The Red Masquerade

He buried half the length of him inside of her with one thrust. She was incredibly wet, and he slid in without resistance. She rolled her eyes back into her head.

"Good," she said. "Again."

He gave another thrust, pushing the other half in. Her legs squeezed his body. She dragged her nails over the floorboards.

"Again."

He started to pump her violently, rocking overt her body, pushing with all the force that his arched back and squared shoulders could exert.

"Harder!"

He held onto her hips, fingers threatening to bruise her flesh. He drew all the way out and penetrated anew with each thrust, grunting and growling. Her naked back rubbed against the hardwood, but she did not ask him to slow or relent, instead panting over and over again:

"Harder! Harder! Harder!"

He clapped a hand over her mouth. He poured out exertion, trying to drown his thoughts in the rough, needy, desperate pounding. His muscles ached and sweat matted his hair. He couldn't stop. His cock slammed into her again and again. Her pussy was saturated. He choked because he couldn't slow down enough to take a breath.

She was completely naked, her entire sweaty, writhing body his for the taking, but he felt somehow that really she was completely hidden from him except for her eyes. Only her eyes, behind her mask, were truly visible. One moment he thought they were Dido's eyes, and then they were Miranda's, and now they were those of nameless, faceless women he'd been with in the past, or ones he'd dreamed about, or those he'd never met. Eventually he had to close his own eyes and then, in the dark, she was no woman at all, safe and anonymous.

He grabbed her thrashing, wriggling body and held it down, constricting her into the closest semblance of stillness that he could. He narrowed his focus down to the feeling of hot, flushed, sweaty, pliant flesh underneath him. He begins to cum, releasing a steady stream into the confines of her pussy. He gushed and she screamed, and she broke free of his grip, clawing him and biting him, swearing and snarling and convulsing. This went on until he was spent and then he pushed her away, standing and stretching.

He did not feel satisfied. His anger was still there. He dressed in silence. She watches him, still naked on the floor. She stroked his bare ankles and giggled when he kicked her away.

"That was fun," she said. "When are you going to be ready for another round?"

Richard said nothing.

"Is your wife at the party?"

He looked at her.

"I can see the mark of the ring on your finger." She shook her head. "I don't mind. She should join us."

He went to the door.

"You're leaving?" she said, sitting up.

"Yes," said Richard.

"Where are you going?"

"Away," he said.

"What about me?" she said.

"What about you?"

She sat on the floor, covering herself with the shredded remains of her costume. "Of course you're leaving," she said. "Dido's lover always leaves. And she stays. And then she...she..."

But Richard was already gone. He crept back down the hall, closing the door to the Yellow Room behind him. What does Dido do, he thought, when her lover leaves? It didn't matter. He needed something else now, but he wasn't sure what.

Richard passed the little bedroom again, and again stuck his head inside. The wounded soldier was still there. The blood was now overflowing onto the carpet. Richard thought the man must be dead, but when he came closer he saw that the soldier was taking shallow breaths, and every now and then he blinked.

"Doctor," he said, with much effort. "Get me...a doctor."

Richard looked him over. "I can if you want," he said. "But it looks too late to me."

The man groaned. "That fucking bitch. I can't believe she did it."

"Who?"

"This crazy bitch in a vampire costume," said the soldier. "She actually bit me! Oh Christ, it hurts!"

Richard saw something gleam on the bedspread. He found two pointed metal objects, covered in blood.

"You see?" said the soldier. "She broke her fucking fake fangs off on me. Can you believe that? What kind of a fucking psycho—?" He coughed up blood, drowning whatever he said next.

"Looks like she got you pretty good," said Richard. "I don't think you've got much longer."

"Should have stayed away," said the soldier. "Shouldn't even have come in. I don't even know how I got here..."

Richard counted to himself. After two minutes passed without the man taking a breath, he leaned in close to the body. The bite mark had a ragged edge. The entire room smelled of raw flesh. Richard's stomach growled. Before he knew what he was doing, he climbed up onto the bed, leaning over the dead man. He licked his lips and slid his tongue over his teeth, wondering if they were sharp enough to tear the meat.

As he reached out, he knocked his mask askew. As soon as he did, he jerked his hand away. The smell of blood became sour, and he felt dazed. What's going on, he thought; what am I doing?

