by Kira Blakely
“But, Dad! I don’t want to work at a fucking video store. What’s the point? We have loads of cash. It’s not like I need the income,” Jake replies, ever the wise ass.
“We? Jake, we don’t have money. I have money, and you have been wasting it ever since you started at Columbia. You failed two courses last year. This is not a discussion; this is a command. Start working at the store and earn the money for your tuition.”
“This is bullshit,” Jake grumbles. “I don’t want to –”
“Earn it or drop out,” I say.
That puts an end to his complaints. I love my kid like there’s no tomorrow, but he’s driven me mad lately. He’s always complaining, taking shit for granted, even though I busted my ass working to create a future for him.
The life of a single parent isn’t easy.
“And, Jake, I don’t want to hear about any problems from the owner of that store. One issue and you’re out of college, got it?”
“Yes,” he mutters. He knows better than to go against one of my directives.
My tone softens at last. “You don’t have to like it. Just do it. This will be good for you. Teach you a thing or two about work and responsibility.” I say a quick goodbye, then hang up and place my iPhone on the desk.
I lean against it, roll up my sleeves, and study the front of the golden envelope, embossed with my name. I don’t bother opening it, because I already know what it’s going to say.
It’s time for another weekend on Mystique Island, the perfect break from work, work, and more work.
I never mix business with pleasure, and attending these parties is the only way I relax, whether it’s on the beach or beneath the hands of a gorgeous woman.
But there’s a catch this weekend, and an interesting one. I’ll have to wear a mask, and so will the women. It intrigues me – I originally figured I’d skip this and spend the weekend working, but everything’s fine at the office, and god knows, I need a break for once.
I slip my finger beneath the lip of the envelope, open it with a soft tick. I slip the sheet out from within and study it.
Should I go? Should I stay?
I weigh the golden envelope in one hand and the paper in the other. The masks will spice things up a bit.
I lean over and press the intercom button on my desk phone. “Janet? Clear my appointments for the weekend. I’m going dark.”
Chapter 3
Heather
I step onto the white sands of the Caribbean beach and lose my breath. It’s exactly like a postcard, just as I’d imagine it – soft, silky sand beneath my bare feet, the gentle kiss of a breeze on my skin, and palm trees lined up against a wooden deck ahead.
A woman in a form-fitting pantsuit beckons to us, her red hair done up in a bun. Becky and I, and several other women, shuffle toward her, all giggling or talking amongst ourselves, dressed in our travel gear.
A first-class flight, a boat ride on turquoise waves, and now this – every minute has been worth it so far.
“Welcome, ladies, I trust your initiation on the boat wasn’t uncomfortable,” the admin lady says.
We all nod and smile at her because Mystique smacks of… well, of mystery, and we’re here. Nerves burble in the bottom of my belly, but they’re the happy kind.
“You’ll all be escorted to your villas, immediately, where you’ll change into the dress provided and attend your first evening party,” the admin lady continues. “Please, remember that masks must be worn at all times, even during intercourse.” She’s so matter of fact about it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world – sex will happen. “This is a safe space. If you ever feel uncomfortable, just raise your hand and you will be escorted back to your villa. That’s all.”
She claps her hands and men appear out of nowhere, dressed in white shirts and beige slacks. One of them steps in front of me wearing a smile that parts his lips over teeth as white as his button down.
“Hello, Miss Henderson,” he says. “Please, follow me to your villa.” He offers me an arm and I take it. I’m swept off through paradise, past buildings and palm trees, over sand and finally, onto a boarded walkway, over grass, past a trickling stream that leads to a pond between two villas.
He drops me off in front of the villa, a thatched roof construction with a single door and floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’ll pick you up here in five minutes, ma’am,” he says.
I hesitate, then slip inside. My bags have already been placed next to a double bed, which is decorated with rose petals and a single slinky black dress. It’s cut low in the front, set to expose so much cleavage I might as well walk into the party naked.
