Hanna Ellis stepped into the small private bathroom that was nestled into the back corner of her office. She looked into the mirror, appraising the woman who looked back at her. Her long, blonde hair was pulled up into a loose bun, her makeup, lightly accenting the features of her face. Her outfit was designer, a charcoal jacket and pencil skirt over a silk burgundy blouse. This particular look was picked up from a tailor just outside of Rome. The clothes were tailored to fit her five-foot, ten-inch frame in a way that was snug around all of the right curves. She was cute. Professional, but cute.
She stepped back into her office. It was neat, comfortable, and eerily sterile. Everything was personalized. On the left wall, a series of frames displayed her diplomas, certifications, and qualifications among very generic pictures of exotic places. Below the frames, a small bar. A crystal decanter of amber fluid and matching glasses glimmered in the fluorescent light. The right wall was split between a full bookshelf and a small closet.
Her desk was a thing of wonder and pride. Hand crafted mahogany. The desk was tall, made even more so by the platform that it sat on, like a stage. Her chair was equally tall. The height was strategic. It gave her a position of power, being able to loom over whoever sat in one of the large comfortable chairs in front of the desk.
Her office was personalized, but not personal. She was a corporate monster, an ice queen, ruthless, effective, and all of the other things that one might assume...at least, that was the image she displayed to the world.
The windows to the outside office were covered with blinds, but she could hear it coming to life. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to nine. She threw open the door of her office and stepped out.
"Oof!" A mousy young woman exclaimed, as she collided with the department head. The girl fell to the floor, spilling an armful of papers. Hanna looked down at the girl, her face expressionless. Young, maybe all of twenty years old, one of the interns, eager but timid. "You made a mess." Hanna snarled in a cool tone, her jaw tight. The girl fixed her glasses and scooped up the papers. She opened her mouth, probably to let out some half-witted apology, but all that came out was a squeak, before she scurried away. Mousy....
Hanna scanned the outer office. Her cool, blue eyes fixed on a man in his mid-thirties. He was sitting on the edge of a desk, leaning into a cubicle and talking to the man inside. "Huer." Her voice was crisp and carried through the office. The man jumped at her calling his name. Travis Huer, from IT looked at her, a guilty grin still half on his face. "This is my house. It's under my rule." She watched as his grin faltered. "The people in my department have work to do. Go distract someone else." He didn't say anything. He gave the man in the cubicle an apologetic shrug and hurried away.
She stepped back in her office. The corners of her mouth curled up just a bit, almost a satisfied grin. She stepped up on her platform to her desk. She sat down and touched the top drawer. She let out a longing sigh and shuddered. The real woman was tucked away in there. Hanna longed to let her be free. Instead, she started up her computer and went to work. Only half of her mind was committed to the tasks at hand. The other half drifted someplace else...
*
Maskurade wasn't a normal club. It wasn't even what you would call an elite club. There was no velvet rope, where a well-placed bill could get a bouncer to let you past the line. Maskurade was more like a secret society. It was by invitation only. There were rules of etiquette that were strictly enforced. The club was so secretive, that the location was always changing. Hanna had searched exhaustively, trying to find people with desires that matched her own. She had all but given up, when the invitation mysteriously appeared in her mailbox a little over a month before.
Her first event was in a hotel-casino that was never finished. The hotel half, anyway. She walked through the casino, to a back corner. A young man in a suit stood next to a nondescript door. Hanna handed him her invitation. He gave it a look, before handing it back and opening the door. She walked down a long hallway to a desk. A woman greeted her, pulling up her information on a computer. The woman repeated the rules of the house, confirmed her preferences and banking information, fastened a band around Hanna's left wrist, and slid her a welcome package. She pointed toward to a series of doors. "You can prepare in room C."
Hanna stepped into the small dressing room and closed the door. She removed her clothes and placed them with her purse and keys in a small locker. She waved the barcode on her wristband under a scanner and red letters reading "Locked" appeared on the display. She slipped into her lingerie. The black lace of the bra and panties didn't quite conceal her small, pink nipples, or the tight landing strip of her pubic hair. She pulled dark stockings up to mid-thigh and attached them to her garter belt. Next, a pair of suede three-inch pumps.
She examined herself in the mirror for a moment, before the final touches. Hanna pulled her hair up and tied it high on her head. She had kept it in a braid for two days, when she let it out, the locks were full and wavy. She let the golden lengths drift down, dancing and bouncing on her bare shoulders. The last piece was a mask. The mask covered the top half of her face with black feathers, that shimmered like an oil slick. Her crystalline blue eyes peered from beneath the feathers, as she stepped through the second door, into the event that would shape the rest of her life.
