“You know what?” I let go of my brother and push past him. “Never mind. If you’re not going to move fast enough by yourself, I’m gonna move you along.” Like with his pants and suit jacket, I bring his dress shoes to him.
“And you know what else?” Jordan says as he shoves his feet and the dress shoes I’ve brought to him, “we’re not gonna get there any faster if you keep freaking out like that.” He sprays himself with one of his many colognes. A sporty variety of some kind or another. All I know is it has a badminton player pictured on the bottle. “I’m ready now, and so is Paul.” He looks at my brother for confirmation. “Right, man?”
Paul nods, and I find myself compelled to look at my watch. I know it’s not going to be a useful or helpful thing, but I can help it.
Fuck. 7:50. If we don’t go now and go like a bat out of hell from here to the bowels of the building where the party is being held, we’re going to be shit out of luck. The whole point of this vacation was to go to this event and participate in every activity on offer.
“Then let’s go! If you’re ready and he’s ready,” I shout, turning out the light and storming toward the door, “move your asses!” I sigh, growling at their relaxed attitudes. “Let’s go!” I say again, and finally, I hear and feel them behind me.
From there, I move quickly out the door. I lock up, telling them to run — not walk — to the car. Thankfully, they both seem to get the message and disappear like two streaks of black and white down the hall.
I follow shortly after, grabbing my car keys and making sure their positioned to be used quickly and effectively against the locks and ignition.
As I run down the hall and toward the lobby, I let my mind wander to Jane. To her curvaceous, physically-fit body. How good it looked in the ski gear she was wearing. How much better she would look out of it and in a little of leather.
Jane, I think, pushing myself out the front doors of the lodge, racing to catch up to my brother and Jordan who are standing by the car, I really hope you’re there tonight. I really hope you take me up on my invitation. I unlock the door and open the driver side and jump in it like I’m James-fucking-Bond. If you did, it would more than make up for this crazy shit right now.
I jam the keys in the ignition and rev up the engine. I squeal out of the lodge’s parking lot before my brother or Jordan are properly buckled in. It would make the speeding ticket I might get that much sweeter.
Briefly, I allow “speeding ticket” to conjure an image of Jane in a policewoman’s outfit. She hands me a dildo with “speeding ticket” written on it. She then turns around to reveal her ass and pussy in a cutout pair of tights. Hanging just over the pinkness of each is a small sign that reads, “Pay tickets here.”
My cock likes that idea, and I allow that image to hang in my head as much as I dare while I drive.
Chapter 10- Jane
Against everything I’m inclined to believe — especially after finding nothing about this supposed Exchange Club online and being given inexact directions — we arrive. We’ve made it down the basement steps, past Mariah’s fears and mine about whether we’re going to be kidnapped or not, and now we’ve also made it past the doorman.
“Come on,” I say to Mariah as we walk through the dim, curtained entryway of the club, “They’re waiting for us.” I pause. “I hope.”
Mariah just murmurs, “Uh-huh,” and keeps moving forward with me. Her movements are stiff. Somewhat distracted.
When I look ahead, I see why. We’ve entered the main body of the Exchange Club. Far from being a dingy, falling apart corner of a condemned building like I thought we might be walking into, it’s like time traveling into turn-of-the-century elegance. 1800s or something like that, with all the carved columns, tall ceilings, decorative curtains and the grand stage at the front. It seriously looks like something taken from the Queen of England’s castle and dropped right into the basement of an Aspen hotel.
The tables and chairs all around us are dark shadows against the dimly lit room and are only accentuated by the red carpet underneath our feet. But even through the shadows, it is easy to see these tables and chairs are also from a bygone era. Swooped backs, curved legs — much like the many men and women seated in these chairs and leaned over the tables.
Some seem to be here as husband-wife couples. Others are just groups of older men while others are groups of women. Young and old. Groups of girlfriends, maybe even lovers. No matter what their arrangement, there’s one thing that ties them all together. Their love and use of expensive jewelry. Nearly every person is wearing an admirable amount of gold, silver diamonds and other precious gems. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. Even on my dad or his girlfriends. Believe me when I say they like to wear a lot of jewelry. Especially when he’s the one paying for it.
