Irresistible Little Ivy (Littles of Rawhide Ranch #7)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Ivy

Despite my earlier exhaustion, after I’d taken a shower and eaten a delicious chef salad, I woke up after only an hour’s rest.

Lying in bed, I glanced at the clock and sighed when I saw it was barely nine. If I went to sleep now I’d be awake well before dawn. Flicking through the hundreds of channels available on the big screen on the wall, I put it on a twenty-four-hour weather channel and tossed the remote on the thick teal comforter of my bed. Turning on the brass lamp next to the bed, I grabbed the goodie basket that had been waiting for me on the side table when I’d arrived in my room.

The big, white wicker basket was covered in iridescent cellophane that obscured what was inside. It crinkled loudly as I placed it before me. A bit of excitement tickled in my belly and I embraced the sensation, allowing myself to feel joy over small things. Growing up without much, I appreciated the little touches that other people might not notice. Like the Rainbow Bright-themed name tag and the pretty velvet, peach bow.

After working at the bow for a minute, I finally got it off and pulled the cellophane back. My gasp of delight was real as I took in the bounty before me. The basket was filled with an amazing amount of retro toys, fashion, and jewelry. And I do mean filled. I let out a little squee as I picked up the brown and gray Pound Puppy stuffie with its big, sad eyes.

I hugged it to me, my eyes closed as my inner child squealed. I’d wanted one of these so bad, but we hadn’t had the money. My mom had barely been able to feed us. She’d tried and gotten me a cheap knockoff from K-Mart, and I’d loved it, but to have my coveted childhood toy in my arms took me to a new level of happy.

Crossing my legs and placing the stuffed dog in my lap, I dug back into the basket, pausing only to put on the jelly bracelets that were so neon they appeared to glow against my pale skin.

The vacation had cost a pretty penny, but Rawhide had so far exceeded all my expectations. My two-room suite looked out over a snowy landscape, revealing a rough natural beauty that was completely foreign to me. I’d been in snowy climates before, but all the places I’d visited had been cities. The view I had of a vast plain of snow fading into a forest was like something out of a fairy tale.

To look out and see such intense stillness, broken only by the wind, made me extra grateful for the gas fire burning merrily away in a river-stone fireplace setting.

I opened a box wrapped in fuchsia paper, then gasped. It contained all the vintage 80s perfumes I’d seen featured in old commercials. Yes, I watched 80s commercial compilations because they were funny. Many of them had not aged well, in often hilarious ways.

But the perfume commercials were something else. A gorgeous woman in lavish furs riding through a snowy Central Park on a magnificent horse. She is everything glamorous and so New York. Waiting for her is the ultimate cowboy. Hat and all. Or the one with a now famous actor in his undies. Meow.

I giggled as I came across a sampler of sex toys, putting them aside for the moment.

A round tube shape caught my eye and I jerked back. “No way.”

It was my favorite sticky sweet, flavored lip gloss that I’d adored in high school. They’d discontinued it years ago, and I missed them. I could afford top-of-the-line makeup now, but nothing can compare to the peach- or strawberry-flavored lip gloss I’d loved. The jelly bracelets on my wrist glowed faintly as I picked the tube up and read the fine print. Disappointment filled me. This was a recreation, not the original formula. And they said improvements had been made.

Meh.

My shoulders hunched as I now screwed off the cap without much interest.

The sight of the familiar white roller ball renewed a flicker of appeal. One of the things I’d loved about the gloss had been the slightly rough feeling of the roller ball against my lips. I gave the bottle an experimental squeeze, grinning as the goo inside came up and coated the ball. The scent of strawberries hit me and I took in a deep breath.

It certainly smelled the same.

If not even a little bit better.

Rolling it over my lips, I immediately outlined them the way I had when I was in high school.

I had applying lip gloss down to an art.

Though now I had more lips to outline than when I’d been a teenager. I’d been cursed with thin lips, and one of the first things I did with my “me” money had been to get fillers. Not a lot, but enough that you could tell I had lips, and they had a shape. A very pretty shape, if I did say so myself. It was nice to be proud of my smile.

I came across a pack of scrunchies and tied my hair back with a pale blue one that had a slight shimmer. Cracking my neck, the sight of a brochure caught my attention. The booklet contained my personal itinerary on one side, and public events on the other. Right now there was a Middle subbie play group featuring crafts, snacks, and dolls. Pajamas were encouraged, but not lingerie. No Doms were allowed, and the group was rated Spirit Week public friendly.

