Indecent Cravings: Part Two

by S. K. Cross

  “So, did you find them?” I say.

  “Them?” says Lorena.

  “The answers you came here looking for.”

  “I did, dear. But it was too late. I was fifty years old. My time had passed.”

  “Why? Fifty’s not that old.”

  “It isn’t twenty, dear.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Don’t be. See, I was sold a bill of goods. The perfect man, the perfect house, the perfect kids, the perfect life. And it was all bullshit. Which is not to say it can’t happen . . . nor doesn’t happen for some . . . but as women we are told we are not sexual. We are told by society that if we have a sexual thought . . . well . . . , we must be sluts, right?” I laugh. “I always believed it. And God, how much I missed! Do you know how many hot young studs wanted to fuck me when I was twenty years old?”

  I giggle. It’s odd to hear an old woman use the word fuck in such a casual tone. “A lot, I bet.”

  “Thousands. They practically lined up, dear. I could have had them all. Did have a few. One in particular taught me some very useful skills. But then I tossed it all away because everybody told me I needed to settle down, get married, and have babies. It’s what women were supposed to do back in those days. It ruined my career, made me an attendant to a house that needed to be scrubbed and vacuumed before I made dinner, and chained me to a man I didn’t love.”

  As she speaks, I notice that her dramatic flair creates a strong presence around her. I can easily envision her dominating a room telling stories as people listen in rapt attention. “Did you have kids?”

  “Two. Just like I was supposed to. I did everything properly. A boy and a girl, just like the manual says. When they were grown, I left the putrid sloth of a man I married and came here to start over. But like I said, it was too late.”

  “Do you still see your kids?”

  She frowns and looks away. “Truth is, dear, and it does pain me to say this, I was a bad mother. Some people aren’t meant to have children. I was one of them. I made some mistakes and I regret them. I’ve tried to make amends, but I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes in life that’s impossible.”

  There is a long pause. I suddenly realize that I really like this woman. There is a spirit about her that is warm and nurturing, yet ballsy and defiant. Not to mention she’s sharper than anyone her age I’ve ever met.

  “Anyhoo,” she says, “I’m sorry to bother you with all this, dear.” She takes out her purse and fingers through her money. I notice an iPhone in there. Nice.

  “Oh, I haven’t gotten you your check yet. Let me go print it for you.”

  “Don’t bother. Just subtract it from this. The rest is for you.” She hands me two one-hundred dollar bills. The total for her one drink was going to be seventeen dollars, so I’m confused.

  “Um,” I say. “You gave me two. Take this back and I’ll get you change.”

  “No, Jayd. I want you to have this.” She takes something else out of her purse and shoves it into my hand. It’s a business card. “My address is on there. I’m hosting a private party this Thursday. Eight p.m. I want you to come.”

  “But I—”

  “Sh. Don’t answer. I realize I was too forward in offering you that job. My apologies. I didn’t mean to alarm you. But don’t say no until you’ve seen what I have to offer. It’s better than this. If you don’t like it, then just enjoy yourself. I call it my ‘Sunset Chill’ party. I have one every Thursday. Bring some friends if you like. Dress sexy, not too elegant but not too casual, either. The password at the desk is ‘Whistle.’”

  “Whistle?”

  “Yes, you know how to whistle, don’t you, dear? You just put your lips together and blow.”

  I laugh. “Um . . . okay.”

  “Don’t make the same mistake I did, dear. An old woman once made a similar job offer to me. The only difference is that I said no to her. And then paid the price for it.”

  She gets up slowly, her cane falling to her side. I bend down to pick it up, but she slaps my arm and says, “I’ll get that!” She snatches it up, and stands to face me with another pensive stare. “I can see it in your eyes, Jayd. You want to be free. Don’t let them dictate your life. You will regret it.”

  Oh my God! Those were Zander’s exact same words before he . . .

  Now I’m beyond weirded-out.

