11 comments/ 8789 views/ 7 favorites Victim's Ball By: MSTarot (On July 14th ever year the French celebrate La Fête Nationale, a holiday that here in the United States we call Bastille Day. It is celebrated with parades, period costuming and fireworks. Large parties with decorative food--blue, white, and red--also music and dance play a prominent part of the celebrations. This story is themed to fit that ... in my own odd personal way. Enjoy. MST) * "So let me get this straight," I said, as I leaned my back against the kitchen counter in my best friend's apartment. My eyes dropped to Maggie's ass by their own will. That little twitch-sway she was making as she decorated sugar skulls (?) and petit fours with a piping bag was getting very interesting. "This new girl Jason is bringing. She has never gone to see a movie at a theater? Never been to a concert? Never been to any kind of party ... in her whole life? What is she an ex-nun? Was she raised in a cult?" I asked as I took a sip of my beer. Maggie shook her head and looked over her shoulder at me. Luckily, I had moved my eyes before she did that. Our just friends status would have been seriously damaged if she ever knew how incredibly hot I considered her. How much I desired her has been my secret for a half-dozen years. "No, she's just from a very religious family. Idle hands are the devils holiday and all that." Maggie shrugged and went back to piping on icing. "She's nice. I mean, it's not like she preachy. She's really a very sweet girl. I worry about her dating Jason though. That clean-cut, good-guy crap he's been using since we got out of high school ... it may have helped him get that job, but I know better. That bastard can be a sleaze-ball to women." I felt my blood suddenly heat up. "Maggie? Something I need to know about?" I asked. My teeth ground together when I saw her shrug my question away. I liked Jason, I mean we have been friends since our freshman year session room. But if that fucker had hurt Maggie, I would kick his ass so hard, he would need a doctor to get my shoe out his prostate. "Maggs?" "It's nothing. He asked me out once; I told him no, I had other plans already. It was true I did, but he thought I just didn't want to go out with him. He didn't take it well." She shrugged. "It's all old history. High school drama crap. I haven't really thought about it in the three years since it happened." She went back to her decorating, and I went back to looking at her ass. Well, I was and I wasn't. My eyes were there, but my mind wasn't really focused on what I was seeing. I was thinking back to school when all those rumors got started about Maggie. The ones that said she was a lesbian. Three years back, huh? About right. Could that have been Jason? Memories of finding Maggie crying her eyes out on the back school steps came flashing back. "So this Daughter of Christ ... got a name?" I tossed my empty beer bottle in the trash and debated another one. I was going to be driving here in a bit and I knew Maggie would give me hell if I had a second beer. I opened the fridge and grabbed a coke and then got one for Maggs as well. "Our Lady Mother Angelica of ... what?" "Don't do that. Thank you," she said when I handed her the Coke. "She is very sweet and yeah, shy enough to be a nun. Please don't give her any grief. She's dating a twit; she doesn't need to have to deal with a twat." Opening my soda, I hid my smile behind the bottle. Riling up Maggie had been my sport of choice since grade school. "I just asked her name." "You asked her name in an asshole kind of way." Maggs said a soft cuss word, and turning around handed me a tiny cake. I saw it had smeared icing. "Here, eat this. Her name is Wilhelmina." I paused with that sweet tidbit halfway into my mouth. "Wilhelmina? Wilhelmina?" I gave my head a little twitch. "Oh, so she's Amish?" Maggie, looking over her shoulder, gave me a sour look, and then turning around, pushed the hard, wax-paper-wrapped cookie tray into my gut. "Put these in the car with the others while I go get dressed," she snarled. "Before I have to hurt you. I would hate to have explain to your mother why she can never be a grandmother." "Okay. Fine, fine. I'll not tease the new girl. I just have one question though." Maggie stopped by the sink, shook her head and looked back at me with a resigned expression. "What?" "This party--if I read Cassandra's Facebook post right--its theme is a Gothic, post-French-Revolution-costume party, celebrating Bastille Day, yes? Okay, that being the case, what do these Mexican Day of the Dead sugar skulls have to do with that?" I looked down at the tray of cookies. "The petit fours you made I get, but the ..." "Mark Thomas, go put the cookies in the car." Turning away, I hid my smile and headed out to my Monte Carlo. Popping open the trunk one handed, I placed the cookie tray on top of the other three just like it. The wax paper on them kept everything separated. Reaching in, I snagged me another cookie before I shut the trunk. Looking up at Maggie's apartment, munching on sugar and icing, I saw her silhouette pass behind the window in her bathroom. The blinds may have hid her from view, but not from my imagination. I smiled as I pictured her slowly getting dressed. That short, bobbed haircut of hers just brushing her naked shoulders with ebony hair as she bent forward to pull on the fishnet stocking she had shown me. Then the shimmy of her hips as she pulled up that black vinyl skirt. I was just beginning to visualize what her breasts must look like as she reached behind her to fasten a no doubt black lace bra, when my phone rang. "Your nickel?" I answered. "Hey, Mark! You about at the party?" asked my buddy, Chris. Leaning back against my car, I sighed as I looked back up and I saw that Maggie had moved away from her window. "Nope. Still at Maggs' place. We'll be there soon. What's up?" "I've been driving around here for ten minutes. Where the hell is this place again?" Chris asked. I could hear his girlfriend Cindy talking to someone on her cellphone in the background. "I've tried Map Quest but that gave me the wrong place." "It's on Carson Mills Drive. Right across from the old firehouse. You remember; it's got that dark brick wall all around it and those big old cast iron lanterns by the gate." "Oh, that place? All right, I'm not too far from there. Well, thanks. I'll see you when you get there." I could make out Cindy saying something just as the phone disconnected. Shaking my head, I pocketed my phone. Love the guy, but that dumb ass could get lost in a bathtub with a GPS and a map. And his girlfriend was worse. All Cindy had ever been able to find was a guy just like herself. Heading back into the apartment, to take a quick piss, I stopped at the open bathroom door and leaned my shoulder against the door frame, silently saying, "Wow." Funny, how after nearly fifteen years being friends with her, I had only in the last five seen just how beautiful she was. Maggie applying her makeup was like watching a master painter at work. Highlighting this, shading that. De Vinci was an amateur at bringing out beauty next to her. My eyes left her face for a moment, following the curves and hills of a landscape of female perfection. "Does this skirt ride too high? I feel like my ass checks are showing in it." Maggie cut her eyes to me, while still applying lip gloss. "Yes? No? Maybe?" I, with all the apparent reluctance of a man walking to the gallows, made myself look down at her ass. The shiny, black vinyl hugged her ample hips in a way that made me envious of that skirt. The bottom edge met the top of those fishnet stockings leaving just a hint of white thigh showing in a way that would make a saint hard. And I'm no saint. "They'll only show if you bend over. So don't drop your keys lest we all go blind," I teased. I had to dodge a quick spritz of hairspray she sent my way. "Chris called." "He's lost," she said as she shaded under his eyes. I cringed as I pictured having to put a pencil that close to my eyeball. "Let me guess, he forgot to take a left turn at Albuquerque?" "Something like that. I think I got him pointed in the right direction. You about done?" I asked. "Nearly, why?" "Oh, just my eyeballs are starting to float." I shifted to the other side of the door frame. She put down her eyeliner and picked up a small metal case. I watched her start applying eyeshadow. "You can suffer for stealing that second cookie." "What second cookie?" I asked, all innocent. "I know you better than you know yourself. There is no way you could carry them out there without taking one. I love you to death, but you have the self-control of a monkey fucking a football." She snapped her little case closed. Letting my tongue chase the last of the icing off my teeth, my eyes dropped to the open cleavage she was displaying. A visual of those breasts covered in the icing from the piping bag came and went. "Believe me, Maggs, if I lacked in self-control you would know it." