CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PAYTON
“Keep your breathing even,” I tell the closet door. “Yes, nice and deep now.”
I can’t believe Mom’s psycho-babble bullshit is coming in useful.
I check the stopwatch on my cell. “Five minutes. You’re crushing this.”
Not the best choice of words for someone trying to overcome claustrophobia, dickhead.
“Killing this,” I correct, noting that isn’t much better.
I’m standing there shaking my head at myself when there’s a knock from the inside of the closet. I slide the door across, a flustered, hard-breathing Lacey staring back.
“Five minutes thirty seconds,” I tell her. “That’s a new record.”
“Let’s do it again.”
I slide my cell into my pants pocket and press her against the back of the closet. “I reach down and cup her crotch through her jeans, lightly kneading her pussy. To which ‘it’ are you referring?”
Her hands splay against the back of the closet, her eyes shuttering closed.
The bell sounds for the start of class.
Perfect fucking timing.
“Let’s skip class,” I whisper. “I’ve got some training of my own I’d like to show you.”
She pushes me back smiling. “I’m as horny as you are right now, trust me, but it’s the Tower today.”
I look down. “And what about the tower in my pants?”
She pats it gently. “That tower’s not going anywhere.”
She slips past me and swings her bedroom door open. “You coming?”
“I will be later.” I wink, heading out into the hallway.
Hernandez whistles behind us. “If it isn’t the campus lovebirds.”
I flip him a bird of a different kind. “It’s all good, Hernandez. You’ve got King to keep you warm at night?”
He laughs. “Fuck you, Cox.”
I put my arms out. “Join the queue.”
The Captain seems in a particularly chirpy mood when we arrive outside.
The sky’s been scrubbed clean of clouds, bright and bold blue above. We’re geared up—full PPE and BA equipment for today’s exercise.
As the Captain runs through today’s training, I understand why he’s smiling. “In partners, you’re going to take a charged hose and run it to the very top of the Tower, whereby you’ll extinguish the fire on the roof.
My muscles are aching already thinking about dragging a fully charged hose up those fucking stairs.
To add a measure of realism, smoke machines at the base of the tower are working overtime, filling the structure with smoke.
The Captain’s eyes find me. “Cox, you seem bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today. You and Nelson show these dipshits how it’s done.”
“Yes, sir, Captain,” I reply, pulling on my mask and lining up with Lacey, the hose cradled between us.
The Captain takes out his stopwatch. “Go!”
We run off towards the stairwell—well, as much as you can run with eighty pounds of gear and a fully charged hose.
And I’m not talking about my cock.
Lacey and I work seamlessly now, bringing the hose quickly to the roof where a group of pallets has been set alight, an instructor standing watch.
We kneel. I take up the front, opening up the hose and dousing the flames, both of us struggling against the pressure of it.
Fire extinguished, we take up the hose and begin descending down the stairwell.
Halfway down, I can’t take it anymore.
I drop the hose and take Lacey’s shoulder, spinning her up against the wall, smoke wafting between us.
Even screwed up behind her mask, her face looks fucking adorable. “What are you doing?” she asks.
I reply by slipping my hand down the front of her bunker pants and pulling her panties aside.
Her eyes go wide. “Payton!”
“I want you to come,” I tell her, my breath fogging up the front of my mask.
“Here?” she asks with alarm.
“Right here,” I reply, my fingers finding her wetness, two sliding into her slick channel of her sex. My thumb presses up against her clit.
Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t protest.
The windows along the stairwell are open. We’re barely shielded away here, not forgetting the instructor up on top, but the smoke’s providing enough cover for now.
I add more pressure with my thumb, watching her expression shift, the pleasure sink in.
She starts to moan, muffled against the mask, her breathing low and deep as I fuck her with my fingers. They move easily into the heat and wetness there, the pad of my thumb rubbing her clit rhythmically.
Her eyes close and she begins to buck against my hand, levering off the wall to take more of my fingers inside. Her hands reach up and grip my shoulders, dig hard into the bone there through my jacket.
“Come,” I command. “I want you to come right fucking here.”
She’s panting hard, her mask turning cloudy, her entire body lifting up and down. Her cheeks are flushed, her arousal dripping down my hand.
I press my mask against hers and scoop up her desire with my thumb, spreading it over her clit until she’s twitching and jerking on the spot, close to letting go completely.
