Desires (2 page)

Stacie edged toward the reception desk. The pit of her
stomach ached. One of the receptionists was flirting into the phone and ignored
her. The other looked at her with a welcoming smile and rose from her chair.
She was a pretty woman in her early twenties with long dark hair tied in a high
ponytail.

“Good evening, Stacie,” she said. “Angel will be with
you shortly. Would you be good enough to fill out this questionnaire whilst
you’re waiting, please?” Stacie wordlessly took the proffered clipboard, made
her way to one of the leather couches and sat down.

“Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” Stacie heard the
receptionist ask.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” she managed to say.

She gazed around the eighteenth-century reception area. Twin
staircases with black iron spindles curved down into the reception area from a
balcony above.

Situated to her right and left were two sets of double
oak doors with massive black iron handles and hinges. She could see another set
between the staircases far behind the reception desk, and a corridor led off behind
the staircases to both sides.

Stacie turned her attention back to the questionnaire. The
first few questions were straightforward, name, address etc., but she paused at
the next set.

·
      
Why do you wish to join the
club?

·
      
What do you want to gain from
your experience?

·
      
What are your sexual likes and
dislikes?

Stacie didn’t know. She didn’t even know what kind of
experience to expect here, let alone what she was going to gain from it. That
was what she was here to find out, wasn’t it?

She scribbled quick vague answers. The questionnaire
probably didn’t really matter anyway.

Between questions, she looked up at the receptionists,
who were talking to each other in low voices. She tried to listen in on their
conversation, but they were speaking too quietly.

The young receptionist glanced up and arched a perfectly
threaded eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

She blushed, caught eavesdropping. Not wanting them to
know she was baffled, she lied. “Everything’s fine, thank you.” Feeling like a
kid caught slacking in class, Stacie dropped her chastened gaze back to the
questionnaire.

As she continued with her non-answers, Stacie still felt
numb with astonishment that she was actually here. It had taken her months to
gain the courage just to contact the club.

Anxiety struck her again in the pit of her stomach. Was she
doing the right thing? What should she expect? Maybe when she spoke to Angel it
would help her make a final decision.

Then, Stacie heard high heels tapping on the dark wood
floor. She raised her head. The noise was coming from the corridor behind one
of the staircases. The sound drew nearer and Stacie saw a woman appear—young,
slim, twenty-something, with a shimmering sheet of black hair rippling down her
back. She wore a formal business suit, and black-framed glasses perched on her
finely-shaped nose, but even in the severe attire, she was stunning. She was tall
and her height was further enhanced by her towering platform heels.
Stacie shrank into herself. This woman was the
epitome of confidence, everything she admired, yet lacked herself.

She looks
frightening, dominating yet beautiful
.
Is this Angel?

The woman smiled at Stacie. Stacie forced her mouth into
a terrified rictus back at her. She took a calm deliberate breath as the woman
approached her.

“Hello. You must be Stacie Clifford?” Her voice was soft
and calming.

Stacie gulped and gave a jerky nod.

“Lovely, I’m Angel. May I have your questionnaire and
then, if you’d like to follow me, we can have a little chat somewhere more
private.” She held out her hand and Stacie handed her the clipboard, feeling
more nervous than ever.

Angel walked to the reception desk, stopping to have a
few words with the receptionists.

Stacie pushed herself up, with difficulty, off the
squashy leather couch that seemed to have swallowed her bottom. She
straightened her clothes and followed Angel. She walked like a model, her perfectly-shaped
derriere swaying hypnotically.

As they walked down the corridor, Stacie saw more
raunchy paintings on the walls. These were far more in-your-face than the ones
in the outer reception area. Whip-wielding dominatrices wearing black leather cupless
corsets and crotchless thongs stood over their willing victims, who lay bound
and naked awaiting their punishment. Small spotlights shone on each picture,
highlighting them further. A large stained glass window was situated at the end
of the corridor, an incongruous reminder of this building’s more dignified past.

They approached another of the ubiquitous wooden doors. “Come
in, please. Take a seat,” Angel said, holding the door open for Stacie to
follow her through.

Stacie entered the office and her
eyes widened at the room’s surprisingly masculine decor. Dark panelling covered
all the walls, illuminated by several small lights placed strategically
throughout the room. A large, old, oak desk dominated the space, sitting
against the far wall. The only nod to femininity was several vanilla candles,
which scented the room with their subtle fragrance. The office was immaculate.

The desk held only a phone and a
laptop. Behind it was a large leather swivel chair that looked as if it would
swallow the slim woman.

Angel indicated a leather couch, a twin of those in the
reception area. Stacie went to sit down and sank further than she expected. She
shuffled her bottom forward unobtrusively—she hoped—before perching
uncomfortably on the front of the sofa. She looked at Angel sitting on her
leather swirl chair, wearing an amused look. Stacie wanted to cross her knees,
but when she tried she found her body sinking back in the seat, so she was
forced to plant her feet firmly on the floor just to stay upright. She could
feel the strain in her thighs already.

As she waited for Angel to begin, she took a further furtive
look around the room. Shelves lined one wall—a few were filled with books and
the others held a display of erotic figurines in compromising positions. Stacie
found herself twisting her head to figure out what one particular couple, no,
threesome, were doing.

“Right then, Stacie.” Angel’s voice snapped her back. Stacie
turned to see her looking at the clipboard, which she had placed on top of her closed
laptop. Angel leaned forward over the desk, the posture deepening her already
impressive cleavage. Stacie found herself wondering if she was wearing anything
underneath the jacket. “I’ve ordered some drinks for us,” Angel said.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Stacie replied.

