by Dawn Steele
“I guess. If it was even there in the first place. Maybe Stacey was sending you on a wild goose chase.”
“Sucks to be her.”
*
Kate didn’t pursue this for a while. She was bogged down with assignments, and exams were around the corner. Professor O’Brien continued to be as gorgeous and as aloof as ever. Fiona Montgomery continued to be a shitty slut. Since Fiona couldn’t get her hooks into Rust O’Brien, she was gunning for the newly widowed Professor Dirk Diggety instead, who was rumored to have quite a hefty trust fund.
Carlo Estez continued to be as annoyingly smart as ever and Michaela continued to be the best friend a girl could have.
Still –
The ALPHA MEN’S CLUB needled her, like a splinter under her fingernail that wouldn’t quite go away. It could all be a hoax conjectured by Stacey, of course, and neither Michaela nor Kate dared admit to the PA that they had actually gone to explore the venue. Kate remembered the funny look on the tattoo guy’s face, and she wondered . . .
Hmmmmm.
One night, she was putting in a late night at the library, which was threatening to be an all-nighter. No other student was there at this late hour. Kate’s eyes glazed over as she took in the stack of books in front of her and all the research she had to do for the assignment.
Enough is enough. She was getting brain spasms.
She was about to call it a night when she heard a sound to her left. She saw a movement behind the shelf nearest to the table she was working at.
She could recognize that stride anywhere.
Professor O’Brien!
He walked to the exit without looking back. He seemed to be in a hurry.
“Good night, Professor,” said the librarian on duty.
“Good night, Marge.”
“Going home?”
“I’ll grab a couple of drinks before heading that way. Good night to you.”
That was him. Polite, but no small talk other than the usual pleasantries. He went through the revolving doors.
After a pause, Kate quickly gathered her notes and hastily stuffed them into her tote bag. She ran for the main doors.
“Good night,” called the librarian after her.
“Good night,” Kate remarked breathlessly.
What the hell was she doing?
The Professor headed for the faculty parking lot. This was where he was going to lose her. I’m such a gawker. They’ll be committing me soon. She saw a passing cab which was dropping a passenger off and she hailed it.
“Where’re you going, Miss?” said the female Hispanic driver behind the wheel.
Kate got into the back seat, lugging her heavy tote with her. “Just follow that car.”
Up ahead, Rust O’Brien got into his white BMW.
The driver grinned. “Like in the movies, huh? Boyfriend of yours? Playing jealous girlfriend?”
“I wish.”
Rust backed out of his lot and drove off.
“Keep a little distance from him so he won’t know we are tailgating him,” Kate said.
“You’re good at this.”
“Not really.”
“You college kids.”
The cab kept a good distance of two cars behind the white Beemer. They traveled for quite a distance. Traffic at this hour was sparse and most of the stores flanking the streets were closed except for the occasional bar.
Instinct told Kate that Rust would be turning into a pretty familiar street, and down a side road. Kate glanced at her watch. It was thirty minutes past midnight. Rust parked at an available spot at the side of the road, and there were plenty. The sign ‘STEVE’S TATTOO PARLOR’ once again proclaimed itself.
A delicious thrill coursed down Kate’s spine. She was right! There was something here.
“You gonna get out?” the cab driver said amusedly.
“Wait.” Kate watched till Rust O’Brien darted down the stairs to the locked iron door. Then she fumbled for her purse inside her tote. “How much do I owe you?”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty?” That was highway robbery and more than her allowance could afford, but Kate paid up with a grimace.
“Where’s my tip?”
“You want a tip after a twenty?” Seeing the cab driver’s face, Kate resignedly fished out two more crumpled notes. “OK, OK.”
“Good luck with your friend.”
“Thanks.”
She exited the cab and closed the door quietly. Then she padded to the banisters leading down to the basement establishment, whatever it was. The iron door was still forbiddingly shut, but this time, colorful light and the thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of loud bass music filtered from below its crack.
The plot thickened.
I shouldn’t.
No, I should. I paid twenty dollars to come all this way. I should make the most of it. Besides, she wasn’t sure she had enough fare to go home by cab.
So she made her way down the stairs, which was lighted by wall lamps this time. The iron door loomed like a portal from out of time. She could recognize the song coming from behind it. Closer by Nine Inch Nails.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
I want to violate you.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
I want to desecrate you.
A lump bolted to her throat. Was she ready for this? Besides, who said anything about the door opening for her? This was a secret men’s club after all. Women might not be allowed inside.
OK, who was she kidding?
Unless it was a gay men’s club.
She heard footsteps behind her and she froze. A man came down the stairs. He was dressed like a Manhattan businessman, all dark pinstripe and tie. He barely gave her a glance as he strode to the door.
He knocked three times.
She was surprised anyone could hear him above all that din, but the door opened immediately. The music and lights poured out, larger than life.
“Password,” someone said from inside.
The man gave her a sidelong glance. “Do you mind?” he said politely.
