Confessions from the Velvet Table

Part 2 - The Interrogation Begins

We took our seats around Serena like elegant predators pretending to be herbivores.If you’ve never eaten fruit warmed by candlelight from a woman trying not to smile, well, you haven’t lived.

If this sounds decadent, it was. If it sounds a little mad, it was that too.

But my God, it was intoxicating.

I don’t know whether it was the candlelight, the slinky whispers of our costumes, or the way we were all performing versions of ourselves turned up to eleven, but everything felt charged, every look, every word, every breath that wasn’t quite steady.

And Leonard, poor Leonard, tried desperately to maintain composure while six women dismantled it one wicked hint at a time.

He began his interrogation, and the room heated so rapidly I thought the candles were going to faint.

Scarlett selected a morsel from Serena’s right nipple, slowly licking it from her fingers, all the time keeping her eyes fixed on Leonard, a faint sly smile echoing on her lips. Stepping away from the table, she collected a napkin his napkin from his lap, pushed him back in his seat. Both hands on his face, she kissed him deeply, tongue exploring and revealing. Releasing him, she pulled her skirt up, revealing she had no knickers on at all, and playfully straddled him. She placed his hands on her tits as she ground her pussy into his hardening cock. Purring in her ear she delivered her line:

“I was delayed by a wardrobe mishap. My dress and I had a disagreement. It insisted on clinging; I insisted on slipping free. It took us a moment to negotiate.”

Good Scarlett, almost believable, except we all know Scarlett’s wardrobe doesn’t malfunction.Scarlett malfunctions on purpose to create spectacle.

Violette stepped up to his chair, leaned in close, whispered something in his ear. He sat bolt upright, hands in his lap, looking straight ahead. Not looking at Violette, not looking at anyone, except the empty chair. “Yes Mistress”.

She slunk around the back of his chair, trailing a finger across his shoulders and down his arm.

He squirmed a little, his thumb slowly, almost imperceptibly stimulating his cock.

Violette noticed. Said nothing. Elegantly selected a serving spoon and ‘thwap’ smack Leonard on the thumb.

She returned the spoon. Pivoted to look at him and delivered her line:

“I was in the conservatory… for a private engagement — the kind conducted in whispers and shadows.”

Of course Violette was “entertaining” someone.She can make a houseplant feel seduced. The conservatory was probably the safest place for whoever it was.

Aurelia picked a strawberry from Serena’s belly, dipped it into cream. Sticking out her tongue, she let the tip circle the end of the strawberry, the cream swirling and succumbing. She lowered the strawberry in her mouth, turned to Leonard and gave him a gentle smile and wink. Collecting another strawberry dipped in cream, Aurelia stole across the floor, wrapped her arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead, he let his head fall back and she kissed him sweetly, teasing him with her strawberry. Placing the strawberry on his lips, she leaned in to kiss him, long and slow, sharing the juice spurting from the fresh fruit.Wiping her lips with his napkin, Aurelia declared in her soft accented voice, 

“I was in the library… browsing something rather private. I found a very tempting volume in the library, the sort that begs to be read slowly… and savoured.”

“Yeah, right” I recall thinking at the time, you see Aurelia reads books the way other women undress lovers: slow, deliberate, with a sense of ceremony.

She could have been researching alibis or summoning spirits — genuinely a 50/50.

Bella’s blushed. Somehow her blush was so hot it could power a small city.

She stayed in her chair.

Pulled up her school girl inspired dress, delivering her line while playing with herself through her frilly white knickers.

“I was admiring myself in the hall mirror.  I paused in the hall mirror… to um,  collect myself. And perhaps… enjoy the view.”

Giggling she sat back down in her seat and delicately picked up a mandarin segment, dipped it in chocolate sauce pooling in Serena’s belly button , holding the dripping fruit segment above her mouth, let it spatter sweet goodness over her chin and down her throat.

Leonard shuddered as he watched her silently from his chair. 

He was looking decidedly uncomfortable now. He stood up from his chair, ostensibly to retrieve the sugared plum, but we noticed he straightened his trousers and rearranged his bulging cock.

Dearest Diary, Bella pretends she’s shy, but then you’ll find her staring at herself like a forbidden fantasy when she thinks no one’s looking.

Hall mirror is her natural habitat. Hands in pants while her mouth is dripping, is her favourite activity. Ah Bella, we love you sweet girl.

Leonard moved down the table, placed himself behind my chair expectantly. His hands lightly resting on my shoulders. His cock pressing into my back, not so subtly.

The room went silent, eyes focussing on my next move. The music a long slow underline to the building suspense.

“ Oh me?”

Said with all the innocence I could muster.

I gave Leonard The Look.

You know the one: the one that suggests you’re thinking something scandalous but refusing to share.

It never fails. It didn’t tonight.

He circled around behind me, like he wasn’t sure whether to interrogate me or surrender outright. 

