“Sure,” Paul says, sending a text.
I glance over at his phone and see he’s copied in Alex. Better to be safe than sorry.
Keeping the girls together and safe in the room will be easy. They’re already in Alex’s room hanging out for the evening painting each other’s toes or some other girly crap like that.
Outside, it’s dry for once. No fresh snow. No fog or ice. Just a cold, empty night sky. I should’ve ditched lunch, I think, wondering where Bianca is at this moment. Where in this whole resort she’s hiding. Or I should’ve at least offered for her to come with me, fuck what anyone else would’ve thought. Maybe then I wouldn’t be doing this bullshit.
I make it to Paul’s car. From somewhere behind me, he clicks the door open. I hop inside. Shotgun this time. Moments later, he reaches the car and steps into the driver’s seat.
Alex follows shortly after and jumps in back, much more excited about all of this than I am. Their eagerness is enough to make me want to punch them both.
There’s no point spending money tonight. It’ll do as much good as opening up the window on the freeway and throwing thousands of dollars into the icy wind.
But none of that matters to them. Without a care in the world, without any hint of disappointment, or any concept that I’m not one-hundred percent with their program, they take off toward our not-so-secret destination.
As we take the now-familiar roads, I let myself grouse. Bitch out loud. “I’m telling you. This is going to be a fucking phenomenal waste of time. And of my money.”
“Way to be positive, man,” Alex says. “Just let the Club work its magic. There’ll be something good there for you. If there wasn’t, we wouldn’t have the beautiful girls we have in our lives now. Right, Paul?”
“Exactly right,” he says, flicking his turn signal on. “And it helps that you’re not in sneakers and a baseball cap or wearing that ridiculous coat.”
I can’t take it anymore. I actually punch Paul’s bicep. Not playfully either.
He laughs me off saying, “Easy, boy. Save your frustrations for your girl.”
“I don’t want a girl. I want a grown-ass woman. Which I know is not going to be walking around that club.”
Alex flicks the back of my neck. I flinch under it, but don’t do any more in response. “Stop being so moody, Jordan. Just give it a chance, okay?”
No matter what I wanted to say to that, no matter what witty or snarky comment I wanted to sling back at him, it'll have to wait because we’re here. We’ve pulled into the shadowed parking lot of the even more mysterious mansion. A holdover from a bygone era only historians care about.
Paul cuts the engine, and Alex cuts the crap. Before I can put up any protest, he’s at my door, hauling me out of my seat. “You’re going down there, if I have to drag your sorry ass all the way to the door, you hear me?”
“And if you’ve heard me,” I say through gritted teeth, “you’d know there’s no fucking point to any of this,”
For all his pulling, Alex hasn’t succeeded in doing much more than get me out of my seat belt.
But Paul, like always, has to give his baby brother a helping hand. A hand that unceremoniously shoves me out of the car completely.
“Get in there, and we’ll get you some chocolate. That should help with your PMS,” he says, shutting my door and locking it.
With that, I’m left to be dragged by Alex toward the basement and the Exchange Club waiting below.
Chapter 9 – Bianca
When I first arrive at my destination, I feel like a drunk stumbling from place to place. First into the right parking lot, then to the right old colonial/Victorian-looking mansion. Then it’s a mad dash into the basement, and to whatever part of that basement holds the Exchange Club.
Luckily for me, the moment I start my way down the stairs, I see the sign in big, bold gold lettering. I also see my mystery woman from the night before handing something to a doorman. She’s wearing a bright red blouse and a pair of black slacks. Her hair is just as wild as it was before, but now little red tips have been added to the spikes.
With me wearing my chunky, red high heels, my mystery woman hears me before she sees me. She turns in my direction. Watches, but doesn’t break out into a smile until I’ve descended into the light and out of the shadows.
“Glad you could make it,” she says, coming to help me off the last step and toward the doorman.
