Mass

I'd never before thought of work as a source of potential fun. Come to that, I'd never thought of anything much as a source of potential fun because, despite what follows, I have always been painfully shy. Well, okay, not exactly shy but very, very reserved.

I am, or at least thought myself, an average kind of girl. People don't yell running from a glimpse of my face or use my photograph as a way of keeping their children away from the fire, but there again I never have guys swooning at my beauty or other women getting all hissy when I'm around their men because I'm perceived as a threat. I'm slender, athletic enough for a thirty year-old, fine-featured and would maybe, at a push, claim my long black hair as a plus point on the looks table. Other than that, though, I'm miss average, and not even my slightly unusual job -- a copywriter for websites -- moves me out of the 'middle of the road' category.

Usually I sit on front of a computer and pore over sheaths of notes from the owners of websites and come up with riveting copy for them. Things like 'this site offers a totally unique...', 'click here for a once in a lifetime...', 'the cheapest rates anywhere...' -- and a thousand other lies. But just occasionally, the owner of a site will invite me along to have a look around their premises (I can't even begin to count the number of kennels I've visited -- and no funny comments, thanks) or to attend an event that displays their services. It was one of these latter -- and very rare -- invitations that prompted the events of that wild night.

Everyone thinks that the internet is made up mostly of 'adult' sites, but that's really not true. When you add into that equation the fact that what adult sites there are tend not to rely heavily on colourful prose to advertise and promote their whores... sorry, wares, then it shouldn't surprise you to be told that I haven't many such clients on my books. The invite I received from this particular site was, therefore, a surprise -- and it was its rarity value that stopped me from throwing it straight into the bin. Even then it would have made a fairly swift journey to the shredder had it not been spotted by Maddy, my best friend and perennial advice guru.

"You should go to this one, Lily," she waved the card at me.

"Maddy! It's a fetish party for goodness sake! Hardly my scene."

"So? It will do you good to see how the other half -- the other ninety percent -- lives, and it can only be good for sourcing material for the site's next release."

"All well and true," I told her, "but you seem to be forgetting that I'm not exactly the fetish party type."

"Maybe you should try it, then," Maddy grinned, "Broaden your horizons."

"Just chuck it. There's no way I can ever get that broad. And what if there was someone there who recognised me? I'd never live it down."

"Quite apart from the fact that whoever might have recognised you would be even more ill at ease, it says here," Maddy went on, undeterred, "that it's a masked party. No one need ever know it was you there."

"They might still recognise me another way."

"So dress wild and different. No one who knows the prudish Lily would ever suspect it was her."

"I am not a prude, just-"

"Shy. Yeah, I've heard it all before...."

The debate raged on through the rest of the bottle of Merlot we were sharing, and right through the next bottle and a half as well. It also started its own little side-show debate in my own mind, and that particular discussion went on long after Maddy had tottered off to her taxi and I had climbed into my occasionally lonely bed. It was still rattling around the next day.

Maddy's comments about how anonymous I could remain behind a mask and in unusual attire kept plugging away at my shyness all day, and despite my best efforts, I was totally unable to come up with any arguments that would beat them. By the time bedtime came around again I was even starting to look for holes in the logistics...

And so it came to pass. After another few hundred internal debates, and another dozen conversations with Maddy, I finally made my decision to attend the party. The invite wanted replies from anyone choosing to turn up, but I wasn't going to risk any chance of being identified so chose to turn up out of the blue instead. The only other choice I had to make was what to wear, and that was a much harder one. Thanks to Maddy, though, I did at least have some assistance. And some suitable items, borrowed from her far less inhibited wardrobe than mine.

The debate on my attire was even longer than the one about whether I was going to attend, and it was the devil's own job to get Maddy to let me wear things that wouldn't get me arrested. Even then, the final choice left me feeling less than comfortable -- a micro min leather skirt over fishnet stockings and see-through knickers, and a silky blouse, half-unbuttoned, over... well, over me. If it hadn't been for the full-face, snug-fitting, silky 'diamond-eye' mask, I would never have been able to leave my apartment. Oh, and the full-length raincoat. And Maddy's words of encouragement. And five vodkas. And a lift from her.

The next test of my resolve (or possibly, stupidity) came when I finally entered the large house where the party was being held and I had to remove the raincoat. Given that I'd never as much as showed off too much leg in public before, revealing my outfit to the smiling host and his girlfriend (or wife, or extremely talented transvestite boyfriend) felt more like stripping on national television.

