Last night I met God. I realised my own divinity in the arms of another and I became her. I relive our blue moments, wedged between a sea of impatient bodies on the train platform, dreamily fingering the rim of my coffee cup, marvelling at how we were something, and nothing, and everything, all at once. Last night I was truly free for the first time in my existence, and after last night, I will never be the same again.
My bare leg slips out from beneath a floor-length red satin cloak and I step out of the black cab onto a quiet street in South Kensington. I thank the driver and gaze up at the grand Victorian townhouse sat unassumingly on the corner, wondering if this is the right address. In my hand is a gold foil invitation stating that I am a VIP guest at ‘The Garden’. I double check the address. This is definitely it. I adjust my red venetian mask and tug my oversized satin hood lower, take a deep breath to calm my nerves, then step to the intercom and press the button.
“Password?” A smooth male voice answers.
The tall wrought iron gates swing open. I make my way up the marble path with butterflies in my stomach and fire in my veins, praying that this Valentine’s Day will live up to its promise.
“Good evening, madam,” the smooth male voice from the intercom smiles at me from behind the concierge desk. He’s topless and olive skinned, with dark hair that flops into his deep-set eyes, “May I take your coat?”
I shift in my heels and pull my coat little tighter around me.
“Is this your first time?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” he chuckles softly. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous, but I promise you it will fade.” He holds his hand out patiently.
I take another deep breath and hand my coat to him, reassuring myself that I still have my cloak to hide behind.
“Welcome to The Garden, Red Riding Hood.”
It’s a hedonistic midsummers night dream, the setting for tonight’s adventure more fantastical than I could have anticipated this unassuming Kensington townhouse to behold.
The grand foyer houses two winding marble staircases and a statue of Athena beneath a huge crystal chandelier. The stairs and the statue are strewn with honeysuckle and white gardenias that perfume the air with their delicate fragrance, and all around me monarch butterflies flutter gaily. Between the base of the staircases, a striking copper-skinned satyr with golden horns stands with a welcoming smile and a gilded tray of champagne in front of a heavy purple velvet curtain. He gives a small bow and hands me a crystal flute before parting the curtain, “Enjoy your evening, madam.”
I pass through the curtain into decadent wonderland of dreams and debauchery where chandeliers and organza winged acrobats in nude glittering bodysuits fall from the domed ceiling. Below them, a half balcony sits above several sweeping willow trees strung with pearlescent fairy lights and delicate purple flowers facing the huge stage on the opposite end of the room. Beautiful women in intricately beaded corsets and ostrich feathers gyrate and thrust their lithe frames in a provocative manner to Sade to an audience filled with fairy tale characters at their most erotically refined. They make sin look expensive. They’re shamelessly draped across every available surface, including each other, blowing shisha from gilded pipes from Morocco and sipping the finest champagne from France, as they flirt and stare at the dancers in awe while nymphs and fairies’ plie them with party favours.
My apprehension subsides. I drop my hood and glide deeper into the glittering madness, each step purposely engineered to tease what lies beneath my cloak and conjure curiosity. I give the venue another scan…and then I notice him. I notice him the way you notice a jewel sparkle amidst the darkness when the light hits it just right.
He’s tucked away in the shadows of the gilded balcony section above me, his elongated frame draped sideways across a black throne, his face hidden beneath bone straight silver hair that falls to his waist and a white wolf mask encasing the top half of his face in soft white fur that flares across his cheekbones and blends into his tresses. A patch of soft white fur sits on his chest in stark contrast against his nightshade skin, and white leather trousers hang dangerously low on his hips.
I come to an immediate halt. How is he even real?
My staring alerts him to my bewildered presence and his eyes find mine. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side and they flash starlight at me. Gun metal claws grip the edge of the balcony and he leans down, holding me in place with his stare.
I take my scarlet painted lips between my teeth and push back my cloak, never breaking eye contact, to reveal myself to him. My curves are cinched at the waist in a bejewelled ruby corset that amplifies my provocative figure tenfold. My large breasts, almost bare, were it not for the sequined love hearts covering my steadily hardening nipples, and bejewelled peekaboo French knickers made of satin that hug my soft, round ass.
At the sight of my ensemble, the big bad wolf stands and runs the tip of his tongue over his fangs slowly. Even though I’m safely out of his reach, I can’t deny how deliciously intimidating he is or how curious I am about what being bitten by him would feel like. My stomach feels like I swallowed a few hundred butterflies in the foyer, my skin is flush with heat, my thighs are quivering and a discerning tightness is forming at the apex. I steady myself in my heels and exhale.
Just as I balance myself, the wolf pounces onto the balcony ledge then vaults himself onto one of the unoccupied dancer ribbons hanging from the ceiling. Everybody gasps in shock then admiration as he glides down it, still staring at me, and dismounts gracefully into a crouch at my feet. He straightens up to tower over me and almost everyone else, and saunters closers till we’re almost skin to skin. Was it all a bit arrogant and contrived? Yes. Am I aroused by it? Definitely. The audience’s attention moves from the burlesque dancers to the wolf and I, some curious, others envious. I don’t know who he is to them but from their reaction and his throne up on high, he isn’t just anybody. A hum of gossiping voices floats below the music. Up this close I can see etchings of intricate tribal tattoos spanning across his arms and chest, that all but blend into his sculpted onyx skin, and breathe his irresistible scent of cloves and sex. My desire warms.
He lifts my chin with the pointed tip of his claw and leans in closer until his snout brushes against my nose. I swallow.
“My, what sharp teeth you have,” I manage to squeak.
He blinks at me, then laughs. It’s too deep and unsettles me in the best way that liquesces the tension in my lower region, even more so when his baritone breaks through all the noise and he replies, “All the better to eat you with.” He rakes his claw down my throat and to the tender hollow between my collar bone, “Is that the response you were looking for, Red?”
