The fuzziness of her dreams began to wash away as the sunlight filtering in from the partially shuttered blinds began to pound through her eyelids. Angie slowly rolled away from the light and struggled to pull the room into focus as the dew cleared away from her opening eyes. The sights were familiar and comforting. Portraits of her family and friends hung on the wall across from her. Beneath them, her collection of perfume bottles cluttered the dresser.
Everything seemed correct... except for the smell. As she took her first deep breath of the morning, the smell assaulted her. It was rich odor of sweat, spit, and sex. As she recognized the sweet stench of coitus, the memories of last night all came rushing back to her. Angie bolted up in bed, the sheets falling away from her still naked form.
Almost frantic, she scanned the room and patted the ruffled comforter on her bed. He was gone...
She looked over at her clock radio and noticed his mask sitting next to it. It was his Devil mask - a simple camouflage made of paper covered in red sequins with two short burgundy horns protruding up out of the sides. She picked it up and turned it over. Inside was a note scribbled in Sharpie:
Next time no masks - 793-1122 - Jacob
So that was his name. She had simply called him her dark prince all night. Angie’s eyes scanned back towards the bed and over the pillows. Her own white feathered mask lay crumpled next to her pillow. It must've come off while she slept - or so she hoped.
Angie fell back onto the bed, breathing in the still pungent odor wafting up from the scattered sheets. She could still smell him, and his lingering presence sent the memories of last night rushing back into her mind. How had she, a self proclaimed "good girl" let this happen? A harmless night tagging along with her friend had led Angie to him. She had committed herself to having just a couple drinks and then getting herself home and into bed at a reasonable hour. But then she knew simply by the way he carried himself as he approached her, that her fate that night was no longer in her hands...
Angie sat at the bar facing outward with her legs crossed feeling wholly out of place. She kept pulling down the insanely short white miniskirt that her friend Jaime had talked her into wearing.
"You'll be a hot sexy angel!" Jaime had proclaimed as she held the skimpy outfit up before her.
Now she wasn't so sure. When she'd looked in the mirror earlier, it was true that she did feel sexy. The outfit consisted of white knee-high spike heeled leather boots, a short white mini-skirt, and a white leather bustier that laced up in the back. Topping it all off of course was the white sequined and feathered mask.
"My god! I'm so jealous!" Jaime giddily intoned as Angie had turned around in front of the mirror. The outfit left very little to the imagination. The tall boots accentuated her long legs and the tight mini-skirt hugged and added some shapeliness to her otherwise slight buttocks. Her medium sized breasts were hiked up to maximum cleavage by the bustier and looked quite round and pleasing.
Now as she sat alone at the bar, she felt ridiculous. This was exactly the way other women dressed – the same ones she would often describe in a whisper to her friends as "tramps”. Sure it was, Mardi Gras, but Angie was flying into her thirties. She was getting too old for this. Fortunately, she'd decided to bring along a white bolero jacket which was the only thing aside from her long raven hair that was providing her with any warmth or coverage right now.
Jaimie had abandoned her in search of beads. She wore a very similar outfit, except all black with red and purple accents. Being five years younger than Angie, Jaime was less inhibited and less jaded about the night life. She had roped Angie into dressing up and coming out with her. Angie had agreed on the promise that she would actually have fun this time. Things would be better, she had promised.
Of course, as soon as they arrived, Jaime had started collecting free drinks and beads. Her outgoing personality and flirtatious nature was an immediate draw for the men. Jaime had tried to include her friend initially, but Angie found the lascivious nature of the men off-putting. Instead, she just withdrew into her own bubble and resigned herself to sitting out while Jaime had her fun.
Every once in a while Jaime would come cruising by to check on Angie, get another drink, and show off the latest plastic trinket she had collected by flashing her ample brown D-cup breasts. Angie congratulated her, collected a few beads from her and sent her back on her way.
"Are you sure you're okay Ang? You don't look like you're having any fun..."
"I'm fine. I'm just enjoying sitting here and people-watching," she lied.
"Okay, well I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes. I'm gonna see if I can find that stud who gave me these last beads and see if I can get him to dance with me..." Jaime's voice trailed as she skipped away from the bar.
As Angie watched Jaime disappear into the crowd of debauched revelers, her eyes scanned over towards the door where the bouncer was carding a group of new arrivals. They appeared to be yet another collection of rowdy party-going men, but one of them caught her eye. Unlike the other guys, this one seemed quiet and reserved.
