Masked party (Patreon)

Author’s note: All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.

The only reason I went was because Maya begged me.

“It’s a masked party, Leo. No one will even know it’s you. Just put something on and come. The whole football team’s going to be there.”

I shouldn’t have listened.

But I did. I spent two hours getting ready in my room. The costume was pure fantasy — something I’d ordered online months ago and never had the guts to wear. A full black latex dominatrix outfit: tight corset that cinched my waist, a short skirt that barely covered the tops of my thighs, long gloves that went past my elbows, thigh-high boots with sharp heels, and a matching half-mask that covered the upper part of my face. I added dark lipstick and a thin black collar with a small silver ring. When I looked in the mirror I barely recognized myself. Slim, locked in shiny black, mouth painted, eyes hidden. I looked like pure filth. Like a slut.

Maya and her roommate screamed when they saw me.

“Holy shit,” Maya said, circling me. “You look dangerous. I should dressed like that for Heitor.”

I laughed it off. Heitor was her boyfriend. Captain of the football team. Six-foot-four, mixed-race, green eyes, the kind of body that made people stare when he walked through campus. I’d jerked off thinking about him more times than I wanted to admit. But he was straight. Taken. Untouchable.

The fraternity house was already packed when we arrived. Rap Music shook the walls. Bodies moved in the dark under red and purple lights. Everyone was masked. I kept to the edges at first, drinking whatever was handed to me, letting the alcohol loosen the knot in my chest. Then someone pulled me onto the floor.

I danced. First with Maya, then with whoever came close. Hands found the slick latex over my waist and hips. One guy pressed up behind me and ground against the short skirt. I let him. The outfit made me bold in a way normal clothes never did. I rolled my ass back against him, feeling him harden, and for a few minutes I forgot who I was.

Then I turned around. A guy wearing a Captain America costume.

The guy stepped back like he’d been slapped.

Even with the half-mask I knew those green eyes.

Heitor.

Maya’s boyfriend.

For a second neither of us moved. His gaze dragged down the corset, the bare thighs, the boots, then back up to my painted mouth. I saw the exact moment recognition hit him — and the exact moment something else followed it.

“Leo?” His voice was low, almost lost under the music.

I swallowed. “Hey.”

He stared for another long second, jaw tight, then muttered something I couldn’t hear and disappeared into the crowd.

My pulse was still hammering when Maya found me later.

“We’re heading out to a ladies night; just girls.” she shouted over the noise. “You good?“

I told her I was fine. That I’d get an Uber. She kissed my cheek through the mask and left with her roommate. I stayed a little longer, finishing my drink, trying to calm down. Most of the party had thinned out by the time I stepped onto the front porch for air.

Heitor was already there, saying goodbye to a couple of teammates. He saw me, hesitated, then walked over.

“You need a ride?”

I should have said no.

Instead I nodded.

The truck was quiet. Streetlights slid across the dashboard. Heitor kept both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. The latex skirt stuck to the back of my thighs. I could still feel the ghost of hands on my waist from earlier.

“So,” he said after a few blocks, voice careful. “That outfit.”

I looked out the window. “Halloween.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You looked… different.”

I turned my head. In the low light his profile was sharp — strong jaw, the soft curve of his mouth, those green eyes focused hard on the street. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing the thick muscle of his forearms.

“Different good or different bad?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, quieter: “Good.”

We pulled up outside my building. I reached for the door handle.

“Leo.”

I looked at him.

Heitor’s hands were tight on the steering wheel. His throat moved when he swallowed.

“Can I come up?”

The air in the truck suddenly felt too thick.

I should have said no. He was Maya’s boyfriend. My friend’s boyfriend. Straight. Off-limits.

Instead I said, “Yeah.”

The apartment was dark when we stepped inside. I flicked on a single lamp near the couch. The yellow light caught on the shiny black latex, making it look wet. I turned to say something — anything — and stopped.

Heitor was staring at me.

Not politely. Not carefully. His eyes moved over the corset, the short skirt, the boots, the collar around my throat. His chest rose and fell a little too fast. When he finally looked at my face again there was something raw and conflicted in his expression.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“I know.”

He took a step closer. Then another. The height difference was almost ridiculous — he towered over me even in the heels. I could smell his cologne and the faint leftover scent of the party on his skin.

“That guy on the dance floor earlier,” he said, voice low. “The one grinding on you after me. I wanted to break his fucking hands.”

My mouth went dry.

