Just the thought of that makes a little gush of warmth rocket through me, which really surprises me. I thought I’d lost this particular type of adrenaline long ago. Suddenly, I’m very excited by my new toy and the image of my soon-to-be escort. I’ve got visions of his sugar plums dancing through my head.
Oh god, you’re so twisted! That’s a Christmas reference!
But maybe something new, something naughty and forbidden, is just what I need to shake nearly two decades with a traitor. Fifteen wasted Christmases with a pathetic, lying husband. It’s time for a new and shiny Christmas, so maybe it’s just what the doctor (or Santa) ordered. The doctor, in this case, being Sara of course.
I rinse the new vibrator in hot water, deciding to name it Geronimo since I’m jumping into all sorts of new things. As it warms in my hands, I picture the super-hot Shade again. I think of having my own personal boy-toy, a sex slave with no other goal than to please me, to make all my fantasies come true.
To my complete surprise, within seconds of this wanton fantasy, my panties are damp. Holy crap. But this shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve spent almost two decades with someone who came in two minutes flat and then rolled over snoring within the next two minutes following. Obviously the thought of someone who is paid to dote on every sexual desire that I might have is…stimulating. Impulsively, I strip my panties off and walk half naked to the bed. In broad daylight.
I’m nervous.
Very nervous.
What if I get it stuck and Sophie comes home and finds me with a buzzing vibrator lodged in my vag and then she has to drive me to the hospital where I have to have it surgically removed?? And of course the scalpel would damage the nerves down there and I’d never be able to climax ever again.
I’m an idiot.
I know this.
I’m a sexually repressed idiot.
With a deep breath, I lie down on my back with my knees bent and I close my eyes again, picturing Shade. I flip the switch on the vibrator.
The beaver’s nose trembles against my leg and I laugh at the thought that a beaver is going to stimulate my beaver. Ha. I spin Geronimo until he is positioned right where he should be. It feels like ants crawling on me for just a second and I grit my teeth. But the very next second, I have gotten used to the feeling.
And holy-fucking-pygmy-goats!
I have to suck in a breath to keep from gasping.
Sweet Mary Mother of God. A million shards of light are exploding in my crotch. All I need now is a Baptist choir to sing Hallelujah and jump around waving their hands in the air.
I suck in another breath and dare to move it a teench.
Dear God, if only it was Shade’s tongue!
I’m a dirty, dirty woman.
I’m fantasizing about a boy whose tongue is surely only in college. And the rest of him, too, of course. But I can’t help it. As Geronimo pushes me closer and closer to a precipice that I haven’t even approached in years (make that EVER), the fantasy hits me head-on and I don’t let shame stop me from having it.
I imagine that Shade has a youthfully ripped body—all tan and fit and flexible. It’s more beautiful than Rick the Dick ever was. Ugh. I cringe. Note to self: I can’t think about Rick the Dick if I don’t want my vag to implode on itself.
I focus on Shade again. I imagine what he would look like poised above me as he guides his enormous, perfect young penis into me. I imagine him sucking my nipples and pulling my hair in ecstasy as he pounds me like a bass drum at a Kiss concert.
I move Geronimo just a bit more.
Then a bit more.
And just like that, I come.
Merry Christmas to me.
As I lay in stunned, breathless satisfaction, I seriously think of texting Sara with my eternal gratitude.
Holy shit, girl! I think I love you.
Actually, I’m in love with Geronimo.
It’s the perfect penis: Huge, hard and unattached to the rest of a man who would only bring problems like a beer gut, hellacious gas and infidelity. I gaze at it fondly as I wash it again, then tuck it into my bedside stand.
Yep, I’m definitely in love.
With a happy sigh, I realize that for the first time, I’m looking forward to my date on Saturday night.
********
“You look marvelous!” Sara says when I round the corner into the bedroom.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Why? We are simply two wealthy women with trophy boy toys out for a night on the town at one of Vegas’s most luxurious night spots. Nothing to feel ridiculous about.”
“I’m dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only without the body for it,” I say, indicating my short, tight dress. “How did I let you talk me into buying this?”
“Well, I thought it might help things with Rick the Dick many moons ago, but this is an even better use. Besides, you look mouthwatering. You do too have the body for it.”
Standing up, she walks to me. She trails the fingertips of one hand down my cheek before she rakes her long fingernails through my hair.
“Such great hair,” she murmurs. “It’s a perfect dark color and it’s so shiny and full. You could be on a shampoo commercial. Seriously.” I roll my eyes and smile, but she interrupts me before I can even speak. “And your teeth!” she observes. “You’ve got perfect teeth. Blindingly white. Your smile almost makes me hate you. What man can resist that?”
I stare at her incredulously. “My teeth? What the hell? No man is going to date me on the merits of my oral health. I’m not a horse, Sara.”
“And such a beautiful face,” she continues, ignoring me. Right before she drags her hands down to palm my boobs next. She gives them a squeeze.
“Delicious rack,” she declares, then grabs my waist and spins me around. “And a perfect ass,” she exclaims, slapping my butt. “You are gorgeous in every way and any man in his right mind would give his left nut to lick you from head to toe and everywhere in between.”
