"I want to fuck my high class wife so badly right now."

She decide while wearing her new mask and expensive dress to hold out on you. Ava said. "The wife you see now can only have the world at her feet not on her back until the masquerade ball. Maybe after if you're good."

She turns away from the mirror, the movement smooth and predatory, and begins to walk out of the bedroom. A cold dread, thrilling and sharp, snakes up your spine. Her rejection isn't a dismissal. It's a game. And you have no idea what the rules are.

"Where are you going?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

She pauses at the door, not looking back at you. The black mask is all you can see, an impenetrable wall. "The dress needs to be pressed. The children need to be managed. There is work to be done for the ball." She glances over her shoulder, the crystals on her mask winking in the light. "And you need to wait."

And then she is gone, her heels clicking a decisive rhythm on the hardwood floor down the hall, a sound that's both familiar and utterly alien. You are left alone in the room, surrounded by discarded masks and the ghost of her perfume. Your face is still covered by the cheap black satin, and you feel foolish. A boy playing dress-up in the wake of a queen's coronation.

Your wife has just become the main event. You couldn't wait to keep playing this game at the ball. Ava will not have the last laugh or so you hope.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster