I looked out of the car window at the imposing mansion looming before me. "I'm not so sure about this," I said.

Cherry snorted. Her beautiful features were scrunched up in a grimace, but I noticed her slightly glossy eyes, her shortness of breath and the perpetually excited smile that never seemed to leave the corners of her mouth. "You've been saying that all week," she chided, and slid her hand onto my thigh. The leather seat creaked slightly beneath her as she shifted to lean closer to me. "And yet, here you are, freshly waxed and showered. Either you are a terrible liar, or... actually, no, I just think you're a terrible liar. I bet that on the inside, you are gagging for what's going to happen tonight!"

She grinned and squeezed my leg, and before I had time to reply she had jumped out of the car and begun to walk. Confidently, she sauntered on her impossibly high heels up the driveway towards the door, with a strut of her ass that was sure to give our driver heart palpitations. I cast a glance at him, and gave an apologetic smile before opening the car door and slinking out to follow my friend. I needn't have bothered trying to assuage my guilt towards him, though; as could be expected, his eyes were fully focused on Cherry's attributes, and I'm not even sure he registered my presence as I joined her towards the door. No wonder, either; with her six foot model figure, the bodacious roundness of her ass and her long, black hair against caramel-brown skin, Cherry was pretty much the embodiment of male sexual fantasy come to life. Next to her, my meager 5'6 and mousy, brown hair was little more than plain, even with all of the money and product I had spent on it. Maybe that was for the best, though. Who knew what kind of attention she might draw away from me tonight? I could feel my heart thump in my throat as we made the fifty yard walk up to the door. Cold sweat, weak knees-- yeah, I was nervous alright.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, babe." Cherry's luminous, purple contacts fixed me with a suspicious glare as we walked. "It's like ever since you started hooking up with that Stephen, your confidence has plummeted majorly. You're not... I mean, he's treating you right, isn't he?"

The question brought a smile to my lips, albeit a pained one. How was I supposed to explain to her what was really going on? Stephen and I had been casually dating for a few weeks, and I knew better than anyone what it was that Cherry was concerned about; my otherwise brash and outgoing nature had changed, and I had become more timid, more nervous and, well, a lot less fun to be around. I didn't blame her for suspecting something was wrong, and her concerned looking out for me warmed my heart a lot. Not everyone has a friend like Cherry. But how could I explain to her that my altered behavior both was and wasn't Stephen's fault? How could she believe me?

Oh, sure, she might say that everyone takes on certain qualities of the people they hang around, and when you've been fucking the same guy for a while, you might start liking his kind of music or watching the same shows. But there is no way I would have been able to explain to her the truth; that every time I slept with someone, part of them got transferred to me. It simply wouldn't make sense-- not that it did to me, not really, not even now, after five years of going from one set of circumstances to the next. It hadn't been until I turned twenty, and spent my twentieth birthday shacked up with the lead singer of a less-than-famous pop-punk band, that it really clicked for me. Before then, my singing had been akin to the sound it makes when you whack a seal on the head with a foam hammer, awkward and a little humiliating for all parties involved. But afterwards... I woke up quite literally with a song on my lips, and wound up spending the rest of the day singing my heart out. It was such a startling transformation, and it was then, I think, that a lot of things started to make sense to me. My mood swings, my changeable nature-- I don't know how or why it happens, but hey, when you're given lemons, you make lemonade, and when you're given the ability to leech the traits and abilities of those you sleep with, you... well, attend an orgy.

As I was doing tonight.

"You'd tell me if he was hurting you." Cherry made a mean face and furrowed her brows in an attempt to look intimidating. It only served to make her look prettier. "I know a guy, you know..."

"He's not," I assured her, and took her hand to squeeze it. "I promise you. And besides, it's over; I ended it a week ago. So don't worry, okay? I'm just... feeling stressed, I guess. And nervous. I've never tried this before."

