Sold at the Ski Resort Page 5

  “I suppose you’re right,” she says and then sighs. “I guess I have a lot to learn about these things, huh?”

  “You do, but that’s okay.” I put on my cheeriest voice. “You have me, and I know everything there is to know about getting a hot guy to lose his mind over you.”

  “So, we’re going to the party?” Mariah’s thinly veiled excitement is almost too much. It takes all the self-control I have not to reach over and pinch her cheeks.

  “Hell yeah, we’re going,” I say, making plans in my head of what exactly we’re going to wear—something short and sexy. And I’m going to vamp up mine and Mariah’s makeup. No way I’m going to pass up an opportunity to see Alex again.

  I squeal internally. I don’t care what kind of party we’ve been invited to, I’m going to soak it all up and enjoy every minute. I squeeze my thighs together, loving how wet and tender just thinking about him has me.

  Chapter 9

  Alex

  “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 a bit 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 te 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 kinky things to me.

  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 haven’t been able to take it out since I slide 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 one 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 just in his dress shirt, tie and boxers. “Get your clothes on,” I tell him through gritted teeth. He ignores me and begins combing more gel into his hair. Sculpting it. “Your hair masterpiece is going to mean shit-all if we don’t get in 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 PM.” 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?”

  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 for 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 it. “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 PM. 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 as 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 aft
er, grabbing my car keys and making sure their position 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 get the door unlocked and open to the driver side and jump in it like I’m James-fucking-Bond. If you did, it would more than make up for all of 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.

  Chapter 10

  Jane

  Against everything I’m inclined to believe — especially after finding nothing about this supposed Exchange Club online and being given inexact directions to this place — we arrive. We’ve made it down the basement steps, past Mariah’s fears and mine about whether we’re going to be kidnapped or not, and now we’ve made it past the doorman.

  “Come on,” I say to Mariah as we walk through the dim, curtained entryway of the club, “they’re waiting for us.” A pause. “I hope.”

  Mariah just murmurs, “Uh-huh,” and keeps moving forward with me. Her movements are stiff. Somewhat distracted.

  When I look ahead, I see why. We’ve entered into the main body of the Exchange Club. Far from being a dingy, falling apart corner of a condemned building like I thought we might be walking into, it’s like time traveling into turn-of-the-century elegance. 1800s or something like that, with all the carved columns, tall ceilings, decorative curtains and the grand stage at the front. It seriously looks like something taken from the Queen of England’s castle and dropped right into the basement of an Aspen hotel.

  The tables and chairs all around us are dark shadows against the dimly lit room, and are only accentuated by the red carpet underneath our feet. But even by the shadows it is easy to see these tables and chairs are also from a bygone era. Swooped backs, curved legs — much like the men and women seated in these chairs and leaned over the tables.

  Some seem to be here as husband-wife couples. Others are just groups of older men while others are groups of women. Young and old. Groups of girlfriends, maybe even lovers. No matter what their arrangement, there’s one thing that ties them all together. Their love and use of expensive jewelry. Nearly every person is wearing an admirable amount of gold, silver diamonds and other precious gems. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. Even on my dad or his girlfriends. Believe me when I say they like to wear a lot of jewelry. Especially when he’s the one paying for it.

  Along with the distinctive smells of cologne and perfume, I smell food. And not just any food. Expensive cheeses, meats wine and fruit. I know it’s weird to be able to smell these kinds of things, since they are necessarily cooked, but I’ve been to enough cocktail parties to know when rich food and wine are on deck.

  I’m a little embarrassed at my watering mouth, but I guess it’s not surprising since I haven’t had much to eat since lunch, and that was just a small quiche at a nearby restaurant.

  Before my stomach can growl loud enough to disturb the hushed, high-class aura of the place, a woman’s voice fills the room.

  By the semi-echoed quality of it, I know it’s coming from microphone. I look to the stage and see her standing there. She’s wearing a fedora, a suit and bow tie. Whatever she’s saying, I catch her in the middle of it. “…Shortly, but on behalf of The Exchange Club, please allow me to extend my sincerest welcome to members and invited guests.” A small pocket of clapping, like a gust of wind flows over the space. “Welcome. We’re glad to have you. We hope you enjoy your night with us.” Saying this, the woman in the fedora tips her hat, and moves to exit the stage.

  Immediately I move to intercept her. But not before catching a glimpse of a face I recognize. It’s Alex. My body reacts by tingling all over.

