MASQUERADE
By Ecutiepie
All Rights Reserved by Author
“Twenty dollars,” the Laotian manicurist said rudely as he set slammed down the
bottle of quick-dry top coat.
“As soon as you fix this cocaine finger. You will get nothing until he looks like his
brothers and sisters,” I spat out as I held up my right hand. The pinkie had a nail that was
at least 2 and a half inches longer than the rest of the nails.
Puckering his lips, he squirted nail polish remover on a cotton ball and began
re-doing the nail. As he buffed, filed, and polished, I went back to the reading the article
in the Essence that I had taken with me. Looking up a few minutes later, I saw that he was
setting down the bottle of polish.
“Twenty dollars,” he demanded.
Giving him a haughty look, I reached down into my purse. As I was grabbing a
twenty, I saw him turn to the other manicurists sitting parallel to him. Then, in his native
tongue he said something animatedly to them. Looking up at me, they laughed loudly,
drawing the attention of the shop’s other patrons. Looking at him smiling obscenely, I
grew disgusted.
“I always thought the same thing about you, you filthy, stupid Boat Gooks,” I spat
out.
A silence came over the room as the nail technicians grew embarrassingly silent.
The silence was broken by a young woman who was getting gemstones embedded in her
the nail of her forefinger. She cackled loudly at the comment I had just made.
“You go Sister! Tell ‘em,” her companion screamed and laughed as she waved her
long, curved, orange nails in the air.
The rest of the patrons joined in the laughter as the workers sat silently. I spoke no
Asian languages but they were too silly to know that. I thought it to be extremely rude to
speak in another language about people who brought you business. Dropping the folded
twenty back into my purse, I gave them a filthy look, turned on my heel, and stalked out
of the nail salon.
I hated going to Asians to get my nails done but Gerri, my regular manicurist was
out of town at a Cosmetology convention. The Graduate Chapter of my sorority was
holding it’s annual Masquerade Ball and I wanted everything, including my nails, to look
perfect. Holding up my French Manicured nails, I blew out my anger and hummed as I
thought about the coming night.
******************************
Carefully, I placed the jester’s hat with bells on it’s pointy ends upon my ringlets
and placed my purple satin mask over my eyes. Sliding on jesters shoes with curled toes
and bells, I stood in front of my full length mirror and took in my appearance. When
ordinary people would look at me, they would see a beautiful jester. When an intellectual
person would see me, they would recognize me as Fortunato from the Edgar Allen Poe
masterpiece “A Cask Of Amontillado”. After spritzing myself with Coco by Chanel, I
picked up my antique English mead mug and my keys. Prancing out into the cool New
Orleans moonlight, I knew that it was going to be a wonderful night.
**********************************************
Entering the Grand Ballroom of the Royal Sonesta Hotel, I saw a throng of lavishly dressed, masked people. The room was ablaze with torches and there was a
cheery buzz above the music. Stopping a passing waiter carrying a tray of champagne
flutes and a bottle of Moet, I held out my mead glass for him to fill. Taking a sip, I looked
a the party in progress around me. Fixing my beautiful smile and poising myself, I
prepared to prance through the ballroom to see and be seen.
Everyone was costumed in their finest and I recognized no one behind the elaborate masks. As I walked through the thick of the crown, I spotted a woman sporting
a huge and defiant afro with a pair of huge gold hoop earrings.
“You look wonderful!” Corrinne exclaimed.
“Thank you. And look at you,” I replied. “You make a beautiful Angela Davis.
Have you seen anyone good?”
“Not really. Just a few Lone Rangers and there is a fine looking Hercules over
there by the door,” Corrinne said as a Booby Seale look-alike in a black leather jacket
joined her.
“Well court jester, tell me a joke,” he clowned as he put his arm around Corrinne’s
waist.
“If I were a jester, I am sure I would have a delightful joke for you Cory. Now, I
must run along and see what trouble I can get into.” Giving Corrine and her boyfriend a
sly wink, I moved back into the crowd and took in the scenes around me. The dance floor
was filled with people swaying to Phyllis Hyman’s “Meet Me on the Moon”. Smiling at
the happy party goers, I moved towards the back of the ballroom. After getting another
waiter to refill my glass, I walked towards the lavishly laden buffet tables.
