Exquisite Taste

by J. D. Hollyfield

  “Excuse me?”

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But I’m confused. I thought I was his all night, but I’ve been here less than an hour. “Is it something I did?” I ask.

  Another small chuckle. “No, Jensen. I have to handle a club matter.” He walks to the door, and I follow.

  “What kind? Anything I can help with?” Seriously, Jensen? What are you going to help with in a sex club? Help spank the customers?

  Damien stops in front of me and lifts his hand. With a slow caress of his thumb, he slides it along my lower lip. “No, but your willingness to offer pleases me,” he says, and a small shiver runs down my spine. He opens the door and allows me to exit first, which is good because he won’t see the heat in my eyes, along with a bit of disappointment. We head back down the long hallway that leads to the private elevator. We’re silent as we walk through the club and outside. The cab, just as requested, is waiting. Damien opens the door, and I climb in. He leans down. “Have a good night, Ms. Stone.”

  “Yeah, you too, Spawn,” I reply, and with a small smirk, he shuts the door.

  I DON’T SLEEP A WINK. I try and try, but my brain just won’t shut off. I might as well have consumed a gallon of coffee, that’s how rapid my mind is working right now. Plus, every time I close my eyes, I see the eyes of that woman, and I don’t know whether to be freaked out or turned on. Every time I think about watching her get fondled, I get heated in a way that makes my thighs rub together. The last seventy-two hours of my life have been so crazy, yet so confusing. Hello! I am not a sexual person. I barely use my vibrator the right way, but in the last few days, I’ve experienced things that have never even crossed my mind. Whips? Swings? Public indecency? Jesus, what would my mother say if she saw me now? Here I am talking trash about college girls in their short skirts and sex addictions, yet I’m the one like an escort—an expensive one at least—being fingered on a dance floor.

  “I’m such a hypocrite.” I flip over onto my back for the billionth time. The sun is already coming up and my alarm is set to go off for my Biology class. Biology…

  “Shit!” I jump out of bed, slamming my head on the top bunk. “SHIT!” Both hands go up as I stand dizzy on my feet. Shit. I never did my biology homework. I was too obsessed with playing “Say yes to the dress,” I completely forgot.

  I scramble, grabbing my book bag. While I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, I remember Christine never came home…again. A part of me is thankful because it means less explaining. I’m not sure why I’m hiding this from her. I just don’t want her to pass judgment on what I’m doing. Even if it is for her. There’s also that part that bums me out. This college experience was supposed to be us doing it together. We’ve been here just over a month, and she’s already found cooler, more sparkly friends to hang out with.

  I pass by the long mirror and notice I’m wearing all black and gray. Shit. Maybe I need to take my own advice and add those mugs to my life.

  I need to stop doing that, I berate myself, waving a thanks to the kid sitting next to me for waking me up.

  That’s two days in a row I’ve fallen asleep in class. I’ve never been one to get sidetracked from my studies. Rise above and conquer, not fall asleep and drool all over my lab desk. I throw my hoodie over my head and make my way to the business building for my business management course. I’m hoping the catnap I just took will hold me over until I get through the next two classes, so I can go home and catch up on sleep. Not that I care, or am expecting anything, but my bat phone has been silent all day. No incoming messages. No mystery packages unless I slept through it. Which is fine. Maybe he’s bored with me. Faked the business stuff because he finally realizes I’m not up for his silly challenge.

  Good. Saves me the time of having to tell him I’m not at his beck and call anymore. This whole thing has become ridiculous anyway. He wants me to be his little sex pet—

  “Hey, freak.”

  “Shit!” I jump three feet high like a damn cat at the sudden hand touching me. I turn to see Sylvia standing right next to me. “Jesus, a little forewarning when putting your claws on people, huh?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, you were busy talking to yourself. I tried calling your name.”

  I was not…okay, I probably was. “Well, I find myself very interesting. Okay…see ya.” I begin walking away, but she stops me.

  “I’m not done with you. Where are we with getting me that invite?” Which also reminds me, where are we with that? I didn’t technically have time last night to bid her entrance into Exquisite. Or was it that I didn’t want to?