I wouldn’t normally be up for receiving help from a woman like this (she’s leading me like a princess at a ball), but with my heavy bag of fun in my other hand, it’s nice to have the support.
Plus, it makes it a breeze to get in. I don’t even have to take out the card she gave me. I only have to let her do the talking. Which she does, the moment we reach the doorman. “She’s with me, Bud.”
“Very good,” is all the man says as he opens the door for us and bows. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
My mystery woman hollers something back at him. I don’t hear what it is exactly, but that’s because I’m immediately taken by my surroundings. The dark, velvety vibes. Everything looks like it’s been draped in plush fabric. The walls, the carpets, even the furniture — though I know they must be made from wood and stone. The textures are so soft and luxurious in the dimly lit room.
And as for the mouth-watering aroma scenting the room. Oh my God! That takes my breath away more than anything else. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but the people running this place have somehow distilled the essence of chocolate dipped strawberries into a perfume. Into a spritz that coats the air and kisses me from every corner of the room.
“I always like what they do with this place on Valentine’s,” my mystery woman murmurs as she guides me elegantly through the even more elegant tables and chairs. The room is already filled with other guests who give the club a welcoming warmth.
“Tonight, it’s got a lot more romance than it usually does,” she says, her tone dropping as we pass by a particularly crowded table. Not so much testosterone.”
Crowded of course, with men.
“Though there is still going to be plenty of that flowing this evening,” she continues, walking me up to what I realize now is a giant stage. Luxurious, wine-colored curtains drape all around it. Rose petals are scattered across the hardwood stage, and some bouquets hanging as decorative pieces.
Tapping sounds nearby, like someone walking in very heavy, very nice dress shoes gets my attention. Accompanying the sound, appears a woman. She’s dressed in a tuxedo, Fedora and white gloves. Not your typical feminine dress, but who am I to judge?
I’m here to find a man who wants to be dominated by me for a night. That’s not typical “feminine” behavior either. At least not according to the few boyfriends I’ve been unfortunate enough to have.
The moment the woman in the tuxedo sees us, she makes a beeline in our direction. She takes off her fedora, almost sharing a secret greeting with my escort.
“Evangeline!” She reaches for her. Kisses her on both cheeks. For real. Not just the fake air thing people do in my neck of the woods. “So good to see you back. It’s been a while.”
Evangeline, my mystery woman unboxed, says, “It has, hasn’t it, Tory?”
Tory's eyes slide to me. Intrigued, but also confused. Surprised. She looks me up and down. Mostly seeming to appreciate my dress choice for the evening. Particularly my pink bag. She hums at it thoughtfully before snapping her eyes back to Evangeline. “So, Evan, am I to assume you and your” — she searches for the right word—“Gir—”
“Guest,” I supply quickly, “guest.” I take my hand out of Evangeline’s, and thankfully she doesn’t seem bugged by it.
Tory clears her throat, putting her fedora back on. “Guest,” she says. “Am I to assume that you and your guest are going to be participating in our auction this evening?”
I step forward, not waiting for Evangeline to answer for me. “Yes. Yes, I am,” I say, though I have no idea what exactly the auction
entails. I have some wisps of an idea. And some beginnings of what I might put up for auction if it's what I think it is, but my thoughts may change once I see how everything really works. How it’s done.
“So am I,” Evangeline murmurs.
Tory practically clicks the heels of her dress shoes together as she turns. “All right then, ladies. This way, please.” With that, she heads for the stage and into the bright lights.
Walking up the steps and onto the stage, I keep my bag close and my eyes peeled. Rows and rows of tables stretch before me. Endless collages of faces.
But there’s one face I’m startled and overjoyed to see. Jordan’s. The poor guy doesn’t look happy to be here. He looks miserable. Almost sick as he sits there. He’s surrounded by two guys I don’t recognize and don’t care for. They’re a mixture of clean-shaven and rugged, not something I’m into.
