My Masked Mistress

Chapter 1The company’s annual masquerade Halloween party was always a big hit with everybody except Dante Frost—which was really too bad because, as the CEO, he was expected to make an appearance. And he did, every year, in the same mask, and the same costume. It seemed like everybody else made about as much effort as he did when it came to finding a costume. They weren’t there to dazzle their coworkers with originality; they were there to eat their weight in expensive caviar and drink enough wine to make a Frenchman blush. Except, one woman apparently did not get the memo that the masquerade party was less about the masquerade and more about the party. And Dante couldn’t stop staring at her. She moved through the revelers and the drinkers with ease, and occasionally, she would get close enough he could hear her laughter. He couldn’t find a single identifying detail—though truth be told, he didn’t recognize the vast majority of people in his employ. He regularly tried to distract himself with booze and chatter and food, but she would inevitably flutter into his line of vision, and he would be captivated all over again. Dante could admit her costume, as flattering as it was, wasn’t anything that special. She wore a leather mini-dress with a tight fitting bodice that hugged and lovingly accentuated each of her curves. Long tassels hung from the short skirt, drawing his gaze from her breasts to her legs. She wore fishnet stockings and leather boots that went nearly up to her knees. Red and white silk butterfly wings and a matching mask completed the ensemble. She also had a leather whip hanging from her wrist. The costume may not receive many points for originality, but in Dante’s opinion, she wore it very, very well. And that was definitely worth something. Even so, Dante did his best to avoid her. The thought of s****l harassment lawsuits, of embarrassing the company, of possibly losing his job over a drunken tryst at a Halloween party kept him on a short leash. But the more he drank, the more lax the leash became, until he found himself circling the large ballroom, waiting for his chance to get her alone. Every time he thought he had her, she suddenly had a new companion. A young blonde he recognized from Accounting who looked like Peter Pan next to her statuesque form. Masini and Kater from Sales, each offering her a new drink she refused with a shake of her head that made the thick, dark waves of her hair fall in fresh patterns over her luscious shoulders. Even Vern from HR, standing a little too close until she playfully flicked her whip at him. Dante’s c**k jumped then. She wielded the whip just a little too easily. The closest he got was five feet away. She was laughing with the blonde again, and she glanced over her friend’s head, and their gazes met. They did more than meet, actually; they locked. The full lips that gave her body a run for its money when it came to curves widened into a knowing smile, and he got to see that her eyes were brown with the thickest lashes he’d ever seen. As she turned away, Dante could have sworn she winked. He was so caught up in keeping track of her through the press of people that he didn’t realize she was actually leading him away from the party until a blast of cool air touched his face. Confused, and a little bit lightheaded from the rum he’d been drinking, he paused and looked around, trying to get his bearings. The fresh air was coming from the side door that led to the service hallway behind the ballroom. And the mysterious woman was gone. Dante glanced back to the bustling party. Everything was in full-swing now, and if he disappeared, nobody would notice. She wanted him to follow her; he was sure of it. And he wanted to follow her, if only to find out her name. Who was this woman? Why had he never noticed her before? He looked over his shoulder, then pulled the door open and slipped into the cool corridor. There were tables folded up against the wall, a rack of chairs waiting to be used if they became necessary. The party had turned into a hollow echo through the cement walls, but there, with her boot propped up on the edge of the cart to move the chairs, was his mysterious masked woman. She was bent over, fiddling with the zipper that ran up the inside of her calf. It pushed her ripe breasts up and almost out of her leather mini-dress, turning her silhouette into one of the most erotic things he had ever seen. Especially with the whip dangling forgotten from her wrist. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” Her voice was a husky alto, soft and rich, but she hadn’t even turned her head in his direction as she spoke. “Unless impolite is what you’re going for.” Dante didn’t look away, and he didn’t feel a flush of shame at being called on for his rude behavior. “I have a feeling if you didn’t like being stared at, you would have chosen a more…modest costume.” She tilted her head just enough to peek around her thick curtain of hair. “And how do you know this isn’t modest for me?” Dante smiled. “To be fair, I don’t know anything about you. What’s your name?” She clicked her tongue. “It’s a masquerade party. Tonight, everyone calls me Mistress.” Those sooty lashes ducked as her attention swept over his cape and Phantom mask. He almost wished he’d put a little more thought into the costume now. “And if you ask nicely, boy, I’ll even let you call me that.” His eyes widened. Was it possible she didn’t know who he was? Because nobody in that building would dare to talk to him like that, even in a playful way. But despite his surprise, he found he really didn’t mind. In fact, he was taking another step toward her. “Ask nicely? I’m not really the asking type. I’m more inclined to just take what I want.” Slowly, she put down her foot and straightened to her full height. She would have been a tall woman even without the boots, but in the four-inch heels, she