Mansion of Delight

You can hear the music coming from inside; it is a mix of classical instruments and electronic beats. The bass is so deep that you can feel it in your chest even as you stand outside in the parking lot. Your heart starts to flutter, anticipation arising. What will you see inside? What mysteries and wonder await you?

What pleasure?

The air is chilly and a slight breeze pulls on your skirt and swims around your stockings-covered legs. It causes you to shiver. You lean into your car and take out a warm coat; you’re glad you decided to bring it with you. The soft touch of the fabric caresses you gently and the thick weight of it makes you feel comfy, safe. The coat reaches down past your calves, almost to your ankles and the sleeves are long enough to embrace your knuckles. You stop shivering.

You push the car door close with your hip while taking a cigarette and lighter out from your purse. One quick smoke to calm your nerves before you enter. You don’t know what to expect, but you doubt that you’d be allowed to smoke inside.

Smoke fills your lungs and tickles you under the nose as you exhale. It helps bring your mind at ease. You pull in another lungful and hold the cigarette between your index and middle finger, your long nails brushing at your lips and nose. Some of your lipstick sticks to the cigarette bud and you take a mental note to re-apply it immediately when you finish smoking.

As you stand cross-legged in the parking lot, you observe other guests walking up the staircase and entering the mansion. Men and women, some in pairs, some alone. You inspect their dresses, listen to their conversations, and observe their body language. A few notice you and they do the same to you.

A pulse of excitement washes over you, as you feel their eyes locking onto yours. Locking onto your body.

You finish the cigarette in quick pulls and drop it on the gravel of the parking lot. You let out a soft curse. For such a fine mansion you expected there to be tiles or asphalt, not gravel. It makes walking in high heels quite the challenge, but you manage to get to the foot of the staircase without incident.

Up in front of you, at the top of the stairs, there is a couple; a man and woman, both smoking. The man is dressed in an elegant black suit and the woman wears a deep red dress, embroidered with baroque ornaments. They both wear face masks around the eyes. You panic and check if you’re wearing yours; the dress code was very specific. With relief, you feel the touch of fabric around your eyes, your mask is there.

The couple watches you in silence as you walk up. The man bows his head slightly, smiling, and the woman holds up her dress as she bows to you as well. You can see deep interest in their eyes, almost a hunger.

You nod your head to them both, feeling your heart beating. As you walk past them, they turn back to their smoking and converse softly. 

At the top of the stairs, three doormen await you. They all look nearly identical; wearing eye masks, the same uniform, the same haircut, and the same bodybuilder physique. The suits they wear seem to barely hold in the muscles of their forearms and biceps. They remind you of those Christmas presents that are wrapped up without a box, so you can tell by the shape of the wrapping what's inside.

And just like with those presents, it makes you want to tear off the wrapping and have a peak.

One of the strongmen steps forward to greet you. You greet him back. He asks for your invitation and you hand it to him from your purse. Your gloved hand touches his gloved hand for a brief moment and you feel the man’s warmth. It feels almost as nice as your coat. Though the man smells better, you notice.

He inspects the invitation and nods, handing it back to you. He steps aside and opens the heavy wooden door, like a butler from the middle ages. And like a queen, you enter.

Immediately, the music hits you.

The beat of the electronic bass is much louder here and you can feel it not only in your chest but in your whole body. The sounds of violins, piano, and other classical instruments are also louder and clearer now, and you wonder if there’s a live performance going on. The mansion’s anteroom is vast, with staircases on left and right, and a large double-winged door straight ahead. You notice how the air feels thick with perfume and alcohol. There are small groups of people standing around, conversing lively, holding drinks. 

You want a drink, too.

And like on cue, a woman dressed up as a maid of a king comes to you with a tray. She is also wearing an eye mask, one identical to the doormen outside. You take a glass of champagne from her tray and she asks if you’d like to spice it up with some drugs. You shake your head, not ready for that yet and the woman leans closer to you, kissing your lips. It feels like the touch of a butterfly, her lips soft and smelling of flowers. Then she walks away, offering drinks to other guests. 