  “I can’t just get you in. It’s complicated.”

  “How so? You got in after one night. Seems pretty uncomplicated to me.” Yeah, and I wish it was.

  “Well, it is. Plus, I wasn’t there long enough last night to fully push it.” Her eyes go wide as saucers, and I realize my mistake.

  “You went there last night? Who was that man in class yesterday? What did he deliver?”

  Okay, twenty questions.

  I need to answer them strategically.

  “The package was a gift from my parents.” There, got that one done.

  “I don’t believe you. Your bestie already spilled that you don’t come from money. I saw the logo on the box. No way it came from them.”

  Before I’m able to mask the look on my face, surprise, then disappointment, hit me. I can’t believe Christine would share something so personal about me to a group of strangers.

  “Fine, you caught me. It wasn’t from my parents. It was from my Dom. He sends me outfits to wear when I visit him. Last night was an insanely expensive Versace gown. Probably cost more than two months of tuition. He really needs to stop splurging on me. Can’t even imagine what’s coming tonight.” Why did I just do that? Lower myself again?

  Her eyes flicker with envy. Not that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t afford the dress for her, but because she wants in that club, and I have what she wants. But why? Is she into being dominated, or is it just that I have something she doesn’t?

  “You’re going again tonight?” she asks, bitterness in her tone.

  “Yeah. Every night. He demands it.” Even though I fail to admit I have yet to hear from him or receive any packages. “Are we done? I have to get to class.”

  “Get me in that club, Jensen, or it’s your friend who’s gonna feel the consequences.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumble as I offer her my back and continue my venture to class.

  He doesn’t call.

  Or text.

  No fancy box delivered during class. I even got to pig out on all-you-can-eat spaghetti night in the cafeteria. I went home after a long day of class, ate dinner, and finished all my homework for my Psych class. I didn’t want to pretend I was waiting up, fighting sleep because he might text and demand I come to him—which I would have—unwillingly, of course.

  But he never did.

  So, when I told myself even if he did text, I wouldn’t abide, he didn’t. Even when I got in my pajamas, swearing I wouldn’t get out of them even if he texted, he didn’t. And even when I closed my eyes stating I wouldn’t even wake up to his message, he didn’t. I also never fell asleep.

  My insomnia really needs to take a hike. Because I’m having the opposite problem during the day. I can’t stay awake. I finally close my eyes and find sleep exactly two minutes before my alarm goes off for class. I hit snooze forty-seven times, crossing off showering, eating, and dressing so I can sleep as long as possible before I have to go to class naked and smelly.

  I’m throwing on a pair of jeans when our door opens. Christine walks in, bubbly and in high spirits. “Hey, you! Oh man, you leaving for class? I was hoping to catch you and hang for a bit.”

  Throwing my arms into a tank top, I reply, “Yeah, same class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” She used to know my schedule.

  “Oh, yeah. Sylvia’s in your Psych class. Tell her I said hi! I missed her last night. Brittany and I
binge-watched The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I totally passed out in her room.”

  Wow, sounds torturous. “Awesome.”

  “How about we hang out tonight? We can hit up the hamburger joint we found and go see a movie, whatcha think?”

  My eyes warm at her offer. I miss our hangouts. Our chill nights. When it’s us and no interferences from sorority life. “Count me in.”

  Her face lights up. “Great! I have class until five. I have to stop at the house for a meeting, but then it’s us against the world.”

  I agree to all things, tell her I’ll see her later, and run out to class. I’m not normally very athletic, but I have under three minutes to get to class and it’s at least a five-minute walk…walking. I feel better. Minus trying to function on three hours of sleep in three days, I think us hanging out is just what I need to feel like myself again. I know I sure haven’t been acting like myself lately. I make it up the steps of Haller Hall and into class just as Ms. Phillips begins.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, trying to spot an open chair. The problem is, when you’re late for a class this large, the only open spots are in the front. My eyes find Sylvia in my search for an open seat, and no shocker, she’s snarling at me. With a sigh of resolution, I snag a seat in the front row. Ms. Phillips doesn’t look any happier at my late arrival, but onwards she goes.