“Only if you mean it.”
He raises his eyebrow and licks his fangs again, “Do you want me to mean it?”
His face turns serious and he closes the gap between us. His lips graze my earlobe, “I’m a creature of many appetites, Red. Are you sure this is what you want?” he purrs, pressing his erection against my stomach. “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle with you.”
“I don’t want you to be,” I breathe, shifting against him to further stimulate his arousal.
He grips my throat and flashes his fangs at me, “Good.” Icy blue eyes bore into mine, watching, waiting to see my anxiousness for his next move increase. I can’t quite figure him out, a thought which both terrifies and excites me. I have no idea what he’s going to do next but I do know one thing for certain -the wolf intends to surprise me at every turn.
His grip on my throat tightens and I part my lips to make up for the heightened decrease in airflow. His eyes fall to my open mouth and he makes a low lustful sound, then slowly, he tilts his face to the side, leans in consumes me with a featherlight kiss that lingers and flows through me. I sigh against his pillowy lips and melt into his sadistic embrace.
“Tighter,” I moan, bringing my hand up to his and pressing it harder into my neck, “Hold me tighter.”
“Oh,” he smiles against my lips, “I can see I’m going like you a lot, Red. You and I are going to have a lot of fun this evening.” His claws prick my skin as his grip tightens further, delivering a fiercer contrast in sensation to his seductively lulling kisses. He draws back just a touch and releases me, “Let’s begin with dinner and a show, shall we?” He offers me his arm and walks me out of the main arena.
I furrow my brow, “Why are we leaving?”
“You requested that I feast on you so I’m taking you to watch something more suitable.”
“Oh!” I take a gratuitous gulp of my champagne.
Eyes follow us as we depart.
He walks behind me as we climb the winding marble staircase. I can feel his heated gaze admiring my figure as I slink and sashay my hips from left to right. We pause at the top and he draws me to him, “I’ve never had a guest as tempting as you in my establishment before, so I’m not sure what you like. Tell me, Red,” his hands reach between my legs and he strokes my pussy through the satin, “I want to know what makes you cum?”
It’s HIS establishment? Well that explains the stares. I try not to appear too impressed or embarrassed by his question. “Tempting, am I?” I sigh, the alternating sensation of soft flesh and sharp claws caressing my clitoris taking hold of me.
“Oh, very much so,” he kisses my neck. “I know you saw them staring at us.”
“I’m very particular with whom I choose to be intimate with. It’s almost unheard of for me to choose company, but then I saw you…you’re fucking exquisite. Your confidence, your beauty, your aura…you have this divinity about you.” He pushes my thong aside. Skin meets skin in soft circular motions. I whimper and press into his touch. “I had to have you. So, tell me, I need to know. Do you have any fantasies that require fulfilling?”
I blush, “There is one…”
I shake my head and giggle, “I’m not sure that I’m far gone enough to tell you yet.”
“Well then,” he slips my thong back into place and puts his fingers to my lips. I clean them off one by one. He smiles, “Let’s get you a little closer to the edge.”
I crush my mouth to his and he groans, applying more pressure and slipping his tongue inside. My legs quiver.
The wolf leads me down on of the dimly lit baroque hallways where sultry classical music leaks from the speakers, providing a beautiful instrumental to the symphonies of pleasure that cascade from behind every door. He comes to a halt, gun metal claws curl around a crystal doorknob. He looks over his shoulder at me and flashes his fangs, “A warm up.”
Voices quieten when he enters, eyes widen, breaths catch and intimacies slow. He doesn’t address it or make any show of acknowledging the writhing rainbow of bodies enveloped around and inside of each other on the gigantic four poster bed in the centre of the room. I stare. And stare. And stare. Everywhere my awestruck eyes travel reveals a new absurdly fantastical scandal; minotaurs and elves, mermaids and dragons, pirates and seraphim. They’re wickedly wonderful, half of their costumes discarded in vibrant glittering heaps around the floor of the bed, whilst tails, and horns, and wings rise and fall between painted flesh and masked faces joined at the hips and mouths.
He leads us to the gallery on the outskirts of the room, where those too shy or simply biding their time, observe the action. He stands behind me and nips at my earlobe with his fangs, “Watch them.”
My focus falls to the copper-skinned high elf, with perfectly pointed ears peeking from beneath her crowned dreadlocks, in the lap of the naked Minotaur. She’s facing him, clutching at his thick horns as she bounces and rolls her hips up and down his girth, her pert breasts brushing against the soft, dark hairs on his chest. He’s gripping her waist, guiding her pleasures, pulling her down harder, harder, harder_
“Fuck!” she cries, “Don’t stop!”
The wolf’s claws tickle the outside of my thighs as the lowers my underwear. His lips brush against my neck, “I’m starving,” he growls throatily. Skin meets skin once more and he slides his finger gently between my folds, spreading my mounting liquid arousal across my sex.
I whimper and grind my ass against his erection, “Do it.”
He undoes the clasp holding my cloak together. Before it hits the ground, he is in front of me, on his knees, pulling my soaking wet thong all the way off. He gathers the scant red satin in his fist and brings it to his snout. He inhales. He growls.
The seraphs wings rush back and forth, violently discarding pure white feathers with the force of his every thrust as he drives himself deeper into the dragon, tugging her ponytail between her iridescent sequin scaled wings, forcing her to deepen the arch in her back. She claws at black velvet bed sheets, groaning through gritted teeth, her hooded eyes resting on us; Red Riding Hood about to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf.
Part II coming soon.
Written by multi award-winning author, Shakira Scott (@ScottyUnfamous)
Check out more of her work on shakirascott.com