“What the hell,” I whisper. “Let’s do this.” I never step out of my shell and it’s past time I give it a shot.
I change quickly, check my reflection in the standing mirror beside the entrance to the bathroom, and flick my hair. I do a quick touch up on my makeup, then let out a low whistle.
I’m not usually dressed like this.
The girl in the mirror doesn’t look like me, or at least, not the ‘me’ I’m used to. Her long, tan legs scoop up into an ass that looks like twin bubbles beneath this cloying fabric, and her narrow midriff curve is accentuated by the dress. Her breasts gleam with a sheen of island sweat, peeking out from beneath the thin, silky neckline.
I square my shoulders and bury my nerves, but they pop up right away. I slip on the glittering mask, which leaves only my lips and eyes exposed, then walk to the exit and open the door.
The helper dude smiles encouragement and offers his arm again but doesn’t comment on my appearance. It kinda makes me feel good. Like I’ll fit in or like it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He gives me a quizzical look. “To the party, Miss Henderson.” He leads me down the long, wooden path, and the low hum of laughter and talk drifts on the air, alongside a rhythmic beat of music.
The sun is an orange orb, dipping toward the horizon and long shadows chase across the grass. We head down toward the beach again, and step onto the sand. I’m still barefoot, but I’m not the only one.
My assistant steps back and out of view, leaving me to mingle with the guests.
And there are so many guests.
Men in jeans and shirts or suits, all wearing masks in differing colors. Women in dresses similar to mine, with their own glittering masks. Waiters swerve between them in uniforms, carrying trays of drinks and bite-sized appetizers.
The music echoes down the beach, complemented by the gentle wash of waves on the sand. I grasp a wicker chair from a row nearby and ease myself into it, accept a flute of champagne from one of the waiters – also masked.
Mystery is in the air, and something else, too. It’s in the glances of the women, some of whom saunter over to the masked men, swaying their hips. It’s in the gentle caresses doled out by the men, sweeping fingers down backs, or resting them on necks or faces.
I swallow panic. Where the hell is Becky?
I glug back some of the alcohol and search for her in the crowd but I can’t tell who is who. The back of my neck prickles, I spin around, and meet the crystal blue gaze of a man nearby. He leans casually against the bar, and his gaze sweeps up and down my body, dancing over it.
My insides tighten and I jerk upright.
He tilts his head to one side, raises a finger, beckons.
I can’t shake my head. I can’t do anything but stare at him.
He’s taller than most of the men at the party, and he fills out his shirt. His biceps tug at his sleeves, his thighs are encased in a pair of beige slacks, and I force myself not to focus on his bulge.
He tugs fingers through wavy brown hair, which looks soft as silk by the light of the flickering torches pegged in the sand, and he won’t quit watching me.
Another tightening inside my body, but this is different. It’s hot and tingly, and oh, god, I actually want to go over to him. Am I crazy? I came all the way out here, but now
… it’s so out there, so in my face, and I’m struggling to catch up.
A moan breaks the moment, and I look over at the source.
Two steps from me, a couple are wrapped around each other. The masked man holds one of the woman’s legs up, exposing her pussy to the warm dusk breeze. He runs two fingers between her lips, and she moans again.
I’m frozen. My heart races, my body responds – nipples pucker, tingling deep within my core. Oh, god, why is this so hot? It’s so hot!
The masked man inserts two fingers inside his partner and she slaps her hands down on his shoulders, clings to him, and lets out a feral growl this time.
Heat creeps up my neck, accompanied by the acute awareness that masked blue-eyes watches me, still.
The couple topple to the sand. He rips down the slope of her neckline and suckles on her right breast, still working his fingers deep inside her. His dick is already out, glistening with pre-cum. She fumbles for it, grasps it between her thighs, and starts stroking his shaft. The man’s breath hitches.
