Melissa Windeyer's Wanton Misadventures
ch 10 Hubris and Humiliation in the Hideaway Bar
“No, Britney, I don’t want to hear any more about your night with Henry, or what he gave you.” The little fluff ball had babbled on enough already, about how innovative a lover Henry had been. I’d had to stifle a laugh at that – I was sure the little tramp had been had in just about every position possible. She’d droned on with a catalogue of all the things Henry had bought her – it sounded like half a wardrobe of clothes and jewelry.
“I’m pleased…no, I’m delighted…you had such a wonderful night, and that Henry was very generous. Let’s leave it at that. I’m sorry but I’m busy right now. Yeah, I’m sure we’ll meet up soon. I look forward to it.” I ended the call.
Britney had called about meeting up for coffee. I’d suggested it the night before, but that was after I'd destroyed Chelle, captured, broken and used Kelsey, and Edward couldn’t get enough of me. I was being worshipped as befitted me. Now, in the cold light of the morning, listening to Britney's ecstatic accounts, I no longer wanted to see the fluff ball. Superficially, it seemed she’d had a much better time after I’d left her than I had done. All that had happened to me was that Edward had taken me home and he’d agreed to take me to the opera – an event I thought I’d most likely endure rather than enjoy. Still, I told myself, it was a means to an end.
Britney's poor timing hadn't helped. She called when I was at the jewelry store, getting two links on my collar engraved with Kelsey’s and Edward’s names. I looked at it as the jeweler worked, asking myself yet again why Ms Justeen had given me only a silver collar. I'd asked her at the time she gave it to me, “Why not gold? Don't I deserve gold?” After all, I’m Melissa Windeyer and even Ms Justeen acknowledged me as a powerful Domme – even if I sub to her.
“What do you think you deserve, Melissa?” she'd replied sharply. “Silver makes better, harder alloys than gold, so your collar will last longer. More importantly, you ungrateful wretch,” she gripped my chin and lifted my head to make me look her in the eyes, “yes, much more importantly, girl, it will be easier to have each of your new fucks' names engraved on it! Deserve? You deserve nothing!”
I'd shivered in the face of her anger, and apologized, but even then in the jewelers’ store, it still rankled. I’m Melissa Windeyer! I deserve the best. Britney should be content with silver, but I deserved gold, if not platinum. So hearing Britney prattle on about the gold pendant Henry had given her, made me grind my teeth. I did my best to put those thoughts out of my head. I’m Melissa Windeyer, that envy is for lower orders, that I don’t do jealous.
When the jeweler had finished, I thanked him, paid for his work and walked out of his store. I caught the L into work – I'd been truthful when I told Edward the night before, that I had things to do that Saturday morning. I was meeting with a major client who had liked my designs for his office layouts. I was already thinking about how I'd spend the incentive payment, but I reminded myself that the work had to be done first. That day – and indeed all that week – I got stuck into it.
I only had time for a quick coffee with Césaire and Ms Justeen on the Tuesday. They both stood up as I walked into Galeforce. Ms Justeen kissed my cheek. “Congratulations! I hear you had a great night on Friday.” I blushed as Césaire looked at her inquiringly. “Yes Césaire,” she added, “Melissa scored on Friday night...in many ways. Another victory and two more links added to her collar. One of them was a first for her.” She ran her fingertip lightly over the silver collar.
“Ms!” I tried to protest. “Too much information! Césaire doesn't need to know – ”
“– that you're a slut?” Justeen cut me off. “He already knows, don't you Césaire?”
Césaire nodded. “Of course.” He grinned. “I had her the first night we met.”
I reddened more. I'd have stormed off if Ms Justeen hadn’t suddenly gripped my collar tightly. “But – ” I tried to defend myself.
