Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3) (34 page)

“My expression?’

Summer frowned as though I should know this. “Yes, Mia, when you come.”

CHAPTER 27

ALONG THE HALLWAY I paused before a painting.

I recognized the artist’s work. “Rembrandt?”

Mistress Summer looked impressed. “You know your art, Mia”

Actually, I was buying myself time to comprehend her last statement before we’d left that room. Was she implying I was going to be involved in some kind of public erotic display?

“Mia?”

“I saw a similar painting by the same artist in Buckingham Palace, Mistress.”

“When did you visit there?”

“Cameron took me.” I quickly corrected myself. “Master Cole.”

“Did you stay there?”

“No, just visited.” I looked back at the painting. “We had a private tour. Master Cole told me Rembrandt didn’t come from a family of artists. His father was a miller and his mother a baker.” My nervousness showed as I rambled on.

Her hand settled on my lower spine. “This is an original. Another reason our security is so tight. There’s more art here than at the Tate.”

“I like the Tate.”

“Dr. Cole took you there too?”

“Yes.”

She played with a strand of my hair. “You’re Mr. Booth’s submissive yet you were trained by Dr. Cole?”

“Yes.”

“Your master is a generous man.”

“He is, Mistress. My time with Dr. Cole has been quite wonderful.”

“Ah, he stole a piece of your heart, Mia.”

My fingertips traced over my collar.

“The lord of this manor is a lover of art too,” she said. “He’s a collector of curiosities. Would you like to see a few?”

“Yes, please. What does he collect?”

“Other than priceless paintings, rare jewels, tapestries, antiques.” She ran her thumb over the chain. “One of a kind delicacies.”

We continued down faintly lit hallways with Mistress Summer walking ahead. Now and again we’d catch a glimpse of pretty submissives making out with each other, tucked away inside alcoves, or others flaunting their fucking right there in the hallway for all to see. Two, three, and sometimes more, all writhing in ecstasy.

Breasts suckled, fingers pumping, hips rocking, eyelids heavy with need.

Mistress Summer barely threw them a passing glance, as though there was nothing unusual about pretty nymphs in sensual trysts. Soft moans echoed along with the sounds of sex, the sound of passions rising.

The deep throated moans of coming.

A tug on my collar was a reminder from Summer I was to follow and not watch. I wanted to talk to them, ask them how they’d come to be here. Find a friend perhaps to share this intimidating adventure.

The hallways twisted and turned and stretched on forever. Ripples of laughter carried from behind closed doors. The all too familiar snap of a whip. The striking of a cane. Screams of pain; the victims wails for that torture not to cease.

What was this place Richard had brought me to? And Cameron had deemed me ready for.

And where were all the men?

I’d lost my bearings. It would take a small miracle to find my way back to the foyer.

“When will I be reunited with Master Richard?” I asked.

“At his pleasure, Mia,” she said.

We’d descended into the lowest chambers.

And passed through several air locks--an elaborate system to preserve whatever was behind that large steep door. It swung on huge hinges.

And closed behind us with a hiss sealing us in.

Glass cases were set here and there throughout the vast room. It looked like a museum. The air was chilled. A glare came off those pristine white walls.

My nipples felt the cold and hardened in response.

Summer guided me around, pointing to each display, sharing her knowledge on what she knew about each piece. That scroll laid out in one with its corners weighted down had come from Egypt.

“This scroll was discovered in 1946,” said Summer. “Found inside a case a mile inland from the Dead Sea. Its Aramaic text is apparently quite significant.”

“What does it say?” I asked.

She looked upon it with awe. “Our Tsar won’t tell me. He’s stubborn like that.”

“Tsar?”

“Lord of the house.”

Up there, high on the wall, a camera shifted its lens.

“I think he’s watching us,” I whispered.

Summer fluttered her long black lashes. “Of course he is, Mia.”

“He won’t mind us being in here?”

“You’re here at his discretion,” she said, holding out the chain for me to take. “He trusts you not to share his secret.”

She was literally giving me full rein to wander around, and I clutched my chain to my chest.

“Should the world discover all this—” Her hand swept wide– “There would be an outcry from the art community.”

“Are these illegal?” I said softly.

“They’re acquired legally, but some would argue they belong to the people. The public would never truly appreciate all these pieces. They wouldn’t understand them as our Tsar does. Or treasure them.”

Inside another glass cabinet stood a perfectly preserved life-size sculpture. The man wore a toga over his armor and in his left hand he held a scroll.

“Caesar,” said Summer.

And over there was the skeletal remains of a two headed baby.

Fuck me.

I hurried past that and peered into the case containing a hand written letter. It was signed by Truman Capote. Moving on, I admired the collection of antique cameras, and beyond that, a stack of old keys in all shapes and styles.

The goblet in the corner took my breath away.

I pretended I hadn’t seen that one in case there lay some risk about what I was viewing. I couldn’t wait to see Richard and tell him about all this. Maybe Summer would bring him down here too.

“You have been summoned, Mia,” she said.

