by R. M. Walker
I sign the paper she slides in front of me as she goes in the back and brings out two black garment bags.
“Here they are. I was asked to give you this too.” She hands over a slip of paper with the name and address of a beauty salon that’s usually out of my price range, but the note says an appointment has been booked and paid for, for me to have a mini makeover. I smile, I guess my birthday won’t be so bad after all. I’ll need to send Mrs. M a bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you. When do they have to be returned?” I would hate to have to explain paying late fees.
“The answer you seek is inside you.” She tells me rather unhelpfully, her voice turning soft before walking back through the beaded curtain.
“Well, okay then crazy lady,” I mutter to myself. I will just return them tomorrow. I glance down at the bags in my hand and my watch catches my eye. Shit. I need to get this sent over to Mr. Badd before I miss my appointment at the salon. I head home quickly to drop mine off and to arrange a pick up for the other costume. I pull the zip back on one of the bags to see which is which, and can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I zip it back up and swing the door open when I hear a knock. I hand the garment over to the courier with a tip and follow him out so I can make it to my appointment in time.
So, Mr. Badd is going as a superhero. I can’t wait to see his face when he realises he has to wear tights for the evening. I’m still smiling when I’m plonked into a chair with a cape of my own, and told to relax by a purple haired man called Davis. The smile soon fades though when I realise that my boss is going to think this was my doing. Will he fire me for this? Will he even give me a chance to explain? The lightness I felt before is quickly replaced with worry. This might not be my dream job, but it pays the bills. If I get fired, I’ll have to move back home with my parents. As much as I love them, I know that if I move back to the town I grew up in, I’ll never leave.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts I don’t even realise that Davis is talking to me until he nudges my shoulder. I look up at him to see him staring down at me with a large smile on his face.
“Well, what do you think?” I turn and look in the mirror and gasp.
“Is that me?” I ask him stupidly, with tears in my eyes.
“Girl, you’re beautiful.” He’s not wrong. The woman staring back at me has my eyes, but everything else is like a Josie 2.0 version. My lips look full and plump, with a deep red lipstick that I would never have picked for myself in a million years. My lashes are thick and long, thanks to a coat of mascara, and my eyes are lined in black, making the gold specks in my irises, that I’d never noticed before, pop and glitter. My hair has been trimmed and straightened so that it falls down my back and to my waist, like a sleek black, shiny waterfall. I turn and look up at Davis, wondering just how long I was zoned out for before I decide I don’t really care, and throw my arms around him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, desperately willing myself not to cry and ruin all his hard work.
He pats my back like my response is an everyday occurrence and, who knows, maybe it is. “You are welcome Miss. The pleasure was all mine.”
I head home in a happy daze until it dawns on me what time it is. Its four o’clock now, which might seem a little early to get ready, but with London’s rush hour traffic, who knows how long it will take me to get to this party. I wanted to grab something to eat first, but I don’t think my nerves are going to allow it.
I head to the bathroom and freshen up, thankful I had a shower earlier, because I’m not willing to mess up my hair and makeup now. When I’ve stalled for as long as I can, I snag a comfortable bra and panties in a baby pink cotton, and grab the garment bag and place it on the bed. It feels weird knowing someone picked out a costume for me. Please don’t let it be anything too embarrassing, like a giant chicken or something. I take a deep breath and slide the zip down, and slip my hand inside. What I pull out has me freezing in place. Fuck me. The giant chicken costume is looking good right about now. There is no way I can wear this. I glance down at my watch, wondering if I can run back to the store and grab something else, but I curse when I realise that I’ll be lucky if I make it on time as it is. My only other option is to phone in sick, but Mr. Badd isn’t going to buy that for a second, and then he will fire me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I have no choice. I lift up the black leather trousers and cringe. There is no way these are going to fit. I can tell just by looking at them that they are going to be too tight around the ass and too small around the waist. Maybe I can stretch them out a bit. I look down at my underwear and sigh. I don’t really want to add visible panty lines to an already awful costume. I slip them off and hunt around in my drawer, until I find a fire engine red G-string. Nothing says ‘my evening is going to suck’ more than having to wear butt floss all night. I begrudgingly slip it on and work my legs into the leather trousers, leaving myself a hot and sweaty mess, but at least I managed to squeeze myself inside them. Damn, I must look so sexy right now. I stay well away from the mirror and grab the top from the bed. I hold it up and realise it’s actually half a top. I look in the bag and on the bed for the rest of it, but there doesn’t appear to be any. The only things left are a floor-length, black velvet coat with a hood—which is kind of cool—and a black lace, filigree mask.
Okay, I’m not going to freak out. I take a deep breath in and out and look at the top in my hands before sighing yet again. I place it on the bed as I take off my bra, which won’t work with this outfit, and then slide the top on so I can get an idea of what will. The top is sleeveless and made of black leather, just like the trousers. It ends just below my rib cage, leaving a bare strip of skin that I wasn’t even comfortable showing as a teenager. Breaking up the black is a large, oversized silver zipper, running from top to bottom, nestling between my breasts. I don’t think I have any kind of bra that will work with this. Just wonderful. Braless it is then. Hopefully, with the way this top pushes my boobs in and up, nobody will notice. I crawl around on my hands and knees in the bottom of my closet, looking for something appropriate to wear on my feet, and come up with two options. A pair of six-inch black stilettos, or knee-high black, lace up biker boots from my grunge days. I toss the heels and opt for the boots. I’m going to be uncomfortable enough as it is in this get up, I don’t want to add breaking an ankle into the equation too.