I cast my gaze back up at the house before us, and swallowed hard. 'House' was probably the wrong term for it; with three stories, at least two balconies, and a garden the size of a small football field. Cherry had told me a bit about the sort of clientele that went here on the 'play nights', and from the sound of it, even the most impoverished of them was worth some four times my net worth. The only reason I was even going here was because of Cherry, and she was here because she knew the owner through a series of more-or-less legal business transactions about which I was blissfully ignorant.

Returning my attention to my friend, I gave her a reassuring smile. "But I think it is exactly the kind of thing I need. Cut loose a little, have some fun..."

"Fuck yes, girl!" Cherry beamed at me and slapped my teasingly on the ass. "That's the spirit! And listen, don't worry about these people, alright? Just because they're big players doesn't mean they're anything special. It's just sex in the end, right? A cock's a cock whether it has a million bucks behind it or not."

I laughed. "I guess! But a million dollars is probably required to throw this kind of lavish party."

"Meh." Cherry shrugged. "Money isn't everything. Best sex I ever had was with a dead-broke guy in a studio in Chicago."

I rolled my eyes as we made it to the door. Cherry pressed the door bell, and then hammered the knocker thrice with a giddy smile."It's only people with money who say that money doesn't matter," I managed to snark at my affluent friend, and then the door opened, and my jaw dropped.

The immediate hallway was as lavish as you would have expected, with marble tiles and dark, lacquered wood lining every surface. A middle-aged woman in a wine-red gown and a soft smile was standing besides the door, a small bowl of masquerade-style masks in her hands, but what really caught my attention was the room immediately beyond the hallway, in which I could see large, gilded furniture, dark red drapes and a table overflowing with food and drink, around which stood a trio of aristocratic people. Soft jazz flowed from the room, and I could faintly hear other, slightly indecent noises coming from somewhere else in the house-- or perhaps that was simply my imagination. Whatever the case, it was clear that whatever this house had in posh qualities from the outside, those were completely blown out of the water by the inside decor. If anything, it felt like stepping into the personal boudoir of Louis XVI. Sheer imperial, French opulence.

Seemingly undaunted by the sight, Cherry swept past the woman at the door with a faint smile, her free hand plucking a pair of masks out of the bowl before dragging me along with her past a row of heavy coats and into the massive ballroom, where at least a dozen people turned their eyes towards us. Everyone, I noticed, was wearing some sort of mask, and when Cherry handed me one of the ones she had procured, I obediently put it on, unwilling to stand out more than I already was. It was, to my relief, a white and fairly plain mask, with just a small plumage of feathers across the brow and a smattering of rhinestones along the corners of the eyes. Cherry's was equally plain, but midnight blue and studded with beads like raindrops beneath the eye-holes. With the mask on, I found my sight slightly limited, but I tried to play it off, and instead timidly raised a hand to wave at the onlookers. Cherry, on the other hand, had no such reservations. She simply strode up to the table and parted the trio of people - two men, one woman - to practically shove me at them. Their faces lit up in warm smiles as she presented me as if I was a trophy, and I could hear the glee in her voice when she spoke.

"Hello, everyone! Allow me to introduce you to my good friend Ellie. She's here tonight to get over a recent, tragic breakup by having some good old-fashioned fun. We can help her with that, can't we?"

I demurred, even as the people around me nodded and murmured their assent. When Cherry grinned at me and began to pull me over to the canapes, I stopped her and leaned in to hiss in her ear.

"Why did you say that? I'm not trying to 'get over' anything!"

Cherry giggled and waved me off. "Ah, it's just banter. I'm seeding them with something to come talk to you about; that'll get you engaged with the party faster! Believe me, I had it worse when I first came here! My partner told everyone I had been hired for a film by screwing the director!"

I glared at her as she began stuffing her mouth with tiny pieces of food. Truth be told, I wasn't sure whether to be amused, mortified or simply pissed at her.

"Who was your partner back then," I asked, unable to curb my curiosity but at the same time hating myself for letting her off the hook so easily.

"Hmn?" Cherry swallowed something delicious and expensive. "Oh, never mind. Look, let me get you acquainted." She seized my shoulder, and began pointing around.

