Chapter 44 – The Second Private Party

The zipper of the black dress slid up, and Chloe looked at the result in the mirror. Simple, practical, would disappear into a closet as soon as she arrived anyway. No reason to make an effort.

She grabbed her handbag and checked its contents. Keys, cell phone, lipstick, a little cash just in case, the bare essentials. Everything else would be taken from her anyway.

Elena’s words from the Plaza echoed in her head. “Valeria is involved in more than most people realize.” And: “Next time, Valeria will expect you to play along.”

Chloe knew exactly what that meant.

~

The taxi turned into the driveway, and the villa appeared among the trees with Porsches, Mercedes, Bentleys, and other luxury cars parked in front of the entrance.

She thanked the driver and got out. Muffled music played somewhere inside, and the hushed hum of conversation drifted through the night.

Heather, Valeria’s right-hand woman, stood at the door. Slim, immaculately dressed, with a face carved from granite. Her eyes briefly scanned Chloe.

“Chloe.” A nod. No questions, no pleasantries. “You know what’s expected.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Heather stepped aside and let her in. “Your outfit is in the dressing room.”

The wording was admirably bland. Your outfit. As if it were a sports jersey and she were on her way to the football field or the baseball field for a nice little game. Euphemisms all the way down.

On a bench in the dressing room lay the hated bodysuit, black, tight-fitting, and with the “DIRTY DREAMS” logo in red across the chest.

Chloe undressed. Her dress and underwear disappeared into a locker and the bodysuit slid over her skin like a second layer, and then she put her heels back on.

She glanced briefly in the mirror.

I look like a fucking snack.

Entering the party gave her a déjà vu. The crystal chandeliers cast prisms onto the velvet cushions, and the whole room was full of bellies hanging over leather belts, with women in identical bodysuits looking just like her.

Heather appeared beside her and held out a silver tray with a single champagne glass. Pink. Of course pink.

Last time, she had only pretended to drink from it and had secretly poured the contents into a potted plant instead, which she was quite glad about after seeing Elena throw up her guts in the bathroom later.

But this time Valeria expects me to play along.

She looked up. There on the other side of the room, she stood in a white pantsuit, the only woman here other than Heather who wasn’t branded like cattle. Her black eyes rested on Chloe. Waiting.

Chloe took the glass.

Heather’s face remained expressionless, but her eyebrows rose a bit. She wouldn’t leave until she saw Chloe drink the pink champagne.

The first sip tasted almost like peach with something bitter underneath, not alcohol, but something that didn’t really belong there. She drank it anyway. It wasn’t up for debate, after all.

At first, nothing happened.

She moved around the room, smiling, nodding, playing the enthusiastic new starlet, while Heather watched her intently as she sipped from the champagne again and again. A bald man in his sixties with a Rolex and whiskey breath put his hand on her hip and drew her into a conversation about her favorite movies. His hand wandered deeper and deeper under the thin fabric until he was kneading one of her bare buttocks with relish.

And then, very slowly, something began to shift.

Her muscles relaxed. The edges of the world softened, as if someone had put a soft focus filter over reality. The man’s grip suddenly felt less like a violation and more like… just a warm touch. A pleasant warmtouch.

This isn’t normal.

The thought came from far away, nothing more than a faint echo through cotton candy.

She understood now. The pink in the champagne didn’t just make them compliant, that would be unnecessary, they were already compliant, that was the deal, that’s why they were here. The pink made it pleasant. Pleasant enough that they would be happy to return, maybe even looked forward to it.

Then the champagne smoothed that thought away too.

~

Elena stood by the French doors to the terrace with an empty pink glass in her hand and her warm dark eyes looked much less glassy than last time. Chloe navigated through the crowd, letting hands touch her and compliments intoxicate her, until she reached Elena.

“Hey.” Chloe stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder, both looking out over the room.

“Hey.” Elena squeezed her hand briefly. Her fingers were cold. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as can be here.” Chloe squeezed back. “You?”

“Much better this time. I’ve eaten enough.” A crooked smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’ll be fine.”

“Chloe.” Heather’s voice cut through the moment. “Mr. Wilson and Mr. Lee want to meet you. Come on.”

Chloe took one last look at Elena. Over Heather’s shoulder, she saw one of the guests moving over to her.

Divide and conquer.

Mr. Wilson was in his late fifties, a hedge fund manager, and kept asking her questions about things she knew nothing about, and he seemed to find that very amusing. Mr. Lee on the other hand was a lot younger, did something in the tech industry, and at first seemed unsure whether he was really allowed to touch her, but once he plucked up the courage, his hands wandered over her constantly, as if he couldn’t stop himself. A third man, whose name she hadn’t quite caught, talked non-stop about his complicated divorce while patting her bottom.

Valeria circulated around the room, talking to guests, whispering instructions to Heather, and the performers moved like satellites around the men, attracted, repelled, passed on. Every now and then, a woman would disappear with a guest through the heavy velvet curtains at the other end of the room.

To the private area, the lounge. Last time, Chloe had gotten around it, but this time…

But this time Valeria expects me to play along.

