Miley and Friends Ch. 08

My nerves started to get the better of me, so I only ordered a light meal from room service. I did get a bottle of wine to fortify myself.

I eventually got everything on in the correct places. I had a kilt that hung just below the knees, white linen shirt, a hat of sorts, sash of the same pattern as the kilt, several pins on the sash and a pouch that was attached to a sort of belt. The note had implied no underwear, and from what I had read about kilts I remembered that was customary. It felt very breezy going commando, and I was rather self-conscious about the thing flying up or something. It didn't seem to fit quite right. Then I remembered I had always seen the pouch worn in the front not on the side. I think the pouch serves as a pocket. When properly in place it hung down over my 'parts', and everything seemed in order.

At seven twenty-five I killed the last of the wine and headed for the elevator. It stopped several times on the way down, and at each stop one or more costumed figures entered. They smiled and nodded at me as they entered. At least I wasn't alone. I joined a short line of attendees waiting to enter the ballroom. Each had a card that they handed to a man who announced the arrival. The couple ahead of me, dressed as a Roman soldier and a woman in an exotic toga sort of affair was announced as "CLEOPATRA AND MARC ANTONY"

I handed over my card and was announced as "WILLIAM WALLACE." As I entered I heard the man behind me announced "SIR ISAAC NEWTON".

A man in a powdered wig and colonial garb approached me and pressed a piece of paper into my hand. I opened it to read 'Marie Antoinette wishes to see you.' I looked around the growing crowd and didn't see anyone who I would identify as Marie Antoinette, so I picked up a wine glass and milled through the crowd.

I finally saw someone who looked like Marie Antoinette and started over to her. Along the way I spied a second one, and heard yet another being announced. Apparently Marie Antoinette was a popular costume. About that time it occurred to me that all the women wore masks, but some of the men did not, so I wasn't the only one without one.

A live band started playing dance music and several couples began to dance. I finally leaned against a wall with my wine glass and waited for Marie to find me. A woman wearing a long black dress and a wig with curls approach me and began a conversation. I tried to determine if I recognized the voice or the eyes, but no luck. We chatted a bit and then she moved on. I spied a Marie Antoinette who seemed to be edging in my direction, and made my way over toward her. I introduced myself as William Wallace and asked her to dance. On the dance floor I had time to study the voice and eyes behind the mask, but came up empty again. Marie gave no hint she knew me. At the end of the dance she opened her black lace fan to fan herself, I bowed to her, she curtseyed, and we parted.

The crowd swelled to what I estimated to be over a thousand, and late-comers were still being announced. By nine-thirty I had not found the correct Marie, but a rather sloshed young woman dressed as Cinderella in rags came up to me and asked if it was true Scotsmen wore nothing beneath their kilt. I thought that was rather personal and brushed her off, but she circled around behind me and lifted the garment. "I thought so!" she laughed as she skipped away.

By ten o'clock I had been groped by several women. I saw another man dressed as a Scottish king, and he gave me a look that said 'me, too.'

The band stopped playing and a woman took the stage as a representative of the charity we were supposedly raising money for. I felt guilty that I hadn't raised any money. While she spoke the band vacated the stage, taking their equipment and instruments with them.

The mistress of ceremonies went through a long list of people to thank for organizing the ball. When asked if we were having fun we all applauded, although mine was half-hearted. She continued "Now the real FUNdraising begins. Oh yes, we will have some real fun tonight. We are going to auction off some of the gentlemen. Our first contestant is...THOMAS JEFFERSON! Come on up, Tom." A man with knee breeches and a powdered wig elbowed through the crowd and climbed the steps onto the stage.

"Oh, doesn't Tom look fine! Who will start the bidding?"

Someone started at fifty dollars and the bids rapidly rose to seven hundred fifty. "Sold! Next we have...William Shakespeare! Come on up Will...Tell me did you really write all those plays or was it someone else using your name, as suggested by some snobs?" Will was obviously taken by surprise, but stayed in character and declared that he and he alone wrote every word, and laughter rippled through the crowd.

Will went for eight hundred. Several more cycled up onto the stage, going for anywhere from five hundred to fifteen hundred dollars. I began to enjoy the spectacle. The mistress of ceremonies knew how to throw in double entendres, which everyone enjoyed.

