Will You Catch Me If I Fall?bytwistingwhispers©
I feel ridiculous; underdressed and overly aware of how much glitter is on my face.
"Come out," Maddy had said.
"It'll be fun," Tiff had said.
"It'll be good for you," Amber had added.
"You have to get out of that dark dungeon of despair you've condemned yourself too," I had said to myself.
So here I am. Awesome. Catching a passing reflection of myself in one of the house's—perhaps estate or manor might be more apt—darkened windows, I half expect the specter of a long-dead schoolmarm, or some other keeper of all things femininely proper and sacred, to appear in the shadows of the antebellum porch and box my ears, scolding me for my scantily clad form that left little to the imagination. I can't help tugging at the hem of my dark crimson skirt (mini skirt would have been an exaggeration), reminding myself not to bend over.
"Stop fidgeting, you look great," Amber whispers, elbowing me in the ribs like we are still on the playground in third grade.
"Seriously, Hannah, you look freaking fabulous. Who would have known you had that body under those hideous sweaters you insist on wearing 24/7?" Maddy adds.
"Besides no one will know who you are, that's why it's called a 'masquerade!' You get to wear masks!" Tiff enthusiastically crows, gleefully tapping her own bejeweled and feathered mask.
Maddy snorts, shaking her head, "I thought it was so you didn't know who you were taking home for the night!" She jiggles her sequined booty in emphasis.
I turn to bolt for the stairs off the porch, but all three of the girls, my so-called besties, block my escape.
"Hannah you promised," Amber says, her breath laced with a pre-party kamikaze shot.
"No more hiding from the world," Tiff jumps in. "No one here knows about you, and even if they do they won't know it is you because you're wearing... a mask." She dramatically taps her mask again with a mischievous grin.
Maddy hooks her purple gloved arm around my black one and escorts me to the front door, our matching stilettos making loud clicks on wooden porch floorboards. "Time to return to the land of the living and leave the past in the past," she says matter-of-factly.
"Easier said than done for a history PhD candidate," I whisper under my breath.
"Shh," Maddy replies in a heated whoosh. "Tonight you get to be anybody you want and nobody will be none the wiser tomorrow." She slurs her words slightly and giggles as she hiccups with her own pre-party kamikaze shot, which she'd followed up by shot-gunning a beer for old-time's sake, or so she'd said.
As she hammers the doorknocker with determined force I wish for the hundredth time since I'd stepped out of the car and seen the grand Old Dubois Plantation outlined in the moonlight that I had partaken in a cocktail (or five), just to steady my rattled nerves. I had not been to a party, well since before Christmas. I'd avoided being around large groups of people with prying eyes and too many questions. However, it was the whispered side comments murmured behind my back that stung the most. So I just don't go.
Too late now. Amber and Tiff flank us giddily on either side in excited anticipation.
They have been waiting for this party all semester. It was Spring Break: no papers to grade, our own research on hold (at least for the next 48 hours), and invites to an annual masquerade party that is always the talk of campus, and the town, and hell, probably the entire southern half of Louisiana. To get an invite to the Dubois Annual Masque meant we had arrived. Or Maddy had somehow slutted her way on to the guest list, as she was wont to do every now and again.
However, tonight you would not have known who was the slut and who was the campus shut-in. Each of us was coiffed in an equally revealing mini skirt, complete with fishnet stockings, stilettos, and push-up bras that were barely concealed by glittering tops. Maddy was decked out in a deep purple and slate gray; Tiff had picked a cotton candy pink skirt and a pale blue corset; Amber had gone all white with a laugh. And for me they had decided upon a dark, blood-red skirt overlaid with black lace and a black sequined bodice trimmed with blood-red laces that accentuated, even created, sensuous curves and lines that I never knew existed.
And of course there were the satin, elbow-length gloves, which looked more suited for an evening gown ensemble than sexed up party. In fact, I'm pretty sure my arms have more fabric on them than the rest of my body combined.
The door swings open in a blaze of light, laughter, and music. I squint for a moment, hesitating at the threshold, contemplating a dead sprint for the car. Then the image of me snapping an ankle on the stairs as I try to navigate them with 5 inch heels and the subsequent tangled, spread-eagle flail toward the expansive, expertly manicured lawn stilled my adrenaline. The grass deserves better. The next moment my potential for escape vanishes as the girls usher me through the doorway and into the party.