I stood contemplating whether or not oysters on the half shell could be eaten
neater than oysters Rockefeller. The food looked wonderful and the champagne was the
only thing I had consumed all day. Turning around, I saw a group of French Milk Maids
trying to guess who a large, masked figure was. Causally walking up to me, the figure
smiled behind his mask.
“Let me see,” he said in a smooth baritone. “Fortunato. Wonderful to see you
although I do not spy your coat-of-arms. That is unless it is sewn in a hidden place.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “You are either very intellectual or very good at guessing.
You are the first person tonight to know who I actually am. Let’s see,” I said, putting my
forefinger to my lips. Taking in his cotton slacks and his turn of the century starched,
white ruffled shirt, I let a smile play upon my lips.
“Can’t guess?” he laughed. and lightly swung the sickle he was holding.
“Of course. You would be Toussaint L’Overture,” I said, snapping my fingers.
“Famed leader of the slave revolt in Haiti.”
“Very good Madame,” he said as he watched me begin to fill my plate. “Would
you mind if I joined you?”
“Of course not. I would be very honored to entertain the leader of such a successful coup,” I smiled.
“I hear Appilachacola oysters are wonderful for the libido,” he said with a smile on
his face.
“So have I,” I said. Winking saucily at him, I walked towards an empty table.
...satin on my shoulders and a smile on my lips, how lucky can you get. Humming out one
of my favorite tunes I sat at the table and thought to myself, Yes. It will be a wonderful
night.
***********************************
“Have a good evening,” the elevator attendant said as we stepped out onto the
tenth floor.
“You have a great night also,” I smiled back at him. As the doors closed, I turned
and followed Toussiant down the plushly carpeted hallway. Watching as he unlocked the
door, I smiled and thought back over the wonderful party downstairs.
Throwing open the door, he motioned for me to walk in before him. Stepping into
the richly decorated Sonesta Suite, I felt like a princess. Walking across the room and
opening the French Doors, I stepped out onto the balcony. There was a wonderful view of
the French Quarter. The full moon cast an indigo hue and made everything appear magical. Turning back into the room, I padded in my satin jester slippers over to the
French Provincial table and looked through the basket of New Orleans specialties that the
hotel provided for all it’s guest, even the last minute ones. Picking up a package of chicory
from Cafe du Mooned, I sniffed it’s wonderful aroma. Next to the basket sat a bottle of
smooth, aged cognac.
Turning back to Toussaint, I saw him removing his ruffled shirt to reveal a white
cotton take tee that stood stark against his smooth, dark chest. He walked over to me and
embraced me as we fell onto the antique goosedown bed. We chuckled as we felt the
softness of the bed. Downstairs we’d polished off two bottles of Moet and were feeling
quite spirited.
Getting up from the bed, Toussaint walked over to the table and picked up the
gourmet basket, the bottle of cognac, and two crystal glasses. Opening the bottle, he
poured out two glasses and handed me one. I stood and sniffed the rich scent of the
cognac he handed me. Raising his glass in a toast, he spoke warmly to me.
“To Fortunato, this may not have come from a cask but I think you will enjoy it.
Salut.”
“Salut,” I said as I clinked my glass with his. Taking a sip, the mellow cognac
blazed a warm and delicious trail down my throat.
*******************************************
Perched on the cherrywood dresser, I was clad in a purple satin bra, matching tap
panties, my purple mask, and belled jester slippers. Toussaint refilled my glass, toasted me,
and swigged down the last of the bottle. Setting it down, he waited while I tossed back my
drink and then reached out to me. Standing, I reached out and attempted to remove his
mask.
“No. The mystery is the most wonderful part of the night,” he shook his head
slowly he placed my hand on his back.
“What is your name?” I questioned, yearning to know his identity.
“I am Toussiant. Pleased to meet you,” he said with a bow.
“And I am Fortunato. Delighted to meet you,” I said.
“What wonderful underthings you wear friend,” he said thickly as he took in my
purple satin bra and panties. “Tis my favorite color also.”
