And then...
...then, events began to occur.
She noticed more and more couples doubling up. Some people were tripling up. They all danced very close together, and the dances were often not very complicated. The violin quarter, all women, had been traded out for a deep bass-heavy dance music blaring out from speakers in the corners of every room.
Women turned their backs into the men they were with, grinding their asses against hardening crotches. Tits spilled out of dresses and women did not correct themselves, and nor did other women point out any need for correction. Men, of course, simply stared, and Morgan watched their bulges thickening in their tight pants.
It occurred to her, after a moment, that she no longer felt like the youngest woman there. When she had arrived, it had seemed obvious. Morgan was in her late twenties, and the youngest person she had seen as she walked from one end of the party to the next seemed to be in their late thirties. Most of the guests were well over that. There was definitely an age gap.
But now...that seemed like a wrong assumption. The men and women she saw mostly seemed in their younger forties, not their fifties or sixties. Some seemed even younger. Many appeared to be in their twenties. Morgan thought she might have even seen a teenager walking around.
So, the dancing that she saw would have been almost comical with the guests she had seen when first arriving. But now, with all these younger hot bodies, it was erotic. It was sensual. It was...enticing.
The need to dance, to join in, was very real and present in her mind.
What she saw didn’t track with her reporting instincts. She was sure she had seen most of the crowd, and she was sure she was the youngest one around. And yet, as she looked—that certainly wasn’t so. There were young beautiful women right over there in that love seat wrapping a thick fur blanket around themselves and...
Oh.
Oh my.
They were kissing heavily, those two young beautiful women, and it was clear the blanket was there to allow them some modesty while their fingers went to work on each other's pussies. Morgan saw the woman on top sink herself down onto the waiting index and ring fingers of the woman below her, a soft moan escaping red-painted lips as the two began to grind and ache against each other.
No one paid any mind. This was simply what happened at this sort of place.
Morgan, transfixed by the sight, forgot to move and to breathe for a moment. It was arousing. The woman on top saw her watching and shot her a wink, beckoning for her to come over and watch. Perhaps to join.
Morgan shook her head and quickly exited the room, keeping her head down until she was in a library of some sort. It was still crowded, but less so than the last drawing room she had been in.
Next to her, she overheard a conversation between a devastatingly handsome young man and a gorgeous redhead in a sparkling green gown.
“You look lovely tonight, Cassandra.”
“Thank you, Franklin.”
She toyed with the buckle of Franklin's belt, pawing greedily at his shaft beyond.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you, you know. For a long time now.”
His hands came on to her tits, squeezing them tightly. Cassandra let out an appreciative moan and then a giggle, as if he had given her some intimate compliment.
Cassandra laughed. “Of course I know about that, Franklin. Do you think me blind?”
“I’ve noticed your husband hasn’t been coming to these parties.”
“I don’t tell him about them. What’s the point of frivolous adulterous sex if you have a husband around?”
“I have a point for you, Cassandra.”
His hands were hard on her hips, pulling her against the straining erection in his pants.
“Oh my, Franklin. You certainly do.”
Cassandra's hands hurried on his belt buckle. Soon his pants were around his ankles. Morgan gasped when she saw the size and girth of his cock.
Holy fuck, Cassandra! Good choice!
“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about your husband, Cassandra. I’m going to fuck you until you hate him.”
His cock pushed up against the sparkly fabric of her dress, spreading precum all over the expensive cloth.
“That won’t take much, darling...hurry.”
Franklin took Cassandra and pushed her against the nearest bookshelf. Books came tumbling down, landing hard on a globe. The sound boomed in the small space, but none of the other guests seemed to notice. They were all Cassandra and Franklin, all dancing too close than what was proper, all grinding and bumping like mad if not stripping one another outright.
Cassandra wrapped her hand around Franklin's cock and began to jerk him with gusto, whispering something in his ear that Morgan couldn't hear. Her hand was slick and wet, Franklin's cock impossibly hard. It looked like it could fuck its way through a redwood.
