Where did the weekend go? Never mind, it’s Monday and that means I get to be BAD! I’m going through my naughty books to pick a dribble worth excerpt for you – and I think I’ve got just the thing 😉
A Rough Ride
London’s glitterati had assembled in droves. Some had dressed up and dripped money in the form of designer clothes and diamonds at every turn of their elegantly fashioned heads. The men wore anything from double-breasted suits to tight leather trousers. The women, for the most part, wore considerably less. Many sported collars around their neck, some of which were subtle and consisted of delicate gold or platinum chains fastened together with a tiny padlock. Others were made of thick leather with bold buckles and decorated with spikes, studs or sparkling gems. About half of the women assembled were completely naked, whilst others were paraded around in little more than stockings and their underwear. A few wore pathetic excuses for clothing, much as she did, in either shockingly transparent fabric or easily accessible body-stockings. It didn’t ease the pressure on the constant urge to cover all of her most intimate areas, but it did lessen her sense of vulnerability. Although why that should be the case was anybody’s guess. The men here were sexual predators and with Mr Matthew’s permission, she could be used by any of them. The attention she had courted for so long was now hers, but it came with demanding consequences. She had been prepped for all of this, of course, but that had been two years ago. Since then she had become a virtual recluse, head buried in her computer screen at work before she reburied it in television soaps when she returned home. All of this, she spun around the room to try and encompass everyone and everything, was too much and too soon.
“Impressive isn’t it?” She jumped as Mark’s voice breathed itself into her ear. “They’re about to serve up the main course if you’re feeling peckish.” He captured her chin with his finger and directed her gaze, which was still slewing left and right with no anchor in sight, to a long rectangular banquet table. In keeping with the transparent theme, it was made of glass and clear, cylindrical Perspex stools circled its base. He began leading her towards it. “They call this place Atlantisse. A nod to the depravities of the Greek Gods, no doubt, not to mention the fact that most who enter here are lost beyond all redemption.
That was one way of putting it, thought Marianna. The sound of traditional Asian music began to gently seep through the air and it made her skin prickle. Twanging strings performed and intricate
dance with the soft, reedy sound of the flute. Marianna’s ears strained to hear it at first, but the ballad was so beautiful she could not resist its lure. The volume increased slowly by small degrees and the crowd assembled all looked towards the entrance of the room in silent anticipation of the main event. They were not to be kept waiting.
A long, rectangular stretcher was carried into the room by six, naked, oiled male slaves and atop the wooden slats laid a young, lithe, Japanese girl who was bound hand and foot to the stretcher with thick, hemp rope. Technically, she was naked but in actuality, her body was clothed in a myriad of Japanese cuisine. Sushi rolls decorated her stomach; raw and brightly coloured scraps of sashimi fish were patterned over her legs and adorned with little slivers of green condiment. Fragrant noodles danced upon her arms and the air was redolent with the scent of spice, making Marianna’s mouth water. The girl was more than worthy of being a feast for the Gods and she was exquisitely adorned from head to toe. Parcels of rice, wrapped in banana leaves were stuffed between her legs and tempura prawns were arched over her breasts with an array of colourful vegetables, none of which she could put a name to. As she was lain gently down on the centre of the table, it became clear that there was even more on offer. Her mouth was stretched open and was filled with tiny, bright pink pickles and between her legs rested large cubes of pineapple, decorated with mint, coloured sugar and dribbling strawberry coulis. It was nearly impossible for Marianna to hold onto her jaw. It wanted to drop in disbelief.
“Would you like to be devoured, Marianna? We can come back next week and your body can feature as the entrée of your choice. You can keep with the Asian theme or perhaps you’d like to try something a little more traditional. We could have you trussed up like a turkey and suitably stuffed.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she thought he was teasing her, but couldn’t be absolutely certain. Finding something the size of your average tennis ball stuck in her throat, Marianna took a moment to clear it, her eyes never leaving the prostrate culinary masterpiece.
“I think I’d prefer to be sucked and nibbled, preferably in private,” she tried for an even, assertive tone but everything came out in a horrible rush. Taking a deep breath, she tried to voice the question, “Is this a usual feature to the evening?” This time she sounded rather squeaky, but she was suitably impressed that she had managed to talk at all.
“Features change from week to week, but this is a regular activity. We’ve had all sorts paraded before us. Intricate human desserts from chocolate profiteroles decorated with spun sugar to a living and breathing cream cake – and yes, it gave a whole new meaning to the words ‘squirty cream.’ Mark winked at her. “There have been exhibits for seafood platters, paella, loin of lamb with crushed apples and on occasion, simply a round of canapés and caviar. Can you guess where the caviar goes, by chance?”
Marianna was afraid that she knew exactly where it would go. As Mark ushered her forward to take one of the simple stools, she placed her simmering backside down on the cool Perspex and sighed.
“Still a bit raw?” He laughed and plunged straight back into the previous conversation. “Can you imagine a hundred, softly rounded knives dipping inside your sex and seeking to taste its nectar? A little bit of your essence being spread on the lightest and fluffiest of blinis, to be savoured by all around you?”
The tennis ball had not really moved in her throat, but Marianna found herself just about able to dislodge it when politeness was required.
“I’m not sure I can imagine that, Sir,” she whispered, her eyes focused on the attentive male slaves who were now handing out elegantly patterned bamboo chopsticks to all of the dining participants. Accepting hers gracefully, she had to resist the urge to run her fingers over the man’s superbly muscled, glossy chest. Suspecting her backside would get another pounding for such a slip, she gripped her chopsticks as firmly as she could between her trembling fingers.
Keep Hopping!
Christina Mandara 
It all sounds delectable.
When will the last one be out? I’m dying to know how it ends
Aw, thank you, Cara! I’m hoping for a July release. Depends on Chimera Books, but fingers crossed 🙂 ❤