Indecent Cravings: Part Two

by S. K. Cross

  “If you would excuse me for a moment, Lorena,” I say.

  “Of course,” she says.

  I march across the room toward that flowing untucked shirt and glistening hair. I plant myself behind him and to the left, making eye contact with the three bitches who are laughing at whatever he’s saying. My heart beats out of my chest as I wait.

  He notices and turns around. He rolls his eyes and chuckles. Fucking prick.

  “May I see you, please, for a moment?” I say.

  He laughs, shakes his head, and turns back to the three girls. “This will just take a second.”

  Oh, will it, asshole?

  I turn and walk to a quiet nearby spot in front of a low dark couch.

  He follows slowly, a drink in his hand. His sapphire eyes pick up the dim light of the room and reflect it back to me in strands of iridescent energy.

  “Can I help you?” he says.

  His voice is a dark gravelly sheen of resonance, with that edge of evil I remember from high above the clouds. It was only two weeks ago, but it feels like forever since I’ve been pining and searching for this man.

  Now that I’ve got him here to this private spot, I realize I have no clue what to say.

  He cocks his head, amber drink in his hand, as if to say go on.

  “Hi,” I say with a little cough, then clear my throat. “Um, excuse me . . . I mean, hi.”

  “Hi,” he says. “There’s a saying, you know. Once is coincidence. Twice is happenstance. Three times is enemy action.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Really? I never heard that.” God, that was stupid, Abigail! My inner courageous girl has suddenly vanished into nothingness. “Ha ha.”

  Ha ha? I don’t even know what he’s talking about.

  Okay, sweating now. Need another drink.

  He smiles. It’s one of those smiles that bypasses the eyes and goes straight to the pussy. My pulsating, vibrating, liquifying pussy.

  I try to say something but all I can seem to get out is some sort of squeaking sound.

  Brilliant, Abigail! Brilliant. Oh, bravo. Why don’t you just say “hee-haw” like a donkey?

  “Look, I don’t know what Lorena put you up to. But you can forget it, okay? It’s not going to work.”

  “Um,” I say, trying to process that. “She didn’t put me up to anything.”

  He takes a step closer to me. He squares his face and reaches deep into my inner being with those damned hypnotic irises. The party, the building, Biscayne Bay, even the black boy with the big floppy dong . . . they all disappear again. We’re on our own separate planet. No, more like our own ethereal world . . . above space and time in a bubble of sexual vibes that swirl around us in an array of charged vibrations.

  Then he does something I’ll remember on my deathbed.

  He raises his right hand and strokes my hair. Gently. Fires of desire light and dance all around me at his touch, even though it’s not even my skin. But I swear I can feel his soul.

  I inhale, drinking in the scent that embedded itself deep into my sensory memory way up in the air. I take a deep breath, attempting to ingest a lifetime’s supply of him, just in case.

  His expression changes. The almost-cruel condescension is gone. He looks at me with . . . is that recognition? Then, it appears like he’s figured something out. I recognize the assurance of solving a puzzle.

  “No,” he says with a little laugh. “You’re not my enemy.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He glances down at my feet, then all over me, but this time differently. More admiringly. “You are truly stunning.”

  My brain replays that a thousand and one times. You are stunning. He said you are stunning.

  I think I can die now.

  “Thanks,” I say with a smile. At least I think I’m smiling. I’m not sure if I’m sensing any muscle control.

  “Hey,” he says, “I didn’t realize you’re a friend of Lorena’s.”

  “I didn’t realize that either.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I met her at my job. Just recently.”

  “Oh, what do you do?”

  “Oh, um, I’m a, um, waitress.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Our place. I mean . . . ha . . . where we were. You and I. Bogart. The restaurant on Ocean Drive.” Oh God, this is embarrassing. I sound like a star-struck schoolgirl. Knock it off, Abigail! “I waitress there . . . where I met Lorena, too. Same place.”

  “Got it,” he says. “You got a job there. You’re a waitress.”