A hand readjusted his mask for him. Once it was on straight, he felt normal again. He saw the Red Death at the bedside.

"Thanks," said Richard, smoothing the mask over his face again.

"My pleasure," said the Red Death. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"You bet," he said. "Sorry about this mess."

"It wasn't your fault," said the Red Death. "The vampire costume always causes problems. Although I see you've stained your pelt."

The Red Death waved a hand and Richard's costume and mask became spotless again.

"There," said the Red Death. "By the way, I thought I should let you know that your wife is looking for you."

Richard's ears perked up. "Miranda?"

"Yes. She asked me where you were. She's over in the east wing right now. I can take you to her, if you like?"

Richard climbed off the bed. "I'll find her on my own," he said.

"As you wish. This is your party, after all. Enjoy yourself however you see fit. I want you to do whatever pleases you tonight."

But Richard wasn't listening. He sniffed the air, searching for her scent. He licked his lips again. Ah, he thought, the thrill of the hunt.

As he went along, the Red Death followed him, too. He knew it was there, but was not afraid. It was a comfort knowing that death stayed behind him, and would be there when he found Miranda.

***

Miranda and Carmilla left the Green Room. Sounds of moaning and bodies pressing against each other followed. They went a ways down the hall, stopping amid a cluster of jack-o-lanterns and then bursting into giggles.

"Well," said Carmilla, "that obviously wasn't the right way. Although, it could be right, with the right company..."

Miranda blushed. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"Not a one."

Miranda looked around. "You know, I swear I've been through the Green Room already, but it was downstairs."

"Maybe there's more than one," said Carmilla.

"No, it was the same room," said Miranda. "I recognized it. But it wasn't in the same place. Does that make sense?"

"Nope," said Carmilla. Her veil moved a little when she talked. "I think it was probably just a different room entirely and that you're mixed up. I can't believe you were looking at the room at all. There was SO much else to look at."

They laughed again. Despite their joking, Miranda did not feel cheerful. She was sure that it really had been the same room, and she was also sure that they were now going back the way they came but that nothing was the same. The music from the Green Room followed them, and she had to stop herself from walking in time with it. Her mask felt tight and restrictive.

"Maybe we shouldn't leave," said Carmilla. "I'm having a good time. When we find your husband, we should go back."

"What?"

"Well, not to that room," said Carmilla. "But one of them."

Miranda shuddered. "I don't like this house, or this party. And I don't like that man, the Red Death."

"He is strange," said Carmilla. "But did you hear his voice? To die for!"

Miranda said nothing. The hallway seemed to go on and on forever. Rows and rows of grinning, candlelit faces greeted them. They were quite lost by now, although she wondered what that even meant when you weren't sure where you'd started in the first place. Miranda and Carmilla stood at the intersection of two hallways, looking each way.

"Just how big is this house anyway?" said Miranda.

Carmilla flopped down on a fainting couch in a nearby culvert. "Maybe we should have left a trail of breadcrumbs?"

"Wouldn't have helped," said Miranda, sitting next to her. "There are too many people in squirrel and pigeon costumes running around."

She raised her mask up to wipe the sweat off her forehead. Carmilla clucked her tongue.

"Not supposed to do that," she said. "Masks on at all times. Rules are rules."

"What are they going to do, kick us out?" said Miranda. "I'd thank them if they did. At least then we'd know where the front door was."

Carmilla sat up a little more. "You have the most beautiful eyes," she said.

"Thank you," said Miranda, putting her mask back on. Carmilla began rubbing Miranda's shoulders. Miranda shrugged.

"It's really not so bad here," said Carmilla.

"It's horrible. Who are these people?"

"Folks like you and me," said Carmilla.

"We deserve a better crowd."

"At least we have each other."

"Yes, but—" said Miranda, and then Carmilla kissed her. She was so surprised she almost fell over, but Carmilla twined her arms around her.

The kiss went on for some time. Miranda thought she should stop it, but by then almost a minute had already passed. Carmilla's lips were wet and their bodies were crushed together, the other woman's breasts pressed against hers. Carmilla's nails dragged over Miranda's bare arms and shoulders. Miranda's heartbeat quickened. Though they'd left the main party, she thought she heard music still. She felt it carrying her away, like it did for a moment on the dance floor in the Blue Room. She imagined laying Carmilla down on the couch, here in their private little nook and kissing her mouth, and neck, and breasts, and then drawing her skirts up.

