Indecent (The Cage Sessions Book 1) (4 page)

At midnight, select guests go inside to watch
a private show. Nobody ever talks about what goes on at the private
show.

Then he invites a handful of girls to join
his
own
private after-party in his lavish bedroom. And he
has a rule for any girls that attend the private after-party. A
rule that I'm not ready for yet.

"I know about your rule," I say.

Damien leans forward, laughing, and puts his
hands together. Then he gives me that damned Lord Byron underlook
again.

"You know you want to come," he says.

He had to phrase it like that, didn't he?

I search my brain for a word, but I can't
find anything in English. Just grunts.

"In fact," he says, "you're wet right now
just thinking about it."

My mouth hangs open. Still no words.

"But who am I kidding?" he says. "You've been
wet ever since I walked out of the house and talked to the girls at
the pool, haven't you? They're nice, aren't they? Not much in the
boob department, but as I'm sure you know I'm an ass man. They've
all followed the rule. That's why they're allowed to stay and play
in the pool. Funny thing is, once they succumb to the rule, they
never seem to want to leave."

Damien Cage or not, I'm not just a dumb
number. My inner bitch comes alive, overriding my pussy. Thank God
I do have some self-respect.

"I think I'd better go," I say.

"You need it," he says. "You'd be happier. I
can bring you there."

I look over at the bouncing nymphs in the
water. One screams as she falls trying to grab the ball.

"And become one of them?" I say as I tuck my
notepad into my bag. "No thanks, Mr. Cage. That's not the life for
me."

I throw my voice recorder in my bag. I stand
up and extend my hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Cage."

He stands up and takes my hand. He pulls me
closer to him. I can smell his breath. It's fruity with a hint of
rum.

My knees go all wobbly.

"You could never be one of them," he says.
"Not even if you tried. You're worth a thousand of them. Girls like
you are rare."

He leans in and whispers in my ear. I am
paralyzed.

"The most intelligent girls respond best to
the rule," he says. "It opens up something in their souls. They
start to think better. They create better. They expand their minds.
It's like a smart drug. One hit and you can see the matrix."

"I..." I say, "um... really... ought...
to..."

He lets go of my hand and pushes me away. He
picks up his drink and turns toward his house.

"Friday night ten p.m." he says. "Think about
it, then come."

I watch him walk away, his calf muscles
flexing with each stride. His back is a monument of stony rippled
delight. There's a new tattoo on his left side. I didn't notice it
before and now he's too far away for me to read it. Looks like
writing of some sort. I know he's an avid reader so I bet it's
something literary.

I take a deep breath, pick up my bag, and
attempt to teach myself how to walk again.

I stumble to my car like an old wino, shaking
all the way.

God, I need some water!

I get in my Toyota Corolla and just sit there
for a second staring up at the house.

Shit, can I? Would I?

Fuck, I think I might.

I start my engine.

Friday night, huh?

But I know his rule. Shit. I can't imagine
doing that.

But his words come back to me.

The most intelligent girls respond best to
the rule. It opens up something in their souls. They start to think
better. They create better. They expand their minds. It's like a
smart drug. One hit and you can see the matrix.

I pull out of his long driveway and take a
right.

God, I want to see the matrix!

But the rule scares me.

I know what he teaches girls. I've heard the
stories. And most of them say the way he does it is a life-changing
experience.

But I'm not ready for that.

Or am I?

Could I?

Maybe.

Damien Cage's rule is
"Everybody must get
fisted."

Anally.

Shit.

Once I hit Main, instead of taking a left to
go home I take a right and head downtown.

I need to get fucked.

And fast.

Chapter 4

My ex Jared works in one of those glittery
shiny skyscrapers downtown. I park in the big garage
underneath.

I get in the elevator with a tall black man
in a suit carrying a briefcase. He holds the door for me and
presses the button for Floor 13.

"Floor?" he says with a smile.

"Twenty-six," I say. He presses the button
for me. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Shit, what if Jared doesn't validate my
ticket? I was pretty harsh with him the last time we talked.

