Black Masque


Posted by Kewpid on October 05, 20010 at 14:34:36:

The eerie incantation filled the ballroom, and Emma felt her fine hairs prickling. She shivered pleasurably and snuggled closer to Rebecca, the pair of them anonymous amid the faceless crowd. The revellers had gathered in a circle, all wearing masks and sable hooded cloaks. The room was cavernous and filled with candles. A pungent smell of incense spiked the air.

A red-cloaked figure prowled within the circle, the censer swinging from his hand. The fumes made Laura’s head swim woozily. The weird, distorted chant was mesmerising. She felt her boldness grow, the way it did after an alcopop or two.

The man’s staff thumped down rhythmically against the ballroom floor, a counterpoint to the hypnotic dirge. Swaying to the music, Frances groped her boyfriend’s arse, but his Venetian mask remained inscrutable. Across the circle, Mel was quite unsettled by the gathering. She’d come here for some guilt-free sex, but this ritual was giving her the creeps. The cloaks they’d all been given made the room look like a coven – and while the girls’ masks were serene, the men’s were disconcertingly grotesque.

Nicole was nibbling her nail, both nervous and excited. She’d heard rumours of such parties, but had never dared to go to one before. The ticket had cost more than three months with the dating agency, but like all the people here she was well-off and could afford to spoil herself.

Susanna had pulled before the music started and was canoodling with a man in a green mask. Being a petite girl, she found his muscled frame appealing. She could hardly wait to get stuck in to him. The wailing chant seemed to fade into the background, but she moved unconsciously in time to it. The mist of incense thickened, sweet and cloying, and the red-cloaked man within the circle started to unleash his messengers.

Each woman that he pointed to gave a submissive curtsey, then shrugged out of her cloak, revealing classy underwear. They moved out through the crowd, selecting male partners at random, while the girls they passed disrobed in turn and led more men away. The throng began to break up in a dreamlike chain reaction, people spreading out into the house with the mystic dirge still ringing in their ears.

In real life the partygoers were young professionals. Mel was a lawyer, Nicole a medic, Emma an account executive. They were here for a variety of reasons – to indulge a girlish daring, or to burn off a high-flier’s loneliness. But most of all they’d come to sate their bodies, although some were more reserved than others – party virgins, playing hard to get.

Mel was one of those. She shed her cloak self-consciously, then stiffened with alarm as someone took hold of her swan neck from behind. “Hi gorgeous, do you like it rough?” a voice breathed in her ear. “No thanks,” she answered stiffly, trying to disengage herself. His fingers seemed to tighten for a moment, then loosened and she wriggled free. “I promise it’ll turn you on,” he said. She turned her white-masked face and flinched. He had a muscled torso, but his own mask wore a medieval leer. She scooted clear, aware she must seem frigid. A man plucked her bra-strap as she passed, but she shrugged him off as well.

Frances, giggly with champagne, had no such inhibitions. Her boyfriend raised her off her feet, and she gripped him with her thighs. Clinging on, she waved to the indifferent gathering as he carried her upstairs to find a bed. “Too many tiramisus, girl,” he grunted with mock effort. “Piss off,” she squealed indignantly and rapped her knuckles on his gargoyle mask.

Susanna didn’t need a bed. She sprawled on a chaise longue and let the man she’d chosen peel her panties off. The country house was like a rabbit warren, a maze of dim-lit, richly-furnished rooms. The chaise beneath her peach-cheeked arse was surely an antique. Would it matter if she got her lube on it?

The man pushed up his mask and dipped his head to lick her pussy. She settled back luxuriously and purred like a contented little cat.

Emma and Rebecca hadn’t lost their knickers yet. Excited but a little shy, they stuck together to explore the rooms. Faceless couples kissed in every corner, and some were screwing openly, already nude apart from their rich masks. Rebecca was an art student and couldn’t help reflecting that the scenes were like something painted by Bosch. The firelight and naked flesh and masked, misshapen faces could have been his hellish vision come to life. But all Rebecca wanted was a night of sinful pleasure and the rising tide of passion turned her on.

