Wes Boyd's
Spearfish Lake Tales
Contemporary Mainstream Books and Serials Online

Hat Trick
Book 2 of the Bradford Exiles series
Wes Boyd
©2004, ©2010



Chapter 14

There was no telling how long the agony went on Ė long enough, in any case, for Sandy to get flushed from overheating. "You people better let her out," Dayna said during a break. "Sheís cooking herself in there." It didnít take long for a pair of bandage scissors to free Sandy Ė after all, that was the reason for the paper towels, so the tape wouldnít stick to her skin. With that, there was no reason to not turn Dayna loose, too.

Dayna was a mass of rope marks on arms and legs, and felt rather stiff. Sandyís overheating was quickly solved by peeling off the mummy wrappings and standing her in front of the open window in her bikini while shoving a couple quick beers down her to rehydrate her. "I have to admit, hot or no, that was fun," Sandy grinned.

"Yeah, it was," Dayna agreed. "That was quite a rope tie, Sandy."

"You two are weird," Vicky shook her head. "I donít see how you can think itís fun."

"Vicky, you either get it or you donít," Dayna sighed. "Thereís a real thrill in being helpless and having no choice but to let things happen to you, no matter how much you protest."

"But, my God! To get tickled like that! I hate being tickled."

"You want to know the truth, so do we," Sandy laughed. "Thatís the point. I mean, it would be possible to do something really sadistic when weíre defenseless like that. The tickling is pretty close to harmless, and I actually think Iíd rather be spanked than tickled. But after a while, you get into sort of a high. Me, there are times when I get really horny. I mean, really!"

"Sheís right," Dayna grinned. "Itís a difficult experience to describe, since thereís so many weird things in your head. It is sort of like a high without drugs. I canít tell you what itís like; you have to be there to understand."

"Tell you what," Sandy smiled. "Since it was your idea to tickle both of us, that means thereís a bet that Dayna and I have to settle some other way. To pay for lousing that up, maybe we ought to tie you to one of the beds and tickle you a little."

"No! Please, no! Are you crazy?"

"Nothing X-rated, not even bikinis like we had," Dayna added.

"What does everybody else think?" Sandy asked.

"No . . . please, oh God, no!" Vicky protested as Melissa grabbed one arm and Amanda the other. Within seconds, there were half a dozen people busy tying her down and taking her shoes off. "Oh, please no, stop stop stop stop please please no aaaaiiieaaaahh hahh ahh hee haa pleease" and similar sounds were soon coming from the bed while Dayna and Sandy kept an eye on the proceedings, not willing to let it get too far with a newbie.

Vicky never stopped protesting and verbalizing and squirming for an instant for several minutes, but all of a sudden everyone in the room was aware of the tensing in her body, then going into spasms and screaming "Oh. OH! OH! OHHHHHH!" followed by some very heavy breathing. Without discussion, the tickling stopped, just to let her pull herself together. "Oh, my God that was wonderful," she panted as soon as she could find the air. "I . . . I never . . . "

"Neither did we until it happened to us," Sandy laughed. "OK, people, I think itís time we untied her and gave someone else a chance. I donít know if it works that way for guys or not. Paul, you want to be the guinea pig?"

*   *   *

The next morning came with mixed reviews. There were good things, and there were bad. Among the good things was that Dayna woke up to find Paul in bed with her, that and the memory of some interesting times in the wee small hours after the party had broken up headed the list of good things. Among the list of bad things was the fact that she had a huge hangover, not made any better by Paulís snoring.

She rolled a little and glanced over at the other bed, to discover Sandy obviously entwined with some guy, Mike maybe, both of them sound asleep.

While it was rather nice to wake in Paulís arms, there were some things that badly needed doing, the worst of them involving some of the beer that had been consumed the night before and now was aching for release. That was even more important than the aspirin to clear the fuzzy head. Fortunately, Dayna wasnít so entwined with Paul that she couldnít get out of bed. She staggered to the bathroom, did her business, popped some aspirin, and took note of the mess the room was in. Itíd have to be cleaned up Ė later, not now Ė glanced at Paul, still snoring, and without too much consideration, not that she was capable of much anyway, slid back into bed with him. She punched him a little to get him to roll over, then got his free hand and laid it on her bare bottom. It felt good.

She must have slept for a while more, because some time later she was laying on her back with Paulís head on her shoulder when she heard Sandy mumble, "Oh, shit!"

"Oh, shit what?" she asked softly, as to not wake the guy in bed with her.

