Indecent Cravings: Part Two

by S. K. Cross

  It’s kind of like my entire new world is too much to take all at once. I want to experience new amazing things, but then I get these anxiety attacks that prevent me from going after what I really want.

  Shit, I suddenly feel all alone.

  I used to call Zander when I had these funky anxiety attacks. He would always say exactly the right thing, usually telling me to shut up and stop over-thinking everything.

  God, I miss the way he used to lift me up and out of my funk, filling me with hope. I miss him. I wonder where he is. Life is suddenly so different.

  “Are you okay?” says Ginger.

  “Yes,” I say, noticing the tightness in my throat while feeling a tear fall down my cheek. “Thanks.”

  I suddenly regret everything. I have a sudden urge to go home. I want to be in my bed back home in my old big four-poster bed in the big house in stuffy Concord.

  Really? Did I just say that? Did I really just say that?

  My phone vibrates. I take it out of my pocket and look at the name.

  Ashley.

  Ho ho ho . . . speaking of Concord.

  If I weren’t drunk, I’d ignore it, but the Ciroc makes me tap the icon and say, “Hello, Ashley.”

  Ashley says something but I can’t hear her.

  “Wait a minute,” I say. I nod to the other girls and walk to the door, stepping outside into the nighttime heat, which is identical to the morning and afternoon heat.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I couldn’t hear you. It was noisy where I was. I’m outside now.”

  “Oh, partying it up, huh?” says Ashley. “I can’t believe you. What is wrong with you, Abigail?”

  In an instant, all feelings of wanting to be back in Concord vanish. “What is wrong with me? What the fuck, Ashley?”

  “Are you drunk? Oh my God, you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  “I’m on vacation!”

  “Vacation? You’ve been gone for two weeks. This is more than a vacation, Abigail.”

  “Ish my right. Ish a free country.”

  “Freedom has nothing to do with it. You have family obligations and responsibilities.”

  “To do what? To be a prim and proper Missh Prissh to please Mom?”

  There is a long pause on the other end of the line. I stare at the closed used car dealership next door. Two Latino guys eye me as they walk by. One makes a joke in Spanish, and then they disappear around the corner. I duck into the shadows of the overhang.

  “Abigail,” says Ashley, “you know the deal with Mom.”

  “Do you know she was the one who turned Zander in?”

  “I’m not having that conversation with you right now, Abigail.”

  “Oh, and by the way, thanks for asking how I am.”

  “Why are you doing this, Abigail? Why?”

  “Doing what, exactly? I’m on vacation. Don’t I deserve a fucking vacation? I’ve done everything Mom has asked for years. Is it ridiculish to think that maybe, jush fucking maybe . . . . . . I can get a fucking break, a trip down here.”

  “I can’t talk to you. You’re drunk.”

  A pickup truck full of guys turns and pulls up in front of the club. I back further into the darkness of the overhang, concealing my presence.

  “Hang on,” I say.

  Three guys get out of the truck. One has a long beard and a ponytail with a beer gut. Another is a skinny but muscular kid in a straw hat. The third one has a pockmarked face with a chin that looks like it’s been carved from stone. He carries a baseball bat.

  Uh-oh.

  I press myself further into the shadows.

  “Um, Ashley,” I whisper, “I gotta go.”

  “Well, sister, I have news for you. Dad is coming down to find you. So be warned. He’s going to be there.”

  The image of my father in Miami would make me laugh if it weren’t for the fact that the three guys just walked inside the club.

  I hit End on my phone, effectively hanging up on Ashley, and dial 9-1-1.

  “Emergency dispatch,” says the operator. “Your call is being recorded. What is the location and nature of your emergency?”

  I tell her the address and the name of the club. I swear she snickers.

  “Where did you say?” she says.

  “T’s,” I say. “T’s Gentlemen’s Club. Three guys just walked in and they look like trouble. I’m outside. They’re not customers, I can tell. One has a baseball bat.”

