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“The Exchange Club, Aspen,” reads the card in my hand — a carbon copy of the one I gave Jane’s friend — “basement. By invitation only. Dinner starts promptly at 8 PM.” Between those two bits of information is the address, and for what feels like the millionth time in five minutes, I find myself praying that Jane and Mariah will be there.
That, despite what she said about needing to ski some more, they’ll accept our invitation. Especially Jane.
Ever since I bumped into her at the boutique, I’ve had a semi boner. I’ve been thinking nonstop about the mischievous glint in her eye. I don’t buy the innocent, girl-next-door vibe she gives everyone else. There’s a way she holds her mouth that lets me know she’s got a taste for not just fine wine, but perhaps even the unique and the fringe when it comes to sex.
You like that kind of thing, don’t you Jane? I imagine her getting a thrill from acting like she’s the “good girl.” Acting like she doesn’t know anything about sex, or any of those “naughty, dirty things.” Those are the words I imagine her saying with those big pouty lips of hers. I imagine that she twirls her curls of blonde hair, looking the perfect image of the clueless, virginal girl. You like leading people on to believe that you’re sweet. Untouched.
I grin, allowing my fantasy to take a twist. Jane goes from being the spitting image of clueless and inexperienced, to hungry and depraved.
In my mind, I imagine she gets even more pleasure from turning the “good girl” on its head. From saying things that a sweet girl might say but doing things a dirty girl would do.
Like sitting on my throbbing cock while I make her solve math problems in front of a dry erase board. But you’re not that good girl, are you, Jane? You’re not innocent and untouched? When she solves the math problem, it’s wrong, so she has to take a spanking.
I imagine her apologizing for the mistake. I imagine her struggling to write on the dry erase board neatly and legibly while I’m pounding into her from behind. You actually love the idea of being corrupted, don’t you?
Vaguely, I’m aware of reaching down to touch my hard dick through my pants.
I continue with my fantasy. Jane takes every inch of me into her tight pussy, and I’ve been unable to take it out since I’d slid inside her.
She keeps solving problems wrong and writing sloppily on purpose. I can see it and hear it in the way her cries of “I’m sorry” are less and less contrite.
Just as I’m about to ask her what her parents would think about such sloppy school work, and how much she’s enjoying being punished, my phone chimes, evaporating the hold I have on my fantasy.
Instantly, I recognize the sound on my phone as the alarm. The one I set to go off when we got dangerously close to 8 PM.
Shit! I think, watching as my erection softens in my slacks, now is not the time for me to be fantasizing! I reach into my pocket and turn off the alarm, and then I reach into an interior pocket on my suit jacket.
I breathe a small sigh of relief. All three tickets still there ready to show the doorman once we get to where we’re going. My sigh of relief is short-lived, though.
Paul and Jordan are still in the shared master bath getting ready. I jog to the bathroom, glancing at my wristwatch. It’s 7:45 PM, and it’s going to at least take five, maybe 10 minutes to get to the building in question. Another three to get in through whatever security they have…
If we’re lucky.
“Paul! Jordan!”
Each guy glances at me as I shout their name. I don’t know how, but the two of them are still messing with their face and hair.
“We’ve got to get going,” I say when neither of them looks like they understand the urgency.
Jordan, in particular, pisses me off. Not only does he know why I’m being so time sensitive, but he doesn’t even have his pants or suit jacket on yet. He’s still in his dress shirt, tie and boxers. “Get your clothes on,” I tell him through gritted teeth. He ignores me and combs more gel into his hair. Sculpting it. “Your hair masterpiece is going to mean shit-all if we don’t arrive there on time.”
Jordan doesn’t move to move any faster, and it makes me want to hit him. “Relax, yo. We’ve got time.”
“No,” I say, walking quickly out of view to grab his suit jacket and pants for him, “we don’t.” When I return with both articles of clothing and force him into his jacket, I add, “it’s past 7:45.” I press the slacks into his chest. “Get your pants on, so we can get the hell out of here, yeah?”
“Fine.” Jordan snaps on the water for his sink and runs his hands under. “I still say you need to relax, though. No sense having a heart attack on the way there, man.”
I ignore him unceremoniously, deciding to turn my attention to my brother. Unlike Jordan, he at least has all his clothes on. He’s busy smoothing his hands over his jaw.
“Almost good to go there, bro?” I ask.
Paul nods, splashing some aftershave on his hands and patting his face with it. “Sure. But I don’t know what we really have to look forward to. Neither of those girls said they were coming, so it’s not like we have anyone who’s gonna be there looking for us.”
“No,” I say, brushing the shoulders on my brother’s suit jacket, and doing a bit to fix his tie. Kinda like Mom used to do with Dad before he went to a meeting. “But it’s still going to be fun. It’s really important,” I add, “for us to be there on time.”
Jordan is still preening in front of the mirror. “Get your damn shoes on.”
He gives me his signature okay-mom look.
“You know what?” I let go of my brother and push past him. “Never mind. If you’re not going to move fast enough by yourself, I’m gonna move you along.” Like with his pants and suit jacket, I bring his dress shoes to him.
“And you know what else?” Jordan says as he shoves his feet and the dress shoes I’ve brought to him, “we’re not gonna get there any faster if you keep freaking out like that.” He sprays himself with one of his many colognes. A sporty variety of some kind or another. All I know is it has a badminton player pictured on the bottle. “I’m ready now, and so is Paul.” He looks at my brother for confirmation. “Right, man?”
Paul nods, and I find myself compelled to look at my watch. I know it’s not going to be a useful or helpful thing, but I can help it.
Fuck. 7:50. If we don’t go now and go like a bat out of hell from here to the bowels of the building where the party is being held, we’re going to be shit out of luck. The whole point of this vacation was to go to this event and participate in every activity on offer.
“Then let’s go! If you’re ready and he’s ready,” I shout, turning out the light and storming toward the door, “move your asses!” I sigh, growling at their relaxed attitudes. “Let’s go!” I say again, and finally, I hear and feel them behind me.
From there, I move quickly out the door. I lock up, telling them to run — not walk — to the car. Thankfully, they both seem to get the message and disappear like two streaks of black and white down the hall.
I follow shortly after, grabbing my car keys and making sure their positioned to be used quickly and effectively against the locks and ignition.
As I run down the hall and toward the lobby, I let my mind wander to Jane. To her curvaceous, physically-fit body. How good it looked in the ski gear she was wearing. How much better she would look out of it and in a little of leather.
Jane, I think, pushing myself out the front doors of the lodge, racing to catch up to my brother and Jordan who are standing by the car, I really hope you’re there tonight. I really hope you take me up on my invitation. I unlock the door and open the driver side and jump in it like I’m James-fucking-Bond. If you did, it would more than make up for this crazy shit right now.
I jam the keys in the ignition and rev up the engine. I squeal out of the lodge’s parking lot before my brother or Jordan are properly buckled in. It would make the speeding ticket I might get that much sweeter.
Briefly, I allow “speeding ticket” to conjure an image of Jane in a policewoman’s outfit. She hands me a dildo with “speeding ticket” written on it. She then turns around to reveal her ass and pussy in a cutout pair of tights. Hanging just over the pinkness of each is a small sign that reads, “Pay tickets here.”
My cock likes that idea, and I allow that image to hang in my head as much as I dare while I drive.