CHAPTER 85: The Virgin’s Summer, Part 25

“Time to play Charlotte.” And he draws on the rope, pulling my arms firmly upwards, over my head. “Can you stand comfortably?” he murmurs.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He glances out towards the viewing windows, where faces are gathering, looking in. Some are clearly visible; others, simple pairs of eyes, reflect whitely, in the fade-to-dark at the back of the room.

“Warm in here isn’t it?” says Michael. Standing in front of me, he strips off his shirt, then his shoes, locking eyes with me as he does so, my beautiful man, my Lover; bare-chested, broad-shouldered, with a scattering of golden hair that traces a fine line down to his belt. I see the eyes of the women looking in and know that they envy me.

And the eyes of the men are on me.

Michael goes to the rack of ‘tools’, making a show of choosing. Picking one out, a flogger, he tosses it across the room to my Master who, still sipping at his drink, catches it mid-air, one-handedly, then dangles it, the tails trailing suggestively, watching me as I follow his movements.

This ‘show’ is giving me tingles. Are they deliberately making me wait?

Of course they are...

Michael, pausing for another mouthful of the wine, pulls something from the pocket of his black jeans: a silk scarf, in a fine filmy fabric. Brilliantly red, matching the bright lipstick I am wearing, it shimmers and glimmers in the candlelight. He tugs at it a couple of times, snapping it tight as though testing its strength, then, with a glance at my Master, eye-points him over to me.

Putting down the cup, my Master also removes his shirt and shoes, then strolls over, snapping the flogger a couple of times as he does so.

Watching all this, hand-bound, I am trembling, and fully dressed though I am, a warm trickle escapes my heating core, soaking my panties.

They haven’t even touched me yet...

Standing very close to me, holding me tight at waist and shoulder, the flogger in his hand trailing tails down the naked skin of my back, my Master inhales. “Ah, there’s my girl. Wet already. You smell wonderful.”

My hips, pressed tight against his, feeling his erection hard against me, quiver at his words. He backs away from me, with that non-smiling smile of his, allowing the leather tresses to trail over my shoulder as he moves.

The faces beyond, pale against the darkness, seem mesmerised by the performance. There is not a sound, only the gaze of a hundred eyes on me.

Michael, stepping behind, curves his arms around me, running hands over the flatness of my stomach, up through the curve of hip and waist, over the roundness of my heavy breasts. The eyes follow his every movement, as he displays me to them.

The beautiful dress sparkles and shimmers as it ripples under his hands before, fingers rising to the nape of my neck, he unbuttons the halter; the two tiny buttons which are all that hold the dress on me.

Pressing himself close to me, he slips down the halter so that it dangles from my waist, leaving me bare-breasted to the crowd.

Still behind me, he binds my eyes with the scarf, pulling it taut over my face. “Not too tight?” he asks.

“No, it’s fine.”

The gossamer fabric does not quite block my vision; golden light penetrates the red gauze, bathing my eyes in a fiery mist. Although I can see no details, there is a hazy shadow to one side of me, which I know is my Master, silhouetted against candlelight.

My nipples crinkling in the sudden coolth as the halter falls away, there is a movement in front of me, a wash of warm air.

With a yelp, I arch back against Michael as icy wetness laves my left nipple. It rubs briefly around and over my breast, before moving to my right nipple. Again, I yelp.

Michael chuckles behind me. “A chilled wine glass wet with condensation,” he whispers close by my ear.

Abruptly, heat encases my left nipple, the right still being stroked with ice.

And now I moan, blind, writhing against my bound wrists, Michael’s arm wrapped around my waist to support me.

The heat moves to my other nipple. hot and moist, sucking. “Your Master,” murmurs Michael, “suckling on you after warming his mouth.”

Ah.… the coffee...

And Michael’s voice, always deeply rich, masculine, is now even more so; my other senses intensified in my blindness.

The heat leaves me. The cold too. Michael is no longer behind me, and for long moments I hang, suspended in my almost-dark, only the glimmer of the candles penetrating my blindfold.

Then, again from behind, my dress is eased down from my waist, puddling at my feet. My ankle is grasped, lifting my foot, and then the other, as the dress is pulled away from me. Now I am naked, save for scant, black lace panties.

How do I look to them? The Watchers? My pale skin, golden in the glimmer-light, my nipples, rosy buds, my long red hair, a waterfall of flame, cascading to my waist.

Cool fingers glide inside the lace, sliding it away... the red at my loins turned to glistening ruby, in the shimmer of the candles, moistening in the heat of my core.

Quivering, tensed... I wait...

The smoothness of soft velvet over my skin: my breasts, my belly, my thighs... the tails of the flogger? Then a sharp pang as the tails lick past my nipples. I cry out, as pleasure-pain stabs down through me. The tails kiss by my nipples again, touching only the nipple, not my breast: wielded by a maestro; my Master surely?

Again... nothing...

I drift in a glowing crimson-gold limbo.

Heat on my thighs, warm breath washing over my skin. I shiver, hot juices trickling from my warm pussy.

Fingers ease my ankles apart, the air now close and hot, over the vee of my legs.

My clit pulses as ice glances over it and I scream.

Icy fingers draw slowly between my legs, parting folds, circling my clit and then...

Gone.

To be replaced by lips, hot over my bud, a scarlet heat that mouths, burning over me, and is gone.