“I think you secretly have the hots for me,” I laugh. “Maybe I should be going out with you instead.”
“Oh, you flatter! If either of us swung that way, we’d be perfect together. But, alas, I’m a sausage lover, as are you. No tacos for us.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Have you always been this way and I’m just now noticing?”
“Yes. You’ve been preoccupied for a few years.”
“I’m beginning to really love this new you. Even if she shocks me regularly and gets me into trouble more often than not.”
“You love it and you know it. I add much-needed excitement to your life,” Sara claims, walking to the mirror to touch up her lipstick.
“Did I tell you I love that hair style on you, too?” I ask, referring to her new dark red pixie cut. She totally has the face to pull it off.
“Keep going like that and I’m yours.”
We both laugh.
“Well, I guess I’m ready.” I add under my breath, “At least as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Then it’s time to go.”
My stomach flutters in dread and anxiety and, yes, a little bit of excitement. I take a deep breath and smile at Sara. She loops her arms through mine and grins.
“Welcome to the first night of the rest of your life.”
We make our way outside and down the walk to the curb, to the shiny black limousine waiting there. The ride is only twenty minutes or so, during which I drink champagne in the back of the limo at a rate of speed that would make a sailor proud.
When we glide to a stop at the club, I follow Sara out of the car.
And the man waiting for me nearly takes my breath away.
He’s taller than I imagined and much broader than I expected. His shoulders look a mile wide in his perfectly-tailored tuxedo, making his waist look smaller than mine. His hair is dark brown and his eyes are the same dark, sparkling blue as they are in his picture.
He’s young, all right. But there is nothing boyish about this guy. Not at all.
As
I step from the car, he extends his hand toward me. I slip my fingers into his and he smiles. I’m pretty sure my knees go numb and my uterus has a spasm. But it’s when he speaks that I know it’s all over but the shouting. And the Hallelujah choir.
“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” he purrs in a deep, velvety voice.
Yep, I’m gonna ride him like a runaway bull tonight. No two ways about it.
The thought makes me smile.
Chapter Two
(Because sometimes you just gotta have the guy’s perspective)
Shade
“You’re a rock star,” I mutter to the guy in the mirror as I tug his black tie into a crisp bow. “A fucking rock star.”
“Dude, who the hell are you talking to?”
Chaz strides into the dressing room.
Correction. Chaz struts into the room. Chaz struts into every room like a little rooster. It’s annoying as hell. In fact, he’s annoying as hell. But since two women requested us both together, we’re stuck with each other tonight. And I know that he doesn’t like it any more than I do. He’s an asshole and I just pray that I can get through the night without knocking his teeth down the back of his cocky little rooster throat.
I don’t answer. I just return my attention to the man in the mirror. The guy staring back at me is confident, worldly and sexy as hell. He’s comfortable in the starched penguin suit and he can charm a woman’s Victoria Secret panties right off of her.
He’s Shade. And Shade is a fucking rockstar.
“You about ready?” Chaz cocks an eyebrow at me and waits impatiently. “You’re such a fucking girl,” he mutters beneath his breath.
I glance at him. He’s sitting on a red velvet lounge to my left, his short legs thumping restlessly against the wooden legs. He’s just a short little guy. I don’t see what women see in him. As he waits, he grabs a mint from the silver dish beside him and plunks it into his mouth, adhering to one of our rules. Always have fresh breath, but never chomp on gum.
This dressing room is plush, quiet and meant to be calming. Most of my colleagues (and I use that term loosely) don’t need to be calmed. They’ve been doing this for quite a while. I’m the new kid on the block, the youngest and newest on the team. I’ve only been doing this for six months, but I’ve done it every weekend, which makes twenty four weekends of this. Of dates.
That’s what we call them. Dates.
I smile to myself because dates in high school or even college were never like this. The vague memory of clutching and groping at each other in parked cars in dark alleys with fogged up car windows comes to mind and I almost laugh.
My life has certainly progressed.
Ever since my friend Adam introduced me to this job, my life has changed for the better. I no longer have to beg money from my old man and live by his rules. I can pay my own way because I make a LOT of money by doing something that I love. And that means that I don’t have to get the freaking business degree that my father wanted me to get. I have no interest in that. I don’t really know what I’m interested in yet, but it’s sure as hell not business.
The man in the mirror smiles at me, confident and ready. He’s 6’1” and his dark hair is tousled. He shakes it out of the way to reveal his dark blue eyes. Cobalt, some women have called them. Whatever the fuck that is. Whatever it is, I’m good with it. They seem to like it.
“Ready,” the man in the mirror says and I turn to face Chaz.
I’m Shade now. And Shade is ready for anything. Anytime, anywhere.
I grab a mint on the way out.
I’m a fucking rockstar.
We make our way down the back halls of Utopia. Only customers paying the high escort prices will ever see these halls and the rooms adjoined to them. It still astounds me that women would pay that sort of money just to have sex with a man. I mean, hell. Women can always get it if they want it. They don’t have to pay for it.
Yet these women do. They hand over their credit cards without blinking, simply because they want to have no-strings-tied sex with me. They like getting to tell me exactly what they want and knowing that I won’t judge them for it.