They passed Nicole, who was bent over a table being taken doggy-style by a masked hunk. The sleek young doctor panted, mouth wide open, as she felt the thrusting of his swollen cock. In normal life she was a preening princess, dismissing male colleagues with disdain, but now she was submitting to a stranger, being taken from behind like a cheap slut.

The two friends reached a big room with a Roman bath in it, the water strewn with floating candle flames. Several people were already wallowing in it. Emma squeezed Rebecca’s hand and the two friends shared a let’s-go-for-it glance. They quickly stripped their undies off, still fumblingly self-conscious, and slipped into the scented bath before too many eyes could ogle them.

Mel had lost her bra now but still wore her heels and panties. She’d fended several suitors off, and heard them muttering behind their masks. “Picky cow,” said one of them. She cursed her inbred primness and went up the stairs to get some breathing space.

Laura could be timid too, a mousy young accountant – but she was now astride a man and bouncing on his cock. It was as if she’d shed her inhibitions with her glasses, which she couldn’t wear under her mask, so the world beyond arm’s length was just a blur. Normally she would have felt disoriented and helpless, but here it liberated her to touch and feel her way through the half-dark. The pair of them were coupling on a Victorian sofa, his hard erection rooting her, her bosom jiggling as she worked on him. She wondered what on earth the previous owners would have thought of people fucking on their precious furniture.

In every room, the antique clocks were ticking towards midnight. The party was in full swing now, the rooms resounding with impassioned groans. Some partygoers stood back to watch while others rutted blindly. The red-cloaked man had disappeared, but the reek of incense lingered in the air.

Mel was mooching round the upstairs landing, still holding out for Mr Right, whoever that might be. The nearest door swung open and she looked round warily. A slender brown-haired girl leaned out and smiled beneath her mask.

“Hi,” said Frances brightly. “Have you got a cigarette?”

Mel blinked, then glanced down pointedly. Her creamy flesh was naked, and the bulge in her silk briefs wasn’t a pack of Marlboros. Frances smirked behind her hand and both girls started giggling. The brunette was completely nude, the flush of sex still fading from her skin. “Have you not grabbed a guy yet?” she asked archly. Mel shrugged as if she wasn’t bothered. “Guess it’s not my night.”

Frances darted out into the passage and took hold of the lawyer’s hand. “You’re kidding. With a pair of boobs like yours?” Mel blushed pink at the compliment and simpered modestly. They made way as a couple scurried past. Frances hesitated. “Listen, why not come and join us? My boyfriend should enjoy a threesome, and he’s really good!”

Mel felt her blush get hotter as her heart began to pound. “I’m not sure …” she said coyly, but the idea tempted her. Frances tugged her hand and drew her back towards the bedroom. “Okay,” Mel giggled breathlessly. “Just wait a minute. I have got to wee!”

Somewhere downstairs, a clock was striking midnight. Its solemn chimes were taken up by antique timepieces throughout the house. Mel scooted down the passageway and found the nearest toilet. Her bladder took an age to empty while she sat and squirmed impatiently.

Frances padded back into the bedroom and found her boyfriend sitting on the bed. “I’ve got a treat for you,” she teased. He straightened up to greet her. His penis had gone hard again, and she wondered if he’d spunk enough for two. “Lie down, you’re going to need your strength!” She stroked his chest and tittered.

He raised his hands and seized her by the throat.

She managed a shocked croaking sound before he closed her windpipe, her wide eyes staring through her gilded mask. His own mask hid his face from her completely, and she felt a stab of panic. He had never played this rough with her before. She tried to tell him to let go, but her mouth worked like a fish’s. She made to prise his fingers loose, and felt them tightening.

She had no time to realise he was under Red Cloak’s spell, a seed planted subliminally amid the ritual’s hypnotic dirge. Every male present had absorbed the same instruction. When you hear the stroke of midnight, KILL THE SLUTS.

