7 comments/ 6883 views/ 5 favorites Masquerade Pt. 01 By: livelaughlovedream3 My heels click across the office lobby tiles as I walk briskly to the elevator. "Late again," I think to myself and sigh. I probably couldn't be on time if my life depended on it, but fortunately, my boss doesn't really care. I get to my office, hang up my coat behind the door, plug in my laptop and power it on. Sitting down at my desk, I pull out the keyboard drawer. There's a plain black envelope on the keyboard with my name in silver calligraphy. I pick it up, and the weight surprises me. The envelope texture is sophisticated, refined, expensive. I turn it over and see a seal on the back, but I don't recognize it. "Strange," I think to myself. I slide my finger under the flap, break the seal and open the envelope. It's one of those fancy envelopes with heavy silver paper lining the inside, almost like a wedding invitation. I figure that must be it; someone else in this damn office is getting married, and once again, it's not me. Not that I really want to get married again. I'm quite happy being single, career oriented, spending my weekends with girlfriends or the occasional dalliance, at least that's what I tell myself over a glass of wine at night. I've never been the type of girl who dreamt about her wedding; I didn't want to get married the first time, and I don't really want to get married again. However, it would be nice to have a special someone in my life who wasn't battery operated. I pull out the invitation and am immediately struck by its elegant flare. The invitation is square, black, textured paper with silver text. On the left side is an ornate mask. I'm mesmerized by the mask, and I run my fingers over it, feeling the indentation from the printing. It's silver and emerald green with long flowing ribbons, jewels and glitter on the face and a few feathers on the very top. It's beautiful. My eyes dart to the invitation information. You are cordially invited to attend the International Bacchus Brotherhood Annual Masquerade Ball Saturday, January 26, 2013 Hors d'oeuvres 6 p.m. - 7 p.m. Dinner and dancing 7 p.m. - midnight Black Tie, Masquerade Mask required RSVP by Friday, January 11, to Alicia Page at xxx.xxx.xxxx or apage@xx-x.xorg Upon confirmation of your RSVP to attend, the location of the event will be provided. I'm surprised by this invitation since I don't know anyone in, nor have I ever heard of the International Bacchus Brotherhood. Plus, the event is this Saturday night, and I'm way past the RSVP date. I login to my laptop and Google International Bacchus Brotherhood. Not surprisingly, I don't find any information. "Hmmm," I think. I wonder if this is a joke, but the invitation is so nice, I can't imagine anyone going through all the trouble to create it for a practical joke. I decide to set it aside for now as work is pressing. Just then, my coworker, Mark, peaks his head into my doorway. "Ready for the meeting?" he asks. "As ready as I'll ever be," I reply. I review my notes once again, grab my file and head to the conference room. "How was your weekend?" Mark asks. "Fine. Went to the movies with Karen on Friday; had Judy and Mike over for dinner Saturday night. Nothing too exciting. You?" "Went skiing. Took my nephews which was interesting and an experience I don't care to repeat until they're older," Mark chuckles. "I love being the favorite uncle, but it was a little overwhelming. May need to bring reinforcements next time." I select my seat in the conference room, midway down the table across from the windows. I hate the weekly staff meeting, but Mark and I are presenting an idea for a customer segmentation campaign for a new client this morning, so at least I won't be bored during all of it. I pour my coffee; the rest of the team arrives, and the typical Monday morning banter ensues, mostly about sports since I work with a team of men, with the exception of Valerie. I can't stand Valerie, but I always smile and attempt polite conversation. She's never liked me, and I don't really know why. Her hostility toward me rolls off her in waves, so I turn to Rob, and listen in to his story about his son's football game and how his son single-handedly crushed the opposing team even though he's the kicker. Jake, my boss and our CMO, arrives, and the team takes their seats. He greets us, dives into a discussion about where we stand with a few key clients, then Mark and I make our presentation. The team is excited about our ideas, and Jake gives us the green light. I sit back down in my chair and gaze absently out the window as Jake continues on with the meeting. Rob and Jason make a presentation as well, then Valerie and Steve. My phone vibrates, and I welcome the distraction. Glancing down, I see I have an instant message from Paul, a guy I've been seeing off and on for a little over a month. He's persistent, funny, aggressive and loves to send me naughty instant messages, especially during work hours. I look around the table, and the team is either engaged with the presentation or staring absently at their tablets or the wall / window. I open the IM, and Paul has sent me a particularly wicked suggestion of what he wants to do to me on the desk in my office. His description is colorful, and I feel heat rise to my face as I read his message. I shift in my chair and cross my legs the other way. I catch Mark and Jason out of the corner of my eye as they shift as well. I look down and see the lace at the top of my stocking can be seen through the slit in my skirt. I like having sexy, feminine lingerie on underneath my business attire, so too bad if they can't deal. (Maybe that's why Valerie hates me. I don't think