Miley and Friends Ch. 09

Doug has decided to go to the masquerade ball, where his costume makes him rather uncomfortable. And why doesn't he have a mask like most of the others? Why are they auctioning off men? Most of all, are Miley or Paris behind the whole thing?

Chapter 9

The masquerade ball

I continued to go out with both Renee and Sal as I waited to hear about the mysterious masked ball. In a few weeks another of the envelopes arrived. This one contained a first class ticket from RDU to LaGuardia and instructions on where to meet my ride.

On the appointed day I boarded my flight with a single carry-on bag. The flight was delightful, and I thought to myself that I could get used to first-class travel. I immediately got a knot in my stomach as I wondered if this was a way Paris had to ease me into her lifestyle.

Leaving the terminal I came across a well-dressed man holding a sign that simply said 'Doug'. I identified myself and James escorted me to his waiting car. It wasn't a limousine, but a rather well-appointed Mercedes. I engaged James in conversation, but couldn't pry any useful information out of him. All he knew was that he had been instructed to pick me up at the airport and take me to the hotel. Nothing more.

He dropped me off at the Waldorf and a doorman let me into the lobby. I cast an eye around at the marble floor, gilded plaster ceiling and crystal chandeliers, opulent vestiges of a bygone era. At the desk I signed in and was informed that my room was ready and necessary items had already been delivered and were ready for me. I had no idea what that meant, but when I saw several ladies carrying costumes I figured that must be what was awaiting.

The room was a small suite with a bedroom and a sitting area. The carpet was plush, and tasteful paintings of views of New York hung on the wall. The sitting area has a desk with a computer and a sofa. A large flat screen TV visible in the bedroom also immediately caught my eye.

In the bedroom I found a long clothes bag lying across the bed. I opened it and was bewildered by the colorful plaid cloth inside. When I got everything out of the bag I found a note pinned to a linen shirt. 'Check your messages.'

I discovered that I could retrieve messages on the TV. There were two messages. The first was a welcome from the hotel and to let them know if anything was not absolutely satisfactory. The second message read 'The clothes bag on the bed contains your costume. It is complete, and nothing else is to be worn. This means ABSOLUTELY nothing else. The outfit is complete even if you think it is not. In one shoe you will find guidance on how everything fits together. You should plan to enter the ballroom at seven-thirty sharp. Further instructions will be given to you when you enter. Take the card pinned on the costume with you. Enjoy your stay. '

I had immediate second thoughts about this enterprise as I scanned the components of my costume. I recognized a kilt, with a card labeled 'William Wallace - Braveheart' pinned to it. I had been led to understand that everyone was supposed to have a mask, but found none among all the components.

My nerves started to get the better of me, so I only ordered a light meal from room service. I did get a bottle of wine to fortify myself.

I eventually got everything on in the correct places. I had a kilt that hung just below the knees, white linen shirt, a hat of sorts, sash of the same pattern as the kilt with several pins on it and a pouch that was attached to a sort of belt. The note had implied no underwear, and from what I had read about kilts I remembered that was customary. It felt very breezy going commando, and I was rather self-conscious about the thing flying up or something. I empathized with women who have to deal with such things every day. It didn't seem to fit quite right. Then I remembered I had always seen the pouch worn in the front not on the side. I think the pouch serves as a pocket of sorts. When properly in place it hung down more or less over my 'parts' and everything at last seemed in order.

At seven twenty-five I downed the last of the wine and headed for the elevator. It stopped several times on the way down, and at each stop one or more costumed figures entered. They smiled and nodded at me as they entered. At least I wasn't alone. I followed them to the ballroom where there was a short line of attendees waiting to enter. Each had a card like mine that they handed to a man who announced the arrival. The couple ahead of me, dressed as a Roman soldier and a woman in an exotic toga sort of affair and a black wig was announced as "CLEOPATRA AND MARC ANTONY"

I handed over my card and was announced as "WILLIAM WALLACE." As I entered I heard the couple behind me announced as "SIR ISAAC NEWTON AND MATA HARI". I guess couples didn't have to look like they belonged together.

