Chapter 1: Voyeur: Chapter 1

OAKLYN

“What do you mean the money’s gone?”

“I’m so sorry, honey. The water heater broke, and we thought we were okay, but then the car broke down. Our savings were empty, and the car couldn’t be fixed, so we had to get a new one or your dad couldn’t get to work. Then rent came up and the check … was just there.”

My hand squeezed the phone, I now couldn’t afford, as I tried to control my anger and panic. “Mom, that’s my tuition money I was supposed to live off of.”

I couldn’t believe the check was sent to the wrong address. I updated the address as soon as I moved into my tiny studio apartment. Yet, somehow, it was sent to my parents in Florida. My mind raced with regrets and cursed my bad luck. I’d just been there last week for Thanksgiving.

Why couldn’t it have been delivered then? Why couldn’t they have sent it to me without opening it?

What the hell was I going to do?

“I’m so sorry, honey. We panicked and made the wrong decision. We—we can sell the car. We’ll figure it out.”

Inside I screamed “Yes!” But I knew I couldn’t make them do it. How would they survive if my dad couldn’t get to work? And while college was my dream, I’d still survive

without it. I should’ve been mad, and I was, but I couldn’t take it out on them. I’d done nothing but watch my parents struggle from one paycheck to another, and I knew if I asked, she would’ve sold the car back. Only god knows what would happen then, and I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

“No, Mom. Don’t do that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sagging against the wall of my friend’s dorm. I’d stepped outside to take the call, but on the brink of tears, I wish I’d have stayed inside where no one could see me crumble.

“Can you get another loan?” my mom suggested, her voice filled with hope.

Nothing could stop the laugh I choked out. Another loan? I’d applied for every scholarship, grant, and loan to get to school. I’d busted my ass in high school in hope of scholarships flooding my bank account. And they did, but it hadn’t been enough. I’d also taken any of the loans offered to me through FAFSA.

You didn’t have to go out of state, my subconscious whispered. Well, it was too damn late now. I’d wanted to get away, leave the rut I’d been stuck in at home, and I’d found the means to do it. Too bad those means were gone now. All ten thousand dollars of it. Eight thousand to pay for my last semester—damn out of state fees—and another two thousand to live on until the end of summer.

“No, Mom.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”.

I knew she was—I could hear it in the crack in her voice, but I just couldn’t give her the forgiveness she needed in that moment. My dream was crumbling before me, and I couldn’t focus on anything else. With tears clogging my throat, I got off the phone and went to hide in my friend’s dorm.

“How’s mommy and daddy,” Olivia joked when I walked through the door. But as soon as she looked at the defeat on my face, hers morphed into one of concern. She jumped up and rushed to me. “What happened? Did someone die?

Is everyone okay?”

Her arms wrapped around me, and I dropped my head to her shoulder, letting the tears fall. “They . . . ” I sniffed and tried to work past the tears. “They spent my tuition money.”

“What?”

I couldn’t say it again, so I simply nodded.

“Fuck, Oak. That’s . . . Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t say anything else, just led me to her twin-size bed and held me as I let it all out.

I hated being overly emotional. I tried to be efficient with my feelings and sitting there crying wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Sitting up, I wiped my cheeks and took a few deep breaths.

Olivia got me a water from her mini fridge and leaned back against the wall.

“You could always sleep here. I’m sure we could get away with it.”

I seriously considered saying yes. My fingers tapped the pink bed sheets, looking at the minimal floor space and remembering her other roommate. She probably wouldn’t love the idea of another body taking up space.

“God, Olivia,” I said, falling back on her pillows. “Why didn’t you accept the penthouse suite when you first started college?”

Her laugh was easy and just as bubbly as she was. “I know, I’m such a bitch.”

Olivia came from a rich family who wanted to put her in a penthouse apartment off campus. All she wanted was a dorm room, so she could really experience college life. Her

father begrudgingly accepted as long as he was able to hire a driver for her.

All I wanted was a dorm room but couldn’t afford the added cost above my tuition. So, I was stuck in an apartment off campus. It was no penthouse, that was for sure. It was barely an apartment. More like a shoebox. I had a semi-decent car to get me from point A to B, and a bus stop close by in case it went from semi-decent to broken down. I’d made it work. Maybe I could look into selling the car for some extra cash.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. I’ll start by looking for a job, even though most are taken by all the holiday workers.”

“But you already do student work at the Biology Department. When will you have time to work another job and still be able to study?”

“Sleep is overrated.” I succeeded in making her snort since we both loved sleep dearly. “I can always sell my plasma . . . maybe my eggs.”

“I will kidnap you before you sell your precious possible babies.”

“Aw, thanks Liv. You’re a true friend.”

She blew me a kiss and put on a movie for distraction. At least an attempt at a distraction. But even as we laughed and ate popcorn, my mind was swirling with possible places to apply for work. I’d start looking for any job possible as soon as I leave the dorm. I joked about losing sleep, but I’d sacrifice a lot more than that to stay in college.