Pausing, I found the little side bar explaining the rating system. This entire week had been dedicated to those living the Middle lifestyle. While there would be guest speakers, professors, and assistants of various BDSM and kink persuasions, those attending were expected to play the role of a Middle. That meant no diapers, no baby talk, and having a little bit of a sass was expected. Teenagers were kinda known for mouthing off.

Of course, what you did in private was your business, but in public you were expected to role play along with everyone else. It was like going to the Renaissance Festival. You had a much better time if you dressed the part of a lord, wench, lady, belly dancer… etc. Except here you could pretend to be Madonna or Annie Lenox and no one would bat an eye.

I was going as a “good girl tempted to go bad”. The one who starts out super pure and prim at the start of the movie, then ends up corrupted by some hot guy with really good hair. Thoughts of the man in the foyer flitted through my mind, but I paid them no attention. Or at least I tried not to. I could still feel Caleb’s long, artistic fingers against my cheeks.

No, nope. I was not going to fixate on the first hot guy I saw. Sure, he was certainly pleasant to look at and had nice manners along with good taste in suits, but I wasn’t here for a guy like that this week. I wanted to partner up with someone attending Spirit Week, and Caleb certainly hadn’t looked like he was dressed for the event. Then again, I hadn’t been wearing my 80s clothes yet, either.

It was about time to remedy that right now.

After putting everything back in the basket haphazardly, I climbed off the comfortable bed and went over to my collection of suitcases. While the staff of the hotel had offered to put everything away for me, I’d told them I’d rather do it myself. There were some intimate things I didn’t want strangers putting their hands on. Now I regretted my initial distrust. I highly doubted I had anything in my luggage that the staff here hadn’t seen a million times and could care less about.

Shaking off my rambling thoughts, I heaved a suitcase up on the dresser and opened it. A lovely, carefully packed array of sparkle, softness, scent and delight spread out before me. This particular suitcase contained just my jammies, undies, lingerie, and socks. Lots of thick socks because Talia had warned me my feet might get easily cold. Because of her advice I’d also included slippers that were more like mini boots with fluffy pink fur and purple stitching.

My mind began to… drift for lack of a better term as I sorted through my things, trying to decide what to wear. Excitement had me smiling as anticipation flowed through me like champagne. I had so many options of cute things to wear. Too many options. Where did I even start when everything was awesome in its own way?

Okay, I needed a robe for sure. My room was warm, but I had no idea how warm or cold the public area would be. Now did I want to go for the fuzzy blue one, or the velvety yellow one with ducks all over it? The latter was a remake of a vintage pajama set that had been popular for some reason in the 80s. Either way, the velvety material felt good beneath my fingertips as I pulled it out.

Laying it out on the bed, I tapped my lips as I studied the two-piece outfit. The top was a bit tight, as were the pants. Tonight I was more interested in comfort, so back to the suitcase I went. A long oversized t-shirt style set of pajamas caught my eye. Wonder Woman, the 70s version, held up her gold bracelets. The shirt itself was made of thick cotton in a deep royal blue and the lady at the massive vintage fashion store in downtown Miami had assured me it was an original from 1980. They red booty shorts that I wore beneath I’d added for my own comfort. I did not like the thought of sitting in a public place with my bare bits if I could help it.

Call me crazy, but I had a clean bill of health and wanted to keep it that way.

Putting on a comfy bra, I quickly donned my pajamas and grabbed the soft blue robe. After some contemplation, I decided on wearing a pair of white tennis shoes and thick neon blue socks. If the floors looked clean enough I’d take my shoes off. But if people had tracked snow in there from outside, no thanks.

The hallway had a few people in it, and we exchanged smiles and hellos as we passed. A couple in maybe their mid-thirties, both fit yet exhausted, listlessly pulled their carry-ons behind them, and I inwardly winced in sympathy.

The intersecting hallways threw me off for a minute, and I wandered around before I finally found the elevator. Normally, I would have checked for an app on my phone with the layout, but phones weren’t allowed at Spirit Week events. Everyone had been given an emergency number to give out to their loved ones, so if there was a problem, the staff could contact the guest right away.

Even knowing this, I felt strangely bereft without my phone and had to laugh at myself. Maybe unplugging a bit from the world would be beneficial. I certainly hoped so, because all I could think about was if I should go back to my room and check my email.

Instead of giving into my paranoia, I hit the button for the elevator once I found it.

A quick ride down to the main floor, ten minutes of wandering, and three minutes of being escorted by a nice staff member later and I finally found it.

The bright, energetic beat of 80s pop music came from behind the closed door. Made of smooth, polished chestnut planks, the door had no handle. I waved my hand over the panel and smiled as it slid open on silent hinges. Cool technology out here in the middle of nowhere. Then again, Rawhide was known for keeping up with the times and changing when needed. Probably one of the reasons they were still going strong after all these years.

