Thread: The Grand Castle! (Jack Stalker and Sensualist)

The Grand Castle! Anne Harrington's eyes continuously drifted upwards as she entered the foyer, drawn up the columns towards the vaulted ceiling, the high windows through which the stars were dimly visible, the crystal chandeliers like a paused blizzard of glistening chips, the gold-plated statues lining the ceiling. Her gaze lingered on these, noticing that rather than the usual gargoyles or saints they seemed to depict well-endowed satyrs and lissome nymphs engaged in... a tinge of pink touched her cheeks beneath the black lace of her masque, and a subtle jolt ran through her body, settling in her nipples and between her thighs. Pull yourself together, Anne! she thought wryly. If the statuary alone is turning you on, how are you going to control yourself when the real party starts? She knew the Count and his parties by reputation, if not in person. They did not travel in the same social circles, but some of their circles did overlap with other circles. Anne had heard rumours, detailed and intriguing rumours of what went on at these soirees, and she was eager to find out the truth of them. The fact that when she handed her invitation to the majordomo she had been told to look for someone in a highwayman's masque left her with little doubt that they were more than mere rumours. Her eyes still on the statues, Anne noticed long thin silk drapes hanging from them. She followed them down, and realised that there were performers hanging from them aerialists, nude women and a few men with the bodies of gymnasts, slowly and sensually twisting themselves around the cords, tangling themselves in the folds, writhing up and down. Her plush lips parted in a soft gasp as she stared at the beautiful performers, and she quickly glanced away. Don't gape like a tourist in New York. How gauche! Anne felt someone bump into her back, and she tossed her long, glossy waves of brunette hair over her shoulder as she glanced back, her chocolate eyes narrowing and lips parting to pronounce a tart excuse me... when she saw that the tall, ruggedly handsome man towering behind her despite her four-inch Louboutins was wearing a highwayman's masque. The young socialite stared for a moment, studying the face around the mask. Wasn't that... Hugh Black, of the Black Graye law agency? Oh, he looked dashing and roguish and dangerous in that get-up. She knew of him by reputation, too. If he was at the Count's party... if he was wearing that mask... did that mean...? She realised he was talking, and her brain hurriedly caught up with his words. The first two he spoke, you're mine , struck her hard and deep inside. Anne's lithe thighs clamped together involuntarily as she felt a quiver between them, and suddenly her lacy black panties were soaked. The force and certainty with which he said it... oh, god. Anne's eyes widened, and she gazed back and up at Hugh, suddenly looking every inch the delicate, vulnerable daughter of the elite she was, rather than the suave and sophisticated woman she played the role of. She listened, eagerness and apprehension written on her beautiful features in equal measure as he continued, and her perfect white teeth sank into her full lower lip at his shocking words. They were so lewd, so possessive, she couldn't believe it! Surely he was joking... he wouldn't fuck her here, in public, in front of everyone? Would he? Anne opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a gasp as the riding crop dragged up her leg, becoming more of surprise than pain as it snapped against her derrire. She blinked, turned, and began to walk slowly up the stairs, her long slender legs flexing gracefully, her pert little backside swaying back and forth, the horizontal bands of her dress revealing slices of the lingerie beneath to whet Hugh's appetite. Anne needed time to think, and if what he said was true as long as she kept moving it would delay the inevitable. This was what she wanted... wasn't it? This was what she had come for. Her eyes scanned the top of the stairs, the balcony that ran around the foyer, but she was acutely aware of the man's powerful, undeniable presence stalking behind her. She wished she knew the layout of the castle, wished she knew what was expected of her, but all she could think of was the wet ache between her legs. Walking along the balcony, Anne picked a door at random and slipped inside without looking around. She moved a few paces in and turned, watching for Hugh to come in after her, before really absorbing her surroundings. The colour in her cheeks deepened as she realised she had entered a bedroom... no, some kind of BDSM playroom. The walls were a deep, lush red, covered in padding rather than wallpaper to block sound? she wondered. There were racks of toys and restraints, metal rings on the bed frame, a reclining chair with stirrups and straps... The socialite watched as Hugh filled the doorframe, slowly backing up until she felt the wood of one of the bed's carved posts against her spine. She arched herself provocatively, curving her back, raising one leg slightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him. Wh...what're you going to do with me? she asked, her voice breathy, catching slightly... her eyes eager and curious. img800x500