"Tomorrow's breakfast will be at 7. The 11 o'clock showing has been changed to 10. I've made arrangements with-"

"That will be all tonight, Emily," Miranda instructed.

"But-"

Miranda rolled her eyes before turning to face her first assistant. "That will be all. I have plans. You may do as you please with the rest of the evening."

The light was fading through the limo's windows as the Parisian streets started to buzz with nightlife. The car came to a standstill as they reached the hotel. "And, Emily? I'm not to be disturbed tonight."

"Of course, Miranda. I'll see you at breakfast."

As Miranda's door was opened for her, the gravity of what she had planned for the evening hit her. Could she really go through with this? Smoothing out her dress, she took in a deep breath as subtly as she could, before stepping out onto the sidewalk and making her way into the hotel.

She heard the whirlwind of people around her along with Emily wishing her a good evening, but it took all of her focus to put one foot in front of the other until she made it to the elevator.

Once she reached her suite, she pressed the door closed behind her and flicked on the lights. Equal parts apprehension and anticipation swirled around in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't used to such a feeling. The anticipation made her feel more alive than she had in quite some time. The apprehension? That she could live without.

The car she'd booked would arrive in an hour. The drive would take maybe an hour more. That gave her two hours to steady her nerves. If she got there and decided against it? She could simply have the driver turn back. Even if she ventured into the venue, that didn't commit her to doing anything. It was at that point that the thought of walking away from it terrified her as much, if not more, than actually going through with her plans.

She poured herself a measure of whisky, sipping it as she stripped off her clothes and jewellery. She didn't want to turn up inebriated, but she needed something to help settle her nerves. Moving to the bathroom, she turned on the shower and stepped under the hot stream of water that fell. She made quick work of washing herself, before stepping out and wrapping a towel around her body.

The amber liquid continued to slip down her throat in small sips, and she felt the knots in her stomach untie. She dried and styled her hair, wondering if she would regret her decision not to wear a wig. Reasonably though, no one would know where she was going once she was out of the city. Being photographed with a wig on would probably raise more questions in the press than her simply being seen leaving the hotel and getting into a car.

Her make-up followed before she dressed herself in a Vivienne Westwood strapless black gown. She looked in the mirror as she finished her carefully chosen ensemble with a corset belt and bolero jacket. The last part of her look would have to wait until she reached her destination, so she slipped the black and silver mask into her Anya Hindmarch clutch.

The journey gave her some much-needed time to think. The bustling Parisian streets eventually gave way to greener areas, and the quieter surroundings helped to calm the butterflies in her stomach once more. Almost an hour after setting off from the hotel, the dark backdrop to the night came alight with the illumination of the grand building that was her destination.

It was reminiscent of an old French palace in its size and grandeur. The grounds were gated, a security office letting people through car by car. She was grateful for the excessive security and privacy that the organisers had in place. She pulled the mask out of her clutch and placed it over her eyes, securing it around her head.

"Stop! Arrêt! Please, can we-"

"Madame?" The driver sounded almost as confused as Miranda felt.

"I'm sorry. Je suis désolé. Please. Continue. Aller."

The car pulled up to the security office and Miranda presented her invitation. Although perhaps ticket was more appropriate. Either way, the ticket she'd purchased had been made to look like an invitation to an elite event. If anyone saw it, they wouldn't be able to distinguish it from any other gala, party or event frequented by the rich.

They were waved through and she took a few deep breaths as the car made the last few hundred meters of its journey to the grand house. Once again, Miranda's door was opened for her and she stepped out without hesitation this time; onto the red carpet and up the grand stairs. A steady flow of women entered the building both ahead and behind her, all dressed in couture and masks.

The rules of the event had been made very clear in advance, so she checked her phone at the desk and placed the ticket into her clutch. She'd been given an emergency number in advance that she had passed on to Cara. Should anything arise with the girls, she would still be reachable.

She finally found herself in a large ballroom. She estimated there to be maybe 200 women there, all milling around, champagne in hand. She'd been told she was free to explore the other rooms whenever she wished. Miranda had stood in many-a-ballroom filled with people making small talk and drinking champagne over the years. This was not why she was there. She'd made it this far; she wasn't going to waste any more time. She'd done that for far too many years.

