Tolerance
Chapter 2
DJ knocked again insistently. He could see someone moving through the dorm room’s peephole, but she still hadn’t answered. He was sure knowledge of the pictures was all over the building by now, if not the campus, and he was doing his best to be subtle. Still, pretty soon half the floor would want to know who was banging on their RA’s door.
“Emily! Emily, it’s DJ. C’mon, please open the door. We need to talk.” At last, the vague dark spot in the room stopped shuffling around and came to the door. It opened, and there was Emily—standing there in her bra and panties, and looking none too thrilled to see him. His embarrassment over last night overwhelmed what would have normally been the thrill of seeing the trim half-dressed body of his co-worker and DJ quickly averted his eyes.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you weren’t dressed. Sorry, I can wait. But, um, can I come in?”
“Sure.” She let him in, closing the door quickly behind him. The cramped confines of the dorm room left nowhere for him to go to leave her privacy, so he just turned around. With his back to her, he could hear her rifling through her closet looking for something to wear.
“Emily, about last night... I don’t even know where to begin. I just... I had no idea... I thought...” He caught himself sputtering. “I am so, so sorry for the way I treated you.”
“Eh, it’s no biggie.” A blouse landed on the bed beside him.
“No biggie! Emily, I... I treated you like a piece of meat! I was so rude. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Look, I said forget about it, all right? I mean, so you felt me up and snuck a blowjob. Whatever.” He heard a zipper going up and after waiting to see her pick up the blouse, turned around to find her fully dressed and looking every bit as unfazed as she sounded.
“Wow, I can’t believe you’re so casual about all this. I thought you’d be furious. I mean, the way I made you finish rounds...”
“Yeah, that last bit seemed a bit much. But hey, water under the bridge, really. Let’s not make things weird.”
Emily put her hands on her hips, seeming for all the world to just be impatient at having to explain it to him, like he’d come in to apologize for bumping into her in the hall rather than face-fucking her in the lounge and parading her through the building with his semen on her cheeks.
“Well, that’s the other thing... I don’t know if you’ve been on facebook yet, but those guys? Who came in and started taking pictures?” He looked at the ground in shame, trying to figure out how to tell her he may have ruined her life. Any job she ever employed for could well turn up those pictures. Her family may well have seen them. He’d reported them, of course, but he knew those things never went away.
“Yeah, I saw. So did pretty much everybody. My mom called, freaking out, but I told her about it and she calmed down.”
“Uh, she did?”
“Sure. Some stuff in life you just gotta put up with. Can’t go around being pissed off over every little thing that goes wrong.”
He blinked. Was he still dreaming? How could anyone be so blasé about all this? Something was seriously off about this.
Emily had a class, and since she seemed to possess all the fury over the incident that most people would have over someone stealing a few pennies out of the coin tray in their car, DJ dropped it and figured it might need to sink in.
An hour later, he bumped into Charlie in the dorm’s common restroom, and was politely thanked for not fucking his girlfriend. The muscly football player laughed about the pictures. “Yeah, Ashley wasn’t thrilled about that either. Ah, well.” Charlie patted him on the back and headed on out.
The rest of the day was every bit as surreal. People who he’d knew had seen the pictures (the album had gained over seven hundred likes before it had been taken down for being pornographic) didn’t even look his way. They didn’t awkwardly look away either. They didn’t react at all. It was like nobody—not even the people involved—cared about what he’d done.
As he kept processing through it, he thought back to the incident earlier in the week when he’d been caught looking down Dr. Restrepo’s—Missy’s—top, and how strangely she’d reacted. Ashley and Charlie continuing their sexploits while he watched, playing along when he joined in. And Emily. He tried to think if there had been other incidents. He’d accidentally sneezed on someone next to him in class and she’d waved it off. Not at all the same though; she might just be polite.
So he set out to test it. Was something different?
