“Fetch my mask!” The queen always forced him to wear matching costumes, and this year was no exception.
“Yes, Mistress.” The piercing eyes of the seamstress made him feel uncomfortable as she stared at his ridiculous jester outfit. The Queen could hear him jingling in his jester slippers as he vanished out of her sleeping chamber. He was grateful that she had given him the order.
The mask sat on top of black satin fabric, covered by an allglass shadowbox. The first time he’d laid eyes on it he’d been so impressed. The reddish-black feather, secured in the center with a blood red Russian ruby, gave it a brilliant illusion of royalty. Yet each time he handled the mask, it became opulent.
“What is taking so long, my pet?” scolded The Queen with impatience, tearing him from his thoughts. He unlocked the glass box, gently removed the mask and positioned it in a padded carrying case, not to cause any damage. His Queen was the type of lady who cloaked herself in glamor whenever she was in public. This evening was no different. She was headstrong, confident and never spoke of personal affairs with anyone who wasn’t connected to her world.
The seamstress left her standing on the pedestal to admire herself in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Her eye took in her entire costume; the black corset that wrapped around her midsection that made her ample breasts more so, the short red puffy skirt that hung to her hips, the top trim of her black-fishnet stockings secured to her garter by a gold bow, and her honey auburn hair pinned away from her face. The look gave her the youthful appearance she was seeking for this year’s event. The costume spirited away ten years from her appearance. The harsh calculating look of a middle-aged businesswoman vanished for the evening.
The case rested on his hip. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched as she checked herself out. Her pet beamed with pride. He forgot how beautiful she was when she was vulnerable.
“Yes, Mistress?” Her smiled instantly faded, and he was amazed how her mood changed in an instant. He laid the case at the base of the pedestal. He admired her exposed toes, visible from the red-bow-adorned, black patent leather shoes. He bowed down and made his way from the smallest to the largest of her exposed toes. He took his time sucking and tonguing the large toe on each foot, and the Queen moaned her approval.
“Are you almost ready? Be my good pet and retrieve the rest of the items.” He grabbed her cape off the hook on the wall. On the vanity across the dressing room lay the red heart-shaped riding crop. Retrieving it, he walked swiftly towards her and gently laid it to rest in her arms as if it were a bouquet of flowers.
Ascending to the top of the pedestal, he watched her with heavy lust and affection in his eyes—and groin—as he draped the red cloak over her shoulders. He reached around her from behind and could easily cup her plentiful breasts in his hand and press his pelvis against the back of her skirt. The strings of the cloak tickled her prominent collarbone as he tied them in a loose bow. She shivered as he leaned in close enough to rest his chin on her bare shoulder. He wanted to consume her right there, but he knew if they were late to their own party he would be punished.
He noticed the worry lines around her deep green eyes as she scrutinized his dirty-blond locks. Her high pointed nose told him that he must pull away, even though he was reluctant. He cast an awkward smile over his shoulder, which she returned in kind, before they descended the stairs.
“Did you remember to collect the approved guest paperwork?” She did not gaze his way as they left the room, nor provide him any additional glance of recognition or approval. He demurely replied, “Yes, my Mistress.”
“Stop, tugging!” Quickly, he removed his hand from the thin strings of the gold thong, riding up his butt crack
“Yes, Mistress,” he responded as he picked up the case in one hand before heading down the hallway to the stairs.
It had always been his job to sort the hundreds of applications and to assign rooms for everyone that attended the ball. Not everyone in the underworld would be attending the wildest event of the year. She personally screened hundreds of members based on their STD reports from her personal doctors. She believed strongly in playing safe, and therefore required everyone be screened the day of the event, to ensure guests were as safe as possible.
Sometimes, his job was the worst in the world. But he was paid well for his companionship and secretarial skills. At least he was glad that he wasn’t sitting at the bar on a Saturday night because he couldn’t get a date, drinking in solitude. After all, his date was one of the most prominent women in the underworld, and she was expending an extraordinary amount of time to stay under the radar. He was never the type to brag about her outside of their world. He accepted that she recognized his accomplishments: she only wanted the personal pleasures he provided behind closed doors.
“You’re my favorite pet,” it was as close to a compliment as he’d received outside of the bedroom. “Are the applications properly completed?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he knew that the closer to the appointed time they came the more times she would mention this.