Balloons in pastel shades hung from the vaulted ceiling with long, glittery silver ribbons dangling from them above a crowd of mostly women with a couple dozen men scattered about. The large space had ample room for the crowd of people in all their pajama glory. Whoever had designed the party knew their lighting. Instead of glaring overheads, warm and almost golden light gleamed softly from a multitude of sources. From chandeliers to wall sconces, intricate lighting created little pockets of shadows and intimacy among the more brightly lit play areas.

To my left, a group of women all threw their arms in the air as they sang karaoke along with whatever song was playing. I didn’t recognize it, but they obviously loved it. Pausing for a moment, I applauded along with everyone else as the song ended and the women all took giggling bows.

Turning away, I scanned around, trying to decide what I wanted to do.

A few things caught my eye, then my heart came to a stop before thumping extra hard.

There, past a grouping of women doing knitting together, against the wall and sectioned off by tall screens, stood fashion-doll heaven.

Row after row of dolls lined one wall, all in their nude plastic glory. In the center stood a massive rack of doll clothing. And I mean massive. There had to be close to ten thousand outfit pieces arranged from formal to informal. On the wall to the right, displayed in precise rows, were shoes, accessories, and pets. I spied a fuzzy white dog and knew it had to be mine. One of the freebies for Spirit Week was a personalized doll from the Doll Diva, and this must be one of the pop up stands.

The woman who owned it stood off to the side, helping a woman wearing a pink onesie select a pair of sparkling doll shoes.

I would like to say I demurely made my way to the dolls, but that would be a lie. In the past few minutes I’d lost all sense of decorum, my inner teenager rising to the surface. Sometimes I felt like the only time I was able to truly live in the moment was when I was in my Middle persona. My therapist liked to remind me that my inner teenager and my adult self were one in the same, but sometimes it was hard to remember what it had been like to be young. To really put myself in a past mindset and remember a time when I’d been full of curiosity and hope.

Coming to a stop before the doll case, I gaped in wonder at all the options before me. You had the obvious traditional, mass-produced dolls. Limited-edition ones, and more than a few that had been obviously hand crafted. Every style and taste seemed to be accounted for, from mermaid to Miss America. I have no idea how long I’d been standing there, staring, before a velvety woman’s voice jarred me out of my trance.

Turning my head, I found a tall and lovely Black woman in a white prairie style nightgown gazing at the case. Her hair was held back from her high forehead by intricate braids with silver and gold beads at the ends. Stars made of diamonds dangled from her ears, and she had a gold septum piercing that sat just above the bow of her full lips.

An elegant beauty, until you looked at her feet and spied the fuzzy unicorn slippers.

“Those are awesome,” I said in delight. “I love your slippers.”

“Thank you,” she modeled them like a woman showing off a pair of two-thousand-dollar couture boots. “Are you having a hard time picking out a doll?”

I nodded, turning back to the case as a few new women stared along with me. “I am. I mean… there are so many. How do you choose?”

“Don’t ask me,” she said with a low laugh. “I’ve been here for twenty minutes and haven’t been able to commit to a doll. Which might be a reflection of why I’m still single. Hmmm, I’ll have to mention that to my therapist. Anyways, I was hoping you would have some kind of guidance.”

“Well, I’m stuck between two different dolls. One I always wanted as a child, and one I didn’t know I desperately wanted until I saw it just now. Which one do I pick?”

Raising her eyebrows at me, she said, “That is a tough one. I am torn between the siren and the elf model because they are both adorable yet slutty. Our preferences may be a little different.”

Laughing, I held out my hand. “Ivy, nice to meet you.”

“Mia,” the woman gave my hand a good squeeze before turning back to the wall. “So I looked at the outfits available and they are like designer clothing in doll size. Maybe you should go over there and see if anything inspires you?”

A slow song came on and someone began to karaoke it in a surprisingly nice voice.

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll wait a bit.” I sighed. “If it doesn’t speak to me right away, I should probably think about it, right?”

“What fun is that?” Mia asked as she steered me closer to the case. “Which ones are you torn between?”

“The one with the peach hair and fairy wings, and the blonde with the tan lines.”

Leaning down a bit, Mia whispered in my ear, “I’d go for the peach-haired fairy with the cool fantasy makeup. The blonde with the tan lines isn’t nearly as unique.”

“The blonde is pretty,” I protested.

“Then buy her when you get home. I bet there are a bunch on for sale online. The fairy doll is a one of a kind, made by a famous doll designer. You won’t find another like her.”

