They sat like that, watching thecarnivaleunfold around them, a unit of three that the whole room couldn’t help but notice, up on the raised platform.
And Emmy felt powerful in a way she never had before. Not just dominant, butclaimed.Choosing and chosen. Part of something bigger than herself.
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 thejeu 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 sonothingwas 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.
