Indecent Cravings: Part Two Read online

  What fascinated me so much about the kinky girl in the video was how much she was enjoying it. I mean, I felt her. She was in some kind of blissful state, her eyes rolling into her head as she grunted with pleasure at being treated like a piece of dirt.

  I mean, I’m all for feminist values. Women are equal to men in every way. I want to do great things in life (not that I’ve figured out what they are yet), and nobody should ever tell me I can’t.

  So I argued with myself for a long time over what it was about that video that made me so horny. Because that girl was treated like pond scum. But she loved it. And I loved watching it. And secretly . . . deep down . . . I wanted to be her.

  What the fuck?

  Dammit, I’m a goddamned horny mess again. I should have stayed at the school. Why did I chicken out? Now I can’t go back, according to what Erica said.

  As the bus draws near to Karissa’s, I ponder how I’m going to keep my boutique bag with my new dress from getting soaked because I forgot my damned umbrella.

  But, lo and behold, the sky miraculously clears as the bus pulls up to the intersection that’s two blocks away from Karissa’s. Florida is weird like that. Back home, when it rains it stays . . . and takes forever to clear up. Here everything happens fast.

  Funny thing is that smell that was so pungent when I first arrived has diminished a little. Or is it that I’m just so used to it now that I don’t notice it anymore?

  I let myself in, realizing that Karissa and Jaxon are already gone.

  So yep, you guessed it, shorts come off. Panties come off. Fingers, clit, folds, and tunnel get all happy to thoughts of the one and only Mister Lukas Thorn.

  I close my eyes and imagine him standing above me with a flogger in his hand. I’m wearing nipple clamps and a ball gag in my mouth. He whacks my back with the flogger.

  There it is. First orgasm.

  Wait . . . here comes another. Oh God!

  My head starts to clear when I see him take the Ray-Bans down and stare into my eyes. Then he moves behind me and says, “Come for me, you little fucking whore.”

  Oops . . . Make that three orgasms.

  Oh God, I’m a mess.

  Chapter 3

  Lorena’s building is one of the super-tall modern condo skyscrapers over on West Ave. A large circular driveway with a team of valets is out front. Must be nice.

  I’m in my new lavender dress, which I gotta admit hides the fifteen pounds I need to lose. Shit, I need to find a Planet Fitness or something and get on a diet, seriously. I put waves in my blonde hair and took extra care with my makeup for the first time since I arrived in Florida.

  I wish Karissa wasn’t working so she could have come with me. I hate being here alone, but I have no other friends in Miami. Okay, here I go. I take a deep breath and walk up to the elegant entrance.

  I must look good because the security guys just smile and hold the door for me. I breeze past the desk and over to the elevators, admiring the view of Biscayne Bay and the city before I step in.

  I take a deep breath and press floor twenty-two. Here we go.

  At Unit 2201, I knock. A girl in an outfit that can only be described as a leather bikini with metal rings opens the door and stares at me.

  “Hello,” I say.

  She just continues to stare at me, saying nothing. Then she starts to close the door.

  “Wait!” I say. “Um . . . whistle.”

  She smiles and opens the door again. “Name, please.”

  “Abig . . . no, um, Jayd,” I say.

  She looks at an iPad, scrolls, then touches something. “Come right in,” she says without raising her eyes. “My name is Osira. Is this your first time here?”

  What kind of question is that? This isn’t a mall store.

  “Yes,” I say.

  The apartment——no, wrong word——the cavern——is gorgeous. Shit, it must be the entire floor of the building. Ultra-modern design with lots of sharp angles, beveled glass, and large spherical globes that spin very slowly while changing color. One moment blue, the next indigo, the next violet, and so on. There is a low sexy beat of ambient music that’s loud enough to drown out conversations, but not loud enough that anyone needs to talk loudly.

  The fourth wall of the apartment is open space leading out to a dramatic sky behind the spectacular Miami skyline. A long outdoor deck runs the entire length of the apartment. There appears to be no glass anywhere so it feels like we’re neither outside nor inside and yet a little of both.

