14. Sisters in snark
Chapter 14
Sisters in snark
MIA
I f looks could kill, I’d be dead.
Further, if looks followed ancient burial rituals, I’d be embalmed, covered in salt, wrapped in linens, and entombed in the depths of a pyramid in Egypt.
Then again, that process was meant to ensure the soul a safe passage into the afterlife, where it could live on for eternity. And I’m certain my girl crush isn’t too keen on making that happen for me.So we’ll go back to looks simply murdering. Like little bullets shooting from her eyes.
Pew pew. And I’m dead. RIP Mia. You had a good run.
“I’ll never forgive you for this,” Kri hisses at me under her breath, adjusting her skirt to tug it lower.
My knee-high, patent leather boots squeak as I cross and uncross my legs, trying to get comfortable when I’m beginning to fear for my life.
I sort through my card catalog of funny responses to ease her fears about her costume, ultimately coming up empty. How can I be expected to think straight when her glare holds me hostage like this? And considering I’ve been tied to a chair and threatened with death on more than one occasion, it’s impressive she’s rendered me speechless.
Am I intimidated by Kri and all her badassery? Maybe a little.
Especially since she’s back to full strength. I bet she can throw a mean right hook. However, I’ve taken bigger cocks to the face before and lived to tell the tale, so I’ll be good if she snaps and charges at me.
Probably.
Oh . There’s an approach worth trying. When in doubt, make it kinky.
“Kri, you look sexy as hell. I’m considering switching teams.” I run my hand over her thigh playfully. “Wanna go fool around in the closet?”
She brushes my hand away. “Bitch, please.”
“I’m betting Shep will make it worth any discomfort your feet may be experiencing from the boots.” I waggle my brows at her, then pump my arms toward my groin to mimic thrusting. “In fact, he’ll probably make you keep them on. The gloves too.”
She blinks at me three times before shaking her head and tossing back a swig of non-alcoholic reindeer punch. “It isn’t only about the boots, you gingerbread bitty. It’s the entire getup. I feel like a freak show. Everyone’s looking at me, and I hate it.”
“If they’re looking at you, it’s only because you’ve reminded them that you’re a woman with a smoking hot body. That’s not a bad thing. You can be beautiful and a fucking badass. If these fuckers see you differently because of what you’re wearing, that’s on them. It shows way more about their character than yours.”
Exiting my mini-soapbox, I hover my cup of spiked eggnog in front of my lips. “Plus, they aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at those two morons.”
At the mention of Jonesy and Aaron’s unexpected costumes, Kri snort-laughs into her cup.
They’ve gone full douche, wearing horrendous early nineties night club attire. Accessories and all. We’re talking sunglasses propped on their heads, layered gaudy chain necklaces, and tacky blazers with shoulder pads.
But wait. There’s more.
Aaron trimmed his stubble into a goatee, and Jonesy drew on a flavor-saver patch on the center of his chin and a pencil-thin beard along the outline of his jawline.
And we’re still not done.
As the pièce de résistance , they tied fully decorated Christmas gift boxes to their belts, positioning them so they hover over their crotches.
Yep. You guessed it.
Jonesy and Aaron are dressed up like Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg from the hilarious Dick in a Box sketch from Saturday Night Live .
I fear for their jobs if Boss figures it out.
Lettie comes bounding over. She’s dressed in the same Mean Girls holiday sexy Santa costume as Kri and me. She’s barely able to contain her giggles as she sits beside me, looking every bit the glowing sweetheart. “Let’s hope they didn’t cut holes in the boxes.”
“Do the lids on top of their boxes open?” I ask, more than a little curious if they went full monty. “Someone should check. For science.”
“Not it,” Kri blurts almost instantly, her shoulders bunching up by her ears.
“Me either,” I add, laughing off my joke and expecting Lettie to do the same.
She doesn’t, though.
Instead, she narrows her eyes at the pair of dinguses while tapping her gloved finger against her pursed lips.
Kri and I trade glances, our eyebrows arching higher as the seconds tick by.
Lettie rises slowly. “I can get away with it.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder at us, taking a determined step toward the guys.
Lunging forward, I encircle her wrist to hold her back. “I was kidding. Stop . You cannot do that.”
She scrunches her nose and mouth at me, looking affronted. “Why not? The public deserves to know.”
Through intensifying guffaws, Kri tries to get her to see reason. More than likely a foolish quest if my research on Lettie is anything to go by. “My dear, sweet summer child, what about your John McClane over there? You think he won’t commit murder if you see his coworkers’ dicks?”