I don't think I have enough cash to pay it.
Hope they take debit cards.

I can't believe I'm here. What am I,
nuts?

Shhh, don't answer that.

But after that interview with Damien Cage, I
need a cock in me ASAP. I'll do whatever it takes. My pussy could
be declared a flood disaster zone by now, eligible for FEMA relief.
Shit, I think I can smell it here in this elevator.

The tall black man turns and looks at me with
a little smile.

God, he smells it too, doesn't he?

The elevator doors open.

"Have a nice day," he says with a smile as he
leaves. The doors close.

Yep, he definitely knew.

Ding! Floor 26.

Here we go.

Lightpak LLC is one of those self-important
little startups which design packages for things. Or maybe they
design the designs that go on packages for things.

Or something like that. I never paid much
attention really.

Lisa is at the reception desk when I walk in.
She is wearing a leather outfit with large buckles. Lots of
cleavage. Goth tats above her boobs. Lip ring. Black lipstick.
Purple hair, shaved on one side.

"Annika!" she says in her annoying nasal
voice. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Lisa!" I say with faux joy.

"I thought you and Jared–"

"We did. I just want to... uh... talk to him
about something. Can I go in?"

"Sure."

I really didn't need to ask. At Lightpak LLC
there are very few rules. Every day is "casual Friday." Anyone can
walk in or walk out. Everybody looks dingy and un-showered in
T-shirts and jeans. Oh, and they're animal-friendly so the place
smells of wet dog.

I find Jared at his cubicle, which is a
shrine to
Star Trek
. A model of the 1960s-era
Enterprise
sits on the top of the left side and a Mr. Spock
figurine making the Vulcan salute stands on the right.

Before I blossomed as a teenager, I was a big
geek myself so I still have a soft spot for them.

Jared is actually quite good-looking
underneath his plaid shirt and Dockers with old Nikes. And smart.
We met about a year ago when Steve hired him to do some freelance
web design for
MiamiImproper.com
.

We dated for a while, but he got too clingy
so I had to cut him loose.

Which means what I'm about to do is selfish,
mean, and horrible.

But I'm desperate.

"Annika!" he says as he leaps up and spills
his coffee. "Shit!"

I take a wipe from my purse and walk up to
him, dabbing his T-shirt. I stand a little too close to him while I
brush his chest. I notice two plump girls giving me the evil eye
from their own cubicles.

"There," I say. "All better."

"Annika, what's up?" he says. "I mean, good
to see you. How've you been?"

"Remember that room you showed me here
once?"

"The server room."

"Shhhhh. Not so loud. Yes. Can we go
there?"

Jared laughs while looking around.

"Um... sure," he whispers. "Why?"

"I just need to talk to you," I say while
staring up into his eyes.

That gets his attention.

"Oh. Okay. Um, let me just... um... close
this screen."

He shuts down League of Legends. Getting a
lot done today, Jared, huh?

"It's right back here," he says as he walks
down the little hallway that leads out of the main cubicle area. I
follow him.

We walk past the rows of salespeople, who
thankfully are better-dressed. Everybody's head looks up as we
pass. I get a smile from a smarmy sales guy. I look down with a
little smile as I pass him.

We arrive at the end of the space and turn
left. There is a secure exit on the right and a glass door with an
electronic lock on the left. Jared swipes his card, opens the door,
and we're in the big server room. Lots of servers. Why does a
little packaging company need so many servers?

"So what's up?" Jared says. "Is everything
okay?"

I leap forward and kiss him. Hard. My glasses
scrunch up. I take them off and put them in my purse.

"Wow!" he says. "Annika, I–"

"Shut up!" I say and kiss him again. Our
tongues dance.

His arms find their way to my naked waist
underneath the blouse. I spin him around, pushing him up against
the wall.

I reach under his shirt and begin undoing his
pants as I sink to my knees.