  “Please come with me,” says Osira, leading me to the outdoor deck.

  Oh. My. God.

  I’ve never seen so many beautiful people gathered in one spot. Gorgeous women. One looks familiar. I think she’s a movie actress. Lots of hot guys. Many older men . . . but really really good-looking older men. George Clooney and Daniel Craig-types. Oh, yeah.

  Many younger men with muscles under expensive shirts open to the waist. Ladies of all ages, all stunningly decked out in dresses.

  But . . . and this is the weird part . . . surrounding the well-dressed ones . . . there is a subservient group dressed like Osira at the door. Almost nonexistent clothing, with what little they wear either latex or leather with studs.

  This group stands and waits along a dim aquamarine-lit wall until someone motions for something.

  Oh wait. Oh my God. Some of them have no bottoms on at all. Holy shit, this is a fetish party!

  One man in a suit sits on a couch talking with two other people. He’s petting the head of a beautiful purple-haired naked girl lying on the floor. She’s wearing nothing but a collar. Her ass is amazing, on full display as I walk by.

  In another area, three ladies chat, their drinks on a board resting on the back of a naked man on his hands and knees. He’s also blindfolded with a ball gag in his mouth and a big tail inserted in his butt, motionless as a piece of furniture.

  Most of the staff are girls, but holy shit there’s a black boy, about twenty . . . wearing a black bow tie, white dress shirt, cummerbund, and . . . nothing else.

  His cock is huge, slapping both of his legs as he walks from table to table serving drinks. A woman takes her drink with one hand and lovingly pats his member with the other.

  I’m aroused and frightened at the same time. I have simultaneous urges to both run away and dive in.

  “Jayd!” says a voice I know.

  I turn to see my hostess. “Lorena!” Osira bows and returns to her post at the door.

  Lorena hugs and kisses me on the cheek like I’ve known her for a thousand years. “So glad you could make it. Let me assign you an attendant. Would you prefer male or female?”

  Now, there’s a question I’ve never been asked before. “Attendant?”

  “Yes. Some in the community call them slaves, but I insist on the word attendant. Oh, but you do know about attendants, don’t you?”

  “Um, sure. I know there’s a thing in BDSM.”

  “It’s all consensual. They want to serve. They wish to serve. They volunteer and sign contracts. They get off on pleasing, so don’t feel bad. It’s a craving inside of them. Now, male or female?”

  “Um, male,” I say.

  Lorena nods to somebody out of sight of me. A man right off the cover of an erotic romance novel appears out of nowhere. He wears a black necktie.

  And nothing else.

  Holy fuck me! Chiseled pecs, a square chin, black hair, some stubble, and a cock that goes on for days.

  I realize my mouth is open. Not to mention my pussy . . . as in open for business. This man is seriously gorgeous.

  “Jayd, this is Cock Toy, your attendant for the evening.” She pats him on the cheek. “He is here to serve you in every way. All I ask is that if you want to touch the part of him that he’s named for, please take him into a play pen.”

  “Play pen?”

  “Yes, those.” She gestures around the room.

  I look around. Amongst the sea of couches, there are several spots in the large room wi
th two shoulder-high makeshift walls of purple-beveled glass. Only one is being used at the moment. A man stands with his hands on the top of both walls as a tuft of hair bobs up and down over the top of the walls.

  For a split second, I consider taking my “attendant” Cock Toy to one of the empty ones and just sucking him silly.

  Easy, Abigail. Control yourself.

  “For a drink, dear, may I suggest the Blush of a Rose? It’s made with Belvedere vodka and fresh juniper juice with rose petals from a sweet variety grown in Japan. Our guest bartender tonight is Anatole Ceres from New York City’s restaurant Svangard. It’s his specialty.”

  “Sounds, um, amazing.”

  Cock Toy bows and walks to the bar. I can’t help but admire the muscles in his butt as he walks. At the bar, he stands next to the black boy with the dangling torpedo.

  Oh, I get it. I was hit by a car and died. I’m in heaven, right?

