Debauchery Has a Past

The soft patter of rain that began to pelt against the roof grabbed my attention, and I paused, setting my fiery-red lipstick back on the wooden vanity below me.

"Shit." I muttered to myself, disgruntled. The weather forecast hadn't called for rain earlier in the morning, so I'd decided on a costume with more involved makeup. I'd planned on arriving at the annual Crowley Halloween ball dressed as a sexy version of Harley Quinn, my favorite character. However, thanks to the rain, I was more likely to look like Quinn-just-dumped-by-The-Joker.

I sighed and pushed myself back from the vanity and settled onto my bed. I sunk slightly, into the memory-foam mattress, and began to picture the reactions I might possibly conjure up tonight-- if the rain could be staved off long enough for me to make a decent appearance, that was.

I'd hoped people would stare. Sure, some might wag their tongues in disapproval of my attire, but I was hoping it would mostly make for a lustful reaction. My mind wondered further, as I pictured men jacking off later that night to my ass in the tight dress; or to my ample cleavage. Or that they wouldn't even wait and would do it in the bathroom of the house they were guest in. To sweeten the deal, they would be married, and would fantasize about me, instead of their wives.

Soon my clit began to ache for relief as I pondered on these sinful thoughts. I slid my hand gingerly down my torso and stomach, finally reaching my sex, which I knew was wet before even traveling there. I bit my lip as I circled my clit with my forefinger, never quite touching it.

"Nnng." I let out an anticipatory moan, as I began to imagine said lascivious husbands pulling me into the bathroom with them, taking their fantasies a step further. They would growl into my neck as they pulled off my dress, or better, ripped it off, and throw me against the counter. Afterword I'd pull their faces into my pussy with my legs, where they would lap at my clit until I was howling for their cocks.

My fingers were working at my clit feverishly now. I debated, momentarily, at slipping some fingers inside myself, but I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. Not as I kept imagining being relentlessly plowed by sex-starved married men at a Halloween party at which his wife was also attending, and was probably standing just a few feet away.

"Ohhh!" I gasped loudly. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." I mewled as a surprisingly intense orgasm washed over me. My back arched pleasantly as my clit sent electric pleasure through my veins. Finally, after the last few, considerably less intense, spasms began to subside and my toes uncurled, I sat up and stretched. With the party only two hours away, and my desire to turn heads (both on the shoulders and between the legs), I decided that I probably needed to start getting ready.

I picked up the red lipstick and began to fill in the rest of my lips.

************

"You look ravishing, Araya." Mrs. Crowley clasped her hands over her mouth and tittered lightly before gesturing for me to enter the manor. Her flushed cheeks and giggly behavior indicated that she'd been sampling the punch long before the party started.

"Thank you, Margret." A loud clap of thunder resounded, lighting up the foyer with an an ominous white cast, and startled us both. "Luckily the rain held off long enough for me to get here." I added. She nodded, then traipsed off toward the kitchen, undoubtedly in search of more alcohol.

I gingerly meandered through the entrance and made my way to their living area, which was decorated to the brim with spider webs, candles, bats, ghosts, goblins and other various cliches. A shiver abruptly struck me and traveled down my spine, and the hairs on the nape of my neck stood erect. I bit my lip, sensing a change in the atmosphere, but when I glanced around, none of the other party-goers seemed to notice.

As I returned my gaze forward, I spotted a man a few feet away; a man who I was sure had not been there before. He adorned himself in a black suit with a black shirt and tie, a black masquerade mask with silver edges, and even a black cape. I snorted inwardly, unsure what he was actually supposed to be dressed as, yet something about the way he stared back at me was both enticing and frightening. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and an almost evil, smirk across his cheeks. He looked as if he wanted to devour me, though I wasn't sure if the context was sexual or cannibalistic. The uncertainty of danger only piqued my interest. It was as if the very aura around him was pulling me in with a sensually dark 'come-hither' motion. My mind started to fog, and I wasn't sure who was in control of my thoughts anymore: him, or me.

As I was about to walk over and introduce myself, a hand semi-firmly gripped my shoulder.