Alcohol, I need alcohol. I haven't had a drink, well, it's been awhile, but the only way I am going to survive tonight (unless I can somehow master blending into wallpaper in the next ten seconds) is if I have a glass in my hand, now.
As if reading my thoughts, the girls push me through the throng of pulsating bodies and masked faces toward a table covered with every brand and vintage, as far as I can tell.
"Shots!" Amber screams, grabbing plastic neon shot glasses and shoving them into our hands.
I slam mine back in half-a-heartbeat and don't even hesitate when another shot magically appears in my hand a second later.
"Round two!" Tiff grins wickedly and we all throw our heads back in unison.
"Whoooo!" Mandy shrieks, gyrating her hips and linking her arm around my waist. "Let's party!"
*** I don't remember losing the girls, but one by one we had floated away from each other, caught up in the intoxicating rush of the mob. Everywhere you look there are strangers mingling, laughing, groping as if they have known each other for years. You can't go more than ten steps before hitting another ad-hoc bar set up. I am having a hard time believing anyone will be able to remember, much less talk about, the party tomorrow. I know the edges of my world have softened, my nerves have quieted, and I can feel the warm, soft burn of liquor dancing through my veins. I haven't felt this relaxed in, well, I can't remember; I don't want to remember.
I wander down a long, shadowy hallway lit dimly by twinkling lights glowing on pale blue strings hanging from the ceiling. Door after door opens onto countless rooms filled with intimate gatherings and mini-parties. I slip in and out of these effortlessly, talking when I wanted to talk, flirting and touching here and there before detaching myself and moving on unseen to the next room. No one asks for my name, no one looks at me as if I something to pity. Incognito definitely has its perks.
Somewhere in the sprawling house a clock strikes midnight and I wonder briefly where my girls have gone. Maybe I should go find them, god knows what sort of trouble they're getting themselves into to. The heat of the hallway pushes in on me from all sides and I feel the music blasting through my heels from the floor below. I rub my left wrist absently, feeling a faint raised outline under the silky fabric. My fingers trace its length halfway up my arm.
I need fresh air, I think, shaking my head and touching the mask against my face to make sure I'm still hidden. I cross over to one of the curtained windows recessed between the doorways, hoping one of them is open.
Fanning myself with my hand I take another sip from my drink, finishing it in one long swallow, a refreshing burst of one part citrus and three parts vodka. I can feel my buzz starting to lift and know I'll need another drink soon or I'll feel like Cinderella without her glass slipper. I place my empty glass on a small table next to the heavy, velvet curtains and push the fabric aside to find the window.
But I don't touch glass, just open air. The curtains part slightly and I see the old hardwood floors extending beyond their cover. It's another room.
I step through, out of curiosity more than anything else.
I find myself standing in a small space not much wider than my arm span, bracketed on either side with a single white candle burning with an amber glow, casting shadows across the walls. Behind me are the curtains I had just stepped through, and in front of me are yet another set of drapes, these a rich midnight blue.
Why would you hang two sets of curtains? I think hazily.
I can't help myself, ignoring that little voice deep inside of me that is whispering feverishly at me to do an about face and march my skimpily clad behind out of there this instant. Instead, I gently part the thick, velvety curtains and peer through. I almost laugh out loud when I find myself facing yet another curtain. However this one is just a sheer pale wisp of almost translucent lace that does little more than soften the image behind it. A gracefully wrought iron railing that comes up to the hem of my skirt lies between the two layers of fabric, halting any forward progress I can make, at least in these heels.
Deep down I am still imagining there to be a window on the other side of the curtain, maybe overlooking a secret inner courtyard haunted by some jilted lover's ghost. That would explain the sentinel drapes.
However, my imagination falls inelegantly short.
As my eyes adjust I see through the lacy haze a large, open room dominated by a massive fireplace at the far end, lit with a low, smoldering fire that throws shifting shadows across the room and its occupants. Leather armchairs and chaise lounges form a large arc in the middle of the chamber, centered about what appears to be a low dais or altar covered with dark plum and wine colored cushions. Men in masks recline with brandy in hand, a few with cigars, one with a pipe, watching, staring. Here and there a couple of gentlemen dip their heads in conversation, laughing at their own joke, before turning their attention back to the altar.