  “Lovely playthings, aren’t they?” says Lorena. “Now you see, dear, all that I missed out on.”

  “But it’s your party. You control all this, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have that body of yours. Come sit with me on the balcony.”

  The place is so huge, we almost need a bus to get there. But once we do . . .

  Holy wow!

  The view is stunning. Twenty-two floors up above the Port of Miami, the sun is setting behind the city across Biscayne Bay. Shades of indigo and lavender blend with fiery reds and oranges in a thousand different shades.

  I gasp at a hand on my ass. I turn to see it’s Lorena.

  “Oh, you’ll do fine,” she says with a smile and a puff on her cigarette-less cigarette holder. “Just fine.”

  Before I have time to process that, Cock Toy arrives with my drink and hands it to me while keeping his eyes oddly downward.

  “Wall,” says Lorena.

  He bows and returns to the wall, assuming a spot in between a tall black girl with a big Afro and a heavily-tattooed short plump girl with short hair.

  “I’m not sure I get all this,” I say.

  “Primal urges,” she says. “There are two deep social urges within humans. One is to command. The other is to serve. A very small percentage enjoy both, but most who find this lifestyle prefer one over another. I enjoy both.” She raises her glass. “Cheers, dear.”

  I take a sip of the drink. Yikes. It’s delicious. Sweet, tart, and smooth all at the same time. “That’s delicious.”

  “At three thousand a bottle, it should be.”

  “This is an amazing place you have here.”

  “I own the building. It was a gift to me from a lover.”

  “So, you wanted to talk to me about a job.”

  “Yes, Jayd, there are people . . . . . . very wealthy people . . . . . . who pay large sums of money to young women like you.”

  I gasp. “Oh my God, are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

  “Don’t act so shocked, dear. You’re much more intuitive than that. You had at least a hunch that was going to be the offer. And yet, that’s not the offer.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, dear. I’m not a madam, and I do not run a whorehouse. What I run is far more intelligent, and dare I say humane?”

  “What do you run?”

  “I’m a matchmaker. I run a submission academy for young women who have run away from their lives.”

  I inhale sharply and put my hand up to my mouth. “Did you just say submission academy?”

  “Yes, my academy specializes in giving submissive young women the structure they need. They experience fulfillment. Many respond to the BDSM lifestyle, many don’t. My mission is to help them find themselves. Many go on to be famous people. Are you familiar with Carlita Amore, the founder and CEO of Amore Cosmetics?”

  “Yes, I have some of her eyeshadow.”

  “She started with me. She was a runaway from the streets of Chicago. Addicted to heroin, abusive boyfriend, near death. Then she found my submission academy, where she learned that her natural desire to submit for pleasure doesn’t have to be at the hand of people who wish to destroy her for money, as her pimp boyfriend and dealer were both doing. Under my tutelage, she kicked the needle and the losers. She found herself under the command of a strict but sensitive Dom. By channeling her submissive side into a loving relationship, she found that in the real world she was powerful and dominant. So she used that newly-discovered side of her to build a company from the ground up, a company whose products you actually purchase. How do you like them apples, dear?”

  “Wow.”

  “So, no, I’m not a madam. But I am a business woman. I take money from billionaires who wish to be paired up with submissive women for a variety of relationships, both monogamous and polyamorous. Both benefit.”

  “I’m not sure about all this. How does somebody get strong by being treated like an . . . attendant? I mean, I’m not naïve. I’ve read that in a million places and stuff, but how does it work?”

  “Dear, I could go on for days explaining the psychological influences of being human, but that would be boring. Better for you to experience it and see for yourself. All I’m offering you is a path. It may not be the path for you. Many people are repulsed by it, and that’s perfectly fine for them. But others are drawn to it like a gravitational field.”

  Lorena takes a fake puff from her cigarette and glances out over the bay. I follow her gaze out to the many boats on the water, serene in the reflected light from the setting sun. I take another sip of my drink.

  Holy shit, I think I’m feeling it already. I don’t even taste any alcohol.

