Page 3 of His to Possess
Ithink I might actually faint. Which would be bad, considering I’m on a staircase surrounded by other girls, several of whom I’m sure I would take down with me if I went tumbling to the ground.
Keep it together,I tell myself for what has to be the hundredth time tonight.You are a mature, grown ass woman taking control of your own destiny.
The words in my head sound an awful lot like my friend Michelle. Not surprising, since she’s the one who’s been repeating them to me over and over every time I’ve gotten cold feet. Which has been a lot.
But I’ve never been more doubtful than I am right now. This whole thing sounded pretty good in theory, but now that I’m here? What was I thinking? Am I seriously going to stand up in front of a room full of creepy, strange men and auction off my virginity?
You don’t have another choice,I remind myself. I’ve been over and over this for the past month and the conclusion remains the same. I am completely out of options.
Put on your big girl pants,I tell myself.You can do anything for twenty-four hours.
But the doubts come back full force when we’re led through the door behind the VIP section and down a long hallway. With the sounds of the club dimming behind us it becomes impossible to ignore all the warning bells clanging in my head. All of a sudden, this whole thing feels real in a way it didn’t out in the crowd of dancing and drinking party-goers.
“You have ten minutes to change,” one of the suited men says, leading the group of us into a nondescript room. It feels cold and sterile with its tile floors and empty grey walls, and I rub at the goosebumps blossoming on my arms.
Or maybe it’s just my fear making me cold.
I realize belatedly that all the girls are moving towards the racks of clothing lining the walls and shake myself.Get in the game, Lilah.
I try to remember what Michelle had told me while I sift through the outfits, each one seemingly sluttier than the last.Don’t be shy about your clothes. Remember what you’re there for and dress accordingly. The girls in the sluttiest outfits always bring in the most money.
I run my fingers over a minuscule piece of sequined fabric that looks short enough to be a skirt but I’m pretty sure is actually supposed to be a dress. I try to picture myself wearing it and shake my head. It wouldn’t even cover my ass.
Which is the point,I remind myself. The men will want to see what they’re buying.
That thought sends another throb of sick dread through me. Am I really going to do this? To sell myself to a complete stranger? To spend the rest of my life knowing that I’m no better than a common prostitute?
I feel a wave of regret for the way I’ve judged women who turn to stripping—or worse. I’m finally starting to understand just what a person can be driven to when survival is on the line.
“Hurry up,” an impatient voice behind me calls, and I realize all the other girls are starting to dress in their new outfits. A sea of sequins and bustiers and Lycra is beginning to form around me. I reach for the closest dress, not wanting to be left behind.
“Not that one,” a voice says next to me, and I turn to see a smiling, blonde girl who looks to be about my age. “That look isn’t right for you.”
“It’s not?” the dress is tiny, with strategic cutouts dotting the sides and bodice. If I’m aiming for slutty, I can’t imagine anything more appropriate.
“A friend of mine did this last year,” I tell the stranger. “She told me the more skin I show the better.”
“Perhaps,” the blonde says, quickly rifling through the garments. “But skin tight red lycra is going to make you look like you’re trying too hard. And there’s no need for that—you’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, cheeks reddening for some reason. The girl smiles bigger. “See?” she points at my flushed face. “That’s what I mean. You have an innocent thing going on. We should play it up. Lots of guys go for that.”
She pulls a flimsy garment in the palest of pinks off the rack. “This. You should wear this.”
“Two minutes,” a voice booms, and I jump, heart starting to pound harder.
“I’ll help you,” the girl says, already reaching for my zipper. “I’m Tia, by the way.”
“Lilah,” I tell her, trying not to wince when she deftly unhooks my bra, like undressing other women is something she does on a regular basis.
“You look scared shitless, Lilah,” she says, laughing.
“I’m that obvious?”
“Don’t worry.” She slips my dress onto a hanger and pulls the flimsy pink scrap over my head. “Like I said, you should work the innocent thing.”
The outfit she chose for me definitely does that. It’s a babydoll nightie that falls halfway to my knees. No fear of showing off my ass when I walk. At least there wouldn’t be if the material wasn’t so sheer. It’s practically see-through. Without my bra, the people in the crowd will be able to seeeverything. Yet the cut of the nightie looks innocent, almost girlish. The contradiction between sweet and sexy is appealing.
She narrows her eyes as her gaze flits over my outfit. “I’m not sure if you should lose the panties,” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe you should leave something to the imagination.”
