Part One: The Parlor
Chapter One
One evening I opened my husband’s laptop to look up a recipe. I had just entered “Re” when the search bar autopopulated an obscure subreddit for swingers. The url was obvious enough to cause my heart to suddenly drop. Our sex life was as vanilla as it could be. My husband had never hinted at an unfulfilled desire… let alone the suggestion of swinging.
I couldn’t help myself. I clicked through the url and found that this thread was more than just a casual discussion of swinging. Rather, the thread was a sophisticated coordination for an elaborate swingers’ party in a nearby Connecticut suburb known for its affluence. It didn’t take long to find my husband’s comment. His username was anything but creative.
Where my heart had dropped before, it now ached as I read his introduction and his desire to attend stag. I couldn’t bear to read any further and abruptly closed the screen before running off to the sink.
I ran the water for a long minute as I grappled with the urge to vomit. But, before my stomach could betray me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. For a moment, I felt sorry for myself but as I peered into my reflection, I was overcome with a sense of relief. I interrogated the eyes staring back at me and for the first time in a long time… perhaps a time before I was ever married … I felt the warming sensation of greeting my true self.
As my body warmed with a rush of confidence, I knew what I had to do… what I wanted to do. I walked slowly back to the laptop, grabbing a pen and post-it along the way. I scribbled down the url and cleared any trace of my presence.
Later that evening, as my husband slept quietly, I sat across from the bed in a cozy armchair. Facing his obliviously resting body, I pulled out my MacBook and typed in the url I had tucked away. I created a simple account incorporating the pseudonym “Casati”.
What I should have told you earlier, is that this discrete soirée had all the eccentricities expected of Connecticut’s elite. The theme: “Truman Capote’s Masquarade Ball.” Over the next few weeks, I covertly arranged for my admittance through PMs with the thread’s OP. My husband never posted again and I began to wonder if he was doing the same. Had he taken his fantasy further? Was he innocently dipping a toe into the water, or had he waded in?
I started to wonder whether I had been the one who ventured too deep. By this point, I had secretly purchased a seductively black cocktail dress and a pair of strappy yet elegant black stilettos. Just as I began to question whether I would go through with my charade, my husband informed me that he would be traveling for work the following weekend … the weekend of the ball.
Now more resolved than ever, I got to work on my mask. I crafted a delicately suggestive one, that in keeping with my namesake, incorporated a subtle cheetah print bordered in faint white.
A few days before the weekend, I noticed my husband walk his tuxedo bag out to his car … an act foreign to his typical work travel ritual. That evening, I snuck out and glanced into bag. Sure enough, he had packed his nicest tuxedo. More interestingly, at the bottom of the bag I found the mask he intended to wear. I’ll give him this, it was regal and would be sure to bring him attention. I was careful to study the mask’s unique Roman features, and in so doing, I destroyed his perceived anonymity.
Saturday had finally come and I spent hours in front of the mirror admiring the truest version of my self. At 10:45 my ride arrived. It was a jet black Mercedes hired from an exclusive limo service known for catering to the venue’s affluent community.
I arrived at the estate shortly after 12:15 am despite the invitation’s 11:00pm arrival time. It was an elegant mansion. The grand entryway was buttressed by two parallel halls; undoubtedly a modern take on French architecture. As my driver exited, I gazed at the classic windows with astonishment; my mind preparing for the night that lay before me.
Chapter Two
My driver opened the door and a valet led me by the hand to two intimidating security guards. As they verified my invitation, I resolved that this would be the night’s last moment of weakness.
I entered the towering wooden doors alone. My eyes adjusted to the incandescent lighting and I passed through the foyer as if guided by the id of my new persona. I passed smartly dressed couples lining the hall’s paneled walls. Few were in conversation, most were interlocked in slowly burning passion. Here, a kiss to the neck revealed more about the personality behind one’s mask than idle words.
