Shape

The Hunting Party (Part 2): Wide Shut

My knuckles on the enormous wooden door made a massive boom that echoed through my chest and reverberated down through the rest of my body. I shivered a bit, mostly with anticipation, getting a little more wet right there on the stone as I waited for the entrance to swing open. I had been here once before, but the experience was still an intense one, and I suspected this would probably continue to be the case, no matter how many times I wound up stepping into what I can only describe as a massive and cavernous entrance area slash foyer.

We were well above ground, and in one of the largest metropolitan cities in the entire world, but the interior’s stone walls — lit by hidden lamps pooling their light up and down from either the floor or the ceiling — gave the whole space a distinctly subterranean feel. The cool air made me feel like I was in one of those decked-out lines, waiting for a ride at Disneyland.

I felt the cool air on my face, and I remembered the last time I had come here. I hadn’t actually made it past the foyer that time. Didn’t even make it to the actual main event. I had come with a guy who had been a partner of mine at the time, and he very smartly forgot to bring is fucking invitation. Without that little piece of paper, there was no getting in, for either of us (they wouldn’t let you in if you brought someone along without the right credentials, so we didn’t even bother). Fifteen minutes after having arrived, we found ourselves back in the limousine.

One would be forgiven, quite naturally, for assuming that this had served to deflate our sexual appetites for that evening, but the exact opposite turned out to be true. We climbed our embarrassed asses into the back of that limousine, and sat next to each other for a few minutes, letting out heavy sighs and embarrassed chuckles as we turned over the night’s mishap in our minds.

After a moment passed, my hand found its way lightly onto his thigh. I can’t even remember if I did it on purpose, to be honest with you. Entirely likely is that it was just an off-handed gesture of affection. Something done subconsciously as we both sat and shared a laugh with one another. But the gate was opened. We stared at each other for a quick beat…and if we had been sitting in front of a desk or table, it would have been one of those moments where one of us dramatically swept everything off it, for the purposes of fucking.

We looked at each other and the world stopped for his moment, the deep green irises of his eyes widening and opening and becoming my environment as I took his necktie in my hand and pulled him close to me, my mouth practically drinking his in, our tongues clashing with each other like two gladiators having taken a running start from opposite ends of the arena. My hands could feel his rippled muscles through his shirt; Roger took good care of himself, and had a body that could make me positively gush on sight. I slipped one of my hands between the buttons of his shirt as he slid one of his up my chest, squeezing my breast in a way that made me moan softly into his mouth. He kneaded my breasts, caressing them affectionately and slipping my dress down so he could lightly rub my nipples, each of them growing erect and sensitive at his touch. They were both like little pleasure antennas, radiating warmth from my chest out to the rest of my body in response to his continued touch. He really knew how to play my body, too, touching me in ways that coaxed incredible pleasure out of places I never even knew it had been hiding away, to begin with.

As I ran my hands across the taut sinews of his chest, his mouth began charting a course southward, making its way across the borderline of my jaw and into the territories of my neck. There are few things I’m able to tolerate less than the application of a skillful mouth to the flesh of my neck, and if it were possible, I think my nipples would have gotten even harder in response. As it was, the combination of his mouth on my neck — hot breath blooming warm and wet on my neck — with his fingers on my nipples had been enough to electrify my entire body, I now moved on his with a hunger that I wasn’t sure could ever even be sated, if I’m being honest. My free hand moved down, discovering him turgid and erect, already hard and awaiting my touch. His mouth continued downwards, inching its way across my breasts with a teasing patience while I almost delicately undid his trousers. I could feel his body stiffen, mirroring his incredible cock as I took it in my hands and began to softly stroke his shaft. As he sucked my nipples, I could feel the vibrations of his vocal cords, buzzing pleasingly against my breasts as he moaned while I worked his cock with an increasingly loving intensity. After a moment, I had to take it in my mouth, my lips wrapping around its head almost carefully, me kissing his tip and taking him into my throat inch by careful inch. He gripped a tuft of my hair in his hand and squeezed, the pain fueling my urgency even more, my pussy basically at this point getting wetter by the second. I trailed a finger down my side and under the hem of my dress as I took him deeper in my mouth, my saliva mixing with his pre-cum and lubricating his dick even further. I could feel him, stiff as a board and convulsing slightly as I sucked him, my tongue and lips running up and down his impressively thick shaft, my tongue pausing to outline the shape and curvature of his head. I began to softly massage my clit, feeling my opening get wetter and hungrier as my mouth seemed to do the same, the rhythm and intensity of my work increasing in tandem along with the motion of my finger around my clit, coaxing more and more desire out of my body. I felt the hand in my hair slack slightly, and heard him say, “I’m getting close.”

