From behind her mask, Annabelle watched people dance an old-fashioned minuet.
This party was only for the best of the best.
The richest of the rich.
The only reason she was here was because of her father. He was vice-president at the pharmaceutical company sponsoring this evening. She’d been here for two hours and up to now, no one had paid her any attention. Granted, she sat 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 out his hand to her, even though she hadn’t accepted his invitation.
Mesmerized, she followed him to the dance floor. Not that she had much of a 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 stared at them, but Annabelle ignored them. They didn’t speak; not during the dance, and not when he escorted her back to her dark spot. She straightened her dress around her, and when she looked up again, 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.
She seemed to dance with a partner, but her arms were empty.
Annabelle shrugged again and put her glass to her lips. She glanced over her shoulder when a hand touched her.
There was no one there.
The hand moved down her back, causing a chill to run through Annabelle. She looked back at the dancing floor and saw the same woman again. She was still dancing 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.
Hands covered her breasts. A fierce blush covered her cheeks. What if someone saw? She looked at the dancing people, but once more, no one seemed to be aware of her presence.
The hands gently squeezed her breasts. Annabelle sighed and looked down. She wanted to watch those hands while they caressed her. Shocked into utter silence, she stared down at her breasts. She clearly felt the hands kneading, but there were no hands on her breasts.
Slowly, realization dawned on her.
Dancing women, holding onto a man, but no men to be seen.
The strange looks she got when she danced with the stranger.
The way the stranger disappeared without a trace.
Feeling those invisible hands on her breasts.
This party. The old castle. The masks, the mystery. The theme of the party. Ghosts & Gals!
She shook her head.
No, really, ghosts? Annabelle thought. Never!
The invisible hand moving towards her legs made her think otherwise. Even though she felt every movement, she 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 squeezed the flesh of her inner thighs. Annabelle knew she should resist, but she didn’t want to.
She wasn’t frightened anymore; hadn’t actually been.
It intrigued Annabelle.
Fingers parted her labia. Another finger softly ran from her wetness to her waiting clitoris, hard with anticipation. Annabelle leaned back, pushing her buttocks to the edge of her chair, and spreading her legs wider. She was oblivious to any other people in the room. All that exist in that moment was her lust and the invisible hands.
Could there be some trick to this? Maybe someone had spiked my drink?
Annabelle didn’t care. Her mask hid her face. Her dignity would be intact even if these fingers brought her to orgasm.
That was what she wanted.
With her legs spread wider, the fingers now pushed in and out of her. Annabelle looked down 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 the first one. Fingers enticed more orgasms until Annabelle’s throat hurt from panting and moaning out loud.
When finally it stopped and pushed her dress back down over her legs, Annabelle was tired.
Tired, but satisfied.
Screams around her brought her back to the present. Like a real lady, she covered her lips with her fingers to hide her laugh. Several women scuffled around, trying to escape invisible hands pulling up their dresses, exposing their stockings, frilly lingerie and even 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. The commotion inside hadn’t stopped yet.
Her eye caught a bronze sign next to the gate:
Finishing School for Young Male Adults
1852 – 2002
Note: I originally wrote this story In October 2014 for the discontinued meme A Darker Flame, with the prompt: Masquerade party.