As I was absorbed into the hall and this world, I noticed two things. The lights dimmed as I progressed further into the mansion but the sounds of animalistic pleasure grew louder.
After a half-hour, I had nearly lost myself. I was standing in a corner of the main drawing room silently observing the erotic world around me. To my left, a woman was pressed against the bar in standing doggy. Her shallow rapid moans defined the atmosphere, as I was fixated on the beautiful shine of her wavy blond hair.
I was snapped out of this trance when her suitor disrupted these natural waves with the grasp of his hand as he pulled her back into him. Having acclimated to this world, I resumed my mission and set out to find my husband.
I passed through to the end of the drawing room locking eyes with each man as I passed. One young man stared blankly at me while being ridden by an extremely talented and experienced matron, others looked me up and down while being pleasured by servient mistresses.
I next entered into the back parlor. The room was smaller than the last. It was perfectly square. The back wall was adorned with a floor to ceiling library. Two leather sofas flanked a matching ottoman. A large executive desk anchored the room. Like the rest of the estate, the room was dimly lit with incandescent fixtures, although a large standing mirror somewhat amplified the effect.
Apart from the decor, the room’s most notable feature was that it was occupied solely by men. Three men had found scotch and a sanctuary in this study. Upon the couches sat two younger men in their late twenties. Standing confidently with his hip against the desk was the third older man, cheerfully imparting wisdom on his two companions while selfishly drawing from their youth.
When I entered, it took a moment for their conversation to end as one by one they glanced up at the door, … to the only feminine shape in the room, … to me. The older gentleman looked up last when he had lost the attention of his pupils. As he turned to me, I felt a familiar drop in my heart when I noticed the distinctive olive branches of his Roman inspired mask.
An eternity passed in that moment. Could he recognize me? No. I had taken precautions. I crafted my mask slightly larger than what would be traditional for a woman and I had my hair styled up in an elegant bun … a style he hadn’t seen me in before.
From his posture and position in the room, I could tell he had been leading the other two men in conversation just moments before. However, despite this confidence, the Roman wasn’t the first to speak.
The younger man lounging on the couch directly across from my husband was the first to acknowledge my presence. The ice cube in his scotch jostled as he gestured for me to join them in a drink. “Sit here, I’ll pour you a glass” he said as he patted the couch and closed his legs to make room.
My heart was racing as I stood feet from my husband in the midst of his betrayal. Yes, he was innocently chatting when I found him, but what was he doing earlier, what was he planning on doing, what did he want to do to me … a stranger? If only he knew how fragile his facade was.
Chapter Three
With this in mind, I made my way to entertain the young gentlemen’s invitation. I walked slowly to the couch, keeping my head a quarter turned and staring directly at my husband. When I reached the young gentleman, he began to reach for the empty glass. At this point I broke the gaze with the Roman, shunning his perceived superiority and entitlement. Without saying a word, I interrupted the young man’s gesture and seductively spread open the legs he had politely closed just moments before. With my back to the Roman, I slowly began unzipping the trousers which now hid a fully erect and completely novel penis.
As my husband and the third gentleman watched, I subtly began kissing this new cock. It was average length and girth but well shaped. As the head entered my mouth I extended my hand up the gentleman’s torso, signaling my enjoyment to the Roman as he unsuspectingly watched his wife please a new man for the first time in ten years.
I could feel the cock growing harder against my tongue. Again my truest self took control of my being as I picked up the pace. My mouth salivated as I pictured my husband’s perspective. I pictured the sight of my elegant bun bobbing up and down beneath the moans of a young man.
I took a final plunge, welcoming the smooth cock deep in my throat before stopping all together. With my right pointer finger I tapped the tip of the young man’s head, placed his precum on my tongue, and gestured for the other young gentleman to come closer.
I positioned myself on my knees at the corner of the two couches. I then tried to remove the second gentleman’s seemingly larger cock but struggled with his belt. His youth radiated as he eagerly completed the task. My brief touch was not misleading. This second man had a phenomenal cock that was modestly longer than average but perfectly girthy.