there's anything feminine about her.) My phone vibrates again, and Paul has sent me another message continuing with his lascivious desires. I feel my breasts swell and my nipples harden under my silk blouse. My lips part as I breathe and read the rest of his messages. This man will be the death of me, or potentially my career. I turn the screen off, and place my phone back on the table. I chance a glance at Mark and Jason, and they both are shifting in their seats again, as is Steve. It can't have anything to do with me. Maybe they're just as restless as me and want this meeting to end. The rest of the day passes in a blur as Mark and I set about fleshing out the meat of the campaign. We go to lunch as we often do. I like Mark's company. He's funny, smart, understands the business and is a good friend. We have fun together, and I like collaborating with people who help make the workday more enjoyable. He's pretty easy on the eyes, too, or so I've been told. I guess I never really noticed. He's tall, although I'm not sure of his exact height. 6'2" or 6'3" I think. He's fit, muscular from his disciplined exercise regimen (and why he's never late for work). He has dark hair with a touch of gray and piercing green eyes. He'd be my "type" if we didn't work together. I have a strict no-dating-men-I-work-with policy. Masquerade Pt. 01 It began with a simple question, posed to my wife and I by some attractive couple friends of ours: If you got an invitation to a swingers party, would you go? It's not really the kind of thing you expect to be asked over dinner! Moreover, we had no idea that this couple were into that kind of thing! In any case, we weren't sure what to think at first, as we'd never considered ourselves "swingers" before. Oh sure, we'd talked about it and watched group sex videos online, but we'd never really have the guts to do it, right? "I don't know, man. Are you serious?! We'll think about it." On the drive back home, we talked about it. We're logical people, and so the pros/cons conversation is familiar. We thought about lots of pros, but then again, there were quite a few cons, as well. However, we'd been going through a mundane spell in our love life. Not having problems per se, but lacking in the lust department. Given that, we eventually decided that we'd try something to spice it up, and said yes to the invitation. "Ok, we'd like to give that a try" In the weeks leading up to the party, I tried to imagine what it'd be like. Were there going to be a bunch of people there, or just a few? Would I find anyone attractive? Although I didn't think that would really be a problem, what about my wife? Would she "get into it?" Would this all take place in the dark? Would it be in someone's living room with all the lights on? It was exciting. Finally, we received the invitation by mail. It was clearly something that someone had designed and spent a lot of money on. The invite explained that the dress was to be a masquerade, and it would be held in a large hotel suite in town. We were to arrive en masque, so as to remain anonymous from other party guests. This suited me just fine. I know what you're thinking, a masquerade party? Like that scene from "Eyes Wide Shut," right? Well, it was exactly that, and my mind really started racing then! In the following days, my wife and I went to buy fancy masks, and we'd just wear suit and tie for me, little black dress for her. The night arrived, and we went out for a nice dinner before excitedly going to the hotel. After the valet took the truck, we were stopped by an attendant at the door. He instructed us to put on our masks, which we did, and then showed each of us to elevators at opposite ends of the hall. As we walked, he explained that gentlemen would take a freight elevator to the 10th floor, and ladies would take the regular lift to the same location. I kissed my wife quickly, and smiled as she pressed the 'up' button. "Have fun, baby, you look fantastic. . . See you after - or during? I don't know!" After parting ways and a short ride to the tenth floor, I was escorted into a room just off the elevator that was dimly lit and well-furnished with leather chairs. There was a bar, and oddly, several coat racks scattered about. The place smelled faintly of bourbon and men's cologne. All the inhabitants of the room were other men, in their masks, and similarly dressed as myself. A bourbon was offered to me, which I accepted and I began to wander around, wondering whether I should make conversation with someone or just sit back and watch. A couple of the other guys were talking to each other - perhaps they'd been here before - but mostly, it was quiet; in this unfamiliar situation, I guess you tend to keep to yourself. After a couple of other guests arrived, an emcee-looking person came into the room, and gathered us around: "Welcome, gentlemen. Thank you all for coming, and we trust that you'll have a pleasant evening. I am here to lay ground rules for how you are to conduct yourself at the party. As you may have guessed, each of you arrived with a girlfriend or spouse, and they are in another room, hearing announcements similar to mine. You are encouraged to seek out a partner or partners, and fulfill a fantasy or two - that's why each of you, male and female, are here tonight - fantasy. In just a few minutes we will open the door to the parlor, and you can mingle with other guests. A gentle touch on the shoulder will be your proposition to another guest, as we believe that silence enhances the fantasy. You may respond with a simple nod of the head to indicate agreement, but please do not speak above a whisper. You'll find any 'materials' you may need: lubricants, toys, and so forth; in the parlor on tables. I think that this is all you need to know, so please disrobe, and let the festivities begin!" Well, that explains the coat racks! I began to take of my clothes as did the other men in the room, and considered what the emcee had said - tonight was a chance to fulfill anonymous fantasies. My thoughts were already getting me aroused, and from the looks of things, I wasn't alone in my arousal. Other men in the room were either undressed or nearly so, and of the 8-9 guys there, about half had partial or full-on erections. I noticed the man nearest me. Since he had the mask on, I didn't really look at his face, I looked at his body. Strangely, I found it nice to look at. He wasn't chiseled, but he appeared athletic. His skin was brownish, as if he may be Hispanic, or just really tan. His cock was maybe a little bigger than average, and it hung loosely. I have to admit, I was having thoughts about him before I ever saw what was in store in the next room. The door was opened, and the other men began to file out into the parlor. As the man next to me passed, I touched his shoulder. A night of fantasy, right? I certainly didn't consider myself gay, but perhaps I was a little bi-curious. In any case, I wanted to have some sort of encounter with this man, what better time to be anonymous. He stopped to look at me, then he spoke in a whisper, "what?" "I touched your shoulder; I think I want you." "But I'm not gay, I'm here with a woman," he replied. I leaned closer to him to whisper back, "I'm not either, and I'm here with my wife, too. But, I'm curious what it would be like to touch a man, have him touch me. Would you try?" He was conflicted. I leaned closer again and lightly traced my finger from his navel to just above his cock, "who's gonna know. . .?" At the touch, his dick began to stiffen. He looked at me, and nodded yes, just slightly. That was all the invitation I needed. I quickly got on my knees and surrounded his penis with my mouth and sucked gently. It was quite a sensation to feel his dick growing in my mouth as he became fully hard. I started bobbing my head up and down, slowly, and as deeply as I could, and I think that we both forgot that we were straight, gay, or otherwise, we were just men, giving and receiving pleasure. My cock was at full attention - I was so turned on feeling like a submissive little whore on my knees. I kept sucking. I paused to massage the underneath side of his head with my tongue, something that my wife does to drive me crazy. It seemed to have the same effect on this man. Soon, I could feel his body flex from the impending orgasm. I deep-throated his cock as much as I could, so he could cum right into my throat. He released himself fully, and I swallowed every bit. As I stood up, I licked his nipple, making him smile in appreciation. We embraced; his warm skin felt good. I gently stroked his satisfied cock, and for a moment, we were just there in the quiet. "Do it for me," I whispered. The man attempted to kiss me on the mouth, but I didn't want that. That seemed to be too much. I just wanted to touch him, suck him, and I wanted the same in return. He seemed to take the non-verbal cues. He roughly caressed my dick a few times. I was so horny, it was as if my member was itching, and his rough handling of me felt just right. He pushed me gently backward toward one of the leather chairs. I sat down, and he dutifully got on his knees. He was great at giving head. I've heard gay men say that men are the best at sucking cock because they know the right spots; I assume gay women may feel the same. It's true. I never wanted him to stop, but at the same time, I didn't want to cum. I realized that it wasn't so much my desire, my fantasy, to take from another man, but rather, just to give. It was too soon to cum, because it takes me a while to recover. I had another fantasy on my mind now. I wanted to venture out into the parlor. (to be continued. . .) Masquerade Pt. 02 I arrive at work the next day, late as usual, but it is what it is. Rushing once again to my office, I find a beautifully wrapped box on my desk. I set my things down and go to the present. The paper is a gorgeous shade of green - deep emerald - with silver swirls all over it. The package is tied with silver and black ribbon. It looks almost too pretty to open, and I'm excited to find out who sent it. I look for a card, but there isn't one on the present. I check around and under the desk, the floor of my office and my keyboard tray, but there's no card or note. "That's strange," I think. Maybe the card's inside. I gingerly untie the bow and slip my finger under the tape. I'm trying carefully not to rip the paper; it's just so beautiful. Normally, I dive into presents with gusto, ripping off the paper like it's a spectator sport, but this is just so exquisite; I don't want to ruin it. The paper is thick, glossy and very smooth. Once the paper is removed, I take the lid off the black box, move the tissue paper aside, and my eyes observe a glorious masquerade mask. It's almost identical to the one on the invitation I received yesterday - emerald green and black with swirls of ribbon cascading from each side, jewels and glitter on the face and a few green and black feathers on the top. It's unbelievably beautiful, and I've never seen anything quite like it. I pick it up, and the back is lush velvet, so soft. It has a nice weight to it but not too heavy to be worn. It looks and feels expensive, and I wonder who would have sent such an extravagant gift. Again, I look for a card and see a sliver of white peeking out under the tissue paper. It's a small card, like the ones florists