Chapter 7 – Paul
For the last 15 minutes, my brother and his friend have been manic about the time.
I’ve just been on a dizzying car ride, and now I find myself being hurried down a set of basement stairs. This was, of course, after being practically thrown out of the car by Jordan, while my brother went to park out of sight.
“Come on, come on,” urges my brother. Despite the fact that we’re all dressed a little too well for finding ourselves in a basement (full tuxedos, freshly combed and oiled hair, a few good watches and rings on), Alex is moving like we’re about to miss our gateway to heaven. “It was hard enough to get an invitation, my dear brother. I’m not wasting all my fucking hard work because you have lead feet.”
“All right, all right!” I pick up my pace and my voice, but not too much. I’ve just noticed a man standing by an ornate set of doors. He is dressed more like a butler, but believe me: he has the bearing and the training equal to a Navy SEAL. I can smell it on him. Above the ornate, heavy dark-wood doors, there is an equally ornate black plaque with gold letters. The letters, which I assume are made out of actual gold, read: The Exchange Club. “The Exchange Club? What the hell is this?”
“An awesome place none of us will get to experience, if you don’t move a little faster,” says Jordan. “When they say dinner starts at 8, they mean it. If you don’t have your ass in a seat by then, you don’t get in.”
With those words, all three of us come off the stairs like a roll of thunder, and head with purpose toward the doorman.
“But you still haven’t told me what this is,” I say, not liking being manhandled or told what to do. Usually I’m the one in charge and I don’t like giving up control, even if they do think it’s for my own good.
My brother comes out from behind me, flashing three gold tickets at the doorman. The way he does it, it’s like it’s an FBI badge, or the holster of a gun. Wordlessly, the doorman bows, and opens one side of the double doors.
It isn’t until we walk through the doors and I get an eyeful of the dim, fine-dining interior, that Alex answers me. When he does, it’s in a hot, almost nervous whisper. “Don’t worry about that for now. Let’s just get a seat.” With that, he takes me by the arm, and again hurries me along. “If we don’t hurry, all the good spaces up front will be taken.”
I sigh, giving up on getting anything good out of him. Instead, I take some time to analyze my location. If Alex isn’t going to tell me what’s going on, I’ll just have to figure it out for myself.
The first thing I notice: lots of men and women. Mostly men. All in elegant, designer clothes. Suits and gowns everywhere. And let’s not forget obnoxiously-expensive jewelry. There’s possibly a whole treasure chest’s worth of that worn by the other guests. Gold. Silver. Precious gems — it’s all here.
The dining tables are immaculate, with candles, expensive wines and cheeses, and fruits adorning each immaculate tablecloth. Baskets of bread too, along with leather-bound menus. “What is this, some kind of special, ultra-secret Christmas Eve dinner?”
As we reach the front of the room, I see that there are menus on the tables as well, which are being perused. Probably for other edible goodies.
“Nope.” Jordan sounds like he’s enjoying his vow of silence when it comes to what we’re doing here.
As we finally claim a table for ourselves and sit down, I notice we’re as close as we can get to a huge stage. It’s massive, like the kind used in theater or to host symphonies. Big enough to proudly display people and props, and then cover them with luscious curtains.
“Dinner theater?” I hazard. I’m already exhausted from trying to figure out what’s going on. Not to mention exhausted from being dragged around.
“I would much rather be out on the snow,” I murmur. “I would much rather be spending time with Mariah. She’d be much more entertaining than this.” Immediately, Mariah floats into my mind. Her forest-fairy eyes twinkle at me with innocence. Her mouth parts in a shy smile. But behind that shyness, there’s need. I feel it as I imagine holding her hand again. Feeling her pulse dart through me like the wings of a butterfly. She has needs I can fulfill. Just as I have needs she can fulfill.
My cock jumps up a bit at the thought. Or, rather, the many thoughts of all the things I would like to do to Mariah. All the things I’d like to make her do to me.
“It’s not a dinner theater,” says Alex, leaning forward to grab a piece of bread and butter, as well as my attention. “It’s much more exciting than that.”