A man in a powdered wig and colonial garb approached me and pressed a piece of paper into my hand. I opened it to read 'Marie Antoinette wishes to see you.' I looked around the growing crowd and didn't see anyone who I could identify as Marie Antoinette, so I picked up a wine glass and milled through the crowd.

I finally saw someone who looked like Marie Antoinette and started over towards her. Along the way I spied a second one, and heard yet another being announced. Apparently Marie Antoinette was a popular costume. About that time I noticed that while all the women appeared to wear masks, some of the men did not, so I wasn't the only one without one.

A live band started playing dance music and several couples began to dance. I decided if I couldn't find Marie Antoinette I would let her find me, and leaned against a wall with my wine glass. A woman wearing a long black dress and a wig with curls approached me and began a conversation. I tried to determine if I recognized the voice or the eyes, but no luck. We chatted a bit and then she moved on to another man who also appeared unattached. I spied a Marie Antoinette who seemed to be edging in my direction, and made my way over toward her. I introduced myself as William Wallace and asked her to dance. On the dance floor I had time to study the voice and eyes behind the mask, but came up empty again. Marie gave no hint she knew me. At the end of the dance she opened her black lace fan to fan herself. In character I bowed to her, she curtseyed, and we parted.

The crowd swelled to what I estimated to be over a thousand, and late-comers were still being announced. By nine-thirty I still had not connected with Marie, but a rather sloshed young woman dressed as what I supposed was Cinderella in rags came up to me and asked if it was true Scotsmen wore nothing beneath their kilt. I thought that was rather personal and brushed her off, but she circled around behind me and lifted the garment. "I thought so!" she giggled as she skipped away.

By ten o'clock I had been groped by several women. I saw another man dressed as a Scottish king, and he gave me a look that said 'me, too.'

The band stopped playing and a woman took the stage as a representative of the charity we were supposedly raising money for. I felt guilty that I hadn't raised any money. While she spoke the band vacated the stage, taking their equipment and instruments with them.

The mistress of ceremonies went through a long list of people to thank for organizing the ball. When asked if we were having fun we all applauded, although mine was half-hearted. She continued "Now the real FUNdraising begins. Oh yes, there is some real fun yet to come tonight. We are going to auction off some of these fine gentlemen!"

Laughter and a few hoots met that announcement, but it served to get everyone's attention. She waited for the hubbub to die down and continued "Our first contestant is...THOMAS JEFFERSON! Come on up, Tom." A man with knee breeches and a powdered wig elbowed through the crowd and climbed the steps onto the stage.

"Oh, doesn't Tom look fine! Did you bring your fiddle? I hear you are good at...fiddling!" There was more laughter at Tom's expense. "Who will start the bidding? Certainly someone wants to fiddle around with Tom."

Someone started at fifty dollars and the bids rapidly rose to seven hundred fifty. "Sold! Good start! Next we have...William Shakespeare! Come on up Will...Tell me did you really write all those plays or was it someone else using your name, as suggested by some snobs?" Will was obviously taken by surprise, but stayed in character and declared that he and he alone wrote every word, and if anyone thought otherwise "they itcheth for a fight!" Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Will went for eight hundred. Several more cycled up onto the stage, going for anywhere from five hundred to fifteen hundred dollars. I began to enjoy the spectacle. The mistress of ceremonies knew how to throw in double entendres, which everyone enjoyed and probably helped up the bidding.

A thin Barney Fife went for an amazing two thousand after some spirited bidding. I wondered what these women knew about ol' Barn. A wise-cracking Will Rogers, spinning a lariat, went for seventeen hundred. The mistress of ceremonies quipped "I wonder what else he can do with that rope!"

Mister Spock brought twenty-two hundred. "Ooh. Somebody has a thing for pointy ears. You know I've heard that if a man's ears are long and pointy that means his ...well maybe I shouldn't go there."

A number of ladies apparently wanted to be cardigan-wearing Mister Roger's neighbor, and he raised twenty-five hundred. It dawned on me during the auction that all the men in the auction were not wearing masks; the masked men seemed to be relegated to spectator status. Perhaps they were married and accompanying their spouses with only the single men unmasked. My mind toyed with the possibilities and it was a concern if it happened to be true.

