Part 2 The Masquerade Party

Andrea called me

"There is a party next week and you have to come. We are having a masquerade. It is a crazy party where everyone just lets go. It's the way we make things exciting," she smiled.

"I'll think about it," I said, her invitation sparking a fire of interest in me. "Who's going to be there"

"Some friends," she said vaguely, her eyes glinting. "But that's half the thrill." You never know who you're going to meet behind a mask." The idea of a masquerade ball, a room where inhibitions were shed like the skin of a snake, was both scary and thrilling. And still, I nodded my head, consenting to go. I stayed out the week, every day a grey echo of the one before. Daniel was none the wiser to the tempest that raged within me, absorbed as he was in his own life of scholarly fervour. Our conversations were superficial, a game of words that smouldered with no flame. As the sun set and darkness fell over the city, I found myself dressing for bed, my brain replaying that fateful visit to the Vixen's Layer, replaying the gentle warmth of the stripper's hand and the offer of something beyond that was never mine to keep.

I stepped into a blue midnight dress, its fabric clingy and body-hugging as a second skin. It touched me with silky smoothness as I moved. I put on makeup for my face with careful attention, tapping into the strength of a stranger, my eyes burning with a fire that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. I was a woman at the intersection of a new life, one that would remake the very essence of myself. The party was a soiree in a mansion on the outskirts of town, a house where the scent of scandal clung as heavy as the leaves that surrounded it. The moon grinned mockingly overhead, its light casting horrid shadows across the lawn as I emerged from the car, my chest pounding with equal amounts of fear and exhilaration. The house itself a labyrinth of decadence, candlelight and velvet drapes bursting into each other to create an erotic atmosphere opposing the logical purpose of my office day.

Stepping into the masquerade, I was blinded by the cacophony of music and laughter, air thick with the scent of far-off incense and the whispered gossip of the transgressive. The masked revelers provided a dash of mystery, their fronts hiding faces that were to be unveiled only by the waltz of seduction and the silky whispers of passion. I trembled with excitement as I blended into the crowd, my eyes scanning the room for that one person who would make this night all that I had wished it to be. The party was well underway, the guests moving through the halls of the mansion like figures in a painting of erotica given form. I accepted a glass of champagne from one of the tuxedo-clad waiters, the fizzing tickling my nose as I sipped it. The liquor warmed the pit of my stomach, and I felt self-assured enough to enter this world of sinister delights.

I followed the sound to a stunning ballroom, where bodies flexed in a dazed throng, their masks a wicked enticement as they stroked and caressed. The air was charged with the promise of scandal, a whirling counterpoint to the suffocating repression of my wedding. I felt a hand at the small of my back, and turned to see a giant of a man with a face that could kill and eyes that pierced, his mask a fine leather one that only served to highlight rather than conceal the good looks.

"Hi," he rumbled, his voice shaking through my whole body. "I'm Hendrik, Andrea's husband." Surprise and elation swept through me. This was the man who had shared adventures with her.

"Hettie," I whispered, holding out my hand. His was balled, and his eyes pierced mine with a ferocity that said a thousand words.

"Andrea's said a lot about you," he said, looking at my mouth. "I've been waiting to hear it." His voice was a soft stroking, and my cheeks burned as he dragged me into the fight. "Andrea's taken hostage, she told me to watch out for you."

"How did you know it is me?"

"Your beauty, it can't be replaced," he remarked, his eyes glazing at the shape of my breasts under the dress. His words skimmed down my backbone, a wealthy rush of pleasure that prickled my skin. "And you're the only single lady here tonight in the room I'm not familiar with," he inserted, flashing me a grin.

The floor of the ballroom was a dervish of color and mask, the pairs held tight to one another with savage avarice, bodies communicating silently.

Music was a pounding rhythm that pulsed in harmony with the beat of my own soul, calling me to the far end of the room where air revolved thick with the perfume of lust. The dancers dissolved into arms and silk, a Lustcloth that appeared to be calling forth the mad hunger that had been sparked within me. Hendrik led me through the waves of human that swirled around us, his unbreakable and unflinching grasp, a promise of this night in unspoken words. We descended in hordes of masked visages, smile and whisper being the sirens' call of the sea beckoning me away from the safe comfort of everyday life. He led us before to a party of people sat in a ring, laughter marring the sound of the rhythm.

