Darkling Tower

I must have dozed, because I woke with a start to see the game over and fans leaving the ballpark. I looked at the time on my phone: 9:20 p.m. Only 40 minutes until the party.

After showering and shaving, I stood naked in front of a full-length mirror, looking at myself. I looked good. I'd probably lost two pounds since moving into the Darkling Tower. The muscles in my arms were nicely contoured, and my abs showed more clearly than they had in years.

It was time to put on the costume, which I hadn't even looked at carefully. It wasn't much of a costume at all. It looked like a set of black silk pajamas, with a pair of black slippers. At the bottom of the box lay one more thing: a neck pendant, with a yellow jewel at the end.

I put the outfit on and looked at myself in the mirror again. I felt exposed. The top closed by a sash at the waist, and it left much of my chest exposed. The ensemble was as light as gossamer. It felt like wearing nothing. I assumed from Charlotte's instructions that I was not supposed to wear underwear, because it wasn't provided, and when I moved, I could see the outline of my cock swaying under the light fabric. I felt a bit ridiculous, until I imagined what the women at the party would be wearing. If I knew anything about Charlotte Darkling, she'd have them wearing something similarly revealing.

I brushed and flossed my teeth and took a big swig of mouth wash for good measure. At 10:00 p.m., I left my apartment room. I descended to the second floor and turned into the hallway to the elevator to Charlotte's penthouse suite. I felt foolish walking about the building in what were, for all intents and purposes, pajamas, but I managed to avoid running into anyone.

One of the same guards I'd seen before stood outside the elevator. This time, her mien was impassive rather than menacing. She put her hand out and I showed her the invitation. She scanned it and waved me into the elevator. Before the door closed, another man got on. He was dressed the same as I was, but he wore no pendant.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one wearing this outfit," he said.

"Me, too," I said. "Do you think everyone will be dressed like this?"

"I have no idea," he said. "It's my first time at Charlotte's Party. I'm Mike, by the way."

"Darren. Nice to meet you. I'm curious to see how the ladies are dressed."

"No kidding. If it's ladies from this building and they're dressed in this material, it's going to be a helluva party."

The elevator ascended to the top floor without stopping. I heard the music from the party before the doors opened. When they parted, I let Mike go before me. Then I stepped out, into Charlotte's penthouse.

To say it was unique would be an understatement. I'd never imagined the top floor of any large building looking like it. The party occupied what appeared to be about half the floor - a vast, stone tile-covered expanse enclosed in walls and a ceiling of glass panels. The night sky spread out above. The party room was lit by dozens, maybe hundreds, of small candles laid out all around, and bathed as well in the light of a nearly full moon overhead.

Loud dance music pulsed from several large speakers. Tables stood at the edges of the room, covered in heaps of food of every imaginable kind and pitchers of drinks.

It was a dazzling space, but more dazzling still were the women.

I noticed at once that the women at the party outnumbered the men at least ten to one. I counted no more than eight men, including myself and Mike and Dale, whom I'd met earlier. All were dressed exactly like me, except seven wore no pendants, and one—Aronson, whom I had met earlier—wore a red one. I wondered why mine was different.

I didn't think too hard about it, however, because I couldn't take my eyes off the women.

The women at the party were of every race imaginable, but all appeared to be between the ages of 25 and 45. All were gorgeous. And all of them dressed the same: in white sleeveless dresses, cinched at the waist by a sash like my shirt, hems stopping a few inches above the knee. The fabric of the dresses appeared to be the same light, silky fabric as my pants and shirt. It was obvious immediately from the way their breasts and asses moved under their dresses that none of them wore bras or panties.

All the women at the party wore white masks over their eyes. The men's faces were uncovered.

I felt my cock hardening and tenting the thin fabric of my pants. This was going to be embarrassing.

"Darren," I heard a familiar voice say behind me. I turned. It was Charlotte.

"Glad you came," she said.

"I couldn't possibly miss it," I said. "This is a great place!"

"Thank you and welcome," she said. "Please have a drink."

She handed me a glass with what looked like a reddish-purple fruit punch. I took it and downed some of it immediately. I didn't recognize the flavor. I was surprised it did not taste of alcohol.

"What's in this?" I asked.

"Secret recipe," she said, and smiled without teeth. "A party favorite for years.

