Lust Party Bundle (Unprotected Delights) Read online

  Then I shall let the world know of the secret of my wealth...should they still want it. I suspect they won't.

  The latest subject fared little better than the last. The outward appearances were different, at least. She appeared to regress much quicker than the last one, rapidly approaching forty or even thirty to my eyes. But again, once she reached that point where her beauty began to eclipse her age, her profanity began. At the sight of me, she became desperate for cock, cock, cock.

  Hiding myself did nothing. I only revealed myself after two hours, much longer than the ten minute period I had used previously (witnessing digital video the entire time), and still, the result was the same.

  I worry about giving such a serum to Eleanor, even in its final state, if all it is to give to her is some obsession with cock. Eleanor and I never had the most lively love life to begin with, and both of us preferred it that way. We had too much to do; I in my lab, and she in the courtroom.

  That reminds me. She has a number of callers next week from the political circles. I ought to tell Yolena to tidy up the house in addition to her duties in attending to Eleanor. I am afraid I have let this house fall into disarray.

  * * * * *

  The house for the party was large and isolated, behind a series of tall iron gates. Morgan had managed to get past the gates and the guards with a pretty smile, which was her first surprise. They didn’t ask about her back story—which she had spent hours perfecting—and simply let her through after taking a look down the hot cleavage-baring red dress she wore.

  Now Morgan sat in her car, spending a few moments trying to psyche herself up for her entrance into the house proper. She wasn’t invited to this party, so she would be unequivocally crashing it.

  So, she had to re-prepare all her speeches, all her thoughts. She was posing as the cousin to an aide of the mayor—an aide who didn’t exist. So long as she didn’t speak to the mayor himself, it was likely to work.

  It was the sort of thing she had done before. For a story she had done on the mob, she invited herself to the wedding of the sister of one of the local crime ring’s top lieutenants. Morgan was pretty, and sociable, and so it had been easy to infiltrate the scene—she had even left with a few numbers.

  Of course, she hadn’t called them. It was one thing to pretend to be someone willing to date a mobster, but quite another to actually do it.

  Her risks were measured, thought-through, and delivered with care.

  She had dressed for the part, at least. The file mentioned that people regularly reported heavy sexual activity after arriving in their hottest wear. Men wore expensive suits and women dolled themselves up to get attention.

  Her dress was tight and red, an expensive number she had picked up for a wedding earlier that year. The neckline scooped deep down her chest, revealing the heavenly expanse of her beautiful young breasts, and her legs—long, fit, and tanned—were shown off by a long slit on one side of the dress practically wrapping around to her crotch.

  It was very risque.

  The entire time she had worn it at the wedding, she had gotten stares—which was the point, she supposed. She had been in a mood to pick up a man, even though naturally she would never sleep with him that same night.

  As it went, she ended up not finding anyone on the wedding, and so the dress had been retired until this night. So, she would look hot and perfectly fuckable, and would almost certainly be asked to join whatever orgiastic festivities were occurring inside.

  Morgan, of course, had no intention of actually joining the orgy. That was ludicrous. But it would be fun to see if she had any offers to join in.

  Rather insulting, really, if she didn't.

  Her sexual history was not prolific, but for those lucky fellows who had landed her in bed, it was festive. She was an enthusiastic lover—but she had a heavy emphasis on love. Sex was for the people you really, truly cared about, not something to be thrown away at a party like a treat.

  She would have a special moral pleasure in exposing the people attending this orgy—if indeed that’s what it was.

  The file Lionel gave her contained names—people suspected of attending. Morgan raised an eyebrow at the ones she recognized—practically the whole of the city council, plus a number of high-profile businessmen and women who were worth almost the entirety of the city’s GDP by themselves.

  Taking a final breath, she left her car—struggling just for a moment in her expensive leather heels—and approached the house with her bag in hand. Inside the tiny handbag was a recorder and her smartphone for taking notes.

  Her memory was fast and quick, but her instincts always told her to be prepared. The recorder was running, and had battery life for at least eight hours. She would be able to return to every conversation later and enhance her after-the-fact notes.

  There were two heavyset guards at the door wearing matching maroon suits.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” she said. “I’m afraid I lost my invitation, but—”

  “Come right in, Miss,” said one guard.

  They opened the door for her straightaway. They had started, indeed, upon her walking up the stairs.

  She stopped, puzzled for a moment. “Well,” she said. “I assure you, I can corroborate my story if need be. I just—”

  “The party’s started, Miss,” said the guard, smiling and leering down her cleavage. “Go right in.”

  For a moment, she just stared at them. They stared right back, drinking in her lovely visage in her revealing dress. Then she shrugged and entered.

  The inside of the house was lavish. Crystal chandeliers sparkled light outward from high above. Tall smooth pillars held up the ceiling in the vast entryway leading into long, wide, spiraling marble staircases. Fires crackled merrily at either end of the hall, circulating warmth through the crowd.

  And what a crowd it was. Every man dressed in an expensive, designer suit, and every woman in some elegant gown or another, furs on their shoulders and expensive jewelry on their wrists, ears, and necks.

