A Dream Comes to Fruition
What happened before... in our last chapter Michel Daignault is tricked into providing sexual services for one of the young women from the volleyball party (Angela in Chapter 1) but it's arranged by his daughter Alix with her friend Angela. Throughout the encounter, Alix watches from a hotel closet as her dad and her friend fuck and frolic. She uses the scene to masturbate while watching, and her father sees her semi-naked and with a hand buried beneath her skirt. It ends with Angela telling Michel that this had all been Alix's idea. Michel is intrigued, but suddenly with a fresh new hard-on...
==
The invitation came on a Thursday in the regular mail. The envelope was black, textured and elegant. Upon opening, a heavyweight card announced that Michel Daignault was being invited to an exclusive party two days hence. The invitation was for him alone, no plus one expected or allowed.
"That's kind of bizarre," I said to my wife Carol. "Who could possibly have sent this, and why only to me?"
Carol took the card from him and tried to decipher its message, to no avail. "I have no idea what this is or who's sent it, and for that matter, who is hosting the party."
"Do you think I should go?" I asked Carol.
"It is certainly intriguing," she answered, "and yes, you should go."
"Alone? That feels weird to me."
"Don't you want a little adventure? And it's being held at the Radisson downtown -- that's pretty swanky."
I looked over the card again, then to my wife and made the decision: I would go to this event, or was it a party? I found the RSVP in the bottom corner. It was a generic Gmail address and added that once I replied, I would receive more instructions. I went to my office and immediately replied that I was accepting the invitation. I fully expected and automated instant reply, but nothing came back to me. Curious, I thought.
It was Friday afternoon before I got the reply I'd been anticipating. It was clearly written by someone familiar with the whole game, and with me as it was personalized enough to demonstrate they knew me. That only made me carious. That is, until I read the last line: "your hostess will be Angela..."
All of a sudden, things had gotten much more interesting. That is, assuming it was the Angela I had entertained just a few weeks earlier. Who else would know things about me demonstrated in the email?
My instructions were to arrive between 9 and 9:15 on Saturday night. I was to go to the coffee bar in the lobby and to wait to be escorted to the event. And the dress code was the most intriguing: men were to dress formally, and to be prepared for a little adventure. Cryptic would be an understatement, but I was looking forward to discovering the mystery.
I walked into the Four Seasons lobby I was greeted by a wonderful, open space featuring lots of plants, flowers and many nooks and crannies ideal for quiet conversation. The coffee bar was top class as well, offering ambitious concoctions. As I was choosing a table, a server came up to me, greeting me by name, "Monsieur Daignault? I have a table for you...."
As odd as that felt, he clearly knew his work, and perhaps me, too. I should have been a bit creeped out but didn't see any reason to second guess my presence.
I had just got comfortable with a simple two-shot espresso when a young woman approached me. "Michel. I'm so glad you made it," she said right up front.
That's when I realized that this was my hostess, and yes, it was 'my' Angela. But she sure looked different, more mature. She was wearing snug-fitting sheath dress open all the way up one leg and a deep drop back that ended barely above her buttocks. The burgundy fabric glittered as it draped perfectly on Angela's body.
Her hair was cut short but very stylish with a tussled look and bangs hanging over one eye. She'd had some colour added giving her a sophisticated yet approachable look. She noticed that I was admiring her and commented that she'd dressed for the occasion to "make you want me again."
I swallowed but said nothing. I looked her right in the eye and gave her my best smile, reaching up to my eyes so she'd know she had already impressed me.
She prompted me to finish my coffee then took my hand and gently tugged until I was standing beside her. With the heels, she was just a bit taller than me, but I didn't think anyone would notice me in the first place; she looked that good.
Leading me by the hand, Angela walked towards the elevator bank where one stood open. We got it, alone, and she pressed the button for the penthouse. This was going to be some event -- that place cost a small fortune for even one night.
Despite my regular attempts to get more information from my hostess, she was silent and not willing to share anything more than, "you'll see soon enough."