"There is the bathroom, in case you need to freshen up. There is the private rooms-- no one really uses those, but if you need somewhere to change, or if you find someone to finally take that sweet little anal virginity of yours..."

She cackled as I swatted her arm, and continued:

"This is the main room; people relax here, talk, eat. And there," she pointed towards a set of french doors, from beyond which I could make out a few faint moans, "is the play room. For fuckin'. Which is why you are here tonight, babe. Okay? So quit this being-shy bullshit, and go get some strange!"

I wanted to say something, but she had already taken me by the shoulders and was marching me forcefully towards the alleged play room. Several sets of eyes followed us, but no one made comments; apparently, it was nothing new to see a shy young woman having to be pushed towards the main area of the party

Pushing open the doors, Cherry glanced around and made some wry comment that went over my head; I was too busy staring at the moving, shifting bodies splayed around me, half a dozen couples and threesomes in various state of lewd conduct. To my surprise, no one was naked, but had rather pulled up skirts or zipped down trousers to make room for the activities at hand. The lack of exposed spin made the whole thing seem slightly surreal, and were it not for the sounds, the rhythmic movements and the smell of sex wafting through the air, I might not have noticed that I was standing in the middle of an orgy. But then again, nothing about it reminded me of how I always imagined an orgy; it was all quite serene and relaxed, just bodies moving in quiet sync around one another, mouths and hands doing the bulk of the work as far as I could tell. Maybe the party hadn't gotten properly underway yet... but the couples certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, unconcerned as they were with mine and Cherry's entrance.

"Good. Now go mingle," whispered Cherry in my ear, and her hands on my back pushed me towards a nearby couch, over the armrest of which was a middle-aged woman with her skirt hiked up far enough that the man behind her could access her backside. I stumbled in my heels and almost fell onto the cushion beside her, but the woman seemed unperturbed; rather, she simply opened her eyes and smiled at me, as if she was not in the middle of taking a hard cock from behind.

"Hello, dear," she said with a voice that reminded me of quiet afternoons at my grandparents' house as a kid, with hot tea and marmalade sandwiches and black-and-white movies on the TV. Her eyes were a warm hazel, but much of the hue was lost to the shadow of the mask she was wearing, which was a deep, verdant green and textured like crocodile hide. It was absolutely horrendous.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you new?"

I nodded and introduced myself, willing myself to ignore the steady movements of her body towards mine. The man fucking her seemed to pay me no attention, but due to the angle of her position, it was impossible for me not to stare straight down the woman's cleavage as it shook and bounced with each thrust of her partner. Husband, presumably; they seemed to be around the same age, and the casual way in which she addressed me suggested that she had felt this particular piece of hardware inside her more than once.

"Lovely," the woman chirped, and gave me a beaming smile that did nothing to alleviate the fact that her lower half were making the kind of wet, sloppy noises that only deep, balls-to-the-walls sex can achieve. I felt a clammy touch of anxiety drag across my spine, but all I could do was smile back and pretend that this was just a normal conversation. Fortunately, the woman did not seem to notice my apprehension; at least, she simply cocked her head slightly with a beatific smile, and continued with her insipid small-talk.

"So, what do you do, my dear?"

I smiled awkwardly, unable to take my eyes off of her undulating tits. "I'm in publishing," I muttered.

"Oh, marvelous!" She beamed at me and put a hand on my thigh, allowing me to gaze deep into her eyes as her cunt stretched tightly around her husband's cock. "My son recently purchased a publishing house of his own; Miregrove, I believe it was. Or.. mh. No, I must ask my husband. Oh, Irvine! Irvine, darling!"

To my surprise, the man behind her said nothing, but simply grabbed the woman's hips a little harder as he pumped himself into her. Instead, a graying gentleman in an armchair a few feet away turned his head and smiled, his kindly, brown eyes peering through a ram's head mask at us. He was, I noticed, balls deep in the throat of a young woman, whose blonde hair flowed like a river of gold over her naked shoulders. With a tiny wave, Irvine called back: "Yes, dear?"

"I was just telling this charming young lady about Michael's new publishing house. What was the name of it again?"