The champagne pulsed warmly through her veins as Mr. Lee dared to let his fingers explore a little more boldly between her legs under her bodysuit. And the worst part was that it actually felt pretty good.

She just waited for the inevitable.

Then it happened. Heather approached from behind and touched Chloe’s arm lightly. “A guest asked for you. In the lounge,” she said in a flat, neutral voice, as if she were telling the time.

Chloe nodded silently. No chance of getting out of that.

Heather put a hand on her back and guided her through the crowd, past laughing groups and curious glances, to the heavy velvet curtains that enclosed the private area. With a gentle push, Heather guided her through.

The lounge was another world. Only a few wall lamps provided subdued, almost dim light. The thick air was filled with a heavy mixture of perfume, cigar and cigarette smoke, sweat, and the unmistakable smell of sex, like a sticky, suffocating fog.

Chloe blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. All around her, bodies were moving. Other girls were in various stages of undress, with bodysuits pushed aside, some with bare breasts, others with legs spread.

Some knelt between the legs of powerful men, their heads rising and falling rhythmically. Others sat astride them, with languidly circling hips. But it wasn’t just moans and sighs that filled the room, but also conversations punctuated by deep laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Across the room, at the other end of the lounge, she caught a glimpse of Elena. She was on all fours on a sofa, a man behind her, taking her with hard thrusts. Their eyes met for a split second, with Elena’s brown and glassy, a bit exhausted. Then Elena looked away and her face contorted under another thrust.

But the sight of all the sex around her awakened something in her that she didn’t want. A warmth spread through her lower abdomen, despite everything, a telltale tug between her legs, and the effect of pink champagne made everything softer and more seductive.

That’s the stuff. Just the stuff in the champagne that’s doing this.

“Chloe, sweetie!” A familiar voice cut through the fog. George, the man in his mid-fifties from last time, waved her over from a large sofa in the corner. His belly hung heavily over the waistband of his dress pants and his shirt stretched dangerously over the bulk. Next to him sat another man, slimmer, in a tailored suit.

“Hi, George!” she cooed.

George grinned broadly. “Come here, sit with us.”

She walked over and George pulled her onto the sofa between them and immediately put his arm around her shoulders. On a side table next to the sofa was a large bowl full of condoms. George’s hand slid casually over her thigh, up under the hem of her bodysuit, then to her breast, kneading it lightly.

“Roger, this is Chloe,” George introduced her. “One of Valeria’s girls. A real asset, this one. Up-and-coming star, I hear.”

Roger nodded, eyeing her with cool interest, his eyes wandering over her body. “Nice to meet you.”

Chloe smiled her Chloe Heart smile and leaned against George. “Hi, Roger. Nice to meet you.”

George’s fingers circled her nipple, pinching it lightly. “Last time I was looking for you, but Heather said you had already left. I almost thought you didn’t like me.”

Chloe giggled and put a hand on George’s knee. “What? No! We had such a good conversation last time.”

“That’s a relief. Listen, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” George finally sighed as his hand moved lower and squeezed her thigh. “Maybe you could give me a little relief?”

“Sure, George, I’d love to.” Sighing inwardly, she slid off the sofa and knelt between his legs. Despite being fatalistic about it her fingers trembled a bit as she unzipped his fly. He was already hard and throbbing with anticipation. George leaned back comfortably as she pulled him out.

Asshole.

She leaned forward and took him into her mouth. The champagne haze muffled everything. The salty taste, the throbbing on her tongue, the lingering feeling of humiliation, even the smell of sweat. 

His hand found her hair, stroking it as she sucked his cock, her lips tight around him, her tongue swirling. And it felt strangely good, the warm touch of his fingers caressing her head. An unwanted shiver ran through her, cutting through the chemical haze like a knife.

That damn champagne.

Above her head, George was talking to Roger as if she were nothing more than a pleasant little distraction.

“I must admit, I too was a little skeptical at first, but Valeria has always kept all her promises. The investments are going well,” George grumbled. “And the inventory is moving much smoother than I expected.”

Roger grunted doubtfully. “But is the, um, logistics really that secure?”

“It’s a tight operation. Tight as a nun’s ass. They work with Thompson for logistics,” George replied, absentmindedly stroking her head. Her rhythm faltered for half a second and her heart skipped a beat.

Thompson? But it wasn’t about her. She forced herself to continue and took him as deep into her mouth as she could, which wasn’t particularly difficult because he wasn’t very big.

“I have to admit, I’m a bit worried about Thompson,” Roger said. “When I asked him about it, he acted like he didn’t know anything.”

Chloe circled her tongue around his tip and George sighed contentedly.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” George waved him off. “He’s always like that. He may play the puritanical conservative for the public, but behind closed doors he’s more than happy about the juicy returns. John knows exactly what’s going on.”

Despite the warmth that had spread through her from the pink champagne, she suddenly felt as if a bucket of ice had been poured into her stomach.

Thompson. John. John Thompson. Are they talking about my stepfather?