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It was a masquerade ball. The room was dimly lit, with just candles illuminating the cold stone walls and giving the room an eerie, orange glow. Glass decorations hung from the ceilings, catching the light as they twirled, making everything sparkle. People wore masks; exotic, scary, funny. A sea of vivid colours, moving in time to the music. In the background a pianist played Symphony No. 3 by Brahms. The sound of ice cubes chinking as they were dropped into glasses of whiskey could be heard throughout the room, as well as the light banter of the hundreds of guests. Occasionally, someone would laugh loud and clear, and their voices could be heard above all else. A light, musky smell hung in the room. It was the smell of hundreds of different perfumes and colognes consummating, becoming one, to give of the lustrous scent.
No ones flesh was visible, just the eyes and mouth. They were covered by masks. The masks represented their features. Red for passion, fire, lust. Blue for calm, black for icy. People moved gracefully together on the dance floor, their eyes blank, displaying no emotion. It was a scary scene if you weren’t used to it. Hundreds of Victorian era dresses added the final touch to the scene. It looked as if it were a ghost party. It would have been a good scene in the movie Rose Red by Stephen King.
*
As he sat, drinking out of his glass, something caught his eye. It was a woman in a gorgeous dress. Red, with little black bows and a corset type top. Seductive yet elegant. Both sides of good and bad; playful and naughty. Even from afar he could sense that the dress would be soft and longed to reach out and stroke it. She wore a mask of ruby red and pitch black; devilish colours. She moved with grace like no other he had ever seen. As she looked up, she caught his eye, and moved across to him, much to the chagrin of the man she was with.
His mouth was slightly parted, and he was flushed with excitement. He didn’t know how becoming the blush on his pale cheeks looked, combined with his tousled blonde hair. As she walked, her hair swished from side to side. It was a dark red, with little black strands weaved into it. As she came closer, he saw it was more than red. It was a fusion of fire. Red, gold, yellow, orange, auburn, maroon. He was besotted.
She came closer, directly looking at him in the eye. She was standing right next to him, the red and orange flower on a black band around her neck swaying slightly. She turned to the bar and asked for a Bloody Mary. She bent close to him, and put her lips near his ear, so close that he could feel her breath.
“I saw you staring,” she whispered, and then licked her lips, the end of her tongue just brushing against his ear. Jesus she was forward. She grabbed his arm and pulled his arm to the dance floor, where Sway was now playing.
“Dance with me,” He had no idea what to do, but it didn’t matter much as she was leading. Soon they were doing the tango; his hands on her small hips, her hair flying everytime he twirled her; the slit on her dress rising as he bent her, showing more than a little of her thigh. All he wanted to do was dance with his body pressed against hers. They say the tango is the most seductive dance, that it releases the fiery passion that is lust in everyone.
She grabbed him and pulled him out of the room, pushing him against the stone wall outside. He could stand it no longer and placed a rough kiss on her lips. She moaned, and he, had he been a pot of butter, would have melted at the sound. They made love, right there in the cold hallway outside the room, the heat between them more than sufficient to keep them warm.
They say the tango is the most seductive dance, but he knew it was her that released the fiery passion that was lust inside him. And there they lay, The Angel and The Devil. Who was who, who knew? It didn’t matter. They were one, Fire and Ice.
No ones flesh was visible, just the eyes and mouth. They were covered by masks. The masks represented their features. Red for passion, fire, lust. Blue for calm, black for icy. People moved gracefully together on the dance floor, their eyes blank, displaying no emotion. It was a scary scene if you weren’t used to it. Hundreds of Victorian era dresses added the final touch to the scene. It looked as if it were a ghost party. It would have been a good scene in the movie Rose Red by Stephen King.
*
As he sat, drinking out of his glass, something caught his eye. It was a woman in a gorgeous dress. Red, with little black bows and a corset type top. Seductive yet elegant. Both sides of good and bad; playful and naughty. Even from afar he could sense that the dress would be soft and longed to reach out and stroke it. She wore a mask of ruby red and pitch black; devilish colours. She moved with grace like no other he had ever seen. As she looked up, she caught his eye, and moved across to him, much to the chagrin of the man she was with.
His mouth was slightly parted, and he was flushed with excitement. He didn’t know how becoming the blush on his pale cheeks looked, combined with his tousled blonde hair. As she walked, her hair swished from side to side. It was a dark red, with little black strands weaved into it. As she came closer, he saw it was more than red. It was a fusion of fire. Red, gold, yellow, orange, auburn, maroon. He was besotted.
She came closer, directly looking at him in the eye. She was standing right next to him, the red and orange flower on a black band around her neck swaying slightly. She turned to the bar and asked for a Bloody Mary. She bent close to him, and put her lips near his ear, so close that he could feel her breath.
“I saw you staring,” she whispered, and then licked her lips, the end of her tongue just brushing against his ear. Jesus she was forward. She grabbed his arm and pulled his arm to the dance floor, where Sway was now playing.
“Dance with me,” He had no idea what to do, but it didn’t matter much as she was leading. Soon they were doing the tango; his hands on her small hips, her hair flying everytime he twirled her; the slit on her dress rising as he bent her, showing more than a little of her thigh. All he wanted to do was dance with his body pressed against hers. They say the tango is the most seductive dance, that it releases the fiery passion that is lust in everyone.
She grabbed him and pulled him out of the room, pushing him against the stone wall outside. He could stand it no longer and placed a rough kiss on her lips. She moaned, and he, had he been a pot of butter, would have melted at the sound. They made love, right there in the cold hallway outside the room, the heat between them more than sufficient to keep them warm.
They say the tango is the most seductive dance, but he knew it was her that released the fiery passion that was lust inside him. And there they lay, The Angel and The Devil. Who was who, who knew? It didn’t matter. They were one, Fire and Ice.
The End.
Dutchess LC is the author of 4 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Masquerade Ball also liked 331 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Masquerade Ball also liked 331 other stories.
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