"Murkroe Books." Irvine turned his attention to me, and looked as proud as any father could with his cock jammed down a college-aged woman's throat. "A great opportunity! He says they have the next thing to rival Harry Potter!"

"That's.. tremendous," I said, and tried as hard as I could to ignore the sound of flesh on flesh as the middle-aged woman next to me took a pounding to rival the beaches on D-Day. I could practically hear the slopping, soppy wet folds of her cunt gripping the man's length, and with a sudden burst of anxiety, I shot to my feet and apologized as I slinked away from the couple. Seemingly unfazed, they simply returned to their carnal activities, their sounds and moans joining with the rest of the people in the play room.

Feeling slightly light-headed, I scampered out of the room and walked over to the buffet table, where all manner of canapes and drinks vied for my attention. Cautiously, I picked up a roll of something bright pink and green, and slipped it between my lips. The taste of fresh salmon, cilantro and the crunch of cucumber instantly exploded across my tongue, and I chewed happily on the tasty morsel, allowing the flavors to distract me from the madness I had left behind. More and more, this was starting to feel like a mistake. I had lost track of Cherry practically the moment she had pushed inside, and now I felt a nervous tugging in my stomach as I contemplated simply running from the house. I probably wouldn't get far, in my stupid, red heels and the sheer white dress, but what were my options? Go hide in the bathroom? Roam the infinitely looping rooms and halls of the mansion until I found Cherry again, and then insist that she take me home? She would kill me for being a scaredy-cat. Or at least lose all respect for me. So that was hardly a plan, either...

"Why, hello there..!"

The voice was husky, honeyed, and it drew my attention up to a tall, aristocratic-looking woman in her early 40's. Her eyes were hazel and her lips were a certain hue of scarlet that gave the impression of blood upon blood, and with her tiny, predatory smirk, I immediately knew that I was in trouble.

"Hi," I demured, but before I could make any move to extract myself from the situation, the woman had reached out and tugged my mask slightly down, while making a mocking tut with her tongue.

"Your mask is crooked, dear. And you seem to be enjoying entirely the wrong kind of treats for the theme of tonight's party. Is this really what you came all the way out here for..?"

Despite her mask, I could see one eyebrow arch sardonically, and I shook my head shamefully, trying in vain to find the proper words. The sides of her mask were adorned by black feathers, and the nose guard resembled a beak, as of a crow or a raven. With her black dress, large breasts and high cheek bones, she very much reminded me of a bird of prey... which by inference made me the prey.

I swallowed a lump and tried to regain my ability to speak. "I'm sorry," I said, perhaps a little more deferentially than I had meant, "I'm just.. a little overwhelmed, I suppose. It's my first time here.."

The woman laughed and nodded. "I could tell. Well, then, I suppose we ought to get you acquainted, hmn? Come."

She seized my wrist, and for a second I was worried she was going to drag me back to the post swingers and their awkward, mid-sex small talk. But instead, she pulled me away from the play room in the direction that Cherry had indicated to be towards the private rooms, past an unmarked door and from there down a short hallway and into a cozy bedroom. It was dark inside, but the curtains were pulled to allow the full moon to shine down on an immaculately made queen size bed and a smattering of other expensive-looking furniture, most of which seemed like shapeless lumps in the darkness. Ushering me in and shutting the door, the woman let the moon be our only source of light, and instead walked up to drape her arms around my shoulders.

"Are you nervous?"

It was an innocent question, but the way she said it made me wonder whether I ought to be. Tentatively, I nodded.

"Yes, Ma'am..."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"What are you afraid I might do to you?"

"I..." I licked my lips nervously. "I don't know."

I watched as her gaze fell to my lips, and for a split-second I could see the cogs turning in her head. Then she leaned forward, hands like firm talons on my shoulders, and pressed her mouth to mine in a deep, insistent kiss. I felt myself freeze and tense up, and for a moment I feared that she would read my reluctance as a sign to stop. But she persisted, and gradually I felt my body respond to her touch, growing warm and pliable between her hands. Eagerly, I began to return the kiss, and when she pushed me backwards onto the bed, I went down willingly, feeling the breath catch in my throat as heat began to course through my body.

