9:00 AM
"What the hell did you do?"
Darrius felt the sensation burn his lips. An overwhelming sweetness swirled about his mouth, chocked the back of his throat, and warmed every inch of his skin. His mouth salivated, but as he wiped away the drool, static danced over his fingers, shocking him.
"I warned you not to eat any food." Madam Lussuria's blood-red lips curved into a half-smile. She was tall, almost seven feet, with rich chestnut hair put up in a high twist. Her broad shoulders supported two massive breasts that pushed against her silver metallic blouse and black jacket. The striped pencil skirt outlined wide hips and a miraculous ass. "Our fruit was never meant for the help."
"You... you told me—" Darrius balled his fingers into a fist to stop his hand vibrating. The current hadn't stopped. His wrist started twitching. "You put that thing in my mouth!"
"Do as I say, Mr. Owens, not as I do. Now sit down. You've been upgraded."
She sashayed away. Darrius hated the fact he couldn't stop watching her. The practiced rotation of her waist conjured images of her atop him, milking his cock between her thighs, his hands gripping those massive ass cheeks as she spasmed. He shook the idea from his head and looked down to the half-eaten grape now crushed in his palm.
"Time to sit, sir." The bass voice behind the half-mask caused Darrius's bones to reverberate and his cock to twitch. A hand clamped onto his shoulder, and Darrius stifled a moan.
What the hell was in that grape? Darrius thought as his guide sat him in the nearest throne.
‘Throne’ was the word. Darrius had been here since 3:00 AM with the catering/entertainment company helping set up. The facility already contained the hundred-foot oak table and six dozen solid gold thrones, each with a different shaded gem the size of a human fist centered in the headboard. They had their own food: Quail by the dozen, gigantic roasts, fruit all the colors of the rainbow, matched by multilayered cakes spread about the massive table. But they needed sound equipment for the band, tables placed, and silverware set. They had been warned in the vans not to eat a single Goddamn thing, or it would be their ass.
But she'd put the grape between his teeth and said, "doesn't this look good?"
His co-workers had been shepherded away replaced by totally not-creepy dudes in robes and masks. But Darrius was ordered to stick around and "help." The table was crowded with every species of rich. Wallstreet bros laughed while showing off their watches, Eurotrash royalty muttered to themselves, judging their associates. There were at least four heiresses, three of whom had sex tapes. An angry-looking woman in her sixties dressed in an onyx mourning gown made conversation with an ancient man in a wheelchair. The whole world was represented, at least the parts that "mattered."
"Madam Lussuria picked you out, didn't she, Ace?"
Darrius turned to the man next to him. He was fat. Massive. His cheeks practically blotted out his eyes as his rolls sprawled over the armrests. Short round fingers played at his full lips as he said, "who are you?"
"The name's Darrius Owens." He glared. The fat man seemed different, but Darrius couldn't quite figure out why. Half-closed eyes sparked with a devious intelligence, and the smile revealed sharp white teeth that sent a shiver down Darrius' spine and to his dick, which kissed the inside of his zipper.
"No worries, Ace. Happens to us all. Breathe. Don't fight your body; feel it. That's how you win." The fat man’s wink caused the entire right side of his face to shift. "Time for the toast."
The ring that emanated from Madam's glass resounded around the table. The whispers and conversation of the guests were overwhelmed.
"Welcome one and all." Madam Lussuria lowered the spoon and glass. "To the Festival of Eden. You're here to celebrate the new year and, of course, your goddess."
Damn, her blouse looked even tighter than before. Darrius couldn't wait for this shindig to be over and bury his face between her legs and eat his fill.
"Lift your glasses one and all. And toast—”
She closed her eyes as if in prayer.
“With Great Delight we sit in her shadow,
She summons us to this banquet home.
Fruit sweet to our taste.”
Each word fueled the power in Madam Lussuria's voice until a gale swept across the room. The double doors slammed shut.
"Our Mystery is dedicated to experience. Those who endure our festivities will be rewarded beyond their human conception. No thought will be paid to those who do not. So, let us begin. Drink."
Their champagne flutes filled mystically before their eyes. Darrius was glad to see that many of the asshats looked as terrified as he felt. Except for the blob next to him, who picked up his flute bored.