Instead, Ms Justeen interrupted again. “Yes, girl…'but'. 'But' he doesn’t know just how slutty you are.” She yanked my collar so hard, the links cut into my skin. “Césaire, look at the new links. This one…Kelsey…is a subbie gurl, a man who wants to be a woman. You used him, Melissa. You used him just like you've used some weak girls before.” She turned to Césaire. “You know she fucks guys. You knew she fucks girls, but did you know she fucks trannies?” She let go of my collar, leaving me teetering on my heels.
“No I didn't. I’m shocked.” I quailed under Césaire's gaze. “But,” he added, sweeping his arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap, “it doesn’t matter, Melissa.” He kissed me. “I don’t care who else you open your legs for, so long as you open them for me.”
I pulled away, stood up and stormed off. No one spoke to me like that, especially not Césaire whose apartment I was cleaning every time I went there – typical man, he left piles of washing about, didn’t dust or vacuum. I’m Melissa Windeyer and I deserved more respect!
At work that afternoon, I alternately shuddered and fumed, thinking about that horrid scene. How dare they treat me like that! I spent an hour at the gym after I left the office, trying to work the anger out of my mind before I went to the Lyric with Edward.
To my surprise, I liked
Rigoletto. I compared Césaire to the Duke, but I would never be so stupid as Gilda was – was there any man worth sacrificing your life for?
I enjoyed supper afterwards, at the Union Club where Edward introduced me to some of his friends, where I saw some others I knew already and where I met Kim Curzon, the actress, again. She didn’t condescend to me as she'd done when Césaire took me backstage to meet her after a play. Seeing me in the Union Club showed her that I wasn't the insignificant thing she had so clearly thought me. She introduced me to her boyfriend Michael, and Edward and I had a quick chat with them.
As Edward drove me home, he invited me to the beach on the Saturday, “Henry and Britney will be there. We'll have an afternoon on the beach and afterwards we’ll have dinner together.”
Though I wasn't sure I wanted to meet Britney again so soon – she'd be sure to gush about all the trinkets Henry had given her – I smiled gratefully and kissed Edward. “That would be delightful! Thank you so much.”
I was working hard on Thursday when I was surprised by the florist delivering two bouquets of red roses. She looked at me oddly. “I don’t suppose there can be two Melissa Windeyers here?”
Her confusion was explained when I read the cards – one was from Edward, thanking me for Tuesday night, and the other was from Césaire, claiming me for a dinner date that very Thursday night at the Hideaway Grill, a discreet watering hole where we’d enjoyed several rendezvous. “No,” I replied, “there's only one…me,” and added with a grin, “but I have many worshippers.” Briefly I contemplated refusing Césaire's invitation – I was still mad at him – but I thought better of it. A girl shouldn’t burn her bridges.
I expected Césaire to apologise for his gross insults at coffee on Tuesday. When he didn't do so over the appetizers or entrée, I was about to bring the subject up when he surprised me. “Melissa, it must be such a drag for you, living with your parents and so far from the city. It’s a long commute…yes I know your office is on the Southside, but it’s still on the city fringes. IT’s a long way to go home too, after nights out.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but renting an apartment is so expensive.” I pouted. “And it's not just the rent either. it’s all the furnishings, bed, tables, chairs, kitchen appliances... the list goes on and on. I've thought about it. I've even saved some money, but it wouldn’t be enough.”
“It would be cheaper if you shared.”
I was on the verge of retorting, “Tell me something I don’t know!” when Césaire added, “and it would be cheaper still if I helped you out.”
I looked up at him. “Césaire?”
Maybe I could help you furnish an apartment, and maybe I'd help out with the rent too.”
I could hardly contain my excitement. My own apartment! And Césaire would pay towards it! “You'd do that for me?” I half stood up from my chair and all but flung myself across the table. My boobs even knocked some china aside. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.
He hugged me too, around my waist, his hands roaming up and down my sides. My tummy fluttered. His touch felt so good and the idea that he'd pay some of my rent showed just how much he thought of me. After a long moment, he broke the kiss. “I'm thinking of talking to some realtors about apartments in Bridgeport.”