This was my cue. I took him out of my mouth and opened his pants further (in the interest of keeping them at least relatively clean), straddling him excitedly as I did so. I kissed him, hard and deep, taking his cock in my hand and introducing it to the quivering and thirsty lips of my incredibly wet and begging pussy. I remember this night. I hadn’t had sex in a while, on this night. And he was big. Thick. Almost more than I thought I could handle. I introduced him to my body and felt him spread me wide, stretching my opening to accommodate him. I was wet enough for this to be a simple explosion of pleasure, every inch of him passing the border inside me coaxing a further layer of pleasure from my body, my wetness practically spilling out of me to coat the thickness of his shaft as we both worked our bodies, flexing hips and adjusting angles to inch him deeper and deeper inside me. My jaw was practically on the floor, mouth open and eyes wide as I felt him enter me fully, my body full with the feeling of him, my clit lightly brushing against his flesh as I settled all the way down on him and took him full into me. At this point, I was close to coming myself, and I held an intense and steady eye contact with him as I used my legs to lift myself up, my pussy clenched tight around his cock. His mouth opened in response, his own mounting pleasure causing him to blissfully close his eyes as I reached his head. I held myself there, the slightest tip of his cock still inside me, and then smoothly let myself fall back down, my tight lips sliding his cock into me fluidly: He moaned almost a little too loudly in response, and I whispered into his ear, “Are you still close? I want your cum inside me.”

He took me by the head and kissed me hard, our hips flexing into one another. “I’m so close to filling you,” he whispered thickly into my ear, our bodies taking on a mirrored rhythm, falling into one another along with the motion of our fucking. I could feel my own self getting close, a fire electricity beginning to build, spreading outward from the deepest folds of my inner being. “Kiss me,” I instructed him. He obliged, until he could do so no longer. “I’m going to come,” he informed me, and I stared into his eyes as we came together.

I could feel him, rocking inside me, as his cock begin to flex and convulse, spasming in a way that was completely out of his control while he came inside me. My own body mirrored his, my pussy clamping and clenching on him, muscle contractions working to flex down around his cock and milk even more cum out of him, coaxing his orgasm into new territories while it also informed my own. I came harder than I could remember coming any time recently that night, feeling his warmth fill me as I fucked an orgasm out of his body and into my own, my eyes drilling holes into his own. It was only the first time we would wind up fucking that night, understandably enough.

How exciting, then, to actually have brought my ticket this time.

The foyer was a busy throng of people all of us in varying levels of nightlife attire, all of us respectably keeping our eyes pointed to the floor as we moved around. There was an unspoken rule, in this part of the building. Everyone eventually divided neatly into a set of seven lines, each one leading the way up to a closed door leading to the rest of the building. I settled into an appropriate line, taking my place in a long stretch of women all waiting to be admitted through the curtain-barrier door on the far wall.

When my turn came, I stepped into a small chamber — a sort of vestibule. A low, almost sub-bass pumping sound could be heard in here, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It could have been pulsing at me through the walls, the residual frequencies of someone else’s good time bleeding through and infecting the beginnings of my own. It might have been bubbling up at me from beneath the floor, or even piped into the room I was in through a hidden speaker, the sound mixed and cannily disguised to sound muffled and as though it were coming from somewhere else.

I stepped further into the room and turned to my left, where an attendant stood behind an old and worn wooden desk. The wall behind them was covered in narrow drawers, stretching up and beyond my line of sight, like some massive wall of Dewey Decimal System cards, or a wall full of long, narrow safety deposit boxes. An appropriate button on the desk was pressed, and one of the drawers slid open, its contents removed and placed in front of me on the desk. I picked up my attire for the remainder of the night, stepping back and into the portion of the red that was carpeted in a bright cobalt blue, standing distinctly out from the very deep, blood-red of the rest of the carpet.

The attendant folded their hands on the desk in front of them, and it’s at this point that I suppose I should mention their attire. The attendant was virtually impossible to distinguish, dressed just about head-to-toe in a long, red-lined black cloak. Only their hands were visible, face obscured by a white Venetian mask streaked diagonally with blood-red stripes that matched the color of the carpet almost perfectly. I saw the head cock to one side, expectantly, their body language implying that I should be very familiar with this procedure and silently asking me if there would be any problems or delays (this unasked question was rhetorical, as these issues would not be allowed, for one thing, and would belie an unfamiliarity with this specific event, for another — both of those things being absolute no-nos) as they sat, patiently. The entire rest of their body was covered in the same thick, velveteen robes that I had just been given, making it essentially impossible to discern anything about the gender or identity of the person in front of which you found yourself standing.