  What she noticed first of all was that almost all of them were rather...old. Not just old money—though they certainly were that, as she noticed the progeny of industrial giants from decades past chatting it up with the nephews and nieces of high-ranking generals and politicians.

  No, they were just plain old. No one she saw was under the age of fifty. Not that fifty was old, but for everyone to be that age and above—soaring up to eighty or ninety in some places—made her very interested in what was happening.

  Morgan felt distinctly out of place, though she was glad that at least she hadn’t under-dressed. She had merely under-accessorized. That was unavoidable, though, as she didn’t have any furs or diamond jewelry to go around.

  She began to work through the crowd, taking note of the faces she saw. From pop culture and movies, she had half-expected this party to be the costume kind with ornate masks, but apparently no one here minded others seeing who they were.

  After about fifteen minutes of perusing, darting in and around the long snack table with its several punch bowls and assorted hors d’oeuvres—including garlic-roasted shrimp cocktail, ham and honey mustard palmiers, goat cheese crackers, and caviar—Morgan had identified the mayor, about five of the seven members of city council, several police captains, and all of their assorted spouses.

  Whoever was running this party knew a lot of names, and had quite a lot of pull. Would so many high-profile guests really be interested in attending an orgy? It was a hard idea to swallow. She couldn't imagine the mayor—a corpulent, hairy being—having sex in the first place, let alone having group sex.

  There was not, at this moment, any sex happening, unless it was behind closed doors and very quiet. A violin quarter played, but they took frequent breaks and no moans or exultant screams of pleasure could be heard through their measured sound.

  But, Morgan could feel a tension in the air—a manifestation of waiting that all the guests shared. She had felt the same feeling in the spare mom
ents before firefights broke out in South America, when both sides waited for the other to begin attacking. But what were they waiting for?

  And why was no one drinking the punch? People drank glasses of wine—a lot of it—and consumed the hors d’oeuvres with gusto, but no one touched the punch. Morgan wouldn’t have noticed except for how plentiful the punch bowls seemed to be. There were two levels to the party, upstairs and downstairs, and in the dozen-plus rooms there was a punch bowl in each one. Each was ornately designed, scrawling with symbols that Morgan didn't recognize.

  “Good evening,” said a low, deep voice from behind her.

  Morgan turned to see a handsome, elderly gentleman standing next to the record player behind her.

  “H-hello,” she said, feeling surprisingly flustered.

  The man was older than her, but he was also deeply handsome. Like, as handsome as Lionel. Only there was something special about him. Something...intense. And there was a scent on him, something musky and intoxicating.

  She felt her nipples rising in her dress, and she felt herself not caring about the level of sudden, slick arousal spreading between her thighs.

  It took a moment for Morgan to realize that the man had women with him—two women significantly younger than he. The first was a blonde, absolutely gorgeous with a brilliant blank smile, wearing a sparkling black gown that hung off her tits in a way that advertised open and ready slutty ease of access. Her skin shone with youth.

  On his other arm, hanging on him with at least as much gusto as the blonde, was a woman with skin the color of mocha. Her hair was deep ebony, shimmering in the chandelier light of the luxurious house. Her gown matched the blonde's, but it was white instead of black.

  “Are you having a good time so far?” Braddock asked.

  “I suppose so,” she said. “Though I was expecting something more wild, I must say.”

  “Ah, I see. This is your first time at one of my parties,” said the man.

  “Yes,” she said. “You said your party?”

  He held out a hand. “Braddock. Cal Braddock. “

  “Morgan Malls.”

  “A pleasure, Morgan. This is my wife, Eleanor.”

  The stunning young blonde held out a hand in the way that people do when they expect people to kiss them. Morgan did not, opting instead to simply offer it a limp shake. Her touch was electric, and Morgan felt her body pang with lust.

  “And this is...?” Morgan nodded to the stunning dark beauty on Braddock’s other arm.

  “Oh, this is Yolena. She is my oft-consort.”

  “His concubine, he means,” said Yolena, her eyes brimming with desire as she slid her hands up and down Braddock's thickly muscular arm. The desire seemed all-encompassing—it was desire for Braddock, it was desire for Morgan, it was desire for everyone she saw.

  Morgan didn’t quite know what to make of this; whatever arrangement was had, all three seemed very happy with it. Eleanor and Yolena’s hands slid over Braddock’s body openly, not stopping at his arms. They drifted down to his crotch, gently squeezing the heavy bulge beneath at different points along the shaft.

  Braddock acted as if this were the most natural thing in the world. In fact, he seemed more than a little...disinterested in their attention, as if they were merely necessities to the persona he presented.

  “Now, my dear,” said Braddock. “What brings you here tonight?”

  Her heart fluttered. Her story—return to it!

  “Well, I’m the cousin of an aide to the mayor, and she said—”

  “No, no.” Braddock shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how you found out.”

  “Oh,” said Morgan, somewhat crushed.

  She had worked hard on that back story. And now apparently the man who ran the party would just let anyone come in?

  Bummer.

  “I meant what I said. What brings you here? What did you hear that enticed you so?”