“Superior.” They reached the staircase leading downstairs to the waiting limo. “I want my weekly special on the way,” she ordered, not bothering looking back at him.
“Yes, Mistress,” he uttered. He always felt invisible following in the shadow of a great woman.
“Don’t stop until we get there. Understood?” She approached the waiting limo, and he kept reminding himself that soon enough she would see him for his significance. It was just a matter of time.
An attractive middle-aged man, clean-shaven, dressed in a tuxedo with a matching black shirt and tie, met them at the limo. James came with the title of ex-heavyweight champion. He held the door open with a jovial smile.
The pet entered the limo first and took his place on the cold leather seat. He placed the case next to him on the bar, and laid the folder containing the approved participants next to him. Then he turned on the air conditioning and waited for his Queen to settle into her seat.
“You know where to go, James.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” James closed the door.
The pet knelt in front of his Mistress on his bare knees, and eyed the fishnet stockings that traveled up to her garter belt, and the short ruffles that covered the tulle underneath. He wished he hadn’t turned up the air conditioning, but her comfort was always paramount.
Rolling up the privacy glass that divided them from her driver, she glared at him, “I told you what I wanted. Get busy or there will be no playing for you this evening.”
The Queen’s piercing glare gave rise to anxiety and fear in her pet’s eyes. Her pet’s reaction pleased her so much that she smirked. However, the smirk on her face told him everything. She knew the reason he was desperate to leave her side, as she was both disgusting and awe inspiring. His secret desires consumed him. She kept him fully employed so he didn’t have much time to escape her pleasures and fulfill his desires.
Soon he was jolted back to the moment as the cold hit the back of his head, and the racy intoxication of her lust filled the air. He licked his lips and pressed them against the inside of her knee. Then he flicked the tip of his tongue against her soft skin. He ran his hands along the outsides of her thighs over the fishnet stockings. Just as his mouth and tongue closed in on the flower of her passion, he switched to the other knee, only to repeat his slow climb to her moist pink flower. He felt the lust between her thighs.
“Mmmmm…” She closed her eyes, planting her palms on the groaning leather beneath her. He brought his arms under her ass and pulled the center of her desire to him. He was strong for being almost nothing but pale flesh and bone. He used his strength as he pressed her deeper into the leather seat.
His nose was so close to her folds that her wetness gave off a lusty scent that sweetly stung his sinuses. Extending his tongue as she arched her back for balance, he hit her target and fondled her sweetness. His Queen moaned passionately as his extended tongue wrenched and drove into her as deep and as hard as possible.
His unrestrained lapping warmed her lower extremities. She tingled the way ones foot does during post-sleep numbness. Her body shook, causing the prickling sensation to pang all the way up to her ribcage. The ties around her neck began to slice into her flesh, and she ripped at them with desperate fingers. Resolutely, the cloak rippled off her shoulders and pooled over the tops of her hands.
He restrained her legs as she tried to escape his intensity, forcing her enjoyment. Without warning, her pelvis convulsed against his mouth. In pleasure and without warning, she loosed into his mouth.
Healthy gratification rolled in thick waves over his tongue. He closed his eyes and continued to tongue-fuck her with sardonic twisted pleasure, his chin soaked from the greedy marathon.
He seasoned the aftershocks of her quaking body with a single finger, then another, sending her into a fit of groaned verbal approval. She contracted around his knuckles trying to suck them in deeper. He rewarded her shiny pinkness with a third eager finger. Her pet crammed the instrument of ecstasy deeper inside her, all the while trying her patience with slow twists. She both loved and hated when he toyed with her threshold. She tried to grab at him through the thick material between them while her hips gyrated against him.
He removed his fingers, and pulled away long enough to lick them. Then the tip of his tongue circled her with agonizing precision. He suckled the throbbing bud, parting its two petals with soft caresses.
“Faster my pet,” she panted. “I need it harder!”
He took a deep breath and pounded his face against her. The tip of his nose rubbed her up and down, fueling the pulsations, as he returned to a finger-fucking frenzy. His probing touch found her sensitive wall, and she came apart brick by brick, each falling brick another orgasmic tremor.
“Yes, yes, yes! Don’t stop, don’t stop. That’s it. That’s it. That’s it…oh, fuck!”