"My, my, Araya. I don't know how you do it, but every year you manage to make your costume sexier than the last." I shook my head, feeling as if I'd come out of a daze, and pivoted to face Mr. Armstrong, another guest. My gaze averted back to the corner at which the mysterious man had been standing, only to find he was gone. I blinked rapidly, wondering if I'd imagined the whole thing.

"Well, Mr. Armstrong," I murmured, returning my attention to the man beside me. "The secret is less fabric." I winked while he chuckled. His eyes wandered my body approvingly, lingering at my breasts. The thrill of being openly gawked at began to awaken my arousal and I felt a familiar tingle paired with a sudden slipperiness under my dress.

"Well, I'll have to let my wife in on your little secret." He returned a wink and we were sent into bouts of laughter. His prude of a wife wouldn't be caught dead in twice the amount of fabric I was wearing. Anything less than a floor-length turtle neck with long sleeves was too adventurous for Mrs. Armstrong.

"That's unfortunate," I pouted impishly while gently placing a hand on his forearm. His posture noticeably stiffened and wore a tight smile. I felt sorry for him. I began to wonder when the last time his wife had actually made him cum.

"Yes, very unfortunate." He whispered, barely audibly. His face began to draw near to mine, as if he wanted to kiss me. Mr. Armstrong was older than I by about ten years or so, but he was still a handsome man. However, it was the thrill of such taboo, even disgraceful, behavior that sent jolts to my nether regions. It wasn't just knowing that men wanted to cheat with me that sent my excitement to new levels, but it was the act of cheating itself. It was a fetish that I'd discovered many years before, and one that many boyfriends seemed to appreciate. Unfortunately, it was because of this fetish that these relationships never lasted. It was a cruel irony that eventually lead to my decision to stay single-- and a home-wrecker.

"Darren!" A voice behind us cried sharply and we parted swiftly. His face flushed as he tried to stammer an excuse for our close proximity.

"Sh-she thought had something in her eye. She wanted me to see... if she did." The excuse was so cliche and frankly, lame, that I actually snorted, but then quickly covered my mouth, hoping she hadn't heard.

"I see. Well, I think it best if we join the rest of the party now." Diana Armstrong pursed her lips, looking as if she'd sucked a lemon. Maybe if she sucked a dick once in a while, her husband wouldn't feel the need to check my eyes, I mused.

As she stomped into the other room with an abashed husband at her heels, I sighed with irritation and fell back against one of the Crowley's plush couches.

I was hoping to have been the male center of attention, as I had in years past, but it seemed that everyone's wives were on guard this year.

"Still no date?" I lifted my head to see Mr. Sanders holding out a glass of champagne. I took it, with a smile, and motioned for him to sit next to me. My heart began to palpitate. He was definitely the most handsome of the husbands in the entire neighborhood, and even if I wasn't a willing home-wrecker I probably still would have vied for him.

His dark brown hair, tanned skin, and white toothy smile were easily swoon-worthy, but it was his legendary abdomen and rumored sizable penis that really made the ladies' knees weak-- and pussies wet. Most women at this gathering were envious of Mrs. Sanders; most except me. They envied what they couldn't have, but, in my opinion, I could have any of these men.

This year he was as handsome as ever, dressed as a 1920's mobster, complete with a suit (that was likely real, and not some cheap costume from the party store) black fedora, and fake Tommy-gun strapped to his back. He had me feverishly wrestling with my temptation.

"No, Mr. Sanders, I still don't have a date." He flashed a wicked grin, and I crossed my legs to subdue the scent of my desire.

"I thought I told you last year, call me Alex."

"Okay, Alex." I returned a smile to which he seemed very receptive, and he leaned closer.

"So tell me, how does someone as stunning, and let's be frank, so very sexual, as yourself manage to come without a date every year?" I'd decided to answer him boldly, and honestly.

"Because Mr- erm, Alex," I strategically placed my hand on his thigh right below his groin. "If I came with a date, I would have to go home with him too. This way I can have whomever I want." Our faces were inches apart now and I could detect Scotch on his breath.

"Anyone? Even though all of these men are married?" Our noses were touching and I could feel the warmth of his mouth on my lips.

"I find that married men are very receptive to...adultery." He responded lustfully by pressing his lips firmly and aggressively against mine. I moaned hungrily into his mouth and grasped his cock, which twitched beneath my fingers. His hips bucked slightly as he grunted. I squeezed more tightly and made a few stroking motions. He then gently pushed me away and made swift work of removing his belt and unzipping his pants. I licked my lips reflexively as his large, swollen, shaft sprang forward.

