Masquerade

I have to tell you about a most interesting party I attended. Even though I absolutely ‘loathe’ large social events, I’d promised my friend that I’d attend her New Year’s Eve festivities. But this was to be far worse than a normal, boring cocktail affair; my friend had decided that her perfect party had to be a masquerade ball.

So, off I went to the costume rental shop. My mind was wandering as I conjured up excuses why I could not attend. Maybe I’d get sick at the last minute. Maybe I wouldn’t find a costume….

Totally consumed by my inner reflections, I almost walked straight into the broad chest of a tall, raven-haird hunk as he was leaving the costume shop. We looked each other over – as most people would under the circumstances. He smiled politely and excused himself in a deep, softly accented voice. Then, he gallantly held the door open for me as I went in. Looking back through the glass door, I wached him get into a sleek, black Porsche with panther-like grace. He caught my infatuated gaze and waved. Blushing in embarrassment, I hurried away from the door.

The salesgirl helped me try on several costumes, but the one I really fell in love with was an 18th century creation of soft, ivory-colored brocade and lace that looked like something out of an epic film on the French Revolution. The tight, low-cut bodice fit my voluptuous breasts perfectly, as elegant folds of material cascaded down my statuesque frame all the way to the floor in a perfect fit.

The costume included a powdered white wig, a sequined ivory mask shaped like a butterfly, and an ivory fan. I knew that this disguise would effectively camouflage my green eyes and honey-bonde hair until unveiling at midnight. Happily, I paid the exorbitant rental price and left the shop, feeling a sense of quivering expectation flow through me. This pary might just be fun after all!

After anxiously waiting through a whole week, the night of the party arrived, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of anticipation. I, who’d always professed my hatred of fuss and costumed, felt like someone from another time and place when I donned the elegant dress.

I giggled at the beautiful courtesan regally assessing me from my mirror. Pulling myself into a haughty posture, I fanned my flaming face, batted my long eyelashes flirtatiously and attempted to practice my most seductive and alluring feminine poses. The disguise was perfect; and as long as I didn’t talk, no one would know it was me.

I took a cab to the pary almost bouncing with excitement. My friend Amanda was standing just inside the door, greeting her guests wearing a sheer, lavender belly dancer outfit that left nothing to the imagination. (She’d ‘always’ been an exhibitionist.)

Fanning myself nervously as I approached, I tried to change my walk, my demeanor – anything that could be recognized. Classical music poured from the house, adding to the pervasive mood of being in another time and place, although I knew it would switch to jazz or rock ‘n’ roll once the party started humming.

“Good evening,” Amanda said as I came near. “Who’s under that mask?” She tried to edge it away from my face, but I pulled back. I shook my head mysteriously behind the fan and didn’t utter a sound in response to her query.

“Well, it’s a great costume,” she said. “Unveiling is at midnight. Go have fun. The bar’s to the right.” Then she turned from me to greet a couple dressed as a caveman and his mate.

Once I’d stepped through the foyer and into the main living room, I was struck by the otherworldly quality of the house. Not one light had been turned on; instead, hundreds of candles illuminated the large space, bathing it in a romantic glow. Awestruck, I turned to the bar and made my way through at least a hundred colorfully costumed people. I recognized some of them, but others were so well-concealed that I knew I’d have to wait until the midnight unveiling to find out who they were. The sparse, romantic lighting added to the elusive mystery of each guest, and a thrill shot through me at the total anonymity I was experiencing.

In as quiet a voice as I could manage, I ordered a glass of red wine and turned to face the room. The place was packed, noisy and boisterous. I suddenly realized just how much I hated attending parties alone. Just because you were by yourself, men assumed you were hard-up. I’d recently ditched the last loser I’d wasted months on and didn’t plan on getting involved with anyone in the near future….

All at once, I felt a strange, magnetic pull and noticed a tall, tanned man across the room avidly watching me through an oval-shaped ivory mask. He was dressed in a costume that could have been the male twin to mine, as evidence by the well-built masculine form it contained. Although his costume included a white wing, I could tell by his eyebrows and mustache that his hair was dark black. His jacket and knee breeches were made of the same ivory-colored brocade as my gown. The soft white ruffles of his starched shirt looked incredibly seductive against the dark bronze of his skin, and his demeanor seemed more like that of a pirate than the French nobleman he was portraying.

I scanned the muscular legs, scandalously clad in ivory colored tights. He was quite a mouth-watering specimen of male flesh. I could imagine the hard muscles flexing beneath his clothing, and felt my heart plummet into my stomach in a carnal nose-dive.

Tremulously, I lowered my eyes as I’d practiced in the mirror and fanned myself lightly. When I looked up again, he had materialized before me. I gazed at hime through thick eyelashes, feeling my heart begin to pound a tinny staccato. His deep, blue eyes regarded me with unspoken interest through the ivory mask he wore. His lips were thick and sensual below a soft, raven mustache. I watched as his tongue lightly wet them, before he elegantly bowed before me.