A thin Barney Fife went for an amazing two thousand after some spirited bidding. I wondered what these women knew about him. A wise-cracking Will Rogers went for seventeen hundred and Mister Spock brought twenty-two hundred. A number of ladies apparently wanted to be cardigan-wearing Mister Roger's neighbor, and he raised twenty-five hundred. It dawned on me during the auction that all the men in the auction did not have masks. The masked men seemed to be relegated to spectator status. Perhaps they were married and accompanying their spouses with the single men unmasked. That was a concern if it happened to be true.

I relaxed some as I realized the auction was winding down. No sooner had I breathed a sigh of relief than I heard "WILLIAM WALLACE". I looked around to see if there was another one, but someone gave me a little shove toward the stage. "Ah, there you are, my Braveheart!...Step right up. Maybe he can show us how he uses his sword." Hoots and whistles followed that remark.

A female voice in the crowd called out "How do we know he is the real one? What's he got on under there?" The audience laughed and another woman started a chant "Show us...show us..." I knew what they wanted and figured what the hell, I'll never see these people again. I turned around back to them and flipped up the back of my kilt. The crowd roared. The first woman hollered out "Yep, he's the real one."

"Well, now that we know he is authentic, who will start the bidding at two-fifty?"

A hand was raised. A voice from the opposite side of the room said "Five hundred." I peered out and saw Marie Antoinette with her fan raised. At last I knew who to seek out. "One thousand!" Wait. Another Marie had her hand raised. "Fifteen hundred." "Two thousand!" "Three thousand." "Four thousand." "Five!" "Ten thousand!"

The crowd had become silent as these two women fought it out. After considering another bid, Marie Number two angrily slammed her fan shut and scowled as a murmur ran through the crowd.

"Going once...twice...SOLD for ten thousand! His sword must be mighty, indeed! And now our last one - Zorro, come on up."

A man in a black outfit with a black brimmed hat and a black scarf with eyeholes cut out over his face leaped up onto the stage. He whipped a rapier out of his belt and whipped a 'Z' in the air. There were a number of "Ooh's". After another lively auction Marie number two got him for seven thousand. The mistress of ceremonies said, as he walked off the stage, "Maybe he'll show some sword tricks, too!"

We men were ushered over to a table where the women paid and claimed their prizes. At last I was going to meet the correct Marie. Or did the one I was supposed to meet get outbid? Was that why Marie number two seemed peeved? At the table I saw a Marie lead Zorro away while another Marie awaited me.

She held out her hand for me and I held my arm out for her to take. I spoke to her but her reply was a raspy voice that could have been real or a put-on. The mask hid her eyes enough that I couldn't get a good read on whether I knew them or not. She had a wig of hair piled up on her head and a lavish dress trimmed with lace and jewels.

Although she held my arm, it was she who guided us through the crowd. I heard the mistress of ceremonies come back to thank everyone for participating, and noting that over one hundred thousand dollars had been raised through ticket sales and the auction. She especially wanted to thank all the men who had been such good sports.

Marie whipped open her fan and lazily fanned while we made our way toward the ballroom door. Just inside the door she picked up a black lace wrap she had left hanging over the back of a chair, and draped it across her shoulders. I tried to start a conversation several times but her answers were always short and evasive. While some guests stayed on to enjoy the remaining free food and drink at least half were leaving as we were.

She guided me down the corridor and across the lobby to the elevators. I asked "I'm not familiar with this sort of thing. Just what exactly did you buy me for?" Even with the mask I could discern a smile as her answer.

Several couples boarded the elevator with us. Barney Fife and the woman who had bought him were among them, giggling together. The others apparently were couples, as the men wore masks. The elevator stopped at several floors along the way and the crowd in the elevator thinned until we were the only two left. We passed my floor and continued on to an upper floor.

The doors opened into a lavishly appointed hallway, one that the real Marie would have been proud to claim. The fragrance of fresh cut flowers in an enormous vase on what appeared to me to be an antique table filled the air. I could only make out four doors along the entire hallway, so we had entered some high priced real estate. Marie still clung to my arm as she guided me to the last door on the left. She waved her key card over a pad and the door clicked open.