  “Yes. Sorry. I’ve had an adult beverage.” I’m using that as an excuse, but it’s not the drink that’s made me intoxicated. It’s him and his feral masculine presence that the port of Miami . . . not to mention the Earth . . . seems to revolve around.

  He stares at me for another one of those thousand years in which we melt into each other’s eyes. I swear the damned things glow from within. They pick up the light all around and reflect it back to me like some kind of hypnotic power that even seems to have its own throbbing beat.

  Is this man real, seriously?

  “Well,” he says, “it was nice to meet you . . . what was it again?”

  “Jayd.”

  “Jayd?”

  “Yes, short for Jayden,” I say. “Jayden Raye.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Really? That’s a very . . . porn star-ish name.”

  I feel the heat on my face. “Um, well . . .”

  “You’re not a porn star, are you?”

  Do I look like a fucking porn star, buddy? “No.” I giggle.

  He looks like he’s about to walk away, but then he turns and then turns back, then turns and turns back again, like he’s having an argument with himself. One side wins and he says, “Come over here.”

  Without thinking, I follow. He leads me several feet to a spot between two low walls made of cascading purple glowing water.

  Oh my god, we’re in one of the Play Pens!

  I hadn’t noticed the water from the distance of the balcony when I looked over before. Each wall of the Play Pen is not beveled glass as it seems from a distance, but a steady flow of cascading water lit with purple light from somewhere. It creates a translucent sheen that transforms shapes into shadows.

  I feel immediately vulnerable. Nobody can see us below the waist while we’re standing here. Nobody seems to pay attention to what anyone is doing, but Lorena did say that these are for . . .

  Oh my God!

  I gasp as his right hand slips under the front of my dress and brushes his fingers over my panty-covered pussy.

  My mouth falls open and I make some sort of grunting sound. He just continues to look at me with no emotion, just a slight amusement in his cocky smile. He strokes over the panties.

  Shit, I don’t know what to do. This is incredibly improper. Or is it? I don’t know. I’m in some sort of alternate universe here. I want to look around to see if anyone is watching us, but I can’t. I’m transfixed on his eyes.

  After all, this is the man I orgasmed to three times while masturbating before coming here.

  I suppose it’s okay if I let that man touch me then, right? Fuck, I suppose it’s okay if I let that man do whatever the fuck he wants to do with me.

  Right?

  Yeah, that would be super okay.

  Oh God, he slips a finger under my wet panties and strokes my naked slippery folds.

  My breathing becomes shallow. I can’t stop looking into his eyes. Shit, I imagined this just two hours ago, and here it is happening in real life. Is this real life?

  A finger wiggles up inside me.

  Oh God!

  Yep, real life. Oh God, real fucking life!

  He knows right where to go. He does this amazing thing inside me that I can’t even describe while something else draws little circles on my clit. Finger and thumb working together. I grab the tops of the two walls with clenched fingers and gritting teeth.

  And I come.

  Right there in the midd
le of the room. A little shake and a squirt. With little tiny squeals that I bite my upper lip to muffle.

  He laughs, then removes his hand and slaps my pussy over my panties. It’s not a fun laugh. It’s a condescending downright evil fucking laugh. He turns as if he’s about to walk away, but then turns back.

  “One more,” he says, cocking his head.

  Then he reaches down and his finger is up inside me again doing its thing.

  I come harder, this time with a little squeal. He laughs like it was too easy, then removes his hand, pats my pussy as if reassuring that it did a good job, takes a sip of his own drink, and turns to walk away.

  “I have to go,” he says. “It was nice to meet you . . . Jayd.”

  He turns and walks away, leaving me standing there.

  Oh my God, did that really just happen? That’s twice he’s gotten me off within seconds in front of other people. Three times, actually. Playing me like a goddamned musical instrument.

  And he was such a jerk about it!

  Again!

  I look around. Nobody seems to notice or care.

  Something within me fires up. I shake the last remnants of orgasm off, and try to walk. One foot, second foot. Yep, I’m shaky but okay.

