Darkling Tower

"I'll bet you could pick her up if you wanted to," he said. "I mean like right now. Go for it."

"If you're so sure, why don't you pick her up?" I asked.

"I already have a date tonight," he said. "A cute Asian. About five foot five. Nice tits. Meeting her at the bar on the first floor. I met her right here two days ago."

He scooped up his towel and wiped off his face.

"I have to run. It's nice meeting you, Darren," he said. He turned halfway from me and then stopped. He turned back.

"By the way, I don't mean to spook you, but did you hear about the guy who lived in Apartment 808 before you?"

"No, I didn't hear anything," I said, alarmed. "What about him?"

"I heard he committed suicide," he said. "Three weeks ago. I was surprised. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Met him a few times. Said he'd been here for about a year. Seemed kind of stressed out at times, but I wouldn't have figured he'd kill himself. You never know.

"Anyway," he said, walking away again, "I have to go. See you around."

"See you, Dale," I replied. The news about the death of my apartment's previous tenant unnerved me. I wondered how he had done it, and I wished I'd asked Dale. But he had walked away.

After a moment of disquiet, I moved over to the rack of free weights. I planned to start with some curls. I plugged in earphones and turned on music and started pumping away. After a few sets I returned the weights to the rack, and just as I stood up from putting them back, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I almost jumped.

It was the brunette, saying something to me with big eyes and brilliant white teeth. I couldn't hear over the music, so I pulled the earphones out.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear with the music," I said.

"Oh, of course," she said with a grin. "I was asking if you could spot me? I want to do some bench presses. I don't want to distract you from your workout, but maybe we could take turns. I'll spot you after you spot me."

She was even prettier than she'd looked from across the room. She wore a gray and pink bra top that showed off a lot of what looked to me like D-cup breasts. Matching the bra were very brief, compression-style gym shorts. The ensemble hugged her so tightly that nothing of her figure was left to the imagination. I tried not to ogle, but it was hard to avoid doing so.

"Sure," I said quickly and firmly. I wanted to make a good impression on this woman, who I guessed was in her late 20s.

"Thanks!" she said, and she turned and walked to the bench press, giving me the opportunity to admire her perfect, bubbly ass for the first time. I felt myself drawn like an insect to a lamplight as I followed behind.

She seemed to know what she was doing. She placed weights on either side of the bar, and then she fastened them in place.

"You're new, here, right?" she asked.

"I am," I said. "I'm Darren." It was a friendly place, for sure. I was constantly introducing myself.

"I'm Tera," she replied. "This is a great gym, just like everything else about this tower. I've lived here for two years. Come here almost every day."

She sat on the bench and lay back. I watched from behind, my hands ready to spot the bar. When her body lay fully supine on the bench, she looked back into my eyes and smiled again. Then she focused on the bar. But my attention was drawn by the deliberation with which she removed her feet from the bench and put them on the floor. She moved slowly, parting and spreading her knees in an exaggerated, almost sensuous manner. I couldn't help but notice the vertical dimple where the thin black spandex of the shorts stretched over the mound between her legs. I looked away and caught her looking at me again.

I didn't want to come across as a perv right after meeting her. But I couldn't help admiring her body. And she didn't act upset, even though it was obvious where I'd been looking.

She took the bar and lowered it to her chest, and then pushed back. From an exercise point of view her form left something to be desired, because she arched her back and chest too much on the upstroke, but from my point of view as a man her form was perfect. Every time the bar lifted, her breasts lifted too. For the first time I noticed the slight sheen of sweat that lacquered her body, and the faint, delicious smell of it wafting from her body. Her nipples popped up like hard little pebbles under the sports bra. My perspective gave me a perfect view of smooth half-mounds of skin that her bra left uncovered for my gaze.

She was stronger than she looked. I was impressed at the number of reps she managed with the weight she'd chosen. She exhaled loudly.

"Your turn!" she said. I offered my hand to help her up from the bench. She took it, but she bounded up from the bench too quickly, lost her balance, and stumbled forward toward my chest. Her hand slapped against my right pec. With hardly a thought, I flexed it at her touch. She smiled.