The dimly lit room continued the lavish décor. What stood out to me was the fireplace, greeting us with a cheerful fire. She dropped the wrap on a sofa and led me through double doors to an enormous bedroom. I swear the suite was half the size of my house. She withdrew her hand from my arm and went about lighting scented candles on tables about the room, and the lights were switched out. I tried to engage her in conversation, but all I got in reply was that smile under the mask.

She walked around me as if appraising me. I tried a line I had heard used before. "You're looking at me like a piece of meat. I feel so cheap!" The smile broadened and it appeared that she only kept from laughing by herculean effort.

The raspy voice said "Let's see how you can use that sword you are so famous for, William Wallace." She walked around me again. "I suppose in order to use it you must unsheathe it."

She removed the belt and pouch from around my waist and slipped the sash over my head. When they had been tossed aside she ran her hands over my chest and untucked my button-less linen shirt to pull over my head. Again she circled me. This time she removed my kilt.

"Ah, there it is. The most famous sword in all of Scotland. Somehow I thought it would be bigger."

Her hand softly stroked me. "Oh, now it is the size I expected."

I wanted to rip her mask (and her clothes) off, but decided to play along with her game. She led me to the enormous bed and motioned for me to lie down. I settled back with my head on some pillows to watch what she had planned next. She made a show of studying me. "It seems your sword has turned into a lance, sir. I only know one thing to do with a lance."

She removed her shoes, crawled up onto the bed and hiked up her dress just enough to straddle my legs. "My, this is a fine lance. I think I would like to test it."

She slid up into position so I was under her dress. She reached under to guide me as she raised up and 'impaled' herself on my 'lance'. "Oh, yes. A fine lance, indeed. But is it sturdy?"

She began to rock and grind on me. I had absolutely no view of her body because she kept that damned dress on. All I could see was a slight bulge of breasts peeking above the bodice. But she knew how to use that body. Somehow this game was very erotic. I had been teased enough that I knew it wouldn't take long for me. She sensed that also, because she changed tempo to keep her own stimulation while changing mine in order to draw out my torture as long as she could.

At last she increased her tempo and squeezed me inside her as she did so. I wanted to grab her breasts. I wanted to kiss her, but she kept me on my back with my hands pinned at my side. She came with a loud moan and I felt wet warmth envelop me as she pulsed around me. Just as she finished I ejaculated explosively. She at least had the courtesy of continuing to rock on me until I finished. She sat still with me inside her. That's when I knew.

"Damn, Paris. That was one of the most erotic experiences I've ever had."

She laughed and whipped off the wig and mask. "How did you know?"

I pulled her down for a kiss. "When you stopped and held still with me inside. I felt our perfect fit. I don't understand why, but I know your body inside and out. I wondered all night if you were here. I looked at eyes through masks, trying to find yours. You did a good job of hiding them."

"That was the intention. I was shocked to find several more Maries here tonight, and when that hussy tried to outbid me for you...well, I was prepared to go as high as necessary. It was all for a good cause."

"She got Zorro. I hope she likes his sword."

Paris laughed "Me too. I just didn't want her to test yours. Now help me out of this costume. I don't know how ladies stood being corseted up like this. Maybe Marie Antoinette didn't mind losing her head if it got her out of this torture suit."

I unlaced and removed the layers of her costume until her very familiar form stood before me. I gathered her in my arms and kissed her as she threw her arms around my neck. "I've missed you, Doug."

"I'm dating a number of women, but I end up comparing them all to you. It's not a fair comparison."

We laid side-by-side and I stroked her hair. "To tell the truth, I was hesitant to come to this thing. I checked everywhere I could to see if either you or Miley was involved in the charity."

"It is one of my favorites, but I keep my name out of it. They've asked me to be on their Board of Directors, but I'm afraid it could have a negative impact, so I stick to financial contributions. I figure the ten grand tonight was money well spent."

The door clicked open again and we heard voices, one of them very familiar. Paris sat up "Hey, girl. We're in here."

In through the door strode Cinderella in rags with Spiderman in tow. "Hey, look who I found just hanging around!"

Paris, me and Spiderman laughed. I shook my head. "I tried my best to see if I knew you, Miley."