This was the part of the process during which you changed into the robes that were required for anybody entering the event, the removal of your clothes in that bright blue circle intended to guarantee to the staff (and, by extension, every other attendee) that nothing would be found under that robe except for nipples and genitals. Which was just as well, as those were the things that would be everyone’s focus for the duration of the evening.

I stood there in the blue circle, my robe folded on a stool next to me, Venetian mask sitting neatly on top of it. I looked down at the mask and then back up at the attendant, who tapped their wrist in a “we’re waiting” gesture. There was a whole line of people waiting on the other side of that door…but I still wanted to exert what little control I could over the situation. I knew full well I was risking getting tossed out. It was like a game, to me. How far could I push? How much bending could there be, before a breaking point was reached? I played this little game with people, institutions, whatever would let me. It got me into trouble more often than I’d care to admit, but that kept things exactly as exciting as I had always wanted them to be.

I stared, hard, into that Venitian mask, trying to see if I could tell anything about the person underneath it just from their eyeballs. As far as I could tell, dark eyeblack had actually been applied underneath the mask, giving the impression of a full and uninterrupted disguise, and stymieing my early efforts to figure out what the person might be after. Starting slowly, I slipped both of the straps of my dress over my shoulders. I’m not here to brag, but I’m a fairly busty woman, and I made a pretty decent show of peeling my form-fitted dress off the not-unimpressive curvature of my breasts. As I undid both of the straps, I had made sure that my forearms made contact with my nipples in the course of the movement, so they were primed, hard, and standing at attention when they were finally, fully revealed. Every movement I made was imbued with a deliberate sensuality, but my eyes never left the attendant. My intentions had been made clear, at this point, and I was rapt for any indication that I had run afoul of The Powers that Be.

There was nothing, so I continued, rocking my hips from side to side as I worked my dress down and over them, letting it fall to the floor with something of a dramatic flourish. I stepped out of it before picking it up to fold it neatly, placing it on the stool next to my robes and mask. At this point, I’m not sure why, but I picked the mask up and put it on, stretching the elastic strap back and over my head. It actually allowed me a surprisingly unimpeded field of few, and I was pretty sure I could see the attendant sit back in their chair, almost as though they were not sure how to proceed, but didn’t necessarily want to interrupt whatever was going on.

The mask firmly affixed to my face, I met the attendant’s stare once more, holding it as I took of my panties with what I can only describe as an equal amount of deliberate tenderness and sensuality. I made a show of every movement, removing them fully and folding them along with my dress. At this point, I was to put on the robe and make my way through the door opposite the one though which I had previously entered, the ceremony complete and my proper attire having been secured for the rest of the evening. This was, after all, a place founded on ritual.

I had something else in mind, though.

Rather than reach down and pick up the robe that sat next to me, I slid one hand flat against my stomach, rising it upwards and cupping one of my full breasts in my left hand. I squeezed it, feeling it bigger than my hand, my hard nipple pressed against the palm of my hand, and let my lips part, sensually exhaling and letting a soft, low moan out at the same time. With the other hand, I began to stimulate my clit, reminding myself of that night in the car yet again. I stood there, massaging my breasts and masturbating in front of this masked and anonymous changing room attendant, and you are completely and totally pardoned for looking at me like a crazy person when I tell you that it was one of the most erotic and sensual experiences I can think of (which is saying something when I tell you that it was only one small part of a night that would continue to get more and more bafflingly insane with every passing hour).

As I continued to stimulate myself, I passed that rubicon of controlled reactions, my body now starting to tremble as I rubbed the open nerve between my legs. My hands kneaded and squeezed my breasts, my palms running over the soft skin, dragging deliberately over my nipples to compound the pleasure that I felt expanding and spreading outward from my clit. Dipping two fingers inside myself brought out a moan that was a bit louder than I had intended, and I could see the attendant sit back in their chair a bit, reacting with surprise at my audacity. They had not broken eye contact with me, but had also not changed the position of their hands, both of which sat dutifully folded on the surface of the desk in front of them. I wasn’t really sure what to make of this reaction, so I did what any hot-blooded woman would have done in this specific situation, and I kept masturbating in front of a completely cloaked and thoroughly-masked stranger that I had never met before and would almost certainly never see again in my entire life.