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "Well, you are wearing those 'Oh, tickle me now' clothes." Maggie grabbed her curling iron from off the side of the sink. I could see the waves of heat drifting up from it. "Don't even think about it, funny boy." She clicked the metal part at me. "You try to tickle me and I'll clamp this to your nipple." Her eyes dropped to the open collar of my shirt. "I'll singe every hair off your chest for you." I held my hands up in a show of peace as she edged her way around me and out the bathroom, the hair curler held like a Jedi lightsaber. She gestured with it for me to back away, and then she shut the door behind her. Chuckling, I clicked the door lock. I took a second to look at myself in the mirror then moved to the toilet. The sigh of relief was nearly orgasmic as I finally convinced my bladder it was okay to piss now. Then it felt like I had to piss forever till I finally got done. Moving to the sink, I had to move a few things out the way so I could turn on the water to wash my hands. Her melon, apricot and lilac hand scrub assaulted my nose as I used it. Wishing for something as simple as Irish Spring soap, I dried my hands and was about to leave when I noticed my foot was against a small pile of clothes. That flour covered T-shirt from earlier, a plain white bra peeked out from under it, and a pair of lace-topped panties that were the pink crown of the pile. Bending down, I picked them up and brought them to my nose, without a single thought about it. As I pressed the still somewhat warm cotton into my lips, I breathed deep a rich, heady scent that caused me to become instantly hard. A second deep breath placed that scent firmly into my memories. It would stay there for a long time, that mixture of her perfumes, soaps, sugar cookies, and the natural scents that were a part of her. A part of my best friend in the world. That hit me hard. Feeling a little guilty even as I took one last sniff, I leaned down and did my best to place them exactly where they were before. When I stood up and my eyes fell on myself in the mirror, her words about lack of self-control washed back over me. "No matter how quietly you sneak up on a mirror, you always find yourself staring right back at you," I quoted a movie in a soft breath to myself. "Windows to the soul." "Hey? Have you fallen in or something?" She tapped on the door. "I need my cell phone." Grabbing up her phone from the sink, I turned it around and snapped a quick selfie of me with my tongue stuck out for her to find. Opening the door, I handed her the phone. I tried to look innocent, even as thoughts of tickling her came back. Or doing something far more fun than tickling. I was hard and the scent of her was still in my nose. As we passed, I looked at her, and our eyes met. For a moment I wanted to lean in and kiss her, to taste those sweet-looking lips. Knowing that it would damage our fifteen-year friendship so very badly was the only thing that stopped me. That and my phone rang. It was Chris. He was still lost. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Balancing a store-bought chocolate cake and four pans of cookies, I followed Maggie, who was carrying the petit fours, into the side door of the old hotel. One of the kitchen staff smiled at us and thankfully held open the door. We followed the hand gestures, and half-mumbled instructions of his. After we found the large banquet hall door, I saw that I could have saved the fellow the time. I had known where to go. All I had needed to do was follow the sound of Cassandra's voice. "Okay, put that over there, yeah next to the rack. No, closer to the guillotine." I stopped in my tracks, looked at Maggie and mouthed the word "Guillotine?" She shook her head and held the door opened for me. Stepping through, I felt almost like I was stepping back through time. The room, despite a few more modern touches like electric lights, looked to have been brought forward from the early eighteenth century. Everything from the furniture to the wallpaper looked ancient. Clean, yes. Polished till it shined, yes. But all of it was clearly handmade and made by true craftsmen at that. Even the invention named after Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotine, which held place of honor at one end of the hall, looked well-constructed. And certainly deadly. "Okay, what a lovely party. Time to go now though," I mumbled under my breath as Cassandra came rushing over to us. Her long, black hair flowed out behind her like her own bit of shadow given life. She gave Maggie a quick hug then grabbed two of the cookie trays from me. "Happy Bastille Day! Oh, thank you for bringing these. Ooo, and the cake looks wonderful as well. Let's put these over here." She led us to a buffet table covered in all kinds of unfamiliar looking foods. French, maybe? Most of it was blue, white, and red. I held everything till, control-freak-that-she-is, Cassandra had decided what went were best from an artistic point-of-view. Once my arms were finally empty, she gave me a hug as well. The smell of her, all patchouli and sandalwood incense, was as alluring as it was disturbing, as always. I knew that those scents were so heavy to help her hide other scents. I couldn't help but hold her a second or two longer than she might have liked, but she felt like such a delicate flower in my arms, I was almost afraid to turn her loose. Like she was made of porcelain. My eyes went to the black hair my chin and cheek were resting on. The wig that covered her bald head felt itchy. She patted my back, and said softly into my chest so that only I could hear it. "None of that now. Plenty of time for that later." With an inner sigh I didn't let her hear, I turned her loose. She smiled at me, winked, and then reaching into a box on the table, pulled out a name tag and handed one to me and one to Maggie. Before I could ask about it, she snagged Maggie's arm and led her away to go look at something. I pinned it to my shirt, even though it didn't have my name on it. Not even close. It looked French. Sensing someone walking up on me, I turned to see Jason bringing me a beer. He was not in costume for the ball, but in a stylish suit. Given my earlier thoughts of him spreading rumors about Maggie back when we were in school, I wanted to take the beer bottle and break it over his smug-as-sin looking head. But I didn't. It was full bottle after all, and following that moment with Cassandra I needed a drink. I needed a drink far stronger than beer. I took it from him with a nod, not really trusting my voice to not break, and went back to looking at the decor as I sipped. "There is something decidedly morbid about this whole, Bastille Day thing." Jason said, shaking his head. "I mean given ... well you know." "Yeah, I know." I took another long drink. Always the you knows when people can't stand to mention the C-word. "So where is this new girl I hear you have?" Jason pointed with his beer to a girl over by where Chris and his girlfriend Cindy were standing togther. She was more than pretty but less than beautiful. My eyes took in the nervous looks she gave everyone and the "out of place" way she seemed to be standing. I could tell that was what she was feeling even from across the room. "She's a bit of a handful at times, but she is real looker, huh?" he bragged as he adjusted his glasses. "I can't wait to find out what she's like in bed. Bet once I get through that shell she's going to be a freak." If he had moved his hand to shift the blue-black tie at his neck I would have probably slugged him. Here I was dress, more-or-less, like a pirate--as close to 1800s as I could get on short notice--and he was more in a costume than I could have ever been. My eyes took in the hair cut, the manicured nails, and the clothes that he had custom fit, and I almost wanted to laugh in his face. I had so many memories of this clown from school. Wishing he would go bug someone else, I looked around at the other guests as they began to pile in. The clothing choices ran from semi-period clothing, similar to mine, to more like the sexy, black-vinyl look Maggie was wearing. But then, as more and more Goths arrived at that moment, I began to get the feeling I was in a Marilyn Manson video. "Might skip out this ... soiree ... here in a bit." Jason told me taking a sip of his beer. "Let Wilhelmina get a few more glasses of that punch into her and this could be the night of her life." He adjusted his tie. And then smirked and gave me a wink. I looked at the half bottle of beer in my hand and then at the side of his head. Debating, debating. "Mark, come take a look at this." Maggie grabbed my arm and began pulling me towards the hotel's front entrance. "Hi, Jason. Bye, Jason. It was wonderful to see you; we must do this again sometime." She pulled me away before he could say a thing in response. "Thanks for the save, Maggs. I have no desire to spend the night in jail for assault." She chuckled. "I saw your face. That cute little twitch by your eye was starting." "What little twitch?" I asked, confused. She didn't answer, just pulled harder on my arm leading me to who knows what. "Where are we going?" "Cassandra showed me this. It's so cool; I know you'll love it." Maggie stopped in front of a large painting. "Look here." Looking over the wall size painting, I was puzzled for a second till my eyes registered that the half-built thing in the background was the Eiffel tower. Then, as the city skyline of Paris began to take shape, I saw that it was not the Paris I had told Maggie was my ideal vacation spot, but rather one from a much older time. Maybe