"Spread your legs," she commanded, and I obeyed, feeling her hands pull up my dress until my thighs were laid bare, and my underwear exposed to her gaze. A faint giggle arose from her throat at the sight of the white lace panties, and then she pushed her face in between my legs, her hands drawing up my thighs as she knelt before me. I could feel her nose and tongue rub against the fabric of my panties, and the heat of her breath caressing my delicate skin, and without thinking, a soft moan escaped my lips. The woman's fingers gripped the inside of my knees, hefted them up towards my chest, and her masked eyes peeked up from over the rim of my stomach as she purred against my sex.

"Do you know who I am, girl?"

I wanted to say something, but couldn't. Fortunately, my silence spoke for me.

The woman smirked like a lion atop her prey. "I am the Duchess Carmichael," she purred. "This is my home, and my party. Do you understand what that means?"

I shook my head slightly, although I had a pretty good idea. I could feel her lips trace across the skin of my inner thigh, and it sent shivers of muted pleasure up and down my spine with every movement.

"It means," she said in a low growl, "that I take personal offense to people not enjoying themselves while they are here. You don't want to offend me, do you?"

I shook my head again, even as the slippery tip of her tongue dug in and wiggled past the barrier of my underwear, finding skin and warm, wet lust. Still holding my legs tightly, she began to nudge and tease my panties to the side, and I felt my body tense and shiver as her tongue slowly dragged across my clit, wet and soft and strong and hot. I gasped, in part from the pleasure of her assault, in part from the surprising forcefulness with which she held me and teased me, never slaking her grip except to reassert it just as firmly a split-second later. With her face thus sumarily buried in my crotch, the Duchess gave a hum like something between a moan and a purr, and I replied in turn, giving a moan to admit that she was doing something right.

For several minutes she held me there, teasing and prodding around the edge of my panties, until I could feel my whole body hum and buzz with delight. A small part of the fog that had clouded my mind with doubt earlier seemed to have lifted, but I knew that it wasn't enough, and that I had to take it further if I wanted rid of it. A small part of me wondered what part of the Duchess I might gain after a bout with her, but a far larger part of me was too concerned with whether or not I could find my climax then and there, and did not give a single fuck about my curious and bizarre ability to worry further. Unable to move my legs in any meaningful capacity, I instead resorted to simply bucking and grinding my hips against her, and evidently this pleased the older woman, because she seemed to grow more aggressive as my movements grew more frantic. Finally, I felt myself nearing the peak, and my moans grew louder, but no sooner have I prepared to climax than she pulled away, looped her fingers around my panties and pulled them off.

"That's more like it," she smiled, and I could see her eyes as little more than dark orbs in the center of her avian mask, "but we can do better, can't we?

I nodded, mutely, and watched as she stood up, her fingers working deftly in the dark to pull up the bottom of her dress, and then climb up into the bed with me. A brief scuffle, a panting grunt as I let her drag me further onto the immaculate sheets, and then my world went dark, smothered in the round, firm canyon of her ass as she straddled my face. Hands gripped my thighs, trailing to the knees and pulling my legs apart, and I could smell her honey-scented pussy mere inches from my face, a whiff of deep, feminine musk that made my head spin with its potency. The Duchess let a soft, purring laugh roll over the edge of her lips, and then she leaned forward, her legs spreading just enough to lower her entire body onto me and burying my face in her scent.

"Lick," she demanded, and I did, letting my tongue dart out to blindly trace the slope of her inner thigh, hunting for the soft folds that I knew were waiting for me. I'd never done this before, I had no real idea how to proceed, but the sensation of her tongue and lips digging against my clit was all the encouragement I needed. Then again, what choice did I have? With her hips wiggling and grinding slowly against my face, the slow, wet drag of her sex across my skin-- I shifted just enough to feel her cunt rub against my mouth, and then darted out my tongue, groping and prodding for something that made sense. I knew my own anatomy, after all. Hers couldn't be all that different.