“Socks, socks, socks,” I chant, grabbing a pair of stripy socks that nobody will see. I slip them on, before lacing up the boots that might very well assist me in running away from this party later. It feels like school all over again. No matter how I’ve tried to brush it off over the years, the pointed fingers and whispered remarks about my developing body stayed with me ever since. The very reason I wear baggy clothing and neutral colours is so that I blend in, instead of standing out. Invisible or spotlighted, I hate both, but have yet to find a balance that I’m comfortable with. Biting the bullet, I stand and walk over to the floor length mirror and prepare myself, taking comfort from the fact that my face and hair look great.
What’s reflected back at me is someone I have never seen before. She’s beautiful. I am beautiful. In a kickass comic book villain kind of way. The top makes my bust look amazing and shows off my toned stomach. The leather trousers fit like a second skin, pulling me in and lifting everything up. My figure looks incredible, and that is something I don’t think I’ve ever said about myself before. I frown when I look at the trousers, since I distinctly remember thinking they would be too small when I squeezed them on. Instead, they fit as if they were made for me. I wonder if I could buy a pair like this.
The bedside clock beeps, letting me know I should be leaving, so I shove my arms into the coat and slide my phone and bank card into the inside zipped pocket. Keys? I spot them on the bedside table and grab them. I run for the door, swing it open and lock it behind me, only to remember the flipping mask is still on the bed. For fuck’s sake. I run and grab it, eternally grateful that I opted for the boots over the shoes, and lock up again. I hurry to th
e car, pulling the coat around me to ward off the chill in the air. I don’t have any time to waste, so I send up a quick prayer to the traffic gods to be kind. Thankfully, they seem to be taking requests tonight as I make it there with minutes to spare.
I follow a crowd of people inside, happy that they are all dressed eclectically. It briefly crossed my horrified mind that everyone else might turn up dressed in ball gowns or something. I’ve never been so relieved to see a giant dinosaur before. I decline handing my coat over to the staff member, not ready to give up its security, and head into the party. It’s in a huge room that’s been decorated for this evening with thousands of twinkling lights, and tables lining the perimeter, with white linen tablecloths and candles. It's actually really pretty, and the subdued lighting eases my nerves even more. I head straight to the bar and order a coke, as I’m driving, but when I turn, I spot Mr. Badd on the other side of the room in his superhero costume and cape, schmoozing with one of the other partners, and I just know I’m going to need something stronger. Fuck it. I can just order a taxi later.
“Excuse me, can you add a double shot of vodka to this for me, please?” I ask the handsome blond bartender who winks at me.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He takes my coke and spikes it for me, before sliding it back. God, I love an open bar.
“There you go, and here.” He hands me a folded-up piece of paper. I take it, confused, and open it to find the name Deacon and a phone number. I look up confused.
“Deacon?” He nods, turning briefly when his name is called from the other side of the bar. Turning back to me he smiles and, if I wasn’t so into jerk face behind me, I would have been dribbling like a fool.
“Call me. I get off at midnight.” Then he’s gone, leaving me speechless. Did that just happen? Did I really just get hit on by a hot guy who had given me his number? I look down at my outfit and smile.
“Whisky on the rocks, please,” a voice I’m keenly familiar with shouts out to the female bartender, before sliding in beside me. I neck my drink quickly, knowing I’m going to need every ounce of courage tonight that I can get.
“It can’t be that bad yet, you have only just arrived.” It takes me a second to realise that he’s talking to me.
“Sorry. I was just about to make my way over to you, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Feel free to interrupt me anytime you like.” I turn and face him sharply to see if he’s mocking me, but for once he seems genuine. My eyes travel over his red mask, which covers his eyes, down to his red and blue superhero costume with matching red cape. Most people, I’m sure, would look ridiculous, but that suit fits him like a glove, showing off every muscle and ridge of his delectable body. I feel a throb in my pussy and take a deep breath, which is a mistake because I’m bombarded with the fragrance of Calvin Klein.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Shit, was I supposed to have something prepared? I don’t remember having this in the notes. Is he testing me?
“I just wanted to know if you needed my services tonight or not.” I’m trying to be professional here, but his vague questions are making me tense, and a tense Josie is a snappy Josie. He trails his eyes over my boots, and up my leather-clad thighs towards my stomach, before pausing on my chest. I feel my skin flush and heat under his appraisal, before his eyes finally connect with mine. My brain falters for a second, and then starts short-circuiting altogether when he steps into my space and bends to whisper into my ear.
“I think you should stick close. I have a few things I’m going to need you to take care of.” My heart is beating out of my chest. Why does every word out of his mouth sound like an innuendo?