Frances squirmed, her shock becoming terror, but all her lover saw now was a shameless whore who’d tried corrupting him. He shook her slender body like a terrier shakes a rat, which set her plump breasts joggling. She flailed out with one hand to claw his mask. “Bitch,” he muttered as he crushed her airway. She poked her tongue out, still provoking him. It was as purple as a plum. Her nipples too grew darker as he forced the oxygen out of her blood. Her groping hand fell back and both her arms dropped to her sides, submitting to her punishment. He heard a muffled gargle in her throat. The blind whites of her eyes showed through the eyeholes of her mask, and her mouth gaped open breathlessly. He worried her again, like a rag doll.

Mel was on her way back from the bathroom. She’d left her panties on the floor and was feeling very daring and grown up. She tapped on the half-open door and slipped into the bedroom. The others had already started, and the sight made her turn pink again. Frances lay across the bed in belly-up abandon, her lover wedged between her thighs and pumping urgently. Mel couldn’t help but feel she was intruding – and as she hovered by the door, the glow of lust became an icy flush.

Frances jerked with every thrust, her upturned bosom wobbling, but her pale flesh seemed quite inert, and her nipples were engorged and tinged with blue. Mel’s hairs rose with a horrible foreboding. She took a step towards the bed, and saw the girl’s protruding swollen tongue.

A sudden plunge of terror turned her stomach. She stifled a gasp behind her hand, but the man’s robotic pumping didn’t pause. Saucer-eyed, she turned and fled, heading blindly for the staircase, but somebody was in the way, a reveller still wearing his back cloak. “Oh, please help,” she gasped tearfully, “there’s something wrong with her.” Beside herself, she tried to clutch at him. The man stared down at her, uncomprehending. He wore a rather horrid mask, like a death’s head crowned with a three-cornered hat. Mel sobbed imploringly, her bosom heaving.

His hands shot out closed around her neck.

For a moment she believed he was just playing with her roughly, like the guy who’d tried it on with her downstairs. But this man had both thumbs against her windpipe and she felt a choking pain as they pressed down. Grimacing beneath her mask, she clutched his wrists and wriggled, but his arms were locked and wouldn’t budge. His thumbs compressed her larynx till it cracked. She felt the cartilage give way and was engulfed with terror. In vain she tried to struggle free, her red nails scrabbling at his skull-white mask. A woman fled past, screaming; two men panted in pursuit. Mel’s rosy nipples had turned puce. Her tongue thrust out and drooled onto her tits. The figure squeezed implacably until the slut stopped writhing, then let her slump against him and manhandled her towards the banisters. He draped the girl head-down over the railing and plunged into her from behind. Mel dangled, reaching out towards the void. Below her, there was panic in the ballroom as studs turned into murderers and girls became their helpless, squealing prey.

Susanna had been coming to a climax as her lover lapped her patiently, his tongue just flicking at her clitoris. She lay back on the chaise longue, smug with pleasure, caressing her own shapely breasts as lust came to the boil. The first cries of alarm and horror barely registered. Then someone shouted “Ohmigod!” Her eyelids flickered open curiously. Perhaps one of the guys had had a heart attack or something. She raised herself to look around, and someone looped a scarf around her neck.

It tightened with a jerk that left her gawping. She clutched at the expensive silk as it closed her airway like a thug’s garrotte. Her pelvis thrust up frantically against the man who licked her, but he seized her thighs and kept on slurping, greedily ignoring her distress. She kicked out vainly, sending one shoe flying, and bucked against the velvet seat, but couldn’t get her breath. Her breasts swelled and the nipples bulged and darkened. She made a raspy throttled noise and quivered as she choked. A trickle of vaginal juice came from her blue-tinged vulva. Susanna stiffened, then sagged back, and the man between her legs just lapped it up.

