Free The Red Collection by Portia Da Costa Page B

instinctively seeking out the most responsive and fugitive of sensitivity zones. Pressure. Speed. Angle. He employs subtle variations of all, divinely orchestrated. Even while James perseveres with his unresponsive mistress, my own sex quickens and trembles, just at the thought of the same caress at Cicero’s hand.
    I glance around at the other mistresses. A little interest is beginning to stir in some of them, I can tell. Which makes me wonder whether I’m quite so different after all? Who knows what goes in the secret privacy of all their residences?
    Perhaps Jenna is the only one of us who finds coupling a bore?
    And even she is beginning to stir now, thanks to the industrious James. Her narrow hips are shifting now, hitching to and fro on her couch.
    ‘Mount me, you fool!’ she cries suddenly. ‘I’m ready now!’
    So am I, I murmur in silence, aiming my words at the back of Cicero’s strong, dark head.
    James obeys. And we all gasp when he takes her firmly by the hips and pulls her into position. Precious little deference now, and only the most cursory mumbled words to ask permission. He almost shoves her on to his penis, and thrusts in hard.
    Well done, lad! I want to shout. Well done!
    Jenna’s eyes fly wide open, staring, but for once she doesn’t protest.
    As James thrusts, and his pale buttocks clench and tense, all eyes around the circle are on those flexing muscles. I bite my lips as Cicero secretly takes advantage. His warm hand is higher on my leg now, under cover of my many layers of flounced and silken skirts. The tips of his fingers are fire against my skin.
    As James labours on, and Jenna slowly and almost painfully rises to meet him, my own sex gathers and moistens, excitement fizzing. I press myself against the slow, hot pressure of Cicero’s fingertips, surreptitiously adjusting my position to coax him further.
    If only it was our turn. If only we could flee the Chamber, be alone … and be ourselves.
    Eventually a high, clear and strangely abandoned cry signals Jenna’s crisis and, despite my excitement, I feel a sense of relief for James. He has despatched his duties, and is now free to relax and take his own pleasure. Jenna kicks him away from her, and he retreats, his moist and reddened member swinging before him. He snatches a cloth from the adjoining console, retreats behind the couch and ejaculates into it.
    Cicero catches my eye. His broad handsome face is troubled, and I understand how he feels for his fellow servant’s lack of dignity.
    That will never happen to you, I tell him without speaking. I will never demean you that way, no matter what the others think or whatever rules and tradition decree. Anything that happens to you will be your choice. I don’t know how, but I know he hears my silent pledge.
    If Jenna were not so arrogant, I would say she looked shamefaced now, and she snaps and fusses as James attends to her, cleaning her crotch and straightening her clothing. She glances around, looking for someone else to begin a coupling and take the limelight.
    I smile at Cicero, and he smiles back.
    Let’s play, he seems to say. Let’s really show them.
    With great deliberation, he nudges my elbow and what’s left of my wine spills on my dress.
    ‘Oh, Cicero, what have you done?’ I cry. ‘It’s not like you to be so careless or so clumsy.’
    ‘Forgive me, mistress,’ he murmurs, falling to his knees, his dark head bent as he takes one of the cloths on our console to blot my clothing.
    In a show of fussing worthy of Jenna herself, I primp and prink at my gown, tutting over the damp fabric. ‘This is one of my favourite gowns, Cicero,’ I say, mock stern. Well, at least he and I know the sternness is feigned. The others around the circle don’t seem to see anything amiss, other than a mistress who has been let down by her man.
    ‘I’m sorry, mistress,’ he intones solemnly, head still bent. I wonder if the rest of the mistresses can detect the minute shaking of his