Masquerade

It was October 31. Halloween. A night for haunts, spooks, tricks and treats. The night when the worlds between the living and the dead overlapped and they could celebrate together, or so the local legends tell me. The deep south was especially rich in history and chilling tales of deceased plantation owners and their families roaming their lands amongst the living, hence the strong desire to celebrate Halloween.

Halloween was also the night of Bouette, Louisiana's annual Halloween Ball, held right on the estate of the Oak Alley Plantation. The mayor owned the property and kept it maintained to it's original Victorian beauty. The Mansion was built in 1837 and the alley leading to the front of the building was lined with live oak trees, which were about 200 years old.

This was the first time I would be attending the party since I moved to Louisiana the previous year. I found it suiting that I dress in the exact replica of Victorian era garments since we would be in attendance at such a regal place. I searched several of the local antique shops for months, finding pieces here and there that eventually pieced into my costume. And then it was complete. The corset-type bodice was a rich plum color with a low laced neckline and long slitted sleeves lined with linen under sleeves. The bell skirt was the same plum color with lilac ruffled trim around the bottom to match the silk ribbon that was laced through the bodice hooks.

As Halloween night came, I dressed and drove to the plantation and pulled up to the closed gate. With the press of a button, a voice called over the intercom. "Name?" "Harlan, party of one." The gates opened and I drove up a mile-long driveway onto the estate grounds up to the front of the Oak Alley mansion, where a valet attendant took my keys. I threw a dollar in the tip box and elegantly strolled through the doors. It seemed as if all eyes were on me as I entered the lobby. Butlers in crisp white tuxedos and white gloves weaved through the party guests with trays of o'devours and champagne glasses.

There was a tapping of a glass somewhere in the room. Everyone focused their attention to the double spiral staircase, where at the top landing, stood Bouett's mayor. The crowd hushed as he began to speak. "If I may have your attention folks," his southern accent twanged, "We will now be making our way into the grand ball room."

Two doormen swung the enormous double doors open to expose a beautifully refinished room, with carved wooden pillars and stained glass windows. Bars with food and drinks were set up in each corner of the room. Directly at the back of the room upon entering, hung a ten by ten foot painting of the mansion front, dated when it was built.

The hired orchestra began to play a Gothic tune and ghosts, goblins, witches and ghouls began to move forth onto the floors and engage in dance. A debonaire man entered the grand ballroom and caught my eye, dressed in a typical Victorian male black morning suit. The coat had a short front and long tails in the back with high collar and a gray paisley vest layered over a white shirt. His look was topped off with solid black bat-winged mask across his eyes. He walked through the crowds of party-goers, ignoring potential female callers and straight towards me, as if he was my date.

The mysterious man was soon standing face to face with me, and up close, he was absolutely enchanting, with his black hair, turquoise eyes and flawless white skin. He held out his hand and bowed, silently asking for a dance. I placed my hand in his and curtsied and he led me to the dance floor. We engaged in a sophisticated waltz, gracefully twirling around the dance floor. As the song ended, he pulled me back into him the last go around, and he locked eyes with me. He pulled me off the dance floor, and obediently, I followed, in a mesmerized stupor that left me completely taken over by him.

I felt like Scarlet O'Hara in Gone with the Wind, as he whisked me away up the spiral staircase and ducked into the mansion's library, I followed him in, and the door shut and clicked locked behind me. The masked man hid from me behind high shelves of books. I rounded corners, playing hide and seek with him, until I felt his arms wrap around my middle from behind me, startling me. His hands traveled up, mashing my breasts together. I gasped as he slowly untied the lace of my bodice. I tried to turn around to look at him, remove his mask, but he wouldn't let me, instead, he playfully pushed me over to a wooden desk in the center of the room and lifted up my heavy, bouffant skirt.

With his unexplained control over my body, I allowed him to bend me forward and reach around, to cup my breasts once more as I felt him enter me from behind. The material of his pants rubbed against my bare naked ass as he slowly probed in and out of my pussy, moistening his prick with my juices. Once he had easier entry, he pounded rapidly into me, my tits flopping around in his hands. I yelled out as I came and slicked up his cock more, causing it to swell inside my walls. I knew he was ready to release his load, and I backed my ass up onto him and let his dick plunge deep into me. He was silent and didn't even breath as his jizz pumped into me. He pulled away from me and as I lowered my skirt and fastened my bodice back together, I raised my head to speak to my lover, but he was gone, leaving the library door ajar.

I carefully trotted down the staircase to find my suitor, admiring the old framed photographs hung on the walls, stopping at one strikingly familiar person, dressed in the same clothing as my mystery fuck. The familiar eyes of the man in the photo stared back at me. How odd, they bared an exact resemblance. No fucking way. The copper nameplate on the frame read "Benjamin H. Boutte, 1851-1881."

I picked up my speed down the stairs and ran through the crowds, of masked faces, trying to scout him out, to no avail. I proceeded outside the front of the Oak Alley mansion and through the walkway lined with oaks, slightly holding up my skirt so I wouldn't dirty it. It seemed as if he vanished into thin air, he couldn't possibly have gotten this far without me finding him.

I went back into the ball passing a group of men telling scary stories to their lady friends when I overheard one of the men say, "Benjamin Boutte was the most handsome and successful plantation owner in Louisiana of his time. He owed his success to being unattached to any one woman, because a union would take away from his focus. But, he still had needs, and bedded many woman and left them to see themselves out when he was finished fucking them. It is believed still haunts the walls of this mansion, making sure his home is kept to his standards. The mayor even claims to have actually seen his presence in the library..."

Horror stricken, I asked myself...could it be?