Even though there is some freaky, kinky shit going on here. Stuff I never even knew existed until I came to work here.
I adjust my jacket as I walk past the closed doors. I don’t hear anything from behind them. The doors and walls are thick here for a reason.
Complete anonymity. Utopia promises that to its patrons. The women who walk through these halls must wear a velvet blindfold until they are safely ensconced in a bedroom with a closed door. It protects the identity of them and of anyone else that they might see.
The halls are red with textured wallpaper. The wall sconces are dimly lit and it creates a seductive atmosphere, even though the patrons never see these particular walls. I walk through with ease now. I’m Shade. And Shade never gets nervous.
We reach the doors that lead out to the main club, the normal face of Utopia. Normal people who just want to drink and dance are out there, dancing like fools on the dance floor with their neon green wristbands flashing in the dark. The guards who stand at each side of the back hallway know not to let anyone wearing a green wrist band in. Of course, no one without an escort can get in, period.
It’s very exclusive.
And that makes me very exclusive. I straighten my shoulders. When I am here, inside the walls of Utopia, I act differently. I know no fear, I have no boundaries. I am always up for anything.
I am always hard, always ready. It’s what they pay me for.
We make our way through the throngs of sweaty people and come out of the front doors just in time to find two women getting out of shiny black limo. At first, all I can see are slender legs. The woman that they are attached to spreads them slightly before she climbs out, purposely giving us a clear shot of her bare crotch.
Classy.
She’s skinny and pale with a strikingly short fire-engine red hair cut. She’s rich and she’s definitely used to commanding attention. I can tell that from here. She’s fine to look at, but honestly, I find my attention captured by the beautiful woman climbing out behind her.
Sweet Jesus.
It’s at times like this that I truly, truly love my job.
I offer her my hand, helping her from the car.
She’s fairly tall for a chick, and slender, but she’s got womanly hips and a perfect rack. She’s wearing a short, barely there skirt and a shirt that perfectly shows off her lush, full cleavage.
I wasn’t expecting this when they told me that my client tonight was in her mid-thirties. This woman has a tight, tight body. She must work out. Dark brown hair curls around her shoulders and from the way she is staring, I know she is here for me.
Thank you, God.
“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” I tell her. And I mean it. She looks instantly more relaxed as a small smile curves her lips.
“Shade?” she asks, her voice fairly quiet. She’s hesitant, nothing at all like her bordering-on-obnoxious friend. I bend to kiss her hand. That’s another rule. Always pamper your date.
They certainly pay a high premium for it.
She smiles and the darkness around us lights up.
I smile back.
“I’m Shade,” I confirm. “And you must be Allison.”
“You can call me Alli,” she says. I can see she’s nervous. Another rule: Always make your date comfortable.
“Well, Alli,” I tell her with a confident grin, “Welcome to the best night of your life.”
She smiles back radiantly, but I can still see a little of her shyness lurking there. It’s charming and I hold my arm out.
“Shall we?” I ask.
She nods, her lips tightening just a bit. She’s definitely nervous.
As we walk, I lean in, my lips grazing the sensitive skin by her ear. She smells of a classy perfume. I don’t know what it is. Whatever it is, it makes me want to lick her.
�
��Relax,” I murmur to her. “You’re going to enjoy yourself. I promise.”
She looks at me, her hazel eyes meeting mine.
“I have no doubt.”
We thread our way through the thumping, noisy club. Allison’s fingers are resting lightly on my arm and I guide her through the crowds. When we get to the private back hallway, Chaz and his date stop while he blind-folds her. She waggles her fingers at Allison, calling “Enjoy yourself, love!” over her shoulder.
I turn to Allison with the blindfold in my hand.
“Is that really necessary?” she asks uncertainly.
“What?” I ask. “Blindfolding you?” She nods and I step behind her.
I trail my fingers over the skin of her breasts slightly. She sucks in her breath and I lean in once again to whisper in her ear. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”
I tug the blindfold until it is tight, then wrap her fingers once again around my arm as I lead her through the halls and to a private room.
This is going to be fun.
Chapter Three
(Or: Am I Really Freaking Doing This?)
Alli
Holy freaking Hell.
I’m internally having a panic attack because I’ve never been blind-folded before. And here I am, letting a beautiful gigolo blindfold me and lead me away to his sex nest.
“Breathe, Allison,” the beautiful gigolo tells me in my ear. His voice is husky and rich, like hot caramel or warm maple syrup...or even better, like melted chocolate. I swallow, instantly hungry and turned on at the same time.
“Okay,” I agree, trying to force my traitorous lungs to fill with air.
They are having none of it though and I gasp like an idiot, even though the blindfold is velvet and satin. It’s hardly uncomfortable, but it still makes me anxious. What is waiting for me that he needs to blind me for? Weird whips and chains? Hand cuffs and ben wah balls?
Holy freaking hell.
I am practically panting when I hear a door being unlocked with the swipe of a card. I hear it click and then a doorknob turning. Then I am being gently pulled into the sex nest.
Confessions of an Alli Cat Page 2