  The dispatcher sighs loudly. “We’ll send an officer out. Are you being threatened right now?” I hear a giggle in the background. What the fuck?

  “Yes!” I say and hang up. Assholes.

  I’m afraid to do anything. I stay in hiding. Those guys looked like trouble.

  But wait! Karissa! I can’t let anything happen to Karissa!

  I don’t know what gets into me. Maybe it’s the vodka, or the feeling that I have to protect my friends even if it means going up against three guys, one with a baseball bat, like there’s anything a girl like me could accomplish against them.

  I’m almost at the door, ready to accept my fate, when the guy with the ponytail and beard flies past me, out and onto the ground. I hear a scraping sound as his forehead hits the pavement.

  Behind him stands Chantel, her thick black hair reflecting the streetlights from her sparkly gold highlights. Her thick lips are glossy and her eye shadow is a deep shiny blue.

  “You okay?” she says to me in a throaty voice that is naturally deep.

  “Um, I think so,” I say, totally bewildered by her actions.

  Next out the door is the pockmarked guy with the baseball bat. One eye is shut and bloody. Holding his arm behind his back is . . . oh my God! . . . Karissa.

  She presents the intruder to Chantel who punches him in the gut. I feel the intensity as a gust of air launches out of his mouth with a loud oof!

  Karissa lets go of him, raising her leg and literally kicking him in the ass. He falls forward face down onto the gravel.

  “Too easy,” says Karissa in a non-plussed tone like nothing has happened.

  “There was a third guy,” I say.

  “Oh, Diamond is taking care of him,” says Karissa. “I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”

  I laugh. “Does this happen a lot?”

  “Too often.”

  “How do you do this? Knowing that you have to fight off haters like that?”

  “Honey, you do what you need to do. I ain’t living my life for anyone else’s rules. I do what I want. Sometimes you got to fight for it. A lot of times you got to fight for it.”

  A shocked and thoroughly naked skinny guy—straw hat gone—is marched out with his hands behind his back by six-foot-five Diamond. His dick is pathetically tiny. Actually, next to Diamond, everything about him is tiny.

  She marches him over to the pickup truck and slams him into the side of it.

  Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.

  “Now get out of here!” she says.

  The three men painfully and slowly climb into the truck. The headlights come on and it drives off.

  Once it’s gone, a Miami-Dade cruiser pulls up with its lights flashing. Two cops get out, one male and one female.

  “We received a 9-1-1 call,” says the female officer, a tough-looking Latina. “Is everything okay here?”

  “Everything is perfectly fine, officer,” says Karissa. “Nothing to see here.”

  She winks at me.

  Chapter 5

  The door looks much the same as the last time I was here. Brown steel surrounded by off-white adobe.

  I’m back on Ocean Court, here for my first real session at Lorena’s submission “academy” and placement agency slash matchmaking whatever the fuck.

  The weather is much the same, too. Steamy sun giving way to rumbles and fast moving dark clouds.

  Here we go again.

  Last time, Erica just found me. This time I knock.

  Nothing.

  A rumble shakes the sky and the earth. Wispy misty cloud
funnels form overhead.

  Shit.

  I don’t want to get stuck in one of those downpours again. That was awful.

  I knock again.

  Nothing.

  Another rumble. The sun is gone now. The air has that thick steamy sense of impending violence. The palm fronds in the trees whip around furiously.

  I can run to Ocean Drive or Collins. On Ocean, I’m under the overhang of a restaurant. On Collins, I have to duck into a clothing store.

  The rain starts.

  Shit, what do I do?

  I pound on the door.

  It opens.

  And there she is.

  The bespectacled Erica with her thick black frames and wide blue eyes.

  Again she’s in another resplendent bikini/negligee outfit, this one a bright yellow.

  Oh God, I might be in trouble. Am I bisexual? Shit, I think I might be.