late eighteen-eighties, given the height of the tower; an image my architectural design professor had grilled into us. "It's pretty. Who's the artist?" "No! This here." She reached forwards and pointed to a specific building in the painting. "Look familiar?" Looking closer, I saw it was the hotel I was standing in. "How...?" I mumbled. "Over here." Maggie again took my arm and turned me. This time to face a metal plaque, bronze, rimmed in maybe gold leaf, attached to the wall by the entrance. ~ L' Hôtel du Nord~ "Established in 1693?" I felt my jaw drop when I read that. "No way in hell." Maggie lightly popped the back of my head. "Keep reading." Muttering. Rubbing at the back of my head, my eyes went back to the plaque. ~Established in 1693, by the LeCouvereur family on the outskirts of Paris, it was a popular destination for many who wished to visit the ancient City of Splendor, but didn't wish to stay too close due to the overcrowding that was common in the city during theater season. The original hotel was brick-by-brick demolished by the original owner's descendants and moved to America in the early nineteen-hundreds. They were quoted to have said that they "Feared its possible destruction" in the growing tide of war mongering that was sweeping Europe at that time. The hotel was reassembled exactly as it had been, here on this site, and in a strange twist of fate the hotel was reopened on the exact same day as WWI began. The 28th of June, 1914.~ Victim's Ball "Humph, well that's kind of bizarre. I mean like what are the odds of something like that?" "Don't ever ask me for odds," Maggie said in a pretty good Harrison Ford impersonation. "Now come take a look at this." The next metal plaque was small and half hidden by a fichus tree. ~The Grand Ballroom of the Hotel du Nord was said to have been the meeting place of people opposed to the French Revolution. It was also said to have been used to hold "Victim Balls" after the "Reign of Terror" ended with the death of Maximilien de Robespierre. The guest lists of these balls were composed of "only" the family members of those who had lost their lives to the "Nation's Razor."~ As that sank in I felt a morbid feeling settle upon me, and then a chill ran through me. I looked over at Cassandra handing out bright pieces of red ribbon to her guests. I noticed that she wore one around her neck now as well. She was smiling and laughing. One of her more Gothic dressed guests made a gesture like he was being hanged and the group around him laughed. I felt a sudden urge to pull Maggie closer and hold her to me. As if Cassandra's obsession, since her diagnosis, with everything dark and mortuary, might somehow rub off. I looked at the other people, the ones I didn't know. Several had their heads wrapped in turban like scarves or had on what was clearly a wig. Wigs that hid bald scalps. A few of them were very thin and pale, though none so greatly as Cassandra. This was not really a Bastille Day celebration; this was a modern Victim's Ball. This was a Ball for the Dead. "I'm going to go get some punch. You want some? It has like Swedish Fish floating in it, so it looks like a Koi pond. " Maggie patted my arm. "Go talk to Cassandra. Keep her cheered up." I nodded. Whether I was nodding yes to the punch or about talking to Cassandra I don't know. My mind was a bit preoccupied. I absently watched Maggie's vinyl skirt play peek-a-boo with her ass cheeks as she walked away. The skirt was too short, not that I was going to tell her or complain. Looking over at Cassandra, I remembered when she had the body to match Maggie's, not the thin rail she lived in now that most models would beg to have. She moved among her guests, smiling, patting hands, laughing. Her heart on her sleeve, she would freely give it to any that asked ... but then she had always been like that. These last few months seeing her get thinner and thinner I ... I wanted to .... Moving over to her, I was going to tap her on her shoulder then decided against it, fearing that I would bruise her. "Cassandra. Dance with me?" I asked. She turned, looking up at me startled, then after a second nodded and smiled at me. I took her hand and moved us over to where the other couples were swaying to the soft orchestral sounds that seemed to come from everywhere. A strange mixture of classical and dark metal they blended into a weird mix, but it fit this party well. Cassandra smiled when I tried to hold her too gently. She leaned in against my chest and held tight to me. "Don't worry about hurting me, Mark. If you do I won't hold a grudge long." She laughed softly, and then rested her head against my collarbone. "I wanted to do this at the prom. Did you know that? Yeah, I wanted you to be my date that night, but I didn't have the courage to ask you to ask me out. Silly now, looking back on it." "I don't think it's silly. I wish I had known. I would have loved to have taken you to the prom." I let my cheek rest against her hair, breathing in that strange smell of patchouli. I felt her laugher against my chest. "Liar." She poked my rib. "You wanted to take Maggie, but she already had a date with Simon Tipton." I held her quiet and just danced. The tune changed to an even slower one as I let what she said stew. Thinking back to the last year of high school, those frantic days of insanity with "Freedom!" just out of reach, but within sight. I could not remember who Cassandra had taken to the prom. "How did you know?" I asked softly, more holding her than dancing now really. "Because you took Carol Benson. You could not have possibly picked a person more aggravating for Maggie to see in your arms. Then, when Carol starting bragging all over school about what you and her did after the prom, I thought Maggs was going to murder her... and you. How long did it take till she would talk to you again?" "About six months," I said feeling again the bitterness of those lonely six months. "I cannot believe you slept with Carol. I always gave you more credit for taste than that. The girl was a cum-dumpster, Mark. Even now, just knowing you touched her--down there--makes me want to go get a STD check after this dance." She started to laugh. "And coming from me that's saying a lot." She pulled back a bit and looked up into my face. How hollow her face looked was the thought that came first, then how bright and alive her eyes were. "You deserved better for your first time than her. That's kind of why I wish it had been me that you took to the prom. I at least would have kept my mouth shut about it." She smiled at the look on my face. "What? Surprised that I wanted to have sex with you when we were in school together? Well, I did. I have a few regrets I can't go back and make up, but that's certainly one of them." She looked down at her much reduced cleavage. "And back then I had the equipment to have been attractive to you." "You're still attractive." She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Maybe to a bone doctor. He wouldn't need an x-ray machine. No, my days of enticing handsome men into my bed are sadly past." Leaning in, I placed my lips against hers. Cassandra stopped dancing, startled into immobility. Then I felt her lips turn up against mine. She softly returned my kiss for a moment then laid her head back on my chest. "Thank you, Mark Thomas. A last kiss, from a long unrequited love, to see me into my final sleep. How very romantic." She hugged me tighter. "Maggie will be jealous." "She's not my girlfriend, and she can get over it if she's jealous." "No. No, Mark, don't make her have to make those kinds of adjustments. She shouldn't have to get over it." She shook her head. "Oh you two fools! You have all of life in front of you and can't see the cliff. Wake up. There's a cliff ahead of all of us. Just how far off it is can change on a dime." She chuckled and smiled. "Like the song says, you need to live life like you're dying. I am." Looking down at her, seeing her desire to live, I felt a sudden desire to leave her with no regrets. She must have read the thought on my face because I saw her smile at me for a second and then she pulled away. She looked me up and down her teeth biting her bottom lip, and then she slowly shook her head. "I'm too fragile for that to be fun anymore, but thank you. Knowing that I can still make even one guy want me is ... well, it's nice to know. Even if it's just for a pity fuck. Now go on. Go find Maggie. You know you love her, just admit it to yourself." "She doesn't love me." I shook my head. "We're just friends, no matter what I might feel." Cassandra smiled. "As I said, two fools." I watched her drift off to talk to a group of people I didn't know. People with thin bodies, head-wraps and wigs. She merged into that group like a ghost sliding into fog. Looking around at the ballroom, this piece of old Paris, I suddenly had a desire to leave. It was terribly strong. It was a feeling that if I didn't get out of there quickly something terrible would happen. In fact I turned to go, but then stopped seeing Maggie there behind me. She was holding two cups of punch. "Here," she said, handing me one. "It's been spiked. Heavily." Taking a sip, the alcohol hit me just as the sweet taste faded. I nodded agreement. "Who is that?" Maggie asked. She nodded with her chin to the