Masked Innocence. Alessandra Torre

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      Nine

      We walked back into the house, my stomach in nervous knots. I was glad for the disguise, for the layer of protection it gave me. Brad held my hand firmly, guiding me as we moved through the noisy crowd, chatter, laughter and murmurs surrounding us. There were a few long glances, a few friendly smiles, but no one approached us or said anything as we passed, and I was grateful for that. I needed some time to adjust and figure out what was going on. We left the packed foyer and walked down a few steps into a darkened great room. The couches were set at different angles, some facing the windows, some open to the center. A round stage had been set up in the middle of the room, a chrome stripper pole coming out of the middle and stretching all the way to the top of the vaulted ceilings. Two women, both nude, danced on the stage, twirling around the pole and caressing each other. This room had a definite club atmosphere, laser lights creating a harmony of colors on the ceiling and techno music pumping from speakers. A woman untangled herself from a sea of bodies on a couch and stood, walking over to us. She had fire-engine-red hair and wore a black leather mask and matching minidress. I took a discreet peek at her feet and tried not to swoon. Black spiked Louboutins. She gave me a big smile and wrapped Brad in a tight embrace, brushing her hand lightly over his package in the process.

      “I’d know this hunk of meat anywhere, even with that creepy hood,” she cooed. Reaching out a hand to me, she gave me a blatant once-over, causing a blush to spread over my face. “I’m Beverly Franklin,” she said, with no trace of snobbery. “I must say, you are utterly gorgeous. Not that I’d expect Brad to show up with anything else,” she added with a grin, squeezing his big arm. “Brad, you go sit down, I’m going to give your friend the grand tour.”

      I had a brief recollection of a strip club tour, one that had conveniently pulled me away from Brad a few weeks earlier. My eyes flickered around the room, at the numerous sexual possibilities in front of him. I felt momentary panic at the thought of being alone, away from him, and him away from me. “I, um...” I faltered, looking to Brad for rescue.

      “Stick to her, Bev,” he said, stepping backward, his face impossible to read behind the black cloth. “She’s new. Remember that.” He nodded at me and lifted his glass, and I frowned at him, swearing that I could see his shoulders shaking in a laugh. I turned to Beverly and smiled tentatively, downing the rest of my champagne with a strong gulp.

      * * *

      BEVERLY, THOUGH IN her forties, had an ass like a supermodel’s, and the leather clung to her perfect body as if it had been painted on. She was bubbly and friendly, not the stoic and snobby host I was expecting. She wrapped her arm in mine and navigated us out of the laser-filled great room.

      “I didn’t catch your name, sweetie.”

      I tensed, my thoughts bumping around in my head until I grasped a hold of a name and blurted it out. “It’s Jessica.” The tattooed makeup artist had unknowingly rescued me.

      “Jessica, Brad said you were new. Is this your first party?”

      “Yes. At least, of this sort.”

      She laughed, a musical giggle that floated away as we walked through the kitchen, a granite-filled masterpiece, full of chefs and shirtless men who were filling hors d’oeuvre platters. Off the kitchen was a hall, and she pulled me down it, the lighting discreet and dim.

      “This is what I call the sex hall—there are four bedrooms off it, and if you want to play privately, or with other couples, these rooms are available.” We peeked in the first room and I froze.

      A man knelt, naked and beautiful, his back a chorus of tanned muscles, candles throughout the room creating flickering shadows on his skin. In front of him stood another man, black and naked, a dark leather mask, similar to Beverly’s, obscuring his face. The black man was huge, Brad’s size, but not as cut or defined as Brad. His cock was long, dark and in the kneeling man’s mouth. A woman, stunning, dressed in an azure-blue floor-length evening gown and a huge feathered mask, stood on the other side of them. Her elegant attire was contrasted by a leather riding crop, gripped tightly in one hand. As I watched she stepped forward and slapped the kneeling man, hard along the buttocks. Her voice, calm, controlled and authoritative, rang out in the quiet room.

      “Suck it harder. All of it.”

      The man obliged, and the black man groaned, his legs tightening. I saw a cock twitch in the darkness and realized the white man was hard. Very hard.

      I felt Beverly tugging on me, and I blinked, stepping back, but not before my eyes locked with the woman in the room. She smiled, slowly and securely at me, and then I heard her speak to the men. “Now. Get up, both of you, on the bed. I want you to use those hard cocks on me.”

      I tried to stifle a gasp, and followed Beverly, her hand tugging, pulling me to the next room. For a reason I couldn’t explain, I felt my panties sticking to me, wetness pooling.