"No underwear,"He explained. Instinctively I grabbed it and began to massage the sensitive head between my fingers. He grunted appreciatively and laid against the couch. Taking my cue, I stuck out my tongue and began to caress him from the base of his shaft to his swollen head, receiving happy little twitches from his cock. I then started playing with the spot right below his head with little flicking motions of my tongue.

"Oh... oh fuck. S-suck me, Araya." I scowled, momentarily annoyed at skipping the teasing and jumping straight in, but judging by the color, girth, and length of his member, he was more than ready to go.

Slowly and gently I placed my lips around his purple head. I pushed my face downward, lapping at him with my tongue where I could, and eventually felt him reach my throat. I continued sliding, amazed that there was still more of him, and let him stretch my throat until he was fully buried. Finally, my nose found its way to his groomed lower abdomen, and was only slightly tickled by pubic hair.

"Yes, fuck!" He hissed. I began to bob my head up and down, letting him barge into my esophagus on each downward stroke. His hips began to buck, matching my rhythm. His hands made their way to my hair, at first gently petting me, but after a few more minutes of soft suckling, he grasped fistfuls and began ramming himself into me.

"Oh fuck, Araya. Your slutty little mouth is going to make me fucking cum!" My brows furrowed, confused, as we'd only been engaged for about three minutes, max.

Then, without warning, he erupted violently into my throat, sending what seemed like cup-fulls of semen into me.

"FUCK!" He howled and held onto my head, not letting me up until he was finished. I choked, slightly, trying to swallow it all, and a little bit fell from my lips to my breasts.

My pussy was completely soaked by this point, and I could no longer wait to be satisfied. Once he pulled away and stood back up, I positioned myself against the couch with my legs spread, revealing my lack of underwear, and motioned for him to come to me. He smirked but shook his head.

"No, sorry. My rock-hard abs should be an indication that I don't eat out." He winked, finding his little joke far more clever than I, and then left.

"Fucking prick!" I cried in the empty room. I'd thought at the time that it was fortunate no one had barged in on us as we were still in a public place, but now I wish his wife had so that she could lecture that smug smile off of his face. Maybe she'd even threaten divorce.

I stood up quickly, and pulled my dress back down with a huff. Once I fished my car-keys from my clutch purse, I made off for the door. I didn't intend to stay any longer after that humiliation.

The word 'karma' popped into my head, but I shook it away, not in the mood to feel guilty for my behavior.

Once I passed the grand staircase that lead to the upper floor of the manor, which was always off-limits at these parties, I paused. The ominous air from before had returned. I held my arms and shivered, unsure where the feeling was coming from.

"Leaving so soon?" I snapped around to see the same masked-man from before, the one I'd never seen until tonight, standing on the second stair. He still wore that devilish-grin.

"Yes. I'm not really having fun." I snapped. He crossed his arms and smiled with teeth.

"Is that so? You seemed to be having fun on the couch a few minutes ago." My eyes bulged and my face heated up a few degrees. Alex and I had not been as alone as I'd thought.

"You were watching?"

"I was," He smiled again, sending shivers down my spine.

"You fucking pervert!" I hissed, more embarrassed before that my rejection had a witness.

"Well, yes, I am that. I quite enjoyed your little show, and may have stained Mrs. Crowley's carpet for it. But never-the-less, I don't believe you're in any position to point fingers at the perversion of others. So tell me really, why are you leaving?"

"B-because," I stammered. "Well... you saw it. I don't like to give favors." He clicked his tongue and stepped down one stair. The feeling of danger floated through the air, and I took a hesitant step backward.

"You don't like to give favors... but you don't mind taking what isn't yours? Don't you actually mean, you don't like being used?" I bit my lip realizing that's exactly how I felt: used. I hung my head shamefully, knowing I was using these married men in the same way, to satisfy my perversions just as Mr. Sanders.

"Why don't you just start dating?" His brow raised from underneath the mask as he changed the subject slightly. I scoffed.

"I prefer playing with other peoples' toys, rather than getting one of my own." He continued walking forward, and stopped when he reached me. I didn't step back again, as I refused to reveal how intimidated I actually was, but part of me desperately wanted to flee and never return.