A WEEK later and I still hadn’t found another job. Every possible position that may have been open was snatched up by the seasonal workers. It was three weeks before

Christmas, and if one more person told me I should have applied before Thanksgiving, I’d scream.

“I have an appointment at the Bursar’s Office tomorrow to beg for some kind of help to come up with a solution,” I explained to Olivia over lunch. “In the morning, I’m going to run by the bank and see if I can take out another loan.”

“You know, I could talk to my da—” Olivia started, but I cut her off.

“No. I will not take money from you.”

“It’s a loan. And you wouldn’t have to pay interest.”

I was already shaking my head before she finished. We’d had this conversation before, and I was adamant about not entering into a financial relationship with her. I’d seen my parents borrow money from a friend, and it tore their relationship apart. They lorded the loan over them, and took advantage just because my parents had owed them money. When they finally paid it all back, the friendship had been too damaged to repair. Nothing good ever benefitted a relationship when the exchange of money occurred.

I couldn’t have that happen between me and Olivia. She was too important to lose. “It’s bad enough I let you buy me lunch today.”

We sat at the corner table at the school’s largest dining hall. I was content to eat another pack of ramen, but she’d dragged me here and bought my entry before I could say otherwise.

“Just eat your damn food. You know it’s good,” she grumbled.

I took a bite and stared at her, but she was looking down, her long blonde hair hanging like a curtain around her, hiding from me. When she finally looked up, she looked nervous. Her lips were pinched and her eyes wide.

Alarm bells went off in my head. “What?”

She set her silverware down and sat up straighter, as if she were preparing for battle. “Listen,” she started. “I have

an idea. It’s really good money, but you have to have a waaaay open mind about it.”

“Okaaay?” I dragged the word out, trying to prepare myself. “You know I’m desperate and will do just about anything.”

Her tongue slicked across her pink glossed lips and she swallowed. What the hell was it?

“My uncle—kind of the rogue agent of the family—owns a club.”

I dropped my fork and sat up straight, trying to think of a club that wasn’t a strip club. “What kind of club?”

She cocked her head and looked around as though searching for the right words. “It’s not really a sex clu—.”

“I am not standing on a street corner to make money.

I’m desperate, but not ready for prostitution.”

“No. No, no, no.” Her hands rose up, halting that line of thought. “Think of it more like . . . performing.” She paused. “Sometimes naked.”

I blinked, several times, waiting for her to tell me she was kidding. Something. Anything to explain what the hell she was talking about. I sat there, mute, unable to form words, unable to ask questions. Unable to anything, really.

“It’s called Voyeur.” Caving under the silence, she picked up her fork and moved food around her plate before spitting the rest out on one breath. “People come to watch other people do things. It can range from showering to . . .

performing with someone else.”

Olivia looked up through her lashes, giving me time to digest what she’d just said. I sat there, dumbfounded.

Words swam around in my head, but none of them would coalesce to form complete sentences. There was one that stood out, however: Maybe.

“He said over Thanksgiving he had to fire a girl for sleeping with a customer on the clock which is a big no-no.

I’ve heard it pays really good money. It’s also a bar. Maybe

you could work as a bartender, but you wouldn’t make as much.”

Voyeur. I knew that word. Saw it on some porn site maybe? Read it in a book? It’s when someone likes to watch others. Usually in sexual activities.

Could I let someone watch me?

When the immediate answer wasn’t no, I let my thoughts expand. Maybe was morphing into possibly.

I wasn’t a virgin or a prude. I’d experimented with the boyfriend I had in high school, and then other boys my senior year when we broke up. I wasn’t going to pretend that I knew all of it since I was only nineteen. But I wasn’t so naive and inexperienced that the thought shocked me.

“With your body and looks, you would probably be a shoe-in.”

I laughed. “Thanks, Liv.”

“What? You’ve got the whole girl-next-door thing going on. If the girl next door was a sex kitten.” She curled her fingers into claws, making me laugh with her rawr. “You’re fit and petite. People like that.”

“Petite and fit is a nice way of saying no boobs.”

“Hey, you’ve got a good handful.”

I laughed when she held up her hands like she was measuring. “Besides, it’s not a strip club. I’ve overheard that the more natural and normal you look, the better.”

“Overheard?”

“Well, my uncle doesn’t talk too openly about it when I’m around, but he gets loud when he drinks.”

Biting my lip, I considered my other options. They felt weak and unstable. So did this, but at least if I didn’t make it to next semester, I could say I tried everything.

“Okay. I’ll check it out.”

THAT NIGHT I sat across from a tall, blond man with crow’s feet stamped around his eyes, the only thing showing his age. Otherwise, his slim build hinted at a youth he no longer possessed. His blue eyes matched Olivia’s, and I could see the family resemblance. He wasn’t at all the Ron Jeremy look-alike I’d expected. His casual looks and easy smile had set me at ease.