Every time he asked a question, I answered slowly, letting the silence stretch like silk between us. I could feel the tension, thick enough to lean on.

“I was powdering my nose in the guest suite.” 

Look, I wasn’t powdering anything.

I was deciding who I wanted to destroy with charm first.

It’s called strategy. And contouring.

At one point he touched my wrist as if guiding me through a clue, but his fingers lingered just a fraction too long.I pretended not to notice.

He pretended not to mind. We were both lying.

At some point I forgot half my assigned clues and simply improvised with whatever felt the most deliciously misleading. It turns out I’m very good at incriminating others with only a tilt of the head and a slow sip of wine. A talent, really.

Between bites of fruit and sips of wine, the air practically crackled. We weren’t just suspects: we were co-conspirators, performers, temptresses in couture.

The way he watched us, gods, that man enjoys being adored. And we were performing for him, yes, but also for each other. Women flirt with each other in ways men can’t begin to emulate. It becomes a dance. Not quite competition, not quite seduction, but a shimmering space between the two.

I caught Violette’s eye at one point and she smirked as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. She probably did.

Halfway through the evening, the heat had seeped into my skin, down my spine — everywhere, really. I found myself drifting a fingertip along the stem of my glass just to release some of the energy coiled in me. Even that felt suggestive.

When the food had mostly been consumed from Serena’s body and we’d reached the point in the evening where everything starts to feel dreamlike and a little too warm, Leonard announced his accusation.

The Accusation

He pointed to me.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Not the candles.

Not the air.

Not even the pulse hammering at the base of Leonard’s throat.

And then the room vibrated. That delicious, invisible quiver that happens when every person present knows the moment has teeth.

The thrill shot through me so fast I nearly forgot how to stand.

Being chosen.

Being watched.

Being wanted.

There is nothing quite like it, diary. Nothing.

Leonard held my gaze with the kind of intensity a man shouldn’t use in polite company.

It wasn’t an accusation.

It was an invitation wrapped in theatre, tied with silk.

I let the silence stretch, luxuriating in it like a cat in a sunbeam.

I smiled.

Not the sweet kind.

The slow, devastating kind that should require a permit and a responsible adult present.

I didn’t reach for the Motive Card immediately.Not when he pointed at me.Not when the women gasped.

Not even when Serena lifted her head, her eyes already glittering with anticipation.

No — I let the moment swell.

I let Leonard wait.

My fingers hovered over the card, barely touching it, as if even paper should earn the right to be handled by me. I dragged my nail lightly along the edge, slow enough that the sound of it caught the candlelight’s rhythm.

Then — deliberately — I rose from my chair.

Not fully.

Just enough that the fabric of my dress whispered as it shifted, and every pair of eyes at the table sharpened like lenses.

Leonard didn’t blink.

I stepped into his space without actually moving my feet. A trick of posture — shoulders angled, chin tilted, lips parted in the faintest, most dangerous smile I owned.

Only then did I lift the card.

I held it between two fingers, like an invitation rather than evidence.

And I looked at him, not the table, not the others: him.

“Shall I?” I asked softly.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

I unfolded the card slowly, letting the crackle of paper fill the silence. Then I leaned forward just a fraction, enough that he could almost feel my breath.

And in a tone that felt more like a confession than a game, I read:

“I wanted the Victim out of the way…because she was distracting the Host from me.”

But I didn’t stop there.

I let the last word linger: me - letting it unfurl between us like smoke.

I tilted my head, watching the flicker across his face.

A twitch of breath.

A pulse at his jaw.

A stillness so sharp it bordered on hunger.

I held his gaze, lowering the card with a slow, measured exhale.

Then, because the moment demanded it, I added a line that wasn’t written anywhere:

“And when I want someone’s attention…I take it.”

That did it.

A pulse of heat shot through the room.

The women stiffened, delighted.Scarlett murmured “oh my god” under her breath.Violette smirked like a cat watching two canaries fight for dominance.

Leonard didn’t move, but the air around him did.

It tightened.

Brightened.

Trembled.

Serena, bless her, lifted her head and delivered the final confirming clue in a voice dripping with amusement.

The butler nodded once, as if approving the ritual climax.

And me?

I sat back down with the elegance of a dagger being sheathed. Slow, silent, dangerous.

The card still warm in my hand.

Serena, bless that wicked angel, lifted her head just enough to deliver the final clue, her voice a soft, knowing flick of confirmation.

The butler, unbothered by mortal tension, offered a modest nod of approval.

Impossible to tell if it meant anything.

But it felt like the closing flourish of a ritual.

Leonard still hadn’t looked away.

Neither had I.

And in that suspended moment - the table, the candles, the women, the feasts, everything - it all dissolved into a single, undeniable truth:

He hadn’t just accused me.

He had chosen me.

And the evening was no longer a game.

It was a fuse.

Lit.