Audacity (Seraph)

Benedict gets elegantly to his feet and puts his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, clinking his keys as if he’s about to deliver a best man’s speech at some society wedding. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with dark blond hair and an easy air of entitlement that does it for me every time.

If Gabe found these men through Alchemy, they’re guaranteed to be filthy bastards, the lot of them.

Gabe withdraws his hands and turns away from me. I hear the soft click of him locking the door and, a moment later, the door of the little drinks fridge beneath the sideboard being opened.

Meanwhile, Benedict runs his tongue along his bottom lip before he speaks, considering me with narrowed eyes. ‘No nice birthday party is complete without champagne, is it? Or some good old British party games, for that matter.’ He begins to pace. One of the other guys, James, leans back and crosses his arms, smirking.

I’m the only person in this room still ignorant of what exactly party games entails. But I suspect I’m about to be enlightened.

‘Let me see,’ he continues. ‘Blind Man’s Buff, which for today’s purposes we should probably rebrand as the somewhat less pithy but categorically sexier Blindfolded Woman in the Buff. Always a classic. And of course, Pass the Parcel and Musical Chairs—we have a rather clever way of combining those two, actually. And guess who the parcel will be? Why you, my dear.’

He winks at me, and I watch him, transfixed, as Gabe deftly uncorks a bottle of champagne and sets about filling the half dozen flutes he’s brought over. It occurs to me that he’s glad of having something to do while Benedict sets this filthy scene with such aplomb. Beyond Gabe’s obvious nerves just now, I have no way of knowing what his attitude is to any of this. None at all.

I raise my eyebrows at Benedict’s declaration that I will be some kinky little parcel, and he smirks.

‘All clear so far? Excellent. So what I’d propose, after we’ve toasted your good health, is that we get you blindfolded, strip you naked, tie you up like any self-respecting parcel… and have at you.’

His depraved words have my blood heating and my pussy throbbing.

‘Have at me, how?’ I ask him. I’m proud of how clear my voice sounds. How assured. I want these men to know I’m no pushover, to know that when I submit it’s because I want this so very, very badly.

‘Well, we’d like to get to know you first. Have a little play. See how beautifully we can make you come. And then we’ll arrange all these lovely chairs here in a circle over there and take a seat and get our cocks out, basically. We’ll put on some nice tunes, and we’ll pass our delectable little parcel around so we can all have a turn. Every time the music stops, you move onto the next cock. And so on and so forth until everyone’s had a prize.’ He leans forward conspiratorially. ‘That’s an orgasm, to you and me.’

‘Yes, I got that, thank you,’ I say, an icy attempt at concealing the searing heat coursing through my body. I’m in danger of sweating through this dress. The guys around the table are smiling at me, my co-conspirators in a filthy game while my boss’s hundreds of employees work away below, utterly oblivious. I have the sudden, semi-hysterical thought that if Torty Spencer-Wells walked in on this little birthday orgy, she’d probably clutch her pearls so tightly she’d garrotte herself.

‘What do you think, sweetheart?’ another of the guys asks me.

I glance up at Gabe as he slides a champagne flute over to me. He’s glowering at him, his jaw locked. ‘Her name is Athena,’ he reminds them. ‘And her safeword is Minerva. And let me remind you, every second of this is for her. She comes first, figuratively and literally. Got it?’

He looks down at me, and I see a world of emotion in his eyes as he raises his flute. ‘To Athena.’

‘And to all who sail in her,’ one wise-arse bats back cheerfully. The air of tense solemnity in the room shatters instantly. Gabe snorts despite himself, and I giggle as the other men guffaw. I mean, the guy’s not wrong.

Especially not this evening.

Gabe is the one to blindfold me. He kisses me gently on the lips before moving behind me and securing the ends of the blindfold above the base of my ponytail. I wore my hair up this morning, slicked back into a ponytail and then curled in large, sleek waves. It’s now looking like that was quite a practical move.

I love on so many levels that I’ll be blindfolded for this scene. It will add to the power imbalance, making me feel more helpless, and to the suspense. It will free up my other senses to take over, to feel everything even more keenly. And it will certainly allow any lingering inhibitions I have to fly right out the window.

‘You say the safeword and everything stops.’ He kisses my neck before lowering the zipper at the back of my dress.

With my world now one of darkness, the sensation of my skin being bared is heightened. Gabe gently undoes the little buttons at my cuffs, and then he’s sliding the dress off my shoulders so it sinks to the floor in a frothy pile of silk. There’s the distinct clink of champagne flutes being deposited on the table. I can feel the other men in the room drawing near, predators approaching at the first signal that their prey is exposed. I hope they’re enjoying the sight of me, blindfolded and in pale blue La Perla underwear, still in my sheer stockings and heels.

If they do, it’s not for long. Gabe unhooks my bra, but someone else in front of me slides it off my arms, and then my thong is hooked at the sides and pushed down, my suspender belt unfastened, stockings rolled down. I’m bidden to step out of my heels, and my wrists are bound behind my back with a length of fabric, forcing my shoulders back and my breasts forward.

A voice rings out behind me, authoritative and clear, generations of aristocratic entitlement bred into it. With my sight removed, I could well be a nineteenth-century courtesan, fair game for some noblemen at Whites or Boodles or another of those exclusive clubs where the only women allowed were the ones paid for their services.

‘The lady has been disrobed, gentlemen. Let the games begin. Get her up on the table.’