You’re left standing there, flustered, with the woman’s scent lingering on your lips. A warm tingling courses through your body, and it arouses you.

You sip on the champagne as you make your way through the double-winged door, searching for the restroom. You’ve got some lipstick to apply, since you forgot, and it would also be nice if you could place your coat somewhere, as it’s getting hot under it. That maid’s kiss and the alcohol made everything hotter.

As you walk, you observe the people. Everyone is dressed in the finest clothes you’ve ever seen; from the modern elegance and utility to the extravagance and pomp of the renaissance, baroque, and imagination. All are wearing eye masks, some even full facial masks, and costumes. You see people dressed as animals and gods, as historical characters and celebrities. You see a man, dressed in a tight dress with a tiger pattern drawn on it, and another man who holds him on a leash. There is a woman dressed as an Aztec goddess, with bare-chested men surrounding her and catering to her needs. There are men wearing nothing but an eye mask and boxers, their bodies oiled and reflecting the chandelier light, walking around and conversing. Women in high heels, boots, and leather, dragging other men and women behind them on leashes, or letting themselves be guided by others. As you glance towards the corners of the rooms, you notice men and women making out, all combinations of gender as well as race. Some of them are getting very friendly.

The sight makes your cheeks flush with blood and you gulp down the champagne. Perhaps you should have taken some drugs the maid offered you. The heat from your arousal is too much and you place the empty champagne glass on a wooden cabinet and take off your coat, carrying it over your right arm. 

Luckily, a strongman notices you and asks if you’d like to store your coat. You say yes. It seems that there are strongmen all over the mansion, as well as maids, to care for the guests. You wonder what all is included in the ‘care’.

Since you don’t find a restroom and you forget to ask the strongman, you decide to duck to an empty corner and do the lipstick there. The light is dim, the atmosphere perfect for lovemaking, but you can manage. You take out a small mirror and replace the lipstick. Just as you’re done, you notice someone standing behind you, in the mirror. 

You turn around.

It is a man, tall and lean. He wears a dark red eye mask, almost brown, that complements his dark skin and his violet suit. He stares at you with pupils that are too bright to be human. It takes a second for you to realize he’s wearing painted eye lenses. 

He bows respectfully to you but doesn’t break eye contact. You return the curtsy and offer him your gloved hand. He takes it and kisses it on the upside of your palm. You can feel the warmth of his lips through the fabric.

He says something to you in Latin. You have no idea what it means, but you don’t want to come off as ignorant, so you smile and nod.

You can see him raising an eyebrow from under the mask and he laughs. His laughter is pleasant, melodic, and strong. Still, it makes you blush, as he translates the Latin to you.

He said you look like a goddess. And that he would like to worship you.

With those high heels, your eyes are at the same level as his. You force yourself to look deep into them, to see fully his lust and his desire behind the inhuman lenses. The look scares you. But it also allures you.

He laughs again and offers you his elbow. You take it, feeling the sleek fabric of his suit and the firmness of his arm. He leads you away from the corner and into the crowd of people. You notice that the music has changed and became more intense, the beat revving up and the violins picking up pace, almost becoming sinister. The man takes you to the main chamber, where a large dance floor is filled with bodies, and there is indeed a live orchestra positioned on a raised platform, next to the DJ booth. 

You grab a drink from a passing servant maid and toast with the man. He smiles and you decide you like his smell. He says his name is Bakkatu, meaning a loyal servant of the jungle gods, and you say your name is Artemis, that you’re the goddess of the hunt. You can tell he likes that.

You stand there, watching people dance. With the corner of your eyes, you can tell Bakkatu is watching you all the time, undressing you with his gaze, devouring you like a piece of candy. You pretend not to notice this and feign innocence.

On the dance floor, the guests are performing body movements of sheer vulgarity and perversion. Though everyone still has clothes on - more or less - the scene appears as one taken straight from a biblical house of sin. You take a moment to let it all sink in. This is one corner of the world that God would rather turn and look away, you reckon.

And it feels liberating. No judgment. No restraints. Complete freedom.

