§
Okay Blake, I thought as I gave myself a final look over in the mirror, getting ready to leave. If you like what you’ve seen of my body ‘so far’, you’ll certainly be getting to see a little more of it now ...
My hair was scraped back in a tight, high ponytail, and my skin was pink and tingling from the vigorous scrub I’d given it in the shower, followed by a rich slathering of my favorite scented moisturizing lotion.
There was only one thing left to do.
After Blake’s cutting comment about my ‘drugstore lipstick’, I’d thrown the offending item straight in the trash. And last night, before I headed home, I’d taken a deep breath and finally called into Sephora. I was usually so intimidated in there, but with my new clothes things weren’t quite so bad. In fact, I’d even received a few compliments from the counter girls. And I had to admit just how much I was enjoying finally being a part of this secret new world of womanhood. There in the store, I was on a mission. I knew I had color sense, I just needed to apply it to myself, the way I would approach any new design project.
I lifted the tiny, beautiful package from my dresser drawer. I’d gone for Nars Heat Wave – a violently bright shade of red that I’d never normally have been bold enough to wear. But it suited my pale complexion perfectly, just as I knew deep down it would.
I glanced at my body, so clearly defined by the unforgivingly tight contours of the dress, the way it pushed my small breasts together to give just the slightest hint of cleavage, the smooth curves of my ass shown off by the tight black material.
I wobbled a little as I clicked towards the door in my stilettos. As a final thought, I stuffed a pair of black ballet pumps into my bag, too, thinking that I’d never be able to make it a whole night in these shoes.
And I chose my biggest, warmest, most sensible brown winter coat, too, even though it wasn’t that cold yet, perhaps subconsciously compensating for the skimpiness of the rest of my outfit.
Halfway down the block, I found myself stopping, pulling out my brand new iPhone 6 and hailing an Uber.
Now I finally understand why women who wear heels always seem to be getting in and out of taxis!
§
When I reached the address on the ticket — somewhere between Chelsea and the waterfront — I’d expected to see a long line of party-goers queuing up. But instead, all I found was a simple entrance, the kind of regular plain slate-grey door you might pass on any day of the week, set between a closed-up storefront and a tiny Italian restaurant, totally unassuming and anonymous.
So far, I’d only ever met Blake in sumptuous, lavish surroundings – in high-rise offices with gorgeous views, in fancy restaurants and hotels he owned, and of course in his huge penthouse apartment.
Maybe I really was about to see a different side to him, after all ...
As I approached the unassuming little door, I felt my heart pounding as I wondered once more just what I was letting myself in for. There had been something that day about his behavior, the suggestive tone of his voice, that let me know this was going to be no ordinary party.
But what in the world was it?
My next thought was that it might be some God-awful pretentious art party or noise band; the kind of thing Fallon sometimes dragged me along to, held nine times out of ten at some freezing cold warehouse, and usually under the promise of free drinks (which always turned out to have ‘ran out’ before we got there) — but Blake really didn’t seem to be the type for that kind of hipster scene.
Hesitantly, I reached out to the door and tried its handle, but it remained firmly shut. There was a little peephole in the front, and a button for a buzzer to the left, which I pushed just once with a trembling finger, my glossy, freshly-applied blood-red nail polish glinting in the dim orange light from the street. A pause, then a click within the door’s mechanism, and this time when I pushed on it, it swung open, revealing a plain, dimly lit corridor beyond.
With a final deep breath, I stepped inside, hearing the door slam heavily behind me.
My Louboutins clicked on the tiled floor of the corridor and I wobbled a little, once more feeling like I was on the brink of tripping over.
As I made my way further into the darkness, I realized that there was a female figure waiting at the far end, dressed in a long black cloak, the top half of her face obscured by a silver mask, and on her feet, a pair of killer stilettos even bigger than mine.
What was going on?
Is this some sort of costume party?
And if so, why didn’t Blake tell me?
“Ticket please,” the woman said with a cold smile once I’d reached her, her lips full and glossy, glittering in the dimness. And as she held out her hand, I swore the cloak flicked open for just a half second – and beneath it I saw a flash of milky white skin, a bare breast, and the shaved cleft of her sex.
No way, I thought, as the cloak flashed closed.
No, that couldn’t be.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
With shaky fingers, I fumbled around in my purse for my ticket, then handed it to her, trying to discern the rest of her features, hidden beneath that large, sparkling mask. But all I could see were her lips and her chin, which was pointed, and her eyes of course, glimmering and green, shining out from behind the mask.
“Follow me,” she said, turning and leading me round a corner, even further into the darkness, the cloak fluttering behind her. She was tall and slim, in good enough shape to be a model. From somewhere in the distance, I could hear the murmur of voices and the low steady beat of some sort of electronic music, and I felt a fresh pang of anxiety, wondering if I should just turn and run, back down the corridor, back to safety, just bury myself beneath the warmth and safety of my bed sheets, and wait there until Greg came home ...
But it was as if I was being controlled by something outside of myself.
I felt like I was watching myself from outside my own body: a timid young girl, moving nervously, following this ethereal beauty to God-knows-where.