His thumb revolved around her. His other four fingers soaked up her satisfaction. He threw her skirts up over her lap so he could watch the weakness in her eyes travel to her wobbling knees, one tremor at a time.
The divider rolled halfway down. “We are entering the grounds, Ma’am.”
She could see James’ ears plugged with headphones as the divider rolled up. She lay still with her eyes closed, and when they finally butterflied open, she was glowing with that rare youthful flush in her stark cheeks. She pulled out a pocket mirror and checked the pins in her up-do.
“You have proven your worth, my beast trinket. Now, put on your mask,” she demanded, as she twisted around her finger a few strands of hair which had fallen from her up-do.
“Thank you, Mistress!” He nuzzled her wrist, pleased by the endearment, though finding it ironic and not for the first time. Normal people prized their pets above their cheap treasures, but not his Mistress. She valued him as a tool, an object, used as she saw fit. The notion used to make him proud, but he wasn’t the same scrawny boy she’d first taken under her wing. Soon, he’d show her just how big a man he was becoming.
Thirty limousines were parked in two rows on either side of the wide circular drive. James drove between them, parking at the front.
Each chauffeur stood by their respective steed, anxious to greet the Queen. They each wore a tuxedo, men in all-black with matching shirt and tie and the women wearing all-white, and had their hands clasped behind their backs and their heads bent. They were ready for the majestic arrival of the Queen.
The light-brown limestone mansion, the biggest in all of Atlanta, loomed over them from behind. This was the Queen’s most favored and most used retreat. It showcased her most regal and grand events. From a C-shaped porch, wrapping around the front and partway on each side of the house, the front of the mansion provided access to the fenced-in gardens at the front, and most sides of the mansion. The porch also led to the backyard, which housed both the indoor and outdoor pool areas.
Two tall, circular conservatory towers were separated by an even taller circular observatory. This structure was the heart of the mansion. The rooms at the tower peaks were the Queen’s favorites. The shades were shut tight, and the high sun reflected brilliantly off the metal, beaming blinding rays of light in all directions.
The day was past its peak, and soon the heavens would begin to close their eyes. The early July heat and humidity still lingered, causing the castle-like walls to shimmer as if the mansion were too colossal to be anything but a wonderful mirage.
Before she exited the limo with the help of James’ hand, the Queen re-cloaked herself and put up her hood. She didn’t bother with her mask. Her servants had been under her care for a long time, and they knew she valued their trust. She paid them well for the burden of her unmasked face. Some had been silly enough to threaten exposing her in the past, but they were nothing she couldn’t handle. It was easy to silence one’s adversaries with the right connections, and she had many.
“Good evening!” she called as she came to stand at the bumper of her own limo.
“Good evening, Miss,” they answered in unison; their voices rang across the courtyard like a Sunday afternoon choir.
The Queen clapped her hands together around her red heart shaped riding crop, pleased with their synchronicity. “My pet!” she barked as she slapped the riding crop into one hand. “Pass out assignments.”
The pet, wearing his red and gold mask with bells at the end of each tip, stumbled out of the limo with an armful of manila folders. He was determined not to embarrass himself after pleasing his Mistress during the ride. He handed two folders to the Queen before zigzagging down the line of chauffeur drivers, handing each of them their assigned folder.
“Marline?” The Queen used the end of the riding crop to point out the dark skinned, middle-aged woman at the front of the line. She had a Halle Berry bob and a confused look on her face. She approached the Queen with tentative strides, her hands behind her back. She bowed and kissed the red ruby on the Queen’s extended middle finger. The Queen offered her a gracious smile as she straightened, along with a folder.
“Your assignment is of utmost importance. You must not be late in delivering him or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” She gave the Queen a vigorous nod, excitement in her eyes.
“Read the arrival directions with care. He is to be taken to the north entrance. Do you understand your requirements?”
“Yes, my Mistress.” Marline bowed again, fingering the corners of the papers between the folder’s flaps. “I am most humble in my honor to serve you.” She went back to her place and hugged her assignment against her chest after a wave of the Queen’s hand. No doubt, Marline would erupt with an ecstatic squeal the moment she was in her car alone.
“James?” The Queen looked around bewildered. He had disappeared.
“Yes, Ma’am?” he replied as he climbed out of the limo behind her and appeared at her elbow.