Kri isn’t calling Tomer that for shits and giggles. He’s dressed as the Die Hard character. While some might contend it isn’t a holiday film, the party planning committee approved it. Lettie’s on the committee, so it isn’t surprising he got a pass.
To be honest, I’m shocked he dressed up at all. I’m proud of my friend and all the growth he’s shown over the last few months. His sugar bear is so good for him. It warms my cold, black heart.
Lettie rolls her eyes with such flare it’s no wonder she’s the president of our Brat Pack. “ Oh puh-leeease. Don’t get your knickers in a knot, sweet thang. My babe ain’t jealous like that. If he was, he wouldn’t have gotten me a job at a kink club. Ever been in one? Cock and balls decorate the rooms like wallpaper.” She flings her thumb toward Aaron and Jonesy. “Those two brutes over yonder ain’t got nothin’ I ain’t seen before. And if you think I can go all night without knowing if their dicks are crammed into those boxes, you’ve done lost your marbles.”
Moments such as these prove coming to Redleg was the single greatest decision I ever made.
Still attempting to show Lettie the light, Kri says, “Fine, Lettie. I get it. You can see all the dick you want. But not in the workplace.”
“Not in this workplace,” I tack on the subtle yet important distinction. “Dick on the job was your old life.”
She looks from us to the guys and back again, her lips crumpling comically. “Whatever. Killjoys.” After another impressive roll of her eyes, she plops down into her chair with a huff. “Something exciting needs to happen and fast. Otherwise, my ADHD squirrel won’t let this one go.”
Apparently not done discussing the subject of the hour, Kri adds, “I gotta say this last thing, and then I’ll drop it. I’m shocked that those two guys did it. Out of everyone else here. Them . If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.”
I nod in agreement. “Right? I’d have expected a costume like that from Sawyer and whomever he could rope into it.”
Lettie chimes in. “Not Tomer, for sure. But Shep could have been talked into it or maybe even Klein.”
I shake my head vigorously. “Cal would never wear that.” I raise my cup in his direction. “Of all the costumes he could have picked, look at what he’s wearing. Couldn’t be further from Dick in a Box .”
Kri tips her head to one side. “Who is he supposed to be?”
“George Bailey, right? From It’s a Wonderful Life ?” Lettie’s knowledge of the classic film surprises me only slightly. “Papa loved that movie. We watched it every year. That’s got to be who he’s dressed as.”
I glide my vision back toward Cal. “Yep. That’s my old soul over there. Wholesome as fuck. Outside the bedroom, anyhow.”I greedily guzzle down the sight of my cake-assed, sexy baby in that finely tailored suit.
Yummy . I can’t wait until later when I get to strip it off him and lick pie filling off his backside.
After taking a deep breath, Kri stiffens in her chair and places her drink between her thighs. She sets one hand on my arm and the other on Lettie’s like she’s about to lead us in a séance. “Fellow brats, while we’re gathered here without our partners hovering, I have a confession.” She lowers her chin, eyes downcast and sullen. “I did something bad today.”
Other than a bob of her throat, she stays silent for a beat. It’s so unlike Kri to lack confidence. I wonder if she’s experiencing a long-term side effect to the skirt-wearing, whereby she’s not quite herself anymore.
Lettie and I shoot concerned looks at each other, all four of our eyebrows reaching toward the twinkling lights Leo draped from the ceiling.
I nudge Kri with my elbow. “Have you been naughty when you should have been nice?”
Lettie one-ups my attempt at cheesy holiday humor with her signature Southern twang in full effect. “If you bratted too close to the sun, darlin’, all you have to do is have Shep wear the mistletoe belt and confess while on your knees. I’d say you should tie your hair up too, but that ain’t a problem for you. He’ll forgive you by the time you swallow.”
“She’s got a great point,” I offer. “Apology blow jobs— bjologies —work like a charm. That’s how I got Cal to forgive me.”
Tiny overshare. I blame the eggnog. Madeline made it, so it’s quite strong.
Kri’s tension starts to melt. “He heard me refer to the Brat Pack today.” She whips her head from side to side, scrutinizing us for our response. Her thumbnail slips between her teeth. “I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”
“That’s what she said,” Lettie deadpans, then quickly morphs into damage control mode. “But no worries. We can handle this. And if we need help figuring it out, I’ll call Freya or Stella for guidance. I learned everything I know from them. Tell me exactly what happened and what Shep knows.”
Kri rambles through a rather uneventful story about how Shep tried to get her to confess after he heard her mumble our silly little group name. Ultimately, she pointed out that she can do whatever she wants outside the bedroom, which made him back off completely.
I knew Shep was a good guy all along.