She pushed open a door at the far end and suddenly the corridor was flooded with light. I was expecting this to be the entrance to the party, but instead I saw that it led into a large, empty, mahogany-furnished locker room, the kind you might find in an exclusive, members-only gym or spa.
What in the world?
“I take it you haven’t been to one of Blake’s parties before, have you?” my guide said, somewhat coldly, obviously reading the flickering confusion on my face.
By way of an answer, she pushed open her cloak, placing her hands confrontationally on her hips, her naked body clearly visible now, her hard dark nipples pointing accusingly at me.
“It’s simple,” she continued, as I tried to keep my embarrassed gaze fixed firmly on her face. “Take off your clothes and put them in one of the remaining lockers. Attach the key to your wrist or ankle. Make sure to put on your mask. The party is through that door at the far end. And if you’re feeling really shy,” she added after a pause, looking me up and down dismissively, “you can keep your panties on.”
And with this final statement, she turned and left, heels clicking, hips swaying, the door to the room swinging heavily closed behind her with a THUMP.
I gulped.
Every rational part of me now was telling me to get the hell out of there, to call up Marianne in the morning and tell her that I’d made a huge mistake, to grovel and grovel until she gave me my old job back. Or perhaps I wasn’t cut out to work in this business at all. Perhaps I should just go back to retail or college or give in to Greg’s dream and run back to Glenbrook Falls ...
I looked around me, then gingerly approached one of the few lockers that still had a key poking from its door. I opened it gently and inside, lying there in the locker, was a shining silver mask, identical to the one my hostess had been wearing just a moment ago.
Am I really about to do this?
I felt so confused, so torn.
But even as I continued to
wonder what exactly I was going to do next, I found myself slowly unzipping my dress up and letting it slip to the floor, moving almost automatically, as if that ‘other’ person inside me was in control once again, feeling the cool air prickle against my pale skin as I exposed it to the room. My nipples puckered and hardened and I felt the goosebumps flashing out across my flesh, as much from the mixture of fear and excitement pounding around my slim frame as from the chill in the room.
I looked down at my exposed breasts and my unsophisticated, girlish polka-dot black and white briefs: all that covered my remaining modesty.
She said I could keep these on?
There’s no way I’m taking them off!
I shivered, automatically reaching upwards in a pathetic attempt to cover my chest with my arm.
I cast my mind back over the number of people that had seen me naked as a grown woman, and realized that even my very closest female friends hadn’t. In fact, the only person – save from a few anonymous strangers in swimming pools and gym changing rooms – was Greg.
And now here I was about to step out into some kind of nudist sex party?
At least you have the anonymity of the mask.
I pulled it on, feeling it fit surprisingly snugly to my face, covering my nose and forehead, leaving only my mouth and chin visible.
Remember, Jessica, they’re just anonymous strangers.
But even so, I still felt so vulnerable and exposed as I gingerly crept towards the doors at the far end of the room, the ones the hostess had gestured to. I could hear a louder hum of voices and the throbbing insistent beat of the music coming from the room beyond.
I took a final deep, shivery breath then reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden doors …
CHAPTER EIGHT
The room was lavishly furnished: done out in an incredible, completely over-the-top style. The floors were plushly carpeted, in deep purples, and the furniture was all gilt-edged and ornate, like something from Belle Epoque Paris in the 1890’s. From the ceiling swung the most beautiful glittering golden chandeliers, while real candles flickered away in the many alcoves set deep into the jet-black walls. Yet my interior designer’s urge to fully take in the amazing decor and furnishings was quickly upstaged by the realization of just what was going on inside this beautifully designed central chamber …
Because almost everywhere I looked, I saw bodies writhing.
I saw mouths kissing, lips sucking, tongues flicking, and my ears were quickly filled with the sounds of orgasmic sighs and moans.
Directly in front of me was a girl on all fours, her long blonde hair falling in sweaty clumps around her toned, tanned shoulders, as she took on two guys at the same time: sucking one while getting pounded from behind by the other. Her breasts swung freely as he fucked her, and she let out gasps and moans between her urgent attention to the glistening cock in front of her. And the thing that struck me most of all about this wild, intense threesome, a few meters away from me, was just how good looking its participants all were. The girl and the two guys didn’t look (from what I could make out, despite their masks) to be the kind of people you’d expect to be doing this, at a place like this, at all. They looked young and toned, healthy and attractive … Before this moment, if you were to ever ask me who would attend a ‘swingers club’ I would have imagined ugly, age-ravaged folk: sleazy men with unfashionable facial hair and haggard, haunted women with perms and sagging breasts.
But this was very different.
I realized with a flutter of ... yes, excitement that pretty much everyone at this party was young and gorgeous.
I took a quick nervous step back into the shadows, leaning against the wall, feeling its coolness against my bare skin, as I continued to take in the scene before me.
Just to the right of the threesome, there were two girls (one black, one white), both writhing around eagerly on one of the many plush, purple chaise longues, exploring each other’s toned sweaty bodies: their tongues flicking at each other’s rock-hard nipples and swollen pussies, their eager fingers cupping each others sumptuous breasts and asses, the white girl smiling with a wicked grin before spreading the black girl’s buttocks wide, then flicking her pink tongue against her puckered rosebud, causing a particularly loud and pleasurable gasp.
