Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series)

This is a work of fiction.  All names, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

Copyright
© Steph Sweeney, 2013

The author can be contacted at:

[email protected]

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THIS BOOK CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

IT IS INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY

Please store adult content where it cannot be accessed by minors.

Your Favorite Girl

─An Email─

Date: 08/03/2012

Subject: RE: RSVP, regrets only

Mr. Patton,

I do hope you'll forgive my breech of customary etiquette here, my deliberate violation of your request for response only from those not planning to attend
Mr. Shriver's dinner party.  In fact, I do plan to attend, and yet I've contacted you, but only because I feel it necessary to express my sheer eagerness to speak to you in a private environment where we can openly discuss the future of your brother's company and mine.  Together we will make the very best of this situation.

Forgive me, but I would also like to make you a proposition unrelated to our other business.  If I don't hear back from you, I will assume you are okay with that arrangement.

Kind regards,

Yakov Ivanovich

CEO
, Ivan Arms

─Meeting Kate─

DESPITE WHAT the card read, I had to be in the wrong place.  A jewelry store on the street level of a downtown Indianapolis office building?  Normal-looking customers: young couples, old women, impatient men with alarm in their eyes, as if this place were a den of magic where failing relationships could be restored.  The girl on the phone had said nothing about this place.  All she'd told me was to come to the address on the business card and to use a specific passphrase.

Maybe I was on the wrong street.

The name, though . . .

I browsed the engagement rings
until no one was near the register.  Then I approached the cashier, a young Chinese girl with a big smile.  She wore a white button-down sweater over a low-cut tank top.  Her breasts were small but exposed enough that a taller person might spot a nipple.

I assumed she was eighteen because otherwise she'd be in school right n
ow, but she could pass for younger.  You can always tell a girl's age by how poorly she can match her clothes to her own dimensions--especially her boobs.  Girls new to adulthood tend to buy their bras too big.  The illusion works, but at certain angles the bra cup folds out and the breast exhibits itself, unbeknownst to the girl and to the surprise of those who happen upon it.

"
Welcome to Your Favorite Gem," the girl said with a cute accent.  "How can I help you today?"

I paused, replayed the exact statement I'd been instructed to make, the secret pass phrase.  If I got it wrong, even by a word, I would be turned away
, treated like a regular customer.  And if this was the wrong place?  Well . . .

Taking a deep breath, I
whispered, "I want to fuck you, right here, right now."

The
girl's smile faded.

Oh God.
  My heart was racing.
  I
am
in the wrong place!

With
a solemn expression, she said, "Follow me, please."

Breathing a sigh of relieve, I followed her
to the end of the display case, where she raised a foldable countertop and quickly ushered me behind the display and through a set of swinging doors, into a short hallway.  A black man in khakis and a blue dress shirt looked up at me from the office at the end of the hall, then waved me in.  I looked back but the cashier had already returned to the storefront.

"Name," he said as soon as I stepped through the door.

"Melissa Reed."

He typed quickly on a laptop.  He looked up at me, back to the computer screen, and then back to me again.

"Proceed."

I didn't move.  I didn't know where to go.
  "I've never been here before," I said.

"I know
."

Suddenly the bookshelf behind him slid rapidly to the right, revealing a hidden elevator with a shiny brass door.

For a moment I stood frozen.  I didn't want to get on it.

"Do I go up or down?"
I asked.

"It only goes
one way and it only has one button.  Push the damn button."

I moved around the desk quickly but nervous
ly, giving him a wide berth.  He seemed to be in a sour mood.  I could feel him glaring at me as I waited for the elevator to open.  Finally I stepped inside and pressed the only button on the panel.  Relief washed over me as the door closed.

The elevator
rode so smoothly I couldn't tell if I was going up or down, a strange sensation that left me feeling a little dizzy.  When the door retracted, I stepped out into a small, brightly lit lobby.

I
froze immediately.  In each of the four corners, a tall security officer in a black suit and sunglasses stood like a statue, arms crosses, each facing a common central point in the room.

For a moment I just stood there, hoping one of them would instruct me.  When I realized they had no intention of speaking, I started to look around.
  Directly ahead stood a long oak desk, and other than a few artificial plants in big glazed ceramic pots--and the creepy security guards--the room was empty.  No other furniture, no other doors, no other people—just the desk and those four guards, so motionless they might as well be statues.

"Sign the form."

I jumped and glanced at each corner, unsure which guard had spoken.  This room, empty as it was, had quite an echo.

Slowly I crossed to the desk, upon which lay a clear plastic clipboard with a single document and a fountain pen secured under the clip.  I picked it up and read:
YOUR FAVORITE GIRL, INC. PRIVACY AGREEMENT.

The form required me to never share any information about Your Favorite Girl, Inc., including what I would observe here, any purchase I might make, or even the very existence of the company.

I thought about my husband for a moment.  With that pretty teenager from down the street, her on top of him, hands on his chest, firm butt moving up and down on his thighs.  His hands gripping her hips.  The look on her face when she noticed me standing there.  The slight grin, the deliberate moan, the quickened pace of humping the man I married three years ago.