“I’m sorry.” She blushed in the dark, and made to scamper upstairs. This was beyond her. Now she was behaving like a groupie.
“Wait,” the man said. He was in his late forties. Dark-haired, but with bags under his eyes. “What’s your name, girl?”
She hesitated. Don’t talk to strange men, her mother once told her. But hang it, she was an adult now. Almost.
“Kate.”
The door remained temptingly open. The chamber of secrets was ready to be divulged.
“You want to come to a party, Kate?” A slow smile spread on the man’s features.
The danger of the forbidden wafted deliciously across to her. She could almost imbibe its sizzling aroma.
“Yes,” she found herself saying.
If Professor O’Brien was inside, how dangerous could it be?
The man gestured. “Then come in. The night is young.”
His eyes raked down her body. Kate was dressed in her usual sweater and jacket, with a green skirt which fell over her kneecaps. Shapeless, she knew, under all that cloth. What could he possibly see in her?
Still, the thought of someone possibly finding her attractive was very tempting and boosting to her ego.
“OK,” she said.
She sidled next to the man, who put his arm around her shoulders. No one had done that to her in a long time. Not a boy, at least. It was exhilarating to be desired.
“Password?” The guy inside prompted. She could see him now. He was an older gentleman, very well-dressed in a maitre d’ like fashion. This took her completely by surprise. She had expected some sort of bouncer character with huge arms and tattoos.
“Amscray,” the man said.
And just like that, they were in.
4
The interior did not open up to the main club, as Kate expected it to. Instead, there was a medium-sized cloakroom or whatever passed for it. Closets hugged the walls
and she glimpsed coats and hats hanging from pegs inside, along with a few umbrellas.
“Do you want to put your bag in there?” the man said. When Kate hesitated, he added, “It’s completely safe.”
“OK.”
When she made to remove her wallet and cell phone, he said, “There’s no need. You can put your drinks on a member’s tab. There will be plenty of people inside who would only be too glad to pay for you.”
The way he said this made her skin slither. It wasn’t as though he was unattractive. It was the way he looked at her, like he wanted to devour her. She should stop this right now and go up the stairs – go back to where she came from. But Rust O’Brien was inside and . . . she was curious.
The maitre d’ (Kate thought of him as a maitre d’, though he probably had a fancier title than this) said, “Miss . . . you would have to sign a Consent form before you enter.”
“A . . . Consent form?”
“This way please.” The maitre d’ held out his hand to point the way.
Kate looked back at her benefactor, who nodded benignly but did not follow. The cloakroom led to a passage, behind the walls of which thudded the increasingly loud music.
“What’s your name?” Kate asked the maitre d’. She didn’t reckon on calling him the maitre d’ for the rest of the night.
“Dickie, Miss.”
“Dickie?” He sounded positively British. Or somewhere from the old British Empire, that was.
“Yes.”
He led her to another room. Inside were more closets and a lot of tables with mirrors which were lined by LED lights. She realized that it was a dressing room.
“Please take a seat, Miss. How may I address you?”
“My name is Kate.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Kate.
“Same here.”
“Please wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Kate sat down at one of the dressing tables, feeling ill at ease. She peered at herself in the mirror. She wished she was prettier, thinner. Even though the man who brought her in seemed to find her attractive, he might be attracted to her youth and innocence.
Well, better to have her youth and innocence than nothing at all.
Dickie came back with a woman. She was tall, blonde and wearing more makeup than circus clown. Her face was practically painted on and flawless. As a result, Kate couldn’t tell her age.
Dickie flourished a document in front of Kate as well as an ornate, very expensive-looking fountain pen.
“Read this, Ms Kate, and sign this if you agree to the terms of this club.”
The blonde woman smiled. “Take your time, Kate.”
No one had paid so much attention to Kate before. At home, she was the third in a family of five, and as a middle child, she was always kind of forgotten. Now, in the span of less than fifteen minutes, three different people had showered her with more attention than she could possibly dream of. If only Rust O’Brien were here to see it.
“What is this?” Kate took the Consent form.
It was filled with plenty of phrases in legalese, but several things clearly stood out. The title, for one, said: THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB.
It exists! Kate thought gleefully. If only she could bring this form back to Michaela as proof. I was here! So was he!
But her story had to progress if she were to make it a story at all. It wouldn’t do to back out now.
The other clauses which jumped out at here were:
‘I fully consent to whatever acts will be visited upon me within the capacity of this club . . .’
‘I have the right to leave at any moment should I not feel comfortable . . .’
‘I will not impart any knowledge of this club or make any mention of it outside the vicinity of its grounds, or I may be subject to a law suit by the club committee . . .’
Consent to ACTS. What acts? she wondered.
She looked up at the two of them. Both of them smiled indulgently, as though she were a precious child to be cajoled.
“Take your time,” The blonde repeated.
“What sort of ‘acts’ will there be?”