"I don't think you need any more bench pressing, Darren!" she said with a lilt and a grin. She touched her index finger to my nipple, lightly, and then dragged the tips of her fingers down my chest to my abdomen. I flexed my muscles there, too, and her eyebrows arched with appreciation. "Nice," she said, almost too softly to hear. Her fingers kept moving until they touched the waistband of my shorts under the shirt. My entire body was in an electric state, focused wholly on the progress of her hand. I wondered where it was going next.

But she pulled it away, and she said, "Your turn now, pec-man."

So, I took my turn, and then somehow without consciously deciding to do it we went from one exercise to another together, working as partners, each helping the other when necessary. I felt myself drawn more and more to her, especially as the sweet scent of her sweat grew stronger after each set. A half-hour later she stood up from a set of deadlifts, her back arched and her breasts thrust close to me, and she put on an unsubtle show of toweling the sweat off her exposed chest and lithe neck.

"Thanks for the workout," I said. "You're a good partner."

"Thank you and you're welcome," she replied. "Hey, how about taking a moment to have some coffee with me? I just got some fresh beans from the store downstairs and I'm eager to grind them." I could swear she drew out the "g" in "grind."

I had work to do, but I was in no shape to resist her invitation. I agreed and she sauntered out of the gym, with me in tow and helplessly entranced by the sight of her ass swaying in front of me.

Minutes later we were inside her 7^th Floor apartment. It was smaller than mine, but just as immaculately furnished and decorated. I joined her in the spotless kitchen, and watched, captivated, as she made coffee. She seemed to delight in the sound that each step took - the rustle of beans pouring into the grinder, the whirr of the grinding itself, the trickle of water into the coffee machine, and, finally, the irregular burps and sighs of the coffee heating, and then percolating and filling the pot. My hostess gave the impression of being unusually attuned to every sensation, and in the glow of her company I felt my own senses heightened. And I was aroused. I was attracted by her, at first, but by the time the coffee was done brewing, I was besotted: I wanted her. I thought I could read her well enough to believe that she wanted me, too.

When the coffee was done, she set a pale blue, roughly shaped ceramic cup in front of me. I started to pick it up.

"Not yet!" she said, waving her finger at me. "It needs a little something to spice it up." She pulled a bottle out from under the counter and popped off the top. It was half filled with a rich amber spirit that I guessed was a type of whiskey. I didn't recognize the label on the bottle. She poured two shots of it into the steaming cup.

"Woah!" I said. "I have work to do later."

"It won't slow you down," she said. Her eyes were fixed intently on my face, as though she was willing me to drink it. I had no reason to do otherwise, so I did. It was delicious. The coffee was strong and earthy, and the whiskey added a spicy kick.

"That's great," I said. "Delicious. What kind of whiskey is that?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "It was a birthday gift from Charlotte."

"Charlotte Darkling?" I asked. "That's a nice gift. Does she do that for all the tenants?"

"I wouldn't know," she said. "But I'm glad you like it."

I gulped down more. I felt tendrils of warmth emanate from my belly, suffusing my body with a pleasant heat and a slight buzz.

Tera pirouetted suddenly. "I have to do something," she said, and she disappeared through a door. I sat and savored the taste of her spiked coffee for two minutes when I heard her footsteps and saw her return through the door.

She returned stark naked.

My jaw dropped, I am sure. I was stunned, and she was stunning. I saw no fat on her body, but even so it was curvy, with an ample bust and hips that contrasted with a thin waist. The pinkness of her nipples stood out from her pale skin. She put her hands on her hips and turned her shoulders slightly back and forth, making her breasts sway deliciously side to side.

"Take off your clothes, Darren." It wasn't a question. I didn't hesitate.

In only a few seconds I'd shucked off the shirt and shorts and tossed them with my shoes and socks to the floor. I stood naked in front of her and when I looked down my cock stood straight away from my body pointing at what it wanted: her uncovered pussy. A closely trimmed patch of brown fur lay over it, but the lips were bare, and even from ten feet away I could see wetness glistening in the cleft between them.

