The house was unremarkable. It was the first thing she noticed as they pulled up to the curb, a bit down the block. Brick, with an enormous roof, cascading gables, and a two-story entryway skylight, showing off a giant crystal chandelier, which she understood they were meant to be impressed by. The house matching the address on the scrap of paper in her hand was identical in unremarkableness to those on both its sides, the exact sort of cookie-cutter pretend opulence one expected from the farthest reaches of suburbia.
Cambric Creek may have been small, and the architecture may have been specifically designed to accommodate the wide range of species who lived there, but the homes were at least attractive, she thought. Even the newer developments, like the one Lurielle lived in, were designed to resemble the craftsman style made popular by goblins in the 19th century, with peaked roofs and intricate woodworking. She’d shown Ainsley around town, the weekend he’d stayed with her for the film festival. They'd driven around the subdivisions, and he'd marveled over the adaptive architecture, excitedly telling her about a book he’d read on the history of minotaurs and centaurs creating their own settlement towns at the turn of the previous century, building homes to accommodate their unique physiology.
"They don't have to have their own settlements here," she exclaimed with a smile. "There are special builds adapted to fit different sizes of residents, and then they can get as many specialized add-ons for the interior and exterior as they want. Houses get pretty pricey if they're made to exact specifications, I think most people just get the necessities and then make do with the rest. My friend, she's an elf too, she bought a house designed for an ogre, but it was the only thing on the market that she could afford at the time. She just climbed on ladders for everything."
Next, they’d gone through Oldetowne, and Ainsley had insisted she find someplace to park so they could stroll the block and gawk at the second empire-style manor homes and Queen Anne Victorians with turrets and gingerbread trim, and twee little balconies on tiny third story windows.
"We have neighborhoods like this, I think every old industrial town has neighborhoods like this . . . but it's not likethis."
"It's a lot of the original families who still live in these houses," she explained. "It's a golden ticket to find a house for sale in this neighborhood. The few times it’s happened since I moved here, the entire town showed up for the open house just to snoop."
"I fully expect you to invite me as your plus one the next time that happens," he laughed. "I love snooping."
By contrast, the McMansions lining this out-of-the-way stretch of road were soulless in their identicalness. Ris squinted at the amount of roof the house had, like a mountainside ski slope, oddly-placed dormers popping up like gophers.
"Well, it just goes to show," Ainsley announced, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it to the car’s backseat. "There’s no accounting for taste. There’s more roof than house!" She put her hand to her face, attempting to hold back her laughter as he came around to the side of the road where she stood. They had dressed for the occasion — she wore a snug, knit camisole, and a short flippy skirt, her thong already discarded on his front seat. Ainsley's white button-down made his green skin glow, sleeves rolled up over his elbows and unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, tucked into snug black jeans which she knew had nothing underneath them. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of her own fur-lined jacket, adding it to the clothing in the car, unhooking her bra one-handed, and tossing it inside as well.
"We stick to the game plan."
"Game plan," she confirmed, raising her fist to meet his in a bump, giggling again when he gripped her hand, interlocking their fingers and giving her a squeeze before they trekked up the long driveway. "Here goes nothing."
Her heart was thumping in her chest, pressing as tightly as she could to his side for warmth as they rang the doorbell, the door quickly answered by a tall man with piercing eyes. Ainsley already had his cell phone in hand, ready to read off the confirmation code he'd received upon RSVPing, the man cross-checking it on his own handheld device. He squeezed her hand again when they were granted entrance, a petite blonde in a snug red dress standing in the foyer to greet them.
"Ohmy," she simpered, biting her lip and giving Ainsley a long, lascivious look over. "We don't get many orcs to our little soirées. What a tall drink of water . . . I'll bet you're abigboy. There’s only one way to measure though." She winked, and Ris felt Ainsley’s arm stiffen at her side. "I promise, I giveveryaccurate assessments." When neither of them responded, the blonde straightened up, frowning a little. "Well, follow me, I'll give you both the grand tour." The woman turned off the hallway motioning for them to follow, and the instant her back was turned, Ainsley's head swung to Ris, his eyes saucer wide.
"What. The. Fuck."
"Stop," she hissed under her breath, smacking his arm, feeling her laughter rising. "You're going to get us kicked out before we even get to do anything!"
"These are the locker rooms," the blonde announced, cutting her off. "Some people like to dress comfortably on their way in and then change once they get here," the blonde woman explained, "and some people like to strip down to their birthday suits after arriving," she added, glancing back to Ainsley with another little wink. Ris dug her nails into the meat of his palm, biting her lip to keep from laughing until she was sure she was about to break the skin. "Please be advised that playing in the locker room and changing room is not permitted. This is a neutral safe zone. Once you leave the confines of this area, the house rules are in effect . . . And here we have the steam room! It's not kept as hot as in a traditional spa, of course, but it's a nice way to getsteamy,in more ways than one."
As they stepped around the glass brick wall, Ris made unexpected eye contact with a man sitting on the bench. The roomwas, in fact, steamy, although the woman was right in that it did not have the same high temperature as the steam room at her gym. The man groaned, eyes rolling back, and her gaze dropped to the woman on the floor. She had the green skin and ears of a goblin, but the height of a human.A halfling, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from the way the girl sucked on the man's cock. "As you can see, once you leave the locker rooms, every room is considered full-service."