Overcome with awkwardness, Morgan coughed briefly. Cassandra and Franklin looked up, some puzzlement in their eyes, as if they couldn’t imagine why she was feeling uncomfortable.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow, all interest. “Did you want to suck his cock while I whispered dirty things to him about my husband, dear?”
Franklin's cock raised at that, and Cassandra stroked him appreciatively.
“N-no...that’s all right.” Morgan blushed deeply.
“Where’s your punch?” asked Franklin.
“I...er...I um...”
Morgan had no idea why she was so flustered. She was a professional. She had been through wars. What was making her cool composure come undone like this?
It was all this sexiness. All this hot heavy scent of lust in the air. It was impermeable.
“Here, dear,” said Cassandra, taking her drink from the bookshelf and spilling it gently on her tits. The color was deep purple, and the liquid stuck to her skin easily. “Have a lick. You’ll love it.”
Even despite the astounding array of hors d’oeuvres downstairs, it was the most delicious sight Morgan had seen all night. She wanted it. She wanted to lick a woman's tits. She wanted to fuck this man, this stranger. She wanted to be fucked by him while Cassandra watched.
She wanted to make Franklin, who she knew nothing about, forget all about his crush on Cassandra, who she also knew nothing about. A primal biological competition was spiking in her, the need to be the prime breeding machine in the room, the top fuck, the one all the men fought to penetrate.
And, stunned with this observation, she ran from them both.
She had to take a break. She had to slip away.
With no real forethought, she started running into rooms. In one, she saw a man and a woman about to go down on one another, naked. They didn’t seem to mind Morgan’s presence. In fact, she was sure she saw the woman beckon her closer like the others had.
Another door. A man had a woman bent over in a supply closet, very closely examining her panties. Her ass cheeks jiggled with delight and the man’s nose continually pressed up into her pussy.
Another door—and a bathroom. Empty at last. Hearing a bustling outside, she quickly locked the door.
It was just in time. She heard a heavy slamming on the outside of the door—and then a series of moans. The bumping increased, reaching a rhythm.
Someone was fucking right on the door outside.
Morgan slid down to the bathroom floor, hugging her body tight, doing her best not to sink her fingers into her needy, completely soaking cunt.
* * * * *
Journal Entry #4
Yolena is an exceptional young woman. Or rather, an exceptional woman. I do not believe she is truly young at all. In fact, I think she may hold the key for my elixir.
She entrapped me in conversation earlier today as I made the rounds in the laboratory. She expressed admiration for the gathering of my subjects, the senile and the unfit from the worst retirement homes in the state, where no one would mind a few missing residents.
It may sound monstrous to take these people, but they were well o
n their way to the grave. If I sent them there a bit sooner, I have little doubt that were they in their right minds, they would thank me for it. What’s more, if I were to be successful in my experiments, then I know for a fact they would thank me for my work.
She recognized the logic in this quite innately. With exceeding clarity, she laid out the case for an elixir such as what I am working on—as if she had been reading from my notes herself. That very well may be, and I cannot discount that she might have searched far and wide in my laboratory before I found her.
There was, throughout this conversation, no pleas to be let go. No complaints about her situation inside of her cell. I was surprised at this. It made me feel as though she were not trapped in there at all, that she could, if she wished, leave at any time.
But what’s more is that she says she herself knows the missing components to my elixir. If I allow her back her freedom, and if I help her in some grisly task she has in mind, then she shall aide me.
The grisly task frightens me. There is a glint in her eyes when she speaks of it, though she will give me no details. I suspect the foulest arts are in play—with her considerable beauty and with her designs on the world.
I am not alone in my study of the dark arts, if they must be called that. The occult. People of every profession and speciality manage to congregate to one another one way or another. Lawyers meet at courthouses. Doctors meet at conventions. Writers meet at bars. In the world of the occult, the alchemical, where so much depends on chance and fortune and coincidence, it is little wonder that I have found another who is equally invested in these sciences by pure happenstance.