They did not wear their masks, however, but it was so simple for them to include me into their circle. The subject for the night was mythology, and they were reading about sex goddesses and sex gods, their conquests and desires. There was an odd sense of community among them, the sense that we were all making our vows at the same altar of desire, under a veneer of respectability. The further into the night the night strayed, the more frank the exchange, the less inhibited the contact. A woman with a peacock-feather mask strode by, fingers resting lightly on my thigh before disappearing back the other way, a fiery trail of light behind her. A tall, dark-haired man leaned in, lips next to my ear, "Would you like a dance?" He exhaled honey-sweet air, warm as honey, and I nodded to go with him through the throng.

We danced, our bodies eloquently still with desire. His hands glided over my form, and I could feel the pressure of his hardness against my thigh. The music was a sexual hum, bringing us closer and closer until there was nothing between us but our masks. He pressed on, and our mouths touched in a kiss that was burning and tender. His tongue sparred with mine, a promise of what was to come.

The room was whirling around me, and I was being suffocated by a torrent of passion and anonymity. We stumbled into the corner of a secluded space, our kisses getting more frenzied as we struggled at each other. The fabric of my dress was the thin veneer that was insufficient to contain my desire. His hand cradled my breast, and I moaned, thrusting against his caress. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the music stopped. The lights flashed, and the room was black. In the sudden silence, the only sound was the harsh panting of our breathing. "Free for all for an hour!" Someone yelled.

The room erupted into cheers, the air thick with the scent of craving and anticipation. The lights faded, music turned to the sound of bodies slamming against one another and hushed conversations. Deep in the shadows, the masks had gone beyond tokens; they represented a world of anonymity and freedom. The man disappeared from the darkness, me shaken and rigid, but soon another followed him to take his place, hands strong and relentless. Soft lips touched my neck, and I shivered, my body doing what came naturally. Anouther pair of hands gripped my buttocks, squeezing and caressing, and I did not struggle.

The whispers grew to a chorus, the room a dance of pure lust. Anonymity was the day's dictum, and the darkness a veil for our basest urges. I was no longer Hettie, the unhappy wife and schoolteacher, but a night animal, a legend who dwelled in this modern bacchanal. The hands on me grew more insistent, and I was led to a couch, my body a willing sacrifice to the lust gods. The man before me was big and muscular, his mask a gleaming panther's head that concealed his face. His fingers were rough but soft as they explored the flesh of my dress upwards, allowing the cold air onto my exposed flesh. He kissed me passionately, his tongue exploring the depths of my mouth, tasting the essence of my lust. His fingers went up to the zip of my dress, and he tugged it open with a gentle pull, the fabric flowing around my ankles. I loosened my bra, letting it fall on the floor, my breasts exposed and hungry for his caress. He cupped them, his thumbs rubbing my nipples, and I threw my head back, a groan coming out of my mouth. The man at the back pulled my panties down, and I felt his warmth on my nudity. Two sets of hands caressed me, a delectable duet of joy that seemed to be led by an accomplished conductor. They placed me on the couch, and one began kissing down my body, his tongue tracing the shape of my spine, causing shivers of delight down me. As the mouth of the panther-masked man rested on my neck, his hands fell to caress my inner thighs, his hot breath burning on my skin.

The second man crouched between my legs. His mask was a satyr, a playful nod to the theme of the evening, and his eyes glinted with hunger as he gazed at me. His kisses grew hotter, tracing downward, and I felt his warm breath on my sensitive skin. His tongue darted out, teasing me, and I squirmed under his fingers, my hands reaching out to grasp the couch cushions. He took his time, savouring every inch of me until I was bucking with need. Panther-man's hands encircled my wrists, holding them above my head, as the satyr's lips descended, his kisses stronger and more insistent. The satyr's tongue teased my clitoris, sending my system into shock, and I moaned against the panther's kiss. The rest of the world outside our bubble had melted away, leaving us to the heat of our muffled breathing and the gentle rasp of fabric. The room was thick with scent, perfume, liquor, and the heady, musky smell of desire. I was stunned in a haze of sensation, my body responding to the couple's practiced ministrations. The satyr's mouth worked in pained intimacy, his teeth scraping at the inner curves of my thighs as his tongue traced an insane pattern across my delicate folds.

