Masquerade

His name was Simon. Or so he claimed. I had no idea who he really was, but for the past several weeks, he had been sending flowers and notes to my home and office. The anonymous nature of it was thrilling yet it left me somewhat unsettled. Who was Simon? Was he sexy and romantic, as his gifts seemed to suggest, or was he dangerous and maniacal as in so many movies I’d seen? 

He seemed to know me. He was able to describe my looks and he clearly knew where I worked and lived. I relished the idea of having a secret admirer. It made life so much more interesting. I found myself surveying all my male coworkers, friends and others for signs that they might be Simon. Every time someone laughed at my jokes, agreed with my business proposals or offered to help me with a personal project, I imagined that they were him. I imagined that they desired me and that soon, we’d find ourselves on the precipice of a great love affair. 

I arrived at work the next day to discover a small package, with no return address, stuffed into my mailbox. Inside was a small velvet box accompanied by a handwritten note.  

The box contained a thin silver chain with a solid silver, heart-shaped charm. The note read: 

Dear Claire: 
You have captured my heart.
Our time is coming. Are you ready? 
Simon 

My hands were trembling ferociously as I lifted the chain from the box and wrapped it around my neck. The charm rested comfortably in the cradle between my collarbones. It was magnificent. I suddenly realized that I wanted to meet Simon. This gesture, wrapped in gold tissue paper, had instantly allowed me to lower my guard. There was no fear now, just longing, which was cut short by the ringing of my phone.  

“Claire, it’s Simon. Did you get the package?”  

My heart began racing again. He had my office number. Who was this man? 

“Yes. It’s beautiful.” 

“As are you,” he replied, “So what do you think of my question?” 

“Question?” I queried. 

“Yes. Are you ready? Ready for what comes next?” 

“I am,” I answered, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to.  

“Excellent. I’ll be in touch. Speak to you soon, love.” And with that, he hung up. I did not recognize his voice. The call was mysterious yet intriguing.  

Another package was waiting for me the next day when I returned from lunch. It was an 8.5 x 11 inch envelope with no name or return address.  

I sliced open the envelope and slid the contents onto my desk. Inside was an exquisite blue and silver sequined mask framed by royal blue feathers. The accompanying note read: 

Dear Claire: 
Our journey begins on February 6, 2009 at precisely 1:30pm.
Go to the French Quarter Costume shop on Mifflin Street.
Ask for Pierre. Give him your name.
He’ll give you something in return.   
Simon 

I smiled broadly and my body quaked with nervous anticipation, waiting for the phone call that I hoped would follow. Simon didn’t disappoint me.  

“Hello?” I answered, my voice wavering slightly. 

“Hello Claire,” he answered. His voice seemed deeper and more sensual than the last time he called. “Can I count on you to follow my instructions?” 

“Yes.” 

“Wonderful. I’ll be in touch. Speak to you soon, love.” And again, he abruptly hung up. 

I placed the mask in front of my face and stared at myself in the mirror across from my desk. “Something is brewing alright,” I whispered to myself, “Something is definitely brewing.” 

Two days later, I arrived at the French Quarter Costume shop at precisely 1:30 as Simon had instructed. Pierre was a friendly, though somewhat odd fellow, short and stout with a flare for the dramatic. He led me into the darkened back room of his shop and presented me with a Victorian gown. The bodice was corset-style, fashioned of the deepest royal blue velvet with three-quarter length sleeves that ruffled just below the elbows. The skirt was a full, silvery satin that blossomed over a ruffled petticoat.  

“My darling, you’ll look magnificent this evening. You’ll be the most elegant woman in the room, I’m certain,” Pierre said almost gleefully. 

“What do I owe you?” I responded, blushing. 

“Mr. Simon has taken care of it my dear. Run along now, you’ll not want to be late.” 

“Late?” 

“Oh yes, yes,” Pierre replied with a wave of his hand. “I nearly forgot.” He handed me an envelope and shushed me out the door. 