He reached out and traced one finger along the edge of the corset, right under my chest. The latex squeaked softly under his touch. Then his hand dropped lower, over the short skirt, until his palm rested against my ass. He pressed, slow and deliberated.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

I didn’t move. I just stood there and let him touch me through the thin barrier of latex and whatever I was wearing underneath. His breathing had gone heavier. When he finally looked up again his green eyes were almost black.

“One time,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Just tonight. No one finds out.”

I nodded.

That was all it took.

Heitor grabbed me by the waist and walked me backward until the back of my legs hit the couch. He pushed me down onto it, then dropped to his knees between my spread thighs. The short latex skirt rode up immediately. He shoved it higher, exposing the black thong I’d worn underneath, and stared for a long second like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

Then he hooked his fingers in the thong and yanked it aside.

“Fuck that’s so hot.”

He leaned in and dragged his tongue over my hole in one long, wet stripe. I jerked hard against the couch, a broken sound leaving my throat. Heitor did it again, slower, spreading me with his thumbs so he could taste deeper. The contrast of his hot mouth against the cool air of the apartment made my thighs shake. He licked and sucked and pushed his tongue inside me until I was dripping and open and making soft, desperate noises I barely recognized as my own.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny.

He stood up, took the Captain America costume off, revealing his muscular body, brown and delicious. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, already fully hard, the head dark and wet. A true BBC. It had to be nine inches at least, maybe more. The size of it made my stomach flip.

He stroked himself once, looking down at me spread open on the couch in full black latex, mask still on, lips parted.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yes.”

He spat into his palm, rubbed it over the head of his cock, and lined up.

The first push burned. He was thick enough that my body tried to resist, but he kept steady pressure until the head popped inside. I cried out, hands fisting in the couch cushions. Heitor groaned low and deep, both hands locked on my latex-covered thighs as he forced another inch in, then another, until he was buried halfway and my hole was stretched obscenely around him.

“Fuck… you’re tight as hell. No pussy feels like this, man.”

He worked the rest of himself inside me with short, controlled thrusts, giving me time to adjust even though his arms were shaking with the effort of holding back. When his hips finally met my ass I felt completely full — stuffed, claimed, opened wider than I’d been in a long time. The latex skirt was flipped up around my waist. My boots were still on. The mask still hid half my face.

Heitor started moving.

Deep, powerful strokes that dragged every thick inch of him in and out of me. The wet sound of it filled the quiet apartment. Every thrust forced a high, broken moan out of my throat. He clearly liked those sounds; his rhythm grew harder, more possessive, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he fucked me into the couch.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice rough. “Maya’s faggot friend dressed like this… taking my cock in the ass like you were made for it.”

I could only moan in answer, legs spreading wider for him. He folded me tighter, almost bending me in half, and drove into me deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind my eyes. My own cock leaked steadily onto my stomach inside the corset. Every time he bottomed out I felt the heavy weight of him pressing against my prostate until I was shaking.

“Harder,” I heard myself say. “Please— use me, make me cum just for fucking me.”

Something in him snapped.

Heitor grabbed the back of my knees and fucked me with short, brutal strokes, the slap of skin on latex loud in the room. Sweat shone on his chest and shoulders. His green eyes stayed locked on my face, watching every expression I made under the mask. The wet, filthy sound of his cock slamming into me mixed with my broken moans and his low, animal grunts.

“Gonna fill this hole,” he growled. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel it tomorrow in class.”

He fucked me through the last stretch with ruthless intensity until his rhythm broke. He buried himself to the hilt, hips grinding hard against my ass, and came with a deep, guttural sound. I felt every thick pulse flooding me — hot, endless, forced deep while he kept thrusting through it. The sensation pushed me over the edge. I came hard across my own stomach, hole clenching and milking every drop out of him, a high, helpless cry tearing from my throat.

For a long moment we stayed locked together, both of us breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me. Then Heitor slowly pulled out. Cum immediately began to leak from my open, used hole onto the couch cushion.

He sat back on his heels, chest heaving, looking down at the mess he’d made of me — latex skirt still flipped up, thighs trembling, mask crooked, his load dripping out of me in thick white trails.

“…Shit.” he said quietly. “Maya can’t find out, man!”

I gave a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah.”

He dragged a hand down his face, then looked at me again. Something complicated moved behind those green eyes.

“One time,” he said, almost like he was reminding himself.

I nodded, still feeling him leaking out of me.

“One time.”

But the way he kept staring at my body — at the black latex, at the cum sliding down my thighs, at my swollen lips under the mask — made it very clear that neither of us fully believed it.