  “So,” I say, suddenly emboldened, “you want me to work for someone as a submissive.”

  She turns back to face me again. “That’s the job, dear. It’s not prostitution. I wouldn’t call it work, either. It’s more a loving relationship. It could be part-time, or full-time. You may find a lifestyle that gives you a lifetime of pleasure.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because, like I said, I know you, Jayd. I see much of myself in you.” Her gaze drifts to a spot behind me. “Oh, here’s the Director of my submission academy now.”

  A shadow blocks some of the light behind me. I turn.

  I’m glad I had some of that drink, because I nearly have a heart attack at the sight of Lukas Thorn.

  Everything disappears. The sunset, the cavernous apartment, the low hum of the conversations, the music. My entire world centers on the man I’ve been trying to find for two weeks.

  Right here.

  And not just here, but standing directly in front of me again.

  I try not to squeal in delight.

  If I thought he was a god among men before, I’m only more convinced now.

  He’s in a black flowing shirt, one of many flowing shirts in his collection apparently. Taut thick chest muscles press it outward anyway, sinewy neck muscles leading to broad shoulders. Broader than before. Like he had some added on since the last time I saw him.

  But no, that’s ridiculous. I’m just seeing them from a new angle. So close. So close I could almost stick my tongue out and . . .

  “Jayden Raye, Jayd for short,” says Lorena, “I’d like you to meet Director Lukas Thorn. Oh, but that’s right. I forgot. You two have already met. I believe Lukas saved your life at Bogart that night a couple of weeks ago.”

  I’m not sure if it’s just me or if it’s both Lukas and me, but we just stare at each other. He wears a half-smile, the perfect stubble still in place over the tanned skin and flawless square chin that burned itself into my memory on the plane here.

  His hair is especially “just-fucked” tonight, waves of brownish-black darkness with those delightful wispy ends that I just want to bite.

  His expression is relaxed but incredulous as he stares into me, his sapphire eyes searing a sensuous pathway into my soul. He looks at me like he knows me, like he’s known me for a thousand years.

  Yeah, glad I waited. Fuck Karissa a
nd Jaxon. Fuck Javier. Fuck those shitheads who hit on me. This is what I want! This man right here! Wherever he is, I’m home.

  “What the fuck, Lorena?” says Lukas Thorn, not breaking his stare into my eyes.

  His words knock me out of my spell. I turn to look at Lorena’s shocked expression.

  “Excuse me?” she says.

  “This is a joke, Lorena. What are you up to?”

  She folds her arms and throws him an evil questioning stare. “I don’t like your tone, Lukas.” Her voice has gone three octaves lower than usual.

  He chuckles, then returns his gaze to me. He looks me up and down like he’s buying a horse.

  “No thanks, Lorena,” he says as he turns to walk away. “I’m not going to fall for it again.”

  At that, he turns and drifts across the room. Everyone notices him, like he’s the center of all magnetism in the universe.

  I’m frozen in place, unable to move. I’m not sure what I’m feeling.

  Did he just reject me like I think he just did? Like a piece of meat?

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Lorena says. “It’s just his nature. He likes you.”

  I take another sip of my drink, watching his broad shoulders under that muscular neck as he joins a group of well-dressed women at a tall round table on the other end of the balcony. He motions a naked attendant over. His is flawlessly blonde.

  Bitch.

  “He likes me?” I say. “That’s not how someone reacts when they like you. Wait, oh wait. Is it him? Is he the one you want to ‘sell’ me to?”

  “No, of course not, dear. And there’s no selling. That’s an awful term. He’s just the director of my academy. It is very strange that he reacted that way. Wait, you don’t know him, do you? Did you meet him before the restaurant?”

  My head spins. I don’t know how to answer. I don’t want to tell her about the plane. Apparently, she doesn’t know about it. The less people who know, the better.

  Suddenly, my inner diva fires up inside. I never know when she’s going to show up. Yeah baby, hello! I down the rest of my drink . . . hoo-hah! . . . and place it on a nearby table.