Lust Party Bundle (Unprotected Delights)

by Nadia Nightside

  Lust Party Bundle

  Unprotected Delights

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LUST PARTY BUNDLE

  First edition. May 11, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Lust Party Bundle (Unprotected Delights)

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | Lust Party Bundle

  Recent Releases

  Lust Party 2

  Lust Party 3

  What's next?

  Further Reading: Ruling His Hot Students

  About the Author

  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  Lust Party Bundle

  Subscribe to the Nadia Nightside New Release Newsletter for a private link to THREE completely free stories—including one NOVELLA-LENGTH erotic tale—available ONLY for subscribers! Not only that, but you'll also receive exclusive access to regular special offers and discounts! It's free, it's instant, and you get hot, free tales!

  And if you want to get in touch, guess what? Me too! You can:

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  And finally, enjoy some of my favorite dirty pictures and NSFW .gifs via Tumblr!

  Recent Releases

  Ruling His Hot Students

  A regular guy receives a magical artifact that gives him god-like powers over the women around him. He can transform them however he likes and alter their minds so they're eager and willing to be his sex slaves...forever.

  Bimbo Servant Bundle

  NINE incredible stories of lactating bimbo goddesses serving one lucky man. These fertile nympho babes are so desperate to be filled, they'll do anything to make their Master happy.

  Gang Heat: The Stewardess

  One gorgeous bimbo babe is trapped on a private flight with a plane full of virile tattooed hunks who don't take “no” for an answer...and she's too hot for them to think about ANYTHING but all of them taking her at the same time.

  Gang Heat: The Cheerleader

  Stella is desperate to lose her v-card to the biggest football stud she can find, but they keep turning her down. Turns out, the supreme stud on campus has claimed her as his...and he'll fill her fertile body himself before letting his teammates get a ride.

  Virgin Heat Bundle

  Three smoking hot tales of helplessly sexy virgins and the alpha male studs who know exactly what they need—a big heaping helping of their massive cocks full of baby breeding seed.

  When you finish this hot tale, please leave a review! I always read them, and I welcome all feedback from every kind of reader. Your voice matters to me and to other readers—please, share it.

  She was covered in the seed of at least a dozen different men. Women all around her were moaning, their bodies writhing in pleasure, covered in thick seed much the same way as her.

  Her need for more cum, more penetration was uncontrollable. Sex was all there is. Sex was all there was. Sex was all there ever would be.

  Fragments of clothing still remained on her body. Bits of her torn dress and ripped stockings were plastered to her heated skin by the gallons of cum and sweat that had been sprayed and spread on her lithe young body over the course of the night.

  Every sight that entered her eyes was that of pure, unadulterated carnal heat—in the corner, a man had a woman on his shoulders, delivering cunnilingus as he slammed her busty body into the wall. She cried out in pleasure at each impact, each second of his tongue. On the couch, a businesswoman was wrapped like a burrito between two couch cushions, sucking off one man perched above her like some sexual vulture and being drilled in her needy, fertile cunt by another.

  She saw all of this and she marveled, forgetting for a moment at the sensational feeling of the cock inside of her own cunt—a man she had never met before tonight, a man who kept telling her that she was such a better lay than his own wife.

  That was only natural. She was young and hot, and probably a better lay than anyone in this room.

  But what she didn’t know was that practically every woman at the party thought that—that there was a strange, wicked force operating on them. Compelling them to believe new, depraved ideals.

  This was the doing of the elixir—the special concoction that their punch had been spiked with. Each of them took of the unique substance willingly, lured along by lusty promises of carnal delights. But none of them knew their minds and bodies would become this out of control. None of them knew that the elixir's effect would encourage sick, heated sex acts that would make the common person’s head spin.

  Their bodies became more and more attuned to sex, more physically capable, more disastrously sexy as the night went on. Younger. Tighter. Hotter.

  But this was nothing unusual for the man in charge. This was what he had wanted. This was what he had planned.

  This was the Lust Party.

  * * * * *

  Morgan huffed, tapping slowly away at her computer. The words were not coming easy that day.

  Some days the words came very easy indeed. They flowed like the water in a river, picking up rocks and twigs and petals along the way, nothing getting in their way to that final, sweet destination of ever more flow.

  On those days, all she had to do was sit and consider for a moment, and then—coffee nearby, naturally—she started typing and the words seemed to beckon themselves from the ether, and it was only her job to snatch them up by their bobbing heads.

  But, that was not how it was today.

  Today, every word was a struggle, a battle hard-fought. Every last syllable seemed clunky and awkward, fighting with the one before it. Every intonation felt wrong, every sentence a mockery of the actual sentence it was supposed to be.

  There was nothing cooling, nothing soothing, no gentle flow of a river—only hard jagged edges that slipped against her soul like broken glass sliding through a sea of burning tires.