Yolena's desires give me a great chill. I had trouble sleeping last night.
But Eleanor must be saved at all costs.
* * * * *
Once she had successfully calmed down—humming to herself while plugging her ears with her fingers for about an hour—Morgan stepped out of the bathroom and saw that everything had taken a decisive turn for the insane.
Down the hall, she saw a busty young woman giving an exuberantly hot blowjob to a man in the corner.
What was insane—outside of the blowjob, of course—was that she had seen those same people not ten minutes before rushing to the bathroom. They had been talking, their heads very close and intimate, clearly wanting to get to know each other very well.
And yet when Morgan had seen them, the man and woman had both appeared close to forty. Both had been rather attractive, with only a few lines around their eyes and some extra weight around their hips belying their age.
But now the same two people were different. Again, outside of the obvious difference of the man’s thick, heavy cock being slurped down by the woman’s eager, plush mouth—both appeared rather younger. There were no more lines in their faces. That extra weight around their hips seemed to diminish somewhat.
The woman's hair, which had been a mousy blond in a sort of bowl cut, had become a vibrant mass of platinum locks stretching down her back and floating above her ass. The man, in turn, was shockingly muscled, tall and powerful with biceps the size of melons.
She was still convincing herself that it was just a trick of the light when a gorgeous young blonde took her by the arm. Her touch was warm and sensuous, and Morgan had trouble remembering that she wasn’t sexually attracted to women.
“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Gloria. What’s your name?”
“Morgan.”
Gloria was spectacularly busty, spectacularly leggy, and spectacularly blonde. Her hair stretched down near to her ass and her eyes, bright and blue, were vapid and friendly. She also had two drinks in her hands.
“Do you want a drink, Morgan?”
“Oh.”
Morgan took a look around at the party and all of its inhabitants. A small tray flipped over, spilling glass and wine everywhere, when a redhead crawled on top of the lap of a circuit judge. The crash came because she had pushed away a young Asian beauty to take her place on his cock.
His cock was still spurting heavy, forceful streams of cum as the redhead sank down, and the Asian moaned, begging for more while her cunt dripped his seed on the carpet.
Two young men began to fight over the fallen Asian until she slipped her mouth around the cock of one, leaving her behind open for the other. He chose to fuck her ass—and there was no complaint from the buxom exotic beauty.
“I-I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s not for me.”
“Come on,” said Gloria. When she spoke, her tits jiggled. They were surrounded by heavy diamond jewelry, and so her body sparkled with youth and luxury. “Everybody’s doing it.”
“If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you do it?”
Gloria seriously considered this question. “I don’t know. Would we be able to fuck on the way there?”
Morgan laughed. As she did, she inhaled—and took in much of Gloria’s heavy, heady scent. It was light and airy, a sweet fruity freeflow that made Morgan’s thoughts swim merrily. Gosh, this Gloria was pretty. Was she single?
Wait, they were at an orgy. Everyone was single.
No—no, that wasn’t the point. Morgan wasn’t a lesbian! She wasn’t even bisexual.
But Gloria was...really pretty. And Morgan's cunt—despite all her efforts in the bathroom—was still really, really wet.
“W-who are you, Gloria?”
“You already know, silly.” She giggled. “I’m Gloria. I'm a friend of Master Braddock.”
Morgan heard that—the “Master” instead of “Mister,” but she cast it off as just a slip of the tongue.
“How long have you known him?”
“Years and years, now.”
“Oh. Are you his daughter? His niece?”
Gloria giggled. “Don’t be silly. He’s much too old for me to be related to him like that. Though I wouldn’t be too surprised if he had fucked my mom at some point or another.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s very old. He has a regimen, though, and he stays very healthy. I joined up with him after he visited my practice for an appointment.”
“You work at a doctor’s office.”
