There was a man stationed just inside the entryway to the ballroom where the guests were gathered. He wore a mask, but it was a flat, uninteresting gray, and he was garbed in a red suit that seemed to indicate he was staff, not guest. He greeted me with a nod and extended a hand for mine—I let him take it, and we glided into the room, he leading me through a warm crowd of party-goers. They were all in masks all the same style and design, but in a myriad of colors. I saw silver, green, royal blue, all glittering and sparkling in the dim golden light shed from the chandeliers overhead. My mask was the only one with detail and accessory, and the same went for my outfit: all of the men wore simple, rich red fraternal robes, like monks.
Sometimes the pomp and
circumstance of these boy’s clubs just makes me laugh. Not tonight, though. There was a heady, decadent pleasure in this,
a promise I couldn’t quite find words for but wanted so very much. Among these masked, robed figures I really
did feel the part I was meant to be
playing, the wide-eyed, naïve little lamb, about to be offered to their
hungers. I loved it so much that I
walked through them on tip-toe, like a dancer, striding delicately and
purposefully among them, letting them appraise my body from behind those stoic
masks, as they swirled dark liquors in the glass sifters they held in their
hands. The ballroom was suffuse with a
comfortable, intimate heat that ran across my shimmering skin like slow,
fondling hands, and I smiled obligingly at each anonymous face as I passed, knowing
soon it would be their hands stroking my naked flesh.
There were many, many
more men here than I’d expected—at least fifty.
I felt certain, though, that there was a hierarchy and order to their
number, and there was no way all of them would have a part to play with
me. I realized that most of them, more
than half, were wearing white masks and lingering towards the outer edges of
the gathering. After that there were the
green masks, and then the frequency of different colors dropped off significantly.
Ah-hah,
I thought to myself. Perhaps to confirm
my theory, the gathering moved in closer as the servant drew me towards the
center of the room, those in green and white staying towards the back while
those in the other colors drifted closer.
In the very middle of
it all, there was a large, round seat—almost like an oversized ottoman—of
gleaming black leather.
Oh,
I couldn’t help but think with a giggle.
That’s going to be ruined…
A little ways back from
the cushion, I saw the man in the black mask.
He was already aware of me, like a predator scenting prey. Behind the glittering black mask he had gray
eyes, full of dark, hungry interest, and he stood half-turned, as if my
entrance had caught him in the middle of conversation with the two men beside
him. These two were the only ones in the
room wearing gold masks.
All three men held wide
goblets of wine in one hand. As the
servant led me to them, they each returned their glasses to a tray held by
another servant in a flat gray mask.
This one was a woman in a red pencil skirt and leather open-front
corset, displaying her naked, chocolate-brown breasts. I noticed her nipples were pierced and a
black chain hung between the gold rings.
It sent a shiver through me.
When the men deposited
their glasses and turned fully towards me instead, she melted away into the
rest of the crowd without a sound.
The servant leading me
gave the man in the black mask a little bow, presenting my hand to him. The Black Mask took it and then the servant
in the suit disappeared as well, fading into the crowd, leaving me alone in a
sea of glittering gleaming masks.
I could feel their eyes
eating me up on every side. Though no
one said a word it was like some low murmur still rippled through them, a sound
of approval, of desire. I shivered,
genuinely titillated… but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the Black Mask.
His gaze was piercing,
full of intense, captive heat. Those
eyes plunged into me, stripping me naked and devouring my body. All his.
It was so clear in those eyes: I
was all his. The very thought sent a flutter of pleasure
right to my loins, and my pussy instantly grew wetter, slickness cool on my
thighs as I pressed them tightly together.
As if in defiance of
that very notion, though, he lifted my hand over my head and made me turn in a
slow pirouette, taking in the sight of all of me, sharing the sight of all of
me with his gathered brothers. This is all mine, the gesture said, but
then he handed me to the gold mask on his right, and that was the first man to put his hands on me.
Big strong palms roamed
down the contours of my body, and wound around to cup my ass through the flimsy
layers of the skirt. Gold mask pulled me
against him, mouth coming down on mine, tongue sliding in over mine as he
grasped me close. I could feel the
adamant shape of his rod under the heavy folds of his robe, and one hand slid
under my skirt to caress my bare ass cheek before he passed me to a second
stranger, a man in a silver mask beside him.
Silver Mask kissed me too, deep and heavy, his tongue tasting of bourbon
as his hand tugged down the neckline of the dress to palm the firm round warmth
of my breast.
In this way, I was
shared with the men forming the innermost circle around Black Mask, all the men
whose masks were not white or green.
