"Fiora dear, what on earth are you doing?"
My heart sinks just a little bit upon hearing that voice and I try my hardest not to make eye contact with its owner, let alone look up from the stack of papers strewn about on my desk. I have to literally bite my tongue over and over before I can even consider forming a reply, less I say something spiteful, inflammatory or positively laden with a string of curses.
"I… I am working, mother. What does it look like I am doing?"
"Working? Now?" I do not bother to look up, but I am sure right now she is raising a carefully plucked and sculpted eyebrow at me, her hands no doubt resting squarely on her hips. "Oh get up, you silly girl. Our guests will be arriving any moment now and you are sitting here, absolutely ruining your lovely dress! I mean really… wrinkling the fabric like that. And poor Adalyn spent all night ironing it for you, too! Sometimes I wonder what is going on in that head of yours. I really do." Like a hen she clicks her tongue against her teeth before disappearing from my doorway in a huff, her nagging continuing to trail on down the hall, long after she has vanished from sight.
With a heavy sigh I rise from my chair and stoop to smooth out the creases in my chiffon evening gown. I feel like a princess. I hate feeling like a princess… almost as much as I hate hosting these stupid social functions. They serve no practical purpose other than to act as yet another chance for the most affluent and opulent members of Demacian society to flaunt their wealth, all the while verbally fellating one another on a job well done. Ugh. How boring! My brow furrows as I finish patting down the satin slip caressing my thighs and in that moment, when I look up… I just so happen to catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I am bathed from head to toe in the finest of ivory and cerulean silks – a shimmering, backless gown that is so slinky and diaphanous, it almost seems to cling to the generous curves of my body like another skin. The plunging neckline ends in a slender 'V' just under the valley of my breasts, leaving far less to the imagination than I would ever have deemed appropriate in the past. My hands, too, are wrapped in elbow-length gossamer the color of freshly fallen snow and my face glows with but a smidgen of rouge and aubergine dappled here and there, purely for good measure of course.
Well… I suppose… I… do look… rather nice this evening.
"Mademoiselle, if I may… interrupt," a voice calls out from behind me, instantly snapping me out of my girlish reverie. Blushing rather furiously I turn to see a stately gray-haired gentleman – our head butler – standing in the doorway, moustache twitching to and fro. Oh god. How long was he there for?
"Y-yes, Philippe?"
"The Buvelles and Spiritmights have just arrived and are waiting in the foyer."
"V-very good. Show them to the drawing room if you would. I shall be down shortly, and let my mother know that our guests are here."
"At once, Mademoiselle." He turns to leave and I sigh again as I return my attention to the mirror, all the while fussing with the sparkling sapphire studs dangling from my earlobes. "Oh, and uh…" Philippe coughs over his shoulder a moment later, his words just barely audible enough for me to hear. "You also… have a… visitor in your private chambers."
I remain frozen for a moment, eyes wide and breath caught in the back of my throat. I think my heart just skipped a beat. "Thank you, Philippe." I manage to whisper as I gather my dress and hurry down the hallway as best as I can in these high-heeled sandals… up two flights of stairs, over to the left then the right… and straight through my bedroom doors.
He is standing there on the balcony.
His back is turned to me, a dark and beautiful silhouette shimmering in the evening afterglow. Even with the light fast fading I can still make out those chestnut locks pulled back into a loose bun, and the ghostly red ink of that Crimson Elite tattoo snarling at me from the base of his neck. His head cocks to the side when I approach, in such a way that I can gaze into the smoldering sunlight of his eyes as well as relish that devilish, ever-present smirk playing at the edges of his lips. You know – the expression he always seems to make whenever something deviant or kinky crosses his mind.
"You're late."
"Am I now?" I purr softly as I move towards him, gliding through light and shadow until my cheek can rest on his shoulder blade. My hands move to encircle his waist and as he turns I lean in on the very tips of my toes so I can place a tender little kiss under his jawline. God, he's so tall.
"Well, you would've been, had I bothered to keep track of time." Talon's smirk grows and suddenly I can feel his lips tugging at my earlobe and his fingertips dancing down my naked spine, caressing each vertebra with delicate aplomb. He stops at the curve of my bottom though, cupping my rear with both hands and digging in. "You look lovely tonight, Fiora. But…" He squeezes my ass, eliciting from my lips a tiny yelp. "Where's your collar?"
"Seriously?" I groan and whimper at the same time as his teeth nip at a sensitive spot behind my ear. "I-I can't wear something like that on a night like this! Not with every one here in all their fancy clothing."
"Doesn't matter." He flashes me a grin, continuing to make little bite marks down the side of my throat. "Rules are rules."
I can only smile the tiniest of smiles in response.
"Well then, Master…" I whisper softly before taking a step back. Slowly my hands drop to the hem of my dress, lifting its edge up just past the fold of my pubic mound so that I can reveal to his eyes – and his alone – the frayed rope cinched between my glistening lips, the vibrator strapped to my inner thigh… and the fact that right now I am not wearing any underwear.
"Perhaps… you should punish me."
Author's Notes: Thanks for reading Force Majeure, hope you enjoyed it. As always, don't forget to write a review if you can. Comments - whether positive, critical or anything in between - are always appreciated! Till next time, dear readers.