Alessandra Torre - Masked Innocence

“Be patient with Jessica,” he whispered. “She gets a little excited if given too much free rein.”

I laughed. “Patient? Every woman wants free rein with a makeup professional. I’ll just try not to have too much fun.”

“Hola! I’m Marco!” A small muscular man in skintight black jeans, a white tank top and a hot-pink boa opened the door with a dramatic flourish. Behind him, I could see a curvy brunette, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and she waved enthusiastically. They moved aside for our entrance and between the hugs, handshakes and introductions, I discovered that the two were roommates, and seemed to be familiar with Brad; he headed past them to the living room.

Talking a mile a minute, Jessica pulled me into the dining room, where she had a long table covered with every makeup, hair care and skin product known to man. I saw what looked like the entire MAC lineup, as well as half of a Sally’s Beauty Supply store. I was shocked the table didn’t cave in under the weight of it all.

Brad collapsed into the living room couch, crossing his ankles and settling in. He picked up a remote and starting flipping through the channels, Marco scurrying around him, fluffing pillows and chatting him up excitedly. I saw a brief look of pain cross his face, and then I was gently pushed into a chair by Jessica. She turned on a mirrored spotlight, illuminating my face, examined it closely, then sat back with a satisfied smile.

“What look do you want to go for tonight?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party like this before. Won’t the mask hide a lot of the makeup?”

She clapped her hands and smiled at me excitedly, and turned and grabbed a thick binder from a nearby stool. “Tonight, the mask is going to be the makeup. Let me show you some examples. Then you can pick out what you like.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to move in with Jessica and Marco. She was a freak of makeup nature, able to create distinct and beautiful masterpieces on ordinary faces. I did my best, but was torn between six different looks in her binder. I couldn’t decide—they were all so beautiful and different—but finally chose the one that I thought would camouflage my looks the most.

Marco had given up on Brad, and stood at a clothing rack that was pushed against a back wall. He was going through clothes, occasionally pouncing on an item and bringing it to Brad. Brad so far had rejected all of Marco’s suggestions, which was causing increased agitation to the small man. “How can you like none of these?” he complained. “I am showing you some beautiful pieces!”

Brad called to me from the living room. “He wants me to wear a jeweled thong, Julia! Talk some sense into the man.”

I frowned at Marco and shook my head, causing Jessica to swear at me. I went back to being still and tried to behave while she continued to apply eyeliner.

“I’ll just wear the same thing as last time,” Brad called to Marco.

“There is something wrong with a man as beautiful as you hiding your face. If you’re going to go that route, then at least let Jessica bejewel you.”

“Real men don’t get bejeweled,” Brad said, turning up the volume.

* * *

FIFTY MINUTES LATER, with air kisses and monetary gratitude expressed, we left the small bungalow different people than had arrived. If I can say so myself, I looked amazing. Not Julia anymore, I was now a mysterious, exotic siren. I still wore the red dress and strappy silver stilettos that I had been picked up in, but everything else had changed. Jessica had added extensions, thickening and lengthening my dark brown tresses. On my face, she had created an eye mask, with shadows, liners and a faux lace pattern. She added fake lashes and had painted my lips movie-star red that she promised would stay on “no matter what I did with my mouth.” I planned on testing out that theory.

Brad looked, well, exactly the same. Gorgeous, sexy and feral, and the closer we came to the party, the more intense his eyes became. He was aroused, I realized. He had taken only one item from Carlos, a black executioner’s hood. I was both scared and excited to see what it would look like on.

We got in the car and I waited till the driver shut the door before I turned to him. “I—”

His mouth was on me before I got the second word out. He cupped my chin in his hand and took my mouth with his. He pulled hard on my neck and I leaned forward, his other hand grabbing to pull me onto his lap. I straddled him, grinding against his crotch while we kissed. His hands gripped my ass and then traveled in between my legs, and he pulled away from my mouth with a sexy scowl when he felt my panties.

“What’s this?” he murmured, sliding a finger underneath my thong and dipping inside me, causing my eyes to close and my breath to hitch.

“I think they’re called panties,” I whispered, pushing against his hand, wanting more than his finger inside of me.

“You are already wet...” he breathed in wonder, sliding a second finger in with the first, stretching my pussy tight around his digits and moving them together in wonderful unison.

I groaned and ground against him, and he slowly withdrew his fingers, sliding his wet fingers over my clit and then away, and my eyes popped open, missing the pleasure. I pouted down at him.

“I want to keep you hot for the party,” he said gruffly. He looked up at me, smiling in the darkness. “You look so different.”

I tilted my head, grinning. “Good different?”

“I like the normal you better. This is good, though, makes me feel like I’m with a strange woman.”

I bit my lip and looked at him deviously. “Strange women can be bad.”

“I like bad,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers brush my sensitive skin, once again tugging at the lace of my thong.

The limo came to a stop at a large metal gate, monitored by a valet with a clipboard. After he’d conferred with our driver, the gates opened and we moved forward. Brad pulled on his hood, and I shivered at the transformation the simple black fabric created. All I could see was his eyes, and I hated not seeing his mouth. He expressed so much with it, from the tightening of his jaw to the curve of his grin, and I felt lost without that road map. I reached up the neck of the hood and felt his lips, curved, and I smiled back at him. He pushed my hand down and I looked out the window, fascinated by the upcoming events.

The driveway was curved cobblestone and lined with lit palm trees. Pieces of the house were visible, but it wasn’t until the limo came to a stop that we saw the full home. It was a huge, sprawling, Mediterranean-style estate, with an ivy-walled courtyard and a modern fountain in front. Two more men with clipboards straddled the entrance to the courtyard, though I think they were there more for effect than purpose. Brad gave them a name, “Ano,” and we were waved through.

“Ano?” I whispered, gripping his huge biceps tightly and trying not to trip on my heels.

“It’s an alias. One I use for swinging. You should think of a name to use tonight.”

I wrinkled my forehead, trying to think of a name that sounded sexy, but still realistic. There are so many pronounced differences between men and women. If I had attended this party with a woman, she would have given me ample time to prepare for something as important as my false identity. I should have asked more questions. A dozen names flitted through my mind, but they all sounded wrong. I finally discarded the task, figuring I’d have time to pick an alias later.

The courtyard was gently lit by the flames of two white stone fireplaces, one on either side. We walked through the dramatic area, going up a few steps and entering the home through two large ornate doors. The party was apparent as soon as we stepped inside.

Brad had mentioned fifteen or twenty couples, but there had to be at least fifty people in this room alone. It was a wide room, with huge columns and towering ceilings, colorful silks and lace tented above us, creating a ceiling of passion. The room had two dark leather sectionals, facing each other, with big gold and cream pillows scattered on them. A food bar was on the left side of the room, a wet bar on the right. Beautiful people were everywhere, wearing everything. Masks ranged from small black cat eyes to huge feathered ensembles. Women wore everything from sheer dresses and lingerie to Oscar-worthy evening gowns. The common denominators seemed to be rich and beautiful. Huge diamonds glittered from ears and fingers, and the normal factors of life—wrinkles, cellulite, imperfect features—seemed to have left these women alone. I wasn’t sure if it was the low lights or the masks, but everyone looked beautiful here. At close examination, there were wide hips, small breasts, and big noses, but those imperfections turned to perfect individuality beneath the overriding wave of sexuality and confidence displayed.

We seemed to have arrived at the precipice between friendly mingling and hot sex. As I watched, a woman pulled two men to a sectional and knelt between them. I quickly adverted my eyes and heard Brad chuckle next to me. “You don’t have to look away. They want to be watched. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here.” He grabbed my ass, sliding his hand up my dress and squeezing my bare skin. “You look stunning.”

I smiled at him, glad for the reassurance. He reached for my hand, and we entered the crowd. Brushing through the crush of bodies, we approached the bar, manned by a shirtless Adonis wearing only a bow tie and dress pants. He smiled appreciatively at me and nodded to Brad.

Brad asked for two glasses of champagne and we walked out the French doors to the pool, a massive blue-lit expanse of carnal opportunities. There was a couple already inside, naked bodies latched together in the lit water. I blushed and we walked to a lounge set and sat, looking back at the house and the crowd inside. More people were starting to spill outside, and soon we would have company. But for now it was quiet, except for the moans of the couple in the pool.

Brad pulled off his cloth hood, his hair mussed and sticking up, looking adorably hot. He took a swig of champagne and ran his hand down my bare back.

“You okay with this?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.” I flashed him a smile. The party felt refined, classy with a 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.”

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.