“That’s right,” Keri said. “You can’t work all the time. You need to take breaks to rest and recuperate, or you lose your efficiency. Thanks for the reminder, Julian.”
She clicked off the television and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. Belting her coat securely, she took a deep breath then left her apartment.
* * * * *
Keri accepted the claim check for her coat, sliding it into her halter-top. She felt the coat check attendant’s eyes following her motion, his gaze riveted on the glittering silver disks just visible beneath the folds of blue gauze.
A proper slave, she undulated, shifting her breasts to “make certain the ticket wouldn’t fall out.” Her disks flashed and he sucked in a quick breath.
“Careful, ma’am. You don’t want to come out of your costume.”
She laughed breathily. “Yes I do. But not until after the party’s over.”
His gulp was clearly audible as she turned in a flurry of gauze and headed into the main hall. Swirling colors and fantastic shapes surrounded her. Many of the guests had chosen to wear traditional masquerade costumes that could be used for any opera’s masquerade scenes. Headdresses in the shape of animals abounded. She spotted two horses, a swan, a peacock, and a glorious red and orange bird that was either a phoenix or a firebird. Other guests wore opulent robes, the diplomatic costumes for imaginary imperial courts, or military costumes full of glitter and brocade that had never been worn in any army. While most of the guests wore more than Keri, some wore less. A tall, toned woman carrying a rubber spear was strikingly dressed in an extremely revealing Amazon costume.
A tuxedoed waiter swept by with a silver tray containing three crystal champagne flutes. “Champagne, ma’am?” he offered.
“Yes, thank you.” She took one of the flutes and sipped the sparkling vintage. It was deep and mellow with just a touch of sweetness, not the overly tart drink familiar to countless wedding attendees.
Turning in place, she allowed her gaze to sweep the party, searching for the first man to whom she would display her wares. A young officer dressed in blue and red stood near the wall, tripping himself on his cavalry sword whenever he moved. Keri smiled brilliantly and sashayed over to him.
“Greetings, sir,” she purred, pulling back her shoulders to thrust her breasts at him. She swayed lightly from side to side, causing the chain links of her modesty panels to clink and rattle. The man’s eyes widened as his gaze dropped first to her breasts, then to her crotch. He inhaled sharply.
“Good evening.” He licked his lips, visibly struggling for composure. “I’m Don José, the soldier from Carmen. Who are you?”
“I am Adina, the slave girl.” She winked conspiratorially. “I appear in many operas. I’m a very popular character.”
“Yes, I can see why.” He flushed, then blurted out, “So, are you having fun at the party?”
Keri hesitated a fraction of a second, then decided to stay in character. That was the whole point of dressing as a slave.
“Not as much fun as I could have,” she answered.
The conversation stuttered through a few more awkward exchanges, but it was quickly clear to Keri that the young soldier would have no idea what to do with a slave, unlike the real Don José, who had known exactly what to do with Carmen. She needed to move on to her next prospect.
“It was lovely to meet you,” she said. “I’ll look you up if I’m ever in Carmen. But I’m on a mission from my Master, and must leave now.”
Her next prospect was an older man in a gold- and jewel-encrusted purple turban, swathed in layers of purple, blue, and green robes. No sooner had Keri begun speaking to him than a woman wearing a matching outfit in shades of pink, red, and violet, appeared at the man’s side, possessively laying her left hand on his shoulder. Keri couldn’t miss the flash of light on the 3-carat diamond.
She dipped a curtsey to the woman, smiled at the man, and turned to find another prospect in the milling crowd.
Four prospects later, she was beginning to tire of the game. The teasing brushes of the crotch chain were making it difficult to concentrate, and she longed to find someone who would know how to treat a slave properly. But so far, none had been willing to play the role of her Master.
She smiled brilliantly at the man before her, laced into the skintight breeches and cutaway coat of a Victorian lord, and introduced herself again.
“Sir Edgar, from Lucia of Livermoor,” he responded.
Keri nodded, and dipped a slight curtsey, flushing as the crotch chain stroked her. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“So I see.” He chuckled. “But that’s nothing to the pleasure of getting to know me better.”
“My lord?” She held her breath, hoping.
“Nothing’s happening at this party. Why don’t we slip away, and you can show me your dance of the seven veils in private.”
She hesitated. It was all just pretend. But how far should she go in character?
“Come on,” he urged, speaking to her chest instead of her face. “Once I’m out of this frog suit, I can show you a few moves of my own.”
She was sure he could. But his eagerness to get her alone and out of her costume did not excite her. She felt vaguely panicked, and quickly reassured herself that there were plenty of people around to prevent him from getting violent when she refused.
“I’ve been ordered by my Master to stay at the party, and that is what I must do,” she said, backing up half a step.
“Your Master, huh? How’d you like a new Master, genie? Let me rub your bottle, and you’ll be happy to serve me.”
Keri inched back another half step, bumping into someone who’d come up behind her. She spun around, half afraid that Sir Edgar had a partner who had moved to block her retreat.
