A mass of bodies, writhing about in pleasure — Griz had always fantasized about orgies. Unfortunately, his awkward mannerisms and less than average looks all but ensured that he’d never experience such a thing. He’d had girlfriends here and there, but his fetish would inevitably drive them away. Obsessive and oppressively persistent, Griz was like a young child begging for sweets.
He received an unexpected package right before Christmas — a small box wrapped with a red satin bow. Inside was an invitation, addressed from Ken’s Den of Pleasure, for an upcoming ‘adults-only’ party. Initially, Griz believed it was a scam or some cruel practical joke perpetrated by a vindictive ex-girlfriend. After several email exchanges though, he was shocked to learn that he’d been invited by an anonymous VIP member — it was real.
The party was hosted several months later at a modest house in rural Illinois. As they had explained, the odd location was in line with their commitment to the discreetness and privacy of their members. Griz arrived at 8 pm sharp, right on time, dressed in a red satin robe. Gravel crunched under his feet as he strode excitedly up the walkway, the cool spring air washing over him.
As he approached, he could hear loud moaning and grunts echoing from inside — telltale sounds of an orgy. Thick black curtains obscured the inside from view, but he’d already painted a vivid picture in his mind. Half-erect, hands shaking from nervousness and excitement, he twisted the doorknob and galavanted in.
To his surprise, the downstairs was barren, a decaying concrete floor sparsely filled with raggedy furniture. To his right, a flight of stairs covered in white shag carpeting led to a much more ornate second floor. He could hear loud sounds of pleasure tumbling down from an upstairs bedroom, so he hurriedly jogged up the stairs, gripping the banister tightly. Visions of beautiful, scantily clad women fulfilling his every fantasy floated to the surface — he couldn’t believe it was finally happening.
Griz’s heart sank as he entered the ‘orgy room’; it was devoid of any sin or pleasure. There was only a solitary, heavily stained mattress and an ancient laptop, hooked up to speakers, lying precariously on top. Other than that, the room was completely empty.
A fierce kick to the back of his knee sent Griz flying to the ground, tooth chipping against the doorknob. A trio of hooded figures bestrode him, peering down with expressionless faces. A smile of devilish intent traversing his lips, the shortest assailant unsheathed a curved knife from his waistband. Tongue flicking like a snake, the hooded man grew erect, as did his compatriots.
In unison, they chanted in gargled speech, voices reaching a fevered pitch. Griz lay there still, cursing his unquenchable thirst for pleasure. Watching the crazed, erect men dance over him, most likely members of a sex cult, Griz promised himself that he’d abandon his perverse views on sex and love — forever.
The chanting stopped abruptly, and all eyes fell on Griz. Raising the knife far above his head, the men moaned loudly in pleasure, eyes rolling to the backs of their heads. Sensing a brief moment of respite, Griz viciously kicked the knife-wielding man squarely in the testicles. Howling in pain, the man crumpled to the ground, clenching his balls for dear life.
Scrambling to his feet, Griz sprinted down the stairs, tumbling out of the front door as rage-filled screaming followed him to his car. Feet glued to the accelerator, his wheel burned rubber as they peeled down a dusty country road, two hooded figures quickly becoming distant objects in his rearview.
Griz has moved more times than he could count since that day, but no matter where he goes, the invitations just won’t stop coming.
