Tonight, many curtains are closed. Usually, during Carnival, there are new people who have never attended the club, but if you come here any Tuesday, you can get involved in something absolutely prohibitive.
And I love the forbidden.
“Have you found anything you like?” Oscar asks.
I swallow the champagne and lick my lips. The mask annoys me.
“No.”
I'm a demanding guy and I won't pick a normal woman. I will choose the best, the most beautiful, the one able to catch the eyes of all the men in the room. I am like this, I must have the best, I have to take what represents all: total perfection.
“I've already found one!” Manuel comes into the conversation.
Carelessly I turn to the optical path he has pointed to and I feel the champagne bubbles remain in the middle of my throat.
What a strange feeling.
I unbutton my jacket and move on the couch. I don't think the champagne has already had its effect.
“Oh, fuck!” Oscar exclaims. “I would like to take the one with the green dress behind a curtain immediately.”
“I didn't say the one with the green dress,” Manuel corrects him, “but the one with the black dress. The blonde.”
The blonde.
I keep sipping a bit of champagne and it remains stuck in my throat again. I gulp strongly. It's really hot here.
The blonde.
I notice the men in the room rotate their heads depending on the girl's movement. She is elegant, slim, her little tits catch my attention. They are small, but I look at them anyway.
I like more curvy women, she isn't my type.
I look round the room but my eyes are magnetized by her.
Now I focus on her expression. She looks bewildered. Something tells me she's never been here. It provokes a strange pleasure in me. It might be her first time at the club and the idea of welcoming her comes to my mind.
I look at her lips, a natural pink, no lipstick. I hate lipstick. She turns and my cock leaps up.
Her naked back becomes a canvas to fill with dirty thoughts.
The neckline goes down to the tailbone, my mind is already thinking about how to uncover the rest of her body.
She shakes a little. Her friend makes her laugh. I can slightly hear the sound of her laughter. It's contagious. Her friend's is deafening. One gives you a headache, the other is soft, sounds caressing.
The blonde moves her hair and shakes her shoulders. The ash blonde curls fall on her back. God, that color. That ash blond.
Shut up mind.
She turns around and looks around, she is surely confused, I don't think she likes it. Probably she has never seen free sex. Certainly she is a novice
I drink a bit more of champagne and, licking my lips, my eyes point to an absolutely relaxing image: her naked back just for me. She's on my lap, I pour champagne on her clear skin and my tongue removes the drops.
Iskam ya. I want her.
“I'm going to her.” Manuel's voice becomes a fist to my stomach.
I get up at the same time and I pull his arm with no kindness. Even though I wear a mask, he can see my look saying don't even try.
“What's wrong, Botev?”
I'll break the glass on his head in three, two, one...
“Guys, hey, hey!” I feel Oscar's hand pulling mine off Manuel's arm.
“Choose another one,” I growl. It's my claim.
I gulp the champagne down and put my glass on the table.
“I saw her first.”
I smile, put my hands in my pockets and repeat.
“You don't understand! You are gonna choose another one.”
“Krum…” Oscar replies, stepping back as I look at him badly.
“You're arrogant as usual.” Manuel's voice begins to make my skin crawl.
“I know I am.”
“Okay, do as you like. I'm going to attack.”
Oscar disappears, I see him overcome Manuel and approach - with no fear - the two girls who have caught our attention. The challenge between me and Manuel is evident. I have my strategy and I let him go.
I make a sly smile and tell him:
“Go. Take her.” I go back and sit down.
Manuel says something, turns and reaches the group, clearly visible from my place. I enjoy the show. If that girl has a bit of intelligence and a decent dose of good taste, she'll tell him to go to hell in less than a minute.
A delightful waitress gives me another glass of champagne. To thank her, I pinch one of her nipples and she appreciates smiling. I immediately turn my eyes to Manuel who is chatting with my prey. The idea that she may fall into my trap excites me into a perverse vision.
I smile satisfied, when I see the blonde refusing with her head. She is refusing Manuel's attention. That makes me as happy as a pig.
While I am watching the scene, the sofa at my side sinks. A woman with thick curly brown hair swoons toward me and puts her hand under my jacket.
I don't even look at her. My eyes are enjoying a much more interesting show. The woman goes on, whispers something that my mind doesn't catch.
Her hand goes down to my contracted abdominals until she reaches the crotch of my trousers. I bring the glass to my lips and sip a bit.
Then, finally, my prey notices me.
Our eyes meet for what it seems to me a second, and, shortly after, for what it seems to me an eternity, I feel her gaze surround me, catching the sounds, seizing the air, stabbing me.
We are simply eye to eye.
The feeling is surreal. The heat I feel becomes a clamp coming from that look. An embracing look that holds you in her fist.
No.
I don't like this feeling anymore.
I decide to support the invasion of the woman that is touching me. Maybe the blonde understands that she has to stop looking at me or… she understands she cannot help it.
The curly woman beside me touches my cheek asking for attention. I grant her my face, but not my eyes that are still chained to her.