other side of the room. Turning, I saw a woman who had clearly spent a fortune on her gown. It was elegant and period accurate. She was looking at the table full of food with a puzzled look, as if to try and figure out what to eat. As we watched, Jason walked up next to her carrying a plate. I heard a low snarl from Maggie next to me when he started talking and smiling his charming smileto the lady. "What's he playing at? That fuckhead already has a date here tonight." She started chuckling when Jason's smile faded instantly and he turned and walked away from the lady. "Ha, shot down as the slug he is." "Maggie are you sure you don't want to tell me about what he did? I will kick his ass on general principle." "No. It's old news ... water under the bridge shit. He's not worth the effort to hit." Maggie shrugged. "Besides, Jason will bury himself, given enough rope and a shovel. Oh fuck, speak of the devil. I'm going to go get more punch." Jason walked up to me, looked at the punch glass in my hand, and sneered. "Dude, there is like tons of free beer in the cooler by the buffet table. I'm doing my part but I can't manage to drink it all. Leave that swill for the girls. Man up!" He laughed. "Hey, did you see the French chick?" "French chick?" asked. "Yeah ... ah ... Her." He looked around a bit then pointed at the women we saw him talking to. "I tried to ask her name but she no spak-a-da Englase. More or less what she said to me anyway. She's hot though. Nice rack." Looking around, I spotted Wilhelmina standing over near the big painting. Basically, as close to the door as she could get. I grinned when I saw Maggie and Cassandra slide in next to her and start talking. Jason's chances of giving her the "night of her life" were fading by the second, and he didn't even know it. I looked at the French girl in question, drawing his attention away from the ladies spoiling his evening. "So was she like French Quebec or did she sound European?" I asked. "How the hell would I know that? Dude, I don't talk to either one. If they can't speak English, how can I tell them just how awesome I am? Same goes for Spanish chicks. They no habla, I no obla." He stuck his tongue out and flicked the tip to show me what he meant. It also showed me just how many beers he had drank so far tonight. The old Jason that I knew in high school, was definitely making a comeback. Now if he just had on army-camo pants and his hair was lanky-oily he would be a perfect fit for my memories of him. Well, he would need to also reek of Axe cologne. Not that what he was wearing now was any better. Shaking my head, I kept my teeth together for a count of ten. "I'm going to take your advice and go get a beer. Be right back." "Yeah, good idea. Bring me back another one, will ya?" As I moved away I saw him turn and start trying to introduce himself to a Goth girl. When she smiled at him, her fangs showed. I was still chuckling at his reaction when I got to the coolers. Wiping ice water off the sides of the bottle, I turned and found myself face-to-face with the girl in the elegant dress. I saw that, like most of Cassandra's lady friends here, she had a red silk ribbon around her neck. Hers looked different than the ones that I had seen handed out though. More expensive maybe. Her blue eyes went to the name tag Cassandra had given to me, that was pinned on my chest. "De la Tour? Monsieur, peut être que vous êtes de la famille de la Marquise de la Tour, Henriette-Lucy? Ou vous êtes peut être domestique de sa maison?" The sing song French washed over me like a soft river of silk. "Sorry. My French is limited to mare-see and la toilette. I wish I could understand you though," I told her with a soft smile. She grimaced. "Oh, la la. Les pauvres oreilles. Ces gens grossiers ne peuvent que parler anglais? Prenez pitié du cerveau que je dois entendre des grognements anglais de tout part. " I watched her looking around then her shoulders slumped in defeat. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek. Setting down my bottle, I moved my hand to her cheek and caught it before it reached her chin. "Hey now. No reason to cry." I smiled my most charming smile. "Just because I can't understand you doesn't mean we can't talk." I touched my chest. "Mark Thomas." "Puis, il est anglais. Quel dommage. Il a des jolis yeux."Her eyes looked my face over for several seconds then her hand touched between her breasts. Jason was right at least about those. "Je m'appelle Colette LeCouvereur." "LeCouvereur? Oh, you're one of the owners of the hotel. Pleasure to meet you. It's a beautiful place." I gestured around me at the gilded ballroom, with its dark wood paneling. I watched her eyes take in the room and saw a smile just touch those rose-colored lips. Then a frown made her face terrible as she saw the guillotine. Her hand moved to her throat, and when she touched the ribbon she stopped. Then looked around her as if she suddenly understood. "Oh! C'est la soirée d'Angélique et Louise. Mais ... comment est-ce que je suis venue ici?" Her eyes went back to the name tag. "Oh, le Comité de salut public a executé ton père? Ou peut être ton frère?" "Sorry, I still don't understand French." I shrugged. "Mon dieu. Plus de l'anglais. Que cet homme comprend une langue civilisée!" Feeling helpless, I looked around but saw nothing that looked like a solution. Then, as I was about to try and make a retreat from the lady, the music changed to a much softer, more classical sound. I recognized it as what Lestat was playing in, Interview with the Vampire. In fact this was probably off the soundtrack to the movie. "Haydn? Oui! C'est Joseph Haydn!" Her smile turned her face into sunlight. I felt almost blistered by the power of it when she looked at me. "Moi, j'adore cette musique. Je l'ai entendu dans un salon à Paris il y a quelques jours. Voulez-vous danser, monsieur?" I was about to try for a third time to make Colette understand that I did not speak French when I noticed the hand suggestions she was making. "Dance?" "Oui! Dansons!" That smile and the obvious hope behind it convinced me to offer her my hand. With a girlish giggle Colette lead me to the dance floor. My earlier efforts with Cassandra were now quickly paling next to this lovely lady as she took to the floor. I laughed with her as she had to guide me through the steps. As I started to get the hang of it though I noticed that other around us were also trying the same dance. Some with more success than myself. She laughed gleefully, and seeing them trying, encouraged them to greater efforts. Round and across the dance floor we moved, trying to avoid the fumbling feet of a few that were more use to a mosh pit than a ball. We spun, her laughter filling the hall with a joy that the party had lacked. I saw Cassandra spin past us, in the arms of a very handsome man. Thin, but handsome. He kept putting his hand on the top of his head a few times leading me to believe those shiny locks were not his original hair. Cassandra laughed as we nearly bumped into her and him. Round and across, round and across and then song ended. Applause erupted throughout the hall. The French lady beamed instantly seeing that it was being directed at her. She gave a slight curtsy then turned. I saw Colette's back go rigid, even as I looked past her and saw the wooden frame just a few feet away from us. I looked up at the big blade, an action mirrored by her. Her hand drifted to the red-silk choker as she spoke to the machine. "Vous êtes horrible. Pourquoi êtes-vous là? Vous avez pris de moi la vie de mon amour Jean-Luc. Vous avez pris mon mon père et ses frères—mes oncles, André et Benoit. Comment? Comment pourriez-vous les prendre de moi? " "Colette? Miss Colette, can I help?" I asked, unsure of what she had just said, but I could hear the pain in it. When she turned, I saw the twin lines of tears. These I had not been quick enough to catch. I'm not sure anyone could have been. Helpless in the face of her pain, I did all that I could think of. I stepped forward and pulled her into a soft embrace. She held still in my arms like a startled bird for a second then leaned into me just as Cassandra had earlier. Then I felt her hands clawing at her neck. I realized Colette wanted to get her choker off her throat. I reached to where it was tied at the back of her neck and pulled the knot loose. The lacy, red silk dangled from my fingers, and I held on to her, unsure of what else to do. "Problem, Mark?" I looked over my shoulder at Cassandra. She was looking at Colette with her eyes filed with concern. "I don't know what it is; I don't know why she is crying. She doesn't speak English. I think she is one of the owners of the place. She said her last name is LeCouvereur." "Hum. Well, let me see if I can help. You know girl to girl as it were. Besides, I speak a little French." She placed a hand on Colette's shoulder "Hun?" With a sniffle the woman in my arms looked up, first at me then at Cassandra. He eyes widened a bit at how thin and pale Cassandra was. Then she looked back to me. "Qui est la femme? Elle est malade? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut?" When I shrugged, not understanding her, she turned her head away from me, only to stop before her eyes reached Cassandra again. I looked where she was looking and saw Maggie looking at us. Colette's eyes went from Maggie to me and back, and then her mouth dropped open in a perfect 'O' of surprise. When she looked back at me she was almost angry looking. "Oh, vous êtes vilain! Vous avez une dame! Regardez les feux dans les yeux! Allez-vous en!" Wishing for the dozenth time in the last few minutes I had taken French in high school, I looked at her and shrugged. This seemed to infuriate her for a moment. Finally her gestures, a stamped foot, and a very insistent point towards Maggie got her meaning across. Nodding my understanding, I turned away from her even as Cassandra placed her frail arm across the woman's back and shoulders. I heard soft, broken French from Cassandra. "So who is your new friend?" Maggie asked, toneless. I shrugged. "Her name is Colette. I think she's one of the owners." I looked over my shoulder to where Cassandra was now talking intently with the woman, in broken French, who was smiling and nodding at her. I looked back at Maggie. "She said her name was LeCouvereur anyway." "Well, she can't be related to the original owners." Maggie shook her head. "They are all dead. The last one passed away right after World War Two began. He died when his only son was killed in Germany. Almost to the day in fact. It's all on one of those metal plaques out in the hall." The music came back with such haunting tones. Melancholia given note and form. Maggie stepped into my arms and leaned against my chest. I was surprised, but I held her to me none the less. I felt the shudder of a need to cry from her being suppressed "Maggs?" "I'm sorry, I know you don't need me weeping on your chest, but I can't help it at the moment." She snuggled her cheek into my shirt. "I was talking to Cassandra. She's so matter of fact about it, I can't stand it. Here I am about to lose one of my oldest friends to cancer, and she's telling me what kind of flowers she wants at her funeral." "I know." I brought my hand to rest in her dark hair and held her closer to me, thinking all the while about what Cassandra had said about Maggs and me. After a moment we began to sway with the music and I felt a soft chuckle replace crying. "You never took me dancing before," she said, softly. "Never figured you would accept." Oh, how my heart wanted to confess then. "Would you have?" She held me a little tighter as her answer. As we moved I noticed a change in the music; it took on a richer tone, more full of complexity. I looked over and saw that there was a small quartet of players now, their instruments moving in graceful, lazy patterns of motion. Then, even as I noticed them, there was a second change and the music took on a darker air. A haunting sound, not a dirge, no too upbeat for that, but shadowy. A nocturne? The word came to me as I held my Maggie closer to my chest and moved with growing grace to this new music. Victim's Ball "You're a good dancer," she said her words still soft, as if afraid of breaking the spell. And the more we danced the more that was just what this felt like. A spell, a bit of magic that we were all under. This whole room full of people who were now in motion. I heard hints of the earlier Goth music in the background, playing to a different tone, but in a strange way blending with this more classical nocturne as well. I saw Cassandra then. She was dancing with the grace of an angel, her arms around the French woman, Colette. I tapped Maggs's shoulder and pointed to them with my chin. She smiled, and then her eyes went wide as we saw the two women kissing. "Well, now." Maggie snuggled into me closer. "Doesn't that add complexity to our friend? I never knew Cass liked girls." "Me either." "Think of all the opportunities to maybe explore an undiscovered bisexual side to myself that I missed." She rubbed her breasts into my chest. I stumbled, and she laughed, knowing she had gotten to me. It was an old game of teasing that she and I had played for years but now, considering what Cassandra had told me, I was looking at it with clearer eyes. And still the music played. Growing in power. There were more instruments now, a solid dozen players, and that distant Goth music had built in volume as well. A background base giving the music power that you could feel in the bones of your chest, and behind your ears but not really hear. "Wow, talk about your public displays of affection." Following her direction I saw what she meant. Not far from where we danced two of the party goers had decided to let discretion fall to the side. A short man, in surprisingly accurate clothes for eighteen-twenty, and a tall woman in black leather, metal studs and vinyl stockings were making out on the dance floor. His shirt and waistcoat hung open and her top was now on the floor. Her breasts, nipples pierced and proud, wrapped his face as they danced, moved. Not dancing really, more like a sexual foreplay of motion and as we watched she dropped to her knees before him and ... "Wow." I nodded my head in agreement and was about to say something when the other dancers drifted between us and the couple, now exploring the voyeuristic joys of public fellatio. Interrupting our view, we saw only a few hints at the oral action taking place as other couples, entwined together, ghosted past Maggs and myself. Maggie turned her head away and rested it back over my heart. "There have been times I wished I was that adventurous. Sexually." She gave a sad little chuckle. Then snuggled into my chest and I held her tighter. "As if I could ever do that. Hell, I can't even deal with my feelings when it comes to sex let along deal with doing something that wild in public." "What do you ..." "I don't want to talk about it, Mark. Just hold me and let me dance with you. That's all I want at the moment." Her voice held such sadness, bitter disillusionment. Raw disappointment. "Sure. But ..." The music seemed to build more at that precise moment, to a power that defied the ability to speak in whispers. Not wanting to shout, I held Maggie closer to me and felt her pull me in tighter as well. As if she was trying to merge the two of us together to keep out her unspoken pain. Around us the dance floor seemed to fill up magically. There didn't, at first glance, appear to be enough room for all these people dancing, but somehow none the less it was happening. More and more people would dance into the already crowded hall, moving by each other with a grace I had never witnessed before. Also, I saw that more and more semi-sexual scenes, like that earlier oral one, began to be repeated before my astonished eyes. Who were these people? I didn't recognize any of them anymore. A face here and there was somewhat familiar, but soon the costumed people, those fancy Elizabethan dresses and the elaborate hairdos and makeup began to appear. Enough so I began to feel underdressed. Not that clothes seemed to be a requirement for this party any longer. More and more often I would have a woman or man dance past me who was all but nude. The music enfolded around us, a living blanket of sound and fury that caressed the inside of my bones, making me gasp at the sensation. I felt Maggs do the same. Higher and higher went tones and sound, longer and longer the notes blended together seeking an ever more perfect harmony. Past my eyes now swam visions that my mind struggled to find purchase with. A general agreement seemed to have been reached among the dancers on that floor that sex and dance were akin to each other, enough as to be interchangeable. More and more often I would witness couples joined together, flesh to flesh in a dance as old as the human race. Coupling, in time with musical thrusting of symphonic power, their lust lending a lingering sound of both orgasmic pleasure and the subtly blending of moans to the music that continued to drift through the air around me. And as we moved among them, it felt as if Maggie and I were once removed. Looking down, I saw that her eyes were closed and she was oblivious to the growing sexual-surreal feeling of this party. This wake for the living dead. More and more, as she and I danced, I began to question if I was even awake. Was this a dream? What had been in that punch? I looked at a couple, one Goth the other so clearly Baroque that they were as night and day, and yet they were both half to undress and she was suckling on his pierced nipples. Then a hand was on my shoulder. I turned to see Jason there, his shirt off and his pants unzipped. His eyes appeared glazed but they focused on me first, then on Maggie. "Let me cut in there, Mark. I know just how to treat that slut your being so protective of. She always was a sucker for the bad-boy type, so you're just wasting your time. Here let me." He went to pull Maggs from my arms, but she clung to me. Angry, no furious! I disentangled one arm and shoved him. He fell backwards to crash into the guillotine. The huge wooden and steel executor rocked for a second, and from among the crowd came a terrible moaning sound. Dozens of hands clutched at throats. Then, when Jason got to his feet with a drunken laugh, their eyes all fell on him. And there were awesome levels of hate in those eyes. "Finally showing some balls there, Mark?" He grabbed a drink from out of another man's hand and tossed it back. He wiped his hand across his mouth then threw the