He started small scale—too small, really. Bumping into people on the sidewalk was something most people would overlook anyway. DJ considered telling a racist joke in front of someone it ought to offend, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Finally, he decided he’d try cutting in a busy line—surely someone would confront him for that.
But no one did. Not at the post office, not at the concession line at the theater. Emboldened, DJ even went to the grocery store, walked up to the check-out line and pulled the lead cart out of the way; the mom and her toddler both just stepped back deferentially. He apologized, and she gave him a look as if wondering why. Emboldened, he figured he’d just take a chance on a definitive test. When the cashier opened the register, he just reached over and grabbed a few one dollar bills right in front of her. She looked at him, rolled her eyes, then asked if he still wanted his change.
Something was definitely wrong.
But surely not everyone could be affected as deeply as Missy, Charlie, Ashley and Emily. He couldn’t just go around ogling, groping and screwing whoever he wanted... could he? Stealing petty amounts from a grocery store would at worst get his hand slapped or get him escorted out of the store, maybe get his picture posted as persona non grata. But how could he test for something more substantial without risking getting thrown in jail?
That evening, DJ Swanson strode into Scuttlebutt’s, the strip club a ways south of campus. He’d never been—even if it didn’t go against everything his step-mom had taught him about how women should be treated, he was far too shy for such a thing. But the events of last night had given him some courage though, and he paid the door fee and went on in.
This place had a reputation—allegedly most of the workers were college students working their way through school, and so the girls were younger and hotter than most such places. It was dimly lit, like he’d expected, but even in the reddish lighting it took only a few moments reveal Scuttlebutt’s rep as being mostly hooey. A woman clearly well into her 30’s—to be generous to her—was on stage, pasties swirling on the ends of time-distended breasts, sagging low but not low enough to conceal the stretch marks from a by-gone pregnancy. It was more realistic, certainly, but disappointing after a lifetime of seeing strippers on TV played by surgically enhanced models.
The other girls in the room were a mixed bag, too, but as he scanned the room, he was surprised to see Sydney Kristoff of all people. He’d had a class with her freshman year, and they’d even been assigned as partners on a project. He’d been so intimidated by her good looks and gruff attitude that he’d made no waves when she told him she was busy and needed him to do the whole thing. (And too intimidated to retort when she complained about getting a B, which was the last time the two had spoken.)
She was the sort of girl who just looked like she’d wind up a stripper—purely stereotypically, of course, but if he’d been making a movie and had to cast someone he knew as Stripper Girl, he’d have chosen Sydney. She had a black rose tattooed up her forearm and some kind of thorny vine thingy as a tramp stamp. Here, clad in a bikini top so skimpy it barely covered her nipples and a g-string barely obscured by a translucent sarong, he could see those and others—a tribute to someone named “Mark,” an illegible script on her right inner thigh, two small wings on her shoulder blades.
And of course, she had that body—huge perky tits that seemed not to be subject to the law of gravity, a butt that jiggled even in skinny jeans, thick red lips that instantly made any hetero man cognizant of how they would look wrapped around his dick. It was impossible to look at her and not think of sex.
He knew the moment he saw her who the next target of his experiment would be.
And so he found a table and settled in. Sydney wended through the floor, smiling and flirting with patrons. DJ observed as she gave two patrons lap dances, noted the way the sultry expression on her face faded whenever she had her back to them. Then he caught himself looking too hard and re-directed his attention, alternately taking in the dancer on stage and looking down in discimfort into his cocktail whenever she seemed to look back.
Eventually, three courage-bolstering drinks later, Sydney passed his way. He made eye contact and she flitted over to him, placing a hand flirtatiously on his forearm and broadcasting the same feigned enthusiasm he’d seen on her face earlier. Not that he’d ever expected sincerity, of course. And really, anyone who was authentically enthusiastic about giving strangers lap dances would not have been well-suited to his study.
Still, confronted face to face with a real on-the-clock stripper was a first for him, and he stammered a greeting without making any sense. Sydney giggled. “Hey there, sweetie, I’m Diva. You having a good time tonight?”