Doms, I think. No wonder a guy like Jordan looks so glum being sandwiched between them. As I take my place next to Evangeline — Tory’s started a line with us and is busily adding other women — I say silently, don’t worry, Jordan. If you’re the good boy I think you want to be, I’ll get you out of your personal hell. Just wait.
I exhale deeply, watching him take a drink of something very big, very alcoholic and very Valentine’s Day. Just… Please look this way.
As if by magic, his eyes flicker in my direction. Lock on to me as if called by my wish. The moment he sees me, he almost sucks the straw from his drink into his throat, he’s so stunned. Shocked. I see him mouth, “Bianca?”
To that, I nod. Smile a little.
I have no time to do anything else. More girls line up on either side of us. And Tory has gone into full MC mode, caressing the microphone like a new lover. “All right all you lonely hearts,” she says, “Welcome to the Club!” A pause as her sultry excitement echoes over the speakers. “If you’re here for tonight’s event, you all know how it goes by now, so let’s see what these lovely ladies are offering and get the bidding underway, hm?”
This is exactly as I suspected, we auction ourselves off. The realization doesn't shock or surprise me, it thrills me because it means I'll finally get what I want — a man to worship me and the man I want to worship me is Jordan. Excitement fizzes between my legs and zeros in on my throbbing clit.
Hooting and hollering — from men and women — meet this statement. I take this moment to set down my bag of tricks. Somehow, I'll work them into my auction, I just don’t know how yet. But I’d better figure it out soon.
The first woman’s just been called up.
***
There’re a couple things I’ve learned in the last twenty minutes of watching these auctions. The first is that the woman can auction off whatever she wants and take whatever bid she deems appropriate for whatever she’s offered, whether that be dinner and a movie, a three-way, anal virginity, and more.
The second thing I’ve realized is that nearly everyone sitting in the audience has fortunes to blow on this kind of thing. While I’m no stranger to making good money at my publishing house job, I’m still surprised. Surprised that anyone would have that much expendable income, and for often no more than a night’s worth of whatever kind of fun’s been offered.
But all that pales compared to what Evangeline discloses shortly before being called up for auction. Barely able to contain herself, she turns to me, a wild look in her eyes, and says, “I’m going to auction myself off as part of a gang bang. To have one with however many men or women enter the bid together.” She grins, seeming to already be savoring the possibilities. “Eight people would be nice, but I’d settle for six.” That part is more to her than to me. But I still don’t know what to do with it.
I’m stunned by this revelation. A gang bang? I didn’t know people actually did that kind of thing, let alone want to be auctioned off for it. I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore, should I? And, besides, who am I to judge what anyone does or doesn’t do.
I glance over at Jordan again and at the two guys he has seated at his table. They’re nothing like him and I wonder how someone so sweet and tender can be friends with two knuckle draggers like them. But, again, who am I to judge.
Just as I fold my hands loosely in front of me, and flash Jordan another smile, Evangeline whispers hotly “So, have you decided what you’re going to auction off?” She asks me this just as a woman’s bid for her first lesbian experience comes to a close. Some wealthy lady in the audience bought the baby bean and her virginity for a staggering $100,000.
It’s about to be Evangeline’s turn.
“I have a pretty good idea,” I tell her quietly.
Tory glides up to us, calling her friend to the mic.
“Well,” Evangeline says, moving lithely toward the front. Toward Tory. “If you need any inspiration, just watch closely.” She winks and then scoops up the microphone as if it’s her victory prize. Her trophy already won.
“And you, my lady,” Tory says seductively as if they’ve shared more than time at the Club together. “What are you offering tonight?”
Evangeline sways thoughtfully. Seductively. “Well, I’m offering myself up for a gang bang. Open to a group of men and women who’d like a piece of me and each other tonight, I give you the space and the freedom to explore. Express. With me. With the others in the bid. Any and all types of sex and foreplay are on the table as long as everyone in the group — whomever you may be — agrees.”