  Oh fuck, she’s glowing again. She had to be glowing again, right? A warmth, accompanied by a jolt, jiggles between my legs. I can’t help it. She’s fucking gorgeous. And the glasses so work on her. What is it about the damned glasses?

  “Well, look at you”, she says with arms folded and the hint of a sneer around her eyes. “You’re back.”

  “Yes, I’m back.”

  “I saw your name on my list. I thought you had decided this wasn’t for you.”

  “I know. Sorry about that. I met Lorena and she, uh, helped change my mind.”

  “Whatever.” She makes a stupid bird-flapping motion with her hands. “I just do what I’m told. Come on in.”

  Oooooh, the sarcasm is thicker than the humidity. My inner diva awakens.

  Down, babygirl, down.

  I sit in the same chair as last time. Oddly, the sky is doing the same thing it did the last time, too. Clouding over with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning.

  Then again, it is the same time of day as before and we do seem to get a damned thunderstorm every day about now. Florida is fucking weird. Karissa says it stops in the late fall, but we’ve got a ways to go.

  “Did you bring the lock we told you to buy with the combination memorized?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you bring your questionnaire?” says Erica.

  “Yes.” I take it out from my bag and hand it to her. Lorena emailed it to me, then I printed it and filled it out.

  “Sit.”

  I sit.

  Erica types.

  I sit some more.

  She types some more.

  I cross my legs.

  She types some more.

  “Is there a problem?” I finally say.

  “No,” she says with a big fake smile. “Why would there be a problem?” She returns to typing.

  Fucking bitch.

  I sit some more.

  She types some more.

  Then she rolls her eyes and makes a scoffing sound.

  “What?” I say.

  “You’ve never done anal, seriously?”

  “Um, no.”

  She makes another scoffing sound and types some more.

  Finally, after another long silence, she says, “Okay, so no whips. That’s a hard limit. So is anything that leaves permanent marks on the body.”

  “Right.”

  “Same gender sex. You listed that as a hard limit. That’s unacceptable for what we do here.”

  “Um, I like guys.”

  She shoots me another cock-headed tilt. “You’ve been drooling over me since the first time you saw me. I’m changing that to a Force Limit, meaning you’ll do it if you’re forced to. I believe that’s what you truly meant.”

  I feel my face flush. “Maybe.”

  “Just initial that you approve the change right here.” She hands pushes the paper across the desk at me with a pen. I sign.

  “Good. Now I’ve slotted you in with two other applicants today.”

  Two other applicants? Girls?

  The expression on my face must be severe because she smiles and laughs.

  Oddly, I want to kick her teeth in and lick her cunt both at the same time. Is there a word for that?

  She stands and turns to the other offices down a short hallway to the right.

  “Follow me,” she says.

  My inner diva has maybe a hundred or so phrases ready to launch, but I figure it’s best to keep my mouth shut.

  I follow her past several other offices to a door that she pushes open. I notice we’re not alone. There are people in the offices working on their computers, all in basic business casual.

  We’re in a locker room. There is a row of shower stalls off to the right and a changing area straight ahead. Rows of blue lockers line the wall to the left.

  “Strip,” says Erica.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t give me the ‘excuse me’ bullshit. You want to learn submission. You start here. Now strip, and if you say excuse me again you are seriously out on the street for good.”

  My inner diva is having a fit, but I keep her in her place. This is what I want, isn’t it?

  I place my bag on the low wooden bench in front of the lockers.

  Fine.

  I can’t help but feel awkward as she stares at me while I slowly remove my flats, my shorts, and my tank top.

  I pause for a moment in my panties and bra, glancing at her.

  “Hurry it up,” she says, arms folded and tapping her right foot.

  I feel my eyes narrow at her as I undo my bra, then take my panties off and place them on the table.

  There.

  Now I’m fully naked.

  She continues to stare at me, looking me up and down.

  “Head up,” she says. “You need to learn how we do things around here. Shoulders back.”

  Shit. Really?

  She walks around me, like she’s inspecting me. She places her hand on my ass. I jump.