“Y-yeah,” he sputtered, and tried to force a smile back. Tried to pry his eyes off her mammoth tits right in his face.
Her expression morphed into curiosity. “Say, do I know you from somewhere?” She tapped a finger to her lips pensively as she studied him.
“You know, I think we had a class together a couple years ago,” he said, not even certain why he was pretending to be unsure.
“Oh, yeah! I thought I recognized you. Well, good to see you again.” Her professional smile returned; he suspected she’d only been responding to the glimmer of recognition on his face, coupled with their similar age, to make the guess in the first place. Presently she was back to business, and smirked at his eyes lingering on her cleavage. “See anything you like?”
At a loss for words, he nodded. It was amazing how even knowing she was only doing this for money it was still so arresting to have this vision of raw sex have her attention focused on him alone.
“Well would you like a closer look?” Another nod. She just stood there expectantly though, and he realized she was waiting for money. The sign by the door had said lap dances were $25. He didn’t have exact change, so he fumbled to get out his wallet and awkwardly handed over two $20’s. He was too embarrassed to ask for change, and she didn’t offer to make any as she slid the money into the front of her g-string.
Sydney caressed his chest and neck as she moved around behind him to help him scoot his seat back from the table, then returned and straddled his lap, wrapping her arms intimately around his neck. Her breasts were just close enough to him that each breath caused them to just barely touch his chest. “This song’s almost over, so I’m going to just sit right here until the next one starts—make sure you get your money’s worth.” She trailed a finger down his chest. “Is that OK that I sit here? Now that I’m all comfy.”
“S-sure.” He was acutely aware of how much he was sweating. Sydney didn’t seem to be. She smelled like too much perfume, but he supposed it was better than smelling like the last dozen men she’d grinded herself on. In spite of the insincerity of it all, DJ was so aroused he was near to hyperventilating.
The stripper—his stripper—seemed to notice. “Relax, sweetie. Deep breaths. I promise this’ll be painless.” She giggled.
“Sorry. Just never done this before.”
The music abruptly came to an end as Sydney grinned at his bashfulness. “First timer, eh? Well let me just give you a few tips.” She ground her hips against his crotch on that last word. “You’re going to want to touch me,” she murmured into his ear in the momentary quiet, “but you just keep those hands right where they are, and let me take good care of you, OK?”
Slippery When Wet began to play and the DJ introduced the dancer on stage. DJ heard none of it. His entire world was Sydney.
Sydney slowly beginning to rock and forth on his lap.
Sydney licking her lips as she fondled herself.
Sydney’s butt gyrating in his face as she bent over at the waist.
Sydney’s bikini patches being peeled aside.
Sydney’s perfect round nipples.
Sydney’s tits wrapped around his face.
The song ended. Hell, the world could’ve ended and DJ wouldn’t have noticed.
Sydney smiled and stood up off his lap, tugging her bikini back into place. “So, how was your first time? Worth the wait?” He just stared, mesmerized, and she rolled her eyes and smiled with undisguised arrogance. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She turned her back to walk away, and in an instant, he remembered his experiment. “Sydney wait!”
Sydney stopped and turned, her expression suddenly wary. “How do you know my name?”
“I told you, we had a class. European history? We were partners on a project.”
The girl considered, and seemed to come up empty. “I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, we’re not supposed to do two in a row with the same customer, sweetie. I gotta keep moving.”
DJ took a deep breath, grateful for the alcohol for helping calm his nerves, if barely. Do or die time. In the next few moments, he’d either be having the time of his life, or a three-hundred pound bouncer would be kicking his ass behind the building. He stood up, stepped forward, and grabbed one of Sydney’s boobs in each hand.
He flinched, expecting to be slapped. To hear her call for help. To get kicked in the balls.
But nothing happened. He opened his eyes, and there was Sydney, standing there giving him a look of irritation, but doing nothing to stop him. He looked over to where the bouncer was standing, and clearly he was in full view of the man, and clearly, he’d elected to do nothing about it.
