About Last Night Read online

  I know she wants me. It’s a pretty easy thing to glean, but unfortunately, what I want is to hit the gym, so I take my change and step past her and out the door. I’m not an eighth of a mile away when I see she’s following me. Oh, Mrs. Robinson, I sigh. Discretion is not your forte.

  And what do you know, she follows me all the way into the gym parking lot, all the way into the gym, and all the way up to the front desk. I’m trying to pay the day fee as a guest when she comes up behind me.

  “I’ve got him,” she says, in a voice that’s rough with many good time nights at the bar. She swipes her membership fob. “He’s with me.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already got it,” I say, holding up my wallet.

  “I only get one guest freebie a month and that one was about to expire. It’s your lucky day,” she says with a wink, walking away while swinging her gym bag like a little girl.

  I decide to not let that interaction bother me. I’m at the gym. I’m not going to sweat the particulars of how I got here. I’m here to sweat, period.

  I strip off my clothes in the locker room. Before changing into my workout clothes, I catch a glimpse of my naked chest in the mirror. The hard work is paying off. I’ve always been athletic but in the past few years my attention to excellence is showing dividends in my body. My shoulders are broader than they were a year ago. There’s power in my biceps and pecs. My abs have tightened into a rippled plane, and furrows are carved low on my hips. I’ve even got those bird’s-wing muscles across my ribs. It’s worth it though because clothes fit better when you’re strong. Sex is better. Life is more fulfilling, and sculpting my body is a win-win all around.

  The bony blonde is working out too. She picks an elliptical far from me, and leaves me alone. I head to the weights first. It feels good to push myself through a full circuit of legs, arms, and abs. I want to work off all the restlessness of the long drive and my moment of doubt. I push myself to the absolute limit. I lift massive weights until I feel every muscle quiver with exhaustion. When I can’t lift anymore, I hit the treadmill.

  Unfortunately, the bony blonde catches up to me while I’m cooling down after a 40-minute run. People think race car driving means just sitting in a seat. The truth is, you’ve got to be in top shape to make the quick moves that put you in first place. I’d pushed myself today and could really feel it.

  “You’re really in your element,” she says while I’m still jogging.

  “I do what I can,” I pant, and turn my focus back to the TVs at the far end of the gym.

  She doesn’t take the hint. “I haven’t seen you around,” she coos. “That’s a nice car. California plates.” She leans against the treadmill and looks up at me with big kitten eyes. “You here for business or pleasure?”

  “Family.”

  “I’ll pray for you,” she laughs. “You should try and make some friends while you’re here. It breaks up the monotony.”

  She puts a shiny black business card in the cupholder of my treadmill. Something is printed on it in gold embossed letters.

  “I’m having a get-together,” she says with a suggestive smile. “Someone like you is always welcome.”

  I don’t say anything, only punch the buttons on my treadmill so it picks up the pace again. This time she gets the hint.

  “My name’s Monica,” she simpers while walking away. “Or you can call me any name you like. As we say . . . whatever you want.”

  Finally, the woman’s gone. When I’m done running, I wipe the sweat from my face with a towel. I take the deep satisfied breaths and let my muscles relax. But just as I enjoy this moment of exhilaration, a thought occurs to me: There’s nothing to do in this town. I think the high point of my day just ended.

  I notice the card again, still stuck coyly in the cupholder. I’m tempted to dump it in the trash, but my curiosity gets the best of me. I pick it up and examine it instead. The light plays on its shiny black surface. Club Elegance, it says in elegant gold letters and nothing more. Mysterious, I think. I flip the card over. Monica’s written her number on the back, plus an address.

  I don’t often hesitate, but I do now, staring at the card’s front and back and thinking about my time in this town. It’s going to be really boring, unless I find something to keep me on my toes.

  Slowly, I take out my phone. When I dial she picks up immediately.

  “I knew you would call, Handsome,” she purrs. “The private party’s tonight. Let me give you directions.”

