Page 10 of Irresistible Little Ivy

If not even a little bit better.

Rolling it over my lips, I immediately outlined them the way I had when I was in high school.

I had applying lip gloss down to an art.

Though now I had more lips to outline than when I’d been a teenager. I’d been cursed with thin lips, and one of the first things I did with my “me” money had been to get fillers. Not a lot, but enough that you could tell I had lips, and they had a shape. A very pretty shape, if I did say so myself. It was nice to be proud of my smile.

I came across a pack of scrunchies and tied my hair back with a pale blue one that had a slight shimmer. Cracking my neck, the sight of a brochure caught my attention. The booklet contained my personal itinerary on one side, and public events on the other. Right now there was a Middle subbie play group featuring crafts, snacks, and dolls. Pajamas were encouraged, but not lingerie. No Doms were allowed, and the group was rated Spirit Week public friendly.

Pausing, I found the little side bar explaining the rating system. This entire week had been dedicated to those living the Middle lifestyle. While there would be guest speakers, professors, and assistants of various BDSM and kink persuasions, those attending were expected to play the role of a Middle. That meant no diapers, no baby talk, and having a little bit of a sass was expected. Teenagers were kinda known for mouthing off.

Of course, what you did in private was your business, but in public you were expected to role play along with everyone else. It was like going to the Renaissance Festival. You had a much better time if you dressed the part of a lord, wench, lady, belly dancer… etc. Except here you could pretend to be Madonna or Annie Lenox and no one would bat an eye.

I was going as a “good girl tempted to go bad”. The one who starts out super pure and prim at the start of the movie, then ends up corrupted by some hot guy with really good hair. Thoughts of the man in the foyer flitted through my mind, but I paid them no attention. Or at least I tried not to. I could still feel Caleb’s long, artistic fingers against my cheeks.

No, nope. I was not going to fixate on the first hot guy I saw. Sure, he was certainly pleasant to look at and had nice manners along with good taste in suits, but I wasn’t here for a guy like that this week. I wanted to partner up with someone attending Spirit Week, and Caleb certainly hadn’t looked like he was dressed for the event. Then again, I hadn’t been wearing my 80s clothes yet, either.

It was about time to remedy that right now.

After putting everything back in the basket haphazardly, I climbed off the comfortable bed and went over to my collection of suitcases. While the staff of the hotel had offered to put everything away for me, I’d told them I’d rather do it myself. There were some intimate things I didn’t want strangers putting their hands on. Now I regretted my initial distrust. I highly doubted I had anything in my luggage that the staff here hadn’t seen a million times and could care less about.

Shaking off my rambling thoughts, I heaved a suitcase up on the dresser and opened it. A lovely, carefully packed array of sparkle, softness, scent and delight spread out before me. This particular suitcase contained just my jammies, undies, lingerie, and socks. Lots of thick socks because Talia had warned me my feet might get easily cold. Because of her advice I’d also included slippers that were more like mini boots with fluffy pink fur and purple stitching.

My mind began to… drift for lack of a better term as I sorted through my things, trying to decide what to wear. Excitement had me smiling as anticipation flowed through me like champagne. I had so many options of cute things to wear. Too many options. Where did I even start when everything was awesome in its own way?

Okay, I needed a robe for sure. My room was warm, but I had no idea how warm or cold the public area would be. Now did I want to go for the fuzzy blue one, or the velvety yellow one with ducks all over it? The latter was a remake of a vintage pajama set that had been popular for some reason in the 80s. Either way, the velvety material felt good beneath my fingertips as I pulled it out.

Laying it out on the bed, I tapped my lips as I studied the two-piece outfit. The top was a bit tight, as were the pants. Tonight I was more interested in comfort, so back to the suitcase I went. A long oversized t-shirt style set of pajamas caught my eye. Wonder Woman, the 70s version, held up her gold bracelets. The shirt itself was made of thick cotton in a deep royal blue and the lady at the massive vintage fashion store in downtown Miami had assured me it was an original from 1980. They red booty shorts that I wore beneath I’d added for my own comfort. I did not like the thought of sitting in a public place with my bare bits if I could help it.

Call me crazy, but I had a clean bill of health and wanted to keep it that way.

Putting on a comfy bra, I quickly donned my pajamas and grabbed the soft blue robe. After some contemplation, I decided on wearing a pair of white tennis shoes and thick neon blue socks. If the floors looked clean enough I’d take my shoes off. But if people had tracked snow in there from outside, no thanks.

The hallway had a few people in it, and we exchanged smiles and hellos as we passed. A couple in maybe their mid-thirties, both fit yet exhausted, listlessly pulled their carry-ons behind them, and I inwardly winced in sympathy.

The intersecting hallways threw me off for a minute, and I wandered around before I finally found the elevator. Normally, I would have checked for an app on my phone with the layout, but phones weren’t allowed at Spirit Week events. Everyone had been given an emergency number to give out to their loved ones, so if there was a problem, the staff could contact the guest right away.

Even knowing this, I felt strangely bereft without my phone and had to laugh at myself. Maybe unplugging a bit from the world would be beneficial. I certainly hoped so, because all I could think about was if I should go back to my room and check my email.

Instead of giving into my paranoia, I hit the button for the elevator once I found it.

A quick ride down to the main floor, ten minutes of wandering, and three minutes of being escorted by a nice staff member later and I finally found it.

The bright, energetic beat of 80s pop music came from behind the closed door. Made of smooth, polished chestnut planks, the door had no handle. I waved my hand over the panel and smiled as it slid open on silent hinges. Cool technology out here in the middle of nowhere. Then again, Rawhide was known for keeping up with the times and changing when needed. Probably one of the reasons they were still going strong after all these years.

Balloons in pastel shades hung from the vaulted ceiling with long, glittery silver ribbons dangling from them above a crowd of mostly women with a couple dozen men scattered about. The large space had ample room for the crowd of people in all their pajama glory. Whoever had designed the party knew their lighting. Instead of glaring overheads, warm and almost golden light gleamed softly from a multitude of sources. From chandeliers to wall sconces, intricate lighting created little pockets of shadows and intimacy among the more brightly lit play areas.

To my left, a group of women all threw their arms in the air as they sang karaoke along with whatever song was playing. I didn’t recognize it, but they obviously loved it. Pausing for a moment, I applauded along with everyone else as the song ended and the women all took giggling bows.

Turning away, I scanned around, trying to decide what I wanted to do.

A few things caught my eye, then my heart came to a stop before thumping extra hard.

There, past a grouping of women doing knitting together, against the wall and sectioned off by tall screens, stood fashion-doll heaven.

Row after row of dolls lined one wall, all in their nude plastic glory. In the center stood a massive rack of doll clothing. And I mean massive. There had to be close to ten thousand outfit pieces arranged from formal to informal. On the wall to the right, displayed in precise rows, were shoes, accessories, and pets. I spied a fuzzy white dog and knew it had to be mine. One of the freebies for Spirit Week was a personalized doll from the Doll Diva, and this must be one of the pop up stands.

The woman who owned it stood off to the side, helping a woman wearing a pink onesie select a pair of sparkling doll shoes.

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