DJ dropped his hands, looking at them as if never having realized their power.
“You all done?” Sydney’s voice reeked of sarcasm.
“Not even close.” He stepped closer and cupped her ass in both hands, pulling her tight against him. She looked surprised, and still a bit feisty, but she didn’t resist as he sat back down and pulled her back onto his lap.
“Now let me tell you a few things, ‘Diva.’ For the rest of the night, you’re my personal stripper, got it? Whether you remember or not, I blew a whole weekend doing your work for you, so it’s only fair you spend a whole night doing for me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose.”
“So for starters, let’s see you strip. This time, not just a lap dance. You have until the end of this song to be completely naked.”
She frowned. “We’re not allowed to take our bottoms off. It’s against state law.”
DJ smacked her ass and she squeaked in surprise. “I don’t care. Let’s get to work.” Nearby, a bouncer yawned, and leaned back against the wall.
Sydney, mouth working in indignant anger, began to writhe in time to the music and moments later released her tits from beneath the bikini. She slipped back into her flirty stripper persona as she did. “C’mon, we were having fun, right sweetie? You like Diva’s big titties don’t you? ’Cause they sure like you.” She pulled DJ’s face down into the canyon of her cleavage, rubbing her tits up and down against his cheeks.
DJ waited until she released him, smirking at her certainty that she could fake her way through this. “I love them. But I said naked. That means off, not just to show me your boobs.”
Sydney’s stripper smile faltered just a moment, and then she reached behind her to undo the clasp and coyly let it slide off of her. DJ wasted no time in pressing his mouth to her tits. Her nipples hardened momentarily as he groped and sucked her bare breasts, and Sydney moaned—fake, he suspected, but convincing.
He came up for air a couple minutes later, and Sydney was actually flushed. It was one thing to give guys a little thrill, but another to just be man-handled like a lover—no, like a slut. A piece of meat. But DJ had no intention of letting her off this easy. “Sydney, I’d swear I told you to be naked before the song was over. And look, the song’s over, and you still have your underwear on.”
“You were sucking on my tits! How was I supposed to get naked while getting my tits sucked?” She folded her arms beneath her tits defiantly; they glistened even in the poor light with DJ’s saliva.
“Not my problem. But I tell you what. Let’s go up on stage.” DJ was keen on seeing how far he could push this. Sydney, with a little nudging—which is to say, he hooked a finger in the front of her g-string and tugged her there like a puppy being leash-trained—followed him onto the stage. Another dancer was already up there, but DJ just set down his chair near the end of the runway and told her to get lost. Looking a little miffed, she shrugged and left. Sydney meanwhile stood there, seeming unsure of what to do. A dozen or so guys sitting around the stage looked on with interest. And still, none of the staff did anything to disrupt it. The DJ killed the music, and it was suddenly nice and quiet. A couple girls looked over curiously, though if anything, they looked impatient for the music to resume so they could get back to their dances.
“All right, fellas, let’s give it up for Diva!” The guys clapped half-heartedly. “And let’s hear it for her tits!” DJ grabbed one and jiggled it around a bit. Sydney gave him an incredulous look, then smiled at the guys as they clapped again, louder this time.
DJ put a hand on Sydney’s shoulder and spun her around in place, showing all her assets to the crowd. He pushed down on her shoulder, and after offering token resistance, she bent at the waist, her mostly naked ass exposed to the whole crowd. “Now announcing a special deal tonight only at Scuttlebutt’s—we’re auctioning off the lovely Diva’s g-string! High bidder gets to come on up and remove it himself!”
The crowd hooted and hollered excitedly as Sydney sighed in frustration. Bids began coming immediately, starting with an insulting $10 (it was a small town strip club, after all), but soon building up to a not unimpressive $250. Through it all, the improvised auctioneer kept Sydney bent over, fondling and spreading her ass cheeks, spanking her lightly, to up the appeal of the prize.