As they made their way inside and towards the bar, she drank in the sight of him. He was of average height, wide in the shoulders, with medium-length curly brown hair falling down just off his shoulders. He was dressed nicely with expensive looking black leather shoes and matching dark slacks. He wore a tight-fitting red knit shirt that revealed a pleasing, but not overly muscular build. His "costume" consisted of a magnificent long flowing red cape, and a simple red-sequined Devil's mask. He wore no beads.
She watched him intently as he and his friends came up to the bar. Something about the way he carried himself exuded supreme confidence, yet she didn't sense any cockiness in that demeanor. As if on queue, he turned his head and caught her staring at him. The corner of his lip curled in a slight smile as he acknowledged her and edged up to the bar right next to her.
"Double Makers on the rocks, please." His voice was smooth, just a hint above baritone.
Angie tried to look nonchalant as she sat next to him, facing partially away. She pretended to be interested in watching the crowd before her. As he set his cash down and collected his drink, the stranger leaned over slightly and spoke into her ear.
"Waiting for someone?"
As she turned to answer him, she caught a wiff of his cologne: musky, with a hint of sandalwood. His scent only contributed to the perfect image of him she was forming in her mind.
"What? Oh, no. I'm here with a friend," she smiled hoping her erratic response didn't make her seem ditzy.
"Really?" he sighed, "Such a shame for a beautiful woman like you to be sitting by herself on a night like this."
"Well, I'm used to it. I mean, I've done this before. Mardi Gras, and drinking... and..." she almost stuttered, "Well it gets old after a while."
"Ah, that sounds like the voice of disappointment," he nodded, "Mardi Gras doesn't always have to be about... this," he said as he waved his hand out towards the crowd.
"No? I suppose not," she sighed, "but it seems I keep ending up here anyway."
"Well," he smiled, "Perhaps we can find a way to change that."
He extended his hand towards her, clearly offering a gentelmanly handshake. Once she realized what it was, she immediately reached out and set hers into his.
"It's nice to meet you," she said, "I'm A..."
"Angel," he interrupted. "And you can call me your dark prince."
Angie kicked aside the covers and let the chill morning air kiss goosebumps upon her naked flesh. Every sensation felt erotic to her now. She cast her eyes down her body. Her pert breasts sat happily in front of her, erect pink nipples stabbing out into the morning air. Scanning down her creamy white skin further, her eyes settled upon the well-trimmed mound of dark hair perched on the precipice of her sex.
She felt beautiful.
With a contented sigh, she ran her hand slowly down her side, up over her hip, and over her pelvis spreading her fingers and running them through her pubic hair. Her hand continued slowly down between her legs, grazing the exposed clean-shaven skin of her vulva. Suddenly curious, she let her middle finger wiggle in between her lips. Her finger immediately encountered the wetness that was being held in by the thin wall of her labia. As she pressed it in further, her juices leaked out and began to run down the crack of her ass and onto the bed.
He had done this to her. Masturbation had lost it's allure lately with all of the stress of her day-to-day life, and frankly, a loss of interest in sex itself. Now she could barely contain her eagerness.
Angie began to slowly slide her middle finger in and out, lubricating it thoroughly with her juices. Her other hand joined in, cruising up over the curve of her rib cage and rubbing the base of her breast. She held her tit firmly, pinching her fingers together slowly upward until they held her nipple between them. Then she grasped it firmly and pulled her nipple sharply upward sending a wave of pain-tinged pleasure surfing over her body.
Her mind drifted back to memories last night. She remembered the way he had made her strip for him. She remembered the way he had laid her down on the bed, slowly and deliberately. She remembered how he had worshiped her whole body, kissing her from toe to head - licking, sucking.
Her finger slid out of her pussy, trailing her juices up her lips seeking her clit. Already stiff and peeking from it's hood, her finger rubbed her juices in it, tracing a circular pattern around it. Her body's reaction was immediate. Her hips arched, lifting her ass slightly off the bed as each twirl of her finger sent a warm surge of pleasure radiating outward from her sex.
She remembered how he had laid on top of her, using one hand to hold both of her arms above her head. He had licked his way up to her neck, stopping there to pay particular attention to her jugular hollow - wrapping his lips around it lovingly, running his tongue up and down.
And then he had worked his way up to her lips, saving the best for last. Even with the masks in the way, he proved to be an excellent and sensual kisser - sloppy, wet, and hungry. Angie picked up the pace on her clit. She was going to orgasm soon and she knew it. She could feel her sex oozing juices liberally out and down her crack. Her free hand was moving rapidly from one breast to another, pinching and pulling on her nipples.
She remembered how he had presented his cock to her. Kneeling in front of her, he had slowly unzipped his pants and pulled it out. It had dangled just in front of her face, the tip already wet with precum...
