Prettier in Pain

They call me "The Sphinx," or worse, "Mask". I hate both names, although admittedly... they are descriptive. They are rarely uttered in an affectionate tone, or directly to my face. Which hurts. What, do they think I don't have ears? I know who those names are referring to! Why can't they just use my name, like with any other vixen?

Christina. That's my name. That's who I am. Just a girl named Christina.

Forgive my little rant. I hate listening to others complain about what I consider to be trivialities, and yet here I am. I guess I'd better explain myself.

First of all, I'm a vixen. Which implies so much already. I am expected to always be beautiful--and I am! But an expectation is a burden even if it's easy to meet. And my breed is Crystal Rain. You know, one of the classic "goddess" breeds. So I'm supposed to be aloof, stoic, indifferent, whatever. Except I'm playing my part a little too well, apparently. They seem to have forgotten that I feel anything at all.

The second part of the puzzle is my master. His name is Magnus Nichter Van Heidrich. He's a tall and burly man who keeps his thick dark hair combed straight back. He often wears a double breasted suit with a golden anchor pinned above his breast--because he was a naval captain, you see. He spends a lot of time on the water now, and he takes me sailing everywhere.

He's a sailor at heart, more at home on the water than on land. The best thing about the sea is the people who don't follow you there. There's a quiet danger to the water, but it's an honest danger. It either kills you, or it doesn't. People are another matter. They blabber and gossip, and quietly expect things of you. So many things. Those expectations add up, as I'm sure you know. But I don't hate them, or even blame them. Because it's my fault that I choose to care about them and their expectations. Silly me, right? I keep dancing around the crucial detail. I guess no-one is going to read this, so I can take my sweet time letting my feelings spill onto paper. I can even curse, if I want to. Fuc-. Oh, I hate that word! But it was fun to write it. Except I chickened out and didn't write the last letter, so it doesn't count. It feels funny to write such a dirty word. Why the heck do I care so much what other people think?

Fuck fuck fuck

FUCK

I can't write any more. My hands are shaking and my heart's all aflutter. I feel kinda good though.

***

I'm back. Oh wow, I really got sidetracked. I feel ridiculous reading what I just wrote. I guess I was in a mood. I still am, I think. But yeah, here's what I was going to say: I wear a mask. Not a metaphorical one like normal people, but a physical one that hides almost all of my face, from my forehead down to my chin. Master buys me pretty ones with jewels and gold and filligree. I really like them!

People have all kinds of crazy theories as to why I wear them. Am I concealing a birthmark or burn scar? A botched cosmetic surgery? Or perhaps a facial tic? Nope. I'm just a normal elf girl who feels more comfortable behind her little wall of porcelain and metal. It isn't hard to understand. You wouldn't walk down the street naked, would you? Well, I feel that way about my face. I do realize I'm eccentric. But honestly? It just feels right to me at this point and I'm not going to change.

People don't really like that I wear a mask. It hides my emotions, which makes me less approachable and harder to talk to. It's a little bit unsettling to speak with someone when they can see your face but you can't see theirs. Us vixens are already known for being somewhat stoic and opaque. But that's just the thing--I'm not stoic at all! If anything, I'm hyper emotional. I laugh, I cringe, I grin from ear to ear. I smirk condescendingly and roll my eyes sometimes. All safely behind my mask. So everyone just sees a mute wall of porcelain staring back at them.

Anyway. There's also an aura of mystery that surrounds me. That goes with the inaccessibility. I'm the one girl at the club whose face has never been seen. When they hear that I'm a Crystal Rain, they ask if I really have violet eyes. Of course I do! Not that I'm going to tell them. Only master gets to see my eyes. That's when I go silent and wait for them to change subjects. Awkward. I think you can see why they call me a sphinx.

So how did it get like this? It's a long story. I don't even know where to start, partly because I don't know what I'm trying to say. This is why I hate venting.

I'll try.

It's midnight, but everything is brightly lit inside the ballroom. There's a certain feeling, as if the air itself is magic and sparkly. It's the electricity of anticipation. There's a couple standing at the top of the stairs. The man, who you'll recognize as my master, is wearing a dark double breasted suit with a golden anchor pinned above his breast. He's clutching this girl, his right arm resting gently on her lower back while his left hand pulls her leash taut. He's about to lead her down the stairs. Such a gentleman!