Their hands were deliciously hot and greedy, pawing at my curves,
groping shamelessly at my breasts, running curiously down to test my wet, open
pussy and teasing it with a possessive little tickle. Their lips and tongues overtook me, tasting
my mouth, my neck, the breasts they helped themselves to under the dress. Everybody sampled a bit, had his turn to
appraise me. Every robe was tented by the
hungry erections prodding at my ass and thighs underneath.
When I made it back to
Black Mask—the only one who had not sampled my body for himself—he looked me
over again. My skin gleamed with the wet
impressions of other lips, other mouths.
He had watched them put their fingers down to my cunt and bring them
back wet and sticky, taste my come on their own fingertips as they passed me
from man to man. My dress was light
enough, flimsy enough, to only look a little rumpled, but my hair was certainly
mussed from their hot, stroking hands.
His eyes, oh, god, his
eyes. I felt my heart speed up as they
roamed freely over me, surveying me as a man surveys his property. I stood before him in my pretty ballerina’s
dress and mask, the picture of young, tender innocence, but inside my skin I
was hot and so ready, so turned on by the mass of hands and tongues and
still-hidden erections closing in all around me, and so, so taken by his eyes.
He didn’t kiss me. His fingers traipsed to the bow I’d made of
the silk leash at the back of my neck, andtugged it loose, wrapping a few
lengths around his palm and pulling so that the silver ring linking it to the
choker was in the front, and he had full control of me.
Black Mask backed me
towards the leather cushion, and firmly closed one hand on my shoulder, pushing
me down onto it. He ran that hand down
under my thigh and raised up my knee, hiking up the skirt so that the white
lace of the garter belt and the soft pink folds of my pussy were properly
displayed. Black Mask leaned on one knee
on the edge of the cushion, bending close.
It’s warm palm ran slowly, tenderly up and down my smooth leg.
I watched him,
intent. Those stony, piercing eyes were
on my open cunt, looking at it, admiring it.
I don’t think I’d ever had a john really look at my pussy before. The
expression on his face made me swell with need.
He ran the hand that
held the leash gently up and down the folds of my inner lips, opened like
petals for him in my heady arousal. Two
knuckles, brushing up and down my labia as he stared intently at the glistening
pink flesh, the pretty, rosy peak of my clitoris, full and throbbing from the
clamp of the jewelry piece. His thumb
came up to press against it, and I couldn’t help it: I rolled back my head with
a little sigh of joy. I was dripping.
He tested me, prodding
oh-so-wonderfully, making himself familiar with the pussy that belonged to
him. He rubbed the pads of two fingers
firmly along the valley of my inner lips up to the wet little peak, and I
rocked my hips up in want for more, finding a steady rhythm against his
leisurely curiosity, the flush bloom of climax tempting me with each little
movement.
“Look at me, cunt,” he
ordered. His voice was gruff and low, so
quiet I would be surprised if any of his brothers heard. I did look, and the instant our gazes met he
slid two long, big fingers deep inside of me, filling my cunt in a single hard,
thrilling thrust.
I couldn’t talk, but I
let out a happy whimper of pleasure and rocked my body up in satisfaction. His grip on the leash tightened and he held
me there, in spread-legged, sitting position, skirt hiked up so that everyone
could see him invading my pussy. He slid
his fingers in and out a few times, his rhythm hard and commanding, almost
painful but only in a perfect, deliciously satisfying way. I was so wet that sticky come ran down
between his fingers, the beautiful sounds of his rhythm in the lush wetness of
my cunt mingling with my lusty little squeaks of pleasure. Before I could climb my way to the peak,
though, he stopped, and drew his fingers out of me, leaving my pussy quivering
for more.
“She’s ready,” he
murmured to the gold masks, and as they came forward he stepped away, handing
off the leash to the man on his left.
The gold masks began to
strip off their robes. As they did, two
of the men on either side of the cushion came forward and knelt beside me,
fiddling with a set of leather straps I hadn’t noticed there before. Each strap ended with a smooth metal link,
and these connected to the rings on my wrist and ankle restraints. I was tied down, though there was some give
to the straps—enough for me to wriggle and squirm on the sleek black cushion as
they had their fun.
Robes slid to the floor
all around the circle. There is
something about powerful men: something that is evident even in their
cocks. Not a one of them in the circle
was stubby, or fat, or ugly; they all had the long, hard, strong look of
beautiful virility, a bunch of tanned, golden erections begging to be tasted,
to plunge inside, to burst in a hot gush of wonderful, sticky come. A less generous person would suspect that
they’d all had work done, and they probably had—I was sure not a single man
here was less than a decade older than me and they all had the bodies of
athletes. But it didn’t matter to me:
they were a dozen raging, gorgeous hardons ready to claim every piece of me,
flood me with come, and I was so ready for it.
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