Backing away, I pulled off my bra and tap panties and handed them to him.
“It is an old English custom to give an admirer the things they admire,” I said.
Rubbing the bra against his cheek, he opened the panties and boldly inhaled the
scent of the seat while staring at me.
“Why sniff the wrapping when you can have the real thing,” I said coquettishly. I
lay back on the bed, spread my legs, opened the folds of my pussy, and promptly passed
out.
************************************
I was awakened by the sensation of my pussy being slowly licked. Opening one
heavy lidded eye, I took in the white curtains blowing in the breeze as the soft, ozone
scented drizzle fell outside. The blue moonlight outlined the figure of Toussaint kneeling
between my legs. Groaning with pleasure, I tried to bring my hand down to rub his head.
Startled, I noticed that my hands were tired to the cherrywood bedposts with silken
scarves. Attempting to lift my legs, I felt that they were tied also. The sensation of him
tasting my pussy was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Not being able to fight the
beautiful sensation, I let out a soft, low moan.
“Ahh....alas Fortunato has awakened. Hermes does make the most delightful scarves, don’t you think?” Toussaint said. He leisurely got up, selected an item from the
bedside basket and moved over to the tiny microwave. I wanted so badly to reach down
and rub my pussy and savor the feelings that he had just inflicted. Looking up at the richly
colored silk scarves, I let a smile come onto my face. Drifting back to the warm cocoon of
sleep, I once again embraced it’s peacefulness.
The feeling of something warm and creamy being poured on my nipples cause me
to lift my head once again. Passion burned at the pit of my stomach while he poured a
warm trail of praline sauce down to my wet pussy. Placing the jar back on the beside table,
he sucked and licked the warm, rich sauce from my nipples. My back arched in pleasure
and I wished that I could hold his head and forever feel the lapping of his tongue on my
hardened peaks. Moving down, he sucked the trail of the sweet sauce down my body,
pausing to lap it up from my navel. Letting out a tender moan, I felt my head fill with the
sensation of seduction. Opening my pussy, his hot and wet tongue roughly licked the
tender skin of my clitoris. With each lick, I came closer and closer to the point of no
return. When he heard me crying out in ecstasy, he licked harder, and rougher. I yelped
with passion as I began coming in sweet, violent waves.
Rising from his post in paradise, he opened the drawer on the nightstand and
retrieved two items. I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation of the wonderful orgasm I
just experienced. A tickling sensation cause my eyes to fly open. He was perched over me,
tickling my nose with a soft, purple peacock plume. Moving the beautiful feather down, he
stroked my nipples lightly, causing the juices in my pussy to stir. Taking the plume, he
brushed it against the silken hair of my pubis. Wanting so badly to squeeze my thighs
together, I moved my ankles but the scarves were tied firmly into place. while my spine
racked with the shock of another orgasm. As I came, I moaned out shamelessly.
Tossing the plume down, he reached for the second item. Closing my eyes, I anticipated
the sensation of the feather against my skin. Hearing a crack slice the silent air, I looked
up in alarm. Standing at the edge of the bed was Toussaint, holding a small, tasseled, black
leather whip. Moving the whip down he tickled my pussy with it’s soft leather tassels. He
brought the whip to my face and tickled my lips. Opening my mouth, I licked my juices off
the tassels with my tongue as he watched in passionate amusement. Positioning himself
beside me on the bed, he rubbed the whip against my thigh.
“Do you always have too much to drink at parties and follow, strange men upstairs,” he asked me as he stared at me from behind the mask. Picking up the whip, he
swung it down on my thighs as I cried out in delicious pain.
“Do you always get naked and then pass out, leaving a poor man to pleasure
himself? Answer me,” he said as he gently but firmly brought the whip down on my legs
and thighs. The sweet pain was hard enough to sting but gentle enough not to bruised. My
moans drowned out the sounds of the whip coming down upon me. When I was on the bring of another orgasm, he dropped the whip to the side of the bed. Reaching for the
scarf at my ankles, he freed my legs. Coming up, he kissed me gently and then roughly,
teasing my tongue with his. Then as abruptly as he began, he stopped and tied my mouth
shut with the sweet scarves. Relieving himself of his clothes and leaving on only his mask,
he opened my legs and pushed his hard, black dick into my waiting, throbbing pussy. He
began pounding at my pussy with such a frenzy as I have never known. I squeezed down
on his juicy dick as he fucked me harder and harder. Deeper and deeper he drove until I
felt he was inside my soul. I felt myself about to come as he pumped harder and harder.