She started, a small smirk growing on her lips. She couldn’t blame him for wanting a head start sanitizing.
“Perhaps the most important job of the evening is your assignment.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Failure is not an option.” She handed James the folder.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded, still grinning. It was his custom to always be cheery, and sometimes the Queen had trouble deciphering whether he was being a smart-ass or not.
“The occupant at the address will direct you to a second location. You will not be familiar with the house but you will recognize its owner. Don’t be late, and do not let on that you are aware of her identity.” She raised her eyebrows, willing him to see between the lines without further explanation.
“Yes, Ma’am.” His delighted, sideways grin gave nothing away but his intrigue.
“James, she is fragile,” the Queen urged with a sigh. “It’s her first without Him.” The Queen’s stern expression was adamant that he be serious with her for a moment. He was her longest running and most treasured driver, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t expendable.
“I understand, Ma’am,” he assured her, biting off his smile as he scrutinized the notes on the last page of his packet. His winter blue eyes still sparkled as the mystery guest’s identity dawned on him at last. “I will treat her with the utmost respect, Ma’am.”
She dismissed him with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, confident that the wily gentleman did understand the importance of what he was meant to do. He winked at her as he reentered the limo to finish the cleaning.
The Queen smiled and addressed everyone at once. “I trust that you will all do your jobs with precision, and that this evening will go smooth, as planned. Drive safe, all of you!” She slapped her red heart crop in her hand. All of the chauffeurs got in their cars with simultaneous door slams. James would be the only one who stayed behind, and only for a few more moments.
The limos veered around James and his limo as if it were a rock in the middle of a river, and merged into a single line when they were past.
The Queen walked up the path that cut through the gardens, the jester following closely like a bitch in heat.
The Queen and her jester walked towards the castle and saw the crew scurrying about like ants, adding the final touches for the evening. Soon the sun would vanish in darkness and leave the flickering flames of lighted candles to guide the guests to what awaited them inside the mansion.
When they reached the solid mahogany doors, the Queen waited for her pet to push one side open. She bustled in before him, and Roman twins, complete in white togas, golden laurels and full-faced golden masks greeted her. They were standing back to back on a spinning platform in the middle of the room, and their singular job was to strike their gongs each time the doors opened. The sound reverberated through the entire mansion and whenever she heard the sound it would alert her a new group of guests had arrived, including her most special guests.
As the Queen entered the main foyer, a musician stopped playing the baby grand piano in front of the grand stairway. The pianist had dark, red-violet hair swept up on top of her head in a high, messy bun, which clashed with the all-white tuxedo. A red mask sat on the keys to her right.
“Yes, M’lady?” she said as she stood up with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.
“Continue,” pronounced the Queen. The pianist took her seat and hit the button to the massive surround sound system, allowing the soft melody to fill the entire foyer.
There was a carved and lacquered wooden sign between the two archways with directions to the most popular rooms. Of course, it didn’t matter too much since the substantial space wrapped around the towers in a square, making it rather difficult to get lost.
The Queen headed through the archway to her right, towards the billiards and parlor room. The white-gray walls of the hallway were bright, despite the fact that there were only a few sconces softly lighting the way. There were vines etched into the crown molding, a testament to the fine sculptor who’d left them there so many years ago. Little gray river patterns ran through the black marble floor.
“Can’t you walk more efficiently?” she snapped as she stopped in front of the door to the men’s bathroom and locker rooms.
“Yes, Mistress.” He did not like this year’s outfit as it was, but now he had to remove his jingling slippers.
The Queen sighed and pressed her fingers around the bridge of her nose. “I’m trusting you to do the bathroom checks for me, then go through the grand ballroom and place my mask at the throne. Before you head to the elevators, get a jumpstart on the bedrooms for me. If you see anything out of place along the way, fix it!”
“Yes, Mistress,” he sighed, ducking into the door next to her. She rolled her eyes at his attitude and hurried onwards. There wasn’t time to dilly-dally.
The first room she entered was the minor ballroom. It was decorated much like its big sister—tiled dark floors with a pale, gray-blue laurel wreath patterned into the center and illuminated by a flaming chandelier, hung from above.