The taste was odd, foreign, but I found that every tentative lick gave me a bigger taste for it, her juices running down my cheeks and chin and coating my tongue with a thick, slightly sticky sheen. I could feel her folds wrap tenderly around the tip of my nose, and breathing became a game of skill, gulping down half-hearted lungfuls of air in between the eager motions of my tongue lapping at her warm, fragrant wetness. Soon, I found a small nub, hard and prominent against the softness of her sex, and this I began to attack with a vengeance, reflecting every stroke of her tongue on my clit with a stroke of my own. The pleasure was immense, coursing through me like a river of electric sparks, and I felt my body tense and flex involuntarily beneath her dominant form. Breasts pressed against bellies, thighs locked around heads, two tongues working in sync to lap and lick at a warm, wet slit; in the stillness of the bedroom, our dual moans and spit-slick noises seemed to fill my head with lust, and the more of her sex I tasted, the more I wanted, suckling and slurping like a wanton leech at her cunt and her voracious sexual appetite both.

I could feel it, her need, her promiscuous glee, the deep, heartfelt desire to fuck and be fucked, the primal yearning for pleasure beyond any other earthly want; it flowed into me, filling me and warming my limbs like a potent liquor, and despite my world being confined to the warm cave of her legs and ass, I felt free, as if waking from a deep and cold slumber. She was warm and strong and here. She was wet and sweet on my lips, a grind of soft flesh against my mouth. She was sex, pure and simple, and I licked and kissed, slurped and swallowed every drop of her that I could find, lacking finesse but more than making up for it with sheer, debauched enthusiasm.

I barely noticed my own orgasm until it was upon me, but when it did my body flexed as if it had been hit by a hammer, and my head shot backwards in a loud, surprised cry of unbridled pleasure as the Duchess' tongue continued to squirm and drag in tight, rapid circles around my clit. Over and over my body jerked beneath hers, and her fingers dug deep into the flesh of my thighs as she clutched me close, savoring the exultation of lust that were pouring from my lips in the form of deep, guttural groans and moans of bliss. Only when I began shaking in earnest, and my legs began kicking feebly in the air did she relent, and I felt my pleasure-buzzer practically ache with relief when she dragged her lips off of it with a soft smack. Mewling and gasping, I tried to lift my head to reciprocate the sensation, but I found that the aftershocks of pleasure made me too weak to move. I gave a shuddering sigh.

"I... fuck..!"

The Duchess laughed. "Yes? Are you starting to get into the spirit of things now?"

I nodded, uncertain if she could feel it between her legs, and nuzzled tenderly against the soft skin of her thigh. "Thank you," I moaned, but it was a faint sound, and it broke halfway through when I felt the sensation of her two fingers pushing against my sodden lips and sliding effortlessly into my tight hole.

"Good." The woman sounded like a cat who had caught a whole flock of canaries. "Then why don't we invite some of our audience to join us? They look ever so eager..."

I froze. Audience? What audience? Unable to move, I could only listen as several pairs of footsteps began crossing the room, the rustling of clothes and the sound of zippers denoting the eager undressing of several individuals. I felt strange, trying to reconcile the idea that somebody had been watching me thrash through my most powerful orgasm to date, but to my glee, I found that the idea turned me on more than anything. The Duchess' unstoppable, exhibitionistic appetite for lewdness was coursing through me, as much a part of me now as Stephen's nervous uncertainty had been before. I felt the bed shift as bodies climbed on, and without thinking, I spread my legs wider, eager for more, eager to feel.

The Duchess Carmichael did not disappoint. Her hands slid across my inner thighs, gently and caressing as if offering my body to some unseen person. Voices spoke, but they were mutterings, too low for me to hear, and the Duchess simply chuckled and made a noise of agreement, running her fingers to my wet, puffy lips and spreading them lewdly. Something blunt found the entrance, pushing gently into the wetness of my sex, and then I felt hands seize my ankles, and the thick, hot drag of a cock pushing into me, meeting no resistance from the wet aftermath of the Duchess' preparations but nonetheless spearing me open in a pleasure-pain of penetration. Another shadow appeared above my head, and I saw briefly the outline of a long, thick cock silhouetted against the moon before it dove in between the cheeks directly above me, and the sound of flesh sliding into wet, slick flesh erupted just inches from my nose.