Fuck it. As Darrius reached across. He picked up the glass and swallowed the light, sharp liquid. It hadn't even hit his tongue when his senses burst. The colors around him: the emerald fabric of the table cloth, the rich raven black of his shirt, the scarlet of the strawberries, burned his eyes with their intensity. He could inhale and smell the Seauvage Eau cologne across the room. He heard the sharp intake of breath from 74 people. The champagne's flavor exploded, and his shirt, slacks, and drawers felt like sandpaper. He almost launched into the food, to tear flesh from bone. He was halfway up when he felt a hand on his thigh, causing him to whimper.
"Down boy." Darius felt the warmth of the Fatman's whisper as those pudgy fingers rubbed his quivering leg. Darrius instinctively thrust forward, hoping those fingers would unzip the raging erection that those soft palms would encircle his shaft and let him bask in pleasure.
"You've gotta make it to midnight, Ace," the whisper felt like a caress. "If you're still conscious at midnight, the reward is... indescribable. But it's gonna be a wild ride." A finger brushed Darrius' lips and nudged him to face the head of the table. "Look."
All eyes were now on Madam Lussuria. She still drank from her champagne flute that never emptied. It poured out as she gulped from the endless river. Her free hand at her throat, rubbing the fluid against her skin. The blouse was drenched, the liquid clinging to her breasts, which rose and fell with each desperate gasp of air. Darrius could see others beginning to eat. The Eurotrash prince swallowed grapes by the handful, and little Miss Instagram's face was already covered in chocolate as she licked the remains from her fingers.
"One piece at a time?" Darrius asked his guide.
"For now." Fatman giggled and slipped a strawberry into Darrius's open mouth. "Doesn't this look good?"
It was the best thing Darrius had ever felt up until that moment. The crisp, sweet tang infused his entire skin, and the world literally became brighter.
"Slowly," Darrius said, chewing. Every rush of flavor caused his cock to twitch. "No need to rush."
"That's it, Ace," the Fatman said, kissing the tip of Darius' wrist. "All in good time."
9:37 AM
Darrius had finished his third agony induing strawberry and had unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric felt bladed, but he knew the longer he could make this last, the better. Around the table, others were in various states of undress. One princess had delicately removed Armani gloves while the grieving Widow had torn her dress from neck to nape. Her flat, wrinkled bosoms rested on the table; the dead grey hair fell in her face while she ate. But two gigantic and engorged nipples temped Darrius, who at 26 had never felt that kind of rough skin under his body. He wanted to kiss her. Worship her.
Silverware crashed to the ground, and with his new ears, Darrius cringed from the thunderous clatter.
"First to break," Fatman chuckled, and Darrius quivered at the sound. He imagined Fatty slowly entering him. "Check out the Disney Princess."
That's precisely what she echoed. Blond hair, pale skin, high cheekbones, and wearing an elegant sapphire gown, she crawled onto the table. Dishes fell as she slithered across, ripping roast with teeth, juices running down her silk front. She moaned at the taste, and Darius groaned in response. Another woman leapt upon the table. A tight scarlet dress adorned a muscular body, coral black skin, and pink hair. She dashed towards sleeping beauty, who continued to feast on all fours, her legs spread and back arched. There wasn't a moment's hesitation. As soon as the red adorned muse stopped and pulled up her dress to reveal soaked black panties, her new friend lifted her face, opened her mouth, and licked the flavor off an inner thigh. Then she gripped the ass and started to feast.
"Deeper, girl." Ebony fingers intertwined with gold hair. The scarlet woman's voice began to echo. "More!"
Darrius could not place the accent.
Two Wallstreet bros scrambled onto the table. One slipped and landed prostrate next to blondie. He crawled the rest of the way, using a knife to slice open the dress and stick his face between her cheeks. The effect was immediate as Darrius heard the loud orgasmic shriek from the pink-haired goddess moments after the muffled sigh between her legs. He could smell their cum and, with his new senses, taste their flavors in the air. The other Wallstreeter watched for a moment before pulling down his pants and revealing the largest cock Darrius had ever seen. Darrius felt his ass squeeze and mouth water as dude-bro 2 entered dude-bro 1 and started fucking.
"That's nothing, Ace," His guide laughed. "But heads up. It's time to play."
Darrius turned to find one of the Instagram models in front of his new mentor. Her legs open, breasts bare, spasming hard enough to shake the table. The Fatman's expression was a languid mischievousness. He faced and spoke to Darrius with deliberate ease, but his fingers danced over the dish like a pro. His ring and middle finger flexed inside her at a thunderous pace, occasionally reappearing soaked and pruned. With his other hand, he rubbed, stroked, teased, and tortured her clit.