  “Hey!” I say, as I catch up with him halfway across the room.

  He turns to face me, saying nothing.

  I freeze, hypnotized by him again. I had a whole diatribe in mind, but his beautiful eyes dissolve it completely.

  “What?” I say.

  “What what?”

  “What . . . was that?”

  He looks around like I just asked the dumbest question anyone could have ever asked. “What was what?”

  “That. Back there. You did . . . stuff.”

  He laughs again, a laugh that makes me want to punch him in the face. “That wasn’t stuff. Trust me, you’d know if I really did stuff.” Then his expression softens. The panty-dropping smile returns as he moves a little closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re cute. You really are. Don’t take this the wrong way, because you’re a very nice girl, but you’re not ready for me yet.”

  Did he just say what I think he just said?

  “Um, huh?” I say in my new limited vocabulary.

  “Look, I took you somewhere I shouldn’t have. Not just here, but on the plane too. I took some liberties and crossed some lines. But please forget it. You’re not right for me.”

  My brain kicks into super-overdrive, attempting to process this. “Wait. So I can’t get to know you because I’m not . . . what? . . . experienced enough yet?”

  “No, Jayd, no. It’s just . . . I’m just . . . not normal.”

  “Oh my God, that’s my phrase! Neither am I! I say that all the time.”

  Shit, that sounded try-hard, didn’t it?

  His look becomes sullen and distant. “No, I don’t think you understand. I’m not normal. Nowhere near normal. You’re a lot more normal than you think you are. And we would be a bad combination. Good night. It was a pleasure to meet you . . . um . . . Jayd.”

  Pleasure to meet you? That’s not what you say right after you finger a girl to orgasm in front of a room full of strangers!

  Then again, what do you say after you finger a girl to orgasm in front of a room full of strangers? Oh, never mind. He’s an asshole.

  He saunters off, his hair and shirt flowing in ripples like there’s a fan in front of him wherever he goes.

  Fuck.

  Fuck me.

  Fucking fuck fuck.

  Bastard.

  Horrible asshole bastard.

  I’m so goddamned pissed I want to run after him and throw my drink in his face.

  But I don’t.

  No, I keep calm. This is just a test. He’s testing me, that’s it. He wants to know if I’m worthy. Oh, that’s it. I’m soooooooo going to pass his tests and win.

  “Another drink?” says Cock Toy, his eyes down as he approaches me from the side. After the presence of Lukas Thorn, the chiseled body of this submissive man has become totally irrelevant to me.

  I look him over, consider throwing him down on the floor and mounting him right here in front of everybody to make Lukas jealous, but I just say, “Yes.” He moves off to fetch me another drink.

  I look over at Lukas Thorn. A new gaggle of giggling bitch slut whores have gathered around him, laughing.

  I storm back over to the balcony. Lorena is talking with a man I recognize, a well-known flamboyant New York fashion designer. He’s wearing a Willy Wonka-style suit with wide purple and black stripes with a matching top hat.

  “Jayd!” says Lorena. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “Oh, no need. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I have a couple pairs of your shoes.”

  “Just a couple?” he says. “Well, get on that, dear. You need more!” I laugh. “Lorena, I see someone I want to play with. I’ll talk to you later. Nice to meet you, Jayd.”

  He flops away. Lorena takes a fake puff and looks at me. She’s about to speak but I interrupt her.

  “I’m in,” I say.

  “In?”

  “Your academy. Everything. I want to try it. I think it might be for me.”

  A huge smile spreads over Lorena’s face.

  “I knew you would, Jayd.”

  Chapter 4

  I gotta admit, Karissa’s ass is something else. She’s prancing around the stripper pole, the steady rhythm of “I’m Worth It” by Fifth Harmony thumping the room. The low black sofa in which I sit seems to lift up off the floor with every bass beat.

  The lyrics fit Karissa perfectly.