  3

  Missy

  It would be easier to pick out an outfit for this party if the butterflies in my stomach would just leave me alone. I sweep the clothes in my closet back and forth, listening to the screech of the wire hangers scraping across the closet rod while I try and figure out what I’m looking for.

  “Can you at least give me a clue?” I plead to Jane. “Is this party formal? Casual? Should I bring a bathing suit?”

  “It doesn’t start until late,” she says.

  “That’s not an answer,” I say, plucking a flouncy flowered blouse out of the closet and pressing it to my front. Jane makes a face at me.

  “What?” I ask. She sighs dramatically.

  “You can’t wear that. That blouse looks like a florist’s shop threw up on a pirate.”

  “Okay, well,” I sputter, truly at the end of my patience, “I need some guidance. What exactly is this party? And why are you asking about my virginity? Are you taking me to some weird sex cult where we sacrifice a goat and then all get nekkid?”

  “I promise there are no goats at this party,” she says, rolling her eyes. I put my hands on my hips.

  “You’re not filling me with confidence, Jane.”

  “Ok. I’ll level with you. There are some free-thinking people there. People I really get along with.” She takes my hand. “You’ve been my best friend for so long, Missy. We’re two peas in a pod – but at the same time, you have to admit we’re very, very different people. You, for example,” she says, pointing to the blouse in my hands, “might wear that, and I, on the other hand, would burn it.” She sighs. “It’s just really nice, in this little conservative town where no one talks or acts or dresses like me, to go somewhere to feel like I’m not alone. Besides, you like me,” she points out as she winds her fingers into mine. “Wouldn’t you like a whole party full of people just like me, too?”

  I have to admit, she’s right. For all of Jane’s crazy schemes, for all the madhouse shenanigans she’s dragged me into, none of them have ever ended badly – and they’ve all made great stories in the end. I should trust my best friend more, I think. She’s never steered me wrong.

  “You know, Jane,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze, “I think I just might.”

  “Good!” She claps her hands and grins. “Now let’s get you ready.”

  I finally pick out a soft cotton sundress I bought at a street fair last year. It’s dark blue, my favorite color, and it hugs perfectly around my waist and flares out around my ample hips. Plus, the v-neck shows just a hint of cleavage. I put on my favorite pair of earrings, too. They’re nothing special, just little gold studs, but they were a present for my thirteenth birthday. I always feel pretty wearing them.

  “Beautiful!” applauds Jane. “You have to wear a nice bra and panties, too,” she says as she dabs a little gloss on my lips. “Nice underwear gives you confidence. There!” She steps back and admires her handiwork. I do admit, Jane’s knack for artistry pays off. I do look very pretty – a little bit sexy, even.

  It’s now dark. I walk outside to Jane’s car, but when I put my hand on the door handle she shakes her head.

  “It’s close enough to walk,” she says. “Come on. I’ll tell you how I found out about this place on the way.”

  We step over the cool grass as fireflies light our path like footmen in a fairy tale. “So, you know how I’m working as a paralegal this summer, right?” my friend begins.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Miracles never cease.” How Jane got work
as a paralegal is beyond me, but her mortgage title place looks past her pink hair and multiple tattoos.

  “So I’m doing routine mortgage stuff,” she says, “and I found a house that sold for one dollar. Usually that’s a red flag because it means someone may have paid cash and underreported it to avoid paying the taxes. But here’s the thing – there was no name on the deed. Nothing.”

  We walk to the lawn of the mansion across the street. This is as close as I’ve ever been to the house, and I half-listen to my friend talk while strolling. As usual, it’s shuttered and dark, with not a soul stirring inside.

  “So, because I’m nosy,” Jane continues, “I go to the property and knock on the door, with the deed in hand, looking to talk to whomever is responsible. And wouldn’t you know,” she said, “that’s where I met them.”

  “Wait a minute,” I gasp, as Jane steps up onto the haunted mansion’s porch. “Is this where we’re going? Do people even live here?”