"Is that so?" I narrowed my eyes into little slits.

"Yes. What of it?"

"Well it amazes me that I've found a woman that likes to make men cheat on their wives."

"Why is that?"

"Because, it just so happens that I enjoy cheating on mine." He grabbed my wrist without waiting for a response, though I would not have opposed. The pleasant tingle returned with a ferocity to my sex and my nipples hardened with anticipation.

Once we passed a large bedroom with gaudy furniture, I hesitated and held back a bit.

"What's wrong?" He inquired.

"Well... we shouldn't be up here. This part of the house is forbidden to enter. I feel like we are disrespecting the Crowley's things, and their home." He thought about it a moment, then burst out into uproarious laughter. I narrowed my eyes and fumed, tired of being the butt of the joke.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, it's just that," He coughed between breaths. "You're worried about being disrespectful to your gracious hosts, while simultaneously trying to get every married man you meet to cheat on his wife- in the home of those you're worried about disrespecting! The only thing that makes all that okay with you is if you do it downstairs? That's preposterous!" I bit my lip to keep from smiling. It was a bit ironic, to say the least.

"Fine," I relented, and continued to follow him through the hallways.

We went up two more flights of stairs, and down three more hallways. I began to wonder how big this place really was, and how he knew about it all. I knew that if I was watching this scene play out in a movie, I'd be screaming at the girl to turn back, and that she was about to be killed. I knew that it was crazy to follow a man I didn't know so far away from all of the other guests, but damn my desire to cause trouble; it wouldn't let me pass up an opportunity for a good, adulterous fuck.

"We're here." He held a hand stretched out, motioning for me to enter before him. Here, turned out to be a large bedroom covered in a thin layer of dust. I furrowed my brows, wondering why he chose this, of all places, to ravage me, instead of somewhere more... clean. Noticing my aversion to pretty much every piece of furniture, he clicked his tongue.

"It seems the Crowleys have neglected this room."

"Well, it's so far away from the rest of the home, they probably don't use it much." I murmured. I focused my attention back on him. "How did you know about it?"

"I know a great deal about this house. Would you believe that it was mine, before it was theirs?" I smirked.

"No, good sir, I would not." I mocked his semi-formal tone. "They are well into their sixties and have lived here for as long as I can remember, while you couldn't be a day over thirty."

"Oh who knows? I could be well into my sixties, also. You'd never know with this mask on." He teased. I slowly traipsed over to him and placed a hand gingerly on his waist while leaning close to his head.

"That mask won't be on for long." I purred into his ear. He let out a soft, guttural, sort of growl and put both hands on my hips and pulled me to him. I could feel his groin press into my lower abdomen. My pussy had gotten wet so many times this night, that my thighs had become slippery, and there was no hiding the scent.

Swiftly, as if I weighed not even a single pound, he lifted me and threw me onto the bed. A cloud of dust rose around me, but my focus was on the man who finally removed his mask. I gasped, astonished at his beautiful features. His eyes twinkled green, mischievous and dangerous, while his angular face was sharp enough to cut. His lips drew me in with their devilish grin, and I began grasping at the sheets, unsure if I, myself, would last longer than three minutes.

"Your wife must be beautiful," I mused. He chuckled as he crawled on top of me and began grinding his still dressed groin into mine.

"What makes you say that?"

"To have married you, she'd have to be. You look like a model."

"Yes, she is very beautiful." He smiled as he thought of her, and a look of genuine fondness overcame him. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Then why do you enjoy cheating on her?" I was not jealous, but genuinely curious. If the couple were so compatible, at least in appearances, why stray?

"Because," A darkness clouded his face once more, and the lust returned to his eyes. "I love the thrill of committing such a sinful act. The wrongfulness, the guilt that turns most people away from adultery, these are the very things that get me off. Only, I don't feel guilty. I love my wife, and she knows that, but I could never stop cheating on her. I would simply die of boredom." My face was probably mimicking that of the Cheshire Cat at that moment. He understood me, exactly as I was. He was the only other person I'd ever met who enjoyed cheating for what the act represented, rather than for the extra sex. I bit my lip realizing that I was not alone, and that there were other people like me.