  I put my hand up to my open mouth, trying to squelch a tear that wants to form in my eye.

  “Thank you so much for the tip,” I say, dumbfounded as she shuffles out the door and to a waiting limousine. I watch as a tall bald man in a black suit with a goatee opens the door for her, closes it once she’s inside, gets in the driver’s side, and coasts away down Ocean Drive.

  I look at the business card she handed me. All it says is:

  Lorena MacCall

  (305) 555-6976

  . . . and her address on West Ave.

  “Oooh, the old bat have a new amiga.”

  I startle, Javier’s voice in my ear. I play-hit him. He’s out of uniform, carrying a backpack, headed for the door.

  “Shut up, she’s nice! You know, Javier, when I first met you I liked you. Now I realize you’re a real prick.”

  “A real prick who can make you moan and scream in delight. Anytime, chica, you just say the word.”

  “I’m sure your girlfriend will love that.”

  “She never know.”

  I give him the finger and he leaves.

  Two hundred dollars! That’s a one hundred and eighty three dollar tip! Holy shit!

  My head is reeling from all this, but I don’t have time to think. Almost on time, the place fills up and I’m busier than hell.

  Chapter 2

  I’m back on Ocean Court again, trying to figure out where this damned submission school is.

  I might be obsessed.

  The sun is disappearing behind clouds, thunderheads moving in. I’d better get to the bus stop soon before it downpours.

  I spin slowly, examining the four corners of the buildings. Nothing but adobe and brown doors. Is it one of the brown doors?

  Today is Thursday, my first day off in six days. I came over here to Ocean Drive to buy a dress I saw in the window of a boutique the other day.

  Lorena’s ‘Sunset Chill’ party is this evening and if I’m going to go I need a new dress. Not that I’m seriously considering going . . . oh fuck, I can’t fool you, you know me by now . . . I’m going.

  The best part about buying the new dress is that I bought it with my own money. I earned it. Didn’t even touch the debit card. And even better, it’s not Trowbridge family money. It’s all mine.

  I gotta admit, something about Lorena and the job offer intrigues me. It couldn’t hurt to just go to a party, right?

  I have until eight p.m., so there’s plenty of time to go back home, shower, and then go. But before going back, I thought I’d just come over here to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything Lukas Thorn-related.

  But nothing. Oh well. Story of my life.

  I turn to walk to the bus stop over on Collins when a voice makes me jump.

  “Hello.”

  I turn to see one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever seen. Stunning blue eyes behind big glasses with thick black frames. Smooth auburn hair. Thick luscious lips. She’s wearing a flowing see-through body veil over an aqua bikini that picks up the blue from her eyes. Firm round breasts and curves in all the right places. A shiny belly button piercing glistens in the dimming sun. And I swear she’s glowing from within. For a split second, I go full lez.

  “Are you here about the ad?” she says.

  Oh shit. “Um, what ad?”

  She cocks her head to the right and squints her eyes. “The ad.”

  My left foot is trying to make a break for it, shouting Let’s go! But my right foot argues, saying Well, let’s just play this out. This girl doesn’t look dangerous.

  “Well,” I say, “there was an ad.”<
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  The girl beams the warmest, most welcoming smile ever in the history of the world. God, her teeth are whiter than snow.

  “Come on in,” she says, motioning toward a door behind her. Is that where she emerged from?

  My feet continue their argument.

  Left foot: Run! Go! Come on! Ocean Drive is right there! Don’t do it.

  Right foot: Aren’t you even at all curious about what’s behind that door?

  Left foot: Are you fucking kidding me? You could get raped, killed, murdered.

  Right foot: By this girl? Puh-leeze.

  Left foot: No, idiot! By the guys with biker tattoos who sent her out here to get you.

  Right foot: But isn’t this what we came here for?

  Left foot: You know, there’s no talking with you! You always have to get your way, don’t you?