But here's a confession for you. I had been resolutely pushing any thoughts about how things might actually feel to the back of my mind, and the unbuttoning of the raincoat acted like turning on a tap. Albeit slowly, the first tingles of excitement came trickling into my veins, and when the hosts just gave an admiring nod or three, I was surprised at the frisson of excitement that I felt.

Oh, and the mask? That suddenly became my security -- and my licence to enjoy myself.

Despite my new-found (albeit it masked) confidence, I grabbed a large drink from the bar, downed that, grabbed another, and then made my way into the main room where the noise was louder and punctuated by the comforting sound of laughter.

I had imagined that there would be a hundred people in there -- and it certainly sounded loud enough -- but there was barely a third of that number, and the first thing that struck me was that, if anything, my oh so daring costume was really rather tame compared to most of the other outfits on display. The crowds' focus was firmly fixed on a male-female couple in all-leather gear currently giving an impromptu performance of Paradise by the Dashboard Light, complete with gesture and actions that Meatloaf and Ellen Foley probably wouldn't have considered in even their wildest fantasies. Quite apart from being a rather fun show, it also gave me the perfect opportunity to take up an inconspicuous position towards the back of the room.

Another thing I'd mostly blocked from my mind up until that point had been just what the heck would actually go on at this 'fetish party' -- and I'd left my possible reactions to such things as a completely grey area. Now, though, I was faced with the evidence, so to speak, and I was rather pleasantly surprised.

The atmosphere, while redolent with sexuality, was almost soothingly well-balanced. There was a calmness in the air that surprised and delighted me, and the absence of any sort of pressure allowed me to relax with my drink.

Paradise soon finished and speakers around the room began to pulse with a gentle beat that soon had a lot of people up and dancing in that awkward early-party, booze-hasn't-quite-kicked-in-yet kind of way. I began to people watch, fascinated by all of the different shapes and sizes, and the levels -- or depths -- of daring that related to the costume choices.

It was a few minutes later -- with me on my next drink and back in my cosy sideline position -- when I noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere. The leather-clad couple who had been singing when I first entered the room were now centre stage among the dancers and their movements suggested most strongly that they were thoroughly enjoying the attention they were getting -- and that they were giving each other.

The guy was tall and clearly very fit, the girl shorter and as slender as me, and they both moved with a sinuous grace that would have been sensual whatever they were wearing. I found myself watching them very closely and was therefore one of the first to witness a subtle gesture that started my pulse quickening. The guy leaned forward and seemed to brush his hands lightly across the girl's bust, but when his hands dropped back to his sides, the top of the her leather vest now gaped. The girl raised her hands over her head and writhed like a snake, dipping and stretching, the leather tight over her breasts one moment and then gaping tantalisingly the next. I realised that those closer than me might even be able to catch a momentary glimpse of her nipples if they looked at just the right moment and-

I gasped when the guy's right hand shot forward and popped another button on her top, the entire garment bursting open to her waist, her small, perfectly-formed breasts suddenly completely exposed to a crowd that hooted in delight. And she never so much as broke her rhythm.

I stared in fascinated arousal as she continued to writhe up and down and barely muttered a whimper when the guy's own top joined hers and they started to dance closer. When another couple joined them in the centre of the now-excited crowd, I had to stand on tiptoes to watch exactly what was going on -- and I gave another whimper as the newcomers stripped each other down to just panties and tight leather shorts. Both women's breasts were bared as they moved together and the guys' shorts were bulging in clear delight at the spectacle.

I had never, ever seen anything so blatantly sexual -- or as arousing -- and my body reacted with a strength that took my breath away for a moment. But that was as nothing to how it reacted when the two guys started to caress their partners -- both of them.

The hooting of the crowd had taken on a new, febrile edge and I tore my eyes away from the foursome in focus to look at the rapt stares and smiles of the spectators. Every single eye in the room was focused on the four stars of the show, and safe behind my mask I felt like I was a million miles away from the shy Lily who inhabited another world. I even allowed myself to acknowledge that I was more turned on than I could ever remember being -- and in public at that. And that's when I realised that, in many ways, I could have been on another planet rather than 'in public' -- no one would look at me when there was such a sexual show going on out there....

The daring display by those two women was having its effect on me, and coupled with the flood of arousal I was experiencing I started ti feel a need -- an absolute requirement -- for satisfaction. And as I let my free hand trail down to the hem of my skirt, I knew -- knew for certain -- that no one would so much as notice me even if I....

Without waiting for my shyness to kick in and ruin the moment I let my fingers snake up to the heat and wetness just an inch or two from the hem of the mini-skirt, and right there in the middle of that crowded room, I stroked myself.