  Jane says nothing, only rings the bell.

  Suddenly, a little window slot screeches open in the door. Eyes peer out at us.

  “Whatever you want,” says Jane to the eyes.

  The eyes look at me, and Jane, and back at me suspiciously. Then the slot edges shut, and slowly, very slowly, the stately door opens with the kind of creaking that only happens in horror movies.

  My skin is crawling, but Jane skips into the foyer like it’s ice cream day at school. I swallow hard and follow her.

  There’s another, smaller door in front of us, this one with an antique crystal doorknob. The sounds of a wild party drift in to where we’re standing. Wow, this is different. From the outside, the place looks deserted, but from the inside, it’s clear there are people making merry. I hear music and ice tinkling in glasses and women giggling with sudden laughter.

  The big door slams shut behind us and I jump. Suddenly I’m really suspicious.

  “Jane, what’s going on?” I demand. “What kind of party is this?”

  Jane turns and winks at me. “No turning back now.”

  Then, she grasps the knob, and opens the door.

  Oh wow. I cannot believe what I see in the mansion’s grand foyer. The place is beautiful, with shadowy velvet furniture, swaying palms and a great celestial chandelier. But I hardly notice the décor because my astonished brain takes a few moments to really recognize what’s going on. All I see are beautiful people, rocking against each other. Everywhere. On the floor, over couches, against the wall, enjoying each other in a great sea over a tumbling collection of pillows strewn across every surface.

  Because every guest at this party is nude and appears to be making love. The groans, moans, and grunts are a glorious cacophony, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  Just to my left is a woman with sleek dark hair. She’s on her knees, wrapping her mouth over the erect cock of the man in front of her. Her tongue is darting in and out, sliding under the sensitive underside with great relish. Her own silk-gloved hand is swirling slow ecstatic circles over her clit, sweetening whatever sensation she’s getting orally. She’s having little flickering orgasms– I can see it in how she pauses and rolls her eyes up into their sockets. Then she pushes the full length of him down her eager throat, and he lets out a deep moan of agony mixed with ecstasy.

  I can’t believe I’m seeing this.

  To my right are two women, both with fiery wild red hair straddling each other, pressing the plump lips of their pussies together in slow, sticky rhythm. Sometimes they tweak each other’s nipples, and sometimes they simply rub up against each other as they indulge in deep kisses. One bends down to caress the other’s nipple with her lips. Something glassy glints between where their pussies rub and I see it’s an elegant clear dildo shared between them. Each time they rock against each other it nudges their g-spots.

  But that’s not all. To the left of me is a woman bent over a couch. The inverted heart of her ass is pressed up against the hips of the man right behind her. He’s slamming into her with a cock that, even as it appears and disappears inside her, I can tell is gorgeously huge. The look on her face is one of sheer ecstasy. She’s moaning so hard I bet she’s seeing colors no one has ever seen before.

  Then, to my surprise, the man licks his thumb and presses it up against the open rosebud of her asshole, but he doesn’t push inside it. He only dabs at the small pucker with steady pressure as he pounds into cunt. I gasp at the look of otherworldly delight on her face as he toys with her anus.

  I turn to Jane, mouth open, only to find she’s in some kind of trance as she slides out of her T-shirt and skirt. She’s wearing a garter belt and fishnet stockings and is taking off her panties. What? What in the world is she doing?

  But it’s true. Now my friend’s moist pussy lips and firm ass are visible.

  “Jane,” I hiss. “What the hell? Are you insane? Put your clothes back on!”

  But it’s too late because a handsome naked man appears at Jane’s side. He dutifully receives every article of clothing she places dreamily into his hands. I stand frozen in one spot, trying to pretend that I’m not here, but Jane’s in a completely different world. My friend smiles playfully as she unhooks her bra and reveals small, boyish breasts. As she drops the bra onto the pile of clothes in his hands she beckons to the man and coos, “Come here, pretty boy.”