  Part of the problem, she knew, was just the story she worked on.

  Morgan was a reporter.

  She was a real reporter—she wanted to be in the dirt, picking up stories and getting down into the tiniest nitty-gritty details to help build her stories. She wanted to have boots on the ground, knocking on doors for interviews and retrieving statements from witnesses who the cops never bothered to talk to. She wanted to report the ideas that shocked and informed, she wanted to make people question every assumption they had.

  But what she had, today, was a story about cats.

  Cats!

  “Huff,” she said, tapping away with supreme ambivalence at the fifteenth adverb in as many sentences. Her editor, Lionel Powell, would have something to say about that many adverbs, no doubt. He would also clean it up for her.

  He was a good boss, and so he knew that cat articles were well below her area of expertise, but it was a slow news week.

  The expected fallout between the Rosington city manager and the new district attorney didn’t happen; if anything, they seemed closer than ever. The budget passed with an overwhelming majority. The latest sex scandal with the mayor had all of its witnesses disappear like smoke. The police were behaving admirably. Crime was down. Schools were turning in good test scores.

  T
here was nothing to report.

  And thus, cats. Cats brought into an old folk’s home who were supposed to be helping with longevity of life and the battle against senility. There was, Morgan tried to convince herself, something basically interesting about that.

  Probably.

  To someone.

  Just...not to her.

  For the seventh time that morning, she leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of coffee, sighing at the barely filled screen before her.

  “Cats,” she muttered.

  Morgan was young and full of ambition. She had graduated from Western University at the top of her class and had immediately landed an internship in a paper overseas in South America. A month later, a war broke out, and so she had become an impromptu war correspondent.

  After a few brushes with death amidst the war-torn countries she reported in (among them a near hostage situation and a few artillery strikes landing just too close for comfort), she landed back in the States in her home town of Rosington. Her plan was to take a few months off and regroup, try to get her head together while still building up her reporting credentials. She had gotten tired of that six months ago and had not yet been able to find a better job.

  “Malls, how’s that article coming?”

  She looked up to see Lionel Powell standing above her. He was a large man who power lifted as a hobby, and had thick forearms and a hard, handsome face that were the subject of several of Morgan’s most vivid fantasies. His wife had left him just a few months past, and Morgan had been working up the will to become a swift and easy rebound fuck for the man.

  She was certain it would be sensational. All those muscles. She was much tinier than him, and often her mind centered on that fact. It would have been a simple thing for him to slam her against any amounts of furniture, to drive into her so fucking hard, but he might forget how strong she was.

  Morgan worked out too, on her legs especially. When he started losing himself in that perfect dynamo piston thrust right before cumming, she could clutch him around the waist, not letting him pull out. She would moan how she wasn't on protection...and he could dump his babymaking load right up into her fertile womb.

  All fantasy, of course.

  It was hard to imagine him turning her down. Morgan had a thing for older men, and Powell was more than fifteen years her senior. She was a lovely young woman with rich chestnut hair, bright blue eyes, and a tight body honed by years of proper diet and regular runs. She had dressed today in a smart, sleek, gray pantsuit with a tight jacket that admirably contained the heady swell of her young, ample breasts. She noticed his eyes flicking back and forth between the curve of her chest and her face—he was trying to be polite.

  Part of her wished he wouldn't.

  “You know exactly how it’s coming, boss. It’s not.”

  He smiled and tossed down a file onto her desk. It landed amid a heavy stack of other such files, all unsorted, papers upon papers of stories that had gone nowhere. Morgan hadn’t done proper reporting in more than a month and she had searched far and wide for something new.

  “Check this out for me, would you?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s some high society party thing. Lots of deep pockets there. Maybe some political people.”

  She scanned the file, her interest piquing slightly.

  “Why do we care?”

  “Because it’s fascinating,” he smiled. “And because there might be sex involved.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Like an orgy?”

  “We’re not sure.” He shrugged. “But maybe. You should check it out.”

  “If I didn’t know better, Lionel,” she said, crossing her legs, “I’d think you just wanted me thinking about sex while I’m on the job.”

  His face flushed then and he stiffened, though not in the way that Morgan would have liked.

  “I’ll finish the cat thing for you,” he said, “maybe give it to Jerry. I’ll expect something by the end of the week on this.”

  * * * * *

  Caligula Braddock, Journal. Entry #1:

  Eleanor’s condition rapidly diminishes. I do not think I shall be able to save her anytime soon. I sit with her at nights and hold her hand, but there is not much I can do in the bedroom and I loathe to waste my time there.

  When I am in the lab, I work to be with my wife. When I am with my wife, I cannot wait to be back in the lab so that I may protect and save my wife. But there is no one else for her.