"Oh god! Mmmm...."
Angie rolled halfway onto her side as her leg involuntarily kicked out from under her. The intensity of the orgasm came like a white heat, blurring her vision and causing her ears to ring with the thunder of her own heartbeat. Her hand was applying so much pressure to her clit that it hurt. A tear rolled out of her tightly shut eyes.
"Ahh..." she sighed as she rolled back onto her back. She spread her legs and ran her hand down over her wet pussy lips, savoring the slippery sensation of her own post-orgasm wetness. Happy, but still unsatisfied, she slipped two wet fingers inside. She could still feel the receding waves of her first orgasm and began rapidly finger-fucking herself to catch up.
She was going to cum again.
She could hear the wet sloppy sounds of her juices being splattered around as her hand continued to work it's way frenetically in and out of her. She bit her lip as another wonderful rush of orgasmic pleasure washed over her.
She could've kept going. She was so wet, so hungry for more.
Then the phone rang. It was SexyBack - Jaime's ringtone.
Oh crap, Jaime!
She pulled her hand out, wiping the juices across her stomach, and rolled out of bed searching for her purse which contained the muffled cries of Justin Timberlake. The purse was halfway across the room. Weak in the knees, she stumbled over her crumpled boots as she shuffled towards her purse. It went silent as she picked it up. Deciding to call her right back, Angie fished out her phone.
15 new text messages. 4 new voice mails. Crap, she was in trouble now.
"Angie!" was the immediate shout of the voice on the other end of the line.
"Hey Jaimie..." she began...
"Oh my god! Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm at home."
"At home? What the hell happened last night? You just disappeared..."
Angie took a moment to ponder the appropriate response. She stood in front of her mirror, still naked. Her hair was tussled in the back and her lipstick was smeared a bit in a corner. It didn't matter, she was still beautiful. The poise of her body - back straight, shoulders squared, tits hanging out proudly, and pussy wet, matted, and probably musty by now, but electric and happy.
"What? Oh, I'm fine," she replied absent-mindedly.
"Okay..." came Jaimie's mildly-irritated voice, "but what happened?"
Angie turned around and looked at the room. Her 'Angel' outfit was piled neatly on the floor where she had stripped it off. Her collection of beads still hung flashing from the bedside lamp. His mask lay upside down beneath them. The covers were mostly stripped off the bed. A wet spot remained, fresh and warm.
"Nothing, nothing happened..." she stuttered, "I mean, something happened, but I'm fine..."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she smiled to herself, "I'm sure."
"I'm coming over."
"No need Jaime. I'm fine, really."
"Yeah, but you've got a story to tell and I don't want to hear it over the phone. Besides, I've got to tell YOU what happened to ME," she answered with emphasis.
"Okay," Angie relented, "Give me 20 minutes."
"Sure, it'll take me almost that long to get there silly."
Angie set down the phone on her dresser and made a half-hearted attempt to make the bed and then scooped up her outfit and dumped it in the closet. Next, she stepped into the bathroom and started a shower.
As the hot water washed over her, the routine of soap and shampoo took on a long missed allure. She enjoyed looking at her body and rubbing her hands over it. She took an unusual amount of time running the loofah over and down between her breasts. She ran it down over her tummy, through her pubis with a satisfactory tingle, and then over her hip and around to rub on her ass.
Angie contemplated masturbating again but decided not to for fear of losing track of time. Nevertheless she was barely out of the shower and toweled off when the doorbell rang. She managed to throw on her robe before she heard a knock on the bathroom doorway. Jaime would always let herself in if the door was unlocked.
Jaime stood in the doorway, her short frame a stark contrast to Angie's height and long legs. A mixture of Indian and Thai, her dark brown skin and asian features contributed to the discrepancy between the two girls. In some ways, Jaime was the cause of Angie's recent lack of self confidence. Five years younger and gifted an ample bosom and a firm round butt, Jaime knew she was hot and she flaunted it. She kept her dark hair short and spiky with red streaks in it.
Of course, Jaime was also part of why she felt so good now. She had, after all, convinced Angie that she was sexy enough to wear that 'Angel' outfit and look great in it. Jaime was wearing a simple white cotton top and a pair of tight fitting jean capris. She smirked at Angie.
"Hey," Angie answered, shuffling past her. "Coffee?"
Five minutes later they were both sitting at Angie's kitchen table nursing warm mugs of joe.
"Okay," Jaime started, "You tell me your story and I'll tell you mine. What happened last night?"
Angie took a deep breath and sighed.