"You're probably wondering why your pendant is different," she said. I wondered how she knew I was thinking that.

"Yeah. Why is that?"

"You're the newest resident of the Darkling Tower to be invited to my party. As you can tell it's exclusive, as far as my male invitees are concerned. I hope you don't mind being outnumbered."

"I think I'll manage just fine," I said, with a grin. I downed the rest of the glass of punch, or whatever it was.

"I'm glad. How about if you dance with me."

Charlotte turned, and I followed. She walked to the middle of the floor, where a throng of scantily clad women and a few men writhed to the music. They made way for Charlotte, and soon she and I were in a small circle of our own, surrounded by bodies moving to the pounding music. I didn't recognize the song. I assumed it was some sort of Eastern European electronic dance music, because of the strong, pounding beat, the heavy drone of synthesizers, and the voice singing a language I didn't recognize.

Charlotte began to dance, and from the moment her body moved I couldn't take my eyes off her. She wasn't the youngest, or by any conventional measure the prettiest, woman on the dance floor, but she was the most mesmerizing. She was a vision, dark and timeless.

She danced with lithe, animal confidence and grace, hips rocking from side to side, shoulders back and breasts pushed forward. Unfettered, they swayed and jiggled under the thin fabric of her dress. I tried not to stare, at first, but the magnetic power of her body wore down most of my scruples and inhibitions, and the punch, which had worked its way into my head, wore down the rest.

I ogled her. I smiled at her in the most inviting way possible. I was flattered that I, just one of her many tenants, had captured her attention. She was far wealthier and more powerful than I was, but she seemed to like me, and I began to think that before the night was done Charlotte Darkling and I would be in bed together.

Bodies writhed on the dance floor all around us.

I thought I had ascended to heaven.

Electronic music pulsed in a loud, throbbing beat all around us.

"Do you like the music, Darren?" Charlotte asked over the din.

"I do," I said. "But I don't recognize it. What is it?"

"Just some oldies I like," she said. "I had them remastered and added to my playlist."

She flashed a dazzling smile that made me forget about the music, and just about everything else. My surroundings were growing dimmer. My head felt light, but fuzzy. All that remained clear was the figure of Charlotte Darkling, dancing before me. She was a great dancer, and I was happy to focus my attention on her.

"Oops!" I heard a voice near me say. I turned. It was one of the few other men at the party, whose name I didn't know. He'd stumbled, and his two gorgeous dancing partners and caught him and were holding him up. His face was slack and his eyes cloudy, and I figured the punch had gone to his head, too. But why weren't any of the women stumbling? I wondered if only the men had drunk the punch. We seemed to be the only ones stumbling.

After another minute Charlotte reached out and touched my hand. Her touch was electric.

"Thank you for the dance, Darren," she said. "I'm going to dance with some of the other guests. I'm sure you'll find other partners."

I figured that wouldn't be a problem, but I wanted more punch first. I pressed through the crowd of female flesh to a long table. I began filling a cup when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Aronson. Obviously, he'd been drinking heavily. His face was slack, and his body swayed. When he spoke, he slurred his words.

"You're the new guy," he said to me, saying it rather than asking it.

"Yes," I said. I held out my hand. "Darren. We met before."

He looked at my hand for a few moments before shaking it.

"That's right."

"You OK?" I asked. He didn't answer.

"Do you like the punch?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, nonplussed at his nonresponse and strange question. "I guess so. It's good. I can't tell what it is, though."

"Drink up, Darren," he said. "You'll want to drink a lot of punch."

"Why?" I asked. "What happens later? Were you at the party last year?"

"I was there," he said. His hands shook so much that I thought he was going to spill his punch on the floor, but he steadied his hand enough to bring it to his mouth and drink it in one big gulp. "Last year I was the new guy. They always have one new guy at the party. This year, that's you. You'll see what happens. I'm the experienced one. My time has come."

His face was so distressed I thought he was going to cry.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

Before he could answer a gorgeous Asian with a slim figure and pert breasts took his arm.

"Come dance with me, Dan," she said. Dan looked at me with a face filled with resignation and turned away. I felt a hand on my arm, too. I turned to see a beautiful redhead. At least, I thought she was a redhead. I was getting woozier by the moment. I usually held my liquor well, but the punch must have been powerful. My concern about Dan dissipated into a mist of lust and confusion as the redhead pulled me back to the dance floor.