“Sign it first and find out for yourself,” the blonde said. “I was like you once. Young. Questing. Unsure of who I was and what I wanted. Until I found my way here. I signed the form, and I was taken into a world unlike anything I have ever known.”
She paused before adding, “I have never regretted it.”
“You are free to opt out anytime you choose,” Dickie said.
They were both holding her with their eyes and winning smiles, moving her to take up the pen and sign the form.
Won’t you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
For once in your life . . .
She took up the pen and signed on the bottom of the page.
The smiles were practically plastered on the faces of Dickie and the blonde.
“Thank you,” Dickie said, quickly removing the pen and document before she could change her mind.
“What’s your name?” Kate asked the blonde.
“Rita. I’m your wardrobe mistress for the night. Would you like to go to a party?”
5
A party!
From the sounds of things in the next room, the party was in full swing. Not only that, but she had a wardrobe mistress! Kate had never felt so special in her entire life. Even personal shoppers didn’t shower her with so much attention, not that she ever had a personal shopper before.
“Now, this is an adult party,” Rita said, “so you will need to get out of that shapeless sweater you are wearing and don something more appropriate.”
“Like what?” Kate imagined herself in a silvery gown and walking down a red carpet.
“Like whatever I think is appropriate for your body shape and size.”
“I’m fat, aren’t I?” Kate said in a small voice.
“I would use the word ‘voluptuous’. You have a very nice body. Full and luscious, I would say.”
Kate blushed to hear her body being described this way.
“Now stand up and let me have a look at you.”
Kate stood up. Rita appraised her. “Turn around.”
Kate dutifully turned.
“Around again. Hmmm . . . I know what suits you.” Rita went to one of the closets and rifled through the plastic sheaths inside. “You need new undergarments as well. Take off all your clothes.”
“What?”
“You heard me. What are you ashamed about? Haven’t you ever been to an adult party?”
Kate’s pulse began to rise. She remembered one of the clauses on the document she had signed. ‘I have the right to leave at any moment should I not feel comfortable . . .’
Yes. She had the right to walk away anytime. But did she really want to? Or did she want to go on this forbidden adventure, which was making her feel more alive than she ever did?
She began to take off her clothes. Off came her jacket and the sweater she had bought on a whim because she thought it would hide her excess weight.
“Go on,” Rita said approvingly.
Kate had a brassiere underneath. She unhooked her skirt and let it fall. Finally, she was just standing in her underwear. She was ashamed that her bra and panties did not match.
Was that all Rita wanted her to shed?
“Well, don’t stop there. It’s a complete makeover, baby. You’re gonna wear things you’ve never worn before.” Rita grinned. “Are you ready?”
Yes.
No.
“I’m ready,” Kate said bravely. I’m ready to be a new person.
She unhooked her bra and let her generous breasts spill out. Her large nipples and areolas were pinkish red.
“Beautiful,” Rita said, taking them in her with her hungry eyes. “Very luscious.”
Her cheeks overheating (and she suspected they would overheat all night), Kate slipped off her panties. She had dark hair, and her pubic bush was just as dark.
Rita tsk-tsked. “Tha
t wouldn’t do. You need a wax, girl, and I have just the right thing for you.” She motioned to a cubicle hidden by a curtain. “Go lie down there. We’ll fix you up real nice.”
“A bikini wax?”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want to flash that hairy thatch around, would we?”
Kate felt faint. So she was going to be naked in this adult party?
You can do this.
She found herself walking towards the cubicle. All her senses were screaming.
6
Forty minutes later, and Kate was ready to swoon.
She could only gaze at herself in one of the brightly lit mirrors in the dressing room. Rita stood beaming behind her like a proud parent.
Kate was now dressed in a very tight, very skimpy and very black dress which showed off all her curves to the fullest effect. The dress’s bodice clung to her torso like wet paint. Her waist was cinched in, as though it were whalebone itself suppressing the bulges in her tummy. Her breasts were encased in black taffeta cups which pushed up and squeezed in her globes for the wandering eye to light upon. Her cleavage was more enhanced than it had ever been.
To top it off, the taffeta itself was teasing, its translucent material offering a delicious and very naughty glimpse of her pink nipples. If she took a deep breath, her breasts expanded and her nipples peeked out invitingly. If she exhaled, they disappeared like coy little jewels into the taffeta.
Oh, but it was scandalous!
Her skirt was also taffeta, flouncy and very short. Short enough to reveal the lower half-moons of her buttocks if she should bend down. Underneath, she was wearing black crotchless panties. Her newly shaved pussy was displayed in a sweet ellipse in between the black strings of her panties.
Her legs were rendered with an optical illusion now to make them look amazingly long. Sheer black stockings with lace workings hugged her legs up to her mid-thighs, held up by garters. Her feet were capped by three-inch high shiny black heels.
It was all Kate could do to keep her balance.
Oh, but she resembled a slut! One of those fantasy women in the centerfolds of Hustler or Playboy. And yet, she had never looked sexier or felt more powerful.
Surely she wasn’t expected to go out to the party looking like this?
