Erotics Anonymous - A Strangers in the Night Story

by Veronica Wilde

  She knew that the Society’s Valentine’s Ball would hold many unpleasant surprises. Today’s encounter with Jonathan was probably just the tip of the iceberg. No doubt Professor Deveaux would devise some truly perverse tests for her induction ceremony. But it was her only chance at seeing her Muse again. She had to gamble with Fate and attend.

  Chapter Seven

  Valentine’s Night

  Now, here she was at the Valentine’s Ball, kneeling before the lustful crowd as naked and vulnerable as a sacrifice. As she frantically searched the faces for a loving pair of dark eyes, it occurred to her that perhaps she had been wrong about her Muse’s feelings for her. She had been fooled by Professor Deveaux’s silky words, maybe she had been fooled by his apparent tenderness as well. What, really, did she have to go on? The loving emotion in his eyes? The trembling of his fingers when he touched her for the first time?

  She swallowed nervously.

  A hand behind her gathered up her long blonde hair. “Rise,” said Professor Deveaux.

  Chelsea had no choice but to stand along with her painfully lifted hair. Professor Deveaux’s eyes ran greedily down her body. “You’re going to make everyone very happy tonight,” she purred.

  “Ev-everyone?” That couldn’t mean what she thought it did. There were dozens of people, all genders and all ages, in this room.

  “Why, yes, ma chère, you are luscious to behold.” Professor Deveaux cupped Chelsea’s breasts, then burst into laughter at the expression on her face. “But as for true happiness…that will be restricted to the winner of our Valentine’s lottery.”

  Good God. Lottery? This was getting more sordid by the second. How had she ever let herself be duped by these people? She was the most naïve person on earth, a dumb, gullible college girl so blinded by her infatuation for her favorite author—who turned out to be a vulgar schmuck—that she had walked right into the lion’s mouth. Standing there naked, she knew she hadn’t been selected for the Society as a gifted young writer. She had been selected as a young, blonde piece of ass whose desire to be published made her an easy mark.

  She blinked back tears. Professor Deveaux had outsmarted her, her Muse probably wasn’t even here tonight. And now she had humiliated herself for nothing.

  Her professor was looking her over as if she intended to win the auction herself. “I predict you will fetch a good price… Very nice to pass your initiation test while earning so much money for the Society, yes?” A malicious smile glittered from her eyes as she said, “I know you cannot pay your dues, dear. So you will pay them comme ça.”

  “You never mentioned any dues,” Chelsea growled in a low voice.

  “Didn’t I? Be sensible, ma chère, you must have realized someone was paying for the limos and hotel rooms and toys. And you won’t turn shy on me now, will you? Why, this will be nothing after the naughty things you’ve done with strange men…”

  That’s different! Chelsea longed to scream. He wasn’t really a stranger! We have something special! Instead she prepared to tell her professor something much cruder and more hostile—a profane insult that she’d never forget.

  Then she saw him.

  Surreptitiously he had moved through the circle of people to stand directly in the line of her gaze. He was about six feet tall, with that lush, chestnut wavy hair, and he was beautiful. Just beautiful. The face she had tried to imagine for weeks was the very picture of masculine perfection, with high cheekbones, a classical nose and that full, sensual mouth that had kissed her so feverishly. Yet it was his eyes that held her now, his dark, smoldering eyes that promised the granting of her every wish even as they silently instructed her to play along with her professor’s kinky game.

  She struggled not to cry with relief as he gave her a slight nod. It gave her the courage she needed.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Fine,” she said defiantly, as if allowing her body to be raffled off as a prize wasn’t really so bad. She looked into Professor Deveaux’s predatory eyes and arched her eyebrows as if daring her to do her worst.

  A brilliant smile unfurled across her professor’s face. “Lovely.” She turned away. “Everyone! You’ve all had a chance to see the luscious lottery prize for our Valentine’s Ball. Those of you who would like to buy a ticket, please see Carl over there.”