cup to the ground. "Well, that's just fine. No skin off my nose. There are a dozen whores here better than her. I should know, I fucked her better ... hell, better than anyone else ever did." He stumbled and drunkenly sat back down on the long wooden bench upon where men had once lain to be beheaded. Maggs clutched at my chest and whimpered. Her eyes were tight shut, as if to block out the whole world and certainly Jason's voice. As if to not see him was to deny him existence. "Please don't turn me loose," she begged me when I tried to move to go strangle Jason. Guiding us away from the guillotine, I looked with revulsion at it one last time, seeing Jason smile at a passing Goth couple. They looked at him, then at each other in a hungry agreement and turned to join him. The full-leather-encased woman going immediately for his open crotch. Unzipping the mouth on her black mask as she knelt, I saw long fingernails rip his cock from his pants. Then I saw the Goth male pulled my old friend's head back by his hair, leaned in and licked a spilled line of alcohol off Jason's cheek. Homophobe that he was, I expected Jason to explode in protest of this but I guess with his cock in the woman's mouth he was up for anything. Or drunk enough to not care. The last thing I saw, before the crowded dance floor blocked the view, was of Jason leaning back kissing the man full on the mouth. I smirked knowing I was going to never let him live that one down. If I ever spoke to him again. Maggie was a comforting warmth in my arms as we drifted like smoke in a sea of ghostly half images. The swirl of dancers was an ebbing flow of multiple times--modern, historical, even futuristic--that all seemed to be gathered more and more into focus around Cassandra and Colette. When I saw the two women they had a circle around them cleared and were moving with powerful steps. Each taking the lead and then surrendering it moments later to her partner. I noticed then that Cassandra didn't seem as frail as before, more like her old self, the Cass I knew from high school. And the way she danced would have done a salsa dancer proud. She was moving with a sensual, erotic grace that was like watching sex turned into an art form. And Colette, the beautiful French woman--her gown now opened to review incredibly full breasts topped with large, rose-colored nipples--was every bit as fluid. She clung to Cassandra and then spun with her, lips and fingers joining into their dance as often as not. "Maggie, look." "No. I don't want to see anything anymore. My vision is screwed up; I've had too much to drink." She clung all the harder to my body, her warmth a part of me. Her fear as well. "I can't look at these people anymore, Mark." Feeling such love for her, such a powerful need to protect Maggs from everything, I began to try to move us off the dance floor. But it didn't want to let us go! The dance floor clung to us, trying to pull us back into the growing piles of humping, grinding human flesh. The orgasmic screams enticing us to stay. Begging us to stay and fuck them. The music, now so overpowering as to be physically painful, impacting my body with sound, I wanted silence. Needed that, as badly as people need air and water. I struggled to get us to the edges of the dancers like a man clawing at a root in a muddy bank, trying to get a handhold to keep from being sucked back into a cold river. Looking to the side, I saw one of the doors that led into the kitchens. Several times I had to step us around couples of two or even as many as a dozen locked in sexual knots, but I kept moving us into the little hallway. Hands caught at my clothes, shrill voices begged us to stay, to join. To bind our bodies with theirs in lustful heat. Then, catching a doorknob into a small room, which I saw at a glance, was filled with old fashioned coats and cloaks, I pushed us into it. When I closed the door only the music followed. Nothing could keep that power from reaching you anywhere within this building. Maggie was crying. "I'm such a fool. I'm such a fool." Her voice, soft and sweet but filled with tears, was repeating that as a chant into my shirt. "I'm such ..." "Hush now, now hush," I whispered into her hair. "I'm here. It's okay." "No. No it's not." Maggs brought her hand to my face. "It's not okay. I slept with Jason. Once." Four words. How can four simple words hurt so badly? How can they cause so much rage to appear? So much gut-felt hate? So much envy? I looked down at my beautiful friend, my Maggs ... her eyes wet with tears, her face awash with guilt. Why? Why would she ... why did she ... how could she? And then the big question rolled into me like a steam roller. What right did I have to get angry over it? If I never had the courage to let her know what I felt then how can I get upset? I have no right, none to feel enraged, to hate, to even feel envy if I lack courage to do so simple a thing as tell her ... "I love you," I said softly. Maggie looked at me and blinked. As if trying to wake up from a deep sleep, but then her eye lids drooped a bit and she seemed to be unable to wake. "And I've always loved you. That's why I did it." She leaned back into my chest. "I was so mad at you then. You had slept with that cunt, Carol. You let her take your virginity. I always wanted to be your first and you to be mine. But you never even looked at me like I was a girl." "I always thought you were beautiful. I've desired you for so long Maggie." "Then why did you never tell me that, Mark?" she asked, her hand was under my shirt in the small of my back caressing my spine. Her fingers dug into the skin when she looked up at me. "If you had simply told me that, I would have let you know how I felt, but I always thought you just saw me as a friend. Just another one of the guys, except I was the one that had tits." "I didn't think you saw me as anything but a friend." She gave me a small, sad smile. "Cass was right. We are a pair of fools." I nodded. "Maggs?" "Yeah?" "Can I please kiss you?" "Only if I don't kiss you first," she teased me, even as she was moving her face closer to mine. The dream like quality of this night, that had been so pervasive in everything that had happened since I began to dance with Colette Lecouvereur, lent this first kiss a strange magic. An air of one-off surrealism, that made me doubt I was really doing it. That my lips were in fact touching Maggie's. That it was her hips under my hands and that it was really her hands in my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss. When the shared passion ignited, under that first soft touching of lips, the small room seemed to enfold around us, to enwrap up both in protective arms, sheltering us from the orgy of Bohemian madness and music that was outside in the ballroom. The sounds of a hundred passion-driven moans were entwined with that loud, dark, haunting music now. Inseparable. Relentless. Unavoidably, that bass tone was ingrained upon our very marrow. My hands holding her to me, and her hands me to her, we moved together. Not a dance but a union of purpose towards a goal that we neither one consciously knew, but both were wanting. When we knocked over the coat rack and tumbled over our own feet to fall into the pile of soft coats, we both laughed. A humor that was quickly smothered under lust as we all but attacked each other with years of suppressed mutual need. Maggs's fingernails on my back were a stinging pain that brought me to the edge of myself and then held me there. I left her lips and kissed my way to her neck, suckling at the hard pulse beat then I let my teeth graze her throat . She hissed approval and then pulled at my clothes, trying to strip my shirt from my chest. I sat up and sent the thin cloth flying from me. I had only seconds before I was back to kissing her, but in that time she undid the buckle on her belt and tugged out her shirt. Her vinyl skirt rode up her thighs as she opened her legs, enwrapping my hips, and pulled me down on top of her. My bare chest was on her bare belly as I let my mouth explore the skin over her collar bone. Then she was pushing my head lower. My lips touched the freckle spattered skin of her left breast, sinking into that spongy warmth. Then she caught her top and pulled it open setting her bra free. It was black lace but only had half cups, her nipple sat like the cherry on top of the cake merely hidden under dark lace. I let my mouth take it in through that scratch netting, my teeth capturing it, my tongue tasting warm cloth. Then her fingers caught the edge of the bra and she fed me the bare nipple. Holding my head in place as I suckled at her. "Oh, Mark. I've wanted to feel you do that for so long." I let her hard, rose-colored pebbly pop from my lips. "Not as long as I've wanted to do it." "Then you better do the other one too, it's getting jealous." She pulled both her breasts out, over the tops of the bra cups, and held her hands under them offering me her nipples. She begged when I hesitated for a moment enjoying the incredible view before me. "Please, Mark." How could I turn that down? Her breast was soft as sin, and the nipple hard as lust could make them. I devoured her offering. Smiling around the tightly puckered skin as she moaned my name. How many years had I fantasized about hearing her do that? Why had