"My fucking head hurts."

"I donít know about your fucking head, but I seem to remember you giving some," Dayna said.

"Donít try to make me laugh, Dayna, itíll hurt too much. Christ, what a party!"

"Itís the first one in over a year where the guitars stayed in the closet, would you believe?"

"You mean weíre turning normal?"

"I hope not," Dayna said. "God, that party was a scream."

"Literally," Sandy snickered. "In fact, there was a lot of screaming going on."

"Well, we got laid anyway."

"I donít think we were the only ones, I seem to recall a steady stream of people going into and out of Barbie and Mandyís room. It got a little fuzzy there after a while."

"Yeah, I was over there," Dayna admitted. "Seems to me, I was doing some girl while she was blowing some guy. God, it got drunk there."

"Question time. What are we going to do with these guys?"

"Mom, he followed me home, can I keep him? How about we get out the handcuffs, chain them down so they canít get away when they wake up, and then have them do us again?"

"Good idea, but with this hangover Iím not sure Iím quite that horny."

"Yeah, me either, now that you mention it. Shall we just let them sleep a while, or should we get them up and send them on their way?"

"Letís get up, get showers and get dressed," Sandy suggested. "Maybe thatíll wake them up some. Maybe we can get back together with them tonight."

"Not tonight, weíve got that gig at the Delta house."

"God, you mean weíve got to get drunk all over again?"

"Nothing like a little partying, is there? At least theyíll just be drunk, and not having a tickling marathon along with it."

"Unless they hear about what happened here last night."

Several hours later they were feeling better, if not exactly chipper. They were just getting finished cleaning up the room when there was a knocking on the door. Dayna answered it, to find Vicky, tears running down her face. "Vicky, whatís the matter?" she said.

"Dayna, can I talk to you?"

"Sure," she said. "Come on in, have a seat."

"Do you need me to leave?" Sandy asked gently.

"No, thatís all right, maybe you can help, too. I . . . I, uh, let things get a little out of hand last night."

"It did get a touch on the wild side," Dayna grinned.

"I guess you two are used to fooling around like that," she shook her head. "Iím not. Thatís why I want to talk to you. I mean, about what happened last night."

"I got a little carried away by volunteering you to get tickled," Sandy said. "If I shouldnít have done it, I apologize."

"Itís not that," Vicky said. "Well, not exactly. Dayna, I remember you saying something about just let yourself go and let it happen. And after a while, I got hot. I mean, really hot, and I, well, I had an orgasm."

"We saw," Dayna laughed. "It surprised us the first time it happened to us, too. I wasnít paying a lot of attention last night, but I think only the three of us got that far, although all the girls and most of the guys got pretty hot."

"But I liked it," Vicky protested. "And then later, we were over in the other room. Dayna, I never knew it could be like that. I mean, I wasnít a virgin or anything, but Iíve never had it like that and my head just exploded. I mean, it wasnít like that when I did it before with John Engler."

"Wasnít like that for me with him, either," Dayna grinned. "For all his reputation as a great lover, heís a pretty lousy lay. Iíve had much better."

"I figured that much out," Vicky said. "But I was lying there afterward. It was real dark, kinda crazy, thereíd been another couple in bed with us, and I realized that this guy had his face up between the girlís legs, and she was moaning with delight. I remember thinking that it was kind of a shame that she was having such a good time, and he was having to do all the work . . . and, I donít know how it happened, I wound up with his dick in my mouth, and that was real exciting, I never did that before, either. Then I realized that someone had their head down between my legs, and was . . . uh, licking me down there. And it felt wonderful. And then I came so hard I thought I was going to explode. I, uh, was so concentrating on . . . what was happening . . . " the tears started to roll again, " . . . . that I didnít realize it was a girl who had her head between my legs. And God, it was so wonderful. What does that make me?"

"Youíre worried that youíre now a kinky lesbian, right?" Sandy smiled. "Vicky, look, donít worry about it. You ever have a guy do it to you like that?"

"Well . . . no," Vicky admitted. "John wanted to but I wouldnít let him. It seemed so gross."

"Might be you made a mistake on that," Dayna nodded, now knowing who the girl who had gone down on Vicky had been, even if Vicky hadnít figured it out. "He never went down on me, either, but that might be where his reputation comes from, I donít know. But Vicky, thatís beside the point. It was dark, you were drunk, and you didnít even realize it was a woman until after it was over with, right? That doesnít make you a lesbian."

"It doesnít?"