The panther-man released my wrists, and my hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him to me. We kissed harder, our tongues dancing a pas de deux of desire played out in the dance of our bodies. His hands went back to playing on my breasts, his thumbs teasing my erect nipples as I pressed against him, begging for more. The satyr's lips were cold, and my moans echoed loudly, off the black room. I could feel the panther's cock against my leg, hard and insistent. The pain within me grew, a throbbing beat that I couldn't ignore. I slid my hand down, my fingers closing around his shaft, riding him in time to the satyr's. I orgasmed, my body shuddering with climax, my muscles locking around the satyr's tongue. He did not relent, however, his honeyed barrage going on and on until I was panting.

Finally, the satyr pulled his head back, his eyes aglow with satisfaction as he watched my shudders of orgasm pass. "Thank you," I panted, my throat achy. The panther laughed, smooth and low.

"The night is young," he whispered, his hand sliding down to stroke my hips. "And there's so much more we could do." They both disappeared into the darkness, leaving me gasping for more. The thrill of the unknown ran through my blood, a heady combination of lust and adrenaline. I fought to sit up, gasping, trying to get my bearings. The mask had been a world of pleasure, and I had merely dipped my toes into its sybaritic waters.

The lights burst back again, blinding light aglow after encompassing blackness. The space was a tableaux of open flesh, tortured limbs, and satiated smirks. The music recurred, pulsating beat as if taunting at the evanescence of our limits. The faces around me adjusted their masks again, their glinting eyes filled with trickery and tacit intentions. I stood up, my knees shaking but my spirit unbroken. The world was another world in the blinding brightness of the chandeliers, but I had never felt more alive.

The night was a blur of words and dances, all of them brothel dances of words and looks. The men danced couple to couple with one another, leaving desire behind.

"May I have the next dance?" I had been facing the other way when I caught sight of a guy with a wolf mask approaching me, his green eyes sparkling with an appetite-fueled stare that had my heart racing.

"I'd love to," I replied in a sultry voice.

We wormed our way to the center of the room, our nude bodies fitting rather nicely together. The wolf's grip around my lower back was firm as he danced us through the movements, his body fluid and sinuous. His other arm was wrapped around my waist, his thumb tracing circles on my skin, making me shiver. We locked eyes, and I was gazing into the heart of a man who knew my darkest, most primal desire. The music was the siren's call, and we followed it on the steps of a familiar dance and an unfamiliar dance, the rhythm beating deep within my bones. He kissed me on the lips, and I melted in the warmth of his body. We danced together, every step a silent witness to our hunger. The dance grew brasher, our arms embracing, like two lovers in a magic glade. The wolf's fingers trailed down and lay against the curve of my buttocks, and I could feel his erection against my belly. The world beyond spun in a maelstrom of masks and lascivious glances, but it was of no consequence. It didn't matter who we were; the only concern was the passion between us. His kisses became more powerful, his tongue thrust deeper, marking me as his. I didn't even know his name, and I wasn't keen on it. Here, in this game of masks, we were just beasts of desire, our masks the only thing that mattered to us. His hand wandered to the front of my leg, his fingers toying with the wetness that had formed there. My legs trembled and I attempted to rise, and he moved towards me once more, his cock taunting me with each thudding beat of the music. The wolf breathed deep into my ear, his voice a growling whisper, "Come with me." I nodded, my breathing halted. He led me up a spiral staircase, the gentleness of his mask against my flesh, and I trembled.

The room he led me into was filled with the gentle light of candles, the air thick with the fragrance of jasmine and desire. The bed was a silk and velvet mattress, welcoming us. The wolf stood in front of me, his eyes burning with hunger. He grabbed my mask, and with a slight pull, it dropped. He gazed at my face, his eyes drifting to my heaving breasts before rising back up to my face. "You are more lovely than I imagined," he breathed and dropped his own mask, showing me the handsome, otherworldly face of his. His name was Geoffrey.

Geoffrey leaned in toward me. He drew the line of my collarbone with the tip of his thumb, his eyes black and hungry. "Worship me," he breathed. He kissed me again, his teeth biting into my bottom lip as his hand fell to rest on my cunt, his fingers slipping inside me easily. I growled in his mouth, my hips pushing into his hand. I wrapped my hand around his dick, stroking him in time to his thrusts, observing as he grew harder with every movement. He was thick, really thick, and the prospect of him inside me sent a shiver of lust through my body. I wanted to see his dick, needed to know what I was playing with. It was quite thick as a living Greek statue, the head was flushed and broad.