Champagne still in hand, she made a beeline for the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A short hallway had a door for changing rooms on one side, but it was the door at the end she headed for. She let herself through and the music instantly changed to something slightly more upbeat and louder. As her eyes adjusted to the darker club-like feel of the room, she could see it was a large expanse of seating areas, with some raised platforms around the perimeter. Every surface was dark; black or deep purples. The odd piece of silver embellishment sparkled under the spotlights.

While some women still wore their evening gowns, like Miranda, others had changed into somewhat more revealing outfits or clothing a little less ballroom-like. The door clicked behind her and she realised she was still standing there, taking in the room. She moved to let the other women through.

Her glass still mostly full, she surveyed the room for a free seat. Nothing too obvious. She needed somewhere a little quieter where she could just look on for a moment. She spotted the perfect place where a pocket of tables had not yet been occupied. She sat down on the sofa, placing her glass on the table in front of her after taking a sip. The knots in her stomach had gone and she was left only with nervous anticipation of what the night would hold. Further down her body? There all she felt was excitement; showing itself by way of moistening her panties.

Miranda settled into her seat, preparing to observe from afar, when she caught sight of a slender woman in a glossy black corset and mini skirt slinking toward her. She looked her up and down as she approached. Her face was obscured by a mask, just like her own, but something about the way she carried herself spoke to Miranda.

"Puis-je?" The mystery woman gestured to the empty seat next to Miranda.

"Oui!" Miranda picked up on the woman's American accent. "Of course, please, have a seat."

The woman sat down, brushing her long black hair over her shoulder. "Ah, so a visitor like myself?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I live in New York, but I'm here for work. If I can match my trips up with these events, then I usually do. I'm Andy."

Miranda suddenly felt a wave of panic run through her. Of all the people she could be talking to here, it had to be someone from New York. "Oh, I'm Mi- Me-"

Andy smiled sweetly at the flustered woman that sat beside her. "It's okay. You don't have to give me your real name. Whatever you want me to call you is fine by me."

It wasn't like Miranda to find herself so flustered, so unable to speak. This was how other people behaved in her presence. It certainly wasn't an effect she allowed others to have on her. She just hadn't expected to be faced with a New Yorker. Don't be foolish. She reasoned that of all the millions of people in New York, this wasn't likely to be someone she would cross paths with again. Besides, this woman was here in a mask, just like her. The organisers were very clear on their rules, and Andy mentioned she attended whenever she could. She was hardly likely to 'out' Miranda and stop herself from being able to come back.

Miranda sat up a little straighter and composed herself. "Miranda. I'm visiting from New York as well." She couldn't deprive herself of the chance to hear her actual name falling from Andy's lips if this turned into anything more than a brief conversation.

"Nice to meet you, Miranda." She took a sip of her champagne and her lips curled up into a smile as she took in the silver-haired woman sat next to her. "So, first time at a place like this?"

"Is it that obvious?" Miranda had hoped her nerves hadn't shown.

"It's okay, it was everyone's first time here at one point or another."

"I suppose that's true." Miranda started to feel at ease again. Andy was proving easier to talk to than she'd imagined.

"So, Miranda, tell me, what are you into?"

Miranda's cheeks flushed pink against the black of her mask. She hoped the low lighting was hiding it, but Andy's smile made her think otherwise. The feeling of being tongue-tied really was quite new to Miranda, and it wasn't a feeling she was in a hurry to repeat.

"How about this? What if we move a little closer to the platforms and take a look? You can tell me what appeals to you, and just as importantly, what doesn't?"

Miranda tried to hide her surprise at how sweet this stranger was being to her; she wasn't expecting to find that in a place like this. But then, she wasn't really sure what she was expecting to find. "That sounds like an excellent plan." She nodded, trying to find words to thank Andy for her kindness.

Andy seemed to understand without Miranda having to say anything, though. "It's okay, Miranda. There's no need to be shy here. Whatever you like, whatever you don't like, that's okay. No one will judge you. And remember, as the submissive, you are always in control."

Miranda's cheeks flushed scarlet and she knew there was no hiding it this time. How had this stranger read her so well, and so quickly? "How- How did you-"

Andy shrugged. "Let's call it a lucky guess." Her cherry-red lips smiled knowingly at Miranda.

