Page 13 of Endless Obsession

“Your names, sirs?” She looks at the four of us, and I step forward first, handing her my I.D. She taps my name into the computer and nods as she pulls up my profile, giving me a slim black silicone bracelet to slip onto my wrist.

The bracelets here all mean something. Black means that I’m available for anything involving women, so long as it remains completely anonymous. Any inquiries into my identity, and the night ends.

While Leo, Jonas, and Brad check in and get their bracelets, I slip the leather gloves I brought out of my pocket. I like to be completely anonymous here, which means not even allowing my tattoos to show. I want nothing that would allow any woman I interact with here to recognize me outside of the club, if she saw me in passing. The absolute secrecy of this place is what allows me to relax, to feel free here. To feel that I can do and be whatever and whoever I like, without worrying about what consequences it might have in the real world.

At the far end of the room, near the door, there’s a basket with stacks of masks. There’s every possible style that could be imagined, and I slip a black half-mask out of the basket—one that will cover the top half of my face entirely, down to the tip of my nose, leaving only my mouth and jaw exposed. Other than the top part of my neck, that’s the only exposed flesh.

I’ve found, over the course of my visits to the club, that women find the level of anonymity I insist on extremely erotic. I’ve never had any difficulty finding a partner for the night—sometimes multiple. And no one has ever tried to cross my boundary.

I think they like the idea of being able to meet someone willing to fulfill their every deviant desire, who they’ll never have to encounter anywhere else. Someone who will give them what they want without shame, without questions, without anything other than a matching eagerness to share in an exchange of pleasure.

And then they can go home, their secrets—and mine—safe behind these walls.

That’s what Masquerade is all about, after all.

Leo and the others are less concerned about total anonymity. They wear the masks, of course—those are another requirement, much like the surrender of our cell phones—but they have their sleeves rolled up, top buttons of their shirts open, hands bare. They couldn’t care less if a tattoo is seen, or if someone notices something about their features. For them, the possibility of getting recognized outside of the club is exciting, I think. The chance that someone might look at them across a restaurant or conference room or crowded bar and recognize another deviant, unable to say aloud what they’ve shared. The thing they have in common.

To each their own, I suppose.

We split off once we’re in the club, each going his own way. Jonas and Brad like to share women, but I prefer to be on my own. I go straight for the bar, waiting my turn as the masked bartender comes up to me.

“Vodka, straight. Top shelf. Twist of lime,” I order, and then I turn, surveying the room as I look for who might interest me for the night. My eye catches a slender blonde who is dancing next to another petite brunette on the dance floor to the left of the bar, swaying to the music. I see a yellow bracelet on her wrist—she wants whatever happens to her tonight to happen on the main floor, where everyone can watch. There’s an orange one twisted around it—she’s only open to oral sex. No penetration of any kind.

I glance away from her. She’s beautiful, but I’m in the mood for something private tonight, not a performance. There’s an auburn-haired woman further down the bar, alone, and I notice the black bracelet around her wrist. Only here for other women, then.

I’ve always liked the color-coded system here. No one’s time is wasted, no one is asked for anything they don’t want. It makes women, especially, more comfortable here, and that means a better time for everyone. This is a safe place, where no one is harassed or cajoled for what they don’t want to give up.

This is a place for pleasure, and only that.

I hear the door open just as the bartender pushes my drink towards me, and I look over curiously, to see who’s come in. The moment I do, I freeze with my hand on my glass, my attention instantly laser-focused on who is walking into the room.

The first woman who walks in is gorgeous, tall with inky black hair and bronzed skin, wearing a black bandage dress that’s so short she couldn’t bend over without flashing everyone in the room, her generous cleavage pushed up in the square neckline. She has heels that add four inches to her already statuesque height, and there’s a confidence about her that immediately grabs the attention of everyone in the room who isn’t already otherwise occupied.

But I don’t even notice what color bracelets she’s wearing, because it’s not her that makes me stop and stare. It’s the woman behind her.

She’s just as gorgeous, with thick, dark brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders, and the hint of green eyes behind her black velvet domino mask. She’s wearing a wine-red velvet dress that comes to her knees, surprisingly modest for this place, except for the slits on either side that run up to mid-thigh. The straps look fragile—so fragile that they look like I could break one with the twist of a finger, and that thought jolts straight to my cock, giving me the first swell of arousal that I’ve felt so far tonight.

I can tell that it’s her first time here before I even look at the bracelets on her wrist. Everything about her demeanor, the way she steps into the room, the way she looks around, screams that she’s not only a novice at this but that she’s never done anything like this before.

Normally, that would be a turn-off for me. I like confident women, experienced women, women who know that this is a one-time thing. Women who will give as much pleasure as I give them, who will make the night a mutually beneficial experience for us both, and then walk away without a second thought.

But something about the woman in the red velvet dress grabs my attention, and won’t let go. Her friend is saying something to her in a low voice, and I watch as she bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth. Her lips are painted the same wine-red as her dress, and all I can think about is what they would look like wrapped around my cock. What all of her would look like, wrapped around me. I can’t take my eyes off of her. Even masked, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s mine tonight. And all that’s left is for me to convince her of it.

5

CHARLOTTE

From the moment that Jaz taps in the passcode and we walk into the entryway of the club, I’m more nervous than I ever thought I would be in my life. A part of me just wants to go back home, change back into my pajamas, and curl up on the couch with a big glass of wine and some bad reality tv.

But I’m also excited and curious. I wait as Jaz checks in, breathing in the smoky scent that hangs in the entryway, glancing down towards the looming door at the end of the hall. There’s a basket on a table just before it, and as I crane my neck, I catch a glimpse of what looks like masks.

My pulse races a little faster, and I smooth my hands over the velvet skirt of my dress.

Jaz convinced me to wear the dress that I’d planned to wear for my anniversary night out with Nate. She said it was the best possible cherry on top of the revenge that tonight will be, letting some other man touch me for the first time in five years in the dress that I was going to wear for my cheating boyfriend. And I couldn’t argue with that. Besides, the dress was expensive, and it’s the sexiest thing I own.

I’m just not sure that I’m actually going to let anyone touch me tonight.

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