use, and has two words in an ornate black script: Wear This. Feeling a bit like Alice who's fallen down the rabbit hole and is being asked to eat this or drink this, I turn the card over looking for a signature or any indication of who sent it. There's nothing. "Curiouser and curiouser," I think. I pack up the mask, set the box aside and go about the rest of my busy day, only glancing occasionally at it out of the corner of my eye. Wednesday morning I'm actually almost on time. I left the box with the mask in my office and have been worried about it since I got home last night. Fortunately, it's still sitting where I left it, but a ribbon has been tied around it, sealing the box. Hmmm...I wonder once again. I undo the belt on my coat, slip it off my shoulders and start to close my door to hang it on the back. There's garment bag hanging from the hook. "OK," I think. "This is getting ridiculous. What on Earth?" I take the bag down, lay it on my desk and unzip it. Not surprisingly, it's another gift, although this time, it's a beautiful ball gown, emerald green satin with a long slit up the right side, lined in black satin with black, jeweled accents on the waist. The bodice is ruched with sweetheart cups that will hug my breasts like they were custom made for them. The gown is incredibly beautiful, and I run my fingers over it. Also in the bag is a set of long, black opera gloves and another mysterious card stating Wear These. I want to try them on, but the outfit is not exactly work appropriate, so I wait until the end of the day and take the garment bag and the box with the mask home. Thursday's gift is a black box, once again on my desk. I'm giddy with excitement as I enter my office and see it. I'd tried the dress on last night, and it fits perfectly, hugs my curves but is elegant and beautiful. I felt like a princess wearing it. My girlfriend, Tracy, stopped by as I was trying to zip up the back. I told her the story, and she was just as bewildered and incredulous as I am. She helped me into the dress and praised it with me. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "I have no idea. I don't know who's sending me these gifts, but they obviously want me to attend this event Saturday night. I'm a little scared but flattered and definitely curious at the same time," I reply. Ever the loyal friend, Tracy says, "Well, take your phone, and if it looks shady, text me. I'll come get you." "Am I really going to do this?" I think. Then I look in the mirror, and I am in awe of the beauty of the gown and the elegance of the mask. I've always wanted to go to a masquerade ball, so how can I turn down this opportunity? Plus, I'm dying to know who my secret admirer is. My thoughts are brought back to the box on my desk, and I excitedly remove the lid. I catch the first glimpse of red soles, and I squeal with delight. I've always wanted a pair of Louboutins, and a gorgeous pair of black stilettos with the red soles are singing to me from the box. "Oh my god," I think. "They're unbelievable." I slip off my work heels and slide the Louboutins onto my feet. My princess feeling is complete as I walk around my office in the incredible 5" heels. Once again, there's a tiny card in the box with just the words: Wear These. Mark peaks his head in my door. "You ok?" he asks. "I heard you scream and wanted to make sure everything was all right." I can't wipe the huge smile off my face as I walk to the door and show him the shoes. "Aren't they amazing?" I sigh. "I can't accept them, of course, but it's nice to dream." "What do you mean?" he asks. "Well, they arrived in this box. I have no idea who sent them, but it's been a really crazy week." I proceed to tell Mark about the invitation, mask and gifts. He says, "You should be careful. Someone pouring this kind of extravagance on you is obviously interested, but if he won't reveal his identity, it could be dangerous. Are you really thinking of going to this thing? I've never heard of that Bacchus Brotherhood or whatever you called it. I think you should just leave a note on your desk tonight for this mystery man letting him know you're not interested." "You're probably right," I muse. "But, you're going to go anyway, aren't you?" Mark replies. "You and your damn inquisitive nature. It's going to get you into trouble one of these days." I grin impishly at him. He does know me well. Friday morning I'm actually early to work. I've shocked myself, and the security guard in the lobby does a double take as I glide leisurely into the elevator. I wink at him just before the door closes. I walk quickly to my office, but there's nothing on the desk. I take my coat off and close the door, but there's nothing hanging from the hook on the back. I check on my keyboard tray, under my desk, but alas, nothing. I'm a bit disappointed, but perhaps I have everything I need for the event. My office has this annoying habit of holding a potluck lunch on the fourth Friday of the month. Not being particularly domestic, I usually bring a veggie tray or hummus with pita chips. As I unwrap the veggie tray and the ranch dressing, Steve and Jason walk over. "So," Jason says. "We hear you have a secret admirer." I roll my eyes and vow to kill Mark. The downside about working with a mostly male team is that anytime several men get together, they immediately revert to 13-year-old boys causing most females to run in the opposite direction. I am not like most females and have always gotten along better with guys. I can take the ribbing and teasing and can dish it out just as well, plus most of the time they just amuse me with their antics. "Mark told you, huh?" I ask. "Well, it may have come up during last