Without the slightest attention to my husband, I proceeded to jerk the two gentleman off simultaneously. I alternated blowing the two, although, I did favor the second stud. He was significantly larger than my husband. While I feigned experience walking through the door, the limits of my innocence expanded as I struggled to reach the base of his shaft with my lips.
To the stud’s dismay, my rhythm was interrupted by an entitled “ahem” coming from the still oblivious Roman. At this point, it was clear my husband intended to cross the threshold. I would make him suffer for this.
I slowly backed the stud’s cock from my mouth, and stood while suggestively turning to face the Roman. Though I tastefully wiped the saliva from my mouth, the veneer of my ”Casati” persona remained. Never in a million years would my husband have suspected his wife of possessing such an inner freak.
As the once dominant figure in the room, I’m sure he expected me to crawl to him on my hands and knees. Little did he know, I seethed as I peered through his shallow mask.
Staring at him, I inched the hem of my dress up my thigh until it revealed black lace garter straps. Rather than indulge my entitled husband I turned and pressed the first young gentleman against the couch. As I straddled him, I subtly shifted him so that large standing mirror reflected the Roman’s silhouette.
He pulled my panties to the side and I rode him slow and deliberately. He worked my dress down to reveal my bare breasts. With each thrust, I maintained eye contact with the mirror and I watched as my husband could not help but discreetly rub the exterior of his tuxedo pants.
I silently enjoyed every moment, but until now I had only expressed this pleasure with my body and breathing. Things changed when the young gentleman suddenly lifted me in the air. I let out an exhilarated moan as he stood, his smooth cock reaching deeper than before.
The gentleman’s pants fell to his ankles as he carried me the short distance to the ottoman. He placed me on my back and re-entered me with vigor. He fucked me hard and we were fortunate for the ottoman’s sturdiness. By now I could no longer hold back my moaning. Still masked, I turned to face my husband and had my first orgasm. It was thrilling. It shook my body to the core. The young gentleman left his cock deep inside me and while he was no longer thrusting, my orgasm left a wavelike sensation that lingered for moments.
I chiefly refer to this first man as a gentleman and in hindsight that may be because of what he did next. While still recovering from the best orgasm of my life, he pushed me further up the ottoman and proceeded to eat me out with gentle care. It was obvious he had a single desire … to please me.
I ran my fingers through his hair. His mask had fallen off, and his face was the first I had seen all night. He was handsome, with delicate studious features. Once more, the gentleman pushed me up the ottoman and I suddenly lost support behind my neck. I soon realized he did this at the behest of the stud.
My head now inverted, the stud filled my mouth with his thick cock. The sensation was overwhelming as he appeared more engorged then before. I choked momentarily and he kindly retreated. I caught my breath and reached up for the stud’s low hanging balls. I massaged them for a moment as the gentleman continued to please me at the other end of the ottoman.
My legs were now on his shoulders but he was skilled and could manage on his own. I turned my focus to the large cock staring me in the face. I guided the stud’s dick back into my mouth and he passionately but considerately worked it further down my throat.
The next time I surfaced for air, the young gentleman took the opportunity to enter me again. With my husband’s shadow looming over, I was doubled teamed for the first time in my life.
It didn’t take long for me to realize I was in slightly over my head. This missionary position was unsustainable. I regained some control from the two eager men and positioned myself in a doggy position on the ottoman. With his strong arm, the stud pivoted me so that I was now facing the younger gentleman.
The stud slowly entered me and his dick left nothing to desire. He fucked solo for a few moments so I could appreciate how good he felt. Soon, I found myself reaching for the young gentleman. His average cock was a welcome reprieve in my mouth. Able to breathe I could focus more on my technique.
We fucked hard like this for several minutes. Being satisfied from both ends pushed any thought of my husband to the far recesses of my mind. Though he remained in the room, I was no longer focused on his punishment, but rather on my pleasure.