Ris wondered how much the couple had spent on renovating and plumbing each of the oversized rooms to accommodate the activities within as they were shown from the back of the house to the front, given a tour of a basement dungeon with numerous BDSM props and devices, up to the second-floor bedrooms, where a scene was taking place that reminded her uncomfortably of what she had witnessed at the orc resort's early summer party, when a ring of the hulking bodies had surrounded the two goblins on their knees.
"Well, that's about it! The rest is pretty self-explanatory, the house rules were included in the text you received with your entry code. This is a fully consensual playhouse, that is our main rule and any guest who strays from it will be removed from the premises and banned from all future events. Beyond that, anything goes. I don't like to restrict our guests, we only ask that you respect the property and leave each room in the same condition in which you found it. As I said before, once you leave the locker rooms, every area of the house is full service. That means the hallways connecting each room and every bit in between. Water sports should be confined to an area with a drain. Every guest is expected to clean up after themselves." Another wink in Ainsley’s direction, and Ris flattened her mouth, suddenly finding the woman’s flirtations not at all appropriate. "Every gentleman knows how much he expels, so we ask that you use good judgment. Idoask that you be cautious on the stairwell, by RSVPing yes, you did both sign a waiver of safety. We hope that you both enjoy yourselves and that you'll consider membership. This club was founded because of the exclusionary practices of some members of our community, but wearevery selective. This is a multi-species club, but we do require humanoid anatomy, and we have some restrictions in place on membership levels. We wouldn't want the whole club overrun with goblins, after all." The woman laughed at her own joke, as Ainsley squeezed her hand fitfully. "If you have any questions, my husband and I areeagerhosts." The last was said with raised eyes and another lingering look on Ainsley. "And wedoplay, of course. Looking forward to seeing you out there."
As soon as she had left them, heading back toward the foyer to greet the next guest who had arrived, Ainsley turned to Ris, his eyes still wide. "I feel like this is one of those parties where everyone is going to change into tuxedos and those pig-head masks. You heard what she said. I'm going to be the main course." She gripped his sleeve not bothering to hold in her laughter then, pulling him back towards what the woman had called the great room. "I'm not even kidding! These people are speciest. They probably have one of those flags, you know, the one with the bee? It's like 'hey there, I don't care about your species rights, don't step on my bee,' that one."
She pinned him against the wall and slumped against his chest, her shoulders shaking in uncontrolled laughter at his ridiculous monologue. "Do you want to leave? It's totally up to you, you're the one who's going to wind up on a spit, after all. If you want to go, we'll go."
He huffed, rolling his eyes, gripping her hand a little tighter. "No, we'll stay. I don't want to assume the rest of the guests are exactly like the host. Although," he added, "we should probably find out who excluded them in the first place and see what sort of shindigstheyhave."
The majority of the crowd seemed to be werewolves and shifters, humans and nymphs and trolls making up a sizable chunk of the rest. She watched, as at the table nearest them, a smiling woman with two antennae protruding from her forehead allowed the man beside her to pull open her blouse, testing the weight of her breasts in his hands. One by one, each person at the table extended a hand to fondle the woman and tug at her nipples, the original man coming behind her once everyone had a turn, slipping his arms beneath hers to cup her from behind. At another table, two men had pulled out their penises, and much like the first table, everyone standing around it took a turn giving each man a tug..
"Okay," she began, scanning the room slowly, "This is alot. I think we should make a slight amendment to the game plan."
"You're going to give me to the pig-head people, aren't you."
She dropped against his chest again, smacking the front of his shirt in a fit of giggles.
"No! I just think that maybe we should be amenable to letting others touch. Just touch! Rest of the rules still apply. We have to be together, and they can only touch if we both approve. But look around." He looked out at the room, and Ris tracked his gaze as it moved over the tables, lingering over the people on the sofas, nodding his head slowly.
"Yeah, okay fine. I see what you mean. But as soon as they break out the tuxes, I want out of here."
"Deal," she smiled, raising her fist again to bump into his own, when her attention was caught by the action taking place near the wall beyond Ainsley’s shoulder, her mouth dropping open. A dryad with fern green skin and long tapered ears was on a backless chaise, her knees tucked tight to her chest, the side of her face pressed into the upholstery. The girl's eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth open in a perfect 'o', sweat beading on her furrowed brow. Behind her was a leanly muscled lagomorph man with long white ears and a fluffy white tail above the swell of his ass, cinched with a black leather strap. He was bent over the girl, his legs tucked over her thighs, his cock jackhammering into her so fast, Ris thought the movement was nearly a blur. The young man's face was splotchy red with exertion, but his pace never slowed, and the girl beneath him was clearly enjoying the treatment, small moans issuing from her open mouth.
"That . . . that, um . . . yeah . . . game plan," she stammered, earning a snort from the tall orc. She would have been lying if she’d pretended she might not like to give the lagomorph a try, particularly when he leaned over the dryad, hooking his arms around her waist, the speed of his hips somehow increasing.