DJ gave a hand up to the winner, a guy old enough to be Sydney’s grandpa and hefty enough that his leg was as big around as her waist. “Take your time, sir, enjoy it.” The man did, painstakingly dragging the skimpy straps over the helpless stripper’s hips, kneeling down behind her with his face just inches from her now-exposed cunt, close enough he was sure she could feel his booze-scented breath on her pussy lips. Meanwhile, DJ tucked the cash in his pocket.
Patting her ass appreciatively, he finally lifted her back into a standing position; she stretched to loosen the knot her bent-over posture had built in her lower back, but it came across just looking like she was thrusting her tits out, preening at the attention. She tried to force a smile at her admirers, keeping her hands from covering her narrow landing strip of pubic hair only with effort.
For the next hour, DJ invented new auctions, each time pressing her limits further, each time finding she grudgingly put up with it. She averaged around $75 for each of three body shots, letting the high bidders lick the salt off her nipples. (The third one seemed reluctant to lick where one of the previous two winners just had, but with a little encouragement from DJ, she asked so sweetly that he didn’t care about a little spit.) She brought in $350 to bend over a man’s lap and let him spank her ten times. Finally, DJ set a price of $25 to come up and sign her body, then all the contributers—fifteen total, which was every guy in the joint—got to take a group photo with her. (DJ let each man use his own camera in turn, with Sydney cycling through different poses after each flash.) He then turned her loose to resume lap dances, collecting her money for her (since she had nowhere left to put it) and upping the rate to $100 apiece. The men, charged by the unique opportunity to take liberties with the hottest dancer in the club, were only too happy to part with the money. They fondled, pinched and smacked her as they pleased, though a mild admonition from DJ kept them from slipping their fingers inside her.
Sydney all the while kept up her professional smile, though there was plain disgust etched in her eyes. Every time she looked at DJ, it was with a curious mixture of desperate pleading and impotant rage.
Finally, the clients began heading home, and the club’s DJ announced closing time. DJ—DJ Swanson, that is—was sure by now he could’ve kept the place open, but he’d had enough fun in his role of pimp to the reluctant stripper. He told Sydney to go get dressed, then meet him in the parking lot to get her money.
She came out a short time later, now dressed casually in a sweater and blue jeans, and strode right up to him, a feisty contorting her beautiful face. “Where’s my fucking money.”
DJ took out his wallet and produced it, counting it out bill by bill. “That’s $2,720. Not a bad haul for a night’s work.”
“I fucking earned it, that’s for sure.” She held out a hand imperiously.
“Hey now. Earlier, I told you to take off your clothes for me, and you decided not to do it. You decided to be a tease instead.” He clucked his tongue at her reprovingly, shaking his head.
“Yeah, then you brought me up on stage and let every guy in the place use my body like it was a fucking playground. I’d say we’re even.”
He chuckled. “This isn’t about getting even. This is about you being told to do something, and deciding not to do it. Now, if you want your cut of this money, you’ll take off your clothes, right now, and then you’ll ask me—very nicely—to let you earn it.”
“Take off my... here in the parking lot? You’re fuckin’ crazy if you think that’s worth it to me. Keep the goddamn money—those stupid assholes will be in here every night for the next year paying whatever I feel like charging. Advertisement like that and I’ll make ten times that much before the month’s out.” She rifled through her purse and got out her keys. She hit a button on the remote and lights flashed on a modest little hatchback.
DJ followed her to her car, then just before she got there he reached out and calmly tugged the keys out of her hand. She didn’t resist in the slightest.
Sydney frowned. “Now what? You wanna steal my car now too?”
“I’ve put it up for sale.” She gave him a questioning look. “I already told you the price.”
She sighed. “Come on. Do I really have to...?” He pocketed the keys and folded his arms across his chest. “You know? Fuck this. I’ll call a cab.”