It’s all too much for me. Wetness drips between my thighs. I feel the need to stay and watch, even though it’s not like anything I’ve witnessed before. What if someone grabs me just like he grabbed her? Am I about to have public sex with a stranger for my first time?
I hesitate, spare one glance for the masked man by the bar, and then I run for the palm trees, away from the noises of sex and toward the crash of waves.
Chapter 4
Nicholas
She’s running. The young blonde who caught my eye runs from the visions of sex and satisfaction, toward the line of palms. It has to be her first time here.
I follow.
I’ve never seen something I’ve wanted and not gone for it. I want her. I want her body against mine, her pussy tightening on my cock as I pulse inside her. Raw, skin on skin. I want it and I’m going to get it.
I stride across the sand, drawn on by her temerity. She seems innocent, the wide-eyed look, the flush which crept up her neck at the moans. Fucking perfection. I’ll make her groan and writhe just like that.
I catch up to her beneath the palms. She leans against one of them, her head tilted back to expose an expanse of succulent neck, her eyes closed. One hand is between her legs, pressed against the fabric of her teeny tiny dress.
“It’s only worse if you run,” I say.
She gasps and opens her eyes, snaps her arms to her sides. “W-what?”
“Delayed gratification. It made you hot, seeing them like that,” I say. “Why run?”
“I – It’s my first time,” she says. Her voice is smooth and sweet, almost musical, but not too high-pitched. A fine wine.
“I’ll show you around,” I say, and gesture to the picnic spot up ahead. Blankets have already been laid out on the sand, between the torches, next to baskets. None of the partygoers have moved over to them yet. They’re all high on the arrival.
“No, I mean –” She sucks in a breath and chews on one full bottom lip. “It’s my first time ever… having sex. I’m a virgin.”
My cock stiffens, immediately, desperate to be free and claim her. “That’s good,” I say, and take a single step closer. “You want to lose it.” That has to be why she’s here.
“Yes,” she says.
I don’t ask why. It’s not important, right now, only that she wants this. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly, she breathes hard and glances down at the front of my pants. She presses her lips together.
“You don’t mind?” she asks, softly. “That I’m a – that it’s my first time?”
I close the distance between us in two strides and press my body against hers, my crotch into her abdomen. “Does it feel like I mind?” I capture her dainty wrists in my fingers, encircle them and pin them above her head. I grind into her, real slow, and her eyelids flutter.
“Oh – my,” she whispers.
“I’ll take it for you,” I say.
Her lips part, she nods ever so slightly, and I release her from the tree, and lead her back to the beach where the blankets wait. I slip her dress off her shoulders and expose perky tits, tan lines from a bikini cutting across her skin, pale triangles around pink nipples, and her pussy, hairless.
The gentle thrum of music and the ocean itself provide the perfect backdrop.
I take her hand and place it on my dick, still trapped by my pants.
She gasps. “It’s big. It’s too –”
I unzip the pants for her, draw out my length and place her hand on it. It’s big, all right, thick and hungry for her, already wet from the anticipation of claiming her first time, claiming her virginity as mine.
She strokes my shaft, runs fingers over my head. I take her hand again, this time to guide her down onto the blanket. She lies back, brown eyes wide, her lips parted. I can’t see the rest of her face, but I can tell this rocks her world, her very existence.
“I –” she stammers and looks down at her body, her tits bouncing slightly, so full and begging to be touched, to be sucked and licked.
“I’ll go slow,” I say, and lie down on top of her. Christ, it’s been so fucking long since I’ve had a woman, especially one who’s this gorgeous, untouched, and smells of ocean, champagne, and light, floral perfume.
I’m already throbbing for her, fucking aching to be inside her and feel the velvet warmth of her walls, the tight wetness.
I brace myself on my elbows, then reach between us and slide my fingers between her pussy lips. She’s swollen and dripping, so wet she’s already dripped all over her thighs. We haven’t even kissed yet and she’s this ready for me.
She trembles.
I stroke her clitoris, a gentle flick made slippery with her own juices.