Lettie pats Kri’s stocking-covered knee. “Why on God’s green earth were you worried about that? That’s nothin’, girl.”
Kri glances at me, her eyes pleading for my confirmation.
“I absolutely agree,” I reassure her, shrugging casually. “All he knows is we talk about sub stuff. Big deal.”
“I’m so new to this shit, totally out of my comfort zone. Not just the Dom/sub crap. I’ve never had female friends before, and I’m worried I’ll screw it up.”
I shake off Kri’s hand and wrap my arm over her shoulder instead. “Relatable.”
Lettie tugs off her long, black gloves, flopping them on her lap. “ Aww. That’s the thing about having good friends. You can’t screw it up so long as you mean well and don’t backstab or talk shit. Follow the golden rule, which I know you both do.”
No wonder Tomer calls her sugar bear. She’s too damn sweet.
Unless she’s defending someone she cares about.
As if reading my thoughts, she proves my point in her next breath. “And by the way, it ain’t only outside the bedroom where you can do anything you want. Remember that. You’re partners in there, but ultimately, you have all the power over what happens to your body. If he ever forgets it, you send him to me, and I’ll set him straight.”
See? Sweet and salty. The best of both worlds.
Like salted caramel icing on a big fat slice of cake.
Out of nowhere, Lettie’s breathing picks up, and she braces her hands on the seat of her chair. Her grip turns white-knuckle as oxygen saws through her teeth.
“Are you okay?” Kri asks her. “What’s wrong?”
A tiny mewl squeaks from the corner of Lettie’s tightly compressed lips. After a few seconds, she offers a leery nod. “I’m. Gooood .”
Despite her response, my unease continues spiking.
After swiftly scanning her from head to toe, I point at her lower body. “Lettie, if your thighs were pressed together any tighter, you’d make a diamond.”
Her eyelids twitch before slamming closed, and her lips roll in waves. There’s a tiny sway to her upper body. “I’m. Fine. Honest.”
Almost as quickly as it came on, the tension dissipates in a rush. Her shoulders slump, and she releases her death grip on the chair. She exhales through perfectly rounded lips, and her lashes flutter open. Almost instantly, her gaze latches on something across the room.
I search the space, my eyes frantically seeking an explanation for her bizarre behavior.
And then I see it.
Or see him , I should say.
An exceedingly smirky Tomer, eyeing Lettie down. His hand is in his pocket, and I’d bet my best bra he’s holding a remote.
“Unfair,” I whine, sinking back into my chair and crossing my arms. “I want one.”
And I’m not above begging for it later.
Lettie responds solemnly while keeping her eyes fixed on her man. “No, you don’t. Trust me. It was fun at first, but now it’s torture.”
Kri ping-pongs her eyes between us, then follows Lettie’s line of sight across the room towards Tomer. She smacks Lettie’s arm and whisper-yells, “Oh my god. You’re wearing a toy!”
Attempting to gather her composure, Lettie straightens her spine and crosses her legs. Once she’s cleared her throat, she casually explains, “Friends, I made a horrible mistake. I was a bit too bratty this afternoon, and he’s been punishing me for the last two hours.”
“Oh dang,” I mutter, shooting wide eyes at Kri. “If Tomer tells our guys about this, we’re fucked.”
A distressed look pinwheels across Kri’s face. A lump seems to get lodged in her throat, and she juts her chin out to swallow it down. “Uh...”
I lean toward her, my head quirked to the side. “What, Kri?”
Still working to restore her equilibrium after being clit blasted, Lettie takes some deep breaths and dabs her brow with the back of her wrist.
“Well...” Kri holds up her palm. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
Lettie arches a brow at me, then joins me in non-verbally screaming at Kri for an explanation via our hoot owl eyes and open mouths.
“Spit it out before you choke on it, girl,” Lettie orders with a wave of her hand.
“I know this is a personal question, so if you don’t answer, I won’t be offended.” Kri squints one eye, and the same side of her face crumples like a wadded piece of paper. “The toy wouldn’t happen to be the Portable Pleasure Pal , would it?”
Lettie quaffs down most of the oxygen in the room, which I take as a big fat affirmative response.
While the realization sinks in, all three of us link hands.
Overdramatic? Perhaps.
Then again, is there such a thing as too much drama for a true brat? I submit there is not .
Pinning my sisters in snark with a faux sullen look, I ask, “Brats, do you know what this means?”
“Fucking hell,” Kri forces out through a harsh exhale.
Lettie clicks her tongue. “It was one thing when Tomer was coaching Klein since he’s so new to the lifestyle, but this changes things.”