Bakkatu is saying something and gesturing towards the dance floor. The music is now just as you like it - savage, yet sophisticated. You finish your drink and give the empty glass to another passing maid. Then you take Bakkatu’s hand and lead him to the dance floor. For effect, you tug a little, and he is taken completely by surprise. He follows you greedily.

You’ve always loved having power over men. Your job reflects that being in charge of a hundred of them and in your relationships, you’re always the boss. But it’s not enough. It’s not just power that you want, it’s utter domination. You want them to drop down at your feet and beg.

As you reach the middle of the floor you stop, closing your eyes. The music washes over you and asks if it can take over. You let it. Music is the only master you ever bow to in your life and you let it guide your body as you begin dancing.

Bakkatu joins you, complementing your strong imposing moves with his sensual sways as he skitters around you. His eyes never once fall off you, not even when he spins - he closes his eyes during the spin and then reopens them, facing you again. You begin to relax, falling into your usual authoritative elegance. You act as if you own the dance floor like you own the mansion. In your mind, the people here have come to drink in the sight of you.

You fix your gaze on the man caught in your seductive web. You can notice him shiver slightly at the intensity of your stare, bringing a smile on your painted lips. 

The prey is hooked. You go in for the kill. 

Bukkatu’s eyes reflect a shock of delight as you step up to him, so close that you can feel each other’s breaths on your skins. You give him a look of desire and hover your lips above his own. He gasps softly, his posture wavering and then pushes forward, wanting to meet your lips with his. But you pull away. He nearly stumbles over your feet. 

You stand tall and watch him look at you, confused, and you smile. Men are like moths to you - flash a candle flame at them and they are bound to get burned.

You dance with Bakkatu for a few songs, until the man is completely yours. Then, when the music slows down, you pull him off the dance floor and he follows you like an obedient child. You stop a passing maid and ask her for those drugs. She sheepishly obeys, melting at the intensity of your gaze, and slips some powder in your drink. You drink it all in one go and then give some to the maid, transferring the burning liquid from your tongue to hers. 

As Bakkatu watches, you notice, he is like a dog, waiting for a treat. You pull away from the maid and lean close to the man. You ask him how he hopes to serve his goddess.

He smiles. He seems delighted you asked.

He tells you he has a superpower, a gift to share with you. You raise a scrutinizing eyebrow and smirk at him. The drug is starting to have its effect, sounds, and color becoming brighter, sharper, and more vivid.

He leans closer still until his wet lips touch the sides of your ears. The drugs enhance this innocent touch to make you wonder and crave for more. Bakkatu whispers to you what his superpower is.

You find yourself gasping. Your cheeks flush. It catches you off guard.

He notices this and flashes a cocky smile at your flustered eyes. You wonder if it's true if he truly has that kind of gift. No man you ever met had it. And you don’t believe there ever was a man alive, that could do it.

But it makes you curious. You want to find out.

You take his hand and lead him away from the main chamber. He feels light as a balloon, following you eagerly. You find a strongman and ask him if there is a place where you and Bakkatu can go to be alone. The strongman points up the stairs.

You walk up, leading your new worshiper. The touch of your fingers around his feels ecstatic, even through the fabric. Those drugs work wonders. You shudder at the thought of how the touch would feel without the glove. Skin on skin.

Upstairs, you find an open room. You lead Bakkatu inside and tell him to close the door. He closes them. You tell him to lock it, and he does so, the key already being in the lock. You tell him to take all his clothes off but keep the mask.

He nearly tears them off himself. You notice how eager he is for you, how much he wants you. And you are pleased with what you see. You decide to put his ‘superpower’ to the test. It sounds like some corny thing a man would tell a woman to try to impress her, but looking at him standing there, fully exposed and honest before you, you catch yourself wanting it to be true. If it is, if he really has mental power over his phallus, then you’ve found your new toy. And this night will turn out as the most successful hunt you’ve ever had.

You look at him with your devastating eyes and grin. With the voice of a queen, you command him to tear all the clothes off you and worship you like the goddess that you are.

And as the drugs melt away the world around you, as Bakkatu rips the fabric off and you feel the touch of his skin on yours, you enter the Mansion of Delight.