The eyes of all turned to me at my entrance, and the room tilted. I thought the floor might have sprung up like a wave to move me through the crowd. I couldn’t be sure if it did, or if the air was simply that ripe with drugged smoke to assault and claim me. I didn’t fall, I didn’t think I moved my feet at all, but through the crowd of men and satyrs I went, each of whom touched me as I passed, like cultists seeking boons from their patron. Fingers brushed my thighs, my chest, my prick. Just the barest of brushes, but from dozens, all eagerly groping for a turn.