Other than her and the bartender, who was sitting in the corner behind the ornate bar reading a magazine, the room was deserted. Despite its small size, this minor ballroom was sometimes the most popular dance floor. The Queen deigned to hold audiences in the grand ballroom. The guests in the minor ballroom were secure from her scrutinizing eyes. Not all of the guests were out to impress her, and that was okay. The minor ballroom was a sanctuary where she saw nothing and everything at the same time.
The Queen approached the bartender, raising her hood as she neared, and hoped her face was cloaked in adequate shadow. His jacket was spread on the stool beneath him and his mask was lying on the counter behind. The rest of his workspace was in pristine condition. Still, he was either stupid or had a lack of respect for authority.
“You’re new,” she observed, gauging the lines of his young face.
He jumped forward off the stool, knocking his jacket on the floor. He accidentally dropped his Playboy, though it landed on top of the jacket in a smooth enough fashion. It made the action look purposeful. “Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Your Grace.” He clasped his fingers at his lower back and puffed out his chest, trying to appear important, even with bent head.
“Where is Dimitri?” the Queen inquired as she tapped her crop against the palm of her hand in a slow and menacing rhythm.
“I don’t know, my Lady.” He kept trying to look up at her, as if desperate to see her face.
She readjusted her hood, wishing she had put her mask on. She didn’t like the idea of anyone she didn’t trust being privy to this location, or to her true identity. Tonight she was wearing heavy makeup with contacts, and she always wore her hair down in public unlike tonight’s up-do. She hoped this made her at least a little harder to identify. Most of her own employees weren’t even aware of her appearance, given the fact that she liked to remain anonymous even in business dealings. She didn’t trust anyone.
The bartender was shaking from his solid black fedora to his snazzy black dress shoes. She smiled, enjoying the twitch in his eye and the way his fingers couldn’t remain locked behind him, wet with nervous sweat. He was a fine-looking young man with irises that sparkled like bright green glitter against his dark skin.
She couldn’t tell if he was Spanish, Indian, or Arabian… or something else altogether. It just didn’t matter because she preferred to judge people by their character and not by the color of their skin.
This boy tried to stand like a tough guy, even though his job was to be nothing but subservient and obedient. She decided his character was in need of some editing, and she had half a mind to appoint herself said editor. She glanced at the suspenders over his stark white button-up. She recalled suspenders were useful for a lot of things, least of all holding up pants. However, to her disgust the button-up was not buttoned up to the collar.
“What’s your name?” she demanded, crossing her arms so that she could tap the riding crop against her hip instead of her palm.
“Um”, he gulped.
“I don’t have time for indecision or dishonesty,” snapped the Queen.
“Darwin.” He bowed low, one hand on his stomach and the other swinging out wide, as if to apologize for his delay and reiterate how much he thought of himself. He was becoming more and more unsavory to the Queen’s taste.
“How old are you?” she persisted.
“Twenty-two, your Honor.” His bearded face was trimmed with precision and clear of any young adult blemishes as far as she could tell. He smiled with an arrogant twist in his mouth that drove the Queen crazy with the longing to straighten it out. He took off his hat and adjusted the strands of hair that had fallen out of his loose ponytail. He flipped the fedora onto his head with a wink.
She didn’t like the ease with which he fell into banter with her, but she was curious to know how he found himself tending bar at her party. She was very strict on who she invited to work these parties. She stuck with a set group of people and used established alternatives. He was not on any of her lists.
“Who told you to be here?” This question seared from the tip of her tongue.
“Who authorized that request?”
“You’ll have to ask him, Your Highness.” Darwin bit his lip, as if trying to hide his amusement.
The queen pursed her lips. “I am not amused by your presence here.”
“What can I do to prove that I am worthy of this position?”
“Do you see that menu behind you on the board? Pick three drinks from there and make them without reference!”
He turned around, studying the list carefully before picking the drinks that he found amusing: three, six, and nine. Showing off his skills, he mixed and flipped them one by one in the air with precision, not spilling a single drop.
“Now, tell me what you have done,” she ordered, eying the glasses in front of her.
“It’s simple. I have made you a Screaming Orgasm, a Dirty Mother and a Royal Fuck, Your Majesty, which I thought were fitting for you this evening,” he offered the drinks while giving her another cocky smirk.
“Why not make the Three-Legged Monkey, Red Balls or even a Golden Shower? Since that is what you are going to see this evening!”