Emma and Rebecca were still in the Roman bath and frolicking like schoolgirls when the clocks began to chime. Sniggering and soaking wet, they didn’t sense the danger, but the next guy that Rebecca splashed showed no reaction: he just started at her. She stuck her boobs out teasingly. The masked man waded over. He seized her shoulders, ducked her where she stood – and held her down.

Rebecca was so startled that she almost snorted water. She didn’t like this sort of game and would make that clear once he had let her up. Her hair curled round her gold-masked face as she heard her heartbeat booming. All right, she thought, that’s long enough. She pushed up, but the man kept pushing down.

Sudden fear spiked through her as she felt her chest start aching. She knew that Em would pull him off – but time ticked on and no-one intervened. Frantically she groped out for his balls and tried to squeeze them, but her jerked his hips away, then kneed her in the diaphragm. Bubbles burst out of her mouth, and still he gripped her shoulders. Oh please! she thought despairingly and then the bathwater came flowing in. It forced its way down past her epiglottis and she jerked and wriggled as it filled her lungs. The last few bubbles of her breath fled up towards the surface and left a silent, gaping mouth. He shook her, and her hair swirled like dark weeds.

Emma never a chance to help her. The man she was embracing forced her arse against the side. Then he grabbed her throat and bent her back over the coaming. Emma gasped and tried to squirm, but his muscled body kept her pinned in place. Her wet breasts bulged towards him as she fought to fill her lungs, and her thighs squeezed him convulsively. The whore was trying to screw him even now! Pitiless, he squashed her tender windpipe and felt her spasms of anguish as she choked. At last, when she’d gone limp, he let her slide into the water, to float face down and buttocks up beside her slutty friend.

The screaming that had filled the house was mostly silenced now. The female partygoers had been caught, quite literally, with their pants down. Being the weaker sex, they’d had no chance against their maddened partners. The last few were being cornered, choked and fucked like rubber dolls.

Nicole had missed the same fate by a whisker – she’d gone for a post-coital pee at 11.59. Sitting on the loo, she heard her fellow guests start squealing, a sound that grew in pitch and panic. Someone blundered, sobbing, past the door. The sweat of sex turned cold across her shoulders. Whatever was going on out there, it wasn’t something she had signed up for.

She cowered on the throne, eyes wide with horror – but at least she was behind a door, not caught like Laura in a passageway. The accountant still felt woozy from her orgasm and was trying short-sightedly to find a drink. The sudden gasps and screams cut through her glow of satisfaction. She stiffened like a frightened rabbit, squinting to make sense of what she saw. Naked figures struggled in the nearest fire-lit room. Their shapes were out of focus, but the frantic sounds they made were clear enough. For a moment she stood gawking in the doorway, then scuttled clear and round the corner, almost stumbling over a slumped form. A girl as nude as her lay with her tongue out, and Laura recoiled, whinnying. More sounds of horror came from up ahead. She clutched her mouth and froze, as if submitting to her fate – but then, impulsively, she dropped and lay quite still beside the other girl.

Her heartbeat throbbed against the thick pile carpet. Another scream rang out and was choked off. Several minutes passed, and then she heard approaching footsteps. Her bare flesh seemed to shrink against her bones.

She was lying on her front and sensed somebody step astride her. He took her shoulder and half-turned her. Laura shut her eyes and held her breath. The horrid moment seemed to last for ever, but then he let her flop back down again. Her skin crawled as she heard his heavy breathing. He moved to check the other girl, and Laura watched him sidelong through her mask.

The man took hold of the dead girl by the ankles and started dragging her away. Then someone else rolled Laura over too. She stayed as limp as a rag doll, although her heart was pounding. A man’s hands closed around her calves, and she felt the carpet slide under her back. Her slender arms spread out, then trailed behind her as he towed her body down the passageway.

She had a burning urge to cry and bit her lip to quell it. They came into a half-lit room that reeked of sex and sweat. He heaved her up and dumped her on a table, and even as she sprawled on it, she realised what was going to happen next. Her legs were dangling off the side and she felt him move between them. His penis poked against her vulva. Then he grasped her thighs and thrust it in.