At one point the younger gentleman attempted to remove my mask. Without speaking, I admonished him by turning solely to the stud who proceeded to lift me halfway into the air. With my arms around his neck, the stud maintained a semi squatted stance that allowed me to thrust vehemently into his waist. I nearly exhausted myself on his hard cock.
The stud returned the favor by lifting me further into the air. He fucked me twice as hard as I had him. The sensation could only be described as fully body. I was moaning so loud and so rapidly that I could not sustain my breath. As the stud slowed to deepen his reach, I orgasmed for the second time.
By now, the Roman had grown visibly impatient. For the first time he moved from his position near the desk. I flirtatiously wandered away from him and walked to the standing mirror. I shimmed off my dress. Standing in just my heels and the mask, I admired myself as I did when I first put on the night’s outfit.
I walked past the Roman and pushed him slightly to the couch. He resigned himself to this position as I led the stud and the gentleman by the hand to the desk. I positioned the men so they stood side by side where the Roman had stood moments before.
With my back to the Roman, I began to suck the two men off, albeit this time with a messier bun. I loved alternating between the two differently shaped cocks. Each served a purpose. With the stud’s girthier cock I slowly worked my way down his shaft, filling every inch of my mouth. On the other hand, I allowed the gentleman to escape from his restrained being and fuck my face with his cock which was slightly easier to handle.
I thoroughly enjoyed being used in this manner. My true self was a far cry from the suppressed housewife I had grown to be. That’s why when I felt the gentleman pull away to cum, I grabbed him by the hips pulling his cock back into my mouth. I held him there until he came down the back of my throat.
As I swallowed every ounce, the young gentleman stared down at my mask inquisitively. His innocent face peered down at me and I can only surmise that he was hoping to learn more about the woman behind the mask. He soon recovered from his orgasm and broke off to pour himself another glass of scotch. He lingered by the decanter set as the Roman sat pathetically on the couch.
As I was guiding the stud around the side of the desk, I heard the gentleman say “Jeez, what’d you do to her?” The Roman tucked himself back into his pants and replied “the hell if I know.”
Chapter Four
The Roman and the gentleman grabbed their glasses and left the room. Both hovered for a second at the door, looking back on the experience with amazement.
The door shut firmly behind them. The stud was now lying naked and unmasked on the desk. I climbed atop with him and proceed to suck him off until he was fully erect. He stroked his erection as I removed my heels. I placed his cock down on a horizontal angle and worked it deep into my throat. With his cock in my mouth he stared into the mask for the final time.
Before mounting him, I removed the mask and the last artifact concealing the entirety of my being. I cautiously worked my way onto his cock. In absolute silence we stared at one another as I slowly pivoted my hips back and forth. To be truly free was enlightening. I felt tremendous potential energy in my steadily rolling hips.
The stud reached up and placed his thumb gently on my lower lip. I bit myself in this area, as he pulled his hand away. He lowered his hands onto my breasts as I increased the intensity of my thrusting. I was now fucking him hard as I let out an unrestrained “ Yes, Yes, Yes,”
The stud flipped me onto my back and placed my legs on his shoulders. I was incredibly wet as he fucked me into oblivion. He maintained great rhythm while managing to pull out far enough for me to appreciate the length of his rock hard cock. He nearly came but pulled out in time to save himself.
He stood up and bought himself a moment to recover. When he was ready he arched my back with his hand and bent me over the desk. He fucked me hard from behind to the point where my once elegant bun was completely undone. Screaming in pleasure, I ran my fingers through my untamed hair and brought my eyes up from the desk for the first time since we assumed this position.
At that moment, I came eye to eye with my cheetah print mask which had been resting on the bookshelf. I smirked thankfully as the stud deepened his thrusts. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck” I said between gritted teeth. My legs and hips tightened as I reached my third orgasm.
