I have an entire closet filled with nothing but masks.
They're not generic. Each one is purely handmade and purely unique. Each one is also made to cover all of my face with a few ornaments to hang down across my neck. Bits of my neck will usually show around my higher collars and ornaments but I've learned to not mind quite as much. The person who used to make these for me eventually took pity on me and showed me how to decorate my own ornamental masks to give my life some variety. I was paying her well but... well.
One day she saw my face, you see. And she realized that I wasn't doing it to just be strange or as a gimmick. Granted, with my last name and the family I am related to it wasn't an unusual assumption for me to go for a gimmick of my own.
But she showed off a good heart when she saw me without a mask. At first she thought my face was of my own design. Also a fair assumption. My brother made his empire off of kinks and fetishes. And there are many with a fetish for body modification.
I'm not one. Why else would I be paying so much to continually keep my face hidden.
But it's not a complete bad thing. Every day I decide who I want to be. What color do I feel. Do I want to wear red and stand it out with a gold mask. Maybe I feel like royal purple.
Most of the time I go with different variations of black and silver. I love how it looks with a dark dress and high collar. Ethereal, almost.
I cover my left eye with a black patch and place a black mask over it with silver sequins and glitter on it. Afterwards, I press the button to close that closet and go to another walk in closet for my clothes. My black dresses are all longer, all conservative. All lovely. I choose one.
My life might have started out twisted. My father was a surgeon who decided my face and torso needed to be modified beyond extremes. My brother built his millionaire empire off of kinks and fetish clubs, porn and sex. Normal? Not quite.
But I'm rich. And I can get away with covering my face, even if the coverings are beyond standards and wouldn't fit in a normal work environment. Really, after you're making a certain amount of money, it doesn't seem to matter.
So strange. But good.
Foxx Wyte is the name of my brother. He's actually a pretty good guy and I owe him a lot. The start of which is that he saved me from the hands of my father when I was a teenager and he found out what was happening to me.
But another thing that shouldn't be overlooked is that he persuaded me to go purely into investment. He was a business guy first and foremost, even over being a kinky slut, and he was damned good at it. So as a teenager he infused me with a steady injection of stockbrokering knowledge. It started out small and would go on to be a company that I didn't even have to be present for. What did I do for a living anymore? Not a damn thing. I relaxed and watched my bank account numbers, used basic knowledge that was as easy as addition to me and kept in touch with someone who did all the dirty work of running my company for me. I liked it that way. I liked not having to show my masked face in public. It attracted less attention than my actual face did, but still more than I was comfortable with.
Well, that's not completely true. There was one place that I was okay to show my masks. That was where I spent most of job time. At Foxx's clubs, running his empire with him.
Stockbrokering required a few critical times of the year out of my time. But I loved Foxx's empire. I had a deal and partnership with me. He invested heavily in me and I fed him back with making his life half as difficult. Apart we were fucking brilliant. Together we're a powerhouse. People are already intimated of Foxx. He's a sadist himself and that's why he worked so well with running his porn empire.
But then there's me. People don't know exactly what happened to me. We kept it secret. But they know it was something. And they know it was terrible. It's amusing truly. Besides the bitchy side that's good at running a company beside my brother, I'm docile. I'm a 26 year old virgin, no kinks so far as I know. I'm calm. I like reading and crochet.
I don't have to say a word. And Foxx doesn't take no for an answer. He runs his company, but he invests in partners and he has enough money for people to come to him for it.
At the moment, though, life is boring. I don't have much to do today so I'm going to Foxx's.
Like I said, it's the one place where my mask doesn't feel very out of place.
Foxx isn't home at the moment so he's left someone to run the club for him with a memo to me to check his numbers and make sure all his laws and rules are followed. He had a meeting in San Diego for a week, but I don't mind. The only downside is our house is huge and I miss him when he's gone. It's so big it feels lonely. At the moment, it's gotten to me for a bit. After spending the night at his bar, I might just invite some of his friends and coworkers over to spend the night. They love a chance to and Foxx invites them over most all the time. He hates feeling lonely, same as I.
The bar lights make it impossible to stay feeling low for long, however. They're gaudy and demand attention. Foxx's bars are renowned among certain circles. He found the center of a demographic and nailed their dreamworld to the details, from what I understand. Everything about is made to feel safe while being made for freaks and anyone horny enough to feel adventurous. The bartenders in this one alternate between two of them. Both are gorgeous, kinky, know all the rules, and both have been fucked by brother. One is a female, one is a male. Both spend their entire lives bodybuilding and protect Foxx's clientele with a predatory fierceness that's stunning. People don't bend the rules in a club where the bartenders look like that.