  Tickets? This was so demeaning. As Professor Deveaux went on in her instructions for the Ball, Chelsea stole another glance at her Muse. Oh God, he was breathtaking. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined he could look that good. For the first time she understood the clichéd expression, the eyes are the windows to the soul; for the love and protective tenderness she was certain she had seen in those eyes on their nights together was now etched across his gorgeous face. He was not a crass swinger like the men hungrily eyeing her displayed body, he was a good-hearted man. She was sure of it. What he was doing here, she had no idea, but then she had come here too. She’d save the judgments until she met him.

  From somewhere a seductive music began. Chelsea was relieved as the guests began to mingle with each other, drinking, eating and talking as they had at the first party she’d glimpsed in January. Unfortunately, many of the men were forming a smaller circle around her. Professor Deveaux scowled at them.

  “You know the rules, mes amis,” she snapped. “Buy your ticket from Carl. No freebies.”

  “We’re just saying hi,” one retorted. “She’s a member now, we can be friendly.” He gave Chelsea a leering wink. “Hey, babe. I just wanted to tell you that you are the most gorgeous Muse they’ve found in a while.”

  What? She wasn’t a Muse, she was a member. She glared at Professor Deveaux at the woman’s betrayal but another figure stepped between them. Jonathan Danvers.

  “Remember me?” he said with his own cheesy wink. As she took in his receding hairline and wine-flushed face, she couldn’t believe this man had ever been her fantasy. The photo on his book jacket was definitely misleading. “You can be sure I’m buying multiple lottery tickets to get my hands on you tonight. Bet you wouldn’t mind a couple of hours with your favorite author, wouldja?”

  Gag me, Chelsea thought, concentrating all of the hostility she could into her eyes.

  “Jonathan, don’t touch!” Professor Deveaux scolded. “All of you, step back! If you don’t have your chance tonight, you’ll have your chance later. Stop crowding her.”

  If you don’t have your chance tonight, you’ll have your chance later? What the hell did that mean? Was she honestly expected to sleep with any guy in the Society who asked her? Oh, she had been so dumb. So dumb, dumb, dumb. She sought out the gaze of her Muse for reassurance. He looked worried but gave her another nod. Somehow that was enough to calm her. She trusted this nameless young man who’d captured her heart. It was preposterous, but she trusted him completely.

  Long minutes ticked by as the Society members mingled around the room. As before, the servers carrying trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres were naked. Chelsea was relieved to no longer be the only naked girl in the room. One of the servers was a girl from her Philosophy class, which startled her. Studying them closely, she realized the essential divide at the Ball. Most of the younger guests seemed to be working, serving drinks, giving foot massages and acting as sexual eye candy. The older guests, on the other hand, were fully clothed, enjoying themselves fully and selecting their Muses as if considering dinner entrees. Now she understood completely. Those students who couldn’t pay their dues worked it off, probably with the same pathetic literary hopes she had. That was how the Society worked. It procured the pretty young members for the benefit of the older, lascivious members.

  Nikki was right, Chelsea thought in despair. This really was just a cheap sex club dressed up in fancy names. There might be famous people here, but they’ll never help her get published.

  The back of her neck prickled, as if someone was staring at her. She turned to see Jeff. He too was naked and wearing a black leather collar, much like the one she had recently disca
rded.

  They stared at each other as a riot of emotions churned inside her—humiliation, shock and concern for his welfare. Did Jeff realize they were simply being used as free sexual entertainment? Or was he so excited to be Professor Deveaux’s boy toy that he willingly served as a naked waiter? The uncertainty in his eyes spoke of the former, but his rock-hard erection as he stared at her body indicated the latter.

  “Ma chère, it is almost auction time. Many people have bought tickets. You should be proud of the money you have brought in.” Professor Deveaux steered her toward a platform by the fireplace.