"It was so fun pretending to be drunk and playing around with my voice. Also, look here."

She removed her mask to reveal her face blackened around her eyes. "I guess I did a good job of disguising my eyes."

"That you did, Miley. Who's your friend?"

"Damned if I know. Hey Spidey, let's go into the other bedroom and find out your real identity. Are you really Peter Parker?"

Miley led her companion off, but called over her shoulder "How about ordering us a little snack?"

Paris snuggled up to me and I caressed a breast. "Mmm. I miss that."

"Me too." I kissed a breast and teased a nipple with my tongue. When I eased a finger into her folds she arched her back. We kissed and I teased her clit out. I kissed a breast again and kissed my way down her body to the bare vulva. I kissed it like a mouth before sucking on her labia. Two fingers inserted into her caused her to begin to squirm. I sucked on her clit.

Very slowly I played her body like an instrument, eliciting a variety of sounds from her. It was enjoyable to watch her reactions to my touches. Her body seemed taut as a bowstring when I lowered my mouth once more to taste her delights. I worked two fingers into her, curling and thrusting. I sucked on her clit. I massaged a breast and tugged on a nipple.

She arched suddenly and let out an almost Miley-like scream, writhing under me, drenching my fingers and flooding my mouth. She crammed my face hard into her and ground against it. I felt strong contractions around my fingers and kept them in her until she became still, breathing hard.

She pulled me up to kiss and stroked my hair, eventually resting her head in the crook of my shoulder.

A scream from the other room reminded us that Miley was present and we laughed as we went to the computer and ordered room service.

The four of us sat around, eating and drinking wine. Spider Man turned out to be a very handsome young man, apparently well endowed, to Miley's delight.

Miley looked at me and Paris. "I've got a horse over here. Anyone for a game of swords? He's got size, but you've got experience. What do you say?"

I remembered what I felt like after the last time we played that game, and imagined what it would feel like to get battered by Miley's 'horse.' "I pass. I think I'll play the hand I've got right now."

"Spoil sport. Well, Spidey I guess that means we get to test your spider powers some more. I haven't even asked your real name. How thoughtless of me."

Spidey said "Hank."

"Hmph. More like Hunk of you ask me. How about I just call you Hunk?"

"That works for me. It feeds my ego."

"How about we retire to the bedroom and you can feed me something?"

Miley and Hank disappeared into the other room and closed the door. Paris fetched a spare blanket and spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace. I poured us more wine and we sat facing the fire in silence. When we had drained our glasses we set them aside and I kissed her. She fell back and pulled me with her. I caressed everything I could reach while she wrapped her arms around me. We rolled around a bit. I had never had sex in front of a fire before, and the flickering light and warmth heightened the mood.

I kissed a breast and stroked the outside of her folds. She reached under me and cradled my sac. Our kisses became more ardent, and kisses roamed over each other's body. For a brief time I kissed her vulva while she took me in her mouth. We embraced and kissed again and I gently kneaded a breast and rubbed a nipple with my thumb. She began to moan with pleasure.

When she opened for me I slowly entered, relishing the feeling of being enveloped by her. Our thrusting began at a slow pace, but picked up and the thrusts became harder. She wrapped her arms and legs around me when she neared her climax. This time I came first, but her own contractions soon met mine. Her fingernails dug into my back as she arched. Even after I finished I kept moving and she had another, stronger, orgasm. Her pulses kept me hard, and she moaned against my chest. When she finished I stayed inside. She squeezed me with her vaginal muscles and then relaxed. I stroked her fine, silky hair and she kept her eyes closed.

I held her as I rolled us over, keeping me inside. She lay on my chest with her head on my shoulder and one hand resting on my chest.

A Miley scream from the other bedroom startled us, a long scream, but it was too pleasant in front of the fire to get up. We rolled on our sides and I made an effort to remain inside her. We fell asleep with me savoring the warmth of her around me.

Another Miley scream awakened us. I had slipped out during the night, but we held each other. The one bad thing about sex in front of a fireplace is that it takes place on the floor, and the floor is harder than a bed. My camping trips with Sal had at least had the effect of getting me a bit used to hard surfaces. I'm not sure how comfortable Paris was.