As my partner and I undulated to the pulse of the music, I noticed that, despite the cloudiness in my head, I was rock hard below. My cock stood out in a straight shaft, tenting against the thin fabric of my pants. I would have been embarrassed if I'd been sober. But I was feeling too good to notice. The redhead in front of me writhed in a more demonstrative way than Charlotte had, her waist, hips, and bust tracing delicious s-curves just two feet from me. I saw her eyes focused on mine through her mask. I saw hunger in them.

I don't know how long we danced. I lost track of time. Eventually, I became aware of a parting on the crowded dance floor. Full of punch, I almost stumbled, but unseen hands caught me and steadied me, then guided me backward. They led me to a large, wooden chair. Hands pressed gently on my shoulders, and I sat down. My head was fuzzy, but my cock was still hard. It stood up straight under my pants.

I became aware, dimly, that all the other men at the party were gone, except for Dan, and myself.

Dan and I were seated in identical wooden chairs, at the perimeter of a circular clearing on the dance floor. Dan's head lolled like mine, but he was aroused like me, too, his pants tenting like mine.

Someone turned the music down, and the song changed to a slow, dolorous tune, played by woodwinds of some kind. The tune sounded unfamiliar, foreign. The lights dimmed. Candles were lit and placed at intervals in the space amid the crowd.

I tried to focus on what was happening, but it was difficult. My head swam. Everything around me was unfocused.

The background music stilled and gave way to a low chant by the women at the party, seemingly all of them. I couldn't make out the words. It sounded like gibberish to me. I looked around the perimeter of the circle. The women's bodies undulated ecstatically. Dan fidgeted in his chair across from me. He looked resigned rather than confused.

After an indefinite time, the crowd parted. A tall woman stepped forward: Charlotte. She walked on heels to the middle of the circle, and then she turned to me. She chanted along with the crowd. She put her hands out, and the crowd quieted.

"Sisters," she cried in a clear voice. "We have had another year of prosperity and success. Every one of us has enjoyed her blessings. Now we must honor her!"

"Honor her we must, and we will!" the crowd of women called back in unison.

"Now, my sisters, the ceremony will begin," Charlotte called again. "Those of you have been chosen, go to he who has been chosen for you."

Several women emerged from the crowd, all seemingly statuesque and beautiful and dressed similarly to Charlotte. They walked to Dan and stood in front of him.

Charlotte looked down upon me, and she walked toward me until she was only a few feet away. Then she pulled at the sash of her dress, and it fell back and away from her body, light gossamer bunched at her feet on the floor. Her nude body shone before me in the low, flickering candlelight.

I looked into her eyes, and they seemed impossibly large and deep, with irises like black pools. I couldn't look away from them, and she smiled in confirmation of my helplessness. No one restrained me; yet, I knew for reasons I couldn't understand that I wouldn't, or couldn't, move, and I had to watch what was to happen next.

Without breaking her gaze from mine she called out again. It was a language I didn't recognize. By this time, my head was lolling right and left, and my vision alternated between clarity and haze. After every call, the crowd of women chanted back. The pattern of call and response repeated itself, again and again. With some effort I broke my gaze from hers and looked around me. Somehow, without my noticing, all the women around me had removed their dresses. They danced and writhed all around me, now completely nude.

I couldn't focus on them, however, because the most beautiful woman in the room was nude and just inches in front of me, writhing to the beat of the music. Charlotte Darkling was the most exquisite thing I had ever seen, a pale, tall, feminine vision with dark hair and eyes closed, hands thrown over her head. She inched closer to me, in rhythm to the music, until her body was over my lap.

I felt hands on my body - not Charlotte's - and they tugged at my clothing. My shirt was pulled over my head and my pants were pulled down my legs. Soon I, too, was nude. My surroundings still were misty and confused, but my cock stood straight up from my lap, pointing at the nude body of Charlotte Darkling, her arms over her head and her hips swaying over my knees.