My nods grow more emphatic. “If Shep’s involved in the info exchange, we’re all in trouble. He brings too much Dom experience into the equation. They’ll become too powerful.”
“And that fucker was giving me shit about our Brat Pack.” Kri rolls her tongue over her teeth as her murderous eyes seek out Shep. Her fist softly hits the top of her thigh. “He’s got some nerve since they’ve clearly got their own thing going on. The balls on him.”
I cringe and blow a raspberry. “No thanks. I’d rather not think about Shep’s balls.”
“Assuming the Doms were clever enough to come up with a name, what do you think they call themselves?” Lettie muses, humor decorating her tone. “A penis pack?” She snaps her fingers, jerking upright in her chair. “Ooo! Ooo ! I got it. A prick pack. Prick pack paddywhack give a Dom a bone.”
Kri’s giggle titters around the back of her throat as she struggles to stifle it. “A dick tatorship. A cock cartel. A dong dynasty.”
I nearly choke on my tongue at the unexpected hilarity. Lettie going off on a random silly tangent is one thing, but Kri doing it is another. Our combined laughter detonates like a bomb, drawing the attention of half the partygoers.
Sammy waves at us from the other side of the room, where she’s camped out and clearly settled for the rest of the night. Or until she needs to pee. “ Hey . Stop having fun without me,” she shouts over the din, then flips us off.
Lettie cups her hand to shield her mouth. “I love Sammy, but we can’t tell her. She’s one of them.”
“Solid point.” I finish my drink and add, “We need a gender-neutral name for the Doms. Suggestions?”
“Butthole brigade,” Lettie blurts without missing a beat.
Choking back my laugh, I say, “ Nah . Too low brow. How about the dominant conglomerate?”
Kri tosses out, “And they hold their meetings at domination station.”
We take turns piling on to the gag. Laughter pours from the three of us in a rippling stream, becoming boisterous. Even the guys are noticing now, which means we need to keep it down before they bust up our good time.
Lettie’s face grows impossibly more animated, and she bounces with excitement. “Asshole association. It gives a whole new meaning to AA.”
I extend my spread fingers toward Lettie, rotating them in a tight circle to gesture at her midsection. “I get the sense you’re harboring some animosity tonight, Lettie. Your suggestions, while hilarious, are somewhat hostile. Anything you need to discuss with the council?”
She lowers her jaw to her chest with a sharp click of her tongue. “You’d be hostile too if you’d been edged for two hours straight while in public and unable to react.”
Kri rubs her back in a consolatory circle. “You could always go take it out.”
Either Lettie’s a terrific actress or she’s highly offended by that suggestion. “No way. Then he’d win. Man alive , have I taught you nothing?” Her forehead crimps as she looks at poor Kri like she’s got an overbaked potato for a brain, hold the sour cream. “If I yield, then Tomer will know it’s an effective punishment. And then he’ll tell Klein, bringing Mia down too. We must stand firm, or they’ll take us down one after another.”
“Lettie, you just gave me the perfect name for their dumb Dom gang.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Let’s call them the Dom inoes because they’re Doms who we love to tell no. And for a bonus, it provides a lovely mental image of knocking them all down.”
Lettie raises her hand to shoulder height. “Show of hands. All those in favor of Dominoes?”
I proudly extend my arm. “Aye.”
Kri does the same. “Sold.”
Lettie shimmies her shoulders, clapping in front of her chest. “Motion carries unanimously.”
Feeling giddy and possibly drunk, I hold out my palm for a high-five. Lettie lifts her hand to meet mine, then freezes it in mid-air. Her thighs slam together as her eyes roll into the back of her head.
“Oh no, no, nooo ,” she moans.
Yes. Moans .
I rise, determined to strip Tomer of the remote, when she clamps both her hands on mine to hold me in place.
Through gritted teeth, she races through a litany of names, all conveying her aggravation at the continued not-so-fun ishment. “Pecker head partnership. Circle jerk cooperative. The league of extraordinary jackasses. Fuck face federation.”
Then she releases my hands.
Same as before, she essentially collapses the second after he turns it off.
Well, I presume he turned it off.
Either that or she came, and I’m not sure how I feel about holding her hands while that happens. I need at least one more eggnog before I’ll entertain any ideas about helping the other members of the Brat Pack through a climax.
Around a sigh, she breathes out a relieved, “Heavens to Betsy.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, barely able to get the words past my rising giggle fit.
Her grin spreads diabolically wide. “And the worst part of all this is...” She pauses, glancing between me and my girl crush. “None of this has distracted me from wondering whether the guys really put their dicks in them boxes or not.”