He doesn’t bother to spread the butter on the bread very much before putting it into his mouth. After a long day of skiing, we’re all ravenous. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He swallows lightly. “It’ll be right up your alley. Just wait and see.”
I just want to see more of Mariah, I think. Again, my thoughts are consumed with her eyes. Her face. How much youth and inexperience radiates from both. And I imagine being the one to take that youth and inexperience, and mature it.
I see the hint of mischief and lust in her glance. In her voice, I hear that cute little tremble all over again. It’s soft and vulnerable, like her nipples would be if I touched them. Nibbled them. Oh, Mariah, if you spend a little time with me, you’ll learn a lot that isn’t in any textbook.
I hear myself chuckle, and feel myself grin, but I don’t try to cover either up. Instead, I envision myself with her right now. Putting my arms around her puffy, winter coat, before peeling it off. From the coat, I go to her sweater. A tight, thick-threaded thing that only makes her breasts bigger. Softer. Squishier.
In my mind, I squeeze those big breasts of hers, before slipping my hands up under her sweater, and making her blush for real. I imagine she’s not wearing a bra. Which leaves my hands exposed to her hard, perky nipples. Tasty gum-drop knobs that I quickly get to work pinching and rubbing.
That’s right, baby girl. In my head, she’s starting to moan. It’s a quiet uncertain moan, that quickly grows louder and more urgent under my fingers. I’ll teach you a whole lot about what a man can do for you.
When Mariah’s moans grow loud enough in my mind to become a cry, I imagine yanking up her sweater, and putting my mouth on her nipples. First one, then the other; then both at the same time, as I squish her smooth, round breasts together. Oh, yeah baby, I think, if you enjoy that, that’s just the tip of what I have to give you!
Just as she’s about to say my name and beg me to fuck her on a table like this, in front of other people, Darla — the memory of her — crashes my fantasy. She doesn’t do or say anything, except smile cruelly. In her eyes, there’s contempt.
“Quit fooling yourself, Paul,” it seems to say. “You’re just into her because you need a distraction.” Even without her here, I can hear Darla’s icy tone.
In an instant, whatever joy I was feeling escapes me. Maybe I am just looking for a distraction. Maybe my infatuation has nothing to do with Mariah, after all. Perhaps I’m just trying to get that bitch out of my fucking head. I sigh, noticing there’s some movement on stage. And we see how well that’s working, don’t we?
But, as Darla’s image and phantom words fade, Mariah’s face and body reemerge. They are brighter and sweeter than ever. And again, I hunger to touch her. Caress her clothes and the skin under them.
What can I say? I think, smiling to myself, I’m already smitten with you, girl. Just holding your hand got me addicted to you. In my head, I imagine playing with her auburn curls. The ones on the top and bottom. If only you had agreed to hang out, I could start corrupting you. I’ll take that innocent little girl inside you and turn her into a sexy, hungry wildcat. One who is gladly and obediently under my control.
For the second time, just as I’m beginning to imagine taking Mariah and bending her over the nearest piece of furniture and fucking her in her ass or pussy, my fantasy is interrupted. But not by Darla.
There’s motion on stage now. A young woman has appeared. And, like most people, she’s dressed nicely. In a tuxedo, white gloves, and a fedora. Seductively, like she’s taking the black-gloved hand of a lady, she picks up a mic from a stand.
“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” she says in a voice I can only describe as being on par with a freshly-pressed rose, “We will be starting the bidding shortly, but on behalf of The Exchange Club, please allow me to extend my sincerest welcome to members and invited guests.”
A small storm of prim-and-proper clapping sounds erupt. “Welcome. We’re glad to have you. We hope you enjoy your night with us.”
With that, the gentlewoman tips her fedora, puts the mic back in its stand, and elegantly exits the stage.
Only when she’s gone, do I snap my head over to look at Alex. “Bidding?” I hate to admit it, but my heart is racing. And unfortunately, not from my Mariah-induced fantasies. “What does she mean, ‘bidding’? What’s going on here?” I glance at Jordan, which I immediately regret.
