Role Play by Susan Wright

the mask?”
    Victor took it from me. “Yes. Put your hair up in a pony tail. Right about here,” he said, touching me on the top-back part of my head.
    I pulled out my brush and managed to get my hair into a pony tail despite the vacuum suit I was wearing. Victor kept looking at my gyrations, but he didn’t smile or say anything until I was done.
    “Turn to me.” With gentle hands, he fit the head piece across my eyes and forehead, and over my head. “Hold up your pony tail while I tighten the lacing.”
    He was right behind me, breathing on my neck as he concentrated on the lacings. The headpiece tightened on my head and across my face as he pulled. Every part of my body except for my jaw and hands were bound tightly by him. It was comforting and warm, almost too much. Every movement reminded me of my constraint.
    My vision was cut off on the sides, like a horse wearing blinders. I hadn’t realized how hobbled I would be in the mask.
    But when I looked in the mirror, I was unrecognizable. Even my sister wouldn’t know it was me if I was standing right in front of her. I looked like a plastic fetish doll with exaggerated curves and a high arching pony tail.
    “It works,” I told Victor.
    “Yes, it does,” he agreed fervently.
    It was considerate of him to lend me the disguise. I just hoped I didn’t bust out a seam and ruin it.
    Victor waited a moment, looking at me in the mirror. But when I didn’t say anything else, he abruptly took hold of my hand and led the way as we explored the sprawling penthouse. There were at least six bedrooms on the two floors, and two large living rooms that had views north and east. But the place was sparsely furnished with only a few black couches and chairs, and plain mattresses with white sheets for beds. There were also black padded benches and tables, plus towering wooden X’s like I’d seen at the Chamber.
    The glass doors were open to the terraces with incredible views of Manhattan and New Jersey. The buildings were stacked so close together that only a dip in the height showed me where Greenwich Village was. Beyond, the rooftops rose again to the skyscrapers of Midtown, with the Empire State Building taller than the rest.
    I felt like I was in a movie.
    Victor got plastic cups of wine which we sipped as we watched an older man paddle a squealing, writhing girl. The girl was cute with broad hips and an infectious laugh. I couldn’t understand why she kept laughing in between her cries that begged him to stop.
    “Is he tickling her?” I asked.
    “Among other things. That paddle is wood so it’s pretty heavy.”
    The girl seemed to like it, throwing herself into it with abandon . The skin on her buttocks was blotched dark red amongst the pink.
    I looked sideways at Victor, who was watching the scene with detachment. “Is that what you do?” I asked.
    He finally smiled. “I’d rather use my hands when I spank a girl.”
    I was feeling warmer, just thinking about it. “Does it hurt?”
    “It doesn’t have to.”
    His hands reached for my waist, pulling me into him. His palm slid down the curve of my ass, cupping my cheek. My hands were against his chest, as his face bent close to my ear. “Like this.”
    He smacked my butt cheek firmly.
    “Oh!” I exclaimed.
    I could tell he could have spanked me a lot harder. He was holding back.
    He smacked my other butt cheek, letting me absorb it. My rear end was tingling as the warmth spread through my lower body.
    It felt like I had been shaken. Briskly.
    “That woke me up,” I said.
    “There’s nothing like it when you’re having sex. It makes everything more intense.”
    He was still holding me close, rocking back and forth slightly as his hand rubbed my butt, soothing away the sting. I could feel his rigid hard-on pressing against my belly.
    “Men are also submissive ,” he said. “Look over there.”
    A man knelt in front of an elegant woman, sucking on her toes. The woman was watching him critically, tapping