Inside the envelope was a burgundy card engraved in gold letters which read: 

Mardi Gras Masquerade 
Saturday, February 6, 2009
9:00pm
Mansion Hill Inn 
Further Instructions to Follow 

The costume suddenly made sense and I hurried home to start preparing for the Masquerade.  

The dress fit to perfection. The bodice pushed up my ample bosom, creating perfectly shaped, smooth mounds of flesh that even I found sexually appealing. I used antique pins to sweep my hair up into an old-fashioned do that exposed the flawless skin of my swan-like neck. Simon’s lips would surely want to linger upon that neck as we danced, I thought, as I dragged some of my favorite perfume from my chin to my collarbone. 

I peered out the window upon hearing a car door slam. Parked in my driveway was a black stretch-limo out of which stepped a statuesque driver in a black tuxedo and white gloves, who proceeded to ring my front doorbell. 

“May I escort you to the Mansion Hill Inn, Ms. Claire?” he inquired quite formally.  

The driver helped me into my seat and offered me a glass of champagne.  

“There is an envelope for you on the bar,” he said before closing the door and taking his place behind the wheel. 

Inside of the envelope was a brass key, but this time, there was no note. I slid the key into my handbag and sipped my champagne with a growing sense of nervous anticipation. 

The inn was illuminated by thousands of tiny white lights. The stately stone building was the perfect venue for a masquerade ball. The chauffeur gallantly escorted me to the foyer, where he left me with another gentleman wearing a regal uniform with gold tassels draped across each shoulder and brass buttons down the front of his blue coat.  

“Ms. Claire,” he greeted me warmly, with a kiss to the back of my hand, “May I escort you to the bar?” 

Assuming this was part of Simon’s plan, I acquiesced. Before my escort retreated, he placed an envelope on the bar beside my handbag and bowed toward me.  

Simon was there. I could feel him. I felt immediately self-conscious, as if his eyes were greedily roaming over my body at that very moment. My heart pounded relentlessly against my chest and I was suddenly aware that perhaps the bodice of my gown was too tight after all. His note read: 

Order a Grey Goose Martini with 2 Olives.  

I did as instructed.  

“Ah. Miss Claire,” the bartender smiled warmly at me, catching me off guard.  

As I took money from my handbag to pay him, he replied, “No Ma’am. It’s been taken care of.” 

“Is he here?” I inquired, “The man who bought the drink? Is he here?” 

“I would imagine so,” he grinned, sliding another envelope toward me, before going on to serve another customer. The game would continue for now.  

The outside of this envelope said, Do not Open. 

I was perplexed, but slid the envelope into my handbag to wait for my next clue.  

“Would you care to dance, miss?” came a voice from behind me, startling me a bit. I turned excitedly, expecting to see Simon. There stood a distinguished gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a handsome period suit.  

“Simon?” I asked nervously.  

“Michael,” he replied before adding, “Perhaps just one dance before Simon arrives?” 

Suspecting that this was somehow part of the grand plan, I tentatively accepted his invitation.  

My body felt alive and tingly, not because it was pressed against this handsome partner, but rather, because it was on the verge of being pressed against Simon. I sensed it. My eyes scanned the ballroom, lingering upon every unaccompanied man. There were so many shadows in the candlelit room that I couldn’t see everyone, yet I knew he was there. My body was experiencing the same sensations that I had when Simon had called me. 

The dance was a bit clumsy. I stepped on the poor man’s toes as I distractedly searched for Simon. He didn’t seem to mind. His arm remained wrapped securely around my waist while his other hand enveloped my palm. As the music came to an end, Michael leaned in and whispered into my ear, “You may now open the envelope.” Then he retreated with a deep bow in my direction. 

I walked slowly back to the bar, trying not to appear as over-eager as I felt. I removed the envelope from my handbag. The note inside read: 

Room 212
Use the key. 

The fear that bubbled up inside me took me by surprise. This was crazy! Was it safe? Should I exercise my better judgment and run? I was shaking so hard that I could barely fold the letter and return it to my handbag. I pressed the brass key into my sweaty palm and proceeded to the elevator. My trembling fingers pressed the button for the second floor and my journey into the unknown was underway. 

The key fit perfectly. The only light in the otherwise darkened room came from the flicker of dozens of candles. The room was spectacular, with expansive views of the city, a king-sized bed with a mahogany frame and silk canopy. There was a full bar, upon which I could see a glass of champagne waiting.  

“Please. Help yourself,” came a voice out of the dark. I was startled and gasped sharply. 

I saw Simon’s silhouette against the window. He was standing beside a chair sipping from his own flute.  

“Hello, Simon,” I said, trying to mask the anxious feelings that were swirling about inside me.  

“Hello, Claire,” he responded in kind. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.” 

“Can I see you?” I queried, beginning to approach him. 

He raised his finger toward me and I stopped in my tracks, waiting for his next instructions. This was Simon’s game and I was aware that I was merely a pawn. As weak and helpless as that made me appear, I was still willing to acquiesce.  

“Close your eyes, Claire,” he commanded softly.  

I complied.  

I could hear him ambling toward me. My stomach lurched forward and I nearly dropped my champagne. I heard the clink of his glass as he set it on the table and within seconds he was ambulating around me in silence. I felt his eyes on me as if he were seeing me for the first time. I was dying to know who he was but I dared not speak.  

“May I touch you, Claire?” he whispered seductively. 

I nodded, but remained silent.  

My eyes remained closed and I felt him standing immediately before me. I could smell the champagne on his breath, so sweet and appealing. His left hand came to rest on my hip while his right ran along the side of my face. I nearly lost control of my body. My knees fell weak and my bladder spasmed. I stopped breathing. Simon’s finger continued its descent along my neck and down to my heaving chest. His palm cupped my breast. 

“The dress fits you perfectly,” he acknowledged.  

I nodded again, but still remained silent. My lips were slightly parted in a silent invitation to be kissed.  

Simon leaned in and brushed his lips across my ear while whispering, “it suits you.” 

He was seducing me like no other man before him. This was not your typical roses and candlelight affair. This was an intoxicating, highly erotic encounter that was beginning to leave me unhinged.  

“Turn around,” he softly commanded. 

He wrapped his right hand fully around my waist, holding me against him and placed his left hand against my forehead, pulling my head to the side. His mouth covered the taut skin of my neck, sucking and licking and kissing me until I was literally gasping for air. This action was more urgent than any other. I could feel his desire building. I wanted to see him, yet the fantasy was so exquisite that I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t turn to face him because he hadn’t yet allowed me to do so. I heard the low sound of his desire bubbling up inside of him. It was as if he were nearly growling as his body began to writhe against mine. His lips foraged hungrily about my neck and shoulder area as his hands began to wander aimlessly from breast to belly to hips and back again. This man was hungry. I felt as if he were losing control of his senses and as if he hadn’t made love to a woman in a very long time. Now he was about to unleash his pent up passion on me. My pussy twitched and swelled. I felt a burgeoning sense of desperation rising up within me. 

With his hands on each of my hips, he guided me toward the bed, pushing me forward until I was lying face down atop the goose down comforter. My heels slipped from my feet and clattered to the floor and Simon massaged each foot tenderly in his warm palms. His hands ran up the back of my calves and thighs and came to rest on my ass, which he kneaded like a spongy dough between his strong, eager fingers. My dress was hiked up over my back, leaving me somewhat exposed and feeling vulnerable. I had chosen thong underwear and thigh high stockings, which seemed to appeal to Simon because he moaned loudly as he devoured me with his kisses, covering the back of my thighs and my tight, round ass with his wet mouth. I could feel my pussy literally throbbing and coating the thin fabric of my thong with my thick, creamy wetness.  

Simon straddled me. I could hear him rustling in his pocket and soon, he was placing a silken eye mask over my face. The room went completely dark. When he seemed satisfied that I could not see him, he commanded me to turn over and lie on my back. I did as he insisted. 

“Raise your hands over your head. Grab the headboard,” he said in a deep gravely voice. 