Wrapping my legs around his waist and squeezing his body to me, I felt him pounding my
pussy as we both came, groaning loudly in ecstasy. And then, for the final time that night,
I passed out into a coma-like sleep.
***************************************
Le petite morte, as it is called by the French. The little death as it is called by
others. The next morning I awoke to the sound of the soft rain and knew that I had finally
experienced it. Testing my hands, I saw that my wrists were no longer bound but instead
were laying gently at my sides. Sitting up, I took off my purple silk mask. There was no
sign of Toussiant. I felt a bittersweet feeling of loss come over me. I knew nothing about
him. I didn’t even know his real name. Walking over to the table, I saw a creamy white
envelope with a purple seal. Tearing it open, I read his words.
“Fortunato, may you never know passion as we shared. But may your life be filled
with wonderful experiences. And may you always know peace beyond passion. T.”
Letting the envelope fall to the table, I gathered my clothes, dressed, and stepped
out into the New Orleans rain.
******************************************
Pulling the cart that contained my books and folders, I opened the door to my new
office. The summer semester was due to begin in two weeks and I had come back, along
with the rest of the faculty to prepare. This was to be my first semester teaching Since I
received my Ph.D.
Walking over to my desk, I sat down and inhaled the pleasant dusty scent as I
leaned back and thought about the wonderful experiences of the past Spring.
A knock on my door interrupted my reverie.
“Welcome Miss Babaloa. I trust that you had a wonderful break,” Dr. Black, head
of the department smiled at me in his warm, fatherly way.
“It was wonderful Dr. Black. I trust that yours was wonderful also?”
“Indeed it was. If you aren’t busy, would you please come with me to greet a new
colleague?”
“Of course,” I answered as I grabbed my purse. Whipping out my compact, I
quickly repaired my lipstick and fluffed out my hair. Male or female, they were going to
get a beautiful first impression of Miss Adu Babaloa.
Standing, I followed a smiling Dr. Black down the corridor. I met Dr. Black in my
the last semester of my Ph.D. program at Loyola. We were both at an African American
writer’s conference and he immediately took me under his wing. He had called me during
the break to tell me that there was a position open at the all Black, Catholic University he
taught at across town. I had accepted graciously and we had been as thick as thieves ever
since.
Stopping in front of a closed door, Dr. Black knock and then turned to beam at
me. When the door opened, he ushered me in and I came face to face with a very large,
very handsome man. He was the color of a melting Hershey Bar and I was immediately
smitten. Something about him seemed familiar until I remembered that this was always the
type of man I dreamed about.
“Dr. Adu Babaloa, meet Dr. Black,” Dr. Black said politely. Seeing the confused
look on my face, he chuckled and explained. “This is my son. Dr. Toussaint Black, named
after the legendary Haitian leader. He will be working with you as the associate professor
of African American literature.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said as we exchanged pleasantries.
“Now I shall let you two get acquainted while I attend to university business,” Dr.
Black said as he prepared to leave the room. “I look forward to working with both of you
in the semesters ahead.”
As he closed the door behind him, I turned to look at the younger Dr. Black, who
was busying himself unpacking books from cardboard cartons.
“So, tell me a little about yourself,” I asked, turning from reading his degrees on
the walls.
“Well I am pretty easy to get along with,” he smiled at me. “My only pet peeve is
people who enter without knocking,” he said as he cut open another cardboard container
with a box cutter.
“Of course, knocking is common courtesy. I have the same pet peeve,” I agreed.
“Besides,’ he continued. If someone barges in, they may catch me smelling these.
Lifting two articles of purple satin out of the newly opened box, he brought them to his
nose and sniffed them. Then opening his desk drawer, he placed them inside. Giving me a
wink, he said, “It’ll be a wonderful semester, Fortunato.”