Bridgeport was tipped to be the next hot suburb. My mind raced. It was an opportunity to die for – but then again, Melissa Windeyer deserved nothing less. “You could buy an apartment there, they say its ripe for gentrification. It would be a win-win situation. You’d get the capital appreciation, I’d look after the apartment and pay you a reduced rent. You could even offset the losses on your taxes.”
He suddenly changed the subject. “So how's your work going, Melissa?”
I pouted again and sat back in my chair. I wanted to keep talking about the apartment. But Césaire seemed interested in what I was doing, so I told him, as briefly as I could. I didn’t want to bore him, and I asked him some open questions too.
After a little while he looked at me and said “What could you take from your parents’ home, to a new place?”
I immediately warmed up again. “Not much, really. I've only got a single bed, an old wardrobe and a chest of drawers…and I've had them all since I was at school.”
“So you'd need just about all the furniture.” His shoe stroked my thigh under the narrow table. “Hmmm…what do you think about good second hand furniture, like an old tallboy, lowboy and dressing table set? It’d be much cheaper, and probably better quality than a lot of the new stuff.”
I nodded. “You're right.” I'd already seen some. Some of the office companies I designed for, wanted an older look for their executive suites, as did some of the pawn brokers and dodgy car sale companies and for the same reason – the old wood furniture made them look established and reputable. There were places that restored and sold quality old office furniture, and I knew there were similar stores for domestic goods too.
I didn't want to seem too eager though, or too cheap. Melissa Windeyer isn't a cheap woman. “I'd have to see it, I guess.”
“Of course you would. We'd go shopping together”.
“We would??? Oh, Césaire!” Again I embraced him almost as fervently as before, though this time I stayed in my seat and just bent across the table. My tummy more than fluttered as we kissed, and as Césaire’s foot edged further up my thigh.
“Uh huh. There are lots of good second hand stores around.” I only half stifled a yelp as the toe of his shoe probed my panties. He continued as if he hadn’t noticed my gasp. “Of course, we'd have to set a budget and you'd have to contribute. Maybe we could go halves.”
I was giddy with thoughts of my own place, of shopping with Césaire, of getting some quality old goods. I squirmed as he renewed his kiss, with almost a headlock holding my upper body tightly in place and his toe hooked down my panties.
“But Mel – ” Césaire’s voice broke off abruptly. His foot vanished from my panties and he pushed me back in my seat. I glanced around and realized why – the waiter was standing over us with our desserts. We'd both ordered parfait which came in long glasses like overgrown champagne flutes. The waiter set them down, both near Césaire. I supposed I'd been leaning over the table in front of me, preventing him from putting mine down there.
Césaire’s eyes twinkled. He pushed my parfait glass to the corner of the table furthest from me, completely out of my reach. I stood up, bent over and tried to grab it. He smacked my wrist lightly. “Come and get it,” he smirked.
I couldn’t climb on the table, so I got up and walked around to Césaire’s side and tried to reach over him to claim my dessert. Suddenly he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me down into his lap. Giggling, I struggled a little, more for show than anything else. The last thing I wanted was to get out of his embrace.
“As I was saying,” Césaire went on, “we'd have to get some new whitegoods, though a reconditioned washing machine would do for now.” He fed me some of my parfait. I took his glass and fed him some of his.
I almost slipped out of his lap, and he put his hand around my waist to stop me slipping more. A moment later, he’d lifted up my blouse and his fingers were kneading my wildly fluttering stomach. I found it hard to pay attention as he talked about whitegoods. Microwaves were boring at the best of times. I tried to slow my racing heart and panting breath by thinking of icebergs – and microwaves.
“Mel, what was Ms Justeen talking about on Tuesday? What happened on the weekend?”
I gaped at Césaire’s sudden change of subject. I tried to collect my thoughts. “I want to know, Melissa!” he said almost sternly..