The man facing her was tall, made even taller by a radiant sun mask of gold-colored metal, covering his entire head except for a cutaway block at the bottom exposing his mouth and chin. He’d coated the visible part of his face and throat with shimmering gold body paint, even his lips, so that he seemed made entirely of metal.
He put out his arm to steady her, parting his orange and gold robes and revealing a yellow silk shirt and pants that clung lovingly to his body. Keri’s mouth went dry at the sheer masculine appeal of him.
His hand, even encased in a gilded leather glove, burned like the sun of his costume where it rested against her arm. She glanced up at his eyes, hidden behind slits in the mask, and mouthed, “Play along. Please.”
She curled her fingers around the silk-clad iron of his biceps, and turned to look back at Sir Edgar. “I already have a Master who pleases me.”
Edgar glanced up and down the length of the sun god, measuring him, then snorted in disgust. “Tell your girlfriend not to be such a tease.”
He turned and stalked into the crowd, aiming for one of the circulating waiters and another glass of champagne.
Keri smiled up at her savior and reluctantly released his arm. “Thanks. I’m Adina, the slave girl.”
The sun god’s golden lips twisted in a wry smile, and he lifted his hand to brush her cheek with the warm leather of his gloved finger. “I don’t recall any operas where the slave wears a mask.”
His voice was deep and resonant, with a hint of an accent in his vowels and the cadence of his words. Something melodic. Possibly French, or Spanish, or Gaelic.
Keri couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, like a flower seeking the sunlight.
She felt his warmth along the length of her body, and knew he’d stepped closer. His thumb gently stroked her cheek, then traced the shape of her lips. Her lips opened on a soft sigh.
His other hand brushed her hip, his fingertips caressing her side and back as he followed the line of the waist chain. He ran his index finger down the length of her spine, dipping below the edge of the chain. Then he hooked his finger in the ring and tugged, pulling the crotch chain up between her legs.
She gasped, he
r eyes flying wide open. “What are you—?”
He released and tightened his hold on the ring, tapping her clit and labia with the chain. Her words dissolved into a moan. “Would you like to dance?”
She blinked, fighting her way out of the sensual haze he’d surrounded her in. “What?”
“In case it’s slipped your notice, we’re at a very public party. Dancing is the only socially acceptable reason for me to put my arms around you.” He gave another light tug on her chain. “And I very much want to have my arms around you.”
“Me too.”
He guided her to the wooden floor tiles laid down over the marble to make a dance floor. A string quartet in the corner played a graceful waltz, drowning out the babble of conversation from the rest of the milling and mingling guests.
He clasped her hand in a warm grip, and rested his other hand at the small of her back, where he could toy with her chain at his leisure. Gently, he pressed her body forward, until their hips brushed. She could feel the tip of his erection, hard and hot beneath the thin silk of his pants, brush her stomach, but the chain mesh of her modesty panel shielded her from his more intimate touch. Her free hand clutched his shoulder, bunching the silken layers of his cloak in her fingers as she tried to find a stable point of reference. Her senses were whirling out of control, and she feared she would collapse unless she hung on tightly.
Slowly, they began to move, swaying in time with the music. Pressed against him, she found her feet echoing his movements, circling the dance floor in a flawless box step.
A wave of heat washed over her cheeks, and she knew she must be blushing furiously. She ignored it. “I already told you, I’m Adina, the slave girl. Who are you?”
“I’m the sun god, Apollo. A Mozart creation, for either a lavishly costumed Apollo and Hyacinth, or from the masquerade in Cosi Fan Tuite.”
“You put quite a lot of thought into your costume.”
“I put quite a lot of thought into everything I do.”
“I’ll bet. Your costume suits you.”
“As does yours.” His golden head bent closer, although he was careful to avoid hitting her with any of the wavy rays extending from the mask. “I’ve been watching you since you entered the party,” he confessed.
“Really?” The thought sent a warm glow through her, that this godlike being had sought her out.
“Yes. But I was trying to figure out who your Master was. I hadn’t realized you were unattached, or I’d have approached you much sooner.”
“Why?” Her conversational skills were not at their best right now, since all she could think about was the man pressed against her, the heat of his body, the caress of his gloved hands, and the pulsing need flaring to life beneath his skilled touch.
“It’s bad form for one Master to approach another Master’s slave without permission.”
That got through, startling her so that her dance steps faltered. She quickly recovered, once again matching her movements to his.
“You’re a Master? A real one?”
“Yes. Aren’t you a real slave?”
“No. I never…that is, I’d like to, but I didn’t know how.”
“It’s easy. All you have to do is follow your Master’s every instruction, and let him guide you to fulfilling your sensual potential.”
“I could do that. If you were the Master.”
“It just so happens, I’m in the market for a new slave.”
“What happened to your old one? If you don’t mind my asking.” Keri blurted the apology out, realizing that her question could be considered prying, and not knowing what was allowed within the context of a Master/slave relationship.
“You must never fear asking a question,” her new Master told her. “I may answer or not, as I wish, but I will never chastise you for asking.”
He tugged rapidly on her chain, stroking her deeply with the crotch chain and rubbing it back and forth across her clit. Keri closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. She wanted more, much more.