Sure enough when I get there Foxx's club is running just fine. I pace through and stop at the sectioned areas where people play. I watch like Foxx's dungeon monitors watch and look for the details Foxx has taught me to. Things get twisted in kink. Sometimes people don't want to like what happens to them, but there's a difference in things that are unsafe and things that are safe. That's one of the things.
The other is trickier to notice. It's the difference in someone who is having a masochist fantasy or fetish fulfilled and someone who genuinely isn't having a good time. Sometimes Foxx's dungeon monitors will step over the ropes and stroke the hair of a slave or submissive. Not to intervene or ruin anything. Just as reassurance. Foxx chose all of them with a spirit of protection and dominants. Like the bouncer in a strip club, they're guardian angels of his place.
They need to reassure themselves that every person in Foxx's club is really, truly okay. That they all want what is happening to them. Well, if a guardian angel could be a slutty, horny, kinky Dom. A guardian demon might be a better term.
Really, that's how I like to think of Foxx's clubs. I like to think of them as hell, with their red glow and the cries of pleasure and pain and need. And the DMs as guardian demons set by their master, my brother.
What can I say. I have a romantic heart every now and again.
So I watch. I don't step over the ropes and touch. That's only for Foxx's Doms. But I do pause and I do like the images every now and again. My father's attentions made him horny and ever since he sated his lusts as well as depravity with me I haven't been able to get turned on very often.
But, to me, some of Foxx's scenes are romantic. And I appreciate them for what they are. A female bent over a horse with a Dom behind her, carefully watching her reactions so he can take her to the edges of pleasure. Another sub laid over a table covered in colorful candlewax and moaning with each new touch of heat on his skin. Cries of pleasure, cries of pain, cries of need. There is something all too primal in it all and I enjoy that.
I turn a corner and come face to face with Foxx's lead demon.
He's one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. He's every bit the contradiction that infuses Foxx's clubs. He's the most protective of Foxx's demons and he's the most sadistic. He's everything that I'm not.
For starters, he stays sexually turned on. His fetish is in everything that can be turned into humiliation or sexual torment or degradation. He loves sex and he's had tons of partners. They've come and gone for him. You see, he's something of a legend with Foxx's clubs, but not a legend to be dated as a permanent life partner. He's too intense, so to speak.
His name is Dominic Santiago and he's my best friend.
Most people can't tell when I smile, not behind my mask and my covered left eye. But Dominic can always tell. He grins easily back and walks towards me.
"Long time, no see, love."
I laugh a small amount, but it comes easily with Dominic. "It has been a while, hasn't it? A few months, I think. How were the San Diego clubs?"
He shrugs and snorts. "Same as these, with just minor differences. Everyone knows what they're doing there as well as anyone your brother has working for him here."
"You'll have to forgive him his caution, dear. He doesn't know them quite as... personally as he knows the rest of you. Or most of you."
This time Dominic laughs. "Oh, I missed you. Subtlety and modesty are definitely refreshing with my job. Come on, Kitten. Let's catch up. I've closed off one of the back rooms to be repainted tomorrow. It had to be cleaned early."
Like all of the Monitors he's wearing leathers and leather gloves. He's fucking beautiful and he's devastatingly intimidating.
Still, though, it's been a while since I've connected with anyone. I take his hand and his offer and he leads the way to one of Foxx's back dungeon rooms.
He closes the door behind us and I take a look around. The room to be painted is one of Foxx's lightly lit room. The mock sconces on the wall are blue and soft. There's a table left in the middle of the room. Most of the cabinets have been pushed to the center. Any decorative wall hangings have been removed. The walls are blue like the light.
"Aw. What color is he having it painted, Dom?"
Dominic smiles. "Red."
I whine. "But I like this room."
In answer Dominic's chuckles. "I think you'll like it even better when it's red. So will most of the clientele. The blue will look all the softer. It'll look more fantasy like, I suppose."
I shrug. Whatever my brother wants to do is really up to him. I'm sure Dominic is right anyway. I'm terrible at seeing anything in my head before it happens. "So, how did you like staying San Diego?" I sit on the table and turn to face and Dominic sit comfortably on a sawhorse.
"Well enough. Hotter than hell, that's for damn sure. But not bad. Not bad at all. A bit more laid on than here. But to be honest San Francisco will always be home, love."
I grin. "I like it better here as well. He's sending you to Las Vegas next, yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm looking forward to that one. Sin city, love. What about you? Is he sending you anywhere? I know he has before, a few times."