Instantly, there’s clamoring. Shuffling of chairs and tables. Knocking of said tables and chairs as groups of men and women get together and start talking about a combined bid for Evangeline. I’m blown away. When she said she was offering a gang bang, I thought for sure she would have maybe four, maybe five people interested. There’s at least quadruple that. Maybe more, if you count the groups of people still forming.
Tory chuckles deeply, adjusting her bow tie, then her fedora. “Anything else?” The way she asks this, it’s as if Evangeline’s bid is tame tonight compared to what she might have offered in the past.
“Nothing else, except that I’d like at least eight people in the winning bid.”
The groupies count their numbers around various tables, seeing if they meet the cut.
“I’ll settle for six, of course,” she says, almost as if she’s zeroing in on one particular table, “but the more the merrier for this type of thing, you know?”
“Of course,” Tory agrees, and again I can’t help but hear another layer to that. Something outside of her job as MC. She takes the mic back from Evangeline and says, “Okay, ladies and gents! You heard her. At least eight people in the winning bid. Let’s go, folks. It really isn’t every night that we get a gang bang request. Let’s get those numbers going for her, shall we?”
Shouts of excitement and agreement follow, and Tory has to raise her voice to add, “Everyone elect a speaker for your table, please. I don’t want to have to keep track of individual voices if you’re all bidding as a group.”
With that out of the way, the bidding commences. And it’s a lot wilder, hotter action than I was expecting.
The first table comes out with the bid of $250,000. I guess not that impressive when you consider several individuals are pooling their money, but still shocking since most other bids started in the couple of thousands, not the hundreds of thousands.
But that bid doesn’t stay for long. It’s quickly replaced by nearly double. And delivered by someone who reminds me too much of Greaser Boy. He isn’t, but his Italian-mob vibe is a cousin to Greaser Boy.
“$422,000 over here,” he says, annunciating the “four” like anything less than that is a limp dick.
Evangeline nods to this bid but doesn’t look overly impressed. That table is made of only guys. Probably a real gang made up of the speaker’s friends.
“$635,000,” shouts the speaker of another table. It’s a woman this time. Her table, from what I can make out, is an equal split of four men and four women, including herself.
Evangeline smiles at this, at the speaker, taking time to make sure Tory sees her nod.
“$783,000,” shouts Italian Mob, not to be bested by a woman.
After some furious discussion, the woman at the table with the gender split right down the middle fires right back with, “$833,000.”
For a moment, the room is silent. In that silence, Tory says, “$833,000 for my friend here with the gang bang.” She scans the cluster tables. “Anyone else got anything better than that between them?”
Silence persists. Hangs there like a bouquet of black and white roses with a few pink ones tucked in.
Tory takes this moment to prowl the stage. After a moment she growls, “All right then. If there are no more takers, $833,000 going once, going twice.” She pauses. I don’t know why, but that pause seems particularly heavy. Laden with something I can’t quite put my finger on. But it quickly dissolves. Disappears with her next words.
“Sold! A gang bang with very little rules, to the table with the very lovely lady at its helm!” I hear that “lovely lady” celebrate as loudly as the men. “Off you go,” Tory says to Evangeline.
Evangeline doesn’t need to be told twice. She hops off the front of the stage, not even bothering with the stairs. In what seems like a matter of seconds, she and her groupies are pouring through the establishment and out of the doors like a school of sexy, well-dressed fish.
“Well, that was exciting,” Tory says when Evangeline and her club are gone. The other groups, disappointed at their loss, split back into individuals or pairs.
Tory saunters up to me, beckoning me forward. As she does, I move to pick up my bag and move it to my side. I let the people watch me as I walk forward, pink companion swinging seductively at my hips.
“And it looks like it’s about to continue being interesting,” she adds, handing me the microphone. “What’ve you got for us tonight? What lovely secrets do you have for us in that pink bag of yours?”
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