“Vieni qui e baciami,” said the harlequin. “Le tue labbra sono dolci come il miele.”
She jumped up and ran for the stairs. Hysterical laughter followed her.
I can’t wait to get out of here, she thought.
At the top of the stairs she found the Orange Room. The color scheme gave her a headache, but everyone here looked clothed, and no one had followed her. She stopped the first person she saw, a man dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac, his mask consisting of an enormous false nose.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for…well, I’m not sure who. Our host, I guess? The man in red?”
“Parlez-vous Francais?” said Cyrano. “Comment vous appellez-vous?”
Miranda blinked. “Oh. Excuse me,” she said. She backed away and stumbled into a man dressed as a samurai, with a scowling war mask.
“Chotto matte kudasai,” said the samurai. “John wo sagashite imasu.”
“Sorry!” she said. She heard jingling bells and came face to face with a man in a manic, grinning mask and a jester’s cap.
“Excuse me?” she said, “I’m sorry, I’m all mixed up here.”
The man laughed. “That sir which serves and seeks for gain and follows but for form, will pack when it begins to rain, and leave thee in the storm!” he said.
“Um,” said Miranda. “Well, thank you for that. I think I’ll keep looking for my husband…”
“He’s mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf,” said the man. “Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the staves’ end as well as a man in his case may do, but many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.”
Miranda heard a woman’s voice in her ear: “Don’t mind him, he’s just a Fool.”
A woman whose costume was an antique wedding dress with a veil that came down to just above her mouth took Miranda by the hand and pulled her to the edge of the crowd. The Fool ran after them, singing.
“Come away, come away, death, and in sad cypress let me be laid! Fly away, fly away breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid!” he sang, and then he disappeared into the crowd, laughing.
“That was strange,” said Miranda.
“It’s that kind of night,” said the woman.
“I know what you mean. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“No one seems to,” said the woman. “It’s the same story with every person I talk to: No one knows how they even got here. But I guess they don’t care as long as there’s a party.” She smiled, and Miranda could make out two dark eyes behind the veil. “I’m Carmilla.”
“Miranda.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Carmilla. “I’m trying to find the way out, how about you?”
“I’m trying to find my husband.”
“Has he gone astray?” said Carmilla. “Or was he a stray to begin with? Well come on, we’ll look for him together. That way if we get more lost at least we’ll be lost with one another.”
Carmilla squeezed Miranda’s hand, and Miranda squeezed back. Together they made their way through the crowd, slipping away from the party down a hallway lit by rows of jack-o-lanterns.
***
Richard slid his cock into Dido’s mouth, forcing her head to stay perfectly still. She gagged a little but offered no resistance. He growled, twining her hair around his fingers and pushing until he came to the back of her mouth. Her tongue was pinned, wriggling, under his shaft. He kept it there for a moment, letting her wet lips suck on the base, and then he pulled her head back until his cock popped free. She gasped, her lips forming a ring, and he waited until she was halfway through inhaling before sticking it back in. She choked, but still did not resist.
He had his back to the wall and she was on her knees, hands behind her. He pushed with his hips, fucking her mouth. Most of his costume was gone, but he kept the mask on. She reached up to put her arms around him and he slapped her hands away. The second time she did he twisted her arm and she screamed, but moaned right after.
He could tell she was afraid, but not of him. This annoyed him. He pushed himself all the way inside, filling her mouth, and then began fucking her throat with short thrusts, never taking himself out but instead grinding against her pouty lips. She moaned around him, her voice vibrating his shaft, and her mouth continued to make wet, obscene noises. She moved her head around and around in a circle, sometimes drawing him out so that he was forced to push it back in.
Richard felt himself growing angrier. His cock throbbed and his muscles tensed into knots. He dug his fingers into the flesh of his palms and clenched his jaw. She was taunting him, he thought. She wanted him to hurt her. But he didn’t; that would be giving in. Instead he let her work, remaining perfectly still while she bobbed up and down, mechanically pumping him. He pulled her hair once, casually, but for the most part did not touch her.
Dido increased her pace. She reached up, not for him but to squeeze her own breasts, massaging them in circles. From one of the other rooms of the party Richard heard the rhythmic thump of music, and he realized that her movements and his were in time with it, and that even his heart seemed to beat to half-heard strains. He cupped her face in his hand, hard enough that she winced.
She licked her lips and said, “Was that enough for you? Or can I do more?”
He pushed her to the ground and ripped her dress off, leaving her in only her mask. He crouched over her, spreading her legs. She smelled like anger, and pity, and disdain.
“Now,” she said, “are you going to be a little bitch, or are you going to be a real man?”
He glared at her.
“Show me then,” she said, lips curling. “Show me.”
He buried half the length of him inside of her with one thrust. She was incredibly wet, and he slid in without resistance. She rolled her eyes back into her head.
“Good,” she said. “Again.”
He gave another thrust, pushing the other half in. Her legs squeezed his body. She dragged her nails over the floorboards.
“Again.”
He started to pump her violently, rocking overt her body, pushing with all the force that his arched back and squared shoulders could exert.
“Harder!”
He held onto her hips, fingers threatening to bruise her flesh. He drew all the way out and penetrated anew with each thrust, grunting and growling. Her naked back rubbed against the hardwood, but she did not ask him to slow or relent, instead panting over and over again:
“Harder! Harder! Harder!”
He clapped a hand over her mouth. He poured out exertion, trying to drown his thoughts in the rough, needy, desperate pounding. His muscles ached and sweat matted his hair. He couldn’t stop. His cock slammed into her again and again. Her pussy was saturated. He choked because he couldn’t slow down enough to take a breath.
She was completely naked, her entire sweaty, writhing body his for the taking, but he felt somehow that really she was completely hidden from him except for her eyes. Only her eyes, behind her mask, were truly visible. One moment he thought they were Dido’s eyes, and then they were Miranda’s, and now they were those of nameless, faceless women he’d been with in the past, or ones he’d dreamed about, or those he’d never met. Eventually he had to close his own eyes and then, in the dark, she was no woman at all, safe and anonymous.