The invitation was handwritten on thick black paper, sealed in wax and scent. Come as you are, leave as you’ve never been. That was all it said.
Inside, the mansion pulsed with low music and a strange kind of gravity. Every room glowed gold and crimson, as if firelight had been bottled and spilled across the walls. Strangers moved like dreams, faces half-lost behind leather, lace, and feathers.
A tall figure in a velvet mask stood by the bar, swirling a drink slowly, watching. His eyes met Lola’s—sharp, curious, familiar—and held.
Lola felt it before she saw it—the thrum under her skin, the pull toward the center of the night.
The air in the House had thickened, like time itself was stretching. Bodies shimmered under red light, sweat-slick and glistening. Masks remained, but clothes were optional now. The tension in the room wasn’t subtle anymore. It crackled—electric, magnetic.
The velvet masked figure held out a hand. Lola took it.
He led her down a narrow hallway lined with candles, shadows dancing on the walls. She passed open doors—scenes unfolding in slow, erotic rhythm: a woman bound to a frame, her wrists kissed with silk and heat; a couple tangled with a third, their mouths devouring each other’s gasps.
But she didn’t stop. Not yet.
The room at the end was darker. Quieter.
Inside, two others waited. One reclined on a low bed—bare-chested, androgynous,his eyes molten behind a gold mask. The other stood beside him, tall and poised, fingers wrapped around a riding crop they didn’t use yet. Their eyes raked over Lola like they were reading a want written in heat.
The door closed.
The moment hung—no music now, just breath and the rustle of fabric slipping to the floor.
Velvet unmasked first.
His mouth was hot, open, relentless. His hands pinned her wrists above her head before sliding down, slow and firm, claiming skin in their wake. Lola moaned, hips arching toward contact, desperate for more. The pressure between her legs was unbearable—until the others joined in.
She let them touch her, claim her, worship her with fingers, tongue, and sound. There was nothing gentle left—only urgency, hunger, heat. Hands on her throat, a mouth at her breast, another between her thighs.
She was undone, again and again knowing that she was wanted—utterly, intensely—by all of them.