I see her staring at me again. Maybe she is curious about what we are doing, or she is interested in the side effects of this crossing of glances.
I feel it's a clash, yes. It's as if I wanted to challenge her, test her, test her self-control.
I like to think that I'm controlling her impulses, the visual path of her gaze, the direction of her thoughts.
The curly woman massages my intimate parts. Something begins to pulse down there, but I can control it. She gets near me and I decide to go on further, just because I know my blonde is waiting for my next move. I smile and realize that Manuel is talking to her, but she is not listening to him. She's totally taken by me.
I pull the woman nearer and grab the neckline of her corset with a finger. I pull it down and her abundant breast overflows, showing an already turgid nipple.
I need this slut.
I slowly bend down to the dark areola, but I have my eyes completely turned to my blonde.
She is looking at us, she seems to be in apnea. She is waiting for my move. I'm sure she imagines being in the place of the curly woman or maybe she is just scandalized.
We'll see!
My lips reach the nipple, I taste it. I don't like it.
I never find the right taste that gives me… particular sensations. Nothing. No taste. All these women are absolutely tasteless.
I suck and the woman groans. I grasp her breast and lift the nipple well in sight. I pull out my tongue and circle it. When I see that my prey is massaging her neck nervously, I have my dose of excitement. The fire is between my legs, not for the breasts I'm seeing, but for the idea she is looking at me.
Even though I have this voracious woman available for me, the blonde becomes an indispensable vision. I keep cuddling this breast, but my eyes turn automatically to other. As my lips try to do their best, I look at that girl's cheeks.
They are flushing; it doesn't look like a reaction due to embarrassment, rather, to unexpected excit
ement. I perceive the sexual tension. I feel it in the air that separates us. It's like an invisible thread that keeps us united. I'm pulling that thread hard and I know I can break it in a flash. But it's too funny, it's too exciting. It is better than sucking the nipple of this woman I don't care about. The curly woman pants, squirms, touches my hair.
“Don't touch me,” I warn her.
Who is she to touch me?
I don't allow it.
I am distracted for a moment and I see that my blonde plays with her purse, takes her cell phone and asks Manuel to wait. She goes away.
Fuck.
I do everything automatically. I push away the woman who was about to jump on me, she looks at me puzzled, I don't give her any explanation, I don't have to. I get up and run to the exit to the terrace before Manuel can reach her. I know I'm doing exactly the opposite of what I had planned. I wanted her to come to me; instead my feet don't agree with my head.
Fresh air blows in my face. The dark of the night hosts a half moon that catches my gaze. The glittering lights of the underlying lagoon are spectacular, but I am looking for my show: the blonde. I turn my head to the left and then to the right.
Here she is.
She is looking out over the marble balcony, talking on the phone.
Has she removed her mask? She can't do it.
Something inside me thrills out for the desire to see her face.
I stay behind her, careless of what's all around. My eyes are fixed on her nude back, my mind is running my fingers along that spine.
She is… Krasiva and gorgeous.
She looks shaken. The phone call is making her nervous. She moves just enough to reveal part of the profile.
I'm stressing out.
I lick my lips. I'm petrified. I must see her face. I want to see her face. Now.
Turn around. Turn around. Turn around. Turn around for me.
She does.
No!
Tya. Her.
6
AMBRA
Now, how can I tell Emma that I must go home? Just when she seemed so excited to talk with that masked guy, I have to say that I need to go. I have never heard mom so excited on the phone. Something serious must have happened if she is asking me to come back. I cannot figure out why Emma is so excited in a horrible place like this. And that guy... my gosh, how he touched that woman!
I put my cell phone in my purse. If Emma doesn't want to go home, I will call a taxi. I turn my face and I was shocked.
My goodness.
The guy.
I'm breathless, standing in front of this masked giant. I swallow, unable to move. Apparently he is also stuck. I scout his chest with my eyes, which I know for sure, are astounded. I stare at his lips, slightly opened, he looks surprised. The black mask hides his face and then… then… those eyes.
Dark eyes, two deep and motionless marbles.
I shudder. I cannot understand the effect he has on me. I sigh, hoping my legs move or that he talks and says something.
I feel him grab my wrist and I leap up.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He grasps my skin, traps me with his fingers. He pulls my wrist toward him and pulls my mask out of my hand. His grip loosens and I feel the blood vessels pumping freely. He held on really tight. I am without words
He puts the mask up to my face, stretches the elastic and makes it go over my head, straightening it well. The contact is completely opposite to the previous one: it is delicate, attentive, exciting.
I think I've lost half of my breath.
And then… those eyes. Too dark, too still, too much.
“It is strictly forbidden to take the mask off,” he warns me.
“Oh, I didn't know that. I didn't do it intentionally.”
He stares at me in a way that really disturbs me. His voice has a tonality that brings me back to inaccessible rooms of my mind, as well as the dark color of his irises, which remind me of the darkness of the past. I feel my skin rebelling at the sight of his body, but, at the same time, still requiring a vision, just to feel these unnatural vibrations. He is so tall and perfect that my eyes blink incredulously. I breathe, trying to pull myself together, but his virile perfume invades my nostrils. This man emits a dark charm, I would say, forbidden.
