“Do you want access to the Burgundy Chamber, sir?”
Damien gave a nod of thanks.
“You may proceed.” Giles motioned toward another corridor that had a sharp turn.
When we made it to the end, Damien opened the door and we went inside the room.
The décor followed the theme of “heavy on the male DNA” we’d seen in other areas of the mansion. A leather couch and several chairs sat on a blue and red Persian rug in the center of the room, with lots of space left around this staged furniture.
On the walls were portraits of historical men, sharply dressed famous figures, who’d somehow influenced American history. Was this a hint that the secret club went back centuries?
The room was already filled with men and a few women; some with submissives kneeling at their feet. The air crackled with electricity. They stood around the outside of the room leaving a space in the center. At one end was an empty armchair and at the other end a naked woman provocatively knelt, delicate silver chains dangling over her body but covering nothing of her pert nipples and closely shaven sex. Her head was bowed as though waiting, the half-mask over her eyes only revealing a stark prettiness framed with long brunette curls.
She sat calmly, waiting—the key pendant twinkling against her skin.
My hand snapped to mine as though I’d found my soul sister, a woman with whom I shared a commonality. We were both submissive—both of us daring to explore our sexuality, but clearly, she was far braver.
Giles returned to us carrying a silver tray and offered us drinks. We took the two glasses with gratitude. Sipping mine, I confirmed he’d given us sherry.
Giles bowed and backed out of the room, leaving us.
Damien took the drink from me and placed it behind us on a bookcase.
My hand reached up to massage the back of my neck, trying to relieve the tension—anticipation making me anxious. I still felt the pang of where he’d fucked me in my ass. I was sore but sated and reveling in the way my skin remained flushed. The memories of that room would always be cherished.
Damien’s hand replaced mine at my nape and his fingers dug into tense muscle.
“Can you see?” he whispered.
“Yes.” The sweet taste of sherry had soothed me a little.
With his hands on my shoulders now, Damien moved us so that we stood at the back of the room, right behind a leather chair.
He directed me. “Here.”
We were hidden a little by the high-backed chair.
At the opposite side of the room a door opened. A man entered through it, also wearing a tux, and like everyone else he, too, was wearing a mask. He strolled across the space and sat down in the armchair opposite the kneeling woman.
The room hushed.
The naked submissive crawled the distance to where he sat.
My face blanched for her—she was willingly performing for this crowd of fifty or more guests, unabashed at her own nakedness. She knelt upright between the man’s thighs.
Damien pulled me into a hug against his chest. “She likes being watched.”
He knew her, or he’d seen her before, of that I was certain.
Responding obediently, the submissive placed her hands on the man’s knees. With a nod from him the brunette unbuckled and then unzipped his pants, exposing him. She licked her lips expectantly as she eased out his cock. She wiped a bead of pre-cum off the purple head and licked her finger sensuously.
Dazed, I watched her stroke his erection as though no one watched, brazenly working her palms up and down the length of him, examining his cock adoringly.
She drew him all the way into her mouth and suckled, then pulled back a little, leaving him shiny with wetness as she lavished her tongue along the top of his shaft. She dipped her head to suckle his sac.
“See that,” said the man, his voice husky, “how she likes to focus on my balls?”
She gave a half-distracted nod to confirm this, running the tip of her tongue around his head and causing him to lift his hips.
A deep, low throb in my pussy caused me to keen a little, and I put a hand on the back of the chair to steady myself. Damien’s arm tightened around my waist.
My clit throbbed deliciously at the sight before me of a woman’s head bobbing between a man’s thighs. I tried to behave as though this scene had little effect on me, but all the while my thighs were becoming sticky with arousal.