I’d been there for almost half an hour answering questions and telling him about myself. When he would stop to write things down or turn to his computer, I clasped my sweaty hands together and looked around the dark office.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, dildo statues on the shelves? Pictures of naked women? Books on Kama Sutra?

Actually, there was one on Kama Sutra on the shelf, right next to Moby Dick and Little Women. Hell of a selection.

“There’s no paying for sex,” he said firmly, pulling me back to the rules he was discussing. “I don’t run a prostitution ring.”

“That’s good.” One side of my mouth tipped up in an awkward smile, showing off how uncomfortable I felt. He just laughed and continued.

“The rooms change for different themes throughout the month. A bedroom is kept constantly, but sometimes there’s an office setup, a bathroom, a classroom, a bar. Pretty much anything you could think of. There are also various rooms based on what you’re willing to do. Some rooms, like BDSM, require training before you’re allowed to work in them. I keep my workers safe. All clients sign an NDA protecting your privacy. You will also sign an NDA so they’re safe as well. They pay a lot of money to be here, and it’s important I provide a safe environment for them.”

The more he explained, the more comfortable I felt. This wasn’t some run-down strip club where everything was a free-for-all.

“Clients can watch in an attached private room through a one-way window or sit in the provided chairs inside the room. But no one touches the performers. Ever. You don’t touch the clients. Ever.” His blue eyes held me in place and I nodded. “You will have a panic button close by and a guard outside the room should you need them.” His long fingers flipped a page. “Any questions so far?”

“No, sir.” The words were barely whispered. Each rule he read off made me feel better, but also increased my heart rate at the possibility that this would happen. Was I excited? Scared? Nervous?

Definitely all of the above.

“You can call me Daniel. Or Mr. Wit.”

“Okay.”

He looked back to his list of rules. “There are no cameras or recording devices of any kind. Phones are left in the locker room or at the door. You can perform up to three times in a shift, and the rest of the time, you will be working the bar and common area. You will fill out a form upon arriving and clients will be able to look through the performers in a computer system. You may not always be selected.”

He passed the sheet over to me to look over and instructed me to sign. It had the fifteen dollars an hour base I’d make when I was there, as well as the range I could be paid for each performance. Based on the hours we discussed and the prices next to each performance, I had the opportunity to make almost a thousand dollars a week.

I gripped the pen.

I was signing an agreement of the rules.

Because I was going to be an employee at Voyeur.

A sex club.

Goose bumps sprang up across my skin. The scrape of the pen across the paper sounded loud in the quiet room.

But it felt like I’d re-opened the door to my education, and that made the smallest of smiles twitch on my lips.

“Okay, Miss Derringer. The final process requires you to submit to an STD test as you will be interacting with other employees, and we keep everyone safe. Then, another of my associates will look you over for me.”

Look me over? My expression must have given away my alarm because he chuckled and rushed to explain. “Her name is Agnes. She does this part to prevent me from getting sued for sexual harassment. But I can’t have you going out without her approval. I hate to say it, but the job is based on looks. While you look good in clothes, I need to know you don’t have a swastika tattoo on your ass for as much as you’ll be naked.”

The reminder of my nudity made me swallow. I was comfortable in my own skin and never hesitated over nudity, but anyone would be nervous to strip down for a stranger and perform.

“Personal upkeep is also continuously checked on. We need our employees clean and healthy, so we do regular checks.” He extended another paper across the desk.

“Here’s the list of things that you can sign up to do. Feel free to look it over.”

My eyes almost bugged out of my head when I looked at the sheet with a list and check boxes on it. “This is the checklist you’ll be filling out each time you begin a shift to let members know what you’re comfortable performing that night.”

Anal.

Caning.

Solo Masturbation.

Joint Masturbation.

Vaginal Penetration.

Non-consensual Play.

Daddy Play.

Asphyxiation.

Dry sex.

Multiple partners.

Oral sex. (Male)

Oral sex. (Female)

I remembered back to when I thought I wasn’t a prude.

Or when I said I’d experimented. Apparently, I skipped the caning experimentation phase and couldn’t say I was sad about it. Doubt began to creep in.

“Don’t let the list alarm you. These are at your own discretion, and I try to provide something for everyone. We have a wide clientele, and we keep it a judgement-free zone. If you’re unable to do that, then we should stop here.”

“No. No. I just . . .” A nervous laugh bubbled up. “No judgment. Different strokes for different folks. I’m just not sure I’m ready for a gang bang.”

Daniel was pretty damn handsome when he smiled. “Fair enough.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his tight stomach. “We try to make our employees as comfortable as possible and try to provide realistic scenes for our customers. Therefore, we usually pair up the same couples each time. Next time you come in, I’ll be sure your partner will be here so you two can meet. Jackson is off today.”

He stood, and I did the same. “Let’s find you a locker and introduce you to Agnes.”

I stared at his broad back as he walked toward the door and one thought raced through my head.

I’m in.