Along with the distinctive smells of cologne and perfume, I smell food. And not just any food. Expensive cheeses, meats, wines, and fruit. I know it’s weird to be able to smell these kinds of things since they aren’t necessarily cooked, but I’ve been to enough cocktail parties to be able to tell rich food and wine are on deck.
I’m a little embarrassed at my watering mouth, but I guess it’s not surprising since I haven’t had much to eat since lunch, and that was just a small quiche at a nearby restaurant.
Before my stomach growls loud enough to disturb the hushed, high-class aura of the place, a woman’s voice fills the room.
By the semi-echoed quality of it, I know it’s coming from a microphone. I look to the stage and see her standing there. She’s wearing a fedora, a suit and bow tie. Whatever she’s saying, I catch her in the middle of it. “…Shortly, but on behalf of The Exchange Club, please allow me to extend my sincerest welcome to members and invited guests.” A small pocket of clapping, like a gust of wind flows over the space. “Welcome. We’re glad to have you. We hope you enjoy your night with us.” Saying this, the woman in the fedora tips her hat and moves to exit the stage.
Immediately I move to intercept her. But not before glimpsing a face I recognize. It’s Alex. My body reacts by tingling all over.
He’s staring out from the shadows cast by his friends. In order to keep him from knowing how excited I am to see him, I pull Mariah with me.
“Let’s go talk with the lady from the stage,” I say, making quick work of the space between us and Fedora Girl. “I bet she’ll know what we do as invited guests.”
The woman sees us. She pins us with her eyes as if she knows we’re newbies. Fresh meat for the taking.
“Good evening, ladies,” she says, appraising us. “I assume we’re here for tonight’s auction, yes?”
“Uh, yeah? I guess.” I tighten my grip on Mariah’s hand and yank her along so that she’s standing next to me. “My friend and I were invited here by a couple of good-looking guys, and all they told us was just to show up.”
“Good!” She smiles, giving us both a once over again. Our curvature is what she seems to be studying in detail now. Something I’m not sure I’m comfortable with. “Well, the auction is this way.” She turns on her heels. “So, if you’ll just follow me…”
“Wait!” Mariah stops short, anxiety evident in her voice. “Wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Patiently, slowly, the woman turns her eyes back to us.
“What auction?” sputters Mariah. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” The woman’s eyes light up. “So, you don’t know. How interesting.”
“Can you explain what the auction is about. What this place is.” A cold sweat covers my back. I’m a little stressed and confused by what’s supposed to go on here.
I’m not liking Fedora Girl’s attitude. That I-know-a-secret-and-you-don’t-so-you’re-dumb attitude I hate so much. I also don’t like how casually this woman says things like auction. I’m about to smack her perfectly applied lipstick sideways.
If she’s aware of how I’m feeling, she doesn’t give me any hint. She looks us both straight in the eye and says, “Ladi
es, here at The Exchange Club, we have a special practice.” She gives us a Miss America smile. “We allow wealthy gentlemen to ‘buy’ beautiful women — that’s you — for a particular price, for a particular act or activity.” She pauses, one in which she seems to be enjoying the possibilities for me and Mariah. “If the gentleman wins the bid, you are his for the night to do whatever activity or activities he paid you for.” She looks meaningfully at Mariah and then at me. “Most of these men pay handsomely, even for dinner, so it could be worth your while to stick around.”
Pay? Handsomely? I swallow thickly. So, what is this? Some kind of legalized pseudo-prostitution club? I look briefly around the room. At the men and women seated in the dusky corners. I mean, I guess I could understand it if this room was filled with a bunch of poor bastards.
Again, I notice their heavy rings. Their elaborate necklaces, wristwatches — some of which I’ve worn, and my dad has purchased — and I know not one single person here is poor. These people have as much money if not more than my dad does. There’s no way they would need to do this for the money.