  Screw you! Chelsea burned to tell her. Instead she followed her obediently to the platform and climbed the adjoining stairs. Now that she was elevated above the crowd, she felt even more excruciatingly naked. Knowing that she was about to be handed off as a lottery prize was even more degrading. The winner could be any man in this room and she would be expected to sleep with him—no matter how physically loathsome he was. For the first time, she truly understood the risks she had taken in submitting to all of her previous tests. She had been lucky enough to wind up with her Muse, yet Professor Deveaux could have sent anyone to test her. Then again, Professor Deveaux had probably been smart enough to send an appealingly sexy Muse to entice her into joining this vulgar club.

  Chelsea pressed her legs together, shielding her sex from the voracious eyes staring up at her. Unable to stop herself, she snuck another look at her Muse. He was no longer there. Cold panic crawled down her spine. What if he had left? What if she had misread his signals and he expected her to call a halt already to the whole mad affair?

  “Friends, colleagues… As erotic artists, we are now ready to truly celebrate the physical meaning of Valentine’s Day.”

  It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at her professor’s pretentious tone. These people might consider themselves erotic artists, but as far as she was concerned, they were middle-aged swingers, nothing more. She cast another desperate glance for her Muse. Where was he?

  Professor Deveaux concluded her speech, then made a lofty introduction about the lottery. Chelsea thought if she had to stand up there like a piece of meat for one more minute she would scream. At last, the winning ticket was drawn. Chelsea forced a look of composure onto her face as she waited to hear her Muse’s name called. Surely he had fixed the competition, right? Wasn’t that what his reassuring nods had meant?

  “…Jonathan Danvers.”

  “Yee-ha!” shouted Jonathan Danvers from the back of the room. “I bought enough goddamn tickets, damn right I should win!”

  He stumbled through the crowd, clearly drunk. Chelsea shuddered as he grasped her bare foot and licked it. “Come on,” he demanded, slurring his words. “I’m gonna make you sweat, little girl.”

  How utterly disgusting. She cast one last pleading look around the room, but her Muse was nowhere around. There was nothing to do but leave without him, and even that would be tricky, given the determination in Professor Deveaux’s eyes. She would not let her leave without a fight. Trying to control the shaking in her muscles, she climbed down off the platform and suffered Jonathan’s drunken arm around her waist.

  “Oh yeah, we’re gonna have fun,” he breathed in her ear. “Right now, babe, let’s hit it.”

  They didn’t expect her to have sex with him in public, did they? She looked in alarm at Professor Deveaux, and saw that even she was disgusted by Jonathan’s stumbling crudeness. “Please take it to the bedroom, Jon,” Professor Deveaux sniffed. “No one wants to see a replay of the night you won the slave auction.”

  Relief filled Chelsea. If she could just get away from this crowd, she could easily slip away. She’d tell Jonathan she needed to use the bathroom and then just never come back. As he led her through darkened halls and up a staircase, she realized that she was not only naked, but stranded in the country on a cold February night. She didn’t even have a cell phone to call someone.

  “Here’s the room,” Jonathan announced drunkenly and flipped a light switch. Chelsea saw a flash of brown hair as an object whistled through the air. A resounding thwack echoed in her ears. A moment later, Jonathan lay on the floor beside her.

  Her beautiful Muse stood in front of her.

  She threw herself into his arms, all of her suppressed tears flowing onto his chest. It wasn’t the first embrace she had intended to have with him, but the warm strength of his arms around her was so comforting, it unlocked her most turbulent emotions. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m taking care of you. But we’ve got to get out of here.”

  His deep voice flowed over her like warm honey. She could drown in that voice, could listen to him recite the alphabet and still want more. “My clothes and dorm key are still in the limo. I don’t have anything to wear or any money—”

  “I know. Here.” He pulled a long black bathrobe around her. “It’s all I could find. I called a taxi, it should be waiting out front. But we’re going to have to go out the back.”

  He grabbed her hand and led her through the dark, giant house that spread before them like a maze. Neither of them spoke. Other Society members were retiring to bedrooms in couples, trios and groups, and more than once her Muse pulled her into the shadows of a closet or bathroom while dodging the others. At last, he pulled her down a back staircase, through an immaculate kitchen, and out into the cold winter night.