I started to tell him about my fight with Chelle, and everythingl I'd done to Kelsey. My stomach churned as I remembered my victory, and how I’d captured the subbie gurl. “You did what? You did what with a candle??? Melissa! I’m shocked!” Césaire kissed me deeply.
“Yes…but he loved it…he came on my lap…” I panted my replies. I squirmed in his lap, trying to squeeze my thighs together. I tried to focus, to think of icebergs, but the memory of that Saturday night was so vivid that focusing on it only added to my problems.
All the time, Césaire was kneading, squeezing, fondling my stomach. He’d finished feeding me a while ago. He fished some ice out of the wine bucket and ran it up and down my tummy, under my blouse. I whimpered as the cold ice tingled. His hand slipped lower, hooking my panties down, burying his fingers – industrious, probing fingers – between my thighs. “No,” I breathed, “not here, Césaire!”
“Melissa, I didn’t hear you,” Césaire chuckled. “You were telling me what you did with…or rather to…Kelsey in the booth. You didn’t tell me he protested much.” His fingers probed deeper. I was so wet I could almost hear them squelch.
“Césaire!” I wailed desperately, breathing raggedly. “I’m…I’m Melissa Windeyer, not a slut like Kelsey.” I so didn’t want to cum, not in public, not in this restaurant. “I need to go to the bathroom.” I needed to wash myself in cold water. The ice Césaire had rubbed over me had only made me hotter, more excited. My stomach was flipping over. I knew I was so close to the edge. I desperately needed to compose myself.
I pushed up against Césaire’s arm and half stood. For a moment, as I thought he was letting me go, I resolved to give him great sex later that night when we got to his apartment. But then he yanked me back again. I looked down. He’d slipped his napkin over his lap. I whitened. I knew he’d put it there so my juices wouldn’t stain his trousers. I knew too that Césaire would make me cum in public, and I also knew – shamefully – that I was so horny, so needy I’d go home with him and fuck him all night.
“Melissa Windeyer,” Césaire stabbed what just had to be all his fingers inside me as his other hand twisted my navel piercing viciously, “you are a slut!”
My back arched. I tried and failed to stifle the loud squeal that erupted from my mouth as I came hard. I felt as if my vagina was being reconstructed as Césaire’s fingers twisted inside me.
“Melissa Windeyer,” Césaire tugged my piercing harshly again, “you’re a worse slut than Kelsey. You made him cum in a D/s bar, but you just came on my fingers here in a restaurant.” Again my back arched and I squealed as I came just as hard as the first time.
“Melissa Windeyer!” Césaire gripped my piercing between his knuckles as he drove his fist deep into my churning belly, just as he drove what had to be his other fist even deeper inside me. “As others have said, you’re ‘a cheap slut who takes it under the table.’” My back arched, my ear-piercing wail of lust and despair must have been heard in the next building. My eyes rolled back and everything went black for a moment.
“Now,” Césaire said at last, removing his hand when I’d come to again, “go to the bathroom and come back with your panties in your purse. Yes, you’re a slut but tonight, at least, you’re my slut.“ He kissed me.
I tottered off obediently. When I returned, I found he’d paid the bill, left a large tip for the waiter, and was ready to go. “I thought of leaving you as the tip, Melissa!” he said. “But I decided I want you for myself tonight.” The tone of his voice made me shiver again.
Césaire had hardly driven out of the parking lot before my hands were fumbling at his zipper. I soon had my lips sliding up and down his cock as I licked it, shaft and head. Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, he pulled my skirt up with the other and began stroking me. Pretty soon I was moaning and so was he.
My mind kept playing back what he’d said to me as he’d forced me to cum in the restaurant. Try as I might to tell myself that I’m Melissa Windeyer, a Goddess to be worshipped, Césaire had just branded me a slut – three times. Was he right? Was I proving it, there and then in the front seat of his car, gobbling on his shaft, my legs splayed wide as he played with my cxnt?