My heart is galloping, desperately trying to signal to my brain. Man down, man down, send help. But my brain is stuck memorising the feel of his breath against my ear, and the scrape of his stubble against my cheek as he pulls back. He places his drink on the counter and surprises the shit out of me by snagging my hand and pulling me out onto the dance floor.
“What… no… no… I can’t dance.” He ignores me, sliding my coat over my shoulders, leaving me feeling exposed. He hands it to a nearby staff member who takes it graciously, then pulls my body flush against his.
“Dancing is easy, all you have to do is move your body against mine.” I’m not even sure I can remember how to walk at this point. I look around, ever conscious of eyes on us, but startle when I feel hands on my hips moving me to the beat of the music.
“See, easy. You just have to let me take control.” Again with the innuendos. I swear if I survive this evening without bursting into a ball of flames, I’m going to burn my kindle and every smutty book held within it. Clearly, I have developed a dirty mind.
“Sir—” He cuts me off with a groan in my ear.
“Now you’re getting it.” His large warm hands slide down over my ass, making me shudder against him. I rest my head against his chest, as the double vodka on an empty stomach helps me to just go with the flow. For once, he’s being nice to me. Tomorrow he can go back to being an asshole, but for the moment I’m going to enjoy myself. Or I was until my conscience kicks in, the fickle bitch. I force myself to pull away and glare up at him.
“I was under the impression you had a girlfriend. I doubt she would appreciate your hands being all over my ass.”
“Girlfriend?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused.
“Tall, red hair, great smile—ring any bells?” The confusion clears in an instant.
“You mean my sister Clara?” Sister. Huh? I did not see that one coming.
“You have a sister?” I didn’t know that.
“I have two of them actually. I also have a couple of brothers.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do. And just saying,” he pulls me back against his rock-hard body and places his hands back on my ass, “my sister would be so jealous of me right now. You are just her type.”
“Oh, oh. Well she is beautiful but, I’ve never… I’m not… I mean I like…” He tucks a stray hair behind my ear.
“Relax. I saw you first, I’m calling dibs.” Say what now?
“You can’t call dibs on a person,” I tell him, only just refraining myself from stomping my foot.
“Funny that, because I’m pretty sure I just did.” Next thing I know his lips are on mine, his tongue licking at the seam of my mouth seeking entrance, but I’m completely frozen to the spot. I can’t respond or speak or even move in general. I think the fact that I can even remember how to breathe is a win. He pulls away looking down at me with a frown.
“That was…”
“Terrible. That was terrible,” I finish for him, my mind finally rebooting. I have no idea what’s going on, but if this is my only chance at kissing the great Tyler Badd, then I want to leave a better impression than that.
I place one hand on the emblazoned S on his chest, and the other around his neck, before yanking him down towards me. I slip my lips over his, tenderly seeking entrance to his mouth with my tongue. When his shock wears off, he slides his hands into my hair and devours me right there and then, in the middle of the dance floor of a posh hotel in front of hundreds of his business buddies. Suddenly, being in the spotlight doesn’t seem so bad. He pulls away reluctantly before opening his eyes. He looks down with such a profound expression of lust on his face that I find myself rubbing my thighs together, unconsciously seeking friction. This is it. The moment everything in my life is going to change, I can just feel it.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” What? Jesus Christ how hard is it to remember five letters.
“Josie, not Jodie.”
He laughs softly.
“Nice to meet you, Josie not Jodie. Want to get out of here? I have a room upstairs if you want to… talk somewhere quieter.”
I stare at him in complete shock, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking, but he’s not. I take in his chocolate hair, slicked back for the evening, his unique twinkling amber eyes, a
nd his twin dimples, knowing I could pick this man out of a line-up no matter what kind of mask he wore. A sharp shard of pain stabs me in the chest as everything about his odd behaviour tonight becomes clear.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
His brow furrows with confusion as he trails his eyes over my face, before coming up blank. “Should I?”
I swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment in my gut, ready to call him out, when the spark of an idea forms in the dark recesses of my mind.
Maybe, for just one night, I could get everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I look down at my sexy, bad girl outfit and wonder if I can embody it and become this illusion for the night. A take what she wants, have no regrets, live in the moment kind of woman? Will it hurt like hell to go back to the way we were, come tomorrow morning? Sure, but this is the guy of my dreams, can I really just walk away, not knowing what it feels like to have his hands on my body or his lips upon my skin?
I lift my head, stare into his beautiful eyes, and come to a decision that could turn out to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I know I will regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t take a shot.
I lean into him, lifting up on the tips of my toes, and whisper in his ear.
“Well, you’re a superhero, right? And I’ve been a very, very, bad girl.” His breath catches at my response, and then his hands capture my face, tilting my head back so he can see me.
“Be sure, Josie, because once we leave this room, you’re mine. I will have you on your knees before you can say: yes, Sir.” My pussy pulses in anticipation as I shut down the voice in my head telling me this is a very bad idea.
“Fighting words, Mr. Badd, but I don’t scare easily. I hope you have a… suitable weapon in your pocket to back up your threat.” He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the entrance, finally reaching the end of his patience.