Angel’s sharp glance made her uncomfortable. “I insist.
I want you to feel comfortable. I don’t bite,” Angel said. She paused and
glanced down at the clipboard. Stacie swallowed. Angel looked back up at Stacie
and smiled. “Okay, Stacie. Firstly, welcome to Desires. You know what our club
does, so I don’t need to give you any details about that. Secondly,” she tapped
Stacie’s questionnaire with a long fingernail, “this is shit, and you know it.”
Stacie flushed miserably. There was that back-at-school feeling again. Angel
paused before continuing in a more gentle voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to
upset you. But these questions,” she flourished the offending document, “are
vital for me to give you the best experience of Desires I can, and your answers
don’t really help me do that. I need to ask you, why are you here? What is it
you are looking for?”

Stacie stared at her, dying with embarrassment, but knowing
the awkward questions had to be asked. Maybe Angel would help.

“I am just wanting to…” Stacie paused to think hard
about her answer. “I am looking for help in regaining my confidence in myself
and in…in…”
Say it, woman!
“in…sex.”

Angel picked up a pen and wrote on Stacie’s
questionnaire, after very obviously scoring through Stacie’s original answer.
“What are your likes and dislikes?”

Stacie was unsure how to answer. “It depends what you
offer me.”

“Well, we can come back to that one. So, you want to
gain confidence in yourself and enjoy sex?” Stacie had barely begun to nod when
a knock came at the door. She jumped and felt her pulse fluttering in her
throat.

“Enter,” Angel called.

The young receptionist pushed open the door, balancing a
tray bearing a bottle of white wine and two glasses. She placed the tray on the
desk and poured a glass, before starting to pour a second.

“Sorry, I’m driving…” Stacie began, holding out a hand
to stop the young woman, who glanced at Angel in enquiry.

“Trust me, it will relax you. Just make it half a glass
for Miss Clifford,” she said to the receptionist, who nodded and obeyed before
leaving the room quietly. “How did you find out about Desires?” Angel asked,
folding her arms over the clipboard.

“I was clearing out some of my ex-husband’s stuff and I
saw an advert in one of his magazines.”

“You were shocked, right?”

Stacie nodded. “Very much so. It was a, you know, one of
those
magazines.” Her face felt so
hot she was amazed it wasn't setting off the fire alarm. “I only looked through
out of curiosity. I’d never seen anything like that before.”

“And you saw our advert.”

“Yes.”

“So what made you decide to make contact?”

“I was intrigued. I kept the advert in my underwear
drawer for months. I kept taking it out and looking at it, then losing my nerve
and putting it back.”

“What changed?”

“Well, I guess I thought I needed a little fun back in
my life.”

“But you’re still not sure, are you, Stacie?” Angel’s
eyes were keen and all-seeing. Stacie gave a tiny shake of her head. “Why not?”

“I just don’t know if this is the right kind of fun for
me,” Stacie answered, deciding to be blunt. “No offence, but it’s all a
bit…well…icky.”

“I see.” Angel smiled. “Well, only you can decide on whether
Desires is right for you. You’re right. It’s not for everyone. But you’ve told
me what you are looking for and, if you decide to stay with us, we will make
sure you receive it. You need confidence. I can clearly see that by the way you
are dressed.”

Offended, Stacie glanced down at her work suit, seeing
nothing wrong with it. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“You’re covering up all your best assets. Your blouse is
almost around your neck, your skirt is far too long and I bet you are wearing
tights rather than stockings.”

Stacie’s eyebrows shot up.
How did she know?

“So,” Angel continued without a break, “tell me a little
about yourself, your personal life and the last time you had sex, as well as
your turn-on points.”

Sex. Even the word scared Stacie. She needed to answer
Angel’s questions but her mind had gone blank.
Maybe I should just leave. Just stand up and walk out. That’s the easy
option. But if I give up now, that’s one more thing I’ve failed at. I have to
do something.

Stacie gathered the courage to answer Angel’s questions.
“I work for a fashion magazine. I’ve worked there since leaving college. I was
married to a violent monster who drank himself stupid, and demanded sex. He
also hit me till I was black and blue. I have no children, thank goodness, and
no friends. I live for my work. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. The
last time I had sex was with the monster. What turns me on? I have no idea.”
There, that should shut her up
.

Angel didn’t miss a beat. “You must have some idea what
turns you on.” Stacie stared at Angel, full of puzzlement. Angel leaned back in
her leather chair and played with her pen.

“Do you like your breasts played with or do you like the
man to dive straight into your knickers?” Angel gave as an example, staring at
Stacie.

Stacie glared back at Angel’s abruptness. “First I have
to get to know him.”

“Good point, so you like…what, chat?”

“I guess…No…yes…I like to get to know him before…you
know.”

“So you’re not a quickie girl?”

“God, no…I like romance with a meal, dim atmospheric lighting,
a bit of flirting and sweet talking.” Stacie’s eyes misted at the fantasy
before Angel’s sharp voice interrupted.

“You like a bore, then?”

“No…I like chitchat. I am not the kind of girl to open
my legs that quickly.”

“So you like the build up? You want respect?”

“I want to be respected. Yes.”

“Then what, chat, coffee and sex?”

“Not on the first date!” Stacie answered, annoyed.

“But why?” Angel fired back.

“Don’t you think that’s desperate?”

“Not necessarily. It depends who you are and what you’re
after. Some girls aren’t bothered about who they are with, it’s what’s inside
the trousers. Other girls, like yourself, prefer the build up. Also, it depends
on whether you’re just after a one-night stand or a relationship,” Angel said, leaning
back in the leather chair before continuing, “Now. Turn-on points, breasts or—”