I relaxed some as I realized the auction was winding down. No sooner had I breathed a sigh of relief than I heard "WILLIAM WALLACE". I looked around to see if there was another one, but someone gave me a little shove toward the stage. "Ah, there you are, my Braveheart!...Step right up. Maybe he can show us how he uses his sword." Hoots and whistles followed that remark.

A female voice in the crowd called out "How do we know he is the real one? What's he got on under there?" The audience laughed and another woman, probably well fortified with alcohol, started a chant "Show us...show us..." I knew what they wanted and figured what the hell; I'd never see these people again. I turned around back to them and flipped up the back of my kilt. The crowd roared. The first woman hollered out "Yep, he's the genuine article all right!"

"Well, now that we know he is authentic, who will start the bidding at two-fifty?"

A hand was raised. A voice from the opposite side of the room said "Five hundred." I peered out and saw Marie Antoinette with her fan raised. At last I knew who to seek out.

"One thousand!" Wait. Another Marie had her hand raised.

"Fifteen hundred."

"Two thousand!"

"Three thousand."

"Four thousand."

"Five!"

"Ten thousand!"

The crowd had become silent as these two Maries fought it out. After considering another bid, the losing Marie angrily slammed her fan on the palm of her hand and scowled as a murmur ran through the crowd.

"Going once...twice...SOLD for ten thousand! His sword must be mighty, indeed! And now our last one - Zorro, come on up."

A man in a black outfit with a black brimmed hat and a black scarf with eyeholes cut out over his face agilely leaped up onto the stage. He whipped a rapier out of his belt and whipped a 'Z' in the air. There were a number of "Ooh's". After another lively auction the Marie who had lost the bidding for me got him for seven thousand five hundred. The mistress of ceremonies said, as Zorro walked off the stage, "I'll bet he can show some sword tricks, too!"

We men were ushered over to a table where the women paid and claimed their prizes. At last I was going to meet the correct Marie. Or did the one I was supposed to meet get outbid? Was that why the other Marie seemed peeved? At the table I saw one Marie lead Zorro away while another Marie awaited me.

She held out her hand for me and I held my arm out for her to take. I spoke to her but her reply was a raspy voice that could have been real or a put-on. The mask hid her eyes enough that I couldn't get a good read on whether I knew them or not. Her mouth was so heavily made up as to be unrecognizable if I really did know her. She had a wig of hair piled up on her head and a lavish dress trimmed with lace and jewels.

Although she held my arm, it was she who guided us through the crowd. I heard the mistress of ceremonies come back to thank everyone for participating, and noting that over two hundred thousand dollars had been raised through ticket sales and the auction. She especially wanted to thank all the men who had been such good sports, and invited everyone to stay and continue the party.

Marie flipped open her fan and lazily fanned while we made our way toward the ballroom door. Just inside the door she picked up a black lace wrap she had left hanging over the back of a chair, and draped it across her shoulders. I tried to start a conversation several times but her answers were always short and evasive. While many guests stayed on to take advantage of the remaining free food and drink a significant number were leaving as we were.

She guided me down the corridor and across the lobby to the elevators. I asked "I'm not familiar with this sort of thing. Just what exactly did you buy me for?" Even with the mask I could discern a smile as her answer.

A number of couples boarded the elevator with us, so it was crowded. Barney Fife and the woman who had bought him were among them, giggling together. His hat was already askew. The others apparently were couples, as the men wore masks. The elevator stopped at several floors along the way and the crowd in the elevator thinned until we were the only two left. We passed my floor and continued on to an upper floor.

The doors opened into a lavishly appointed hallway, one that the real Marie would have been proud to claim. The fragrance of fresh cut flowers in an enormous vase on what appeared to me to be an antique table filled the air. I could only make out four doors along the entire hallway, so we had entered some high priced real estate. Marie still clung to my arm as she guided me to the last door on the left. She reached into her bosom and fished out her key card, waved it over a pad on the wall, and the door clicked open.

The dimly lit room continued the lavish décor. What stood out to me was the fireplace, greeting us with a cheerful fire. She dropped the wrap on a sofa and led me through double doors to an enormous bedroom. I swear the suite was half the size of my house. She withdrew her hand from my arm and went about lighting scented candles on tables about the room, and the lights were switched out. I tried to engage her in conversation, but all I got in reply was that smile under the mask.