night's game." Steve replies. "It's not that big of a deal." I say. "Besides, I'll know tomorrow night and can give Mark the juicy details on Monday for him to run and gossip with his girlfriends." "Somebody's pissy today," Jason remarks. I sigh. "No, really, it's fine. I'm just surprised he'd mention it. That's all." "Well," Steve says, "For the record, I agree with Mark. Be careful. You don't know who this guy could be or what you're getting yourself into." I smile and say, "I know guys. Thanks." My mobile phone buzzes again. I look down, and it's a text from Paul, but I ignore it and prepare to "enjoy" the potluck. When I get back to my desk after lunch there's an envelope on it with the same elegant writing I've seen several times this week. I open the envelope and pull out the card. It reads: If you decide to attend the masquerade ball tomorrow night, wear what you've been given and meet a car and driver outside your townhouse at 5:30 p.m. sharp. He will bring you to the ball. Don't forget your invitation or the mask. We look forward to seeing you. It's stamped with the seal I saw previously on the invitation and has the name International Bacchus Brotherhood at the top of the card. Masquerade Pt. 03 Saturday arrives, and my heart can't stop beating to a faster than normal rhythm. The butterflies in my stomach indicate the level of excitement, anticipation and nervousness I feel since they flutter stronger and stronger as 5:30 p.m. approaches. Tracy meets me at 9 a.m., and we commence our Saturday morning routine of yoga followed by coffee. I rush home to shower, get my hair and nails done, and Tracy comes over to help me get ready. Our conversation is heightened by my nerves, and she knows I'm more distracted than usual because of the possibilities the night will bring. Finally, 5:30 rolls around. I take a deep breath, and teetering on my stilettos, I peek out the window. Sure enough, a shiny, sleek Rolls Royce Ghost waits outside my townhouse. Tracy helps me slip on my opera gloves, tucks my phone into my clutch, and reminds me again to text her if I feel uncomfortable at any time. I give her a hug, and we step outside, locking the door behind us. The chauffeur rounds the vehicle and opens the back passenger door. "Miss," he says as he touches his cap. "Oh, he's good," I think. I may look younger than my age, but it's been a long time since I could believably be called a Miss. I wink, flash a big smile at Tracy, and get into the car. She watches us pull away as a mix of concern, excitement and I think a dash of jealousy plays across her face. After about 30 minutes we arrive at a large mansion in the high-rent district of Denver. Lights softly line the walkway and steps to the front door, and I can see shapes moving behind the closed curtains. I quickly pull out my phone and am relieved to see I have strong cell coverage. I check my mask, hair and lipstick in my compact and step out of the opened door thanking the driver and offering a tip which he refuses. I make my way up the steps to the front door and with a bit of trepidation, open it and walk through. Not surprisingly, the entryway is stunning. High ceilings, beautiful art and decor line the walls along with an extremely large floral arrangement on a table in the foyer. A greeter meets me as I walk in and takes me to a table where event staff are checking names. I give my name but apologize for not RSVPing. The planner smiles, finds my name on her iPad and hands me a long-stemmed red rose. "Welcome, Ms. Beauchamp. Enjoy the ball," she chirps in her effervescent voice. The mansion is dazzling with lavish decor, expensive furniture, floral arrangements (some with cascading vines down the walls), lush velvet and sheer fabrics, intricate sconces holding flickering candles and beautiful chandeliers casting soft lighting throughout the various rooms. I feel like I've been transported back in time to an era when lavish balls for nobility were the norm. People dressed elegantly in gorgeous ball gowns and tailored tuxedos mingle throughout the rooms leading off the foyer and hall. Their masks hide their faces, but I can see delight and mischief dancing in their eyes. Servers dressed in black pass hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine and champagne. I take a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sip nervously. Obviously I don't recognize anyone, but I don't usually have trouble at social engagements and can hold my own at the "booze and schmooze" events my company throws for clients and prospects. I walk up to a foursome chatting nearby when a lag in their conversation provides an opportunity. We make polite small talk to start, and I quickly learn both men belong to this mysterious brotherhood, and the women are their wives. One, a statuesque blonde, I guess mid-30s, towers over me. I'm about 5'2", and in heels, close to 5'7". She must be at least 5'9" without heels. She has a cool demeanor but isn't unfriendly as she welcomes me and asks if this is my first event with the brotherhood. I smile as I answer and finish the glass of champagne. Almost immediately, a server appears to take my empty glass and offers me a new one which I accept. The first glass has made me a bit giddy, and I realize I should eat something. Bubbles typically go straight to my head, but I love the feeling, and the label being served is quite good. The other woman is older, maybe in her 50s, heavyset and very funny. Her reddish-brown hair is piled on her head in an elegant updo, and her neck, ears, hands and wrists drip with jewels. She's holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and I ask her to point me in the direction of the food. She