As for her, she's tall, slender, porcelain-pale, platinum blonde, scantily clad. Do you envy her? That's not a rhetorical question, I promise. I've been trying to answer it myself for some time. Anyway, that girl is me. And I am not wearing much. A pale purple scrap of cloth just barely covers my loins, held in place by a golden clasp clamped under my pelvis. The fabric is so thin that you can see the diamond on my pussy piercing glinting when it catches the light. Up top, a diamond dangles from a tiny golden chain on each nipple. A plate of gold hides the important bits, but the rest is all on display. Go ahead and look. No really. I spent three hours on makeup, hair, perfume, and everything else. I know who I am. What I am. I'm meant to be looked at; ogled; salivated over. Hoooo boy. Okay, that's enough. If you could look away, please? This flower wilts if you stare too hard.

I'm wearing crystal slippers, with little white ribbons tied in a bow on each foot. And a cape made from the pelt of a white tiger, secured over my shoulders with a short golden chain. But most importantly there is a mask, made of porcelain that has been shattered and glued back together with gold. That mask covers more of my skin than the rest of my clothing all put together. And it's the entire reason I'm here. You see, I wanted my master to join a club--a gentleman's club--one of the prestigious ones. Anything to get him off the water, really. I thought I hated water back then. I complained that the humidity was hard on my clothes and hair, and the rocking made me seasick. It turns out I hate people even more. Man, I sound like such a misanthrope now. Master, if you ever read this, please cane me. I deserve it, haha. (He's never going to read this <3)

Anyway, he would have been content to live practically the rest of his life on the water, but I begged him to enter one of those high-class clubs for gentleman. It wasn't hard for him to join--he had the looks, the money, the manners, the wit. We shared a glass of champagne when the letter arrived. My, what an exciting night! But I was incredibly nervous the entire rest of the week. He tried to console me. I don't know why I felt so much anxiety. I couldn't imagine how I could possibly belong alongside men of such high caliber. Or more accurately, their women. Logically, I should have known I was just as much of a trophy as any other vixen in that club. But I just. Couldn't. I don't know. I was so nervous! And am! So many feelings, and those people at the club call me the sphinx! Oh my, it's all mixed up, isn't it?

So where was I?

I kept finding reasons to miss the club events. Meanwhile, he'd started having drinks with some of the fellows, and they hit it off. He talked highly of me, and they wanted to see us at one of the galas. My excuses not to go became gradually more ridiculous. By the way, do you have any idea how much a membership at one of those clubs costs? Me either, but they're extremely expensive. Nobody joins and then ghosts for two months. I don't know why he went so out of his way to accommodate my anxiety. Except actually I do. Because he loves me.

He finally convinced me to attend one of the masked balls. He explained how it would unfold: we would arrive and be escorted inside, introduced to the sound of applause. We would dance together, dine, chat with some friends, then dance some more and go home. How complicated could it be? I would be safe behind my mask. I would barely have to speak. It's poor form for a man to directly address another man's vixen anyway. I would just be the anonymous arm candy of an exceptionally wealthy silver fox. So I assented.

I nearly fainted when he showed me my outfit. I instantly knew that it was going to be far more revealing than anything the other girls would wear. And it was! I'm not a prude, or at least I have never thought of myself as one. I've been to a nude beach before, for heaven's sake. I'm definitely not ashamed of my body, either. But this was a different context. Different people, different tone. It all comes down to expectations, doesn't it? Why do those bother me so much? I mean, I expect things of other people. They expect things of me. Fair's fair, right? Anyway, while I was standing there slack-jawed, aghast at the tiny scraps of cloth I was supposed to wear, he stood up and showed me the cape and draped it over my shoulders. He stood me in front of our full-length mirror, grinning wolfishly as my gaze traveled up my own body. I was pale, beautiful, shapely, nude... and regal. His hands were resting on my shoulders, holding the cape in place. I felt his strength. Not as a force that imprisoned me, but coursing through me to empower me. I felt bold. And dangerous.