  “Easy, tiger,” she says. “Okay, I think I know what’s going to work for you.”

  “What do you—”

  “Silence! You will speak only when spoken to. Eyes down. I’ll be right back.”

  Again, I feel that mix of confusion, fear, and utter horniness. I mean, I’m pretty much always horny, but there is an added intensity firing up with in me.

  I think I like this, even if it does frighten me to death.

  Erica returns with what appears to be a leather corset in one hand. In the other is a pair of shiny black boots.

  She holds the corset up next to me and squints.

  “Put that on,” she says and throws it at me. I grit my teeth at her as I catch it.

  I flip the piece of clothing around to find it’s not all leather. It stretches and the ties in the back are built-in, so it’s not a real corset, which would be horribly uncomfortable.

  I place it over my head and pull it down. It covers me from the spot right below my breasts to the top of my hips.

  “Hands at your sides!” says Erica. I put my hands to my sides.

  Huh. Must be a common sight around here.

  Erica cocks her head to one side as she looks at me and says, “Perfect. Now put these on.”

  I gotta admit, I love the boots. They glisten. I sit at the bench and pull one boot on.

  Ooooh, nice.

  Then the other.

  Very nice. They come all the way up to my thigh, the leather soft and pliable around my skin. I absolutely love the feel of these.

  I stand up, which is a little difficult considering the heels.

  “Hm, something’s missing,” says Erica as she looks at me. “Oh, I know.”

  She leaves again, returning a few seconds later with a roll of black electrical tape. She comes over to me, tears off a piece of tape and places it on my breast next to my nipple, but not covering it.

  At her touch I feel a subtle electricity. I stare a little too long at her lips, glowing a delightful glossy pink.

  “Don’t even think it,” she says. “I’m not interested in you, nor would I ever be.” />
  Fucking bitch. I make a chuckling sound to communicate Yeah, right, like I’d ever want to.

  She got me so wound up I didn’t even notice what she was doing. My breasts have two hashtags on them, the exposed nipples in the center.

  “Perfect,” she says. “Now, lock your belongings up in one of those.”

  I pick my things up, place them in a locker, close it, and lock it with the lock I brought.

  “Follow me,” says Erica.

  My heart beats a little faster as she leads me past the office area and down a long corridor past several more offices with people in them. Nobody looks up at the mostly naked girl walking by.

  There is a black steel door way down at the end. It has huge round bolts all around its edges.

  Erica finds a key on the big ring, puts it in the lock, and opens the steel door. It creaks loudly as it swings on heavy hinges. She motions me through. All I can see is darkness beyond.

  Well, I guess this is it, right?

  This is the choice I’m making.

  Right?

  I walk past her. The door slams shut behind me with a loud clang.

  Chapter 6

  We’re at the top of a set of stairs. She walks down and I follow her to the landing, where she turns and we go down to another landing. Then another. Then another.

  Holy fuck, I didn’t think Miami Beach went down this far.

  Shit. The urge to run hits me again.

  Finally¸ we’re at the bottom landing. It’s cold and damp and dark down here. First hint of anything remotely cold I think I’ve felt since arriving in Florida.

  Erica approaches a door that looks like one of those submarine hatches you see in movies. She bends down and turns the big wheel. I get a fantastic glimpse of her perfectly round ass. Her plump little mound beckons to me. Looks ripe and tasty. Why does her skin glow? Is she wearing phosphorous body makeup or some shit?

  She pulls the big door open, leaning back into me. I can’t stand her, but her delicious shoulder is inches from my mouth. I so want to lick it.

  What the fuck, Abigail? Stop!

  She curtsies sarcastically like I’m fake royalty or something, motioning me through. I walk in, then she shuts the bulkhead behind me.

  I’m in what can only be described as a holding cell, very dimly lit by overhead fluorescent lights. There are two doors . . . the submarine-like bulkhead through which we just entered . . . and another black steel door with studs on the other side of the room.