The mask was meant to conceal our identities, but it actually just amplified the hunger I’d been repressing for three solid months.
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[TRANSCRIPT START]
[LOCATION: Private Practice Office, Portland, OR]
[DATE: November 14th]
[SUBJECTS: Evelyn (34), Dominic (41)]
[INTERVIEWER: Julianne Vance]
INTERVIEWER: I appreciate you both coming in. I know this isn’t a standard session, but for the project, I want the raw version. We’ve done the clinical intake. Now, tell me about the mansion. Tell me about the masquerade. But do it in layers. Give me the version you’d tell your parents first. Then the version you’d tell a close friend. Then the version that actually happened.
EVELYN: (Laughs, adjusting a silver ring on her index finger) My parents? Oh, they think I went to a charity gala for the historical society. I told them the Pittock Mansion looks stunning when it’s foggy, which it was. Everything felt very… preserved. Like we were stepping back into 1914.
DOMINIC: I wore the tuxedo I usually save for weddings. Velvet lapels. I felt like a caricature of a gentleman, which was the point, I think.
EVELYN: He looked like a predator in a tailored suit. That’s what I noticed first. I was standing by the champagne tower, wearing this floor-length emerald silk dress that felt like it was barely clinging to my hips. My mask was delicate—black lace stiffened with wire. I saw him across the marble foyer. The wolf mask he had on didn’t hide his jawline. It just emphasized it.
DOMINIC: I wasn’t looking at the architecture. I was looking at the way the light from the chandeliers caught the curve of her collarbone. She looked out of place, like she was waiting for someone to give her permission to break something. I walked over. I didn’t say much. I think I asked if the vintage was any good.
EVELYN: And I told him it was too sweet. I remember saying, ‘I never liked the taste of champagne alone.’ It was a line, of course. A terrible, wonderful line. We spent the next hour talking about the history of the house, the woodwork, the way the fog was pressing against the leaded glass windows. It was civil. Polished.
INTERVIEWER: (Leaning back) That’s the sanitized version. Let’s peel it back. The friend version. What were you actually thinking when you were ‘talking about the woodwork’?
EVELYN: I was thinking about how his hand felt when he guided me toward the grand staircase. He didn’t just touch my back; he let his palm linger right where my spine meets my sacrum. It was a grounding touch, the kind that makes your nervous system just… settle and fire all at once. I could smell him—sandalwood and something metallic, like a wet sidewalk. It was intoxicating. Every time he spoke, I wasn’t listening to the words. I was watching the way his lips moved under the edge of that mask.
DOMINIC: I was hyper-aware of the friction. The silk of her dress was so thin I could feel the heat of her skin through it. When we reached the landing, the music from the ballroom below muffled. I pushed her gently—very gently, Julianne—into a shadowed alcove behind a Grecian bust. I didn’t ask. I just stepped into her space until her back hit the wainscoting.
EVELYN: He smelled like rain and expensive bourbon. I put my hands on his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t been touched in a year, not really. I wanted to tell him my body felt like a house with all the power turned off. But instead, I just reached up and traced the edge of his wolf mask. I said, ‘Are you going to bite, or are you just here for the show?’
DOMINIC: I didn’t bite. Not yet. I just leaned down and ran my nose along the line of her jaw. I whispered that she was far too loud for someone wearing lace. I could feel her breath hitch. Her pulse was a frantic metronome under my thumb when I pressed it against her neck. I reached down, bunching the silk of that dress in my fist, pulling it up until I could feel the tops of her stockings.
EVELYN: (Her voice drops an octave) I realized then that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and I didn’t care if he was. I just wanted the weight of him. I wanted the pressure. We started kissing—messy, desperate kisses that tasted like the champagne I’d complained about. He tasted like salt and heat. We were hidden, but we weren't alone. We could hear the laughter downstairs. It made it feel… illicit. Like we were stealing time from the ghosts of the house.
INTERVIEWER: (Nodding) That’s the heat. Now, give me the third layer. The one you haven't told anyone. The one that actually happened in the room at the end of the hall.
EVELYN: (She looks at Dominic, then back to the interviewer) We didn’t stay in the alcove. Dominic took my hand and led me down the north gallery. There was a room—it was supposed to be a ‘quiet lounge’ for the VIP donors—but it wasn’t quiet. When we opened the door, the air was thick. Heavy. The smell was different there. Not just flowers and dust, but skin. Arousal.
DOMINIC: There was another couple there. I knew them—Marcus and Sarah. They’re regulars at these types of functions. They were on the velvet chaise by the fireplace. Sarah was draped over the back of it, her dress pulled down to her waist, and Marcus was behind her. They didn't stop when we walked in. They didn't even look surprised.
EVELYN: I should have been shocked. As a woman who grew up in a town where the most exciting thing is the harvest festival, I should have walked out. But my body didn’t move. I watched Sarah’s head fall back, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a silent ‘O’ as Marcus moved against her. It was so clinical yet so carnal. Dominic didn't let go of my hand. He leaned into my ear and asked, ‘Do you want to stay, Evelyn? Or do you want to go back to the champagne?’