I met my own eyes in the mirror, and grinned at the lioness staring back at me. Then my gaze continued upwards and connected with the smile on his face, and his dark eyes, which had been awaiting my gaze as it travlled up the mirror. And when I glanced back at myself, I saw my body through his eyes. At least, I think I did. How can I ever truly know what lies behind the male gaze? I felt his raw desire, uncomfortably similar to the way a wolf looks at a piece of meat. But I didn't hate it. He had everything planned out in such a way that I could not possibly decline. I was his trophy, and I was going to be displayed like one. And I wanted it.

Then the cape fluttered from my shoulders, landing in a heap on the ground. In retrospect, I should have seen the blatant foreshadowing. So blatant. I should have been mad, except I'm actually glad things played out the way they did. You know, they say that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck. It's true! Anyway, I clasped my arms around myself, covering my bare breasts. I immediately sought his gaze, but he took my shoulders and spun me around, and pressed his lips into mine. I've never felt so owned in my life. I melted into his arms as he broke my will, and kissed him back with every ounce of passion I had. His kisses were questions: "Do I own you? Am I your master?" And mine were answers: "Yes! Yes, utterly and completely!" Then we made love.

The next day went by in a flash. I've never spent so much time obsessing over my own beauty. I enjoyed it, though. He gave me a bath in scented water, so that fragrance radiated from every pore of my body. Then a steam bath, and a massage. Then a spanking. Yes. It's called a cosmetic flush. And it's very fashionable. So shush. Then my hair was done up in a crown braid, adorned with a silver ribbon faintly tinged with lavender. He bought me a special tiara for the occasion, too: a very pretty one named "Dove's Flight at Dawn". It's the one with the golden spikes with glittering diamonds at the tip, if you haven't seen it. Princess Dauchiné wears it sometimes. My buttplug was a medium-size silver one with a soft purple amethyst embedded in it. Understated, but elegant. Just like me!

So yeah. It got to be around five o'clock, which was when Magnus finally lost his patience and dragged me out of the bathroom by my leash. He tossed me back on the bed, put my shoes on, and renewed my cosmetic flush. I hobbled out the door after him, anxiously clutching my cape in one hand and my mask in the other. He kept yanking my leash, and didn't say a word until we were inside the limosine.

I thought he was mad. But he kissed me before he even spoke.

"You're doing very well, my dear," he said in a low voice. I smiled helplessly, and handed him the mask.

"I'm so nervous!"

"I know you are."

I hugged him, and he kissed me again. My heart was full of butterflies, and I was shivering. Not even because the air conditioning was on full blast, although it definitely was. Magnus likes for the air to be cold and for me to be naked, and sees absolutely no problem with having both things simultaneously. Oh my god, he drives me crazy. In every way possible simultaneously. That's love, though.

The rest of the ride went by in a blur. The castle-manor where the party was being held pulled into view, and the limo turned into the driveway. Magnus kissed my lips briefly before he slipping the mask over my face. Then the door swung open and the noise of distant revelry filled the air. He offered me his hand. I hesitated. He yanked my leash, pulling me into his arms. He smiled. Everything was going according to plan. His plan.

I strutted across the flagstone walkway, safely wrapped up in my cape, which was wonderfully warm. I felt nervous-sick, but I wouldn't make Magnus look bad for the world. He was so patient with me. I kept looking up at him, keeping him close. I couldn't stand the thought of being alone in such a new place. And all I could think was how damnably confident and charming he looked, especially with my leash in his hand. Like a god. My God.

Then he started speaking.

"When we stand at the top of the stairs, they'll call out my name, and then yours."

"Mmmhmm."

"When they say your name, I will unfasten your cape. You will give your shoulders a shake, and it will fall to the ground. Then you will descend the steps with me. Understood?" I nearly choked.

He tugged my leash when I didn't respond. "Understood?" His voice was suddenly quite gruff.

"Understood!" I squeaked. I followed him in. Up the stone steps to the portcullis, through the grand antechamber, and finally into the courtyard where I suddenly found myself standing at the top of a flight of the marble steps. There was a mixture of conversation and cheering, and I heard his name announced, followed by mine.

"We now welcome--for the first time--the honorable Captain Magnus Nichter Van Heidrich, and his wonderful elven pet, Christina Mueller Van Heidrich."

I remembered. And I obeyed. The cape slid from my shoulders and I felt the humid summer air wafting over my almost completely nude body. Suddenly I was standing in front of over hundred people while the sound of applause rattled in my ears. I couldn't help but gawk at the sea of faces. Everyone was masked, both men and women. The men were all in black suits, dressed to the nines, while the women were mostly bare. Not as bare as I was, but almost. Boy was I glad to be wearing that mask.

I don't know if I was really capable of thought at that point. I was caught up between the glint of silver cuff links, the clink of champagne glasses and the constant din of conversation. I clung to my Magnus tightly and followed him, silently peering out at the world. A few more guests arrived, always a man in a suit accompanying a lady in a cape. The cape inevitably ended up in a clump at her feet, spirited away by a servant while the couple descended the steps into the crowd. Details began to emerge the longer I watched. The crowd was mostly middle aged, between the ages of thirty and sixty. A few of the "gentlemen" were actually ladies. Not elven ladies, but human. And those women had vixens, leashed and scantily dressed and sometimes bound. I looked at my wrists. At least I wasn't bound. There were also servants, virtually all male, dressed in tuxedos. These men were experts at a kind of invisibility, able to come and go unseen. They brought out wine, appetizers, or anything else that was required.

Magnus offered me a glass of champagne. I politely accepted, but the crowd held my gaze. He said there would be dancing? I strained my eyes. At the far end of the courtyard was a band. I recognized the cello because it was huge. Behind the band was a colonnade of white Grecian pillars standing stoically behind the gathering. Between the pillars I glimpsed a lake and the rolling green hills of the countryside, gradually swallowed by the treeline. Roughly half the courtyard was enclosed by the colonnade, while the other half was surrounded by the manor itself. Looking up, I saw the columns supported a sort of balcony. Quite a few guests were up there, locked in conversation or peering down into the courtyard. English Ivy grew along the top of the colonnade and trickled down over the pillars and spilled along the edges of the courtyard. The pillars bore lanterns which cast a soft yellow-orange glow over the patio, though a secondary light source was provided by floodlights much higher up. There was a scent, too, faint yet pervasive, wafting through the air. Some sort of mint? It was subtle, masking the more organic scents of the gathering.

Then it dawned on me. The entire place was beautiful. Utterly so. Just like I was beautiful. I belonged here. For the first time, I began to relax. I glanced around. Magnus smiled at me. He was wearing a dark leather mask of course, but only on the upper half of his face. Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear.

"Are you having a nice time?"

"Yeah," I sputtered, taking a sip of champagne.

Then the lights went low, and the chatter with it. The band began to play, and couples began to dance. Magnus stood, offering his hand. I swallowed, and of course I accepted. It felt like a dream. We stood face to face, our hands on each other's shoulders--though that was a challenge, since he was so much taller than I. I looked around, at the other girls, clad in revealing dresses of rose red, lily pink, and verbena. I was wearing far less than any of them, as I feared. Yet I no longer felt ashamed. I felt a shimmer of something. Could it have been pride? Pride, at having been so completely conquered by such a remarkable man? It wasn't my pride, but his. I was just borrowing it.

I felt my heart pounding. I could feel the heat at the very tips of my ears. My slender and pointy ears were the one thing that proved beyond all doubt that I was an elf. Meaning, that I would never be seen as human. Meaning that my place was as a conquered thing, a slave. Yet as I danced with him--my conqueror--I felt nothing but love and admiration. My eyes traced the curve of the silver leash stretching from my collar to his fist. I had to admit that this was how I wanted things to be. I needed my protector to also be my conqueror. Somehow.

Slowly, awkwardly, we began to dance. I felt his powerful arms around me as I gazed into his eyes. His gaze was much softer and gentler than usual, and his brown eyes danced over my body intently. He glanced down at the gold clamps fixed over my nipples, and the scrap of cloth over my loins, and then back up to my face. I shivered. I wanted to kiss him and tell him how much I was enjoying myself, but I stayed mute. So we danced slowly and majestically. Already, I was that mysterious girl, wearing too much mask and too little else, with the dark and mysterious master who had too much money.

I pushed all thought from my mind, letting the music flow through me as I focused on Magnus. The tones were slow and romantic, though I could feel the tension slowly building. The song ended; a new one began. Faster and more punchy, the violins and trombone now kept up a steady tempo. I knew this melody; it was usually accompanied by lyrics about a sailor who traveled the world only to return to his hometown sweetheart.