She walked around me as if appraising me. I tried a line I had heard used once before. "You're looking at me like a piece of meat. I feel so cheap!" The smile broadened and it appeared that she only kept from laughing by herculean effort.

The raspy voice said "Let's see how you can use that sword you are so famous for, William Wallace." She walked around me again. "I suppose in order to use it you must unsheathe it."

She removed the belt and pouch from around my waist and slipped the sash over my head. When they had been tossed aside she ran her hands over my chest and untucked my button-less linen shirt to pull over my head. Again she circled me. This time she removed my kilt.

"Ah, there it is. The most famous sword in all of Scotland. Somehow I thought it would be larger."

Her hand softly stroked me. "Ah, now it is the size I expected."

I wanted to rip her mask (and her clothes) off, but decided to play along with her game. She led me to the enormous bed and motioned for me to lie down. I settled back with my head on some pillows to watch what she had planned next. She made a show of studying me. "It seems your sword has turned into a lance, sir. I only know one thing to do with a lance."

She removed her shoes, crawled up onto the bed and hiked up her dress just enough to straddle my legs. She wrapped both hands around me. "My, this is a fine lance. I think I would like to test it."

She slid up my thighs so I was under her dress. She reached under to guide me as she raised up and 'impaled' herself on my 'lance'. "Oh, yes. A fine lance, indeed. But is it sturdy?"

She began to rock and grind on me. I had absolutely no view of her body because she kept that damned dress on. All I could see was a slight bulge of breasts peeking above the bodice. But she knew how to use her body. Somehow this game was very erotic. I had been teased enough that I knew it wouldn't take long for me. She sensed that also, because she changed tempo to keep her own stimulation while changing mine in order to skillfully draw out my torture as long as she could.

At last she increased her tempo and squeezed me inside her as she did so. I wanted to grab her breasts. I wanted to kiss her, but she kept me on my back with my hands pinned at my side. She came with a loud moan and I felt wet warmth envelop me as she pulsed around me. Just as she finished I ejaculated explosively. She at least had the courtesy of continuing to rock on me until I finished. Then she sat still with me inside her. That's when I knew.

"Damn, Paris. That was one of the most erotic experiences I've ever had."

She laughed and whipped off the wig and mask. "How did you know?"

I pulled her down for a kiss. "When you stopped and held still with me inside. I felt our perfect fit. I don't understand why, but I know your body inside and out. I wondered all night if you were here. I looked at eyes through masks, trying to find yours. You did a good job of hiding them."

"That was the intention. I was shocked to find several more Maries here tonight, and when that hussy tried to outbid me for you...well, I was prepared to go as high as necessary. It was all for a good cause, after all."

"She got Zorro. I hope she likes his sword."

Paris laughed "Me too. I just didn't want her to test yours. Now help me out of this costume. I don't know how ladies stood being corseted up like this. Maybe Marie Antoinette didn't mind losing her head if it got her out of this torture suit."

I unlaced, unbuttoned and removed the layers of her costume until her very familiar form stood before me. I gathered her in my arms and kissed her and she threw her arms around my neck. "I've missed you, Doug."

" I've been dating, but I end up comparing all women to you. It's not a fair comparison."

We laid side-by-side and I stroked her hair. "To tell the truth, I was hesitant to come to this shindig. I checked everywhere I could to see if either you or Miley was involved in the charity."

"It is one of my favorites, but I keep my name out of it. They've asked me to be on their Board of Directors, but I'm afraid it could seem like a frivolous choice to some donors and could have a negative impact, so I stick to financial contributions. I figure the ten grand tonight was money well spent."

The door clicked open again and we heard voices, one of them very familiar. Paris sat up "Hey, girl. We're in here."

In through the door strode Cinderella in rags with Spiderman in tow. "Hey Paris, look who I found just hanging around!"

Paris, me and Spiderman laughed. I shook my head. "I tried my best to see if I knew you, Miley."

"It was so fun pretending to be drunk and playing around with my voice. Also, look here."