Queasy sweat covers the back of my neck and chest. One that has me questioning whether I’m scared out of my mind or so excited I might die. So why are Paul, Jordan, and Alex here? And why did they invite us? In agony, I search for Alex, but I don’t find him as easily as before.
But it doesn’t matter because my world — the world in which Mariah is the sane, reasonable one, with small comfort zones — shatters in the next instant.
“Let’s do it,” says Mariah resolutely. And it’s not a timid or unsure request. It’s ready. Willing.
I snap my head around to look at her. “What? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m serious,” she says, taking both of my hands in hers. “Let’s do it! This could be just the thing I need, Jane.”
I sigh. A million thoughts race around my head. The best thing to do is to probably just go with it and to stop asking myself questions. What happens if Mariah does this? What happens if I do this? What would my dad think if he ever knew this is what my friend and I did for fun instead of studying? Instead of staying inside where it’s safe and warm? Then, as those thoughts run through my head, something else follows.
Something warm and mischievous. In its flirtatious shadows, I see images of me with Alex. Of getting undressed and then redressed in leather. In schoolgirl and nurse costumes; in straps and chains. I might just get what I want. I might not only get to experience everything I’ve ever wanted to, but I might just get my first time with a guy who is actually experienced. Knowledgeable. And neither my dad nor Mariah will ever know the difference. A bright, naughty smile lifts the corners of my lips. “You’re right. Let’s do it, girl!”
“Excellent, ladies.” The woman smiles and leads us towards the center of the room. “Right this way.”
***
Mariah and I stand on the stage with a sizable group of other women. It’s hot up here under the lights, but it’s exciting. The bidding has just gotten underway, and already I can feel a cord of excitement building between all of us. The first woman has been called up by Fedora Girl to make her offer, and we’re all watching.
Taking notes.
The first woman’s offer is tame, and the money offer is too. It’s for dinner and conversation, and the woman readily agrees to the first and only offer she gets. Chicken, I think.
The next woman is quickly called up. Her offer is riskier, and more along my lines: a blow job. A five-star blow job, to quote her. With the riskier offer comes a bigger reward, and that’s when I start to feel more than just on display. I start to feel powerful. A force to be reckoned with, though we’re all stood up here like objects and animals.
The next bids are interesting, but not of too much interest to me.
Until we get to a woman whose bid is the kind of ambitious thing I’m thinking I’ll do when it’s my turn: a whole night together, no holds barred, where she will do anything, and everything requested of her.
The numbers immediately begin to fly up for this. Quicker than most of the women on stage with me seem to think possible. The dollar amounts reach into the tens of thousands, and then hundreds of thousands. Oh, my.
Eventually, after an intense bidding war, the all-nighter woman accepts a final offer from a man near the middle of the room. He sounds like he’s not from around here. European or something exotic. Whatever it is, it’s nice on my ears. Different. Exciting.
Which is how I’m feeling about my upcoming moment in the spotlight, and what I’ve already planned to offer. A whole night to do whatever you want to me, particularly you like to “push” the definition of “whatever.”
I grin to myself. That’ll get me the right bidders. And I don’t mean in terms of money. I fold my hands together in front of me and straighten my posture. This isn’t about the money for me. I just like the idea of being thoroughly owned. I bite my lip, hazarding a glance toward the table I know Alex is at, but don’t catch his eye. He’s too tuned into his brother.
As my thoughts come to an end, Mariah nudges me. She gives me a comforting smile. I receive it and return it tenfold. “I still can’t believe we’re up here,” I mouth to her, as the spotlight inches closer to her.
To this, Mariah just sticks out her tongue and gives me the naughtiest grin I’ve ever seen on those studious lips. She’s as turned on by this as I am.
Chapter 11- Alex
However uncomfortable Paul is with the idea of bidding (he put up a fight initially, saying he wasn’t going to “buy” a woman), it’s even worse now that the bidding is in full swing. Especially with some big, bad numbers flying around.
The latest bid ended at half a million dollars. And, I’m sorry to admit it, but I’m enjoying watching my brother squirm in the seat across from me.