She throws her arms around my neck and cries out.
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m going to make you come.” I kiss her cheek open mouthed, and trail a line of hot kisses to her ear lobe, then suck it. “I’m going to make you come so hard, you won’t remember yourself,” I whisper, and circle her clit. “You’re mine now.”
She digs her nails into my shirt, and I like it that way. She’s naked, and I’ve got my shirt and pants on, just my dick out, seeking her.
I place it at her slick yet tiny entrance and guide it slowly.
She tenses and I move away from her ear, back to her lips. “Slow,” I promise, then part her lips with mine and taste her mouth. “Slow. Say you want it. I want to hear you say it.”
“I want it,” she whispers. “I’m yours. Take me.”
Chapter 5
Heather
“Take it,” I say again, and cling to him.
The distant groans of the sex party down the beach rise and fall, some lost beneath the thump of music, others rising to greet us. God, I’ve never wanted anything as much in my life. But I’m scared.
The nerves have redoubled, but the need for him is stronger. My skin prickles, goosebumps rise, and I anticipate the pain.
He enters me bit by bit, slow as he promised. He sheathes himself inside me – a sharp pang of pain, followed by the pleasure, radiating alongside it.
I bite down on my lip and keep from crying out. It’s hot and sore and so good, nothing like I expected. As the waves crash on the sand, pleasure rolls over me.
The masked man with piercing blue eyes, now slightly glazed, halts his thrust and waits. He studies my face with care, gauges my reaction.
He’s worried he’s hurting you.
I swallow. “I’m fine,” I manage, because the need chokes me up.
He doesn’t hesitate, moves inside me, filling me up and gliding. His shirt scrapes against my bare chest, and tickles me. I squirm and wrap my legs around him instinctively.
I’m in shock, caught between breaths and pulse racing. This is happening. It’s actually happening.
He strokes my hair, then tugs on it lightly, and thrusts a little harder.
I cry out and tighten my grip on him, kiss him again, probe his mouth, tasting, needing more,
more, more. His tongue tastes of champagne and I inhale him, reveling in the smell, the taste, the brush of his tongue against mine.
“More,” I groan. “Faster.” It springs from my lips. “I’m ready.”
He increases the pressure, braces his knees and drives into me, deeper than before, stretching me, increasing both pain and pleasure with those strong thrusts, his dick claiming the soft, warm core no one has taken before.
“Mine,” he grunts, and thrusts deep again, spearing me with ecstasy, his pubic hair grazing my clit and taking me higher still. He halts and I blink – it can’t possibly be over, can it?
He presses a finger to my lips, just below my mask. “You’re mine.”
“Uh huh,” I say.
“I mean it. You don’t touch anyone else this weekend. You’re mine,” he repeats. “My forbidden vixen.”
“Okay,” I say, and tighten around him. This talk builds that pressure inside me, feeding a furnace.
“Say you’re mine.” His dick is the center point of my existence right now, and it’s so hard. He can take the pleasure away or bring more, and I want all of it. I want everything he has to offer. He cups my cheek in his hand, then strokes my bottom lip.
He bends down, sucks on it and pulls, then pounds into me again.
“Oh, god, I’m yours. I’m yours, Daddy.” Shit, what? Did I just call him –?
“Daddy,” he growls, “I like that. You’ll call me that from now on. I’m Daddy, and you’re my vixen.”
I writhe beneath him and reach for the buttons of his shirt. I tear at them, but my fingers shake too much to get them open. He uses one hand and rips the shirt open – buttons ping off into the sand.
His chest is an expanse of muscle, knotted and slick with sweat. Beads trace down his pecs and drip onto my breasts. I grab them and massage – I want to feel good, I want to feel everything.
Daddy watches me from behind the mask, his eyes glinting by the torchlight. All I have to go on are his lips, not too thin, not too full, now parted, his tongue resting between his teeth, and those eyes. He devours me with them and moves inside me again.
