Bal Masque (18+)

Bal Masque

This world, someone once explained to me, made you feel alive, lit your body on fire, and transcended any sense of reality. I see it in the eyes of masked women, eyelashes fluttering and not nervously but arousing fascinated by the scene. I tug at the hem of my black silk robe aware of his eyes on me. He's watched me the entire evening a physical hand of ownership I've tried to ignore. I came alone. The invitation required masks and discretion both of which I provided. This is extremely outside of my comfort zone but a consistent fixture in my fantasies, ones I still blush head to toe from.

I listen distractedly to the moans emanating throughout the open space, the marble floors rejecting the sound with a loud echo. I breathe shallowly, affected. Heat travels up my spine but I refuse to walk over and watch. I'm permanently plastered to a wall closest to the door still debating escape. Hearing the sounds of skin slapping and those masculine groans that make my toes curl, I close my eyes to seek composure.

"Stay." A voice resounds above me, deep and tinted with an infatuating gravely tone. I open my eyes slowly, my heart a rapid beat against my ribcage hammering with anxiety. Glancing over at my hand wrapped soundly around the rod iron door handle, I uncurl each finger from the decorative curve.

"Nervous?" He asks as I finally find him leaning casually against the wall next to me. A dark gray stares back at me beneath the black silk mask he's adorning measuring me in a knowing way. A hand is wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey while the other curls gently around mine and I soften next him.

"Obvious?"

He smirks squeezing my hand as an answer.

"Cole." He offers.

"Isabelle. It's nice to meet you." It sounds so childish considering our venue but I say it anyway.

"You're beautiful Isabelle." He turns to me then before blocking my view. His suit smells freshly cleaned an onyx tuxedo that complements his eyes, brightens them, with the lapels defined by black silk. My fingers dance against my thighs. I want to touch him.

"Thank you."

"Your modesty is something to be admired." He tugs playfully at the tie of my robe. I'm the only one covered. The rest of the women are either naked or in lingerie. I'm not that comfortable yet.

"I'm not used to being naked in front of a crowd." Only with one man and so my nerves fired anxiously at the thought but a small part of me wanted it. That man once told me my general delicate nature always made him hard because I blossomed beneath him in bed begging for depraved things, vulgar with language and my desires. I wanted my limits pushed and he obeyed.

"Do you trust me?" He whispers against my ear, his hands settled at my waist. I shiver at his touch before breathing a panted yes. He pulls me across the massive dining room and into the living room cleared of furniture for this evenings event. String lights hung from the ceiling intertwined with wings of white chiffon hang elegantly. I smile. I love the ethereal romance blanketing such dirty acts. Winding through small crowds of people some brazenly pleasuring each other kneeled and servicing, I inch closer to Cole who confidently leads the way. He draws me in front of him his hands falling possessively on my shoulders and I can feel his chin at the back of my head. It feels good to be claimed, more stable. He picked the perfect time to approach as my anxiety simmers.

We watch as two couples fuck in front of us and it's feral with their clawing hands and rapid thrusts. One man holds a woman's body by her hair completely in control of her and his speed. God I love that exact position and as if Cole read my mind, his hand flirts with the skin of my exposed chest dancing over the curve of my hip before riding up my thigh and under my panties. I try to frantically look around but Cole's other hand grips my jaw.