“You were right to ask my permission, though. A good slave always asks her Master for permission. And you see how good slaves are rewarded.”
“Oh, yes, Master. I do. I want to be a very good slave.”
“Then take your hand off my shoulder and slide it beneath my cloak. Let me feel your fingers caressing my back.”
“As you will it, Master.” Keri followed his orders, smoothing her palm over the silk, warmed from his body heat, that encased his muscled back. Her fingers played up and down his spine in long strokes, then feathered out over his shoulder blades.
“Nice,” he whispered, pulling her chain in time to her leisurely caresses. “Very nice.”
She lost all awareness of the string quartet, and of the other dancers surrounding them. Her world narrowed to the man before her, the heat of his body blazing forth, his muscled back bunching and relaxing beneath her touch, and the teasing chain stroking her labia and brushing her clit. And still they danced.
Warm liquid trickled down the inside of her thigh, and she gasped. “Master!”
“What is it?”
“I’m so ready for you, I’m leaking.”
“And, of course, you’re not wearing any panties.”
“No.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to take you somewhere that this won’t be a problem.”
“Where?” The swollen flesh of her labia pulsed with every beat of her heart, and she wriggled against the taut chain, trying to find relief. Her movement flexed her breasts against their constraining wrap, pressing the disks onto her nipples. Fire blazed through her, and she moaned.
“And when, Master? Soon? Please?”
He pulled away from her, releasing her hand so that he could turn and lead her from the dance floor. “We’ll get our coats now. My apartment is only a short drive away.”
She gave him her coat check ticket, and he claimed both their coats, dropping a five-dollar bill into the bowl for tips. He helped her into her beige raincoat, then tossed back his cloak to free his arms and shrugged into his camel-colored wool coat. The muted gold of the wool made it seem as if he had diffused the splendor of his costume, but been unable to completely conceal it.
They waited while one of the parking attendants retrieved his Magma Red Mercedes glass-topped convertible from Valet Parking. Without his teasing pulls on the chains of her costume, the arousal that had been building in her started to disperse. Instead of burning fire between her legs, an all-over restless itching consumed her.
Keri reached up and pulled off her mask, shaking her hair free then rubbing her eyes.
“Now that I’m respectably clothed, I don’t mind who recognizes me.”
Her sun god turned to respond, then froze in place. She wondered instantly if she’d done something wrong, if he found her looks less than pleasing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “You have lifted your first veil to reveal great beauty. I hope it is only the first of many enjoyable revelations tonight.”
Keri blushed at his extravagant compliment. But it was too smooth and polished, as if it was a line he’d spoken many times before. Whatever had stopped him in his tracks, it hadn’t been her great beauty.
His earlier admonition to ask any question she wanted gave her the courage to ask, “What about you? When are you removing your mask?”
“The seats and mirrors of my car are already adjusted, since I drove here in costume. I’d prefer not to waste time resetting them. And haven’t you always dreamed of making love to a god?”
He reached over and stroked her cheek with his gloved fingers, caressing the faint line where her mask had rested. Her skin turned to molten flame beneath his soft touch, lava flowing through her veins to burn her face, her neck, her breasts.
Her head tilted back, offering herself to his onslaught. His ornate mask blocked out the bright lights from the marquee under which they waited, reflected lights sparkling from the gold plating on his wavy b
rilliants, but leaving his face in shadow. Then his gilded lips closed over hers, soft and warm as a kiss of sunshine.
His hand stroked gently from her cheek to her jaw line, then down the column of her throat. Then lower still. His fingers slipped inside the collar of her raincoat, gliding down her chest until the twisted gauze of her halter-top stopped them.
“I will be your god,” he whispered. “And you will worship me.”
He nipped her lower lip, just hard enough to startle her without hurting, at the same time as he tugged on the chain linking her breasts.
Her climax took her completely by surprise, bursting over her in a fireball of light and heat. He swallowed her startled cry, and wrapped one strong arm around her to steady her until she regained control of her body. She realized she was clutching the lapels of his coat, crushing the fine wool, while he continued nibbling and tasting her lips.
Sensing her return to awareness, he lifted his head and allowed air to invade the space between their bodies. The gold body paint on his lips and chin was smeared, with patches of dark red lip showing through.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “I will.”
CHAPTER THREE
The short ride to his apartment in the artists’ section of the city passed in a haze. He ordered her to open her raincoat and spread her legs, and reached over to stroke the damp skin of her inner thigh or tug on her crotch chain whenever he didn’t need two hands for driving. With her head tilted back, Keri could look out the glass roof up at the distant stars as her sun god fondled her.
She was moaning and writhing in her leather seat, paying attention only to his teasing caresses and the burning need that followed his touch, when the car suddenly became surrounded by darkness.
She blinked, shocked into awareness. “Where are we?”
“Private garage.”
He opened his door, the Mercedes illuminating the doorsill for him. It was enough light for her to see that they were in the center stall of an old wooden carriage house, with room for three vehicles. Once he’d carefully maneuvered his large mask out of the car, he moved quickly, coming around to her side and opening the door for her.
Party Favors Page 3