  He’s peeking out from small shadows cast by his friends. In order to keep him from knowing how excited I am to see him, I pull Mariah with me.

  “Let’s go talk with the lady from the stage,” I say, making quick work of the space between me and Fedora Girl. “I bet she’ll know what we do as invited guests.”

  The woman sees us. She pins us with her eyes, as if she knows we’re newbies. Fresh meat for the taking.

  “Good evening, ladies,” she says, appraising us. “I assume we’re here for tonight’s auction, yes?”

  “Uh, yeah? I guess.” I tighten my grip on Mariah’s hand and yank her along so that she’s standing next to me. “My friend and I were invited here by a couple of good-looking guys, and all they told us was just to show up.”

  “Good!” She smiles, giving us both a once over again. Our curvature is what she seems to be studying in detail now. Something I’m not sure I’m comfortable with. “Well, the auction is this way.” She begins to turn on her heels. “So, if you’ll just follow me…”

  “Wait!” Mariah stops short, anxiety evident in her voice. “Wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Patiently, slowly the woman turns her eyes back to us.

  “What auction?” sputters Mariah. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes light up. “So, you don’t know. How interesting.”

  “Can you explain what the auction is about. What this place is.” A cold sweat covers my back. I’m a little stressed and confused by what’s going to go on here.

  I’m not liking Fedora Girl’s attitude. That I-know-a-secret-and-you-don’t-so-you’re-dumb attitude that I hate so much. I also don’t like how casually this woman says things like auction. I’m about to smack her perfectly applied lipstick sideways.

  If she’s aware of how I’m feeling, she doesn’t give me any hint. She looks us both straight in the eye and says, “Ladies, here at The Exchange Club, we have a special practice.” She gives us a Miss America smile. “We allow wealthy gentlemen to ‘buy’ beautiful women — that’s you — for a particular price, for a particular act or activity.” She pauses, one in which she seems to be enjoying the possibilities for me and Mariah. “If the gentleman wins the bid, you are his for the night to do whatever activity or activities he paid you for.” She looks meaningfully at Mariah and then at me. “Most of these men pay handsomely, even for dinner, so it could be worth your while to stick around.”

  Pay? Handsomely? I swallow thickly. So, what is this? Some kind of legalized pseudo-prostitution club? I look briefly around the room. At the men and women seated in the dusky corners. I mean, I guess I could understand it if this room was filled with a bunch of poor bastards. Again, I notice their heavy rings. Their elaborate necklaces, wristwatches — some of which I’ve worn, and my dad has purchased — and I know that can be true. These people have as much money if not more than my dad does. There’s no way that they would need to do this for the money.

  Queasy sweat covers the back of my neck and chest. One that has me questioning whether I’m scared out of my mind or so excited I might die. So why are Paul, Jordan, and Alex here? And why did they invite us? In agony, I search for Alex, but I don’t find him as easily as before.

  But it doesn’t matter, because my world — the world in which Mariah is the sane, reasonable one, with small comfort zones — shatters in the n
ext instant.

  “Let’s do it,” says Mariah resolutely. And it’s not a timid or unsure request. It’s ready. Willing.

  I snap my head around to look at her. “What? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m serious” she says, taking both of my hands in hers. “Let’s do it! This could be just the thing I need, Jane.”

  I sigh. A million thoughts race around in my head. The best thing to do is to probably just go with it and to stop asking myself questions. What happens if Mariah does this? What happens if I do this? What would my dad think if he ever knew that this is what my friend and I did for fun instead of studying? Instead of staying inside where it’s safe and warm? Then, as those thoughts run through my head, something else follows.

  Something warm and mischievous. In its flirtatious shadows, I see images of me with Alex. Of getting undressed, and then redressed in leather. In schoolgirl and nurse costumes; in straps and chains. I might just get what I want. I might not only get to experience everything I’ve ever wanted to, but I might just get my first time with a guy who is actually experienced. Knowledgeable. And neither my dad nor Mariah will ever know the difference. A bright, naughty smile flows lifts the corners of my mouth. “You’re right. Let’s do it, girl!”

  “Excellent, ladies.” The woman smiles and leads us towards the center of the room. “Right this way.”

  ***

  Mariah and I stand on the stage with a sizable group of other women. It’s hot up here on under the lights, but it’s exciting. The bidding has just gotten underway, and already I can feel a cord of excitement building between all of us. The first woman has been called up by Fedora Girl to make her offer, and we’re all watching.