“Come,” I repeat. “Come all over my fucking fingers.”
She freezes, eyes wide before she gives over completely, her orgasm forcing her pussy to clamp tight around my fingers. Her clit pulses under the pad of my thumb, her hips bucking forward like someone’s pressing a cattle-prod against her ass.
Her eyes are glassy when they open, her breathing starting to regulate itself once more.
I pick up the hose. “Can you walk?”
She rolls her eyes and reaches down.
We make it out and place the hose down near the Captain, both of us bent over from the effort.
The Captain looks down at his stopwatch. “Well, that was a pitiful fucking effort, you two. What were you doing up there? Stopped off for tea and biscuits? Admiring the view?”
I smile in Lacey’s direction, her cheeks are still flushed, strands of hair matted to her face. “Sorry, Captain,” she says, her words rushed. “We got held up.”
I struggle to contain myself.
I suppose that’s one way to put it.
The Captain simply shakes his head. “Hernandez, Sax… Show these two assclowns how it’s done.”
The Captain notices the gauge on Lacey’s tank as she slings it off. “Jesus H, Nelson. Where’d all your air go?”
I actually have to turn away lest I lose it completely.
She swallows, struggling herself. “I, uh,” she stammers, “was having trouble controlling my breathing, Captain.”
I start to snigger.
The Captain takes off his cap, running his hand through his hair. “You better work it out, Nelson. We’re not scuba diving here. We’re saving lives.”
I lean over to Lacey’s ear as he drifts away. “I know what the Captain said, but I’ll happily go diving later.”
It takes her a second, but when it clicks she shoves me away. “You’re going to get both of us expelled from here if you’re not careful.”
I shrug. “Hey, responsibility is my middle name.”
She turns back, smiling. “That’s funny. I thought it was Theodore.”
How the hell did she work that out?
The others pick up on our conversation.
Someone claps me on the back. “Nice one, Teddy.”
*
Another day, another dinner direct from the Commercial Food Co.
Lacey’s earlier smile is gone when she opens her door.
I walk in. “What’s going on?”
She attempts a smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
I kneel before her. “Hey, we’re in this together—partners. Tell me. Maybe I can help?”
She ignores the question, instead taking hold of my head. “What’s going on is that we’re both going to get booted if you keep pulling stunts like that.”
I pretend I’m speaking to her pussy, pressing myself into the crotch of her pants. “You hear that, bud? She doesn’t appreciate us.”
Lacey laughs, clamping her legs around my head and pushing it back with her hands. “My vagina is not a ‘bud’ or a ‘bro.’”
I look up. “I don’t know about that. We seemed pretty friendly earlier.”
“Secondly,” she says, “we do appreciate hands-on time… in a bed, under the covers. You know, like normal people.”
“There’s nothing normal about you,” I reply, my cock throbbing with anticipation, “and I mean that in the best possible way.”
She pushes me away, clamping her legs together completely and standing. “I’ve got studying to do. You too last I checked.”
“You’re telling me I’m been cock-blocked by a book?”
She reaches to the desk and picks a textbook up, squinting at the author. “By Mr. Paul Ennis, to be precise.”
“P. Ennis?” I laugh back. “Poor bastard.”
She points to the door. “Go. Tomorrow I’m all yours.”
I raise an eyebrow, taking her around the waist, my hands grabbing her buttocks. “All, you say?”
She lifts up onto her tippy toes. “Any hole you want,” she whispers, before shoving me in the middle of the chest.
“Whoa,” I stammer, “who are you?”
She shrugs. “Let’s just say I’m feeling awfully frisky.”
“How’s a man supposed to get any sleep after that offer?”
She taps the book. “Why don’t you ask your P. Ennis?”
I kiss her goodnight and retreat back to my room. I attempt to study, but I’m simply too goddamn horny.
I check my alarm clock: eleven PM.
I can’t handle it. I have to see her.
I knock on the wall and wait for a response, but it doesn’t come.
I stand and close my textbook. Fuck it.
In my boxers, I step out into the hall. I go to knock on her door. Once again it unlatches and opens automatically.
You’ve really got to get that fixed, I think.
I step into a dark room and approach the bed, going to pull up the covers when I realize it’s empty. She’s gone.
I close the door and check the women’s bathroom, but she’s not there either.