laughs, a great laugh, and says she'll join me; she wants more. I've almost finished my second glass of champagne and am really feeling the effects. Before we can leave our group, a hand grips my elbow. Startled, I turn and am met with a broad chest in an impeccable tux. I slowly move my gaze up and am captivated by the most exquisite eyes I've ever seen accentuated by the black mask hiding his face. He smiles confidently, and my heart skips a beat. I swallow the last of my champagne and place it on the tray of a server who's once again magically appeared. "Would you like another?" the server asks. I shake my head slowly, my gaze still captivated by those mesmerizing eyes. The two men I've been conversing with straighten; it seems like a show of respect, so I wonder if this mystery man is an officer in this brotherhood. One of the husbands starts to say something, but mystery man gives him a look, and he stops talking. Mystery man glances to his side and motions me in that direction. I look at the people I've been chatting with and they don't seem concerned. The robust redhead grins at me, and the blonde tosses her hair. I take their lack of concern to mean he's at least somewhat trustworthy so I turn in the direction he motioned. He once again takes my elbow as he steers me out of the room. "Where are we going?" I ask. He puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. "You're not going to tell me? Why should I let you take me?" I ask and stop walking. He sighs, and it's somehow familiar, but only my subconscious recognizes that. He puts his finger under my chin and raises my face so I'm once again looking in his eyes. He's tall. Even in killer heels, the top of my head only reaches his shoulder. "I..." I don't finish my sentence before his lips are on mine, firm, insistent, breathtakingly good. Wow. My heart is pounding. I should be outraged. How dare he! But all my mind registers is his heat, his commanding presence, his intoxicating scent, his strong arms as my hands reach out and grab his biceps to steady myself. My lips part at my surprise, and he takes advantage, sliding his tongue along mine, biting my lower lip, kissing me madly, passionately. We're in the middle of a hallway at a swanky masquerade ball acting like teenagers in a make-out session. I break away, trying to catch my breath. I've never been kissed like that. It was incredible. I can't look at him. I know if I do I'll melt into a puddle on the floor and ruin the carpeting. Once again, he lifts my chin to meet his eyes. I see humor behind them and mischief and power and desire, and I'm lost. Dammit. How can I be lost to someone I don't know? All I know, is I'd follow him anywhere right now, so when he grabs my elbow and leads the way, I go compliantly. We walk down the hallway away from the noise of the party to a door at the end on the side. He opens it, and I see a staircase leading down. I look at him, questioning him with my eyes but he just nods his head and guides me to the stairs. My brain is screaming at me. "What are you doing? He could be a crazy psychopath? Why are you letting him take you downstairs? You don't even know where you're going." I tell myself to hush and trust for once. We're at an elegant party. If there was danger, my spidey senses would be tingling, but that's not the part of me that's tingling. I'm not going to think; I'm going to feel. I know I'm under his spell, and I'm hoping he's not nuts. We descend the stairs, and the air gets colder, the light dim. I shiver. He takes his tux jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders. I smile, but I don't know if he can see it. At the bottom of the stairs, candles flicker in sconces. The air is cool. We round a corner, and we're in the largest and most beautiful wine cellar I've ever seen. There's a large wooden table in the middle of the room, set for two with elegant place settings, several glasses in different sizes for different wine varietals. The champagne flutes have been filled as have the water glasses. I look around for servers or anyone else, but it's just the two of us. He still hasn't spoken a word. I admire him in his black vest and white tuxedo shirt. I can tell he exercises and is in good shape but not bulky. Fit, athletic, broad chest, long torso, strong legs. He walks to the table to get the champagne glasses, and I sneak a glance at his ass. Holy hell. I swallow again. I love a nice ass on a man, and in those tuxedo pants I can tell his is spectacular. Pulling my leering gaze away I notice the artwork around the room and the many bottles of wines aging all around us. The room is circular and quite beautiful. It combines the modern and the traditional together effortlessly, and the outcome is breathtaking. He hands me a glass, raises his in a silent toast, clinks with mine and takes a sip. I smile and sip, too. He takes my glass and sets them on the table then walks confidently back to me. He pulls me to him, leans down and kisses me again. I wrap my arms around his neck, and his coat falls from my shoulders. He grabs it in one hand while still kissing me and drapes it over the back of a chair. I'm lost in his kiss. He really is amazing, and I can feel wetness seeping through my panties from just his touch, his kiss. One hand is in my hair at the back of my neck, and the other is around my waist holding me tight against him. I can feel his arousal against my leg, and that turns me on even more. I move my hands down his back, feeling his muscles shift under his shirt and vest. My heart is once again beating fast. His lips move from my mouth to my neck. His tongue caresses my neck, and he bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My knees buckle, but he holds me up and kisses me deeply again. He walks me backwards to the other end of the table, and before I know it, he's turned me around, my back to his front as he caresses my breasts over the satin of my dress. I moan and his lips find the back of my neck, pushing my hair out of the way. I bow my head to give him better access, and I'm once again completely lost in the sensations of his body pressed against mine. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my lower back, and I love that I'm turning him on as much as he is me. He bends me over the table and caresses my ass. My arms are holding me up, palms flat on the table as I enjoy his touch, his lips on my neck as his body again presses against mine when he leans over me. "Do you want me to stop?" He whispers in my ear, and I shake my head. He kisses my ear and bites my earlobe. He raises my dress above my hips and I instinctively part my legs, raise my ass and lower my chest to the table in silent invitation. I hear his zipper, and my heart threatens to escape my chest. New wetness seeps out of me in anticipation. I haven't been taken, really taken by a man in a very long time, and I think he senses my hunger, my need for that type of man. He grabs the thin strap of my satin panties on either side of my hips, and with one motion, rips them from my body. A shiver of excitement runs through me at the violence and lust that one act conveys, and I go up on my toes, beckoning him to enter me. I hear the rip of foil and a few seconds later feel him press against my opening. I know I'm really ready for him, and I push my hips back. He smacks my ass lightly, and I stop. I've never been spanked before, and the feeling is...arousing. It wasn't a hard smack - more surprising and even more surprising that I liked it. He lines himself up again and slowly enters me, teasing me as I ache to be filled by him. He's thick and hard as steel, and he feels better than I ever imagined as the walls of my pussy surround and pulse around him. It's a tight fit, and it feels so good. I need him to move. I'm so turned on, and I need to be fucked, hard. I push back again, and he grabs my hips firmly in his large hands. My breathing is heavy, and I moan. He starts to thrust, and the feeling is unbelievable. Oh my god! I'm in ecstasy as he fucks me, his powerful legs against the backs of mine, his strong hands gripping my hips as he commands my body and our rhythm. I lose myself in the pleasure. I don't know what I'm saying or the sounds I'm making, I just know how good it feels, how I don't want it to stop, how I need this, how I need him. His rhythm increases as he fucks me hard and deep, dominating me, and I love it. "Oh, god, yes," I moan as he takes me. I can feel my core tightening, and I know I'm close as he maneuvers and hits that spot inside me, the spot that no one else has found, and I know I'm close. "Fuck me," I breathe, and his pace increases. We're both sweating and breathing hard, and I feel the heat and tingling on my legs, the indication that my orgasm is rushing full speed ahead, and I crave the release. He thrusts again and again, relentlessly, and I crash over him, my pussy contracting around him as the pleasure hits me like a tidal wave, and I scream. His grip on my hips tightens as he thrusts deep and finds his release. He folds over me as we attempt to catch our breath. His hands caress my shoulders, my arms as he kisses my neck and back. I've never been taken like that, and I know I want more of him. I don't want him to stop fucking me. I can feel my body getting turned on again just from his proximity and his scent and his lips against my neck. Who is this man, and what has he done to me? I'm under his spell completely. He stands up and smooths my dress back down then takes my hand and gently pulls me up to face him. He kisses my hand still in the glove then looks in my eyes. I'm a bit dazed, still in a euphoric haze. I can't quite focus, but I smile, a little embarrassed but also giddy. He leans down, kisses my neck again, and I sigh contentedly. I can feel his smile against my neck, and he bites it playfully. I moan. "Wow," I breathe. "Stop that, or we'll never leave here." "Why would we want to?" He asks in a whisper against my ear, and I shiver again but not from the cold. He walks over to the other side of the table and indicates I should sit. A server appears out of thin air it seems and sets two Insalata Caprese in front of us. I sip from the champagne glass again and cut into the salad. I'm famished for some reason. Dinner goes rather quickly as we engage in small talk. Truthfully, it's a bit awkward as I seem to be doing most of the talking. He seems interested, but he's rather quiet, and I wonder if it's something I did or said or if now that we've already had sex he's counting the minutes until dinner is over, and he can return to the party. But then why create this elaborate setup? We could have just had sex and returned to the throng never to see each other again. I run out of things to say and just sip the port that has been poured into the last glass. I place my napkin on the table beside my plate, and he rises and puts his jacket back on. I stand as well, my legs a bit shaky and put my gloves back on. He rounds the table, holds out his arm, and I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. I look up at him. He smiles that confident smile, and I smile back feeling a little relieved. He leans down and touches his lips to mine, not chaste but not the passionate kisses of an hour earlier. We climb the staircase, and I realize the wine has definitely gotten to me. The dinner portions were small