“Jesus Christ!” he hisses, reaching under the table to irritably fix something. I’m guessing his dick. “Half a million dollars! That’s…”
“Not something you need to worry about, bro,” I say, eyeing Jane, and then her friend Mariah, in the line. “I know you’re a cheap miser. But we have plenty of spending money.” I whisper this, gesturing to myself and Jordan.
Some say that rich people are rich because we’re stingy. Mostly, I haven’t found that to be true— my friends and I would never pass up the opportunity to spend some cash fulfilling our heart’s— or cocks’— desires. Part of the joy of being rich is buying what you want without having to worry about a budget.
My brother, though, has always been the exception that people hold us as a rule when they quote that myth. He would never dream of spending so much of his own money on this, let alone anything. That’s why we, as his brother and friend, stepped in to make sure he gets what he needs, no matter the cost.
Though I know he’s trying to hide it, I can feel the cold sweat Paul has broken out in as he says, “How in the fuck do you have that kind of spending money just for my birthday, Alex? And why aren’t you investing it in a safer bet?”
It’s his voice, the stress in it, that gives him away. He glances at Jordan, looking even more green about where he got his green. Jordan broke into the medical marijuana industry early and is now greatly reaping the benefits from the chain of dispensaries he’d bought up years ago. Even though it’s since become legalized recreationally in many states, including this one which was the forerunner, Paul still gets worried that Jordan will get busted by the Feds.
You’d think Paul was the one smoking all that weed, for how paranoid he gets on Jordan’s behalf. Weed and federally illegal cash payments for that weed make Paul nervous, no matter how often Jordan’s shown him the high-class side of it or tried to reassure him that everything would be okay.
But I don’t care how uncomfortable Paul is right now, and neither does Jordan. We both see what he doesn’t seem to: that Mariah is up next.
“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Jordan takes a big swig of his spiked eggnog. “Mariah’s almost up. You know you’re g
onna bid on her, so just relax and get ready to play ball. You know this kind of money is peanuts for us. Go ahead and bid. You don’t want any of the stuck-up douches here to get her instead.”
You’d better play a good game, brother, I think, settling in to watch as Mariah and the MC finally lock eyes. Mariah’s what you need, and Jane’s what I need.
I drink in her blonde, wavy hair. The curve of her body. Her full, shiny lips; dark, swooping cat-like eyes. Perpetually rosy cheeks, twinkling with a hint of glitter. Like she’s not just wearing the cold, but the starlight from outside.
I tell myself that my attraction to her isn’t serious. That it’s just about how much I need her body. The opportunity to unleash my kinky, black-leather magic on that body and make her squeal and moan, and nothing more. But somewhere in the back of my mind I know that’s not true. Even as Mariah’s getting called up to the mic, and Jane’s offering her encouragement, I can’t help but crave those same hands reaching out to me. Submitting to me and my desires.
***
Jane would be so much more brave and sure in her offering, I think, watching and listening as Mariah shakily gives her offer for an all-night free-for-all. Mariah’s a lamb, Jane a tiger. One I can’t wait to walk around on a golden chain…wearing only a collar that says, “Master’s number one slave.”
I would stay in my fantasies waiting for Jane’s turn, were it not for a surprise question for Mariah from the front, which the MC is fielding now. “Yes, sir? You have a question?”
“My question is for you, miss,” the man says. He has a deep Southern accent. Like he’s from Texas or Missouri. “Would I be correct in assuming you’re a virgin?”
I have to hold Paul back from going over to the Southerner’s table and flattening him.
Every man in the room holds his breath. The questioner’s excitement rises, too. Excitement I’m prepared to make sure Paul gets instead of these other fuckers. I’m about to get after him, yell at him to pay attention, but I see he already is. His eyes are locked on Mariah like the jaguar I know he is. From her shaking form on stage, the answer to the question already appears to be obvious. She finds Paul and locks eyes with him as she says, “Yes. I am.”
Out of Line: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Page 122