Masked Innocence. Alessandra Torre

strong undercurrent of sex. “What’s the deal with the party, the hosts?”

      “The hosts.” He smiled. “Dan and Beverly. I represented Beverly a few years ago in a divorce. We fucked a few times during the process. When she married Dan she reached back out to me. Figured this would be up my alley. They host a few parties a year and are very selective about their invitation list. That’s what I like.”

      “Do they personally know all of the guests?”

      “I’m not sure. They probably met most of them through AFF.”

      “What’s that?”

      “It’s a social networking site. Think Facebook for Swingers.”

      “Are you on it?”

      “Not right now. I go through phases, depending on what’s going on in my life, who I’m dating.”

      “Everyone here is so attractive. I kind of expected...”

      He laughed at the uncomfortable expression on my face. “There is an application process involved to be invited to events such as this. Photos are one requirement.”

      I tilted my head, raising my eyebrows questioningly.

      He smiled, running his hand through his mussed hair. “I didn’t send any photos of you, not that I have any. They know my taste, and trust that I wouldn’t bring an unacceptable guest.”

      Unacceptable? I shifted uncomfortably, playing with the hem of my dress. “It seems like a lot of money in there.”

      “Dan and Beverly are kind of snobs in that respect. Money also weeds out a lot of the crazies.”

      “Good. I don’t let crazies fuck me.”

      He laughed and pulled me to him, kissing me deeply. “Let’s go back in. If you see something you want to do, just let me know. This will be a good test for us.”

      “In what way?”

      He stood, towering over me, and flashed a grin, pulling his hood back on. “Because I plan on enjoying the party also.”

      Nine

      We walked back into the house, my stomach in nervous knots. I was glad for the disguise, for the layer of protection it gave me. Brad held my hand firmly, guiding me as we moved through the noisy crowd, chatter, laughter and murmurs surrounding us. There were a few long glances, a few friendly smiles, but no one approached us or said anything as we passed, and I was grateful for that. I needed some time to adjust and figure out what was going on. We left the packed foyer and walked down a few steps into a darkened great room. The couches were set at different angles, some facing the windows, some open to the center. A round stage had been set up in the middle of the room, a chrome stripper pole coming out of the middle and stretching all the way to the top of the vaulted ceilings. Two women, both nude, danced on the stage, twirling around the pole and caressing each other. This room had a definite club atmosphere, laser lights creating a harmony of colors on the ceiling and techno music pumping from speakers. A woman untangled herself from a sea of bodies on a couch and stood, walking over to us. She had fire-engine-red hair and wore a black leather mask and matching minidress. I took a discreet peek at her feet and tried not to swoon. Black spiked Louboutins. She gave me a big smile and wrapped Brad in a tight embrace, brushing her hand lightly over his package in the process.

      “I’d know this hunk of meat anywhere, even with that creepy hood,” she cooed. Reaching out a hand to me, she gave me a blatant once-over, causing a blush to spread over my face. “I’m Beverly Franklin,” she said, with no trace of snobbery. “I must say, you are utterly gorgeous. Not that I’d expect Brad to show up with anything else,” she added with a grin, squeezing his big arm. “Brad, you go sit down, I’m going to give your friend the grand tour.”

      I had a brief recollection of a strip club tour, one that had conveniently pulled me away from Brad a few weeks earlier. My eyes flickered around the room, at the numerous sexual possibilities in front of him. I felt momentary panic at the thought of being alone, away from him, and him away from me. “I, um...” I faltered, looking to Brad for rescue.

      “Stick to her, Bev,” he said, stepping backward, his face impossible to read behind the black cloth. “She’s new. Remember that.” He nodded at me and lifted his glass, and I frowned at him, swearing that I could see his shoulders shaking in a laugh. I turned to Beverly and smiled tentatively, downing the rest of my champagne with a strong gulp.

      * * *

      BEVERLY, THOUGH IN her forties, had an ass like a supermodel’s, and the leather clung to her perfect body as if it had been painted on. She was bubbly and friendly, not the stoic and snobby host I was expecting. She wrapped her arm in mine and navigated us out of the laser-filled great room.

      “I didn’t catch your name, sweetie.”

      I tensed, my thoughts bumping around in my head until I grasped a hold of a name and blurted it out. “It’s Jessica.” The tattooed makeup artist had unknowingly rescued me.

      “Jessica, Brad said you were new. Is this your first party?”

      “Yes. At least, of this sort.”

      She laughed, a musical giggle that floated away as we walked through the kitchen, a granite-filled masterpiece, full of chefs and shirtless men who were filling hors d’oeuvre platters. Off the kitchen was a hall, and she pulled me down it, the lighting discreet and dim.

      “This is what I call the sex hall—there are four bedrooms off it, and if you want to play privately, or with other couples, these rooms are available.” We peeked in the first room and I froze.

      A man knelt, naked and beautiful, his back a chorus of tanned muscles, candles throughout the room creating flickering shadows on his skin. In front of him stood another man, black and naked, a dark leather mask, similar to Beverly’s, obscuring his face. The black man was huge, Brad’s size, but not as cut or defined as Brad. His cock was long, dark and in the kneeling man’s mouth. A woman, stunning, dressed in an azure-blue floor-length evening gown and a huge feathered mask, stood on the other side of them. Her elegant attire was contrasted by a leather riding crop, gripped tightly in one hand. As I watched she stepped forward and slapped the kneeling man, hard along the buttocks. Her voice, calm, controlled and authoritative, rang out in the quiet room.

      “Suck it harder. All of it.”

      The man obliged, and the black man groaned, his legs tightening. I saw a cock twitch in the darkness and realized the white man was hard. Very hard.

      I felt Beverly tugging on me, and I blinked, stepping back, but not before my eyes locked with the woman in the room. She smiled, slowly and securely at me, and then I heard her speak to the men. “Now. Get up, both of you, on the bed. I want you to use those hard cocks on me.”

      I tried to stifle a gasp, and followed Beverly, her hand tugging, pulling me to the next room. For a reason I couldn’t explain, I felt my panties sticking to me, wetness pooling.

      Ten

      Brad leaned against the wall, obscured by the shadows, invisible. He watched the two women walk away, watched Julia, her face as she looked in one of the bedrooms with Beverly. He saw her expression change and wondered what she saw. Maybe it had been a mistake bringing her here. Maybe she wasn’t ready.

      Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to turn and he watched as a girl entered the room. Alone, wearing white, her face covered with a veil. Even in the dim light he could see through the sheer fabric of her dress, erect nipples and bare skin underneath, nothing else. She was nervous, tentative. She gripped a glass of white wine tightly in her hand and looked around the room. He stood upright and moved out of the shadows, his steps sure and confident.

      * * *

      “I’M SORRY, WHAT did you ask?” I had missed whatever Beverly had said, my mind still filled with images from the first room.

      “I