Indecent (The Cage Sessions Book 1) (6 page)

"Yeah, I know."

Isabella's eyes go wide and she stares into
me.

"You've never had anything up your butt, have
you?" she says.

"Once with my old boyfriend Jeff. It was
awful. Painful and messy."

"Honey, that's why you clean yourself out
ahead of time and open yourself up a bit. Once you get that out of
the way, it's almost better than vaginal."

"Oh, Iz, come on!"

"Seriously, you have so much to learn. It's
not like a regular orgasm. It's more like a plateau that you hit. A
plateau of nonstop pleasure that just goes on... and on... and
on... I sometimes wonder how long it could go on."

A bead of sweat has formed on my upper lip. I
lick it off. I take another sip of my drink and stare out at the
water over to Star Island.

"No, Iz," I say, "that's just something I
won't do."

Even though I actually want to try it with my
new blue dildo. Not ready to share that with Iz yet, though.

She folds her arms and leans back, giving me
a frown with a harsh stare.

"Annika, you're a living contradiction," she
says. "On the one hand, you're this vibrant sexual being that wants
to experiment. A wild girl dying to get out and party. But on the
other hand, you won't actually let yourself. Maybe you still have
too much Bible left in you. It's like your mom still controls you.
Have you considered talking to somebody?"

"What, like a therapist?" I say.

"No, not like a therapist. An actual
therapist. Somebody who might be able to help you free this fun
happy girl from the clutches of that woman who lives in that dingy
little house."

I look down.

"My mom and I have been through a lot," I
say. "She depends on me. Don't talk about her like that. And it's
not a dingy little house."

Isabella reaches into her purse and pulls out
a card, handing it to me.

"This is my girl," she says. "I don't see her
much anymore because I'm a lot less confused than I used to be.
Although Tristan helped with a lot of that. Wish I could send you
to
him
, but he's off the table. Delphina here is my girl.
She'll help you out. Put you on the path of sexual freedom."

I take the card. There is a photo of the
Venus de Milo. The card reads:

DELPHINA DIAMOND

A sex positive and kink aware counselor
specializing in shame reduction, guilt emancipation, and deviant
leisure... all in a safe, shame-free, open-minded environment.

"Deviant leisure?" I say with a laugh. "Who
gets enough deviant leisure, really?"

"Dont knock her," she says, "she's very good.
She'll cut right down into the problem."

"Yes, but can she belt out
Sweet
Caroline
with passion?
"

"
Stop being a little bitch and call
her. Now, on to more pressing matters. Damien Cage. Friday night.
Let me check my calendar. Oh, look. I'm free."

"You are
not
free on a Friday night.
You are
never
free on a Friday night."

"I can be free to go to an ass-fisting party
at Damien Cage's house."

"You would let Damien Cage ass-fist you?"

"You wouldn't believe who I've let ass-fist
me."

"No, I probably wouldn't. But yes, I was
going to invite you anyway. There's no fucking way I can walk in
there alone. Besides, you'll draw attention away from me so I can
hide and take notes."

"Take notes? Girl, this isn't about writing a
story for that epic fail website you write for. This is about
Damien Cage. We're going shopping tomorrow and get you the hottest
outfit you've ever worn."

"Yeah, I don't know..."

"Sister, you're going to look fabulous. Just
don't forget to clean your ass out in the morning and try not to
eat much throughout the day."

"Oh, ew."

"Honey, an old perv once said sex isn't good
unless it's dirty." She picks up her martini glass. "To dirty."

I clink her glass. I'm feeling the alcohol
now.

"To dirty," I say.

Chapter 7

My heart starts its steady pounding drumbeat
long before we get anywhere near Damien’s estate. I spent the night
at Isabella’s shiny new apartment with valet parking and an ocean
view.

Must be nice.

Can’t deal with my mom tonight. She had
already left several messages on my cell phone worried about me.
She thinks Miami Beach is “unsafe.” Hasn’t gone there in years.
Stays within a strict confine of roads within Coral Gables because
it’s “safe.”

Little does she know where I’m going.

Or what I’m thinking about participating
in.

