The Masked Ball - James
An exerpt from a novel in progress.
Chapter 1: The Masked Ball.
Damien Hirst had bought a new house.
Not any old house, rather a Grade I listed gothic stately home called Toddington Manor. Tonight was to be the night of his house warming party. And it was to be a masked ball.
The car sped along the gravel drive.
“Man this drive is as long as Manhattan!” quipped Jeff Koons as he luxuriated in the back seat of the Mercedes SL600 that was propelling towards his chum Damien Hirst’s new country pile. Koons wasn’t far from the mark. The property sat in 124 acres of beautiful Gloucestershire country-side.
Eventually the car pulled up outside the imposing mansion. A servant, wearing an extravagant mask resembling a rococo pig’s head, greeted the American and led him to the grand entryway.
“Man, this kid does it in style eh?” offered Koons.
“Young master Hirst is real gentleman, Sir.” replied the porcine manservant.
As the grand doors were opened, Koons gazed in awe at the extraordinary entry hall. The gothic revival mansion revealed itself to the visitor. A room the size of a football field, surrounded by elaborate woodwork and stone carvings, culminating in a sweeping staircase.
“Jeff you old cunt!” shouted a scruffy young man who emerged from a door to one side.
“Hirsty! That you!”
The two men hugged warmly. It had been months since they’d been in each other’s company, and it felt really good.
“You’re the last to arrive. Hurry up. The party’s just about to begin!”
The two giants of contemporary art walked arm in arm up the stairs.
“This place is a trip,” muttered Koons, unable to take his eyes off the elaborate carvings.
“Not bad eh? Only three million quid as well”
“That’s what... five mill. US. Chicken shit. You couldn’t buy a three-bedroom coop for that on the Upper East Side. Maybe I should move out here.”
“I’ve got 300 rooms here - SERIOUSLY, just come stay with me. Bring the family. I’ll let you have a whole wing! Hey, where’s your mask?”
“Right here” said Koons pulling a Mickey Mouse vs. Cremaster mask from his overnight bag.
“Put it on. The fun’s just about to start.” the young Englishman giggled.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet!” announced Hirst as he threw open the huge oak doors of the ballroom.
Koons froze in his tracks. The vast room was decked out in acres of red velvet. Cascades of fabric framed an unusual dais in the center of the room. Around the platform stood twenty or so guests each wearing a wild array of masks and costumes.
“Holy fucking shit... it’s like ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ in here”.
“Yes, I had thought of that when I was planning my house-warming” tittered Hirst.
On the dais stood a solitary figure. His head was covered in what appeared to be a sack with roses pinned to it, and horns emerging from each side. He was naked except for a small red velvet towel that he had wrapped around his waist. He had a wonderful physique. And a physique that looked strangely familiar to Jeff...
As Jeff joined the assembled guests, the man adopted a classical pose, resembling David.
“OK guys, let the festivities begin!” yelled Hirst in a ridiculous town-crier sort of a voice.
The man on the stage moved gracefully and removed his towel. To the crowd’s astonishment while he had a magnificent penis... he appeared to have NO TESTES!
“What the...” mumbled Jeff, in awe. The crowd let out a gasp.
“Gentlemen, please let me introduce to you a very good friend of mine from the New World. He’s here to officially launch this party!”
Shifting his weight, the man on the stage widened his stance. He let out what seemed to be a deep muffled chant. Slowly and precisely, and to the astonishment of the onlookers, the man began to lower his testes. With exquisite control, a fraction of an inch at a time, the ball sack began to appear, and soon all could make out the sturdy outline of two massive balls.
“Only one man...” thought Koons.
And as the balls descended, it became clear that ONE of spheres was sporting a tiny mask! And no ordinary mask: it was from clearly from a tiny replica of a classic Cremaster mask!
“Barney! Barney!” Koons began the chant, and soon the whole room was booming.
“You’re right, my dear friends, it is none other than Matthew Barney, and his amazing Cremaster control.
And I told you you’d see a masked ball!” proclaimed the delighted host. The crowd erupted in raucous laughter.
Koons had seen this trick once before. In Barney’s loft in Manhattan. That afternoon the men had shared an intimate and passionate connection. Koons was already feeling stiff; his penis was beginning to create a tent in his pant. He had a good feeling where this party might go...