  “On Wednesday, we discussed Pavlov’s theory on classical conditioning. Today we’re going to go over the—”

  A knock on the door has Ms. Phillips pausing, the class’s attention interrupted. I follow everyone else’s lead and look at the door until I wish I hadn’t. Just like Wednesday, but this time, Fredrick, the oaf, stands there, holding a small box—one much smaller than any I’ve received yet. My professor greets Fredrick, and they chat quietly, until he hands her the box and disappears. I slowly sink in my chair when she turns, her expression not one of happiness. More like annoyed. Ready to expel someone? Possibly me since she’s staring right at me.

  “Ms. Stone, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but this classroom isn’t a postal drop. I suggest having your packages delivered to your place of residence and not my classroom.” She walks over to my chair and hands me the box. I grab for it, but she doesn’t immediately release it. She gives me a sharp look and lets go. Turning her back to me, she continues with her lecture.

  What was that all about?

  I take the box and slip it into my bag. If I wasn’t scared of my instructor and didn’t feel Sylvia’s beady eyes burning a hole in my back, I would peek. Instead, I grab my pen and lock eyes on the board. Dog, saliva, food. Unconditioned…

  My phone vibrates in my hoodie pocket. Excitement shoots through me. Why I have my bat phone in my hoodie, don’t ask. I reach in and pull it out, reading the message.

  Son of Satan: Open the box.

  What? Is he high?

  Another vibration.

  Son of Satan: Now, Jensen.

  I whip my head up and look around. How does he know I’m not doing it? He’s crazy if he thinks I’m opening that right here. Especially with my instructor eyeing me down every time she turns. No way. Not doing it—

  Another vibration.

  Son of Satan: Don’t keep me waiting.

  Okay, now I’m starting to get freaked out. Is he in my class? And he’s so damn bossy.

  I shoot back a simple text.

  Me: No.

  Even though my hand is itching with curiosity. I wait for Ms. Phillips to start drawing a chart on the board before grabbing the box and hiding it in my lap. I can’t believe I’m doing this. What if it’s some sort of ball gag and I drop it and it rolls up to the teacher’s feet? I start to chuckle but catch myself. It’s clearly too light to be one.

  Reigning in my focus, I nonchalantly pull on the bow without bringing attention to myself. It slides right off, and I stuff it in my pocket. I unlatch the tucked flap on the box and lift the top open to reveal a red lace…something. I’m not one hundred percent sure what it is. It’s not enough lace to be an outfit, but too much to be a thong.

  Jesus, what does he expect me to do with—?

  The vibration coming from my desk startles me. I jolt and almost drop the box. Wrestling to keep it in my lap, I shove it under my hoodie and grab my phone.

  Son of Satan: I want you to leave your classroom. Go to the bathroom, put this on under your clothes. Be at my club within the hour.

  “What!”

  “What now, Ms. Stone?”

  I look up. Then around. My cheeks heat at everyone’s attention on me. The guy next to me leans over and looks in my lap. I look at him, then down, realizing the lingerie is partially hanging out of my hoodie. Goddammit! Taking my phone, and the box, I shove both in my bag, pack up my notes, and stand. “I’m sorry I—I’m not feeling well.”

  I proceed toward the exit, my heart racing. Once I’m in the hall, I throw my back against the wall. What in the hell am I doing? Go back in that classroom. Don’t be stupid. I should. I need to. The thing is, it would be a lot easier to convince me if I weren’t standing right across from the women’s bathroom. “Oh, how convenient.”

  I can’t do this. I have a full day of classes and plans with Christine. I can’t blow her off. But I can’t actually walk back into that classroom. Not after the scene I just made. Fuck! I stomp my feet, taking another look at the women’s bathroom sign, like it’s glowing and calling me in.

  Don’t do it, Jensen.

  I huff and push off the wall.

  And why am I walking across the hall?

  “Just going to the bathroom. Just going to the bathroom.”

  I pull the door open to Exquisite and walk inside. Missing are the busy strobe lights, crowded dance floor, and sounds of high energy and promiscuity. Being back during the day reminds me of when I attempted breaking and entering. I shake my head at what a dumb idea that was.