*
A knock at her door pulled her back to her office. "Enter" she called distractedly. A tall, thin man scurried in. Hanna barely looked at him. "Tom?" It was the only acknowledgement she gave him. "Uh...sorry to interrupt." He stammered, taking no more than a step into the door, as if he might not make it back out alive. "I'm taking lunch orders. Is there anyth..."
"I'll be eating in." She cut him off, waving her hand. It was all that Tom needed. He darted out of the office, like something had just bit him. Hanna took a second to touch the drawer again, the longing resonating deep within her. She was just about to hit send on an email she had drafted, when her phone chirped. Exasperated, she let out a sigh and looked at the device. A single; curt message was on the display. She let out a surprised gasp.
"7PM Underwear only. Not a second late."
The message was followed with an address. She felt a lump in her stomach as she read the text. Nervous excitement filled her, as memories came flooding back.
*
She felt eyes crawling over her exposed body, as she entered the ballroom. She drifted through the people, noting the curiosity and lust that met her. she made about ten steps, when the first hand found her ass and gave it a squeeze. She stopped, letting the strange man touch her. "Nice and firm." he hissed in her ear. "Thank you, sir." She whispered. He gave her cheek a light smack, sending her on her way with the idea that he might find her later. More hands found her, groping her ass, her breasts, giving her light spanks. A woman in a suit, with a huge mask made of peacock feathers grabbed her breasts with both hands and gave her a good squeeze. Hanna thanked her before being dismissed. A man blocked her path. "Drink it, bitch." He held up a shot glass. Hanna took the drink and downed it. The vodka burned as it went down. A small crowd of people cheered, and he stumbled away.
More touching, more drinks. A man in a suit, that did little to contain his huge belly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. He reeked of booze. His mask only covered his cruel eyes. His nose was long and hooked, his cheeks heavily pockmarked. "Get on your knees." He slurred. Hanna lowered herself, kneeling in front of the man. He smiled down at her, and she couldn't help but admire the flawless teeth that were hidden behind his dry looking lips. "Hands behind your back." He instructed and she obeyed. She opened her mouth as commanded, and he poured a drink into it. She swallowed the drink, feeling the effects of the alcohol, now. He didn't send her on her way, he just turned around and wandered off.
Hanna didn't move. She knelt there for several minutes. A few more people came by to have a feel. The peacock feathered woman came back around, grabbing her hair and guiding her back to her feet. "He does that to all of the new sluts, honey." She told Hanna, before smacking her ass. "Go be useful."
She should have been repulsed by some of the scene that she was now a part of. Instead, she was exhilarated. What had been experimentation in college, had turned into the discovery of a deep desire. Hanna could control every aspect of her life.... every aspect of her life, except her sexuality. Dark fantasies manifested in her mind about the depraved sexual acts that she would gladly do with the people here, even the disgusting man with the hooked nose and amazing teeth.
She made her way to the bar and caught the bartenders attention. She was about to ask for a water, when a strong hand gripped her shoulder and turned her. Hanna's heart skipped a beat.
His mask was leather, covering all but his mouth and chin. Dark eyes pierced into her from its depths. "Tom Collins." He said to her, his voice deep and emotionless.
"No names." Hanna stammered, nervousness finally welling up inside her. "The rules..." He grabbed her wrist hard and pulled it over the bar. "A Tom Collins." His tone sounded annoyed, but there was underlying amusement. "You're buying me a drink." The bartender scanned her wristband.
They stood motionless, their eyes locked. He didn't look, when the bartender returned with his drink. "25 percent." He said, as he tapped the tip on the scanner. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke again. "Turn around." He raised his glass and took a sip. She turned, letting him examine her. A nervous excitement filled her to the point of bursting. Her limbs had turned to rubber. Within, she felt a buzzing, so intense that she thought she would vibrate through the floor.
His hand brushed lightly along the lace on her cheeks, up her back, and rested on her shoulder. "Should I keep you?" His whisper was almost a growl. His hot breath on her ear sent a shiver down her spine. Between her legs, an inferno raged.
In front of her, a woman tugged on a leash. The man it was attached to crawled behind her, begging to serve her every whim.
Hanna's voice was barely audible. "If that is your desire, sir." He turned her around and she lost herself in that dark, playful gaze. He pointed to the floor, and she knelt, without hesitation. He cupped the bulge in his slacks. "Do you want this?" He asked." Her mouth began to water. "Yes, Sir." The quiver in her voice was impossible to hide. She began to shake with anticipation. He was teasing her. She knew it. The rules were very clear about permittable sexual contact, and they both knew how far he could push.