I'm waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He stands still in front of me with his arms stretched along his hips and his fists closed. He looks angry, he seems disappointed.
I hope he is not thinking that he can do to me the same obscene things he was doing to that slut. But, of course, since I'm in a place like this, he believes I'm a woman ready for these games.
If he touches me, I'll start screaming.
Clumsy, I wave him on to move. His body structure is so majestic that, unintentionally, I am asking him permission to let me pass with a gesture
He spreads his legs and steps to the side. He looks like a soldier. He keeps staring at me and I cannot help but gaze into his eyes while, slowly, I step pass him and my head turns toward him. For a moment we are side by side, with our faces completely following the same visual path. I stay still and I don't know why my body doesn't move on. It's like I am waiting for something, a sign. What sign?
Danger.
It is exactly what this man transmits. He's dangerous, he has a look that knocks me out, I'm afraid he'll hurt me.
He bows his head slightly and looks at me from above, he is very tall. His eyes are two mysterious wells that attract me in a perverse way. Perhaps it is just the place where I am that creates this uneasiness, yet he seems to be the exact reflection of the surroundings: he is mysterious, obscure, dangerous, perverse, arcane, and - damn, I have to admit - exciting.
He steps towards the wall, disappearing behind my shoulders. Without being able to control the movements of my body, I turn to him.
He's staring at me. Again.
He has his hands in his pockets, chest rigid and his jaw evidently contracted. My attention is totally captured by the dark spheres that are his eyes and something inside me screams to look away. But I'm struck by the curiosity to understand what's going on inside me.
A pin stabs my stomach. Slow, piercing, hot. The pin loses its cut and melts, becomes liquid and flows down. Down there.
I feel… taken.
It is not a pleasant feeling. It reminds me of a state of unconsciousness, of compulsion, of obligation. I feel compelled to look at him. It's as if his eyes have the power to keep my attention.
He never lowers his gaze. He blinks his eyelids, his dark eyes appear and disappear, appear and disappear.
“Get out of my sight,” he shouts.
My mouth drops open. Who does he think he is? I stand still for a few seconds motionless, trying to find a meaning to his words. But the only thing I feel like doing at the moment is to force my legs to move.
I don't even answer him and, frowning, I turn and I leave. I've already wasted too much time gazing at him. What has come over me?
I go into the perverted living room. I look for Emma everywhere, I cannot find her. A man comes up to me inviting me to drink something with him. I totally ignore him and keep going on my way. I get my cell phone and try to call my irresponsible friend. If I find out that she is behind one of these curtains with that stranger, I'll give her a sermon that she will remember all her life. I'm not a bigot or a saint, but, hey, she could get an illness. I hope they use condoms.
Nothing. Emma is gone, I cannot find her anywhere. I've had enough of this place and decide to take a taxi. As I head toward the exit, I write Emma a message, wishing her a nice evening. Certainly she'll have fun. she always has fun.
I go outside and I feel myself again. Inside that place I had taken on the role of a different woman, not me. I've always thought that everything should be experienced in life, but in these circumstances I would never have done what Emma was doing.
I recall that strange guy, his mouth, his expert tongue giving pleasure to that woman's body.
&nb
sp; Did I want to be in her place?
Yes, for a moment, I had imagined it.
Does this make me a pervert?
No, Ambra, you're just a woman.
I hurry across the courtyard and find myself outside, but I stop, as if I had hit an invisible wall when I see the guy leaning on the banisters smoking a cigarette. He still wears the mask and so do I.
I try to ignore him and move towards the gondolas. I'll find a taxi, it's still early. In an alley I hear ruckus. There's a bunch of drunk guys who are saying vulgar things to me. I pretend not to hear them and I walk faster to get to the nearest pier.
The noise of my heels echo in the street, but I soon realize that there are other steps along with mine. I don't turn my head. I can already recognize the mysterious and dangerous pace.
I start to fear for myself, but I am too curious, I turn around just to be sure it's him.
It's him.
My feet go faster and even his. Without realizing it, I find him next to me and I lose my second breath. Sooner or later I will suffocate because of my inability to react.
I try to keep my eyes on the road. He's silent, just walking next to me. I am trembling, maybe it's better to stay on this street, at least it is illuminated.
I keep walking, holding my purse tight to my belly, he stays at my side, quiet, with his hands in his pockets, his mask on his face and the attitude of one who knows what he is doing.
I see a boat, with my hand I call the taxi driver, he immediately turns on the engine and approaches the wooden walkway.
I'm safe.
“Now I can go,” he says. I look at him with a troubled air. I don't understand him. He understands my confusion and calms my doubts. “I just wanted to accompany you. This is not a safe district.”
I take the mask off, sliding it over my head and leaving it there. Suddenly I feel stupid: he just wanted to escort me to the taxi. He could have told me.
Should I thank him?
He wants it all Page 5