I checked -- I'm Lily at heart, remember -- that no one noticed, and then stroked again, my attention now swinging back to the foursome. My timing was perfect and as my eyes focused on the first guy, his girl tugged his shorts down, freeing an impressive -- and extremely hard -- cock, right there in the middle of the room. When the girls then tore at each others knickers to leave themselves naked to everyone's eager gazes, my stroking took on a new fervour. Another check of the foursome revealed that they were all now naked and writhing together, and that blew my control circuits.

Without realising it, I had put my glass down and now had one hand inside my skimpy knickers, the other parting my loose blouse to grab at and fondle my breasts. Part of me realised what I was doing right there in the middle of the crowd -- and every part if me applauded myself. I need it, needed to do it, and when the realisation came over me that I was not going to be able to stop easily, I lost the last vestige of self-control. As the first guy's cock entered his woman's pussy just fifteen feet in front of me, I pressed my middle fingers between my swollen, sensitive labia and gasped in delight.

When the large hand closed over my left breast through the silk of my blouse I let out a whimper not a protest, and when it slid inside the fabric to cover my right breast, I just managed a muttered 'yes!', lost in pleasure.

Another hand snaked down to my skirt, pulling it up and over my hand playing at my soaked pussy and I gasped another 'yes', slipping my fingers from my centre and pushing the stranger's hand there in their place.

My suddenly free hand found itself around the hot, hard length of a bare cock at my side and I glanced down to see the glistening head protruding from my eager hand. As the strangers' fingers entered me I started to move my hand up and down the length of his shaft, and glanced around us. We were far from alone in our wild behaviour, but right at that point I wanted to stand out, wanted everyone to see the beast within -- and I yanked open my blouse, popping buttons as I bared myself, and yelled my passion, inviting eager looks.

When the guy standing next to me and my unknown partner whooped with delight and stared directly into the diamond eyes of my mask, I felt the first tremors building within me -- and I welcomed them with an open heart and a desperate pussy. Spinning to face the stranger who's fingers probed and pleasured me, I managed to gasp 'now!' to him, dragging his engorged member towards the hot, wet centre of me.

He lifted me effortlessly, my legs spreading to his sides, my hips rising to locate the heat of the head of his cock against my dripping pussy. And there in the middle of the room, he entered me. As the people all around us switched their attention from the formerly leather-clad lovers to this suddenly horny woman, I rode this stranger's cock and showed as much as I could to all of them. When other hands reached out to touch my exposed breasts I pleaded for more. When my blouse and my skirt and my knickers were torn from me, my cries of delight spiralled higher and higher. And when the stranger inside me started to fill me with hit cum, I started to beg him to fuck me harder, to fill me, to let my pussy know who wanted it most. Words never used before, behaviours never considered, sensations never felt... I let go.

I was still going through the spasms of my monumental climax when I was lowered to the floor, and lay there spread-eagled as another guy, this one in nothing more than a bow tie under his mask, almost fell on top of me, pawing at my bared breasts. He didn't even get to enter me before he spurted a hot, wet trail of cum onto my belly, and he in turn was dragged away so that I found myself looking up into the eyes of the guy who had been singing when I first came into the room.

Without pausing, he thrust his cock inside me and I yelled in delight as another wave of climax stole over me before I started to buck and grind against another stranger. Words of desire and need tumbled from my mouth, begging him to "fuck me hard", to make it "two out of three ain't bad, to "fill me" and to "make me yours for this moment".

You know, I never did find my clothes again that night? And contrary to an immediate fear that enveloped me after I had finally finished climaxing, I was delighted with my own performance and the way it made me feel. Ah, the power! I might have been the target for every cock in that room, but it was my situation to control, and control it I did. Sure my tits were pawed at by a dozen guys or more -- but it was only allowed because I wanted it -- and sure my pussy was craved by as many cocks, but only the three that I chose got to fuck me. And yes, I did say 'only three' (the host deserved thanking -- and he has never found out to this day that it was me...) -- all my choices.

I never knew what it was like to walk so tall and for a few hours at least to be such an all-powerful slut of a woman -- but now I do, and I'm the only person in the whole wide world who knows what that -- and I -- feel like.

Even Maddy doesn't know what I got up to that night (although she was surprised when I fucked one of her dinner guests in the summer house a few weeks ago), but she's wise enough to make no comment when another invite arrived last week and I put it under a magnet on my fridge door.

Oh -- and when I did the write-up, I gave the site five stars...