The mask seemed to press tighter over her face, and Carmilla's teeth grazed her lips, and then—

"No," she said, standing up. Carmilla broke away and stood too, turning to face the wall.

"Oh my god," she said. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," said Miranda. She was glad Carmilla had turned around, so she couldn't see her blushing. "Don't worry about it."

"You must think I'm—" said Carmilla, and Miranda put a hand on her shoulder, though she was careful not to touch the bare skin.

"I got carried away for a second too," she said. "I don't think it's us. Anyway, no harm done." She smiled and Carmilla smiled back. Continuing on, they walked in silence, picking a corridor almost at random.

"Just think:" said Carmilla. "It's your husband we're looking for, but I'm the one dressed as a bride."

"It suits you," said Miranda.

"Yes, but I ruined it," said Carmilla. "I lost part of it earlier tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"I lost my fangs. See, I'm not just supposed to be a bride; I was a vampire too."

***

The trail was still fresh, but Richard lost it in the Green Room. Too many sweating bodies too close to one another; there was no chance of following her through this. He growled.

There was a sound of bells and he caught a whiff of Miranda's scent. Richard saw a man in a mask covered in diamonds and grabbed his arm. "I'm looking for a woman," he said. "My wife. I think you might have spoken to her?"

"Posso aiutarti?" said the harlequin. "Non ti preoccupare!"

Richard blinked. "Are you screwing with me?"

"Succhiami il cazzo," said the harlequin.

.

Richard saw a closet and pushed the harlequin inside; the harlequin struggled, but Richard was stronger, and no one could hear the other man shouting. He switched the light on and closed the door, then took the other man's mask off and threw it away. The man stood there, blinking in the light, looking stunned.

"Chi? Di che cosa...um...I'm sorry, I don't really know what's going on? Where am I? Who are you?"

Richard put his hands around the man's throat and squeezed. "Now, let's try this again," he said. "I'm looking for a woman..."

***

It seemed they had moved up another floor somehow, though Miranda did not remember any stairs. "This is the strangest house," she said.

"Do you hear that?" said Carmilla. Miranda listened, and heard a ticking noise. They looked into an open doorway and at first Miranda thought that the room was dark, but then she realized that no, it was just black: black walls, black ceiling, black carpets, black furniture. In the center of the room was a great black wooden cabinet nearly eight feet tall, and that was the source of the ticking.

"It's a grandfather clock," said Miranda. "Like in the story."

"Story?" said Carmilla.

"'The Masque of the Red Death.' This whole party is set up like it, with the colored rooms and everything. That ticking is odd, though..."

"It's not that odd for a clock to tick."

"But listen to it. It's like the music downstairs. It kind of gets in your head and...let's keep going."

They skirted past the Black Room. Across the hall was another open doorway.

"Looks like the White Room" said Miranda. "It's empty though. Do you think we should cut through here?"

"Wait!" said Carmilla, but Miranda stepped in and for a moment she was dazzled by what might have been a burst of light or might have just been the white interior of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

When the spots faded from her eyes she saw that the room was now filled with people. Or perhaps they weren't people? They were gauzy and unreal, like a film projection on a wall, a crowd of ghostly white dancers almost invisible against the white-paneled walls. Their trailing hands brushed her clothes as they swept past.

There was music, and before she knew it she was swaying in time with it.

"Aren't they beautiful?" said the Red Death. He put his hand through one of the ghostly figures, scattering it and then watching it melt back together and dance away. "They're for you."

He stood next to her, and the ghostly men and women danced in a circle around them, and now Miranda was dancing too. The ghost dancers passed her from one partner to another, and she fell into step with them each in turn. She thought, for a moment, that perhaps something was terribly wrong here, but the light and the music and the touch of intangible hands on hers drowned those thoughts out.

"I really do love Halloween," said the Red Death. "It's a night when you feel like you can be anything. Maybe even the person you've always wanted to be?"

Miranda put her hands out and felt the touch of the ghostly people. It was cold, but comforting, like silk sheets or gentle rain.

