The Masquerade Ball Wasn’t Just for Dancing

I Don’t Know What I Expected From The Masquerade Ball, But It Wasn’t This!

The chandeliers glittered above me as the music swelled. Masked couples draped in silk and chiffon move to the sensual rhythm the band creates. It’s elegance and sin wrapped together. The anonymity makes the air thicker, heavier, almost charged with temptation. The masquerade ball was turning out to be more hedonistic than I ever imagined. Bodies writhing against each other with reckless abandon.

I had chosen my mask for the masquerade ball carefully. Black lace with gold trimming its edges, concealing my face with vine-like curves. My gown dipped low, just enough to tease without being scandalous, though the way eyes lingered told me I’d succeeded in drawing attention. Across the room, I noticed him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of mystery about him. His black on black suit and mask of cut leather drew me in. He wasn’t laughing or entertaining the crowd like so many others. He was watching. And it took me only seconds to realize he was watching me.

The Intensity of the Masquerade Ball Deepened.

I felt the tug of invitation when he stepped closer. Without words, his hand reached for mine, and I let him lead me to the center of the floor. We moved together like we had known each other for eons. Our bodies brushed with every spin, every dip. The masquerade ball around us blurred to shadow while his breath teased my neck.

The dance was nothing but pretense. His grip on my waist is possessive, his palm tight on my hip, pulling me into him with every turn. I could feel him, hard and unyielding beneath his pants. Pressed against me through our layers of fabric. My breath caught. His mask tilted down toward mine, lips so close I could feel the heat of them. “Come with me.”

I Wasn’t Sure Where He Was Taking Me, But I Followed Anyway.

We slipped from the masquerade ball into a corridor, hidden by shadows. We didn’t stop until we came upon an alcove draped in velvet curtains. Before I could catch my breath, his lips were on me. Every brush of his mouth, every touch, was magnified by the risk of being caught. The muffled music of the ball still played in the distance, but in that hidden alcove, it was drowned out by the sound of my breath hitching and his low groans against my lips.

I leaned into his touch with a desperate need. His hand gathered the skirt of my dress until his fingers were doing their own dance along the seam of my panties. A cry left me, the sound dampened by his mouth on mine, as I felt his fingers dip inside me. He drove into me relentlessly, building me up until I was falling apart in his hands. Before I could collect myself, he spun me around. I braced against the wall, mask still on, heart pounding. He pushed my legs apart with his knee, and then I felt him, thick and hard, pressing at my entrance. The first thrust stole my breath, filling me in one urgent motion. The distant music of the masquerade ball pulsed through the stone, a cruel reminder that just beyond the curtain, people were dancing, sipping champagne, pretending innocence.

Here, there was nothing innocent. Just the raw slap of skin, my ragged gasps, his gritted curses as he used me like he’d been waiting for this all night.  The masquerade ball wasn’t just for dancing. It was for surrender. And the night had only begun.

Want to hear more? How about the time I was Tied up and Teased?

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