This perfect stranger had somehow made her feel more seen and more understood than anyone else she'd ever known. She couldn't resist those lips anymore. Leaning toward Andy, she captured her mouth with her own. As Andy willingly reciprocated, Miranda felt a flood of wetness between her thighs. Her whole body tingled with the possibility of what was to come. She opened her lips to let Andy in, feeling herself relax into the evening.

Their lips eventually parted and Miranda sighed deeply as she looked to the outskirts of the room.

"Shall we?" Andy gestured in the direction of Miranda's gaze.

"Yes, let's."

They both stood. Miranda let Andy take the lead as she followed her to a table closer to the platforms. They sat on another sofa, and a waitress stopped by to refill their champagne glasses. Miranda looked around her in awe at the plethora of naked bodies enjoying their evening, while paying no mind to the people watching them.

"See anything you like?" Andy queried.

Miranda's head darted around the room, not sure where to settle. She still felt like she was imposing, just watching these people around her, especially as they were now sat so close.

Sensing how overwhelmed Miranda was feeling, Andy gestured to one of the platforms to their right. "Just focus on one platform at a time, Miranda. They don't mind you watching. Some of them get off on it even. How about the St Andrews cross?"

Miranda turned in her seat slightly to see more easily. A young woman with short blonde hair stood against a metal 'X'. Her wrists were cuffed above her to the metal cross and her legs were spread wide, her ankles cuffed to the lower points of the cross. A blindfold, rather than a mask, covered her eyes. Miranda could see that she was moaning in pleasure as another woman sucked at the blonde's nipples while one hand moved between her open thighs.

"I think that is something I would like to try," Miranda confirmed.

"You'd want to be the one on the cross?" Andy wanted to ensure she fully understood Miranda's desires.

It was the first time Miranda had ever discussed such matters with anyone. A shyness still tugged inside of her, but Andy was doing a good job of making her feel at ease. "Yes, I think I would." She smiled shyly at Andy, who nodded her understanding back.

She continued watching for a few more minutes before Andy drew her attention away.

"Okay, how about this one?" Andy gestured at the next platform to the left of the St Andrews cross.

Miranda looked on, intrigued. A woman crawled around the stage on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but her mask and…Miranda wasn't sure what to call it. Was that a tail? The confusion must have been obvious on her face.

"It's a butt plug," Andy explained casually.

"Oh."

Another woman with the most wonderful Afro Miranda had ever seen, and wearing something similar to Andy, bent down gracefully and poured a glass of champagne into a diamond-encrusted bowl. The first woman began to drink from it.

"I think-" Miranda stuttered before clearing her throat. "I think I rather prefer my champagne from a glass."

Andy let out a small laugh before directing Miranda's attention to the next platform. A woman that Miranda guessed to be in her fifties knelt over a bench, her arms tied behind her back. Another woman, with umber skin in a matching lingerie set, spanked the other across the ass with a riding crop. The cuffed woman's creamy white skin flushed a crimson red from the impact.

"Maybe, I might like to try that and see how it feels," Miranda ventured, gaining her confidence.

Andy placed a hand on Miranda's thigh. "We can try anything you like, and if you don't like it, we can stop."

Miranda nodded before letting herself be drawn to the next platform once more. A woman with short red hair was being suspended from the ceiling with a series of ropes. Miranda watched carefully, unsure of what it was she was seeing.

"It's called shibari. It's a form of Japanese rope bondage," Andy explained. "It doesn't have to involve being suspended from the ceiling." Andy looked around before pointing in the direction of another woman on a St Andrews cross. This time the woman had purple ropes crisscrossing all over her body in a harness.

"It's rather beautiful," Miranda mused.

"It is," Andy agreed. "And there are so many ways of using it."

"You know, I think one thing I hadn't considered is how public this would actually feel." Miranda's laugh was tinged with a little nervousness again.

"It doesn't have to be," Andy reassured her. "The platforms, you're free to sit and watch anything happening on those. The sofas in the centre of this room and everything in the room to the right, obviously they're not private, but no one will sit and watch purposefully, like the platforms."

Miranda nodded, remembering what she'd read a few months ago, prior to buying her ticket for the evening.

"Or upstairs, there are private suites if you prefer. I have one reserved for the evening, if you would like to join me."

Miranda smiled. "I think I would like that very much."