"And what have you always wanted to be, Miranda?" said the Red Death. "A wife? A career woman? Or do you want more? For that matter, don't you deserve more?"

They were pulling her along now, a dozen spectral hands plucking at her gown and taking her to a sedan chair with lace curtains. They pulled her inside and laid her down, all white lace and white silk. She nodded her head from side to side and sighed, as if dreaming.

"That's why I made you a queen tonight," said the Red Death. "I made you a queen, and now I've brought your servants. They'll do anything you want, and give you all of the things that you deserve."

Miranda felt pleasantly drunk. She lolled on the silk cushions, enjoying the feel of the fabric on her bare skin. Ghostly hands touched her dress, pulling it down and off, allowing her to feel more. She rolled over, letting the fabric tickle her naked breasts.

The hands moved over her, caressing her hips, thighs, legs, and ankles. The tip of a finger glided along the smooth roundness of her backside and up the length of her spine. She felt content. A pair of cold lips kissed hers, and she kissed back. She heard a woman's voice giggle and was kissed again.

Gentle hands massaged her naked breasts, fingertips tweaking her nipples as they swelled and hardened. She gasped and felt herself flush. Someone (or something?) cupped the underside of her breasts and kissed them, cold lips tingling her hot skin. An invisible mouth began to suck, the wet flickering of a tongue sending chills up and down her as it teased her sensitive flesh.

"You see? It feels good to finally get the attention you deserve, doesn't it?" said the Red Death. "Good to finally be adored, admired, pampered, loved..."

Miranda opened her eyes and saw the pale face of a beautiful woman smiling at her, the woman's hair floating around her body, composed of shimmering, gauzy nothingness. The woman kissed Miranda and Miranda kissed back. The touch of the phantom lips made her even more lightheaded. Meanwhile, other figures attended to her, some trailing light kisses across her naked body, some massaging her neck, shoulders, or calves, and some running their fingers through her hair as it spilled across the pillows.

Miranda reached out to embrace the other woman but her arms went right through. She kissed the side of Miranda's neck. Miranda moaned and her eyes rolled back as the woman's mouth trailed down the front of her body, kissing the spot between her bare breasts, trailing along the flat plane of her stomach, teasing her belly button with the tip of a tongue before going lower, and lower, cold kisses gliding over her hip bones and then to the tops of her thighs.

Miranda licked her lips and said:

"Lower, please."

She spread her legs and cried out as a hand slid between them and then a mouth pressed against her. She began to moan. Another figure was holding her from behind, cradling her and massaging her breasts while the woman kissed her pussy, making it wet and hot. Every now and then her eyes fluttered open and she saw a dozen faces looking at her, each one smiling and adoring. It felt so good, just lying there, naked on the sheets, letting herself be touched. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as a tongue penetrated her, and then she screamed anyway as it began to flicker around and around in a circle. The sea of touches and caresses became more insistent, as though they couldn't get enough of her. When she reached out for them they vanished but were always there again a second later.

She grew wetter and wetter, the constant, lapping attention pushing her on. She ached and trembled.

"Isn't this what you really want?" said the Red Death. "Not your husband, not your job, not your life out there, but this: to be the most important person; to indulge your every want; to act instead of think?"

His voice hurt her. She tried to scream but couldn't. The ghosts huddled around her, as if to protect her, kissing and fondling her with even greater attention.

"Isn't this the real you, Miranda?" said the Red Death. "Isn't the mask the real you after all?"

Miranda opened her eyes. She felt cold all over. She said:

"No."

The music stopped. The ghosts vanished. The light in the room dimmed.

"What did you say?" said the Red Death. He backed up a step.

"I said no." Miranda gathered up her costume and put it back on, covering herself before stepping out of the sedan chair. There was no one in the room now but her and the Red Death.

"I don't want to be waited on," she said. "I don't want to be worshipped. I don't want everything."

She threw her mask away. She threw the tiara down too. The Red Death's eyes widened.

"My, my," he said. "Miranda: You really are a thing to wonder at."

"I'm leaving," she said.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," said the Red Death.

"Why not?"

"Because it's late in the evening. And because you can't trust the tameness of a wolf."

"You're talking nonsense," said Miranda. "I don't have time for this."