Leading him down the hall, I lent him my arm, though I was half tempted to let him bump into one of the many pillars that spanned our path to the hall at the end.

We paused at the grand wooden doors. Their grandeur all but gone, but the sense of finer times lingered. My fingers traced over him. From his shoulder, down over his bare back, and the slight curve of his firm ass. So worthy of a pinch. So worthy of a spank. So worthy of what was about to befall it.

“You look wonderful,” I whispered against the bare skin of his shoulder.

He almost giggled, but tried for something more masculine, and almost succeeded, “I feel very naked.”

“But you’re not,” I returned. My fingers stepping a slow route up to his face and gently ran around the border of his blindfold, just checking there were still no gaps. “Are you nervous?” I asked, with a softer, almost nurturing whisper.

“I feel very nervous,” he whispered blindly back.

“But you’re not,” I said with a grin, as I reached out to encase the thickening of his cock, with my warm hand. “I think you’re ready.”

I knocked.

The door, so thick, that I was unaware of the hushing tones, the scraping chairs, the rustling feet that it my knocked caused on the other side. So when it opened, we walked into a silent room. We slowed, only briefly to affix my gaze on where I needed to go, and where I should lead him.

We, or rather I, finds our spot. A squeeze of his hand made him stop. I seat myself, as he stood beside my absurdly grand chair. The short seat, and the tall back ensured I sat rigidly upright.

A staff pounded the floor, and there was movement from between the chairs. The men. They were all similarly garbed, in simple black blindfolds and nothing else, and they all take tentative steps into the middle of the circle of our chairs. We women can't help but smile.

“Begin,” a simple word is spoken.