Halloween Party - Part 2

The hallway was darker than the main room, quieter too, just the muffled thump of bass bleeding through the walls. I hadn’t even caught up to him before the silver mask appeared right in front of me again, sudden and sharp, like he’d been waiting.

I stopped short, my back hitting the wall.

He was taller up close, chest brushing mine as he leaned in, silent, blocking me in. His gloved hand came up and pressed flat against the wall beside my head, his other hand already sliding low, fingers brushing the edge of my tunic.

My throat went dry.
“Who… who are you?”

The mask tilted, the hollow eyes locked onto mine. No answer. Just a slow breath through the slit of the mask, warm against my neck.

And then his hand slid under the cheap fabric, dragging up my stomach, over my chest. I flinched, breath catching.
“Wait—” I grabbed his wrist, shoving it back down. “I’m not gay.”

That was when he said it. Low, muffled through the mask, but clear enough to punch straight into me.
“Then why are you hard right now?”

My body betrayed me. My cock was straining against my pants, aching, obvious. His gloved hand brushed over it, firm enough to make me choke back a moan.

“Fuck—stop,” I hissed, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned closer, his mouth near my ear, breath ghosting across my skin.
“Relax,” he murmured. “They can barely tell it’s a guy behind this mask.”

The music swelled in the distance, the hallway flickering with shadows of passing bodies, but it felt like we were in our own world. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.

Then he touched me again.

His hand pressed between my legs, rubbing up and down the bulge through my costume pants. My hips jerked before I could stop them, grinding into his palm. I muttered a curse, shame hot in my chest, but the heat pooling lower didn’t care.

He didn’t kiss me — he couldn’t, not with the mask covering his whole face — but he didn’t need to. He pressed closer, his body pinning me to the wall, his head dipping low until the cold silver grazed my cheek. His free hand tugged at my tunic, slipping under, exploring, squeezing at my chest, tracing down my stomach until he brushed the waistband of my pants again.

I was panting now, my forehead damp, my cock throbbing painfully as he stroked it through the fabric. My hands hovered uselessly, like I wanted to push him away but couldn’t stop gripping his arms instead.

Every time someone stumbled down the hallway, I froze — but the stranger didn’t. He kept touching me, rubbing me, grinding against me. Like he knew no one would notice. Like he wanted me to be caught.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my head knocking back against the wall.

His masked face tilted, watching me unravel. Silent. Commanding.

“Take it off,” I rasped, my hand finally daring to touch the mask, my fingers curling against the cold surface. “I need to know who you are.”

His hand left me just as suddenly as it had started. My body ached at the loss, cock twitching against my pants, desperate and unfinished.

The mask leaned in one last time, voice low, teasing.
“Follow me.”

And before I could catch my breath, he slipped away, deeper into the house, toward the darker rooms.

And I followed.