Learning to Soar (6 page)

She savoured the tingling afterglow as she drifted back to earth, cradled between Melanie’s soft slimness and Arnaud’s towering bulk.
Damn, has it really been three years? Way too long. I owe Monica a dinner for this,
decided Chloe.
Hell, I owe her a whole shopping spree.

Slowly, the sounds of techno dance music entered her awareness again. Chloe’s eyes fluttered open and she saw that the entire population of the dance floor had stopped moving. They had gathered in a ring around her and were observing her silently. She flushed with embarrassment and willed the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Chapter Six

“All right, Chloe!” Monica screamed over the music. “You got off!” She applauded wildly, grinning from ear to ear. The other bar patrons joined her, clapping and cheering. Chloe looked up in bewilderment to Arnaud, her hand still gripped around his sizable erection. She released it sheepishly. Arnaud smiled and kissed Chloe’s cheek. Melanie gave her waist a gentle squeeze. Chloe felt crassly exposed, profoundly relieved and fiercely liberated.

After a few moments of applause, dancing resumed on Volare’s dance floor. Monica approached and gave Chloe a triumphant fist bump. She wrapped her arms around Arnaud. “Thanks for getting him warmed up,” she said loudly, “but I’ll take it from here.” Monica kissed him deeply and led him towards the hallway at the back of the club. They disappeared through a side door.

Melanie moved to her front and took her hands. Chloe noted with embarrassment that Melanie’s hands were sticky and damp, but Melanie seemed oblivious. “Congratulations,” Melanie said with a genuine smile. “I’m happy for you.” She glanced down at the front of Chloe’s skirt and discreetly closed her zipper so that Chloe’s panty-free crotch was hidden once more. Melanie nodded politely and went to join her husband, Bruce, at the bar.

Chloe shook her head in wonder as she watched Melanie’s petite form move away from her. “What just happened?” she muttered. “Whatever it was, it sure felt good.” She smiled and wiggled her hips to the music. Yep, the little chrome egg was still inside her, safe and sound and purring away.

She looked up to the balcony and saw Damien. He gave her a flourishing salute and bowed slightly in his chair. He pressed a button on his remote and the humming, to which she’d grown somewhat accustomed, immediately ceased.

Chloe walked across the dance floor towards the stairs. The club was still packed, but now dancers seemed to part in front of her, when before they had seemed to be deliberately blocking her way.
Wonder just how many of them were in on my therapy session,
she thought. Chloe reached the stairs with ease, but climbed slowly. It would be more than a little embarrassing for that little chrome toy to pop out and go bouncing down the stairs like a vagrant Easter egg. “Kegels, think Kegels,” Chloe muttered, clenching her pussy muscles tightly as she ascended.

As before, the balcony was an oasis of serenity compared to the ground floor’s wild cacophony. She picked out Damien sitting at an isolated table and joined him. He slid her purse across the table to her and presented her with a cold white wine and a small bottle of chilled water. “I wasn’t sure which you would want,” he explained.

“Thanks,” Chloe acknowledged. “Both look terrific.” She twisted the cap from the water bottle and guzzled half of it in one draught. Then she picked up the glass of wine and toasted Damien with a big smile, “Cheers, Doctor Damien. I think you just cured me of a painful disorder I’ve had for years. Well done.”

Damien clinked his wine glass against hers and joined her in the toast.

He handed her a silk handkerchief and said, “You can remove your device whenever you like.” Chloe took the handkerchief from him and felt a tingle from contact when their hands touched. “I won’t look,” Damien assured her, and pointedly gazed down at the dance floor. Chloe slid the handkerchief between her thighs and grasped the slick ball chain. The egg popped free with a brief tug. Chloe exhaled with a trace of lingering excitement.

“That’s a nice little toy,” she noted, folding it inside the handkerchief. “I didn’t know things like that existed. I bet you had fun playing with it on your end,” she said.

“Maybe a little bit,” Damien confessed. “It’s all yours now,” he told her, withdrawing the remote from his pocket and handing it to her. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks so much,” Chloe said. “But there are a couple more things, too.” She shook her tits to make the tiny bells sing.