The shock of penetration almost made her gasp aloud, but she willed herself to stay inert as her snug vagina stretched around his cock. His pelvis jerked mechanically and made her bosom tremble. Laura’s head lolled to one side, her shame concealed beneath her upturned mask. At least she was still slick after the last one, and his pumped-up prick slid smoothly in and out. She told herself that it would soon be over, and then she’d have the chance to get away …

In his trance, the man had failed to notice that the corpse’s nipples were a healthy pink. But as he craned over her supine body, he glimpsed something that put him off his stroke. In the candlelight, her pale cheek was glistening. A tear had trickled from behind her mask.

His rhythm slowed as he pondered it. His dazed brain took a moment to remember that a dead girl doesn’t cry. His hands went to her throat at once and fastened on its smoothness. His victim gave a squawk of fright and tried to struggle up.

She didn’t have a chance, of course. He felt her windpipe crumple as he squeezed it tight, still pumping into her. Laura’s legs kicked wildly round his pelvis and her fingernails clawed vainly at his wrists. Her tits heaved as she fought to breathe, but his grip was unrelenting. Her tongue curled out on to her cheek and quivered with the rattle in her throat.

The little slut was really dead by the time he reached a climax, and her corpse bucked as he flooded her with cum. Spent at last, he let his fingers loosen, withdrew himself reluctantly and raised her body in a fireman’s lift.

He carried her out of the room. The passage was deserted. An eerie stillness reigned throughout the house. More time passed. Eventually Nicole could wait no longer. The bathroom felt as claustrophobic as a white-tiled tomb.

She inched open the door and stuck her head out. There was nobody in sight. She strained her ears against the hush. Her pampered skin was pale with shock, her fine hairs bristling. Her vacant mask was still in place, but apart from that she only wore high heels. She put her finger to her mouth, uncertain what to do. It felt as if the house was empty. All the other revellers had fled.

Nervously she headed for the ballroom and the vestibule that led to the front door. The rooms she passed showed signs of a mass panic – the furniture upended, pictures hanging crookedly. Discarded cloaks and panties strewed the carpets, but the partygoers had disappeared. Then she reached the ballroom threshold – and stopped short.

The floor of the wide room was almost carpeted with bodies, all female, nude and wearing their blank masks. Their limbs and curves were languidly entangled, as if they shared an intimate repose. Nicole cringed back and whimpered through her fingers. She didn’t need to be a doctor to be sure that every girl was dead.

Her dark eyes goggled at the tits and arses, the lolling tongues and pussies full of cum. Mel lay back, her thighs apart in welcome, while Laura’s face was pillowed on Rebecca’s upturned breasts. Frances, Emma and Susanna sprawled among the bodies. Bruised throats and swollen nipples showed how they and all the other girls had died.

Nicole’s head swam. She swayed and clutched the doorframe. A distant voice inside her head was telling her to run. She made a tearful bleating noise, still staring at the corpses, and didn’t sense the cold gaze that had focused on her back.

She forced her muscles to unlock, retreating shakily, then swung around to flee – and squealed. The red-cloaked man was breathing down her neck. His hands went for her, cobra-quick, and gripped her like a collar. Her squeal became a piping sound that turned into a croak.

She wriggled frantically but he kept squeezing, his black-masked face inhumanly composed. The luckless doctor fared no better than the other revellers: her spasms were just as desperate and did her as little good. He thumbed her larynx in and made her gurgle, the full length of her stiff tongue poking out. Her firm breasts strained and quivered as she fought him, but the pink tips turned inexorably puce. He squeezed until she jerked into her death throes. Her head fell back submissively. He let her slump and lowered her to the floor.

In minutes she had joined the other corpses, her ravished pussy oozing with fresh cum. The red-cloaked figure eyed the body pile with satisfaction. The murderers whom he’d unleashed still waited, catatonic, in the wings. But every flirty female guest was now accounted for.
The hooded figure turned away and left them to their final fucked-out sleep.