The woman is bent over at the waist; her long lean legs splayed open in a wide stance atop her platform heels. She is leaning over the dais, holding herself up on straight arms. Her raven black hair is pulled up in a thick braid high atop her head. Aside from her black mask, black heels, and a pair of lacy black panties she is naked. The light caresses her striking form, full breasts hanging down toward the cushions under her tan chest. Her back arches in a slight curve, pushing her rounded ass up into the air for all the spectators to see.
But she is not alone. Two men, one a fair haired, blue-eyed Greek god, the other the epitome of tall, Dark and Handsome, stand in matching slate-gray, tailored suits and white masks. They look like they accidentally wandered into the room on their way to a swanky dinner gala. The Greek god had undone his tie, letting it hang loosely around his neck, his pristine white shirt unbutton at the collar.
He walks up to the statuesque beauty and runs his hand over her ass, rubbing her skin with slow, languid strokes. He slips his fingers under the lace band of her panties, dipping in a teasing motion toward her pussy. She doesn't move. He glides his fingers deeper under her panties, circling her clit with lazy flicks of his wrist. Still, she doesn't move, doesn't make a sound.
But I can see her breathing quicken, her breasts rising and falling faster, her dark nipples erect and tense.
He looks back at his audience and grins before sliding his hand deeper between her legs, finding her pussy. He places his other hand over her breast, gently tugging on her nipple.
Still, she doesn't move.
Then Dark and Handsome nods his head with a wicked leer and the Greek god plunges his finger deep into her still covered pussy as he twists her nipple with a vicious turn.
A low moan breaks through her sealed lips and her knees buckle slightly. Without a moment's hesitation Dark and Handsome brings his hand crashing down on her raised ass with a cruel smack.
A gasp escapes my lips just as a tiny whimper creeps from hers, which is followed by an even more sadistic slap to her other ass cheek. This time she remains silent.
"Ahh, you're learning pet. No noise. No movement. Nothing unless you are given permission," Dark and Handsome says in a thick, husky growl. I see a couple men around the room adjust their swelling cocks as they sip from their glasses.
I shake my head in disbelief, my little voice returning with a vengeance. Get the hell out of here, it shrieks like a little girl. But my legs don't listen. I'm rooted in place, torn between fleeing in terror and the possibility of something else.
I've never seen anything like this. Oh sure, I've heard about it, who hasn't? But in truth, I haven't even thought about sex much at all over the past few years. I don't have time for any sort of extracurricular life, much less a kinky one, what with my doctoral dissertation and free slave labor for my advisor.
I watch, biting my lower lip as the Greek god pulls the woman's panties down to her mid thighs leaving them stretched in a taught line between her legs. He grips her ass roughly between his hands, kneading her flesh with his fingers, spreading her cheeks apart so the men circled around them can catch a glimpse of her glistening lips and puckered, dark asshole. Then he pulls his jacket off and tosses it aside before slowly unbuckling his belt.
I cannot believe he is going to fuck her in front of all of those men. Go, go, go, my little voice cries out. But I can't move, can't break the hold they have over me, as if in a trance.
He tugs his belt off in a final flourish but instead of unzipping his pants he folds the belt in half and asks the woman, "You've been a bad little whore, haven't you pet?"
"Yes Sir," she replies in a quiet whisper.
"Louder pet, he couldn't hear you," Dark and Handsome says crossly, tweaking her nipple with a nasty pinch.
"Yes Sir, I have been a bad little whore," she says again, her voice loud and slightly husky.
The Greek god runs his hand down her ass cheek and up through her thighs, grazing her now exposed, shaven lips. "Tell us how you have been bad, little whore," he says lazily flicking her clit.
"I played with myself without permission," she says through clenched teeth.
A knowing murmur runs through the crowd as men adjust in their seats to get a better view, others rubbing their cocks slowly through their pants, uncaring of their fellow spectators.
"And what happens when slave girls pleasure themselves without their Master's explicit permission?" Dark and Handsome asks in an ominous tone.
