This is my entry for the 750 word challenge for 2025. While erotic, there's no finish or explanation; consider it an introduction to something not yet written, an aperitif if you will. Please enjoy.
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A chamber of unsurpassed elegance, a theatre fit for grand masques, for the coronation of emperors, for the marriage of titans.
Hazy curtains permit a flood of light through large, high windows, yet reveal not the smallest suggestion of what lies outside. An observer would find it impossible to determine if they were on the tenth floor of a mid-city high-rise or cloistered in the middle of a reclusive country estate.
The room smells pleasantly of the leather of the row of elegant chairs arranged facing inwards around the room's perimeter. Otherwise, the room is almost blindingly white. Cream Ionic columns of lead up from deep carpets of the whitest wool to the plaster decorations of the high white ceiling.
With that in hand, our observer would then be struck by three things. The first would the ermine quiet, the very quintessence of silence. A falling leaf would be a disturbance when it landed.
The second thing would be the men, no more than a dozen, sitting in the chairs against the wall, men of distinguished appearance and deportment. They are dressed in formal evening attire of the most acerb styling. None are particularly young and only one is obviously elderly. All are clean-shaven and well groomed. With far less than rapt but far more than casual attention, the men are watching the remaining two people in the room.
One of the pair is male, dressed like the others in stark black relieved only by the starched white of collar, shirt front and cuffs. He stands almost in the middle of the room, erect but not quite rigid.
His trouser fly is open and through it protrudes a large and heavy sex, circumcised, its headrim almost sharp with its stiffness. The organ is dark red, rising and falling slightly with his silent breathing. The man is in his mid-40s, his eyes are grey, his lips thin. The expression on his patrician face is calm, but focused, patient.
The last person in the room kneels before the standing man, not just in the centre of the room, but at the very epicentre of this drama.
The woman is young, perhaps very young. Her long dark hair lies loose over her shoulders, falling in waves about her slender figure. It shifts softly as she moves. Her bejewelled black gown has been loosed, falling to gather around her waist. Her breasts are bare.
The girl kneels, her hands lightly holding each other behind her. Without moving her hands, she rises on her knees, gracefully. As she does so, her face is moved upward, forward, closer to the engorged phallus. It lifts up towards the ceiling as she carefully, deliberately runs her lips and tongue along the underside of its full length, falls when at last her lips move past his tip.
