Marcus Alexander Newton III, known as "Mark" to his friends and "Daddy" to several women his own age, had everything in life handed to him on a silver platter. Sometimes literally. Fabulously wealthy thanks to a few smart investments from his father, stunningly handsome in that roguish kind of way with a sharp jaw and slick blonde hair, and most of all the life of the party. Every party. As you might expect, it was not uncommon for him to leave with a young woman or two on his arm. Sometimes an older woman as well; he wasn't terribly picky. His sexual conquests --though he'd never use the word: it was hardly a conquest when it was so easy- were legendary, and the envy of every man in almost every social circle. He knew there was muttering behind every closed door; little glares when they thought he wasn't looking. Not that he minded in the slightest. It was only fuel for his ego.
Tonight's venue was a masquerade ball, hosted by a long-time friend of his father's. A media mogul, he believed. Or was she the steel industry CEO? Not that he really cared either way. Marcus wasn't here for the riveting discussions on trade or politics. He was here because it was an enormous event, hosted in the opulent ballroom of an expensive hotel, with thousand dollar champagne and a sea of masked women in slinky dresses for him to prowl through. He adjusted the cuffs on his tailored suit --stylish black, with a crisp white shirt, silver tie and pearl cufflinks- and made sure his mask was on correctly. The damned thing wasn't as comfortable as everyone made it look; too much fake silver filigree poking around his forehead and cheeks.
He stepped out from his hiding place amongst the rows of Greco-Roman pillars and onto the redwood floor, grabbing the hand of the nearest woman and whisking her off into a waltz. She was petite, with deep brown skin offset beautifully by a blue silk dress held at the neck and nowhere else. So easy for him to tear off later. Her mask resembled a rabbit, with a black braid tied behind. Even the ring on her left hand wasn't much of a deterrence. They spun and made small talk under the vaulted roof, lit purple by hidden lights and casting an almost ethereal atmosphere down on the dancers below. He smiled his perfect smile and let his little rabbit run off somewhere else; they usually came back soon after anyway. His next was tall; taller than him, with a straight build and few curves. Older too, in a simple purple mask and strapless dress. Not his usual fare, but he could manage. Unless her mouth curled and... ah, just like that. Not a fan of his charms, it seemed. Oh well, her loss.
He politely bowed, letting a much older gentleman take hold of his partner, and looked through the crowds for his next mark. And then she found him. Curvaceous, but not quite voluptuous, she strolled with a purpose toward him. A deep red dress that hugged her figure, the neckline plunging down past the sides of her breasts. Black hair tied up in a ponytail that reached between her shoulders. Even under the feathered mask, he could see her eyes as they burnt into him, her golden figure swaying with each step. Every head turned to her as she walked past, and Marcus felt a smug little smirk creep onto his face.
"May I have this dance?" He asked, taking her hand before she'd even opened her mouth.
"Forward, aren't you?" She said with an equally smug smile.
"I find it's easier to take than to ask."
"A risky attitude."
"Where's the fun without a little risk?"
She laughed at that, drawing the attention of the other dancers. "Let me guess... Marcus Newton?"
"I thought the point of the masks was so we didn't know each other," He said, "Is it really that obvious?"
"You're looking to be the most audacious man here. It seems to fit with your... reputation."
"Guilty as charged. What else have you heard about me?"
"Oh, a lot of things. Some good... some bad. A whole lot of intrigue. I can tell you that you're highly sought after these days."
"That much I'm aware of," He chuckled.
"Oh, I don't think you are," She leant in close, a waft of rose-water brushing past him as she whispered into his ear, "I'm not the only one with my eye on you. And I'm very willing to share."
Marcus nearly tripped over his own feet. He coughed, "Forward, aren't you?"
"I like to take as much as you do, Mister Newton. But I find giving is so much more rewarding," She flashed a pearly white smile as their dance finished, twirling on a heel and sashaying her way off the floor and towards one of the double-doors leading into the rest of the hotel. She paused, looking over her shoulder pointedly.
Marcus didn't need any more hints.
He adjusted his tie, trying his best not to strut as he left the ballroom, following her down red-carpeted hallways lined with portraits of people he was sure had been significant. He was used to entertaining groups of 'friends' before, but none of them had ever been so... demanding. He liked it. Especially if they were all this kind of woman. The kind he had no problem following like a lost little puppy because of the fantastic view they offered; her hips swaying and the thin material of her dress draping itself over every curve and detail.
She disappeared into one of the suites, and Marcus caught the door just before it closed. His grin grew broader; that was a lot of voices and hushed whispers coming from the other side. He pushed through into the luxury suite. If ever there was such a thing as too much mahogany, this room was it: panels, dressers, even the little end tables were all carved from the deep redwood. A slightly Victorian style, complete with a four-poster bed draped in scarlet silk. A miscellaneous fur rug was thrown in front of a marble fireplace. The kind of thing he was used to treating his playthings to at his own penthouse. And speaking of playthings...
There were no less than a dozen women in the room. All different shapes, sizes and ages. All of them masked, but with their figures beautifully wrapped in their evening gowns. They lounged on the bed, against the walls, sitting on the rug... they all turned to look at him, and their eyes seemed to light up with predatory hunger.
Tonight was going to be fun.
"Well, ladies, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," Marcus said. His ears pricked up at the sound of the door being locked and his crimson-clad goddess strolling up behind him, "Now then... will there be a line, or is it just going to be a free for- AH!"
He yelped as something struck his backside. Hard. He wheeled around to see the woman he had followed, holding a riding crop, a sadistic smile curling across her face. He opened his mouth to object or flirt, but another shriek came out instead as someone else struck him from behind. He whirled around again, his face turning pale as the women advanced. They were all holding an assortment of tools; crops, handcuffs, knives...
"This isn't what I was expecting," He said, "Not that I mind, but-"
"Quiet!" Someone hissed as she smacked his cheek with her crop, "You don't get to speak."
"H-hold on, we never discussed a safe word..."
"You won't be needing one," Said another.
A pair of arms shot under his, wrapping around behind his neck and rendering his entire upper body useless. Marcus struggled as best he could, but trying to kick only unbalanced him. His eyes grew wide, and his heartbeat panicked as the masked women gleefully sliced away his expensive suit, almost cackling whenever the tips of their blades left little scratches across his torso.
"I don't see what all the fuss is about," One of them said, dragging her crop up his abdominals, "Sure, they're nice but..."
"I worked very hard for those!" Marcus said. He hissed and whimpered as nails dug deep into his side.
"Come on, let's see the main event already!" One said as she cut away at the buttons on his trousers. Marcus wasn't sure if he should struggle more or less with a knife so close to his...
His pants fell away, and at least four hands tugged his boxers down. The silence was more embarrassing than the rest of the ordeal.