He took my hand in his and placed a soft, sultry kiss into the palm, then closed my fingers into a fist, as if having me hold his kiss until later. Lust sizzled through my sluggish veins like a jolt of caffeine. I exhaled a gasp of breath that I hand’t realized I’d been holding. My palm tingled where he’d kissed it. God, was he hot!

“Mademoiselle, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked in a deep, sultry accent I couldn’t quite place. He could have been French, Italian, Spanish, anything.

I inclined my head in acceptance, crisply closed the fan, then took his proffered arm and allowed myself to be led to the dance floor. Amanda had emptied all the furniture from her living room. The shining parquet floor beckoned us to glide across its smooth expanse.

He bowed like a nobleman. I curtseyed, feeling a nervous gigle bubble inside me. At the touch of his hands, my nervousness changed into something strange and exciting. I could smell the spicy aftershave wafting from him, tantalizing my senses. I inched closer than was really necessary for a waltz; but then again, nothing about this situation was real.

We begun to waltz across the floor in neverending circles, floating together on a cloud of awakening sensuality. His touch was alive, stimulating. I felt my cheeks flushing red at his volatile closeness. My whole body was beginning to ache with the heat of our contact.

His deep, blue eyes blazed into mine as we took each other’s measure. He was elegant, poised, and he made me feel like we were the only ones in the room. I was Cinderella to his Prince Charming. I closed my eyes and let him whirl me into another time.

I felt a light breeze caress my cheeks and cautiously opened my eyes to find he had danced me out onto the terrace overlooking Amanda’s perfectly sculptured gardens. We were standing in a hidden alcove, engulfed by the sensuous, intoxicating aroma of star jasmine and gardenia bushes. The flowery scent in the air heightened my awareness of his light touch as he held me in his arms – a total
mystery to me.

Before I could pull away, I found myself wrapped in the strong band
of his hard, muscular arms, being kissed in a most tender, ardent manner. He was gentle, yet so strong. I felt the probing of his tongue requesting entrance into my mouth. Like a bee after honey, he took a quick taste of my nectar. In and out his tongue darted before he sensuously licked my lower lip. I shuddered at the erotic intimacy taken by this bold stranger.

He whispered softly, “You staste sweet, querida.” Then, he placed tiny kisses around my ear and slowly, deliberately made his way down my neck to the bursting bodice of my gown. He was so in control, while I was anything but. I felt like there was a raging fire burning in the pit of my stomach, aching for him to put it out. He was like a fantasy come true. I had no idea who this erotic man was, but he had me hot and writhing in his grasp. I wanted more, so much more of him. I felt his fingers lightly stroke my arm, then my chest, in a sensual caress of silk on flesh.

“Your skin feels like rose petals; so soft, so fragrant,” he whispered as he moved the soft brocade material of the bodice aside and swirled his tongue lightly, deliverately around the outer edge of my rigid nipple, until I thought I’d faint from sheer longing. The soft hairs of his mustache lightly tickled the hard, rosy peak. He didn’t grasp it, but merely toyed with the lighter skin around it. When he finally nibbled the aching nub with his teeth, I thought I’d scream. I felt the warm wetness of my need from him building in my lower body in response to his carnal onslaught. If he hadn’t veen holding me, I sould have fallen at his feet in a worshipful heap.

As if reading my salacious thoughts, he glanced at me and smiled. “You’re made for a man’s touch… for my touch.”

He leaned forward and gave the other excited point of passion the same seductive treatment, lightly nipping the inflamed peak until I wanted to howl like a she-wolf in heat. If this teasing went on much longer, I thought I would shatter into a thousand crystal shards.

My breath was coming in light gasps as he moved back up to my neck with the same light, feathery kisses. Like a cat, he licked my earlobe and whispered, “I can’t wait to make love to you.”

Molten desire coursed through my veins as he nibbled on my lower lip and licked his way around the sensitized area before plunging his volatile tongue deep inside my mouth. I felt his tongue lightly touching each secret place before swirling around mine in a ritual dance of awakening passion. As if taking possession of my soul, he kissed me luxuriously, long and deep, like he had all the time in the world. It was no simple taste this time, but a feast.

The whole time he was concentrating on my mouth, his skillful hands were massaging their way down the gentle slope of my back until he was fondling my squirming derriere through the material of my dress. I could feel the fiery passion of his touch through the thin material, and I longed for so much more.

I felt a heady sense of relief at the knowledge that my lacy white garters and stockings wouldnt impede his advances as the cumbersone corsets and eticoats would have done centuries ago. These modern fashions did have their advantages….