  “What do you have to offer?”

  She said it in a way that she hoped was flirtatious, smiling as she did. Men revealed more when they were being flirted with. Plus, he was cute.

  The two women at his side, naturally, did not mind in the slightest that Morgan was flirting with him. They seemed excited by it. Eleanor squeezed his shaft, a small moan escaping her lips. What was most odd about the eroticism of it all was that Morgan did not mind—did not think any of it odd.

  Looking at Braddock, how handsome he was, the intensity of his gaze and the heady feelings of lust his scent delivered to her, Morgan felt like he somehow deserved such attention.

  “What do I offer?” He smiled. “An interesting question. What do you think I offer? You must have heard something. A lovely young woman like yourself must have plenty of...offers.”

  He took a moment to relish over that last word. Morgan felt her pulse rising.

  “Well...” she shrugged. “I heard there was a lot of free love. Sex. Orgies.”

  “I think if it’s all in the same place, it’s just one orgy.”

  “Still.” Her nipples were threatening to tear through her dress. She couldn't take her eyes off of Eleanor's hand on his shaft. “Isn’t that what happens here?”

  He stroked his chin. “I offer the glories of youth. Sex. Gratification. Fun. A lack of worries or cares about consequences or harm. I offer...titillation, and a place that is free to indulge in it.”

  His bulge grew evidently, and it took Morgan several moments to rebound and remember to ask another question. Her mouth was getting very wet.

  “But how do you make so many people act like this at once? Isn’t it...I mean, I’ve thought a few times about the nature of an orgy. Isn’t there a big hurdle people need to overcome to actually get going?”

  He smiled and produced a vial from his coat. “That’s why I have this.”

  The vial he produced was small and pyramid shaped with dark purple liquid inside. Arcane scrawls were inscribed all over its glassy surface.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’ll see. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I have to make an announcement.”

  She watched him, admiring the shapely turn of his behind and his broad, muscular back. And admiring too, she felt with a little flush of shame, the sexy struts of his concubine and his wife.

  He approached the front of the dining room, the entire crowd gathered inside, walking up a step-ladder until he stood directly over the largest punch bowl in the house.

  “As you know, at these monthly swarees, I have been exposing you to some of my premiere stock. You’ve had fun, I know. We’ve all had fun. You especially, Mr. Mayor.”

  A rumble of soft, self-deprecating laughter passed through the crowd.

  Morgan didn’t know what he meant by “premiere stock,” but she guessed it had to do with the vial in his hands. But what could that be? Certainly, there wasn’t enough there for the entire party, was there?

  Braddock continued. “But tonight’s stock is a rather...special dose. The effects will linger with you well after the events of tonight’s party. Don’t worry, they’re not permanent. Oh my goodness, no. I have to keep you coming back somehow, don’t I?”

  He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him. Even Morgan did, though she hardly knew what he was talking about. The man was charismatic.

  “But you will feel them in the days to come. And should you enjoy yourself, why...you can always come back for more. Anyone who attends is always welcome to return.”

  With that, he winked at Morgan. For some silly reason, she felt her heart fluttering. It had been some time since she had felt this instantly attracted to a man.

  He upended the dark vial into the enormous punch bowl, smiling wildly. “Let the festivities begin!”

  * * * * *

  Journal Entry #3

  Worst fears confirmed. Yolena wandered into the laboratory

  She did this against my express wishes, though she insists it was innocent. She was, in her words, “merely trying to clean.”
r />   When I found her in there, investigating (for what else could it be?), I immediately immobilized her and stuffed her into a cell. It was an unused cell, no one had died in there. I’m not a monster.

  I just need to think.

  She’s so very lovely. I must admit I think the implications of the serum are having some effect on me. I cannot help but wonder, from time to time, what it might do to someone with so much clear, vibrant youth.

  Would she survive it? Should I test it on someone younger, just to see what happens? Don't I owe that to the great science of alchemy?

  Such an act might kill her, though. And that would be a shame. It would be hard to explain to the help service I used. They are already cross with me for firing so many before Yolena.

  Fortunately, I have not heard Yolena speak much of family. She has a taxi pick her up from my estate every day. I do not think she has anyone she cares about. It is a bit surprising, considering her looks, that she does not at least have some kind of paramour.

  Can I kill her, truly?

  I do not know.

  I do know that Eleanor comes first. And for Eleanor to come first, the science of alchemy must be above all.

  * * * * *

  The estate had many servants. Morgan had noticed that most all of them were busty young women with beautiful faces and long, sexy legs. They wore tight uniforms, dresses with long buttons going down their front, complete with tight smoky stockings.

  These servants had all had vials of their own and emptied them out in the other various punch bowls until all of them were spiked.

  It was hard to notice at first, what was happening to the people who drank the spiked punch. Morgan resolved not to—she didn't take anything into her body that she wasn't sure exactly what it was.

  For several minutes, nearly a half-hour, she had thought that there was nothing at all in the punch—that it was just some placebo that people blamed on unleashing their sexual desires so that they didn’t have to feel guilty about participating in an orgy. But people were definitely drinking it. And in large, large volumes.