Behind the Camera, My Mistress Wasn’t Faking the Blows
Before every take he put on the mask and stopped being himself. He knew she wasn’t going to fake a single blow, and that was exactly what he paid for.
Before every take he put on the mask and stopped being himself. He knew she wasn’t going to fake a single blow, and that was exactly what he paid for.
I’d never confessed that attraction. Until I saw her leaning at the bar, wrapped in synthetic fur, looking at me like a predator choosing its prey.
He stood with his legs spread and his hands behind his back, trembling. He had spent months dreaming of that moment, and she still hadn’t even looked at him.
I woke up bound, gagged, and blind, not knowing where I was or how much time had passed. I knew only one thing: the woman I had been no longer existed.
I’d been married and bored for years when those four guys surrounded me on the dance floor. None of them guessed that, under the costume, I was more than ready to play along.
I’d been turning the idea over in my mind for weeks, but nothing prepared me for what I felt when the first unknown hands traced my skin in the dark.
She accepted the invitation to pay her cheating boyfriend back in kind and chose the fine-featured zombie, not imagining what she would discover when she took off the costume.
I woke up naked beside a man who wasn’t my husband and, for the first time in years, I felt completely desired. He still wasn’t done with me.
We didn’t know how to get out of the water without making it obvious what we’d just done. What we couldn’t imagine was that the night had only just begun, and the neighbors’ party would change everything.
The plan was perfect: in my friend’s costume, my wife would never know the stranger dancing with her among the masks was me.
“Come at eleven to the north area of the parking lot. No words.” An anonymous note, a nun’s mask, and a woman who may not have been his waiting against the car.