It was early Sunday morning when I arrived home to an empty house. Replaying the night’s experience over and over again, I made my way to the bedroom. I placed the mask prominently on the dresser and crawled into bed.
Part Two: Katarina
Chapter Five
10 Minutes after setting down. I laid on the bed restless, every ounce of energy had been left in the Parlor and my mind could not escape its confines. Naked, I rose from the bed and grabbed the mask off the dresser. I reached under the bed and pulled out a velvet shoe box. I carefully placed the mask beside the black stilettos and finally closed the lid on the evening.
My husband arrived home later that morning. Casually, he set his work bag down on the armchair and walked into the bathroom. Through the cracked door, I watched him stare blankly at himself in the mirror. With both hands gripping the corners of the sink, he struggled to make sense of his experience. He wondered why he was singled out. He wondered who was behind the mask.
Morning passed and we found ourselves conversing over the kitchen island. In my unflattering pajamas, I slowly sipped the oversized cup of coffee which I held to my mouth with two hands. A few times I had to use the cup to hide my smirk as my husband lied about his painful conference.
A week passed with much to do about nothing. I noticed however, that my husband droned about the house an empty man. I often found him absently wandering away during conversation. It was clear the night had broken him to a degree.
The following Saturday, “Casati” received a PM on Reddit. It was the OP and host of last week’s soiree. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
I spent most of the morning wondering how to reply. The last thing I wanted was to feed the ego of this stranger.
I ultimately decided to be honest with my generous host. I simply replied “Yes, I truly found myself.”
“I know” the account replied. “I saw.”
I stared blankly at the screen as I tried to comprehend the depth of OPs message.
A third notification appeared. “I’d like to meet”. Before I could formulate a reply, OP left a paragraph of instruction. I was to meet OP at a rustic terrace restaurant not far from the estate. I wasn’t surprised that OP instructed me to wear something classy. However, I was surprised by the time of day. Lunch.
I arrived at the restaurant and looked for a dominant presence on the terrace. I did not see anyone who appeared to be OP and was soon guided to an empty table by the hostess. I placed my clutch on the table and ordered a glass of cider.
Before my drink arrived, a women appeared at the table. She was not much older than I, but the way she dressed commanded immediate respect. Think Jackie O.
The woman extended her hand. “I’m Katerina, thank you for meeting me.” I was shocked to say the least and I fumbled as I started to stand to return the greeting. I would likely have embarrassed myself further had the waiter not arrived with drink in hand.
Katerina sat with a straight back and perfect posture. She chuckled and said “no, no, no” as she moved my cider aside. She turned to the waiter and said, “We’ll have a pair of martinis, Beefeater, dry, stirred, with an olive, up.”
She leaned into the table and grinned. Laughingly she joked “It’s not like I’m James Bond or anything.” Sitting in Katerina’s air it became clear to me that she was less Onassis and more Hepburn. Her hair was swept back and her face youthful.
“I was worried about you” she proclaimed. “You had some audacity coming alone like you did.” “I thought about you all week leading up to the party.” “I took a chance on you, you know.” She paused, “the last thing I want is some pretentious housewife crashing the atmosphere I work so hard to curate.”
The waiter arrived. I mirrored Katerina, took a sip of the Martini and silently lauded her refined taste.
“But you, you were different.” “From the moment you arrived you carried yourself with poise and class.” “And what you did in the Parlor… my god.” “I couldn’t have planned a better evening.”
“How do you …”
“Oh honey, you were so driven you didn’t see me darken the door.” “I was thrilled to see you on your knees with the gentleman.”
“I didn’t stay toooo long.” She said, flirtatiously exaggerating her o’s. “I saw you leave the room well after your husband.” “So tell me, how’s he handling himself?” She asked while fixing the olive between her lips and into her mouth.
“We’ll, he doesn’t know it was me.” I replied. Katerina’s pupils dilated. “To be honest, I think I broke him.” Katerina and I laughed together as the waiter set down a second round.