I pushed my fingers in deeper, pulling wetness out of me and using it to further stimulate my clit, and impending orgasm growing larger and larger, looming over the surface of my spreading pleasure. Eyes rolling back in my head, I came, standing in that blue circle in front of the changing room attendant, my body exploding with stars and streamers and fiery sparks of forbidden and illicit orgasmic pleasure. I saw the eyes behind that Venitian mask close, slowly, and then open again — I knew an expression of extreme, practiced restraint when I saw one, and the fact that I had caused this person to exert actual effort in their resistance of a physical reaction to my body-rocking orgasm right there in front of them only made me come harder. I was almost afraid that my juices would be dripping down my legs and I’d have to spoil this strange moment by asking for a towel or something.

My body wound itself down, the orgasm subsiding, my trembling and convulsing muscles finally relaxing to a state at which I could more voluntarily control them. I drew my fingers out from inside me and brought them up to my mouth, dipping them in between my lips and pulling them out sensually. I finished this, and then stood for a moment longer, holding the attendant’s steady gaze. There was nothing. So, I picked up my robe and put it on.

At this point, the attendant motioned, palm-up, to the door on the other side of the room, indicating that this was where I was supposed to go, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened whatsoever. I made my way through that heavy door on the other side of the room, doing my best to look like it was a door I had walked through any number of other times before (whatever that might have looked like), and introduced myself to the rest of the evening.

The attendees had almost all been gathered, by then, in the main ballroom. Signs, which were so subtle in their placement and design that they were almost difficult to notice, then led me through a series of marble-floored hallways and vestibules, and into a massive, grand central ballroom, whose painted ceiling seemed like it stood almost a full five stories above our heads. Given that the front of the building was mostly obscured by thick shrubbery and a heavy tree line, it was nearly impossible to tell anything about the size or scale of the building you were walking into, and seeing such a massive enclosed space almost served to deepen the mystery.

There was just no telling how far this all would go.

Almost everyone had thronged into the center of the room, and so I joined them, making my way onto that blood-red carpet and elbowing my way through the thick crowd of similarly-masked-and-robed individuals. At this point, I took notice — half of the people there wore masks streaked with rough and uneven orange chevrons. The other half wore masks — vacant and featureless save for coloring and two eyeholes — that seemed almost violently streaked across with a series of rough, orange lines. They looked almost hand-painted, something sensual and raw about their lack of adherence to solid lines or borders.

Making my way to the front, I finally saw what stood at the center of the room. It looked to be a long table, draped with a soft and velvety cloth colored in exactly the same blood-red as the carpet that surrounded us. Candles surrounded the table, somehow chemically altered to burn in brilliant colors, half of them giving off an eerie and vibrant blue glow, the rest seeming to burn with an almost impossibly neon orange, mimicking the colors on what I had by now figured to be gender-identifying masks, for the sake of what would come later.

I looked around, and noticed that a quiet had settled over the room. Everybody seemed to be waiting for something, and given that I had more or less sneaked my way for the first time into a room that was only supposed to be for people who had actually been in it at least once before, I did my best to act like I was also waiting for that very same thing, while trying to surreptitiously glance around and see if I could maybe follow an eye line to figure out what the fuck everybody was waiting for.

After a moment of what I can only describe as a total silence that seemed entirely too pure for the number of people that were crowded into such a small place, the lights in the room lowered and part of the crowd opposite where I was standing parted, forming an empty column through which three people eventually walked, passing through the crowd and entering the circle that had formed at it center.

One of these individuals wore a mask streaked with blue, like mine. The other was coded orange. The third individual seemed almost impossibly tall, to a degree that I could not quite figure out there in the room. I would have to guess that this person stood well over seven feet, but their features were even more impossible to discern. Their robes were not lined, making it difficult to distinguish where any one part of them ended, and another began. This person’s mask was not streaked with any color, and rather than the standard white, it shone a deep obsidian, shining starkly against the rest of the room and making this individual look almost monolithic as a result.

The three reached the center of the circle, stepping into the ring of bright-burning candles, and the impossibly tall one in the center raised both of their arms, high into the air. Collectively, everyone around me drew in a deep breath, the sound of the crowd all inhaling in perfect unison creating a ghostly vacuum sort of sound that came from literally everywhere around me.

The ceremony was, at this point, about to begin.