Gloria giggled again, those tits jiggling like mad. “No, silly. I am a doctor. Can’t you tell?”
She looked like a model—like a lingerie model who belonged in tight clothing and swimsuits all the time. To imagine her as a doctor was essentially the beginnings of some obscene fantasy.
“How about that drink, gorgeous?”
Gloria sloshed the drink slightly. Sitting right above her breasts, as it was, some of it spilled out and onto her picture-perfect skin. The shine combined with Gloria’s tan made them very appealing indeed. Morgan looked at them, already feeling somewhat drunk. Why was she feeling this way about Gloria? Why had she never felt this way about another woman? Why was everything so syrupy and hot inside her head?
“I don’t know,” said Morgan. “I think I’m feeling unwell. You’re really pretty—” why did she say that? “—I mean, gorgeous really—” and why did she say that? “—but I just can’t...it’s too...”
Gloria was tracing the line of liquid that landed in her heavy cleavage from one end of her tits to the other. Morgan’s eyes were wide, watching the finger work its magic.
“Please?” Gloria held out the drink, hopping up on down slightly. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
Gingerly, Morgan took the drink. It was so hard to resist. Her cunt felt like it was melting. Why resist? Why be so stubborn when it would feel so very good to give in? She had trouble holding the glass steady while Gloria was in front of her—and looking so, so very fine.
“Maybe...maybe just a sip?”
Such words had sunk sterner ships than the S.S. Morgan. She took a brief sip, as intended. Berries, fruits, and gentle spice, maybe just a hint of a pepper?
Another sip, just to find out. Yes, definitely pepper. And...what else?
She took another sip. Then, raising an eyebrow, took another, and then
another. She hardly noticed when Gloria replaced the first glass with another, which she immediately downed, sipping be damned.
The sensation was pleasant, heady, and immediate. The room spun without moving, and Morgan felt like she could see everything at once. And everything she could see was sex, sex, and ever more sex.
“Yes,” said Gloria, as if reading Morgan's mind. “My first time, the drinks hit me very hard. I think your brain needs a few exposures for you to really keep up mentally. I don’t have any problem now. It’s all benefits, no fuzziness.”
Everything Gloria said was awfully fuzzy, and Morgan realized that the gorgeous blond was so very pretty that Morgan didn’t have to pay much attention. She could just look at her smooth tanned tits instead and admire the lovely turn of her chin and nose.
Somehow, time had passed and Morgan found herself on a nearby couch with Gloria lodged between her and the arm of the chair. With so little room, Gloria had to swing her long, tanned legs over Morgan’s. They both had really, really sexy legs, Morgan thought with smug approval. How fun was that.
Her eyes followed the happy, diamond-sparkly trail of Gloria’s legs up for several inches until the sight was intercepted by Gloria’s forearm. It led directly into Morgan’s pussy, where Gloria’s fingers had arrived and snuck inside.
“Oh...” Morgan said.
It was really more of a moan than any actual verbage. Her pussy lips felt soft and wet—softer and wetter, indeed, than they had ever felt before—and it became easier and easier for her to spread her legs while Gloria fingerfucked her wildly. The tips of her fingers slid hard across that special spot at the top of her canal where the g-spot rested, and Morgan twitched with constant pleasure.
“How old would you say I am?” Gloria asked.
Her cunt was dripping onto Morgan’s dress. The beautiful, overwhelmed brunette barely knew how to reply. “O-old? Oh. Ah. Oh god.” She gulped. “I don’t know. Tw-twenty-two? Nineteen?”
Nineteen seemed like some kind of magic word for Gloria, who moaned and shuddered, grasping Morgan tight. Morgan then noticed for the first time that her own fingers were buried deep inside Gloria’s cunt, her knuckles sliding against the jewel-crusted silk panties as her fingers slid ever deeper into Gloria’s teenage-tight cunt.
Lust Party Bundle (Unprotected Delights) Page 3