My own pussy is alive with excitement,
although she's confused. She's still seeing and hearing Damien
Cage. Maybe if I close my eyes I can trick her.

Jared's pants are down and his cock pops
out.

Six inches, curved a little. Nothing to write
home about. But nice and hard. My gush kicks back up as his tip
brushes past my cheek.

I take him into my mouth and suck.

"Annika!" he says. "Oh, Annika! I knew you'd
come back to me."

This isn't right. This guy had feelings for
me that I couldn't return. I really shouldn't be doing this. I'm a
very bad human being right now.

But I really really really need to get
fucked!

I suck for about a minute. Jared moans. What
can I say? I'm pretty good at cocksucking.

I reach into my purse and pull out a condom.
Expertly, I get it on him. I stand up, pulling my panties down, and
press myself into him. I spin him around so I'm the one up against
the wall. We kiss some more as I get into position.

"Oh Annika!" he says. "I've been dreaming
about this."

My river begins to ebb.

Shut the fuck up, Jared! You're ruining this!
Just fuck me!

I feel him enter me. That kicks me back up
again. I pull his face back into mine and shut my eyes.

As Jared fucks me, I reach up to his
shoulders. Not bad, but I imagine they are the striated muscles of
Damien Cage, that tattoo stretching and bulging as he pounds
me.

"I love you, Annika," says Jared.

All stop.

My eyes open.

Jared keeps pumping but I'm frozen. Can't
move. No sensation.

He notices.

"What?" he says.

I just stand there staring up at him. His
good-looking face looks like a lost puppy dog. He's still moving
inside me, but more slowly.

"Stop," I say.

"Stop?" he says.

"Yes, stop!"

I push him back off me. I reach down and pull
up my panties. I pick up my purse.

"Pull up your pants," I say. "I'm sorry. I
gotta go. This was a mistake."

He gives me a confused look, then takes the
condom off, and pulls up his pants. I move toward the door.

"Annika, don't go!" he says. "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to say that. It just blurted out. I–"

"No, Jared," I say, "I'm the one who's sorry.
This isn't fair to you. I shouldn't have come here. I'm a terrible
person."

"I don't get it."

"I'm... it's... complicated."

"Well, whatever it is I'll help you through
it. I want to help. I care about you."

God, what's wrong with me? Jared is a great
guy. He's tall, smart, and good-looking. And nice.

Nice.

That's his problem. He's too nice.

That makes no sense. I should like nice.
What's wrong with nice? Why do nice guys bore me and bad guys light
my fire?

"Jared," I say, "I do care about you. Which
is why I said stop. Because I can't be the person you want me to
be, and..."

"And what?"

"I don't know. I just can't explain it. I'm
sorry. I never should have come here today."

I walk out of the room, heading for the
alternate exit. For a tenth of a second, I think about finding the
smarmy sales guy who smiled at me. But no, that would be beyond
evil.

"Annika!" Jared says.

"Jared, I'm really sorry," I say.

The door slams behind me and I head to the
elevators.

God, I can be a real bitch sometimes.

Chapter 5

Traffic violation ticket on the seat next to
me, I turn right down the tree-lined middle-class street on which
I've lived my entire life in Coral Gables. It's lined with low tiny
square houses.

Sky is getting dark. A flash of white here
and there. Afternoon T-storms rolling in.

I look at my dashboard clock. 4:50. My mom
doesn't get home until five-thirty which gives me a little time to
get myself off with my new electric blue cock.

Oh shit!

My mom's car is in our driveway!

Shit fuck shit!

She must have gotten off work early.

Seems like the entire planet is conspiring to
keep me from getting off today.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrr!" I shout and bang my steering
wheel.

I pull into the driveway and consider
options.

I work part-time at a hotel. Which means I
could get a free room.

But that's just pathetic, isn't it? Getting a
hotel room just to masturbate?

Shit.

I stuff the bag with my big new electric blue
friend that I've now shared with an audience into my hipster
satchel. That's what Isabella calls it anyway. I don't think it's
that bad.