To my surprise, given my drunkenness, my cock stood straight and tall in salute to Charlotte's beauty. I was mesmerized by her. Her breasts stood out high and firm away from her body, almost defying gravity. Her torso thinned to a narrow waist but broadened to full womanly hips. At the apex of her thighs a small triangle of fur lay over the sweet, exposed slit of her pussy. Her pussy. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I lost track of everything else that was going on around me. Charlotte Darkling's pussy danced in front of my eyes, and in sync with the music it danced closer and closer to me.

She drew close enough to me to close my legs together with her hands together, and she squatted and sat on the tops of my thighs. The damp, protuberant flesh of her lips mashed against one thigh, and she stamped her wetness on me. She clasped her hands behind my neck and pulled herself forward, leaving a wet, lascivious trail snaking forward along my upper leg.

I moaned. Oh God, how I wanted this woman. I'd never wanted anything more.

I'd been in this position before, with other women, lust urging me on, and I'd always taken the lead.

Most women, I'd found, wanted that. But I didn't lead now. I was helpless and passive. Charlotte was in control. I sat still in my chair as she pulled herself toward me. In this moment, she was my master.

I felt pressure on my cock and my eyes broke from their gaze on Charlotte's to see the source of what pressed against me. Her hand gripped my shaft, an inch below the head, which was thick and engorged and purple. The hand slid down my length to the base, her knuckles hitting my pubic bone. I moaned again. Then she began stroking me, slowly at first, but the tempo soon quickening.

Charlotte was bent over, and her full breasts hung down deliciously from her torso, pink nipples hard and tantalizing. Her hands moved up and down my cock.

For a moment I tried to concentrate on my surroundings. I had a vague sense, as though through clouds, of the other man, Aronson, in his chair, having his cock stroked as well. But I wasn't sure. It was like a dream.

At last, I could sense nothing other than the hands on my hard cock. My surroundings faded to gray. My head pounded, but I was still able to feel one thing with absolute clarity: the delicious stroking of Charlotte Darkling's slender, elegant fingers on my cock.

It was the best feeling of my life.

I thought I would come quickly, but I didn't. Somehow Charlotte knew exactly how to stroke me to bring me to the edge but not cross over it. I could almost feel the cum in me, wanting to burst forth, but Charlotte's expert handwork kept it back while sending me into a delirium of pleasure. My head lolled back, and I saw stars overhead through the glass ceiling of the penthouse. A pale crescent moon curled itself into a smile. I thought it mocked me.

When I brought my gaze back down, Charlotte's nude body moved closer to me, straddling me. Her hand held my cock as firmly as ever, pointing straight up, as her pussy maneuvered in place, over it.

It was the most exquisite and perfect pussy I'd ever seen. The thin, inner lips, like butterfly wings, opened to either side as she approached me, as though guided by their own intelligence, and needing no prompting or assistance from Charlotte's fingers, which were concentrated on my thick, throbbing penis.

Charlotte touched her nether lips to my cock. I felt a surge inside me.

And I realized that I was helpless. I was paralyzed in the chair, with no power to move or control events. Charlotte, alone, had control - over me and over everything else.

She lowered herself onto me. Those thin lips enclosed my cock head, and then my cock shaft. My cock disappeared inside her.

I moaned. I could do nothing else. I'd never felt anything more perfect than the disappearance of my cock inside Charlotte Darkling's pussy.

"You like that, don't you, Darren?" she asked me.

"Oh yes," I said, barely aware of or in control of anything that came out of my mouth.

"Your cock belongs to me, doesn't it, Darren?" she asked again.

"Yes," I said. "Yes. It's all yours."

"And the rest of you," she continued. "The rest of you belongs to me, doesn't it? You'll give anything - everything - for the feel of my wet cunt on your cock, won't you?"

"Anything," I replied. My voice almost choked with desperate need, but I was barely aware of what I said or what was happening. All I knew was the rapture of Charlotte Darkling fucking me.

"Say you are mine, Darren," Charlotte said.

"I'm yours, Charlotte," I said.

"Good," she said. "It's done."

And then she really fucked me.

She pushed her hips down on me, and my cock thrust up hard inside her, deep in her. I was engulfed in her wetness. I felt a hard squeeze and gasped. I had never felt a woman do that to me before. My cock felt small and helpless inside her. Her pussy grabbed me, and I almost felt she could tear my cock off with her muscles if she wanted to.