Fuck, Annika! Shut up! You’re not
participating in one goddamned thing. You’re just going to have fun
at a party, that’s all. You’ve been to a million and one parties.
Relax, for Christ’s sake
!

But never a party at Damien Cage’s house,
that’s for sure.

A new round of fast heartbeat hits me, this
time accompanied by some hyperventilation for good measure.

“Are you going to be okay?” says Isabella at
the wheel of her new racing yellow Porsche Cayman S with mad
rims.

Must be nice.

“Once I throw up I’ll be fine,” I say.

“Oh shut up, chickenshit! You’re fucking fine
now. Want a Xanax?”

“No! I want to drink so that’s out.”

We had a friend Freddie back in high school
who died from mixing benzos with alcohol. At the candlelight vigil
in his memory, we promised each other we would never make that
mistake.

“Maybe we should stop and have a drink before
getting there,” she says.

“No,” I say, “I want to walk in sober.”

“Suit yourself.”

She turns onto Main. We’re in Coconut
Grove.

Shit.

I think I’m starting to shake.

Although that’s probably from lack of food as
well as anything else. I didn’t eat after cleaning out my…

Shut up, Annika! That isn’t happening
tonight!

But I did it, didn’t I?

We take a left onto his street. I’m hardly
breathing as we stop at the security gate. Isabella opens her
window and presses the buzzer.

“Name?” says the disembodied voice from the
box.

Isabella looks at me.

“Annika Spenser,” I say but I get something
caught in my throat and it doesn’t come out right.

“Say again, please.”

“Annika Spenser!” I say a little too
loudly.

“Jesus,” says Isabella as she puts a
reassuring hand on my knee.

There is a long pause.

Then the gate just opens.

Annika puts the car in gear and we drive
in.

The place is lit up like something from
Cirque du Soleil. Giant multi-colored strands of fabric whip
through the air propelled by wind machines.

Six-foot tall glass cubes line the outdoor
area. The spot where I sat at the outdoor table on Tuesday is
gone.

Inside each cube is a projection unit
flashing multimedia images onto the glass. Each side of each cube
projects a different set of images. I notice one is Eon Sphinx live
in concert.

My pussy quivers.

Oh, here we go.

A valet in a red jacket waves us over.
Isabella stops the car and turns to me.

“Ready?” she says.

“I…” I say, unable to form a sentence.

The valet opens Isabella’s door and she gets
out.

I jump when my door is opened by another
valet.

“Jesus!” I say.

“Sorry, miss,” he says. “Didn’t mean to
startle you.”

I get out of the car and join Isabella.

“Just follow the lit path out back,” says the
first valet as he gets in Isabella’s Porsche and takes it God knows
where.

The music gets louder as we stroll along the
path of cubes toward the back of the house.

“Remember when we were fourteen and Eon
Sphinx’s first album had just come out?” I say.

“Uh huh,” Isabella says.

“In many ways, this is it. The culmination of
our girlhood. Tonight we graduate and become women.”

“Easy there, Nietzsche. Stop looking for
meaning. Just let go and have fun.”

The steady drumbeat is now right around the
corner.

What we see when we reach the pool area is
the most glorious transformation of a physical space ever. The pool
itself is gone. Don’t know where. The entire outdoor patio… which
is about the size of a baseball field… has been transformed into an
outdoor nightclub. Laser lights draw figures and words on makeshift
ceiling segments.

“Oh my God!” says Isabella. “That’s DJ Mavi
Baz!”

A series of tables are set up around the main
dance area. The cube theme extends to them, each table displaying a
different set of moving images.

I notice one empty table is playing
Scandal
, my favorite TV show.

A TV show I wrote about in
MiamiImproper.com
. Easily looked up by anyone who Googles my
name.

Hm.

Two girls are moving toward us. They are all
silver. Roman-style silver two-piece outfits. Glittery body paint
all over silver skin. Glowing silver contact lenses. Silver
hair.

If my mom saw this place, she would fall to
her knees with her Bible, proclaiming that “Satan has arrived and
this is the time of the end.”

“Annika?” says Silver Girl #1.

“Yes,” I say.