What the fucking fuck?
I encounter Hernandez, Jackson and two others coming the down the hall.
Hernandez puts his finger to his lips.
I note they’re fully dressed. “What’s going on?” I whisper. “Midnight gangbang?”
“With your mom,” whispers King.
Hernandez steps in front of him. “We’re slipping out the back, going to hit up that strip club down the road.”
“What, so you can contract syphilis?” I reply.
“You in?” asks Hernandez.
I look past them down the hall. “I don’t know…” It’s well past curfew. We’d be fucked if we were caught.
“Come on,” pushes Hernandez, imploring me. “You don’t have to touch the merchandise. Just relax, have a drink, or you got something better to do?”
“Or someone,” adds Jackson.
They’re all looking to me. I don’t want to let them down. “Can I put on some fucking pants first?”
*
Jackson crouches by the back door to the dormitory and takes a small lock-picking kit out of his pocket, setting to work.
I look around at the others. “Seriously? What next? A bank heist?”
Jackson looks up smiling, two pins in the lock. “Dad’s a locksmith. There ain’t a god-damn door in this state that can keep me out.”
“Except one with a woman behind it,” jokes Hernandez, everyone sniggering there in the dark.
Jackson stops. “You want me to pick the damn lock or what?”
Hernandez stoops down, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Just joking, brother. Do your thing.”
Outside, we stay low until we’re out of campus grounds, sticking to the sidewalk. The security guy for Dante’s nods as we walk on.
The strip club, aptly named The Juicy Lucy, is little more than a shabby brick building and a door.
Hernandez loops around in front of us, clearly excited. “Don’t be deceived by appearances, boys. A treasure trove of pussy awaits.”
I nod to the security guard, an older gentleman slumping against the wall. He’s snoring. “Hold up,” I joke. “We’ve got to get past doorman first.”
As predicted, the club is no Aladdin’s cave inside. There are maybe six guys in here, all sitting around the front of a small stage complete with budget lighting. It’s the middle of July, but there’s tinsel hanging from the roof.
“And here, for your viewing pleasure, is Cannnnndy,” announces the DJ, slurring the name.
A woman struts out onto the stage to Honky Tonk Women. She’s wearing tassels—actual tassels, probably towards the poor side of forty.
A waitress stops by in a bra and panties. “Can I get you boys something?” she asks, southern twang strong.
“A lap dance?” replies Hernandez, a touch too eager. “Sure,” the waitress smiles, placing the tray down, “follow me, sugar.”
Jackson takes a seat near the stage. “There goes Hernandez.”
Another waitress arrives as Candy and her vanilla-pudding breasts leave the stage.
I’ve been in my share of classy strip joints.
This is not one of them.
Jackson ordered shots all around. He sits there flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed, eyes glued to the flame.
“You really like that thing, huh?” I suggest.
His eyes are wild as they flick over to me. “You know what I like about fire, Cox?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s human,” he smirks. “It needs air to breathe. It dances. It speaks.”
“Speaks?” I laugh. “Buddy, if the fire’s talking to you, you’ve spent too long looking into it.”
He continues to flick his lighter open and closed. “Perhaps, but you can’t deny it’s a beautiful thing.”
One of the others shakes his head at me behind Jackson’s back. I understand where he’s coming from. The guy’s a fucking nut.
The song wraps up, Hernandez returning from the back with his hair ruffled.
“That was quick,” I tell him.
He takes a seat and throws a shot back. “Live fast. Die pretty. That’s my motto.”
Jackson clinks his shot glass against his. “Amen.”
The next stripper leaves the stage to scattered applause.
Jesus.
If this place was any sadder, it would be Toy Story 3.
“Thank you, Delilah,” slurs the DJ, switching over to Beyonce’s Dance for You. “Please welcome to the stage, live for her very first performance here at The Juicy Lucy,” his voice lowering, “Enigma.”
The stage lights go dim, a figure emerging in a neon thong and bra. She starts to dance, a bit awkward but definitely with the best body of the night.
Hernandez claps his hands together. “Yeah, baby! That is what I’m talking about.”
‘Enigma’ struts to the front of the stage, the lights coming up to match the music.
“The fuck?” says Hernandez beside me.
The stripper stops. I stop, dropping the shot glass that was in my hand.
Because that’s no stripper.
That’s Lacey.