A moment later, her cell phone joined her keys. She then tried to bum a ride off the bouncer, but after DJ said she was with him, the beefy man shrugged and got in his car, abandoning her. Same with the DJ, the bartender, the other girls. The parking lot was clear except for their two cars, and the two of them. The increasingly confident DJ, who had sobered up now, was enjoying tormenting the lazy cock-tease, but moreover was making mental notes on the extent of his power. He seemed to be able to coerce people easily enough, but it didn’t take away their free will, or their natural desires. It was like he could take someone by the hand and walk them out into traffic, maybe nag them until they went on their own, but he seemingly couldn’t just order them to go and see them mindlessly obey.
Not that DJ was complaining about the limitation. Really, it was more satisfying that she retained her feelings about things. Otherwise, this might all seem like a reward.
Sydney was peering around as if looking for another way out and finding nothing. He could see her contemplating hitch-hiking, but seemed to realize he could stop that just as easily. She could run, maybe, out-pace him, find a pay-phone or stick her thumb out to passing traffic, but a pretty young woman alone at night with not even a cell phone was an easy target.
She groaned in frustration. “Fine. FINE. I’ll take my fucking clothes off.” With no artistry at all, she hastily tugged off her sweater, followed by her pants as she stepped into and out of her sandals. She set them on top of her car while DJ took in the sight of her in normal underwear. She was still sexy as hell of course, but there was something more natural to it like this. (If any of this could be considered natural, he supposed.)
A moment later, her bra joined her other clothes and then after still seeing DJ’s arms folded patiently across his chest, her little blue panties as well. She stood there buck-assed naked, the only thing covering her skin her tattoos and a dozen-odd men’s signatures in what she could only pray wasn’t permanent marker.
“There, you happy now? I’m naked again. Need the sandals too?” she asked sarcastically.
“You’re partway there. Take off your clothes, and...”
She sighed, and went on in a tone that was pure annoyance. “Fine. Oh baby baby you make me so hot blah blah blah just fuck me already.”
DJ shook his head. “I said ask nicely, Syd.”
Her jaw clenched, then she tried again through gritted teeth. “Pretty pretty please would you fuck me.”
“They call that asking nicely where you come from?” He laughed reprovingly.
Sydney composed herself, then plastered on her stripper smile and batted her eyelashes. “Wanna fuck me, sweetie?”
He casually folded his arms across his chest. “Nicer.”
Sydney’s sultry, fake smile broadened, and her voice rose almost an octave in pitch. “Pwetty pwetty pwease would you fuck me? Pweeeeease? I’d be ever so gwateful.”
DJ stroked his chin consideringly; Sydney actually looked hopeful that he’d finally give in. “I dunno, I’m still not convinced you want it. I thought you were a professional—where’s the salesmanship?”
Sydney took a deep breath, then rubbed her temples a moment—whether trying to work out the headache he was giving her or just getting into character, he wasn’t sure. When she looked back up, she had a smoky, desperate, lustful look on her face that took his breath away. She jiggled up against him, taking his hands and putting them on her bare ass, her pale skin cold from the night air, then wrapped her arms around his neck and squashed her big tits against his chest.
“Baby, I need this. I’m so fucking horny I can barely think straight. My pussy is wetter than it’s ever been just thinking about you sticking your cock in me. Please, baby. I’ll be the best piece of ass you’ve ever had—that you’ll ever have. Just fuck me. Please baby, just fuck me right here, right now. Stick your fucking cock in me before I go crazy.”
One of her hands reached down and began undoing his pants. Transfixed, he just stared vacantly at her as she continued. “You like my ass? Let me bend myself over the hood of my car and you can play with it the whole time you’re drilling me. I saw how hard your big cock got watching me get spanked—you wanna spank it? Or do you wanna see my titties bounce? Yeah, I see you like my big fucking tits. Climb on into my backseat and I’ll ride you so good, baby, and you can watch these big tits bounce and bounce and bounce while I’m fucking you.”