  Right foot: Come on, lighten up. You’ve got to take chances in life. Live a little, for Christ’s sake.

  Left foot: Cut me off. I’ll make a run for it myself.

  Right foot: You’re going in, and that’s that.

  Left foot: I’m surrounded by idiots.

  I follow the gorgeous girl awkwardly as she presses on something that causes the door to swing open. She steps in and shoots me another one of those welcoming smiles.

  I step to the door and look inside.

  It’s an office.

  Whew.

  Just an office like so many other offices.

  See? says my right foot. Nothing to worry about.

  You’ll see! warns my left foot as I step fully inside and the door mysteriously shuts all by itself behind me.

  “I’m Erica,” says the girl, extending her hand.

  I take it, an electrical charge passing through us as I touch her. I get a flash of her face looking down at me, my tongue buried in her pussy. Then it’s gone.

  I realize I’m holding her hand too long so I let go.

  “And your name?” she says.

  I laugh. “Oh, right. I’m Abi . . . Jayd.”

  “Abijayd?”

  “Jayd. Just Jayd.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jayd. Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Erica sits and types some information into her computer. I drop into the chair facing the desk.

  Where am I? I swear it could be any office anywhere.

  “Now,” she says, folding her hands on the desk with a big smile, “what brings you in today?”

  My heart races. Suddenly, this feels like a job interview. Problem is I have no idea what I’m applying for.

  “Um, I thought you could tell me what it was all about,” I say.

  “Here’s the deal. If you know what we do here, then you want to be a part of it. If you don’t, then maybe you should just go.”

  How do I respond to that? “Well, the thing is–”

  “Do you want to be here or not?” Her tone has gone sour, her eyes squinting, her arms folded.

  Oddly, this entices me, firing up my inner diva. I respond to challenges.

  “I want to be here,” I say. “I do. I think I know what goes on here . . . I think.”

  She relaxes, her arms unfold, and she smiles. “Good. Now, I just need to ask you some questions. They’re a little personal, but this is a very personal business and we wish to ensure that our clients are happy.”

  Business? Clients?

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” she says.

  “Not currently, no.”

  “Are you seeing anyone casually?”

  I bite a nail and cross my legs. “No, I just moved here from . . . far away.”

  Erica writes something down with no emotion. What the fuck is she writing? “What was the most sexually adventurous thing you’ve ever done?”

  None of your fucking business, bitch. Steady, Abigail, steady. Just go with the flow. “Um, I, uh, gave my boyfriend, um, oral, at the top of the Prudential Center, on the observation deck.”

  “Is that high?”

  “Yeah, like fifty-five stories I think. Highest public place in Boston.”

  She makes a checkmark. What the fuck? Then she looks at me with a more piercing stare. “What was lacking from your previous relationship?”

  “Um, nothing. It was great. It was fine.”

  She cocks her head to one side, her blue eyes seemingly lit from behind. “Really?”

  There is a rumble of thunder outside, then a flash of lightning through the window. My shoulder muscles tense. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about—”

  “It is relevant to what you want to accomplish here. You do understand the nature of this place, don’t you?”

  “Well, sure but—”

  “And like a guy you meet in a bar who wants to have sex with you. You just wouldn’t go with any random guy. You’d want to get to know him first, right? That’s the point of these questions . . . . . . to get to know you. Maybe there’s no point in continuing, but we’ll never know unless we talk and find out about each other.”

  I take a deep breath. Bitch makes sense, even if her tone has grown condescending and cold. I don’t know if I want to punch her or lick her.

  But this is weird. I came here looking for Lukas Thorn. Not to allow some bimbo to interrogate me.

  “So,” she says, “back to the question—what was lacking from your previous relationship?”

  “Well, nothing, really. It was just, um, very, um, boring.”

  Her eyes perk up. “Boring?”

  “Yes, I wanted more. I always want more. It’s never enough. He was done, but I wasn’t.”

  “What was the furthest you ever went with him?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

  “How far did you go with him?”