I wasn’t even able to control myself sufficiently to give him the great head for which I’m known. Not that it mattered. He came soon enough, spurting his cum into my mouth, I sucked it down as my pussy convulsed and I came for the fourth time that night.
No, I was no slut. Césaire had exploited me. He'd lured me onto his lap by taking my parfait! That had been a mean trick. And he hadn’t stopped there. He'd egged me on, making me talk about my victories. He would have known that would make me so hot! And all the time he kept playing with me.
Yes. I grumbled to myself, half asleep in the passenger seat after that draining evening, it would have been alright if he'd only respected me enough to listen to my protests. He knew I'd give him great sex, but he didn’t have the decency to wait till we got to his apartment or even to his car.
And who had described me as ‘a cheap slut who takes it under the table.’? I wracked my brain until I remembered – that fat blonde insect Lauren, when she’d set up me up for that horrible beating she’d given me at the Crystal Garden! So how did Césaire know that? He hadn’t been there that night.
“Come on Melissa! Out you get!” Césaire shook my shoulder.
I looked around us, at an unfamiliar parking lot. “But this isn’t your apartment building.” I blinked, puzzled.
“Just come on, Melissa.” He bundled me out of his car and into the elevator.
It wasn’t till we were walking along a hallway that I realised where we were. “This is Justeen's building!” I gulped. We were almost at her door.
The next moment we were inside her apartment. “Hello Césaire!” Justeen hugged and kissed him.
She turned to me. “Hello, slut!” She brushed away my protest. “No, don’t try to pretend otherwise. Césaire used you publicly. Slut!” Her eyes flashed coldly. I was shocked. How did she know?
“You came three times on his fingers,” continued Ms Justeen. “Slut!” I trembled under her withering gaze. “You were noisy, moaning and whimpering as he did you, squealing loudly each time you came. Slut!”
She looked me up and down. “Look at you! Your blouse is all askew, your skirt's stained with your juices, your face is splattered with semen.” She wrinkled her nose. “Slut!”
I was mortified. After what had already happened to me that evening, I didn’t have the strength to resist her verbal onslaught. Besides, I knew my place with Ms Justeen. I sank to my knees in front of her.
Ms Justeen wasn’t finished. “Last Friday, Edward Pakenham fucked you…almost the first time you’d met him. Slut! Blushing furiously, mind reeling – how did she know everything??? – I hung my head and looked at the floor. “Césaire fucked you the first night you met him. Slut!” She grabbed my collar and pulled me upright on my knees. I squealed as the thick chain dug into my flesh. “How many names are on this? Slut!”
She let go the collar. I sank back to my knees, trembling. Her strength, her power, her tone – compared to my own weakness – had me hot all over again. She knew it too. She slid her booted foot out, the long pointed toe raised.
I couldn’t help myself. Whimpering, I shuffled forward until her foot was between my thighs, under my skirt, against my bare crotch. I wrapped my arms around her leg, holding her thigh and lowered myself onto her the boot, grinding on it and moaning softly.
Ms Justeen’s lip curled. “Look at you, humping my boot! Slut!”
I nodded, shamefaced, my cheek pressed against her firm thigh. “Yes, Ms Justeen, I…I’m a slut.” I wriggled my hips, pushing myself onto the toe of her boot.
Suddenly she reached down, grasped my chin and tilted my head up. I looked at her, blinking through eyes glazed with lust. Then my jaw dropped and my mouth gaped wide. Ms Justeen was holding a long, shiny black strappie in her other hand.
I felt Césaire behind me. Sliding his arms under my armpits, he half lifted, half dragged me to the couch. I stared in horror as Ms Justeen fastened the strappy over her curved hips, but I didn’t struggle, didn’t try to escape. I lay there in Césaire’s grasp, skirt up around my waist, legs spread wide. A moment later, Ms Justeen was fucking me with the toy I squirmed and squealed as she took me hard. And I came, howling, within a minute.