I walked quickly to her with my arms stretched out, ready to take her, but she stopped me with a hand to my chest. I was surprised. I usually was the aggressor in sex. I liked to take a woman and dominate her, and most women I knew preferred fucking that way. But Tera had other ideas. She held my gaze with her eyes and moved her hand from my chest to my shoulder, and she pushed down. In the past, I would have resisted, but I didn't this time. I acceded to her direction. I knelt at the pressure of her hand. I knew what she wanted, and when my knees hit the floor and I sat face to face with her wet vulva and I caught its scent mixed with the smell of her sweat, I knew I wanted it, too.

I grabbed her haunches hard with my hands and pulled her body and my face together. My tongue hit her clit, hard, as she responded by grabbing a thatch of my hair with her hand and pulling me to her.

I loved the taste of pussy, and hers was the best I'd tasted. The saltiness of her natural flavor was augmented by the taste of her sweat. It was delicious. I could tell from the firm grasp of her hand against the back of my head that she wanted it hard and fast, so I pressed my tongue forward and flicked as quickly as I could against the smooth pink nub of her clit.

She held my face against her pussy so tightly that it was difficult for me to breathe, but I didn't stop ministering to her. I pushed my tongue inside her and then lapped it up and down the length of her furrow, from the taint to the clit, over and over. Her breathing grew louder and faster, and I knew her orgasm drew near, so I shifted up, putting my lips over her clit and sucking and tonguing it vigorously.

She let out a few fast gasps, and then a loud shriek, and I knew she had come. My tongue felt a sudden surge of wetness between her legs, but before I could drink it all I felt her hands pressing hard against my shoulders. She was pushing me back, against the floor. I felt a brief urge to resist, and to push her back, but instead, I relented.

I lay back against the floor, and she climbed on me with predatory speed, straddling my hips and grasping my cock in two hands. I noticed the glossy scarlet polish on her fingernails. Tera was in complete control of me, and I liked it.

She held the tip of my cock, rock-hard and ready for what was next, at the entrance to her sex, and she rubbed it back and forth over her the nubby pearl of her clit. It was still raw from her orgasm, I could tell, because she shuddered and gasped again when it met the exposed bead of pink flesh. Then, with no further delay, she drew it in. She didn't take her time; she pushed her body against me and took the full length of me inside her in an instant.

We gasped at the same time. Her pussy enveloped and rocked up and down on my cock, leaving the rest of me prostrate and inert.

She smiled at me, and I felt it: my cock being squeezed. I had known women who had the skill to squeeze me when I was inside them, but never to this degree. I moaned at the sensation of my cock being grasped. She milked me. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Her pussy pulsed against my cock. Usually, I was good at controlling when I came, but her skill robbed me of all control. I felt the surge of cum inside me, and I was helpless to hold it back.

"Ohhhh," I groaned as emptied myself inside her wet depths. I heard her groan, too, and she arched her back and let out a loud wail.

I lay back and shook on the floor. Her breasts quivered above me as she shook, too.

The outline of her body blurred. My eyes grew heavy. I struggled to keep them open but couldn't do it. Moments after our intercourse on the floor, I feel into a deep sleep.

October 20.

When I awoke, my butt was sore, and my throat was dry.

I sat up, but not too quickly, to avoid the discomfort of vertigo. I sat in my own bed. I swayed, and the walls of my apartment swayed with me. I swayed in my apartment, not hers - how did I get here? I had no memory of anything between the time I grew sleepy in Tera's apartment until the time I woke in mine. I realized from the light coming through the open window that I had slept through the night, and the next day had dawned. I staggered to my feet, shuffled to the kitchen, and made myself a large pot of coffee. Three cups later, I had nearly recovered.

What happened? I wondered. I remembered the woman. Tera. I remembered the sexual gymnastics all over her apartment. But I had this nagging feeling that I was forgetting something.

I shook it off and took a long, hot shower. I turned the knob until the water nearly scalded me. I felt a need to wash something more than just sweat and grime from my body, but when at last I stepped out of the shower I wasn't certain I'd washed away whatever I wanted to remove.

The voice mail box list on my phone showed that seven clients were waiting for calls back, so I spent the rest of my morning calling them and taking care of business. By 11 a.m. I was ready to take a break. I decided to take a more extended tour of my new home, the Darkling Tower.