“Surprise!” Jordan shoves a piece of bread in his mouth like it’s buttered popcorn. “This is how we’re gonna make you forget about your nasty ex, yo.” He takes a bite of crust, obviously enjoying my confusion. “This is an exclusive club, you get me?” He leans in, chewing slowly. “This place is for people with power and money, like us. A place where we can buy anything we want from a woman.”
Alex, compelled to be the voice of reason, offers his additions. “We thought it would be a good way to put Darla in your past. To give you an experience that is, well, customizable.”
I groan at that word. It shouldn’t be used anywhere near a woman. Maybe a blender, but not a woman. “I don’t need or want to buy a woman, or to customize my experience with her.”
I straighten my shoulders, not sure what I feel more pissed about — the fact that there are people in this world who see women that way, or the fact that my brother and his stupid friend have apparently lumped me in with them. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping I don’t pass out from their combined idiocy. “In case you don’t know, women throw themselves at me, okay? I don’t need to flash cash to get them to do what I want.”
Alex holds up his hands defensively. “I’m aware of that, but these women are top shelf.” I growl, hating his use of another adjective that should be used to describe an appliance. “They are aware of their value and willing to do whatever is purchased from them for the right price.” He leans in, putting a hand on my arm. “Darla was out of control. These women are different. They won’t give you any trouble, which is what you need after the hell she’s caused you, brother.”
I look away from him. I act like I’m getting up to leave. “I’m not going to buy a woman.” I pause, looking at them both like they ought to be ashamed of themselves. “For any price, or any reason. Do I make myself clear?”
They have no answer for me, and instead they just stare blankly at me, like they can’t believe I don’t appreciate their gift. So, I go to leave. Until I remember that Alex invited Mariah and her friend…what was her name? Jane? Here. And that stops me.
I sit down back in my seat, newly aggravated.
“You invited Mariah and her friend here, didn’t you?”
Alex looks unsure whether he wants to smile or ignore me. “Why would you do that, Alex? If you knew what kind of place this was, why would you invite them here?”
Alex just grins. “Because we knew you’d want to buy Mariah. We knew if you had her as an option, you’d go for her.”
If my brother wasn’t sitting across from me, and if we weren’t in the middle of a high-class event, I would punch him right in his face right here and now. He knows it by the way I’m glaring, but now that Mariah has come back up, all I can think about is her. What it would be like if she showed up to this auction after all.
“How do you know she’d even be into doing something like this?” I bring my head down, annoyed by my own desperation. “How do you know she’d go for it?
“Because,” Alex says, “Anything can be bought for the right price.”
When I bring my attention to my brother again, it’s not him my gaze is drawn inexplicably to. It’s Mariah. Somehow, against all odds, against everything I’d been planning for — a night tortured by thoughts of her, and having to settle for something less — she’s here. Right now. She’s just walked in. And she’s caught me staring.
But unlike on the snow earlier, she doesn’t look away. Instead, she holds my gaze steadily. Intently.
Until our gaze is broken by the woman from the stage as she approaches Mariah and Jane. Both women have changed out of their ski clothes, and are now in fuzzy, curvaceous sweaters, tight, form-fitting pants, and cute snow boots.
Mariah and the woman from the stage are talking about something. Whatever it is, Mariah is looking a bit nervous, but also intense. After a moment, Mariah nods and takes Jane’s hand. They are then led by the woman up to the stage.
Oh, my God! As I watch Mariah move toward the stage, I’m blown away by so much courage in such a small, delicate frame. She is actually doing it! I can’t believe this! Mariah’s actually getting up on stage… Hungrily, I watch her climb the steps. Which means… I don’t even have to finish the thought, before my mind is busy making a list of all the things I’m going to do to her when I buy her. Get her to eat my cock, while I give her patient but firm instruction; order her to lie completely still while I eat her little pussy, and then use my saliva to loosen her up some more, maybe play with her ass. Perhaps I’ll tie her up, so I can do what I want with her, and leave her begging me for more.
Imagining getting to play with her small, puckering hole is enough to make me wish I could start stroking my cock covertly through my pants. Unsurprisingly, it’s already hard and fighting for freedom.
My brother notices that I’m fucking squirming in my chair.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispers. “Now you can’t say I’ve never gotten you anything nice.”