My gaze swept up to the camera.

“He has a gift for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“He finds you pleasing. Rare.”

“Rare?”

She ran her fingers over my face. “It’s not just your cheekbones, or the spacing of your eyes. It’s here.” She rested her hand over my heart. “You shine.”

Her hand felt warm against my bare skin, pressing firmly between my breasts.

“I don’t want to be part of his collection,” I muttered nervously.

She threw her head back in a laugh. “We won’t tell him that.”

These glass cabinets were starting to freak me out. Something told me the Tsar had unusual tastes, and hearing the buzz of the camera following us around was unsettling.

“Follow.” Summer turned sharply on her feet and punched a series of numbers into a keypad.

I managed to catch the first five, but the rest were lost to me.

She held out her hand for me to return the chain to her command. I laid it in her palm and bowed my head. She gave a nod of approval.

There came relief when I realized we were heading back up to the main floor. Sprawling hallways stretched before us.

I wondered what my gift was.

Mistress Summer knocked five times on a door.

“Welcome to the nest,” she said softly.

A wave of uncertainty swept over me.

“You’re now one of us,” she said. “You’re an owlet.”

She guided me inside.

Burgundy drapes swept over tall windows, plush carpeting covered the floor, and naked women inside all wore owl half masks. There were about fifty of them and they either stood, or sat, some alone, others cuddling, all of their gazes turned toward a four poster bed with the white drapes sweeping either side.

A young woman with a pixie haircut lay in the center of it, resting on a spray of pillows. She’d brought her legs up and spread her thighs wide and was showing off her sex to everyone. Under these warm yellow lights, her glitter sprinkled clit shimmered.

Just like mine.

Close to her, at the foot of the bed, sat three women. A redhead and a blonde sat to the right, and like Pixie they were naked and unmasked, allowing me to see just how pretty they were, as though they’d been plucked off a catwalk just like Summer.

She tugged me closer to the foot of the bed.

I’d mastered Summer’s elegant stride and felt like I was mingling in a little more now. Other than not wearing a masquerade mask like everyone else.

A tall brunette sat on the left side of the bed and she was dressed similar to Summer, that regal spray of feathers rising out of long lush brunette locks and her half owl mask decorated in gold. The chain she held dangled from the collars of the redhead and blonde. They gazed at their mistress in reverence.

She was whispering to them.

Her French accent was barely audible. Her words flowed soft and alluring, and from their expressions they were entranced by her.

It was difficult to hear, even being this close.

Slowly, their mistress’s gaze found me with a turn of her masked face. That blink of brown eyes.

A nod of approval from Mistress Summer.

The owl masked Mistress returned her attention to her subs.

Her nod signaled her permission.

The redhead leaned in-between Pixie’s thighs and slowly ran her tongue up and along her sex. Redhead then paused and glanced back at her mistress, as though gauging her response, her approval. When she received it, she gave a soft sigh of gratitude and returned her mouth to Pixie’s sex, her tongue languishing there, flicking, setting a pace over Pixie’s swollen clit.

Pixie arched her back and was scolded by their mistress.

I knew this game all too well; she’d be expected to endure this pleasure obediently and without responding to that natural urge to rock her hips, which would only intensify the burning desire being administered furiously by her fellow sub.

A nod was given by their masked mistress and the redhead made way for the blonde to dive in and lavish her affection upon Pixie.

The sound of her lapping mixed with soft sighs of Pixie nearing. An increasing wetness; painted pink toes curling. Those hands on either side of her body clenched the bed sheets until her knuckles went white. Her face contorted in anguished bliss.

These gentle touches of affection were shared by their demanding mistress, who at times nudged redhead farther into Pixie’s sex when it was her turn, or reached up to tweak Pixie’s nipples, working out those elongated buds, one and then the other, pinching and twisting artfully.

Pixie endured all this like the well trained owlet she must have been. Any lesser woman would have been writhing by now. Her limbs trembled, and her wide eyed expression full of awe now rested on her masked mistress—

Whose hand had lowered between Pixie’s thighs to hold apart her labia to allow those furtive tongues the fuller access they eagerly sought. Redhead hungrily suckled Pixie’s clit and allowed it to slip through her lips before her mouth captured it again.

Again.

And again.

Mistress Summer spoke up, warning Pixie she must wait for permission.

I knew this game too.

And my own arousal was given away by this wetness that was impossible to deny.

I glanced at the eyes behind the masks of those watching. All of them were like me, entranced by this feminine fantasy playing out.

The redhead and her blonde friend shared an occasional glance. They too seemed mesmerized, stealing quick kisses with each other before one of them went back in, burying their face to take Pixie higher.

We, the witnesses, merely shared this beautiful display of feminine affection. Surprisingly there came a sense of peace, a knowing that this pursuit of female pleasure was a rare glimpse into this mystical ceremony.

Redhead was chosen by the masked Mistress to take Pixie over the edge, and her frenzied tongue moved in once more to flicker over twinkling glitter, her head bobbing, her own whimpers escaping.