In the elevator, I observed, again, that no button existed for the penthouse. Evidently, Charlotte Darkling had her own special elevator to take her to her penthouse suite. I was impressed and surprised. It was obvious that she was wealthy - wealthy even by the exaggerated standards of San Francisco. But until my first visit to the building, I'd never heard of her. In this day and age, it was unusual to make so much money and keep such a low profile. But she had done it.

When I reached the lobby on the first floor, I thought on a whim that I'd try to find the elevator to her suite. I had not thought of trying to get to the penthouse; I assumed one would need a key or a code to reach it. But for some reason I was curious where the elevator bank was.

It wasn't obvious, from where I stood. I saw five elevator doors near me - two on either side and one against the back wall, and the displays for each of them showed only twelve floors. Judging from my estimate of the size of the lobby, it appeared to take up about two-thirds of the bottom floor. The penthouse elevator must have been located in the back somewhere. But after walking around, I couldn't find it. Puzzled, I walked up the stairs to the mezzanine. There I saw, at the far end of the floor, unmarked, a hallway. I followed it. The hallway ended at a door. It wasn't marked. I tried the handle, and it opened easily. Inside was another corridor, covered in dark wood paneling. I saw several doors off the corridor, and, in the back, an elevator. It, too, was unmarked. I guessed that was hers.

I knew I had no business taking the elevator up to her penthouse, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see the inside of the elevator, at least, so I walked toward it. I stepped to it and pushed the button.

"What are you doing?" a harsh voiced called from behind me. I heard heavy steps approaching.

I turned, and I saw two security guards approaching. Both were female, but they were as tall as I, and they looked capable. They did not look happy. One was armed.

I put my hands up.

"I live here. I moved in recently. I was just looking around, getting to know the place better."

They approached me, separating and standing to either side of me. The larger of the two clamped a firm hand on my upper arm, squeezing it.

"This is a private elevator," he said. "It's off limits. You will have to leave. Let's go."

I could appreciate keeping out unwanted visitors, but I was surprised at the menace in her tone and nonplussed that the elevator would be watched by armed guards. But I was in no position to quarrel, so I complied at once and left the corridor.

"Please don't do that again, unless you are invited," the bigger of the two said.

"I won't," I said. I walked away. At the end of the corridor, I turned back, and they still watched me.

That is weird, I thought.

When I was back in the lobby, I decided to take a walk. The encounter was unsettling, and I wanted to clear my head. As I reached one of the front doors, however, a strong feeling of indecision washed over me.

"I don't need to go on a walk," I thought, with a voice that almost seemed to belong to someone else. "I can do that later. I have some clients to call and should do that in my room."

I set my hand on the handle of the door, but I didn't push it. I looked at the sunny fall day outside - perfect weather for a walk in San Francisco - and I took my hand off. I'd lost all desire to leave the building. I thought for a moment and couldn't remember when, exactly, I'd last left the building.

I turned and walked away, getting back on an elevator to take me to my apartment. It occurred to me I didn't really need to leave the building, because I could get everything done, including working with my clients, from inside.

"I'll go out later," I thought, with no clear idea when I would do so.

In the elevator stood a man I hadn't seen before. He looked to be about my age, clean-cut, and in good shape. But he looked nervous and distracted. He looked down at the elevator carpet and mumbled something. I had to pay attention to understand what he was saying.

"Thirteen days," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked.

He repeated it a few times before looking at me.

"That's Halloween, right?" I asked.

"Halloween," he said, and he looked at me with wide eyes, a hint of fright in them. "That's right. "

Halloween. Thirteen days left.

"You're new here, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. Just moved in a few days ago."

"Ah," he said, and his gaze careened all over the elevator, as though he did not want to look at me. "I suppose you've gotten the invitation?"

"What invitation?"

"To the party. Halloween. I guess you haven't. You probably will, though. You look the part. They've kept me waiting for a year, but I've been invited. I wouldn't miss it. I can't."

I did not know what he was talking about. The elevator door opened, one floor beneath mine. He got out but put his hand on the door and looked back at me.

"Did you try leaving?" he asked. "You might try again. Try harder. Otherwise, I'll see you at the party."