Shall We Dance?
From behind her mask Annabelle watched the others dance an old-fashioned minuet. This party was only for the best of the best. The richest of the rich. The only reason she had been invited was because her father was the vice president of the pharmaceutical company whose sponsoring this evening. She had been here for two hours and up to now no one had given any attention to her. Granted, she was sitting in a darkish corner, wearing a dark blue satin ball gown and a matching mask.
“Shall we dance?”
Annabelle’s shriek disappeared in the sound of the music. A well-dressed, masked man leaned against a pillar slightly behind her. How long had he been standing there, Annabelle wondered.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said and held his hand out to her as if she had agreed to dance with him. Mesmerized she followed him to the dance floor. Not that she had any choice with the tight grip on her hand. The music had changed to a waltz. He held her tight; steered her around the dance floor graciously. A couple of people seemed to stare at them, but Annabelle ignored them. They didn’t speak; not during the dance and not when he escorted her back to her place. She straightened her dress around her and when she looked up, he was gone.
When she couldn’t find him between the dancing people, she shrugged and picked up her glass to sip her wine. Her glass stopped halfway to her mouth as she watched a woman waltz by. Alone. She seemed to be dancing with a partner, but her arms were empty. Annabelle shrugged again and sipped her wine. She looked over her shoulder when she felt a hand touching her. There was no one there. Annabelle clearly felt the hand moving down her back. A chill ran through her. She looked back at the dancing floor and saw the same woman again. She was still alone. Annabelle’s eyes fell on a second woman, also dancing with bare arms. Something strange was going on.
A hand closed over her mouth; not too hard, but hard enough to muffle her scream.
“Not a sound,” a voice said. Annabelle nodded.
Hands covered her breasts. A fierce blush covered her cheeks. What if someone saw what was happening? She looked at the dancing people, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. The hands gently squeezed her breasts. Annabelle sighed and looked down. She wanted to watch the hands caressing her. Shocked to utter silence she stared down at her breasts. She clearly felt the hands on her breasts, but there were no hands on her breasts. Slowly realization dawned on her. Dancing women, seemingly holding onto a man, but no men could be seen. The strange looks she got when she danced with the stranger. The way the stranger disappeared again. Feeling those hands on her breasts but they were invisible.
This party. The old castle. The masks, the mystery. The theme of the party. Halloween! Ghosts!
She shook her head. No, really, ghosts? Never, Annabelle thought, but then she looked down as the invisible hand moved towards her legs. She felt every movement, but saw nothing. As if by magic, the fabric of her dressed crept up, revealing first her high-heeled pumps, then her lower legs, her knees, her stocking tops. Two hands covered her inner thighs; squeezed her flesh. Annabelle knew she should resists, but she didn’t want to. She was not frightened anymore; haven’t actually been. Annabelle was intrigued.
Fingers of one hand parted her labia. One finger on the other softly ran from her wetness to her waiting clitoris. It was hard with anticipating lust. Annabelle leaned back, pushing her buttocks forward and spreading her legs wider. She was oblivious of any other people in the room. All that exist was her lust and the invisible hands. There must be some trick to this. Maybe her drink was spiked and that was the reason why she couldn’t see the man behind her, but she didn’t care. Her mask hid her face. Her dignity would be intact even if these fingers would bring her to orgasm. Which is what she wanted.
With her legs spread wider, the fingers now pushed in and out of her. Annabelle looked at her smoothly shaved pussy. It was awkward, yet exciting,to see her labia spread by invisible fingers. To feel fingers moving in and out of her, touching her clitoris. The sounds of her wetness excited her even more. Skillfully the fingers brought her to orgasm. It didn’t stop after one time. It continued until Annabelle’s throat hurt from panting and moaning loud. When finally it stopped and pushed her dress back down over her legs, she was tired. Satisfied.
Screams around her brought her back to the present. Like a real lady she put her fingers in front of her lips to hide her laugh. Several women were scuffling around and trying to escape invisible hands pulling their dresses up, exposing their stockings, frilly lingerie and in some cases naked bottoms to the men around. No matter how hard they tried to escape, the invisible hands got to all of them.
Annabelle rushed to the door, retrieved her coat from the wardrobe and left the castle. As she passed through the gate, she turned around and looked up at the windows. Obviously the commotion inside had not stopped yet. Her eye caught a bronze sign next to the gate:
Finishing School for Young Male Adults
1852 – 2002
© Rebel’s Notes
This post was written for the discontinued meme A Darker Flame, with the prompt: Masquerade party