“You have a reserved table. Come with
us.”

Each girl moves to our outsides and locks
arms with us. I feel like I’m being walked down the aisle as we
head to… yep, I was right… our table is the one playing
Scandal
. Somebody researched me… I wonder who.

“Please sit,” says Silver Girl #2.

A third brunette girl in a bright orange
one-piece outfit that looks like it’s painted on arrives. The
silver girls return to the main entrance area.

“Hello, my name is Osira,” she says, “I’ll be
your servant this evening. Whatever you need I will retrieve for
you. Mr. Cage would like to offer you his signature beverage of the
evening, a Plutonium-239 made with Stoli Elit Vodka and Blue
Curaçao. Our guest bartender tonight is Hiroyaki Matsuoka from
Tokyo’s top restaurant Kanda.

Isabella smiles and nods, granting me
authority.

“Yes,” I say, “that sounds delightful.”

Osira bows and leaves our table. As she walks
away, I notice the full crack of her ass.

“Oh my God!” I say. “She’s naked.”

“What?” says Isabella. “No! That’s just a
very tight outfit. I see where it bunches up.”

“No, Isabella, look around!”

We both survey the crowd. 80% female, 20%
male. The males are well-dressed and attractive. Half of the
females are in usual Friday night clubwear.

But the other half…

“Oh my God!” says Isabella. “Half of these
girls are naked! They’re wearing nothing but body paint.”

“I told you!” I say. “Even our silver girls.
Those weren’t silver skirts.”

Isabella looks back at them.

“Oh my God!” she says, then turns to me with
wide eyes while grabbing my hand. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Osira returns, placing our drinks in front of
us. They are bluish purple… and glowing.

“Um,” I say, “I thought you said these were
made from vodka and Blue Curaçao.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” says Osira.

“Then why are they glowing?”

“The Blue Curaçao is infused with tiny
slivers of frozen liquid gelatin that appear to glow. It’s
perfectly safe. Just an optical illusion. I’m sorry. I should have
told you that. You may punish me if you want.”

She flips her drink tray upright and hands it
to me. Then she turns around and bends over.

Okay, this is just getting too weird.

And that outfit is definitely painted on. I
see her anus.

“Oh no,” I say, “that’s all right, Osira. No
need for punishment.

“Please”, she says.

“I’ll do it,” says Isabella as she takes the
drink tray. She whacks Osira’s ass hard.

“Oh!” says Osira, then shakes all over. She
turns, head down, and takes back the tray. “Thank you. If there’s
anything you need, just raise your hand. I’ll be with the other
servants.”

We watch her depart with her head down. She
stands in a group of other girls with similar painted-on outfits.
They all hold their heads down. Each keeps an eye on a different
table. Every once in a while one leaves to get drinks for
guests.

“Servants,” mouths Isabella silently to me
with raised eyebrows. “She can serve me anytime.”

We both sip our drinks.

Yowza!

Tastes good. Fruity but smooth. Almost minty.
And strong.

I can’t tell if I’m excited or afraid. I
still carry a lot of my strict upbringing with me. A tiny segment
of my brain tells me that I’m making God very very mad by being
here. That part of me wants to leave right now.

But on the other hand, the environment is
ripe with the strongest sexual vibe I’ve ever encountered. I can
smell it in the air. That part of me... the one who gets excited by
an audience... wants me to rip off my clothes and dive into the
crowd.

The very thought triggers a new gush down
below. I cross my legs and take another sip of my drink.

Two well-dressed guys about our age come over
talking to us. They’re not like most guys at bars and clubs.
They’re cool with interesting stories. Good-looking, well-dressed,
and attractive.

We dance with them a little. My guy has some
good moves, strong and confident. Isabella seems to be really into
her guy. Then again, Isabella is into everybody there.

They eventually move on, chatting up other
girls without even trying to get our phone numbers.

I had been planning how not to give it to
either of them, but they didn’t ask.

Hmph. That kind of pisses me off.

“That was weird,” says Isabella. “I was all
set to give the tall one my number but he left.”

“Maybe there’s a rule at Damien Cage’s
parties,” I say. “All numbers are for Damien only?”