"They must pay the price, answer for their sins," she says meekly.
"That's right. Every transgression must be corrected or else you may lose your way. We are here to guide you back, to make sure you stay safe," Dark and Handsome says in an affectionate tone that twists my insides with something akin to disgust blended with an unspoken want, adding to the growing smolder I feel slowly blossoming deep in the pit of my stomach.
I need to get out of here, I think to myself, trying to pull myself back from the curtains, but my legs are locked in place, my breathing is shallow.
"I know, Master," she says, her voice cracking with shame, her head dipping slightly. I see her breasts rise and fall deeply.
"Are you ready to answer?" Dark and Handsome asks, running a finger along her spine.
"Yes Master, please let me answer for my crime and right my wrong," she says with iron conviction, arching her back once more and pushing her ass up higher in the air.
Oh my god, I think, she feels like she deserves this. This is fucked up.
I hear the belt race through the air before it lands with a solid crack on her ass. A red welt leaps out across her smooth skin, marring its perfect tan glow. Again the belt flies, scorching her flesh, again, and again. The Greek god lays stripe after burning stripe across her round cheeks in seven neat, raised lines. Her breath comes in gasps but she doesn't flinch, doesn't cry out.
"What do you have to say for yourself, little whore?" The golden Greek god asks nonchalantly, stilling his hand and his belt.
She arches her back again, a slight smile playing on her lips, steadying her feet and thrusting her ass arrogantly in the air. "Please sir, give me what I deserve, purge the sin from my flesh." Dark and Handsome dips his hand between her pussy lips and pulls a finger out covered in her shiny wetness. He puts it to her lips and watches her greedily suck her own juices from his hand.
My head reels as I realize not only did she feel like she deserves this, she wants it. It's turning her on. With growing dismay, I can feel my own dark desire pooling low in my belly; I can feel the hint of wetness seeping through my panties.
I have to get out of here, I say roughly to myself, shaking my head to break the spell I've fallen under, forcing myself to go. But I never finish turning around. I have been so caught up in the scene before me I had no idea that someone had entered the alcove behind me.
"Find something you like?" your deep, gravelly voice whispers warmly in my ear as your large hands clasp my upper arms, holding me in place against your muscled chest. For a heartbeat, I feel as if I should know you, catching the earthy scent of your cologne, the soft drawl in your words. You seem almost familiar, like deja-vu, but then the moment is gone and your strangeness and invasion into my personal space comes charging to the front of my mind.
Startled by the fact that someone has snuck up on me so completely while I watched this intimate display of feminine debasement, I go completely still. I can feel my face blush hot and red with humiliation at being caught. Then I realize with my mask on, you don't know me, so why should I be ashamed? Besides, you're the one sneaking up on people. But as your hands tighten on my arms, reality sets in, fear lancing down my spine, my heart kicking into high gear.
I take a sharp breath in, ready to scream bloody murder. Before I have a chance to exhale you force a leather ball into my mouth and strap it to my face. By the time I realize you had to let go of my arms to secure the ball gag you already have me pinned back against your chest, your breath slow and steady against my neck. So much for a quick thinking escape.
I try to scream through the gag but you whisper quietly, without intimidation in my ear, "You can scream if you want, but what do you think those gents would do if they found you watching their little get-together uninvited? I'm sure they would be more then happy to include you in their fun as payment for admission."
That brings me quickly to my mental knees; you are right. My head spins. I have to pick the lesser of two evils: the stranger standing at my back or the pack of aroused men beyond the sheer curtain.
"That's what I thought, Little One," you whisper in my ear as you nudge me toward the rail, pushing me over the cold metal so I was balancing precariously on my heels, my ass pushing into your slowly hardening groin, my nose inches from the sheer lace.
Fear trips my heart at the thought of one of the audience members glancing this way, catching me behind the curtain. But all eyes are focused on the submissive woman on the altar, panting with pain and pleasure as Dark and Handsome spanks her ass in between flicks of his finger over her clit. Her arms have buckled and she holds her body up on her elbows, her breasts bouncing heavily with every slap.
You laugh in my ear, "Someone knows how to take her licks, hmm Little One. Now don't move or I will send you over the rail and into their lusting arms, got it?"