I looked away, embarrassed, but found myself staring at another couple, this time a boy and a girl. The girl was seated on the sofa, her legs spread, her fingers working at her shaved sex in urgent circles, while above her, standing on the sofa, his feet either side of her thighs and his back to the room, stood a large blonde boy, his muscular buttocks clenched and tense, his back shiny with sweat. She was obviously sucking him while playing with herself, and I felt a weird shiver flutter through me, catching me off guard as I watched her trembling fingers toying with her clit, and saw her head bobbing back and forth as she sucked away happily …
Does she even know him?
Or is he just the owner of some anonymous cock she’s taken a fancy to?
There were many more bodies, too. Figures like me, hanging back in the darkness around the edges of the room, watching, and others — couples, groups and singles — all casually milling about, wandering off through the many cavernous tunnels and entranceways that this main room acted as a hub between, as if this was a perfectly normal way to spend your Friday night.
I wondered just what kinds of other things might be going on down those various tunnels and through those many doorways, and I realized, with another little flicker of curiosity, that I was totally free to explore — that I was actually here, that this wasn’t some kind of insane dream …
“Drink?” the soft male voice said, bursting me out of my trance.
I turned to look in the direction of the voice, and my gaze was met by a tanned, muscular boy, probably no older than myself, holding a large silver tray of champagne flutes. His hair was long and blonde, and his body was absolutely perfect: athletic and muscular, well defined, but not too beefy either, just right. As my gaze travelled downwards, over his six-pack, it reached his pubic hair, which was cropped into a neat little rectangle, and then below that, I realized with a little shiver of shock, his cock was absolutely rock hard: jutting upwards at me, thick and pink, his shaved balls tight and swollen beneath.
“Or would you prefer something else?” he added quietly.
I quickly tore my eyes from his dick in embarrassment, forcing them to meet his once more, my breath now shallow in my lungs, feeling so naked there before him, just my prim schoolgirl panties covering me, my small breasts completely on display, my nipples so hard and obviously aroused, the flushed flesh of my chest exposed and tingling.
I took a champagne flute from his tray and tried to keep my voice steady as I spoke, “This will be fine, thank you.”
He shot me a brief smile, then turned and walked away into the darkness, leaving the image of his hard jutting cock printed indelibly in my mind.
I’d never been interested in porn; it had always seemed so icky and false, so unfair on its performers, so exploitative, but this … this was something completely different.
This is real.
This is actually happening.
And what was turning me on most of all, I realized, was that it seemed like the opposite of porn — the girls and guys here all actually seemed to be enjoying what they were doing! This was all voluntary, all done out of pleasure. That girl over there, getting double teamed by those two guys, just like something from a porno movie, well, she was actually in control: she was doing exactly what turned her on. She wasn’t being paid to do it. She was just exploring her own fantasies.
And with the idea of this swirling around my spinning head, I took a timid step away from the wall, a step out from the darkness, intent on exploring this place further, despite my hammering heart.
And anyway, looking is okay, isn’t it?
As long as I don’t actually do anything, then I shouldn’t feel guilty …
Right?
§<
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I padded gingerly through the cavernous maze of corridors, peering into alcoves and rooms along the way, becoming more and more aroused by what I discovered the deeper I went, my naked flesh tingling both from nervousness and anticipation.
I saw countless couples kissing and sucking and fondling and fucking, tucked away in dark shadowy corners, lost in their own animal desires.
I stumbled across a plush red room packed full of bodies, all writhing around on a large circular central bed, the whole thing lit with a single bare red bulb that dangled overhead: a sweaty, moaning tangle of flesh.
I came across a long thin corridor lit by a flashing white strobe light, with circular holes cut out into the walls on both sides. I could see figures further down the corridor, and I stopped for a moment trying to work out what the many holes were for.
They were all at about waist height, and as I peered down into the flashing, strobing darkness, I felt something hot and warm touch against my buttock.
What the ...
I took a quick, surprised step away, turning to look in its direction, realizing with a flash of horror that it was a large purple cock.
From hole directly next to it came a groping male hand, eager to touch me, and I took another step away before realizing that I’d now positioned myself against the other wall, where there were many more of these strange holes, all at around waist height.
I looked down the long thin corridor, at the many hands and cocks that poked eagerly and hopefully out into the darkness, all in a variety of shapes, sizes and colors.
Some cocks were being attended to: I saw a small Asian girl with tiny little breasts, so small she looked almost flat-chested, just two hard dark little nipples standing up to attention, so thin her ribs were visible, kneeling down in front of a large black dick, sucking greedily and noisily on it, her chin shiny with saliva. And further down on the other side I could see another girl, this time a little chubby but in a nice, healthy way, riding one of the cocks, pushing her sumptuous ass up against the wall, letting the anonymous stranger behind the wall pound her good and hard, her large pillowy breasts bouncing with each thrust.
Girl After Dark Page 32