The night continued, and one incident blurred into another, I can't remember much. I do recall isolated snatches though. One time, I was on my hands and knees eating out Ms Justeen, while Césaire fucked me from behind. I can remember straddling Césaire, his cock deep in my cxnt, squealing as Ms Justeen's strappie took my ass. I also recall being woken repeatedly from a fitful doze to service one or other of them, and frequently both.
“Melissa.” I blinked. Justeen was shaking me gently. I moaned and stirred. Every muscle ached. I was naked, spread-eagled on her bed. “It's 7am,” she informed me. Go take a shower. Use the bathroom in the guest bedroom, and use what you find there. You need to get to work soon.” I did as I was told, stumbling down the hall on quivering legs.
In the other bedroom, laid out neatly on the bed, I found a complete new outfit – a cream silken top, navy skirt with a silver belt, a navy purse with a silver shoulder strap and navy shoes with a silver strap. There was even a new bra and panties. The clothes I'd come in were washed, dried and in a laundromat carry bag.
I showered quickly but luxuriously, shampooing my hair. Leaving the clothes for the moment I slipped into a bathrobe, scurried into the kitchen and prepared breakfast. Thankfully Césaire and Ms Justeen liked much the same - French toast, fresh fruit and strong coffee. I served it up, ate and then returned to the bathroom, blow-drying my hair before I dressed myself – but in my own clothes.
Returning to the kitchen, I thanked Ms Justeen for the outfit. “It’s way too nice for work. I’ll wear it tonight.” It had been a tough decision. The women I worked with would have been green with envy if I’d worn the new ensemble.
Ms Justeen looked at me from her seat at the kitchen counter. “No need to thank me, girl. It wasn’t a gift.” She smiled in a way I didn’t quite understand. “Call it payment for services rendered.”
Césaire laughed. “And she renders her services so well…and so readily.” I smiled at the compliment.
I said my goodbyes. Césaire kissed me. “Who would you share your apartment with?” My spirits lifted as I left, confident that Césaire would still help me into an apartment.
All the next day, I brooded about that night – what had happened in the restaurant and even more so about what had occurred in Ms Justeen’s apartment. I told myself again and again that I was no slut. No, Ms Justeen had forced that admission out of me unfairly. I was just a normal twenty-first century girl who – like all other normal twenty-first century girls – had a healthy appetite for sex. My appetite was just a little healthier than most.
I remembered what Ms Justeen had said just before I left her apartment, about ‘payment for services rendered’ and what Césaire had said too. Had they been paying me a compliment, or was it just a more polite way of calling me a slut?
No, I said to myself more than once. Césaire wouldn’t have repeated his almost-offer to set me up in an apartment if he thought I was a slut. Ms Justeen wouldn’t have given those clothes if she thought I was a slut.
Still they – especially Césaire – had treated me shamefully. I'd forgive him eventually of course. After all, he was helping me with my city apartment. But I wouldn’t forgive him just yet. He needed to learn that Melissa Windeyer is not to be trifled with.
All that brooding did me little good though. I needed to prove – as much to myself as to the world at large – that I was indeed a Goddess, a Domme, a woman to be reckoned with by all, to be worshipped by subbies and my many admirers, and to be feared by my enemies. Over the course of the day, I formed a plan to prove all that.
The Chatro and Ronaldo gossip mills had – quite rightly – hummed all week with my victory over Chelle and my conquest of Kelsey. Everyone knew how I’d destroyed Chelle and reduced Kelsey to a weak subbie brat.
Kelsey was needed protection, but I was sure that he wouldn’t grasp that fact. Few broken brats did. They were fools. They all had seen others attacked, beaten and humiliated after a Dom or Domme had broken them. Many had even been part of the pack, preying on a newly broken brat. I'd seen Kelsey do that himself. They should have known how it was.