I not told her what I felt earlier? Suckling at her nipple harder, I loved the hissing wince she made when my teeth clamped hard onto the sides, holding it in place for my tongue to lash. Why had we wasted years not together? But even as I was enjoying this first taste of her breasts, my mind was going to what else of hers I wanted to taste. That short, vinyl skirt was bunched under my stomach and I knew those, no doubt, black lace panties were just waiting for my lips to brush across. To push aside. The undersides of her breasts were a bit sweaty, resting on top of smushed-up black lace, when my lips crossed them. She flinched when I kissed my way across her belly button, her delicate skin tickled by my mouth. I felt her breathing jump when my mouth lifted right at the edge of that warm black vinyl. "Mark?" For a second I thought she was about to ask me not to, then she grinned. "The skirt's zipper is on the side." Smiling, I sat up and looked at the side of her hip, then the other one and saw the shiny brass ribbon of interlocked teeth. They purred down and unhooked and I opened the black skirt like I was opening the pages of my favorite book. Ready to devour the wonderfully familiar knowledge yet again, but this ... oh damn, when all I saw was her bare, puffy lips, with their patch of hair neatly trimmed into a dark heart, I looked up. This was not the book I had thought to find. "Your panties?" "I took them off. I wanted to be naughty tonight. It felt so sexy to walk around with nothing on under this short of a skirt. Knowing I might forget and someone get to see me. Maybe even you. I've been wet all night at just the possibility of that. You seeing me." Grinning at this sexy side of her I had never known, I looked down at that dark heart shape she had trimmed her pubic hair into. I brushed the backs of my fingers across it. "And this?" She smiled. "You like it?" "I love it." "You should, you've always had my heart, my love ... now please Mark, please have my other one as well." Her hand drifted down and spread her butterfly like lips open. She rubbed shiny wetness across them making them glossy. "Please." Leaning down, I stopped with my lips hovering just over her. I could smell the heavy scent of her sex--open and quivering with need--and I looked across that heart-shaped patch to meet her eyes. "You never have to beg me to do this, Maggs. Never." There are not words enough to describe the sweet taste of a woman when she is as wet as Maggie was when my tongue pushed into those open lips. I licked and lapped at the savory pudding, born of her passion, cleaning her lips, sucking them for more. Then into the heated warmth of her body I drove my tongue, trying to touch the back of her and wanting so badly to do it. I pulled into my mouth everything then, her nether lips, the hidden clit and that salty-sweet wetness. I was in heaven. She hissed when I took that swelling clit into my mouth and sucked at it. My tongue lashing the nub, batting at it, playing with it, all I could do and more to make her squirm. Her fingers closed on my hair and her thighs rubbed my cheeks as she hunched her ass towards my mouth, her moans begging for more. And more is what I gave. Sliding two fingers into her, I let my tongue lick between where they entered and her clit. Long, lapping strokes that had her purring. Then Maggie was pulling at my hair, trying to get my attention. My face wet I looked up. "You can make me cum like that on another night. I want you ... need you inside me now, Mark. Come here." I smiled as she tried to pull me up on top of her in her eagerness. Sitting up on my knees, I went to work on my belt only to have her move my hands and do it herself. When she pushed opened the tight leather pants and saw I was commando under them she smiled at the similarity we shared. She peeled the leather off my hips till my cock popped free. Maggs bit her bottom lip looking me over and then cupped my length in her palm. She slowly stroked the already hard shaft. Victim's Ball "This is mine now. You understand? If it goes into any other girl, it's because I said it could." She smiled at my surprised look, nodding at the possibility of other women. "In exchange for that commitment I will give you more pleasure than you have ever known, Mark Thomas. No fantasy is off limits, not fetish is too weird. No kink you have is too much for me to try exploring with you. But ... I expect and demand loyalty of a man I'm sleeping with. And ten times that much, to one I love, as much as I love you. Agreed? Good, now come here." Following her lead, I moved between her open thighs and then smiled as she pulled me down on top of her. Her hand never left my cock, guiding it as I moved then she shifted me just a bit, and I felt the wetness of her pussy on the head. At her nod, I pushed into and her black lipstick ringed mouth opened in a breathy moan of pleasure as I sank into her. To be looking into Maggie's eyes as I slipped into her was a fantasy from so many nights, and to actually do it was a reality that no fantasy had ever matched. The look on her face, her lips trembling as I reached my full depth in her. The smile when she saw how much I was enjoying the tight grip of her on me. Ecstasy in life. Then she pulled me down into a deep kiss and we began to rock into each other. That timeless rhythm, as old as humanity and as beautifully choreographed by instinctive need as any grand ballroom dance. Her hands enwrapped my back, pulled me closer, and then she and I were skin to skin, our bodies growing warm with our shared heat. As I clinched my teeth, overwhelmed with pleasure, and gasped for air, I heard such a sweet sound. Maggie, whispering my name and that she loved me in my ear. "Oh Mark, I love you. I have loved you for so long. Wanted you for so long." She nipped at my skin, biting at my neck. "More. I want this forever." With more desire than air, I simply moaned my agreement and pumped harder into her. I wanted to tell her all those things. Those and more. I wanted to tell her of the many years when she had been the fantasy that either helped me to sleep or the desired love that had kept me awake. But I had passed the point where speech was possible. Need now drove my thoughts to a simple place of simple hungers. I wanted to cum. Nothing more or less than that simple base instinct, but I wanted something else in equal measure. I wanted to hear her cum as well. Catching the back of her knees, I pushed her legs wider and sat up, giving my body more purchase and more powerful strokes. With sweat dripping from my chin, I watched Maggs's breasts jump, bouncing with my thrusts till she caught the nipples and twisted, and pinched them. She did it so hard that, I winced. "Oh, yes," she moaned. "Harder." More than happy to oblige, I slipped my knees under her ass, lifting her more onto the small of her back and pushing her legs higher. She surprised me then by sitting up, catching my neck and pulling me back on top of her, bending her like a pretzel under my weight. My left boot found a flat-edged shelf behind me and with that to push off of, I drove into her till we smacked together. Her hands left my neck, went under my arms, and she clawed at my back trying to pull me even deeper. "More! Please!" she cried out her whole body shaking under me. "Yes!" Seeing that beautiful face, the one that had haunted my dreams for so many years of my life, lost in the throes of her ecstasy and knowing that I had brought it to pass was all it took to tip me over the edge myself. I shut my eyes tight and my body went ridged as it tried to drive even one single inch more of my cock into her. "Mark, oh Mark yes. Cum for me, my lover," she said, whispering soft praise for my giving her such pleasure and now receiving it in turn. She held me tightly as the last explosive jerks tore through me, then she pulled me down and clasped me to her as I tried to catch my breath. She stroked my wet hair, whispering my name. Telling me how much she loved me, her mouth lightly placing kisses between the words. Lips, soft as twin butterfly wings, brushing my skin. "Maggs ..." "Yes?" "I love you," I said at last when I could breathe again. She smiled, placed a long slow kiss on my lips then hugged me to her. "I love you, too." She looked at me, tears in her eyes. "We should probably get up before some of the hotel staff come walking in and find us here." I gave a half laugh and sat up, regretfully I slipped from her. "Not like another pair of naked people would make much of an impression here tonight, not after what's going on out there in the ballroom." Almost as if mention of it brought the awareness of it back, the moaning of sexually-overlaid music was overwhelmingly powerful. I winced, feeling as if the bones behind my ears and my temples were being assaulted. Getting to my feet, I helped Maggie up, but before she could start to dress, I pulled her to me. Her lips smiled under mine as I kissed her. And then she gave a soft sighing-purr when I pulled her back against my chest. I held her to me, wanting to never let her go. She was like my point of reality as the sounds from beyond the room grew and dimmed, tides of dark music and moaned lust going over us like waves. It was a long time before I wanted to remove my cheek from the top of her dark