Barney gracefully stepped down from the platform and came over to greet Hirst.
“We gonna fuck already?” the young American angrily demanded.
With that Hirst dropped his pants to reveal his engorged penis. At that Barney fell to his knees and greedily devoured Damien’s cock. The salty pre-come was a delight. Koons meanwhile had hooked his dick out of his pant as was rhythmically jacking off watching his two friends “working out”.
“Don’t be a stranger, get over here big guy!” demanded Hirst.
Soon standing next to his friend, their two massive cocks pointing skywards, Barney greedily sucked and fondled both members. He expertly worked the two cocks, lustily sharing his warm tongue between the two.
The other partygoers had formed a circle around the trio. Some had dropped their pants and were jacking off as they watched the spectacle. What a delightful sight.
Matthews’s hands worked his two chums ball sacks, as he gobbled down their throbbing manhoods.
“Barney, you little bitch. On all fours! Now!” demanded Jeff, with unusual command.
At that Barney was down. And within seconds Koons had rammed his pre-moistened dick deep into barney’s ass. The tight sphincter relaxed enough to let the huge dick enter. At first he pumped slowly, almost gently. But within seconds he was plowing his buddy’s hole.
“Oh fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me like the little bitch I am!” screamed Barney, until Hirst rammed his cock into the handsome American’s mouth, so he could talk no more. Barney squealed with delight as he licked and sucked the salty pre-com from the throbbing cock.
“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” announced Damien.
As the three friends went at it, small groups of partygoers followed suit around the room. There was butt fucking and sucking everywhere, moans of joy and pain, and the occasional slap of an open palm on an ass.
Jeff was now brutally riding Barney’s hole, as Hirst shoved his massive cock so deep into Barney’s mouth that he chocked and gagged. Matthew was writhing in ecstasy and exquisite pain.
Without warning, Hirst pulled out his dripping cock and ran to the dais.
“Hey Bitches. No one spills a DROP. Not yet. When you’re good and ready, you come over here. Matthew needs a shower!”
Koons continued busting that sweet ass. One by one the partiers formed a line. Hirst was ordering people around. “No, stand there, fool! No there!”
The single file line now culminated at Barney’s mouth. And one by one, they shot their loads on Matthew’s face, in his mouth, in his hair. Soon the young American was dripping. Soaked in the sweet seed of his friends’ loins.
How he loved that. The taste. The tight feeling, like having a wet towel on your head. He felt alive. He felt useful.
Eventually all the guys had sprayed their steaming loads over Barney. All but Koons, who was still pounding that sweet ass.
The crowd had once again formed into a circle.
“You still hungry bitch?” teased Koons.
“Please, please!” sobbed Matthew, exhausted but eager for a last few gulps of sweet come.
“I always thought you were a bottom feeder,” taunted Koons as he withdrew his huge cock from Barney’s ass. Without hesitation Barney spun around and sucked Koon’s dick deep into his throat.
“Mmmmmmm” he moaned.
“Yeah that’s it Bitch. Your ass taste good does it?”
There was a whole lot more fucking and sucking that night.
The next morning there was a formal breakfast. In a vast dining room, the guest’s who were so extravagantly adorned the night before sat relaxed in casual clothing, chatting and laughing. Koons entered the vast dining room. This was his first chance to see for sure who had been there the night before. He was only certain of the identities of Hirst and Barney.
“Holy shit” he muttered as he surveyed the room. It read like Art in America!
He found Barney chatting with Ed Ruscha. The two were discussing California traffic for some reason.
“Well look at you girlfriend!” Jeff joked at Matthew. “How are you guy?”
“Bit sore, but pretty good really.”
“Morning Mr. Ruscha. How are you?”
Ed simply smiled, and continued to munch on his toast.
“Well, I just looked around this room,” continued Koons looking Matthew square in the face, “and I think you got Bukkaked by some of the greatest artists in the world. How does that feel?”
“It feels useful, I feel real fucking useful. Making art is great. But fucking, now that’s real...
“Hey guys, you wanna fuck?...”
Next installment: Koons, Barney and Ed Ruscha
(Ruscha’s first time!)
c. James 2006