DOMINIC: I could feel the tremors in her hand. It wasn't fear. It was a sensory overload. I moved behind her, echoing Marcus’s position. I pulled her back against my chest, my hands moving over the silk of her belly, feeling the way she was already damp, the heat radiating through the fabric. I didn’t wait for a verbal answer. I knew the way her hips tilted back into mine was a yes.
EVELYN: I reached back, my fingers tangling in Dominic’s hair, pulling his head down so he could bite at my shoulder. The pain was a sharp, beautiful spike that anchored me. I watched Sarah. Our eyes met across the room while both our men were busy with us. It was this incredible moment of female recognition—no shame, just shared appetite. Dominic’s hands were everywhere. He unzipped the back of my dress, and it pooled at my feet like a green shadow. I was standing there in just my lace mask, my stockings, and a pair of silk panties that were already soaked through.
DOMINIC: She was beautiful. Pale skin against the dark wood of the library shelves. I turned her around and lifted her onto the mahogany desk. It was cold against her thighs, I’m sure. I didn’t give her time to adjust. I knelt between her legs, my face level with her center. I didn't use euphemisms then, and I won't now. I wanted to taste her. I pulled her lace aside and used my tongue to find her clitoris, which was already swollen and hard.
EVELYN: (Closing her eyes) I let out a sound I didn’t recognize. It was a low, guttural growl. I gripped the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles went white. Dominic’s tongue was relentless, rhythmic, like he was trying to learn the map of me in the dark. And Marcus… Marcus left Sarah for a moment. He walked over.
DOMINIC: I didn’t mind. In that room, the boundaries are fluid. Marcus stood behind Evelyn, his hands coming around to cup her breasts, his thumbs rolling over her nipples while I stayed between her legs. She was caught between us, a circuit board being overloaded.
EVELYN: It was the most honest I’ve ever been. My body was just… reacting. Marcus’s hands were rougher than Dominic’s, more calloused. The contrast was incredible. One was worshiping me with his mouth, the other was claiming me with his hands. I felt the first wave of an orgasm start in my toes and roll upward. I couldn't breathe. I grabbed Marcus’s wrists, pulling him closer, even as I pushed my crotch harder against Dominic’s face.
DOMINIC: I could taste the release coming. The saltiness, the sweetness of her. I didn’t stop. I used my fingers to open her up, sliding two deep inside her while my thumb stayed on her clitoris. She was so tight, so ready. When she finally broke, she didn’t just moan; she screamed into the quiet of that old mansion.
EVELYN: I didn’t care who heard. I was vibrating. As I was coming, Dominic stood up, unbuckling his belt with a single-minded focus that was terrifyingly hot. He was thick and heavy, his cock dark and pulsing in the dim light. He didn’t ask this time. He just grabbed my thighs, pulled me to the very edge of the desk, and slid inside me in one long, devastating stroke.
DOMINIC: I needed to be in her. The friction was perfect. I started moving, long and deep, finding a rhythm that matched the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Marcus moved back to Sarah, but we stayed connected. Every few thrusts, Sarah would reach out and touch Evelyn’s arm, or I’d catch Marcus’s eye. It was a symphony of friction.
EVELYN: He was hitting my G-spot with every shove. I felt like I was being dismantled and put back together. I looked at the wolf mask he was still wearing—he’d never taken it off—and it felt like I was being taken by something elemental. Something that didn't have a name or a social security number. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles, demanding more. I wanted him to bottom out. I wanted to feel the bruise of it tomorrow.
DOMINIC: I obliged. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, smelling the sweat and the expensive perfume. I felt her internal muscles clench around me again, a second climax hitting her before I’d even reached mine. That was the trigger. I felt the heat build in the base of my spine, that inevitable pressure. I groaned her name—Evelyn—and let go. I came so hard I felt lightheaded, my forehead resting against hers as we both tried to remember how to breathe.
EVELYN: (Opening her eyes, smiling) We stayed like that for a long time. The four of us. The room was silent except for the sound of the rain hitting the roof and our four distinct rhythms of breathing. Nobody spoke. We didn't need to. The masks stayed on until the very end.
INTERVIEWER: And when you left the room?
EVELYN: We adjusted our clothes. Dominic zipped me up. I smoothed my hair. We walked back out into the gallery, found two fresh glasses of champagne, and went back to talking about the woodwork.
DOMINIC: But the wood felt different. Everything felt different.
EVELYN: It did. It felt like the house wasn't a museum anymore. It felt alive. Because we were.
INTERVIEWER: (Writing a final note) That sounds like a breakthrough. In a somatic sense, at least.
EVELYN: (Wickedly) It was a lot of things, Julianne. But ‘clinical’ wasn't one of them.
DOMINIC: (Grinning) Can we go now? I’ve got a sudden craving for champagne.
EVELYN: Only if it’s the good stuff.
[TRANSCRIPT END]