Acting impulsively was a skill I’d yet to master, and it almost physically hurt to say in a loud voice, “Ma’am, can I please have the doll with the peach hair and fairy wings?”

The woman took her down and I spent the rest of the night playing dress up with a group of subbies. We had a blast, eating our fill of the delicious snacks available, giggling over exchanging dirty stories, and basically acting like a group of teenage girls away at camp. It was fun, the good and energizing kind that always left me smiling. The sexual aspects of being a submissive Middle were nice, but the fun of being a teenager with an adult’s budget and freedom was even better.

When I made my way to the gymnasium the next morning, I was as nervous as my real first day of high school. With sweaty palms, I made my way down the crowded hallway, trying to see if I recognized any of the people around me from the night before. It was hard to say, because everyone looked different now. We were in our high school best, and most women had teased their hair and wore a ton of makeup. Myself included.

For my first day outfit I went with the classic jean jacket and matching acid washed short jean skirt. I’d added a pair of white thigh high tights then layered pink thigh high fishnets over them. Both the tights and fishnets were held up by a sturdy pair of white garters. Instead of heels I’d gone with sneakers, and I’d teased my hair out into a lions mane of curls. Rhinestone earrings sparkled in my ears, and I wore fingerless white lace gloves on each hand.

I thought I might have overdone it with my look before I left my room this morning, but now I realized what I wore was tame compared to some people. I swear there were at least seven or eight women who looked almost exactly like Madonna. And more than one Debbie Gibson walked around in her signature black hat. Not to mention the dozens of Michael Jacksons that walked around. This place was crazy in the best of ways.

The crowd around me got denser as we neared the entrance to the gym where we’d get our welcome speech from Rawhide before dispersing to our classes. We could, of course not take any courses if we chose, but I’d packed my schedule with as many as I could get. The instructors were all famous in their own right and getting them all together in one place was nothing short of amazing.

The people in front of me abruptly stumbled and I almost went with them, but someone grabbed me from behind.

“Easy,” said a man as he hauled me back by my jean jacket. “Don’t want you going down like dominos.”

As he released me, I turned to find a smiling, and very handsome man with blond hair, a tan, and perfect white teeth. The blue polo shirt that he had on complemented his eyes, and the white sweater he wore draped over his shoulders gave him that perfect spoiled-rich-guy appearance. He would look perfect in a magazine ad for selling yachts back in the 80s. I smiled in return, noting that he had a nice body beneath his polo shirt and white shorts along with old-school sports sneakers. All he was missing was a tennis racket to blend in on the court.

“Thanks for saving me,” I said as we resumed our shuffle.

“My name’s Adam, what’s yours?” he asked as he guided me through the crowd.

“I’m Ivy.”

If he was a Dom, he wasn’t the kind who gave off those invisible vibes that made me shiver.

Yet he wore his Dom ring, which would go on the collar of whatever submissive he claimed for the week.

Huh, maybe he just wasn’t my kind of Dom.

My own collar was empty and I intended to keep it that way for at least the first day.

I needed to be pickier with my men than my dolls.

We chatted as the crowd of people entered the gym. There were the typical basketball nets on either side of a regulation court, with risers pulled out on one side. I quickly scanned the risers, wondering if Caleb would be here. After I’d returned to my room, utterly exhausted, I’d had a confusing blend of sex dreams about him. When I’d woken up all hot and achy, I’d finished myself off thinking about being bent over a spanking horse and Caleb giving me a good, but not too painful or damaging, spanking.

“Here,” Adam said as he climbed a few stairs of the riser before me, “take my hand so you don’t fall. While I’d love to see what you’re wearing beneath your jean skirt, I don’t want to catch a glimpse while you’re taking a tumble.”

I grasped his hand, noticing how smooth and soft it was. “Thanks again. You’re just saving me from falling all over the place, aren’t you? Makes me glad I decided to wear sneakers instead of heels.”

Adam grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Here, have a seat. If you’re already sitting you’re less likely to trip, right?”

“Ha, ha,” I snarked and sat down as the spaces around me began to fill up. “What classes do you have?”

As we compared our schedules, I let out an internal sigh. Talking with Adam was more like talking with a friend than a potential Dom. He was really cute, but probably a Switch. Or just a gentle guy. Either way, we had no chemistry. He was someone’s Mr. Perfect, just not mine.

Looking back over the crowd, I let my mind wander as Adam told me more about his financial genius. He was in banking or something. I don’t know, I kind of stopped listening. Guys bragging excessively about themselves, while not inquiring about me, was a turn off.

Daydreaming about Caleb, I zoned out and stared into the distance as Adam droned on.