  “Ms. Stone.” I turn as Fredrick walks up to me.

  “Oh, fancy seeing you here. We should’ve just carpooled. Since, ya know, we came from the same place.” I could have saved on cab fare too. He doesn’t take the bait, or even offer for next time. Because I just assume there’s a next time.

  “Mr. Cross would like you to wait for him in his office. He’s finishing up some business.” He doesn’t stop to make sure I follow. He walks past me to the elevator, and I stand there until I realize he doesn’t care whether I follow or not. I hurry to catch him and jump in the elevator as it’s closing.

  The ride up is awkward and silent. Fredrick doesn’t speak, and clearly, I have nothing to say, so it works out. I get the vibes he doesn’t like me much, which is fine since I’m not a fan of him either. The doors open, and he walks out first. Geez, ever hear of ladies first? Damien’s office is directly across from the elevator, so he takes the two steps and unlocks the door, holding it open for me.

  “After you.”

  I look at him suspiciously. Never give an enemy your back they say, and I’m starting to get the impression Fredrick is one of mine. He eyes me with contempt. I walk past him, and he doesn’t say another word as he releases the door and it closes on my heels.

  What a prick! I turn, ready to give him a piece of my mind, when I bump into a steel chest.

  “Going somewhere, Ms. Stone?”

  I look up to Damien, the usual fire blazing in his eyes. “Yeah, your henchman has an attitude problem and I was going to offer him some advice.”

  A devious smile breaks out on his face as he takes a step into me, causing me to retreat a step back. “He’s just stuck in his old ways. Not very approving of what’s happening.”

  “What exactly does he not approve of?”

  “You.”

  With wide eyes, I reply, “Why me? What did I do?”

  He takes another step, and just like before, I shuffle back. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re underage.” He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb across my bare lips. “Where’s the red?”

  “You have to be a certain age to get spanked
and disciplined?” I reply, my voice a bit shaky. His eyes haven’t left mine. The way he’s stroking my lips creates a warmth in my belly. The office is close to stifling in my heavy hoodie.

  “You’re a risk.” He presses down on my lower lip, forcing them to part. “I expect these to be red anytime you step foot in my club.” He takes another lethal step, and I almost trip backward.

  “You pulled me out of class. I don’t just walk around wearing red lipstick all day, waiting for you to beckon me. I’m probably going to get in trouble for leaving class too.” The last step has my back hitting the two-way mirror. He’s barely touched me, but the way he’s staring down at me feels as if he’s touching me everywhere.

  “I took care of Patricia. You won’t have any problem with class.”

  “Wait, how do you know my instructor?”

  He doesn’t answer me. He removes his hand from my mouth and drags a single finger down the middle of my chest, to my ribcage, locking around my hip, and effectively cutting me off. He presses my body harder into the glass and I exhale a strangled breath. Whatever he plans to do with me has my belly swirling with anticipation. His fingers tangle around the hem of my hoodie, and he slowly lifts it to my ribcage, until he sees what he wants. “Good girl.”

  God, why does pleasing him feel so good? I want to do it again and again until he rewards me with something. Pleasure? An orgasm? Himself? Just his body against mine is an overload of sensations exploding throughout me. But I want more. I just don’t know how to ask for it. When I’m under his spell, I’m someone else. I’m not the Jensen I know. I become this person who’s learning how to feel. Express. Endure.

  On top of that, I haven’t slept in days and think I have the red lace on backwards. Or upside down. It didn’t come with instructions and my normal underwear is a bit more basic than what I stuffed myself in.

  “How do you feel right now wearing this?” Damien asks, dragging his knuckles against my skin, inch by inch, until my barely covered breasts are exposed. My breath hitches and my nipples pebble at the way his eyes take me in. They darken to a point where I should be scared. If I was smart, I’d run out of here and never come back. But I don’t. His fist clenches at the material and he raises my arms, pulling the hoodie over my head. No longer anything to hide the minimal lace attire, I stand before him. The see-through lingerie does nothing to hide my breasts. I’m embarrassed that once I lose my jeans, he will be able to see I’m already aroused for him. The hoodie falls to the ground and there is no turning back.