  “We had sex.”

  “How?”

  I squelch my sudden urge to spit on her. “He put his dick in me and fucked me!”

  Oops, my tone turned a little sharp there.

  She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, squints and makes a note, underlining and circling something. What the fuck?

  “Did he tie you up?” she says, almost disinterested now.

  “No!”

  “Did you do anal?”

  “No.”

  “Did he dominate you?”

  A huge thunderclap shakes the building with another flash of lightning. I can hear the heavy rain pouring down hard on the roof. “No.”

  Something wells up inside me. It’s a mish-mosh of anger and fear. It surrounds me and pushes itself to the surface.

  Relax, Jayd. This is sexy. It’s kind of like a scene from that kink site you used to watch. The door is right behind you. You can run at any time. Just breathe and relax.

  “Have you ever worn a collar?” she says.

  “Huh? A collar?” I just read about the significance of collars in Lukas’ book, but for some reason my gut tells me to play dumb.

  “You know, a master has his submissive wear a collar.” She seems bored now, like she just wants to get this over with.

  I laugh. “Oh, of course. I’ve seen those. Naturally. No, I’ve never worn one of those. Chad . . . my boyfriend . . . was very traditional.”

  “Were you punished as a child?”

  “Of course. Who wasn’t?”

  “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How were you punished?”

  “Well . . . I got yelled at a lot.”

  “Were you ever spanked?”

  “No, actually, I wasn’t. My dad was . . . is . . . very nice. Tame, in fact. Too tame. My mom is passive aggressive. She manipulates. I wouldn’t call it punishment. She always made me feel bad.”

  “Feel bad how?”

  “She made me think everything was my fault. Why can’t you be more like Ashley? Why can’t you be more like Addison? What is wrong with you? I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me.”

  “Who are Addison and Ashley?”

  “My perfect prim and proper older sisters.”<
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  I suddenly realize I’m sharing too much. An alarm bell goes off in my head and I find myself standing up.

  “I have to go,” I say. I don’t actually say it, but the words just fall out of my mouth. Dammit, Abigail, don’t run!

  “We’re almost done,” says Erica. “It’s really okay.”

  I have no clue what’s wrong with me, but all I know is I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. “No, I seriously have to go. Thanks and all. Bye.”

  “If you go out that door, you cannot reapply.”

  I pause at that, but the urge to leave is overwhelming. I nearly leap out the door into a sea of pounding rain, flashes of lightning exploding all around me.

  I feel like I’m underwater as I round the corner to the bus stop. Luckily, mine is right there and I jump on board. Even though I was only exposed to the rain for a few moments, I’m soaked and dripping.

  Oh God, that was weird.

  Why did I run?

  I was curious. I was getting closer to finding Lukas Thorn. Why the fuck did I run?

  What’s wrong with me? What makes me think a man like him would be interested in a blonde plain Jane like me anyway?

  On the ride back to Karissa’s, my thoughts drift back to the plane. Back to that orgasm in the sky. Back to those eyes behind the Ray-Bans. My breathing goes shallow and my heart beats faster. I uncross and re-cross my legs in the tiny uncomfortable window seat, biting my nail and glancing out at the drenching rain.

  I get a flash of a video I saw on one of those kink sites once. It was a girl tied up by ropes with her hands behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth. She’s bouncing up and down on a big black dildo sticking up from the floor. I remember staring transfixed as I watched it moving in and out of her ass as a man pulls on a chain resting between two clamps attached to her nipples.

  In my mind, I see Lukas Thorn as the man. I feel my face flush. A droplet of sweat forms on my upper lip.

  The old Latina lady sitting next to me turns and gives me a look. She can tell I’m thinking dirty thoughts just like the lady on the plane, can’t she? World is so full of fucking prudes! I turn back to the window, watching the luxury condos give way to low cinderblock houses with tile roofs and iron grates as the rain subsides.