They were the reason I was here today
—or at least what led me here.

I signed my name at the bottom of the form.  Then suddenly a section of the wall opened up and a beautiful young woman emerged from the darkness, pulling me from my thoughts.

A hidden door with no knob.  Why?

"Hello, Melissa,"
the girl said with a cute, youthful voice.  “My name is Kate and I’ll be your Selection Guide this afternoon.”

Kate wore a white baby doll lingerie top, see-through, and a pair of white boy shorts.  The sight of her startled me.  For some reason I’d expected a man.  Kate’s skin was several shades darker than mine, smooth and bronze, as though she spent a lot of time on the beach.  Curly golden blonde hair that fell loosely to her bare shoulders.  Sparkly green eyes.  She was short—maybe five foot three—and barefoot.  In her hand she held a small black case big enough to hold a handgun, and on that wrist she wore a diamond bracelet with a small key attached to it.  I thought she was the cutest thing I’d ever seen, but at the same time I was afraid.  I wasn’t even sure what I was doing here.  I wasn’t even sure what Your Favorite Girl, Inc. was all about.

"Don't be shy," she said with a slight giggle.  "Come along."

I came around the desk and followed her into the darkness.  The wall closed automatically behind us, and for a moment I began to panic, but as soon as the crack sealed, soft yellow light flooded what looked like a small waiting room.  On either side of us was a leather sofa and coffee table.  Against one wall a small bar, where Kate was already headed.

She popped open a crystal decanter and poured two small glasses of wine, then returned, handed me a glass, and said, “Have a seat.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“That’s the beauty of Your Favorite Girl, Melissa.  We always give you choices.”  She put a hand on the small of my back and led me to the couch against the left wall.  I thought she would sit next to me, but instead she crossed to the other couch, no more than ten feet away, and sat, pulling her feet up and lying against the arm.  She took a sip of her wine and looked at me over the rim of the glass.

I took a sip.

“So, Melissa.  Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?  The guys upstairs certainly are curious.  You’re the first female customer we’ve ever had.”

“I don’t . . . I’m not sure.”

Kate smiled, waited.  I took a sip of the wine, then drew back in astonishment.  It was amazing.  Sweet, tangy, slightly tart, warm.  I took another sip, this one bigger.  I began to feel strange almost immediately, and I knew there was more than alcohol in it.

She must have noticed the concern on my face because she said, “Don’t be alarmed by the sensation you’re feeling.  We want you to be in the proper state of mind when making your selection.  Choosing the right girl for you is much easier when you’re sexually aroused.”

“What’s in it?” I asked.

Kate shrugged.  “A chemical compound
.  Brian invented it.  Kick back, Meliisa.  You’re about to experience the greatest pleasure you’ve ever known.”  She was touching her breast and swirling her wine around in its glass.  “This is one of the many reasons I love my job so much.”  Her voice had become more breathy.  The strap fell from her right shoulder.  “Talk to me, Melissa,” she said.  “Take your shoes off.  Get comfortable.  Lie down if you want.  Tell me why you’re here.”

I felt awkward, embarrassed; at the same time silly for feeling this way.  Kate was nearly naked, but I was suddenly paranoid that she could see up my skirt.  My thighs were beginning to sweat, and for some reason I was acutely aware of my nipples.  They’d hardened, and I could feel them touching the inner padding of my bra more distinctly than ever before.

Finally I gave in, slipped off my shoes, and drew my legs up on the couch, smoothing out my skirt.

“I caught my husband cheating on me with our neighbor’s eighteen-year-old daughter,” I blurted out.

“How?” Kate asked.

“He fucked her.”

She giggled.  “No, I mean how did you catch them?  Describe it to me.”

A lump had formed in my throat and I tried to swallow it back before recounting the day that led me here: “I’d meant to go to the gym after work, but I wasn’t feeling well so I went straight home instead.  The bedroom is at the end of a long hallway upstairs.  You pass four guest rooms—he could have fucked her in any of those beds, but he had to pick ours.  Probably because of the mirror on the ceiling.  I was halfway up the hall when I heard the bed creaking.  The door was standing wide open.  I already knew.  I knew who it was and everything.  Her name is Ellen.  She just graduated high school.  One day a few weeks back she was out in her front yard with a few friends, all of them in skimpy bikinis, spraying each other with a water hose and just being silly.  Ted and I were on our afternoon walk.  When Ellen saw us, she called to Ted and waved at him.  Then she gave me a look—snide, hateful, as if I’d wronged her recently.  I suspected something was going on even then.  Hell, I was
just like her four years ago.  Fresh out of high school, in love with Ted, the young millionaire who lived in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street.  He ran every morning, shirtless in the summertime.  I was fifteen when I first started to flirt with him.  Can't tell you how many times I pulled the bikini trick.  And I guess it worked because he left his wife for me.  I should have known he’d trade me in for a younger model, too.”