s eyes darkened, a predatory smile curving his lips. “A splendid idea.” He looked down. “Back onto the table, Spence.”
Servers brought baby wipes, and Emmy carefully cleaned Spence’s cock and balls while Zander cleaned the rest of him.
Zander said enough time had passed, the henbane oil had likely soaked in, but he didn’t want to see what might happen if it came into contact with Emmy.
And, of course, Emmy took the opportunity for a tiny bit of CBT while she was at it, squeezing his balls while she made him look at her, flicking the head of his cock, playing with the hole.
No restraints this time, just Spence on his back, his cock standing proudly.
When they were through cleaning him and playing with him, Emmy stood over him, heart pounding with a fierce possession she’d need to think about later, and fanned her skirts out wide, the heavy brocade whispering through the air as she lowered herself.
She sank onto Spence inch by torturous inch, a guttural groan vibrating through her in pure, unfiltered bliss. The stretch beyond exquisite, his rigid heat filling her completely, and she wasn’t sure if she was claiming him, or the other way around. Perhaps they were claiming each other.
Emotions crashed over her like a tidal wave, the way Spence gave himself so utterly, his eyes locked on hers with raw adoration that twisted her heart into knots of fierce protectiveness and overwhelming tenderness.
She rocked slow at first, savoring the slick drag, the way his cock throbbed inside her, pulsing with denied need that mirrored her own building storm.
Then she leaned forward, lying fully on his chest with her breasts pressing against the mostly decorative jeweled clamps still on his nipples — jostling them so Spence grimaced, but his cock throbbed inside her, and his gaze was just as intense as before, full of devotion and reverence.
The power was intoxicating: his feverish heat and submission seeping into her, the emotional tether pulling so tight it stole her breath. Love and trust are the best aphrodisiac, it turned out.
Zander moved behind her, cool hands lifting her skirts in a rustle of silk and lace, parting her cheeks with deliberate possession.
A slick finger pressed in, then two — and then he shifted positions and eased his cock in, inch by relentless inch.
The stretch burned fierce and bright, a ring of fire being invaded and strained, beyond fullness, but his cool cock contrasted inside her like ice in flames — warring sensations that overwhelmed every nerve, Spence’s heat thrusting from below, Zander’s chill claiming from above.
Both penetrating her, the sensory overload shattering her composure: stuffed full, walls fluttering around them in desperate clutches, emotions surging in a torrent — vulnerability crashing against empowerment, the thrill of being taken by both her loves, exhibitionism amplifying it all as numerous gazes burned into her skin, whispers and moans from the crowd fueling the fire in her veins.
She’d always craved this edge, and this was the pinnacle of exposure: a threesome with the Master and his boy, her body the bridge in this decadent court, claimed and claiming in equal measure.
Squirming on Spence’s cock, impaled and opened by Zander’s, the dual possession rooted her in the moment, love and lust woven so tightly she could barely breathe.
Emotions surged in a whirlwind while waves of bliss moved through her.
“Breathe for me,” Zander said softly, voice a velvet command that vibrated through her core.