“Yours as well,” Damien told her. “A gift from me. You should go ahead and take them off, though, to lessen the chance of soreness as the blood flows back. It may leave you a little tender, regardless, since it’s the first time you’ve worn them.”

Chloe slipped her hands inside the deep cowl of her top and carefully loosened one ring to remove it. “Ooooh, ouchie, it is a little sore,” she complained as she removed the other one. She placed the rings and belled chain in her purse and pressed her palms onto her protesting nipples. “Anywhere else I’d never consider sitting in public with my hands on my boobs, but you’ve got a pretty unique place here.” Chloe sat back in her seat, shaking her head with delight while gently massaging her breasts. “You’re pretty amazing, you know? You orchestrated that whole thing, didn’t you? I should probably be embarrassed at how I acted, but I’m not. It was a really great thing you did for me.”

 “Everyone in the club is a former client or a friend of a client,” he explained. “They all had their own issues to overcome, and they all understand how important a meaningful sex life is. They are all very happy to help new clients when a need exists.”

“So, Arnaud—” Chloe began with a quizzical expression.

“Arnaud is one of my bouncers,” Damien told her, “but his job is pretty simple. He only allows in clients whom he recognises or those whom I’ve instructed him to admit. People off the street simply may not enter my club.”

“Ah.” Chloe nodded. “But I was going to ask if Arnaud was a client himself. Did he have an issue to work through?”

Damien smiled. “He did, as a matter of fact. He was one of my first clients. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that he had a certain reluctance to show sensitivity. He had grown up in a home where boys were meant to have stiff upper lips and never, ever cry, but that policy turned out to work poorly in his personal relationships. With some, ah, positive reinforcement, Arnaud learnt that traits like tenderness and empathy are huge turn-ons for women.”

“I see,” Chloe said. “Well, you do very impressive work, Damien, and I feel that you’ve more than earned your payment.” She opened her purse, removed two crisp one hundred dollar bills, and slid them across the table to Damien.

Damien pushed the bills back across the table to Chloe. “I don’t want your money,” he told her.

Chloe sighed. “Look, you don’t need to worry about my job situation, okay? I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I got a severance package, so I’ll be okay for a few months. Besides, I’m good at what I do. I’ll find another job, I know it. Please take the money. You earned it.”

“I’d like you to keep this money as a retention bonus,” Damien told her. “I want you to be more than just a client,” he explained. “I am in dire need of an accountant here at Volare. When I was doing my preparation work for our session, I learnt that you, Chloe, are a very skilled accountant who is newly back on the job market. It wasn’t news to me when you told me about getting laid off.”

Chloe started to sputter indignantly, but Damien held up one finger to shush her. “I make it a point to learn a little about each of my clients before we have our session. It’s just part of doing a thorough job. Please don’t take offence.”

Chloe gestured for him to continue.

“Volare has grown, as has my therapy business. I’d like to serve a greater number of clients during the week. I’d like to expand into a restaurant as well. Clients love coming back, so, as I help more people, my club business just keeps growing. As a client yourself, you know what I do and what happens in my club. You won’t be shocked or put off. It may be that you can also offer a hand with some of my clients who would be more comfortable with a female therapist. I’d like to explore that possibility with you, as well.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Chloe stuttered. “This is totally unexpected.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight,” Damien assured her. “Here is a copy of the contract I had drawn up for you in the hopes that you would be a good candidate.” He handed a plump, sealed envelope to her. “Take it home and look it over. I hope you don’t mind, but I inquired about your salary at your most recent job. I’m willing to offer you a fifty per cent raise as well as some benefits that I think you’ll appreciate.”

Chloe looked down at the stack of bills on the table and the white envelope, stuffed with promise, in her hand. The wheels in her mind spun frantically and she grasped for something intelligent, or at least professional sounding, to say. She failed miserably. “Uh, really?” she finally gulped.

“Absolutely. Just give it a trial period if you like, and if it turns out you don’t want the job, you can always leave for a more traditional business setting. But I certainly hope you’ll like it here,” Damien added. “I think you’re just what the doctor ordered.”

He stood and gave a brisk nod. “I’d offer to shake on it, but I’m not sure that’s wise.”

Chloe rose and smoothed her skirt. “I’m not a client anymore,” she noted, “so you can touch me if you want to, right? It’s just a handshake—it didn’t seem to bother you when we met.”