matched his six-one. “We have a problem, then.” Though she didn’t raise her voice, there was no denying the command behind her words. “Because nobody gets anything from me unless I expressly desire it. Anyone who tries usually gets punished.” Dante’s gaze was drawn to the whip once again. It had been…years since anybody had punished him. It would be dangerous to continue this game. If word got out that the CEO liked to be bent over and paddled like a misbehaving child…But he couldn’t force himself to walk away from her. “Punished? I don’t think you have it in you.” “Then why did you follow me out here, boy?” Dante stood close enough to touch her now, but he kept his hands at his side. She didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the way he invaded her personal space. In fact, her eyes were locked with his while she waited for an answer to her question. “Because I wanted to know your name…Mistress.” Her mouth curved into a small, pleased smile. At her side, she began to rotate her wrist, letting the whip swing in tiny, hypnotic circles. “You say that very prettily. Now I’m torn between wanting to punish you for ogling me or rewarding you. Decisions, decisions.” The promise behind her words was enough to make him ache. A part of his brain set to work concocting explanations and justifications—I was drunk, it’s Halloween, I was temporarily insane, sometimes crazy things happen. “Would it help you make up your mind if I took you somewhere a bit more private?” The whip cracked, and even through his pants, he felt the sharp sting of the leather where it snapped over his thigh. Dante hissed in surprise, but by the time he glanced down, she already had the whip circling again at her side. “If you know my name, use it, boy,” she warned. “Otherwise, don’t waste my time.” Dante’s c**k stiffened, and he was forced to adjust himself as subtly as he could—which wasn’t that subtle. “Would you like me to find someplace more private, Mistress?” She didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to slowly walk around him, her eyes narrowed in thoughtful scrutiny as they swept over him. Dante didn’t move, though he itched to turn his head and follow her path. By the time she returned to stand in front of him, his c**k was at full attention, throbbing in anticipation. “Yes.” Reaching out, she traced a long fingernail along the line of his erection. “I think I’d like that very much.” Dante always personally reserved a large block of rooms for his employees and their after-party recovery. He often reserved a suite for himself and stayed in the hotel for the whole weekend—it made an excellent mini-vacation. He nodded toward the elevator, pausing a moment to make sure she’d follow him, before leading her to the end of the hall. The woman didn’t touch him, didn’t speak to him, and didn’t even look at him during the long ride up to his suite. Her apparent indifference only increased his desire. He wanted to do anything and everything to her body, but more than that, he wanted to let her do whatever she wanted to his. Now, oddly, her identity seemed less important. If she just wanted to be his mistress for the night, he could agree to that. For one night. When the elevator doors finally opened, the back of his neck was damp with sweat, and his c**k was still hard. She gestured with the whip, indicating he should exit first. Would she take off her mask for him at all? He would ask, but he thought he already knew her answer. Once they reached his room, he unlocked the door and held it open. “After you, Mistress.” He caught a whiff of her perfume as she passed, something earthy that made his mouth water. As she walked around the main room, looking it over, his gaze was drawn to the full curve of her ass, rounding out the back of her mini-dress more than nicely. This was a woman he could sink into, and the thought of his c**k enveloped by her soft, hot flesh was enough to make him swallow against the tightness suddenly forming in his throat. “You have good taste,” she commented, and then shot him a sly smile. “But then again, I already knew that.” Dante shut the door and leaned against it, his arms folded. “Because I spent most of the night ogling you?” “Maybe. But ogling isn’t enough, is it? You want more, or you wouldn’t have invited me up here.” Dante licked his lips. “Yes, Mistress, I do want more.” “More needs to be earned, boy. And I usually take p*****t in a pound of flesh first.” She looked around the room until her attention fell on the closed bedroom door. Nodding toward it, she said, “Go in there and strip out of your costume. When I walk in, I want to see you on your knees, hands behind your back.” Dante hesitated for just a moment. On the one hand, he understood she had to know who he was. On the other hand, he was hesitant to lose the shield of his anonymity, thin as it was. “May I keep my mask on, Mistress?” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. “I do like the way you say that,” she mused, almost as if it surprised her. “Yes, boy. You may.” Dante inclined his head and murmured his thanks before moving into the bedroom. He untied the cape and draped it over the bed before removing his shoes. The shirt went next, and the air felt refreshing, if a bit icy, against his sweaty back. Finally, he unzipped his pants, sighing with relief as the pressure against his erection eased. He stepped out of his trousers and boxers, and felt a little silly about insisting on his mask once he was completely nude. Still, he didn’t plan to take it off. Dante lowered himself to his knees, his palms and the bottoms of his feet tingling with excitement. Every inch of his skin seemed to be on fire. The carpet was rough against his knees, and his fingers formed a slick ring around his wrist as he locked his hands in place. He kept his gaze straight ahead, waiting for the bedroom door to swing open to reveal his mysterious mistress.