He contined to intoxicate my heated senses with his tender, consuming kisses as he provocatively inched the dress up in back intil the material was bunched at the waist and his hot hands were stroking the bare, sultry flesh of my ass. Whimpering like a puppy, I squirmed closer, feeling the hardness of his sex pushing against me through his old-fashioned breeches as he held me tightly against him. I reached lower until I could feel the firm, swollen mass of him against my hand. I reached inside the band of his pants until I felt him naked and hard in my palm. I stroked him, feeling his unleashed power.

“Squeeze tighter, querida.” He moaned. Lightly and rhythmically, he pulled himself in and out of my hand. I felt a slick drop of liquid on the end and rubbed it into my fingers, coating him so he moved like smooth satin in my palm. I heard him groan with unbridled pleasure, but lost all conscious thought as he lightly caressed my tingling flesh, moving his hand lower, until I felt his nimble fingers stroking the aching entrance of my well-lubricated sex.

His breathing was becoming ragged, choppy, uncontrolled. I smiled as I realized the power I had over him. His own urgency was becoming so strong that all tenderness was vanishing. He kissed me deep and hard as he plunged two fingers inside my sex-crazed core, touching spots within my aching well that made me squeal into his mouth. As I felt myself begin to peak, he pulled out and gently stroked the outer lips until I calmed down. It seemed like he tormented me this way for an eternity – as though he enjoyed the feeling of my need for him. I wiggled hungrily against him begging for more of this agony, this ecstasy.

“Your body is crying for me to make love to you. Is that what you want, querida?” he asked silkily.

“Yes, I want to feel you inside me. Please stop teasing me,” I begged.

He turned me around so that my back was to him and positioned my bare midriff over the top rung of the wrought iron banister. He lifted my leg over one of the intricate railings to leave me wide open to him before plunging deep and hard into my waiting sex. I cried out when I felt my wet pussy filled with his rampaging cock. It was wonderfully delicious to be so stretched and full of him. He panted into my ear and whispered, “Beautiful, wet and tight, all the things I like in a woman. I could make love to you forever, querida.”

He squeezed my breasts roughly, pinching fiercely at the throbbing nipples, before he began pumping into my screaming sex like a raging stallion. Colors exploded like fireworks in my head as I felt my release approaching. Gragments of ecstasy cascaded around me, and I pushed myself backwards, wriggling into his hard thrusts.

I felt him pull out wetly and drop to his knees behind me, and I squealed when I felt his tongue stroke my leaping clit. He caressed the hard, heated center of my sex until he felt the come juice pulsing from me. I screamed my shattering orgasm to the world, and his pulsing member was already inside me again, driving deep, hard, and then pulling out until I could feel the tip just resting against the quivering mouth of my sex. He did this several times, teasing me into a mindless mass of throbbing heat.

I felt myself spasm in ecstasy on his hard cock again and again, and had to bite my lower lip in an effort to keep the crazed screams from erupting from my mouth. I pulled away from him, determined to make him at least as unhinged as he’d made me. I was on my knees before him, taking the pulsing tip of his steel-like prick into my mouth. He felt so hard, so alive in my hot mouth as I worked the purplish head with my tongue.

I quivered with renewed excitement when I tasted my own sex juices on his sleek cock. I licked and sucked him lightly until I learned his pleasure, his needs. Pure power was at my fingertips, in my mouth. I felt my pussy tingle and contract with this knowledge as I tok the hard length of himn deep into the back of my throat, and while still licking the veiny underside with a feline stroke, I pulled him out until just the pulsating head was in my mouth. I sucked it lightly, swirling my tongue around and around. When he quicked his strokes, I took all of him into my throat once again. Growing tired of my teasing, he grabbed my head between his hands pulled his rging sex in and out of my mouth. Stroking my mouth, he moaned and gyrated his hips, bucking wildly, passionately.

With one last hard thrust into my mouth, he began to spurt a torrent of come against my tongue. I pulled his cock out of my mouth and jerked him off with my hands, feeling the warm shower cascade onto my face and breasts in pear-like droplets.

He smiled down at me and helped me up. He kissed me languidly, tasting himself on my lips, then galla
ntly retrived a handkerchief from his breast pocket and helped me to clean up an
d recompose myself.

“I know we’ll meet again, querida,” he whispered placing a kiss on my hand, and then one more on my clinging lips. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

I didn’t stay for the midnight unveiling after he’d disappeared. For me, the party ended when he vanished. I would have wondered if he’d been a figment of my overactive imagination, but my sated pussy told another tale.

I had the dress cleaned, and was entering the costume shop to return it when I saw the same dark-haired man who had been there on the day I had picked it out. My senses reeled as I smelled his clean, familiar, spicy scent. He held the door open for me, a knowing smile curving his sensual lips into a Cupid’s bow. I almost fainted as I realized who he was. His eyebrows arched at my abvious astonishment. “I told you we’d meet again, querida,” he whispered, bowing to kiss my palm.

Copy Right, Desolation – 2003

No portions of Masquerade may be used without expressed, written permission.