“True,” Damien said with a glimmer in his eyes. “You are no longer a client. However, I don’t mix business with pleasure, and I fear that even a simple handshake would cross that line after the session I just watched you have.”

Chloe swallowed drily and felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Who would have guessed that job-hunting could be so exciting? Or that accounting could cross paths with freelance sex therapy? She nodded and tried her best to appear professional despite the girlish flutter in her chest. “All right,” she said. “I’ll check out the contract and get back to you within the next couple of days.”

“Hey, guys!” Monica appeared beside them. She appeared dishevelled, slightly out of breath, and deliriously happy. “How’s it going? What did you think of your session, Chloe?”

“It was great,” Chloe answered. “You were definitely right to bring me here,” she continued, “but I’m beat. Do you mind if we go home now?”

“Not at all,” Monica assured her. “Arnaud worked the front door until closing last night, and then worked the first shift tonight. He was worn out. He, um, fell asleep in your back storeroom, Damien. Hope you don’t mind.”

Chloe was pleased to see that her audacious friend was abashed. It was nice that she wasn’t the only one who was a little off kilter.

Damien chuckled. “That’s fine, Monica. I’ll check on him in a little while. I’m sure he was exhausted after all the taxing work he did tonight.” He turned his soft blue eyes back to Chloe. She warmed to see the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I look forward to hearing from you soon, Chloe.”

Chloe beamed, feeling like a goofy teenager, and allowed Monica to lead her outside to the waiting Accord. She fastened her seatbelt and raised her hands to her tingling cheeks.

Monica started the car and pulled away from the kerb. With a sigh, Chloe glanced back as the sign for Volare receded. “Well?” Monica asked impatiently. “Do you think you got over your whole no-orgasm thing? Is Mark behind you for good?”

“Huh? Who?” With effort, Chloe brought herself back from the most uninhibited nightclub she could imagine to the serene interior of an imported sedan. “Mark? Oh, yeah. I’m over him. All systems are go on the big O front, too.” She held up the envelope Damien had given her. “And it looks like I might even have a job.”

“No way!” Monica darted her eyes over at Chloe. “Damn, girl, just what kind of session did you have back there? Tell me everything.”

Blushing wildly, Chloe confessed all. The nipple clips, the tingly salve, and, God help her, the chrome egg. Damien’s remote control, Melanie, Arnaud and the throbbing dance floor, much of which Monica had witnessed. “And finally”—Chloe giggled—“an orgasm that was
way
too long in coming.”

 “Yeah, right.” Monica laughed. “But worth it when it came, right?” She pulled into Chloe’s drive and put the car in neutral. “So, are you going to be able to sleep tonight?” Monica asked, turning to her. Her warm red hair was slightly tousled and her makeup smudged, but her eyes sparkled with alertness. “We could go out somewhere else if you want, or I could come in and keep you company. You could let me try out your new toy…” She grabbed for Chloe’s purse. “I’d let you use the remote. It’d be fun!”

“Honestly, Monica!” Chloe laughed, snatching her purse from Monica’s iron grip. “Get your own!”

Monica sighed forlornly.

“Seriously, though, thanks, Monica,” Chloe continued. “Damien was…” she bit her lip, searching for the right word—“really helpful tonight. I feel more hopeful than I have in a long time because of him, and you’re the one who brought me to him.”

Chloe gathered her cast-off blue jeans and hugged Monica goodnight, then entered her quiet home and slipped into bed. She had pleasant, disjointed dreams of the liquid metal
Terminator
guy who had both turned nice
and
had developed a serious crush on her. He plied her with gifts of Bonne Bell Dr Pepper lip gloss, diamond-crusted nipple rings, and oddly, a plate of delicious scrambled eggs.

Chapter Seven

Chloe woke up
ravenous
.

Finding her fridge empty of everything but a lonely cup of strawberry yogurt and a Diet Coke, Chloe showered hurriedly and raced to the corner cafe. Over a Hungry Man breakfast—three scrambled eggs, two sausage links, cheese grits and buttermilk biscuits—and a strong cup of coffee with cream, she read through Damien’s contract. All seemed to be in order. More than in order, actually. His terms were generous to a fault. He had included a personal note to her—