hair and let her get dressed. I watched her putting back on that short skirt and smiled, thinking that I might just get the chance to remove it twice tonight. She saw the look, grinned, glanced down at my crotch and gave a slight nodding shrug. "When we get back to my place." She grinned. Sated for the moment as I was, I still could not get out of this place fast enough with that kind of promise offered. But then I opened the door. "Oh, dear god." Holding my right ear and Maggie's hand, I pulled us down the hall, away from the ballroom, where the music was now at thunderous levels, far beyond what a human ear could withstand. And the orgasmic screaming, at times even louder than the music, told of erotic pleasure being taken to levels the human body was not meant to go as well. As we passed through the kitchen area, devoid of hotel staff, I looked back into that orgy of flesh in time to see Cassandra and Colette LeCouvereur slip from it. The two of them ran, hand in hand, to a curtained off doorway. Their faces enraptured with joy smiled and then waved at Maggs and myself. And disappeared from sight through the curtain behind them. That sudden feeling I had earlier came back just then, only this time it felt a hundred times worse. When Maggie started to walk towards where the two girls had gone, I took hold of Maggie's arm and, ignoring her protests, led her out one of the opened glass doors that lead into the courtyard of the hotel. The paving stones under foot were slick, damp with evening dew. I noticed as we walked out on to them, the dream-like quality of this night faded a bit. And in that moment, I felt parts of my mind awaken that I had not known were asleep. "Mark, what's with the five finger death grip? I wanted to go talk to Cass! Let go of my elbow, please." Looking down, I saw that my hand was holding her tight enough to possibly leave a bruise. Then her face was before me, in all its glorious beauty. I made love to Maggie tonight. The thought went flashing past, with a hint of surprise, like I had not known about it till I remembered. "What the hell?" "Mark!" "Sorry," I said letting her go. "Just suddenly had a bad feeling. Like, if we didn't get out of there, something terrible would happen." I tried to hide my fear-shiver as I felt again that tingle of prickly spider-like fingers at the base of my neck.. "You felt that too?" she asked me softly. Her hand moved to my arm and she pulled herself closer to me. "I thought it was just a goose on my grave." I was about to say something but stopped, and my jaw dropped open as the moon cleared the clouds overhead. Standing out there in the thick mist surrounding the hotel was an incredibly tall structure. The foggy dampness of the night had kept it all but hidden. However, in the moonlight it suddenly appeared. And there, in that spectral lunar light, I saw something I had always wanted to see, but now at this surreal moment that desire utterly fled from me in fear. Inexplicably half-finished, and far too ghost-like, standing ominously tall in that glowing moonlit-mist ... ... was the Eiffel Tower. "Mark? What's wrong?" Using Maggie's shoulders, I made her turn towards the half-finished metal tower. "Holy shit, is that ...?" Her words hadn't even left her mouth when several things happened simultaneously. The uncompleted Tower vanished into suddenly thicker mist ... those catastrophic levels of music inside stopped in mid-tune. And, it was in that ear-shattering silence, that a loud wood on wood THUNK rang out through the opened doorway behind us. Then here was a woman's scream. Then several more. Then all hell broke loose inside! Screams, people running in panic. Some of them threw open the many tall glass doors that led out here to this courtyard and fled from the ballroom. There were a dozen cries for someone to call nine-one-one. Another scream, this one followed by someone running towards us. I pulled Maggie to me as a naked woman came through the closest door; she was covered in blood. She was already past us when I realized it was Jason's girl Wilhelmina. She ran off the patio area, across the manicured lawn, onto the long, large-brick driveway, and she was heading for the gates. When I looked down at Maggie, who was tugging at my vest, she was pointing at something inside that I could hardly make out through the press of half- clothed Goths. But as the frightened crowd thinned out, I saw it. The guillotine blade was no longer at the top of the wooden frame. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Sitting on the low front steps of the L'Hôtel du Nord, my face bathed in red and blue, I watched the coroner's van pull away. Maggie sat between my legs on a lower step, her back leaned against my chest. She had stopped crying but was sitting numb. My arms rested on hers. The van carrying Jason's body stopped at the gate, paused for traffic, then turned and vanished from sight. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the cleanup crew had started to try and remove the sanguine parts of him that had been left behind. My gorge rose as I pictured again just how terribly large that blood stain had been. "We have your statement right? You can leave now." The officer in front of us told us in a way that was not a request. "I wanted to make sure my friend Cassandra was alright before we left," said Maggie. She used my knees to help get to her feet. Jealousy flashed my blood hot for a second when I saw the officer try to sneak a quick look up that too short skirt she wore. "Can we speak to her before we go?" "Now this is Cassandra Williams, right? The one that orchestrated this little party. Is that right?" "Yes. She was like probably the only Cassandra here tonight." I tried to be helpful. By the look in the officer's eyes he didn't think I was being helpful at all. He flipped back open his note pad. "Well, we have talked to two dozen guests. None of them have managed to tell us just where Miss Williams is. Now we've searched the whole place and apparently she must have fled the grounds just before ..." He adjusted his glasses to let us know just how serious he was. "... or after the ... accident." Maggie started to shake her head. "We saw Cassandra right before the ... well, before Jason did ... what he did. She was walking through a doorway out the main ballroom. We can show you where. Maybe you missed a part of the hotel." "Miss, I guarantee you we missed nothing, but by all means, let's go take a look." He followed Maggie and me as we walked back into the main room. I looked over at the big painting. That image of the half-built Eiffel Tower sent a shiver down my spine and I had to look away. The blade of the guillotine, which was now raised once again, caused an equal reaction. "They went through there." said Maggie pointing at the curtained-off doorway. "Miss, I have a crime scene to deal with; I don't have time for jokes." He snapped his note pad closed. "You can, if you would, please leave now." The officer shook his head at us both, disgusted, and then walked to where another officer was still talking to Chris and Cindy. They were both nearly as covered in blood as Wilhelmina had been. Well, their clothes weren't. "What the fuck?" Maggie asked looking at me. I shrugged and moved to the curtain. When I touched the fabric, the old cloth almost shredded at even so light a touch. I could feel threads popping under my fingers as I lifted it back from in front of ... the most beautiful painting I had ever seen. Of Colette and Cassandra, dancing naked in the rose garden behind the hotel. The now-completed Eiffel Tower, painted to one side of center, with the rising moon turning it into a black silhouette. As my fingers, of their own doing, pulled a red silk and lace choker from my pocket I noticed the metal plaque next to this painting. ~Colette and Cassandra LeCouvereur, daughters of the seventeenth owner. Executed by guillotine in 1805, for conspiracy against the government. The completed Eiffel tower was later added to this painting, at request, by Cassandra's granddaughter.~ I felt Maggie's hand take mine. Her fingers, shaking, took the embroidered red silk from my numbed ones, and as I watched, she laid it on the frame of the painting. The brilliant color stood in sharp contrast to the old gilding on the frame. But the lace choker matched perfectly the ones worn by both women in the painting. "Take me home, Mark. Please?" Placing my arm around my beloved Maggie, I ignored the look the officer gave me as we walked past him. That "I know you know more than you are telling me" look he had been giving everyone since he got here. I didn't care about what he thought. I knew what we had seen, even if I could not make my mind accept it. As we stepped out the front door I noticed the sky beginning to turn pink. This haunted midsummer night was finally over. * (I would like to thank my editor, and for this story translator, the lovely patientlee. The amount of effort that went into this story is mildly staggering. I would also like to thank Rozalin_0123 for her time in giving this story a Beta read, and for the comments she gave that helped shape it. To both of you beautiful ladies, thank you. As always any mistakes you see now are all on my own head. Hope you enjoyed it and please remember to leave a comment and vote.)