“To be fair, he’s never attended before.” Some Lawyer’s golf buddy brought him to my attention and I set the wheels in motion.”
Relief, quickly turned to guilt. For a slight moment I even questioned whether I should direct my inner conflict toward Katerina. Perceiving this, she blurted out “lets have some fun.”
Part Three: The Cottage
Chapter Six
We were three martinis in by the time Katarina finished explaining her plan and persuading me to go along with it. Her intuition was sharp. She accurately perceived the guilt I felt for taking things too far the other evening.
I had allowed myself to get lost in the pleasure of two strangers, while my husband had been entirely deprived. Katarina’s plan was cunning in that it allowed me to unload the weight of my guilt while not forgetting that it was my husband who stepped out first. We conspired to throw him a bone without letting him off the hook entirely.
Katarina’s plan would not manifest for another two weeks. In the present, however, the three martinis left me in no condition to drive home. Katarina suggested a proper tour was in order and arranged for her driver to take us back to the estate.
In the daylight, I viewed the mansion with a new perspective. The Gatsby-esque intrigue I felt on the night of the ball was replaced with admiration for its peaceful beauty. Entering the grand hall, it was strange to see that natural light had overcome the dim incandescent atmosphere I was familiar with.
Nonetheless, as we traced the hall into the parlor, my heartbeat quickened and my body grew ever-increasingly flush as my id stirred with memories of the week prior. When Katarina opened the door to the parlor, I swear I felt my vagina contract as I glimpsed the executive desk where I found unbridled freedom.
Katarina and I toured the parts of the estate I failed to explore the night of the ball. Apparently, that night, there had been a lavish dance in the other wing which housed the mansion’s ballroom. Katarina remarked that my “previously innocent soul barely made it beyond the sitting room.” She was right. There was so much of her world I had yet to uncover.
Chapter Seven
Despite the three martinis, Katarina remained coy about her personal life. The entirety of the walk she spoke about her guests and the events she entertained. Don’t be mistaken, Katarina was not a puppeteer.
“I fancy myself a curator.” She explained. “I simply gather those who I suspect to be most interesting and I create an atmosphere for them to express their inner beauty … I leave all the fucking and mischief to them.”
My assumptions of this place were flat wrong. Even after experiencing it myself, I presumed the production was a cliche run by some chauvinist. That was before I met Katarina.
As we walked the gardens, I learned that while Katarina did lean heavily on the traditional elite, she invited all walks of life. Her parties were attended not just by lawyers and bankers, but by artists, musicians, dancers, and from time to time, the seemingly ordinary. Katarina took pride in finding intrigue were one would least expect it.
I intended to turn the conversation toward her but just as I mustered the courage to pry, the row of hedges gave way to an iron gate that opened into the guest house courtyard.
It was a quaint and rustic two-story cottage. Its stone face was adorned with patches of ivy and it’s narrow windows were flanked by Prussian blue shutters. Two chimneys protruded past the shingled roof, though the dwelling could only have had three or four rooms.
“Here is where we will play” Katarina said as she opened the front door. It creaked opened into a small lightly furnished living room. The only remarkable feature was the room’s large stone fireplace. A tiny kitchen could be seen to the rear and a small table was placed beneath a paned window with a picturesque view of the garden.
Katarina took my hand and led me up the stairs. The second flight opened into a single room that occupied the entire second floor. The room was painted a cream white that contrasted beautifully against wooden rafters which had been left exposed for style not necessity. A second, simpler fire place occupied the wall directly across from a king bed. The bed was plush, its soft white comforter contrasted with the walnut head and footboards.
I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hand across the fine linen. Katarina walked up to me. With two hands she gently pushed me onto my back.
“Wai…t” I muttered as she sprang up and straddled me.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/gr6jmw/first_submission_here_the_estate_12_its_a_long
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