Male voices rang out, groans and grunts of pleasure mixing with the moans of myself and the Duchess. unthinking, I leaned up my head and wrapped my lips around the clit of the older woman on top of me, feeling the tight nub against my tongue even as a warm cock began to pound into her, with the gentleman's nuts soon finding a steady rhythm to slap against the bridge of my nose. At the same time, the tight, slick drag of the man fucking me kept my lips deep in moans, the hard and powerful thrusts sending bursts of bright pleasure through my still sensitive sex. The sound and smell of sex grew denser around me, and I found myself sinking into the rhythm of the orgiastic frenzy, craning my neck and opening my mouth eagerly when the man above me slid himself out of the Duchess and presented his cock to my lips. Wantonly, seemingly without regard for his own orgasm, he switched between her hole and my mouth a dozen times, reaching down to cup my head in one hand while face-fucking me before pulling out and sinking himself roughly into the waiting lap of the Duchess. I kissed his balls, letting my tongue lavish the twin orbs with thick spit, all the while moaning as my own hole was fucked roughly and enthusiastically. Back and forth, caught between three violently horny people, I allowed myself to simply go with the flow and open myself, quite literally, to the experience unfolding around me.

It was not merely pleasure coursing through me, however. With the Duchess Carmichael's sex having conferred to me a bright and eager desire for unbridled debauchery, I now found myself shifting and lurching between sensations and abilities I had never possessed before. Thoughts and ideas flowed past my consciousness, forming and fading too fast to grasp in full, and the cacophony of sensation mixed with the pleasure to create something mind-bending, as if my very personality was being scrambled by the bodies pressing against me. I could hear, faintly, the sound of the Duchess fellating someone, and the loud, potent smacks of the man fucking her laying a series of hard spanks into her ass. My own ass was no better off, the flurry of hard impacts making it tingle and glow read against the man's thighs. One of his fingers was rubbing my clit, and I came again, violently, with the guy at my head seizing my hair and pushing himself between my lips, the heft of his cock bulging against my throat and the heady thrusts between my legs hammering against my G-spot. At the same time, the Duchess gagged and gulped, her mouth overflowing with cum and spit, and every muscle in her body trembling as she swallowed and swallowed and swallowed and....

And then it was quiet. I barely remembered how it ended, one load between my legs, another pumped deep into the Duchess' salacious cunt and left to drip down onto my face as my mind reeled and spun in a dizzy, lust-fueled hazy. Lying on the bed, I could still hear the orgy continuing outside, smooth jazz and cries of pleasure mixing into a single depraved mix of noise and sweat and stench and sin. I would join them in a minute, I knew; the night was young, and my senses were abuzz with the possibilities of what I might experience. But for the moment, I simply lay back and tried to gather myself, letting the swirl of confused emotions settle like snow in a snow globe. Whose trait had I acquired, I wonder? And what was it? I could no longer feel the crippling anxiety of Stephen's mind, nor the rapturous glee of the wanton, whorish Duchess. I licked my lips slowly, and tasted salt and musk. Perhaps I had learned another language? Or I might have picked up woodworking? Or maybe I knew how to dance now, or some strange, Historical facts about Africa. Anything was possible, and only time would tell. Slowly, I sat up and tucked my dress back into place. It was probably stained, but I didn't care; making it through a night like tonight without stains probably meant that you hadn't applied yourself properly, anyway. Laboriously, I got to my feet. It was time to rejoin the party.

"Alright, y'all," I murmured to myself, speaking the words before I had time to think, "time for this cowgirl to get back in th' saddle."

I blinked, my mouth clamping up like an oyster. I could still feel the twang in the back of my throat, surprising and, yes, foreign. Cautiously, I rolled a few syllables around on my tongue, and felt the words inflect with what was, unmistakably, not my normal accent. I sighed.

"Aw, shucks..!"