which I prefer, but each of the five courses was paired with wine, and in my nervousness, I drank all of the wine but didn't eat much of the food. I'm able to walk, thankfully, and I'm not slurring my words, but I'm feeling that happy, giddy feeling all over that comes from enjoying good wine (and great sex). We return to the hallway, and the party is in full swing. Much to my surprise, in the room nearest the entrance to the cellar, couples are in various stages of undress (masks still on) and imbibing in the many pleasures of the evening. I don't feel so out of place anymore, and I giggle. My mystery man smiles again, this one full of mischief in his eyes, and my belly flips. We walk back down to the end of the hall and into the room where he first took my elbow. This room seems to be reserved for those not engaging in debauchery. Several clusters of revelers are conversing, and I hear laughter echo throughout the room. He bends to me again, touches his lips against my neck and once again whispers in my ear. I smile. He starts to walk away, but I grab his hand, pull him to me, and kiss him hard on the mouth. He's surprised but gives in to the kiss, and once again, we're lost in our embrace. He pulls away, looks in my eyes, smiles that smile that melts me and walks away. Dazed again, I sit on the couch behind me and relive the past hour or so in my mind. It feels like a dream. I shake myself out of it and decide to head home. The wine and my mystery man have muddled my mind, and I need to hydrate and go to sleep. I realize I'm not sure how I'm getting home. I didn't get a card from the driver to call him so I figure I'll either get a taxi or call Tracy. I make a stop in the most elegant bathroom I've ever seen; contemplate a soak in the deep, claw-footed tub; laugh, shake my head and make my way out of the magnificent mansion. The Rolls is parked out front, and when the driver sees me, he gets out and opens the back door for me. I climb in, pull in my dress, and he shuts the door. I take my mask off, lean back against the seat and am asleep in less than five minutes. When we arrive at my house, I'm awoken by the driver who has carried me from the car to my front door. I get my key from my purse, once again offer him a tip which he refuses and open my door. He sees me safely inside then leaves. I text Tracy telling her I'm home and will talk to her tomorrow. I drink a large glass of water, take two Advil, brush my teeth, strip and fall into bed, once again sound asleep in less than five minutes. The next day, Tracy is knocking on my door at 10 a.m. She's brought breakfast, and I tell her about the night, the dresses, the tuxes, the champagne, the debauchery and of course, my mystery man. "Shit!" I suddenly say. "My mask!" "What did you do with it?" Tracy asks. "I left it in the car last night. Dammit. I have no way of knowing the car company or how to get it back." I'm immediately saddened by this thought. That mask was beautiful and full of many wonderful memories of the incredible night. "I guess I'll email the woman on the invitation to see if she knows. I really hope it's not lost to me." Monday morning I'm only a few minutes late to work. Not my usual late but not early either. I'm still alternately dreamy from the magical evening and depressed about losing the mask. I hope to hear back from Alicia at the Brotherhood today with positive news on how I can get it back. When I arrive at my office, there's once again a lovely box on my desk tied with green and black ribbon. I open the box and it contains my mask! I'm elated as I pull it out of the box and delicately caress it. It's so beautiful. There's a white card in the box with elegant script, "Didn't want you to forget me." I know there's no name, so I don't even turn it over. Instead, I place the mask to my face and reach for the mirror in my desk. It really is a beautiful mask. I hear a knock at my door and look up. Mark is standing there grinning at me. I pull the mask away from my eyes and ask, "What?" "Nothing." He replies. "Nice mask, that's all. How was your evening? Glad to see you here and not on a news report." Masquerade Pt. 03 I roll my eyes and move the mask away from my face. "Very funny. The night was magnificent, and your sarcasm isn't going to ruin it for me." "OK. OK," he says. "I was just teasing you. So, what happened?" I fill him in on the mansion, the decor, the food, the wine, the people I met, but I leave out the erotic parts and my mystery man. "Sounds like a great event," Mark says as he closes my office door and walks toward my desk. "I think you left this behind as well," he says and places the long-stemmed red rose on my desk. I look at the rose, then at him, and I notice his mesmerizing green eyes. I don't know how I never noticed them before. My gaze moves to his lips, his neck, his shoulders and chest. Funny how I never noticed how broad they were, how athletic and fit his torso or how strong his legs. He smiles, and I know it's him, my Mystery Man. My heart is beating, and my stomach is in knots. "But...you...how...what?" I stammer. He just keeps smiling and walks in that confident stride to me. He pulls me close, kisses me, and once again I'm lost in him. I put my arms around his waist as he deepens the kiss, and I can't resist feeling his ass. I pull something from his back pocket. I know what it is, and I break the kiss. "I think you should keep this and wear it tonight," I say with a wink as I hand him the black mask. He laughs, hugs me close, and I know I'm about to embark on one hell of a journey. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ And they lived happily and passionately ever after... ;) The End.