The Mammoth Book of Erotica Presents The Best of Saskia Walker by Saskia Walker Page B
Authors: Saskia Walker
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bloodstream.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I replied, as nonchalantly as I could manage.
Richard stood up, taking off his immaculate suit jacket as he did so, and placing it over the arm of the sofa. He picked up the briefcase and carried it over to the breakfast bar, where he set it down, flicked the combination lock and opened it. Tom and I both watched with bated breath. Richard undid his tie, rolling it slowly and tucking it into a section in the top of the briefcase. Then he lifted something out of the case and turned back to us, leaving the briefcase sitting open on the breakfast bar. As he walked back to me, I stood up.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he said, allaying any concerns we might have in advance. “It was handmade, for me.” He passed the soft, black leather mask into my hand. I turned it, feeling it with my fingers. It was cool to the touch and incredibly soft, molded, with laces down the back and breathing holes for the nose, a closed zip over the mouth. A powerful jolt went through me when I realized that there were no eye holes; Richard would not be able to see what we were doing once he had the mask on. My eyes flitted quickly to Tom and I saw that he had noticed that too. Richard undid his shirt, revealing well-muscled shoulders and torso. He dropped it on the sofa and stood in his black pants, looking from one to the other of us, for our consent.
“Turn around, and I’ll put it on.” Even as I heard my own voice another wave of empowerment roared over me. Richard smiled slightly and inclined his head.
Tom suddenly stood up. “I think you should take that dress off, first,” he instructed. The mask dangled from my hand. Richard’s eyelids fell as he looked at the floor, hanging his head, but I could see that he was smiling to himself. The atmosphere positively hummed with sexual tension. Tom’s instruction had completed the dynamics of the triangle. This was it; the scene was set for action.
I put the mask down on the coffee table and pulled the soft jersey dress up and over my head.
“You can take one look at her, before she puts your mask on.” Tom’s eyes glittered. Richard’s head moved as he looked back over to my stiletto-heeled shoes, up to my stockings and the scrap of fine French lace barely covering my crotch, then up and on to the matching balconette bra that confined my breasts. I knew I looked statuesque and glamorous in this, my most expensive underwear, and I could see that he approved.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze sinking to the floor again. Before he turned his back he passed something else into Tom’s hands. It was a set of intricately carved manacles. As Tom looked down at the object, Richard turned his back, bent his head and put his wrists behind his back – awaiting both the mask and the manacles. Not only would he not be able to see, he wouldn’t be able to touch. Tom looked at me, his eyebrows lifting, a wicked smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
Tom came forward and enclosed Richard’s strong wrists in the manacles. Then it was my turn to take action and I moved over, heart pounding, and began to ease the mask over his head. It pulled easily into place and I gently tightened the laces, gauging my way until the mask was molded tight and secure over his face. When the knot was done Richard slowly descended to the floor and squatted down on his knees, eyes unseeing, his head cocked, as if awaiting instructions.
We circled him, taking in the look of this creature, as he had now become, kneeling between us in the center of our personal space. I had prepared the room well, with the furniture pushed back and subdued lighting. He knelt between us with his masked head lifted up and back, his strong arms manacled behind him, his cock a discernible hard outline in his pants. With Tom towering over him, Richard presented an image I would never forget.
Tom nodded at me, pushed an armchair forward and indicated that I sit down.
“Do you remember what I
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I replied, as nonchalantly as I could manage.
Richard stood up, taking off his immaculate suit jacket as he did so, and placing it over the arm of the sofa. He picked up the briefcase and carried it over to the breakfast bar, where he set it down, flicked the combination lock and opened it. Tom and I both watched with bated breath. Richard undid his tie, rolling it slowly and tucking it into a section in the top of the briefcase. Then he lifted something out of the case and turned back to us, leaving the briefcase sitting open on the breakfast bar. As he walked back to me, I stood up.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he said, allaying any concerns we might have in advance. “It was handmade, for me.” He passed the soft, black leather mask into my hand. I turned it, feeling it with my fingers. It was cool to the touch and incredibly soft, molded, with laces down the back and breathing holes for the nose, a closed zip over the mouth. A powerful jolt went through me when I realized that there were no eye holes; Richard would not be able to see what we were doing once he had the mask on. My eyes flitted quickly to Tom and I saw that he had noticed that too. Richard undid his shirt, revealing well-muscled shoulders and torso. He dropped it on the sofa and stood in his black pants, looking from one to the other of us, for our consent.
“Turn around, and I’ll put it on.” Even as I heard my own voice another wave of empowerment roared over me. Richard smiled slightly and inclined his head.
Tom suddenly stood up. “I think you should take that dress off, first,” he instructed. The mask dangled from my hand. Richard’s eyelids fell as he looked at the floor, hanging his head, but I could see that he was smiling to himself. The atmosphere positively hummed with sexual tension. Tom’s instruction had completed the dynamics of the triangle. This was it; the scene was set for action.
I put the mask down on the coffee table and pulled the soft jersey dress up and over my head.
“You can take one look at her, before she puts your mask on.” Tom’s eyes glittered. Richard’s head moved as he looked back over to my stiletto-heeled shoes, up to my stockings and the scrap of fine French lace barely covering my crotch, then up and on to the matching balconette bra that confined my breasts. I knew I looked statuesque and glamorous in this, my most expensive underwear, and I could see that he approved.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze sinking to the floor again. Before he turned his back he passed something else into Tom’s hands. It was a set of intricately carved manacles. As Tom looked down at the object, Richard turned his back, bent his head and put his wrists behind his back – awaiting both the mask and the manacles. Not only would he not be able to see, he wouldn’t be able to touch. Tom looked at me, his eyebrows lifting, a wicked smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
Tom came forward and enclosed Richard’s strong wrists in the manacles. Then it was my turn to take action and I moved over, heart pounding, and began to ease the mask over his head. It pulled easily into place and I gently tightened the laces, gauging my way until the mask was molded tight and secure over his face. When the knot was done Richard slowly descended to the floor and squatted down on his knees, eyes unseeing, his head cocked, as if awaiting instructions.
We circled him, taking in the look of this creature, as he had now become, kneeling between us in the center of our personal space. I had prepared the room well, with the furniture pushed back and subdued lighting. He knelt between us with his masked head lifted up and back, his strong arms manacled behind him, his cock a discernible hard outline in his pants. With Tom towering over him, Richard presented an image I would never forget.
Tom nodded at me, pushed an armchair forward and indicated that I sit down.
“Do you remember what I
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