  I’m on my second Ciroc with grapefruit juice, attempting to replicate the nuclear drink from Lorena’s party but not succeeding, sitting with her friends Ginger and Chantel. Weird to be the only girl without a cock.

  Which becomes even more weird when Karissa drops her panties for a guy who has placed a five-dollar bill on the rail.

  Ginger and Chantel talk normally about random girl topics while I’m just astounded and amazed at this place. I’ve never even been to a strip club before¸ much less a transgender one.

  I gotta admit, the girls are freakin’ hot.

  Karissa gets on her knees, wiggling her ass right in the face of the man who sits and stares. Her cock flaps halfway down her thigh. God, how does anyone walk around with one of those?

  The song ends, she stands up, blows a kiss at the guy, and collects her tiny pile of clothes as she walks down off the stage toward us.

  “A big round of applause for Heaven,” says the D.J. in a booming voice. “Gentlemen, as always the ladies are available for private dances in the VIP Booth. Now put your hands together for Diamond!”

  There is a smattering of applause as a six-foot-five blonde girl with massive breasts saunters out in a glittery outfit and swings right up on the pole into a spin.

  I can’t help but stare at the beast of a cock swinging back and forth in front of my face as Karissa walks up to me and sits down.

  I’ve seen it before—the night of the Jaxon insertion—but here it is. Live. In front of me. Just hanging there. Dangling.

  “Yo!” she says as she snaps her fingers in front of my face. She tucks it and pulls her panties on. “I know this is a work of art, but you keep sayin’ you don’t want it.”

  I nearly fall on the floor laughing. Yeah, definitely feeling the alcohol. I think I might be turning into a lush down here.

  “Heaven?” I say.

  “We all have stage names. Don’t need no creepy skeev looking me up and stalking me. Besides, look at this body. Heaven is what you get.”

  The waitress comes by and Karissa orders a drink while strapping on her bra and a silky negligee that covers the bra and panties, which glow in the soft neon light.

  “So go on,” she says, “before my stage time you were talking about the party you forgot to invite me to.” She play-hits me.

  “You were working!” I say. “And I didn’t see you at a
ll the day before.”

  “Huh, guess I’ll have to forgive you this time. So he just got you off right there, with his fingers all up in your cooch, right in front of fuck all?”

  “Yeah, I hate to say this . . . . . . but I really enjoyed the fact that other people could see us. Not that they could really see us, because we were in one of those things.”

  “Play pens.”

  I laugh. “Yes. Holy shit, I can’t believe some of the things I’m actually saying out loud recently.”

  “You and me both, honey.”

  “So the thing is . . . . . .” I laugh again, “this Lorena woman wants me in the very school that I ran from, even though the glowing Erica bitch said I could never come back. And Lukas Thorn is the Director! How hot is that?”

  “Submission school, huh?”

  “She prefers the term ‘academy.’”

  “Ooh la la. Do they have a Dominance Academy? That would be my ticket.”

  “Want me to ask?”

  “Whatever you want, honey. I got my own side biz going on.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Karissa looks at me like I have two heads. Am I missing something here?

  “Hi,” says a tall man in a gray shirt and jeans. We both look up. Karissa puts on a big fake smile.

  “Hi yourself,” says Karissa, taking his hand and curling her legs so her foot grazes his calf. “I knew you’d come find me.”

  “Private dance?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.”

  The waitress brings Karissa’s drink. The man pays for it, and then he and Karissa walk off to a private booth where she draws a velvet curtain.

  “So what goes on in there?” I say to the two other girls.

  “Depends,” says Chantel.

  “On what?”

  “On how much cash the guy has,” says Ginger.

  Oh my God, is Karissa a hooker? A lightbulb—accompanied by an alarm bell—goes off in my head. Sometimes the obvious is just too obvious until someone points it out.

  Shit.

  I don’t think I like that.

  I glance over at the door. No, I don’t think I like that at all. Suddenly, I feel that unsafe feeling again, telling me to run. Just like when I ran from Erica.

  That’s twice in two days now.