  And with that she leans coyly back against the foyer wall with her legs spread and her pussy thrust forward. She lazily slides her finger in and out of the folds of her labia with lubricated ease, parting her thighs in a come-hither movement.

  Of course, the man doesn’t hesitate. He moves forward as she stares at him wantonly and slides the head of his very erect cock around the same slippery path of her pussy’s folds.

  Holy shit! What the fuck is going on?

  But as I watch, the handsome man pushes an inch inside my friend, and she lets out a deeply satisfied moan.

  “Oh yes, right there,” is her melodious tone. “I need it just like that.”

  By now, my jaw’s practically on the floor as I try to disappear behind a large houseplant. But it’s too late because my curiosity’s been piqued. I’ve never read about an orgy like this. I watch porn sometimes, but the actors are always mechanical, with none of the true enjoyment that these folks are experiencing. Wet squelching sounds fill the air, and as I watch, Jane’s pussy is penetrated fully by the handsome man’s huge dick. She throws her head back, her eyes falling closed with contentment and ecstasy.

  Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m here. I should be shocked, and I am, but at the same time, I’m absolutely titillated. This is ten times more explicit, and ten times better than Jane Austen. Hell, Mr. Darcy can’t hold a candle to what I’m seeing. A pleasurable tingle starts in my clit as I take in the huge cocks delving into moist, welcoming pussies.

  But I’m not ready to participate yet. Sure, I’m aroused by what’s before me, but at the same time, can I really do this? I mean, I don’t know these people. I sneak a quick glance at Jane, and my eyes practically bug out. The man she’s with has slipped his dick out of her pussy, and is now tenderly nudging her ass. As I watch with shock, she nods and lifts a knee to give him better access. Then sure enough, that huge, veiny cock begins disappearing into her anus as she moans with ecstasy.

  Holy shit. This is too much for me. I need a drink, is my blurry thought. I stumble into another corridor towards the light of what I hope is a kitchen.

  Sure enough, there’s an elegant refreshment spread in the back. There are food and drinks, and to my great relief, no one’s there. I pick up a cracker and take a mindless bite.

  Oh my god.

  What am I doing here? My teeth chew as I swallow, but my throat’s dry. I start to cough slightly, trying to get air into my passageways.

  “You okay?” says a deep voice behind me.

  I turn around, and almost start choking again because standing head and shoulders before me is a man who’s absolutely gorgeous. His shoulders are broad enough to fill
my vision, with a wide chest narrowing to tapered hips. Thankfully, he’s clothed, but this is one man I wouldn’t mind seeing naked. Blue eyes gleam at me under the florescent lights, and a playful, sensuous mouth teases me. Who is this man, and what is he doing at a sex party?

  All I know is that I want more.

  4

  Trevor

  “Hey,” I say to the gorgeous woman at the buffet. “You okay?”

  I’m glad I didn’t toss that Club Elegance card. I wasn’t interested in the woman who gave it to me, that’s for sure, but something about the possibilities in her voice intrigued me. Besides, it was either come here or be utterly bored in my hotel room. Besides, I’ve always lived by the maxim, “Choose the red pill.” And even though I’ve been radically under-impressed with Montague so far, opportunity hides everywhere. Like a true man of Monte Carlo, I decided to roll the dice.

  So I decided to see what the party was about. My expectations were low, but go figure. I could always leave after ten minutes if it sucked. When I rang the doorbell, Monica answered in a cherry-red merry widow that didn’t flatter her. She tried to flatter me, though, with all sorts of breathy compliments and determined flutterings of her false lashes. I’ll give her points for determination, that’s for sure. I made my excuses and retreated to the kitchen as an escape.

  Little did I know that’s where I would find the jackpot.

  The woman standing before me caught my eye simply because of her animal beauty. Those plump curves, barely contained by that flimsy dress. The swell of her thighs and the delicious cushion of her buttocks made my mouth water. The thought of being enveloped by those soft arms, and to be able to kiss those tremendous breasts, made me hard just to look at her.