He broke the kiss, his eyes never leaving mine as he pushed me back onto the bed. Silk was a lover's caress on my skin. His body was that of a work of art, lean and muscular, his bronzed flesh glowing in the candlelight. He towered over me, his still lodged hand between my legs, his thumb playing with my clit. I was inundated with the sensation, my hips swaying to the beat of his touch.

"I need you, screw me, please" I whined, my voice barely audible. Geoffrey didn't require to be asked twice. He pulled his fingers out of me, his thick cock replacing them. He eased in slowly, incrementally, his eyes fixed intensely on my face as I took him in. I swallowed hard, my body unfolding to receive him. It was incredible, a mixture of pain and pleasure that awakened me in a way I never had. I didn't have a chance and came quickly, the muscles tightening around him, the moaning sounding through the room.

"Woah, you're quick," he spoke with a laugh, eyes gleaming with humour and desire. I could do nothing but blush, shamed and thrilled with my own helplessness. He began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate rhythm that brought every nerve in my body to a vibrant hum. His thrusts were powerful and deep, and I couldn't help but match him thrust for thrust, my body hungry for more.

Our passion intensified, and our groans and sighs filled the room. The bed beneath us creaked in protest at the weight of our passion, the groaning a sweet serenade of delight. His hands roamed over me, claiming every inch of my skin as if he were dedicating himself to some long-forgotten goddess. His touch was gentle and yet primal, and I was rising higher and higher, my orgasm building like a storm. I'd heard of the "point of no return" but never in fact crossed it before this time. I felt it in my very cells when I did. My back arched over the bed, my muscles cording with the pressure of the feeling. The room whirled as wave after wave of bliss washed over me, my screams of delight mingling with his deep, contented growls. I plunged over the edge. It was wave after wave of raw ecstasy, my body trembling and quivering as the orgasm tore through me. It was a new experience, a cataclysm of pleasure that seemed to rock the foundations of the earth. There was nothing else, not my marriage, not my life, not even my name. I was all sensation at the time.

When the storm had finally passed, I lay there, gasping and exhausted, staring up at the ceiling. Geoffrey withdrew from me with a grunt, his own chest rising and falling. He collapsed beside me, his skin slick with sweat. "You're incredible," he breathed roughly. I couldn't help but grin, my heart racing in time with his. His hand reached for mine, and he curled our fingers together, his touch gentle and soothing.

"I need to go," I panted to Geoffrey, my throat rough from the shakes of our encounter. He nodded, understanding in his eyes, and kissed my forehead before getting out of bed. I walked barefoot around the house, attempting to locate my shredded clothes and purse amidst the strewn masks and trails of clothing. The night had taken on the texture of a dream, and I was walking between the remains of a great civilization, the shards of our longing scattered around us like the shards of a discarded culture. I was saved by Andrea, her eyes familiar and filled with an unspoken comradeship that can only be attained by carrying such hidden intimacies. She returned my belongings to me, her own mask gone, the flushed face, her inability to quite meet my eyes and say something telling me that she too had had her ride tonight. "Your way going, stay, still night, just 10." Andrea leaned forward and whispered to me in her breathy growl, voice that almost seemed to vibrate in sympathy with the dying reverberations of joy that even now shook my form.

"Call hubby, tell him you've had too much to drink and that you're staying over at mine. No one needs to know about your little adventure." I nodded, just beginning to allow the gravity of what I'd done to sink in. Daniel would fret, but I'd needed this night, this flight from the choking well of our marriage. I hadn't even dressed yet, and I stepped out into the night and inhaled the chill air, feeling it slide over my burnt skin.

I called him, my voice trembling. "Hi Daniel, I am too drunk at Andrea's, I'll just stay over here." The lie flowed easily and sincerely out of my lips. There was a silence at the other end of the line, a second too long before he said, "Okay, love you, be safe." His words were a gentle stroke that seared like a blow. Each syllable made my guilt heavier. I got dressed and left the masquerade, into the darkness. I looked at my watch, only 10:30. The drive home was a blur of neon lights and shadows, the city of Pretoria a silent observer to my unravelling.