  I have started this journal as a way to organize my mind. Between Eleanor's sickness and my own research, there is a great deal that weighs upon me. The thoughts bleed into each other like wine spilled on a page. This is my attempt at some manner of sponge.

  Efforts in the laboratory are not going as well as I would like. Shall I be able to hone in on the elixir before Eleanor dies? It is impossible to say.

  My latest serum merely overexcited the subject to the point of death. She screamed out many lewd comments about my genitals and then dropped dead. An autopsy revealed the cause to be a cardiac arrest. I wonder if it was due to the profanity she unleashed at my expense? Not the profanity itself, obviously, but her exultation in screaming it at me. Perhaps the over-excitement of her lungs to gather air deprived her of the oxygen she needed to breathe...anyway.

  I am overextended between this and the duty of taking care of Eleanor. I must hire some help.

  * * * * *

  A real story. Morgan, carried by the excitement of this development, practically skipped into the break room at the office. If this was even half as juicy as Lionel implied, then this was probably the best assignment she’d been given since arriving at this nowhere newspaper in this has-been town.

  It had all the perfect elements of a big story—sex, cover-ups, high society, maybe even drugs and probably scandal. If there was that much sex in one place, then there was little doubt that some people were sleeping with the wrong people.

  “You should be careful, you know.”

  The voice startled Morgan, who was trying to fix herself a cup of coffee before returning to the file that Lionel had laid out for her.

  Colette was a tall, winnowy girl who did not seem to fit in with much of anyone at the office. She was pretty, but Morgan had never heard her once talking about boys (or girls) and never saw anyone call on her. She was a bit standoffish and strange around the office, often snapping at people who asked her for information.

  But, she was a heck of a copy-editor and a great researcher. She wore a few different hats for The Edition. Most people had to, since the place was so small and funds for newspapers were so hard to come by. Colette dressed now in tight jeans and a loose t-shirt, highlighting the length of her body and the gentle curve of her behind while hiding the overall flatness of her chest.

  “What do you mean?” asked Morgan.

  “That party. You should be careful. I don’t think it’s a good idea to investigate it.”

  Morgan's reporter instincts flipped on immediately. “What do you know about it?”

  “I hear things,” Colette shrugged. “Different things.”

  Morgan crossed her arms. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

  “I heard that the son of the governor went to one of those parties a virgin. Straight A student. On the model United Nations, all that sort of thing. He had an intern at some judge’s office. A week later, he was flunked out of college and,” she whispered now, “screwing every secretary at the judge’s office.”

  “You can’t flunk out of college in a week.”

  Colette spread her hands. “Then he dropped out, whatever.”

  “So...you think what? If I go to this party I’m going to come back and bone everyone here?”

  Colette blushed deeply now, eyes turning down. “I said what I wanted to say. You should be careful. In fact, you shouldn’t go at all.”

  Morgan raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, looking Colette up and down. Was the nerdy copy girl attracted to her? Th
at would be...odd? Flattering?

  Attraction from women wasn’t totally outside of Morgan’s experience. Though she was totally straight (outside of, of course, a few experiments in college that had left her mostly cold), she seemed to have that sort of body chemistry that sometimes people have where they create the incorrect kind of attention from the same sex.

  “I’m a big girl, Colette,” said Morgan. “I can take care of myself.”

  “You say that now. But just wait. It’ll happen, you’ll see. Weird stuff. Sex stuff. You’re going to have your whole life turned around.”

  * * * * *

  Journal Entry #2

  Help has been hired. Her name is Yolena. She is from Brazil, a very fine young woman with a good understanding of her place in this house. She did not ask me any questions about my wealth or how I got it, which is what I would prefer. I do not enjoy the thoughts of what she might say or do should she know my dark alchemical secrets.

  “Dark alchemical secrets.” Listen to me. I sound like a supervillain. I suppose I should not precede “alchemical” with “dark” if I ever want my studies to have the prestige they deserve. I am an alchemist, that is all. If what I have discovered is dark, it is because the world is often a dark place, and it is the alchemist's job to source out what is hidden in the darkness for the betterment of mankind.

  And to make gold, of course...but I learned that secret long ago. No sense in sharing that until society is improved.

  Which is why I am working on this elixir in the first place. Oh yes, Eleanor's sickness is a useful motivator (if I wanted to be especially heartless about describing it), but I started my work on the elixir well before her sickness overtook her. Well before. Years before. Her condition merely accelerated my efforts, encouraged me to drop other projects that were going nowhere.

  Should the elixir be completed as planned—in the way that the books promise—then I shall be able to make the world a better place. I have means of mass production, synthetic creation that the old masters never did. Their elixir was confined to a spare few before they were found out and burned for being different. Mine shall be free to all the world.