  Nothing had ever smelled as good to Chelsea as that crisp forest air. She looked up at the bright stars twinkling overhead and gave a silent thanks to whatever goddess of love was looking out for her on this Valentine’s night.

  “Come on.” He pulled her around the house, which she could see now was a luxury mansion, and through a line of snow-laced hemlock trees. Through them, she could see the cars and limos parked before the house. Bored drivers smoked cigarettes and gossiped freely about their clients. There was no taxi among them.

  She squeezed his hand. He gestured for silence.

  The front door of the massive house flew open. Professor Deveaux emerged into the driveway with an expression of fury. “Has anyone left this house?” she asked the limo drivers. “A couple?”

  They shook their heads and Professor Deveaux turned to the men behind her. “Keep looking. They are here somewhere.”

  She turned to go inside. Just as Chelsea sighed with relief, their taxi pulled into the driveway, its roof light glowing in the night. Professor Deveaux’s eyes widened and she screamed, “Stop that driver!”

  “Now!” her Muse commanded and they ran for the cab, sprinting wildly through the chaos of limos, drivers and Society members. In one smooth move, he flung open the back door, shoved her in and jumped in after her. “Drive, it’s an emergency!” he shouted at the driver.

  Professor Deveaux’s shouting receded as their taxi pulled off into the night.

  Chapter Eight

  A soundless snow began to fall down over the dark countryside as they moved through the night. For a few moments, there was only the rhythmic rumble of the taxi engine. The driver spoke up. “Sounds like quite a party back there.”

  “It was hell on earth,” Chelsea muttered. She took off the torturous stiletto heels and dropped them on the floor of the cab, not caring if her feet were bare. Then she looked at her Muse.

  So this was the star of her winter fantasies—the man whose body had brought her to such fiery heights even as his face remained a mystery. Her eyes drank in his sculpted cheekbones, firm jaw and full lips before returning to the tender patience in his dark eyes. His luxurious chestnut hair was as unruly as ever, tousled, as if he had just finished the wildest sex of his life. It contrasted with the formal elegance of his tux, as if he were half-angel and half-demon.

  He smiled a dangerously sexy smile that made her heart twist. “I was so worried I’d never see you again.”

  The rich tenor of his voice stirred something deep inside her. “But here we are together at last,” she said with a shaky smile.

  Her Muse reached out and pulled h
er into his arms, black bathrobe and all. “I’m sorry I let it get this far,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “But if I had intervened sooner, they just would have stopped me. Odette was so determined to have you as the Valentine’s prize—and to keep us apart.”

  Chelsea burrowed into his warm chest, not wanting to hear her enemy’s name. “But why me?” She rubbed her nose on his skin, recognizing the barely perceptible clean scent of his soap from their nights together.

  He stroked her head. “It’s not easy for the Society to find students who will be discreet. They have to be beautiful and willing to go along with the tests. And to be lured in with fake promises, they have to want to be writers. You were Odette’s ultimate prize.”

  She retreated from his lap. Wonderful as his arms felt, she wasn’t finished staring at the haunting perfection of his face. She was going to burn his every feature into her brain until they were permanently engraved on her memory.

  She also needed some answers.

  “But why are you in the Society?” she asked. “It seems like just a cheap swingers club. I realize Professor Deveaux made my initial tests exciting and appealing so I’d stick around. But why are you still doing it, if you know it’s a scam?” Her blue eyes searched his dark gaze.

  His lips twisted in a helpless smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, tilting up her chin. “From the moment I saw you at the January party, I knew I had to meet you. Meet you and save you and love you—if you’d let me.”

  His words sent a throb of longing through her heart. “Tell me everything,” she requested.

  He brought her bare feet, still red and throbbing from the stilettos, into his lap and began to rub them. “There’s not much to tell, Chelsea, except that I’m just like you…sort of. Odette was my professor too but I’m a graduate student. We had an affair.”

  Her stomach jolted with this unhappy news. “You slept with her?”