Predator or Prey

The ball room is huge.

The ceiling, rich in cream mouldings and heavy black oak, reaches far above only to be shrouded in shadow. As I step into the space I can't help but admire the opulence of its decoration: gold leaf, glass and red drapes cover every wall and pillar. Every surface gleams in the reflected flame of thousands of candles set in a massive chandelier hanging high above. Though grand, no element seems out of place: it is aching in its sophistication.

The people who stalk the halls are all delicate and beautiful. Though they are masked with Venetian masks (half and full, porcelain, felt and feathers: a riot of colours and contours, each one a character in itself) I can see that each has the most delicious eyes - lidded and hungry with dark, swelling lust. They all know why they are here. They have all chosen to be here for that reason: they, and I, are all here to fuck.

We are all of us there to fuck strangers.

The people who surround me are all there because they are rich and bored. Some came here together. Some will watch as their wives and husbands fuck others. Some are the deepest kind of voyeur.

I have come alone: the predator among the prey. My mask is black and inlaid with silver - simple but elegant - just enough to cover my eyes and cheeks. My clothes are also black and silken, tightly strapped about my white flesh, a shoulder-bound cloak swaying as I walk. I am here not to be noticed: I am here to seek and to be found.

I stalk the halls. There are corridors that lead from the ballroom, snaking deep into the recesses of the grand estate. As I walk slowly through each corridor the air is filled with cries and screams, gasps and moans from the rooms at either side. I look into each as their sounds and smell pique my desires.

In one, a woman dressed completely in white, feathered white wings riding high on her back, is lapping at the cunt of another, splayed on a chez lounge, her head hanging from the edge, facing the door from which I watch them. She is a doll - a plaything to the wicked white angel who looks up at me as I stand in the doorway, her masked eyes steady on my gaze. With a wink, the angel takes her lover crashing to her pleasure, shuddering and thrashing in a torment of ecstasy.

In another room, a monstrous black man is shredding the pussy of an Asian lady while another woman, either the man's wife or the Asian woman's lover, looks on. He is fucking her without mercy or care as tears stream from beneath the mask. Her humiliation is only tempered by the mask that hides her face,... and she is in heaven.

Room after room, lust after lust, and still I have not found my partner for the evening. I'm not sure if I'm truly the predator or prey.

And there you are. You are wearing red: Scarlet and black. Your onyx hair is tumbling on your bare shoulders. You are the envy of the great hall. Every man is seeking your favour, every woman is fawning at your feet. But your eyes fall only on me.

And such eyes: deep and brown: an almond-shaped window to lose your soul within. One glance and I am struck: I am yours,... completely.

I watch the swell of your breast as it heaves at the top of your corseted gown. I note your fingers as they slip from your cheek and down your neck, a silent invitation: an acceptance. You will give yourself to me tonight and you have no idea who I am. And you never shall.

To their horror, you leave the crowd, swaying towards me, passing me, drifting down the corridor - a silent command to follow as you glance over your shoulder. And I do.

The room that we approach is locked but you have the key. A click and it swings open.

Inside, an ornate bed, draped in black silks, awaits us. The walls are old, the plaster cracked - this is the real heart of the palace: corrupt and revelling in a decadent, violent past. The red of each makes my gaze darken: the blood in my veins burning and swelling.

At the corners of the bed stretch black chorded ties, the wood to which they're bound is splintered and frayed by too much use. You work your way onto the mattress, crawling slowly - an animal, languid in her mastery of her needs. As I press the door closed and lock it, I see that there are mirrors here and I am suddenly certain there will be people behind them.

I turn back to look on you again. You have wrapped the ties around your wrists, you have lain on the bed, the skirt of your dress is gone: all that remains on your blushing flesh is your corset, opening to your legs and your naked, gleaming sex.

Faceless, you watch me. Your eyes beg. And there, before the wandering eyes of others, I slip from my trousers, onto the bed,...

And I take you.