The elevator opened into a greeting area directly outside the penthouse. There were half a dozen men and women more or less lined up to enter. What surprised me next was when an older (my age, actually) woman smiled at Angela, ticked off something on a guest list, and handed us both masquerade masks! This was a masquerade party?!
Angela saw that I was taken aback so she moved very close to face me and help me to put on my mask saying, as she did, "you are now an anonymous guest, and I am your guide for this evening. Let's go in."
All the build-up was certainly worth it. The large main room had about two dozen people, various ages and apparently a balance of men and women from what I saw. Everyone was dressed to the nines, including a few of the men with tuxedos and cummerbunds. The women all looked fabulous and were equally well-dressed. My eye was drawn directly to a tall, buxom woman wearing a silky gown that was cut so low in front that her breasts were barely held by the edges of the fabric. I guessed she was about 50 years old, but a stone-cold fox. I saw her looking back at me, throwing me a smile that promised more than I could guess.
Angela and I were moving slowly into the room, greeting people as we went. "This is quite the crowd," I whispered to her.
She replied, "I just love what people are wearing; they're so glamorous."
"Let me tell you, Angela, you're every bit as gorgeous as anyone here."
There were servers working the room with wine, champagne and more exotic drinks so we helped ourselves when one came near. I had been curious all evening so I asked Angela, "are all these people guests or hosts?"
"I don't really know, but I bet some of them are, but this is a special event that I wanted to invite you to. And now we're here, enjoying ourselves."
That was all fine and dandy, but why the intrigue, secretive invitations and the masquerade masks, I wondered.
Angela and I talked about the evening and I got to ask her some of these questions. I found out that this was a bi-annual event that you had to be known to the right people to garner an invitation. And using hosts worked for both men and women.
I finally realized that the mix of the group kept changing as people moved into the other rooms in twos and threes. Angela explained that it was a very exclusive party and that people were "free to 'mingle' as they choose and that there were several other rooms open to the guests."
I let Angela lead me out of the main room into a side room where we found a couple kissing passionately as their hands moved along their partner's body. It finally dawned on me what kind of event this was, and I loved it!
We watched the couple as they started to tug at each other's clothes, undoing a button here and a zipper there until the woman was bare-chested, her gown gathered at her waist. And he had his face buried between her generous breasts. She just leaned back, eyes closed and mewing like a satisfied cat.
The fellow still wore his tux jacket and bowtie, but his partner had managed to drop his pants and now he stood against her with his prick waving around, ignored for now. Angela motioned to his erection and said, "that's a pretty nice cock, don't you think?"
"Ummm... sure, I guess," came my fake reply.
She didn't buy it, answering me with: "I can tell you aren't scared of looking at a man's cock. Does it turn you on?"
"You're right. A cock is a fine thing and I can appreciate it on other men. But as for the turning on, not much," I answered.
Angela my elbow and guided me out of that room to a smaller one across the hall. Here, too, there were some people. Four of them, but they were all male. I didn't think much of it, but did notice the oddity.
I looked around the room and realized it wasn't really such a small room. There was a half-wall across the short side of the room. There was a curtain for a door into that area but no sign of its purpose. I saw a very young woman come out of the curtain and head over to one of the waiting men. She spoke quietly into his ear, and when he showed recognition, she took him over to the end of the wall which itself was curtained with a single drape.
The man ducked into the shielded space and the young woman followed him right in. I must have had a giant 'I'm curious' face because Angela whispered, "we're next."
"For what? Why...?"
It was our turn so Angela took my hand and led me to the enclosed space. My brain finally put all the pieces together: this was a glory hole and she was... that didn't make sense, so I asked, "what's really going on?"
After that wonderful night we spent together -- and you were amazing -- I started to think of a way to give you a special experience. Long story to tell, but in the end, we are here and the surprise is that you're going to get a very special blowjob by a woman hidden behind that wall."
Fuck! This was great, but who would be on the other side? Certainly not Angela. Maybe different women took turns or shared some of the cocks. Whoever it was, I was all for it and told Angela as much.
"The way it works, Michel, is that your hostess (me) helps to get you ready and when you are, I signal the other side and someone will come to the hole and suck your cock."