His pants fell around his ankles, and he kicked them off with urgency. Sydney stroked his cock with her silky soft hand, still begging. “Just fuck me, baby. Fuck my brains out. Fuck me so hard I can’t walk right for a week. Fuck me so good that for the rest of my life every guy I ever screw again makes me wish he was you. Fuck me. Please, baby. Fuck—”
Like an animal, he spun her around and practically threw her down on the hood. It was so cold her nipples would soon be stinging from it, but not a split second later he’d slid balls deep in her cunt. Sydney was so turned on from her own submissive display that decided she could give two fucks about the cold or the exposure or the cars driving by on the street or the rough smacks DJ was delivering to her ass. Her steamy pussy, with his cock pistoning in and out of it like a jackhammer, was the only heat she cared about now.
The stripper groaned in ecstasy as DJ pulled her head back by her hair, kissing her roughly and biting her lip so hard it hurt. “HARDER!” she cried, even though she doubted he could go any harder than he already was. Naked and groped and fondled and grinded on for hours, she was hornier than she’d ever been and she just wanted to get fucked. Maybe this wasn’t how she’d have chosen it on her own, but Sydney was getting fucked and that was all she cared about.
DJ pulled out and spun her around, tilting her back on top of her car and immediately slamming back in, not missing a beat. It wasn’t artful; DJ wasn’t the sort of attentive, gifted lover she’d had and enjoyed in the past, but simply seeing the bestial frenzy she’d worked him into filled her with such a sense of power that she didn’t care. Her tits flew up and down as he nailed her, fucked her like a bitch, his bitch, his personal little fucking slut-bitch, and his eyes stared at them with an intensity like he was trying to burn the image into his mind forever.
In this position his cock slid against her swollen clit with each stroke, and moments later she was shrieking out in bliss as she came and came and came. Sydney’s orgasm had just subsided when DJ tensed, slamming as deep into her as he would go and unloaded his cum in her—immediately triggering a second body-wracking orgasm so intense she blacked out with a shriek that was no doubt heard for a several-block radius around Scuttlebutt’s.
When she came to, she saw stars—then realized they were real stars as she was staring up at the night sky, still lying on her back atop the hood of her car. DJ was standing in front of her, smiling down at her, and for a moment, she forgot altogether that she’d only done it to get back what was hers. He was fastening the button on his pants, and offered her a hand in getting to her feet.
“That was pretty amazing,” he said, watching her begin dressing herself.
“It was—not that you weren’t being a total dick about it or anything.” Still, she smiled a little.
“It seemed like you liked my dick pretty well there.” She chuckled with an eye roll.
Once she was dressed, he handed over her keys and her cell phone. “And my cash?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Well now, if I give it to you, that changes things a bit, doesn’t it?”
She put her hands on her hips. “How so? I earned that money. It’s mine.”
“But how did you earn it?”
She tilted her head to the side. “What? You were there. The spanking and the dances and all that.”
“No, that was money I earned from auctioning you. All that money came from my auction.”
“But, but... I fucked you to get that money back!”
He grinned. “There it is, Sydney, the change. If I give you this money, then you’ve just become somebody who fucks guys for money.”
“You’re not a stranger—you said, we had that class and project and whatever.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “What’s my name then? Yeah, I thought not. So there’s your choices—you can become someone who fucks strangers for cash, or someone who fucks strangers for fun.” He held the money out. “Your choice, Syd.”
She reached out, then hesitated. “So, basically, I’m either a whore or a slut.”
DJ just smiled. Sydney took a moment, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, see her giving the decision serious consideration. The closest thing to freedom she’d known in the past four hours.
Finally, she lowered her hand, and shrugged. “Fine, keep it. People have been calling me a slut since 8th grade. Why change course now.”
The thick wad of cash made a bulge in his pocket as it went back in. Sydney went around to the driver’s side of her car and opened the door. He spoke just before she got in. “You were a great fuck, Sydney. That was really amazing.”
“Yeah, well fuck you.” But she smiled thinly, and there was only a little heat in her tone.
That night, DJ slept like the dead.