He slid my thigh highs sensuously down each leg and used them to tether each wrist to the bed. My heart and mind began racing frantically. I wasn’t sure I wanted to play this game, yet I wasn’t sure I didn’t. I felt so confused yet so aroused. I chose to remain silent, using my heightened senses to gauge the level of danger that existed. I could smell his cologne mixed with champagne. I could hear him breathing a bit heavily and the clock ticking loudly on the mantel. I could feel the heat in my wrists from the friction of the tethers and I could feel my inner thighs trembling ferociously causing my knees to knock against one another.  

Simon gently placed a hand on each knee and pried my legs apart. I tried to relax, and let my legs fall open, exposing my fully shaved and dripping slit. Before I even realized he had moved, Simon’s face was buried between my thighs. His tongue played tricks on my pussy that left me breathless. He flickered it ever so lightly, back and forth across my clit, which was so engorged that it actually ached. I could hear him slurping and sucking at me, pushing his tongue in and out of me and lapping up the juices that were literally flowing from me. My palms wrapped tightly around the headboard, shaking and sweating as my lover devoured me. I wanted to see him, but the silken mask remained in securely in place.  

My hips rose off the bed and ground into Simon’s face. He held fast to my ass, squeezing my cheeks with his face glued to my pussy. I felt my first orgasm beginning to build up and my nipples pressed hard against the tight bodice of my dress.  

“Simon, oh sweet fucking God, Simon!” I screamed out as the orgasm gripped me.  

He pulled his mouth away just as I began to squirt my sweet, viscous juice all over the bed. Before I could even think straight, I felt the head of Simon’s cock rubbing against my gaping hole. My guts churned and my head grew dizzy. My hips rose again as if to force him to slip inside of me.  

“Fuck me Simon. Please. Please.” I detected an almost whiny quality to my voice. I was pleading with him, begging to be fucked. I wanted to feel his cock pressing against my cervix and hear his hips slamming against my pussy and ass. I wanted him to grasp onto my hips for leverage and fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked. I was so ravenous for him that it seemed nearly impossible to get in deep enough or slam against me hard enough.  

I pushed my hips toward him again, grunting in a most primal, visceral way. He reacted to my pleasure by fucking me like a jackrabbit. My body had slid up toward the headboard and was now banging against it repeatedly, but neither of us paid much attention.  

Simon lifted my right leg onto his shoulder while plunging deeply into me. He slid his hand underneath me and rubbed my ass. It felt so good that I literally melted into the bed, writhing seductively beneath his palm. His forefinger slid slowly, almost tentatively, toward my quivering asshole. I wasn’t sure how I would like this, but as he drew nearer, I found myself panting more from desire than from apprehension.  

I found myself cumming hard as Simon’s finger slid into my ass. The orgasm ripped through me even harder than the first. My mouth flew open in a silent scream as the veins throbbed in my temples. Simon joined me, holding his cock deep inside of me as it jumped and danced and spilled its thick, milky treat inside of me. 

I could hear him dressing himself and taking another sip of his champagne. I felt completely self-conscious now, lying there before him, my dress hiked up, tethered to the bed with my spent pussy exposed.  

“Keep your mask on,” Simon commanded as he untied me. “When you hear the door close, you can take it off.” 

My mind was a flurry of anxious thoughts. Did Simon intend to duck out without identifying himself? Was someone else going to join us? I wasn’t sure what was happening. I listened for the sound of the door and tore the mask off quickly, but Simon was gone. I wanted to chase after him and force him to reveal himself to me, but I hadn’t even found my thong yet.  

I felt used and taken for granted, yet I had the overwhelming urge to high-five someone. This encounter was so exhilarating and sexy and I wanted to believe that Simon would plan another clandestine meeting soon.  

As I slid into my shoes, I heard my phone ringing from my handbag.  

“Enjoy the champagne, Claire. Spend the night if you like. The room is paid for. I’ll have my car pick you up in the morning.” 

“Simon?”  

“I’ll call you next week, love. I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright with you.” 

“It’s alright with me,” I responded lamely, not sure what else to say. And it was alright. My life was taking a curious yet exhilarating turn and I intended to go along for the ride with this mysterious stranger at my side.