But no newly broken brat wanted to acknowledge what had happened to them. The fools thought they were better than all the other turned and flipped guys, bois, gurls or girls. They all wanted to believe they still had some dignity, some self-respect, that they could still stand up for themselves. No newly broken brat wanted to admit that they were just fallen prey, to be picked over by any weak girls desperate to protect their own status, desperate not to be prey themselves.
So they didn’t take precautions. They didn't avoid the scene till people had forgotten their downfall, like I'd done, they didn't go elsewhere and rebuild their reputations like I'd done. I'd stayed away from Chatro. instead I went to the Loft where I’d beaten Vivian, and after that to the Lounge at Ronaldo where I'd impressed some of the weakling Silkies and where I'd reduced Holly to a mewling puddle of lust. But then, there are few people as clever as Melissa Windeyer.
Few also healed as quickly after a fight as I did. But then, I always did all the right things to help myself – massage, hot packs, exercise to limber up my joints, cream to bring out the bruises quickly so they went away faster, even if I had to smother those bruises with makeup so they didn't show too much. I used all the armoury of modern sports medicine to help me recover, and it worked. In less than a week since my fight with Chelle, I was fit and ready to battle again.
In my brief conversations with Kelsey that week – a few texts – he showed me he thought he didn't need me around. Maybe he didn't even want me around too much. He thought he could go into Chatro and take care of himself. I shook my head. Kelsey had even less reason that most to think that way. His arrogance was useful to me though. I just needed to figure out a way to exploit it.
To clear my head, I caught up with Juanita for coffee as I did most Friday lunchtimes. After the night before, I needed some companionship more than ever. I wanted to unburden myself to Juanita, at least to give her an edited version – no need to go into all the sordid details – of how deceitful Césaire and Justeen had been, how cruelly they’d played me.
But Juanita was bursting with news herself. “I was going to call you earlier but it's something better told face-to-face. That cute hottie you worked over so well – ”
“You wouldn't have called him that before Friday,” I broke in. “You'd have been far less complimentary.”
“Well…yes,” Juanita blushed, “but you turned him so well. Anyway, Kelsey got himself into more hot water.
“You'd gone off with Britney…and let me tell you honey, you two made a hot couple. Almost everyone was watching you on the dance floor and later when Britney took out Jade.” I smiled modestly as Juanita went on. “But not Kelsey. No, he was trying to put himself back together.” Juanita licked her lips. “As if he hadn't just been broken and milked dry.” I made a mental note. I'd have to remember to lend Kelsey to my friend soon. “He stood at the bar, looking everywhere but at you and Britney. He ignored you two, and those guys you hooked up with, like you were beneath him.
“He must have been pretty lonely there. No one was talking to him. Everyone was looking at you. I was toying with the idea of joining him, but Heidi Foster and a gaggle of her Silkie cronies beat me to it. I listened to them. There was the usual mindless Silkie chat, but then Heidi changed topics to Kelsey himself. She started on about his clothes, how good the material was, how they 'just made his girlie look'…you know she is.
“One of the others said 'But Kelsey they're a little torn, a little stained, a little dirty here and there. You need a good drycleaner.' Kelsey blushed.
“Heidi was all sympathy. She asked Kelsey to sit down and tell them what had happened. He told them, blushing. Listening, it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
“Heidi giggled, ‘Is your butt still sore, Kelsey?’ Kelsey shook his head. Anyone could see he didn't want to be there, but the Silkies had totally surrounded him by then. They had him fenced in.
“He mumbled something I didn't catch, but whatever it was, it provoked a storm of Silkie twittering. There were so many ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ and ‘Ohemgees’ you could hardly make out what they were talking about, but the message was clear. They were mocking Kelsey, and Kelsey didn't like it. He got angrier and angrier. He snapped back, glaring and whining. He even stamped his little foot!” Juanita giggled. “He was so weak