"Would you rather have it that way from a girl than from a guy?"

"Well, no," she shook her head. "But how about the tickling? Doesnít that make me a kink?"

"Again, because you got forced into it and liked it? Nothing wrong with a little fun."

"But . . . it seems so . . . well, kinky."

"So?" Sandy said. "There are a lot worse kinks out there beyond wanting to laugh a little. Look, Vicky, donít worry about it. Youíre not a lesbian kink. Now, if youíd come in here saying you donít like guys and asking us to, oh, tie you to the bed naked and spend the afternoon tickling you and diddling you, then I might have a little different opinion."

"Oh, God, I couldnít dream of such a thing!"

"Point made," Sandy grinned.

"Thank you," Vicky nodded. "I mean, it was such a neat experience and all, but it had me worried a little. Well, more than a little. Dayna, Sandy, you wonít tell anybody about this, will you?"

"Oh, of course not," Dayna said, putting her hands in Vickyís. "Vicky, just lighten up a little and have some fun. Thereís nothing wrong with finding out who you are. Iíve discovered that Iím a lot different person than I was in high school, and if you donít make some discoveries like that, youíre not getting what you should out of college, OK?"

"You sure have changed, Dayna. I mean, changed a lot."

"Yeah, maybe I have," she smiled back. "That might be what they call growing up."

*   *   *

That proved to be the wildest party they had all fall, and then some. Now that the renfaire season was over with, they could put more of their spare time to school, worthwhile school, and they were a little less quick than theyíd been the year before to play every possible chance they got. Also, unlike the year before, they put a fair amount of time into their studying, and got a fair amount of useful knowledge out of it. Several of the classes proved especially interesting.

A little to their surprise, the seminar on prostitution turned out to be considerably more interesting than they had expected Ė mostly because Dr. McIntyre, the professor, had spent considerable time working with a teen prostitute halfway house in New York. She knew the business pretty close to first-hand, at least that part of it, and sheíd been exposed to other parts. She freely admitted that she didnít know as much about higher-class prostitutes, escorts, call girls, even legal brothel prostitutes in Nevada, but Dayna knew from her discussions with Charlene Ė which she hadnít revealed to Sandy and didnít plan to Ė that Dr. McIntyreís viewpoints on drug-ridden street hookers had a lot of validity as far as it went.

And, as far as it went, her observations on prostitutes forced or trapped into the business by men reflected the "men oppressing women" viewpoint that the course took. At the same time, though, Dr. McIntyre held the opinion that if women controlled their bodies, it could be liberating for the women, and again, Charleneís experience proved that there was some validity to the idea.

Most interestingly Ė and again, Dayna didnít explain to Sandy exactly how she knew Ė many of the practical details of the life and business and techniques of the more professional New York street girls meshed pretty close with what Charlene had told her Ė some things never change. As far as Dayna could tell, Charleneís considerably more detailed teachings still seemed to be pretty much correct. Sheíd been given good information. Dayna hoped to hell sheíd never have to be a street hooker somewhere, but she knew how to do it if she had to, and do a good, safe job of it. Sandy did know that Dayna had talked considerably with an unnamed woman who had been a street hooker, and Dayna passed along a lot of that information in the context of dorm-room bull sessions.

The final piece of the seminar was a research paper on some aspect of the history or practical aspects of prostitution, and it was pretty clear that researching it and writing it were going to be tricky, because it would have to conform with Dr. McIntyreís views. But after class one day Dayna got a brilliant idea, and cornered the professor to point out that songs about prostitution were a part of the history, especially blues Ė and she and Sandy had been known to do a blues song once in a while. Dr. McIntyre quickly saw the point, and rather than a paper, allowed the two to do a stand-up, live presentation to the class. The research went easily: all it took was one phone call to Tim, who had an extensive collection of old-time blues songs including a big stack of original 78 rpm "race" records, the old term for jazz and blues because, back in the 1920s, they were mostly done by black performers. A few days later the mailbox held a cassette tape copy of some original recordings of very obscure artists, plus a couple of newer ones.

At least as far as the prostitution seminar classes went, Dayna and Sandy had been good little girls, but that went out the window when it was time for their presentation. They showed up wearing long coats Ė it was December and cold Ė but once in the classroom took off the jackets to reveal very tight and revealing tank tops, very short skirts, fishnet stockings, very high heels, lots of makeup, looking very trashy Ė the very picture of street hookers.

Since summer when theyíd made the decision to come up with new material, Sandy had started doing some leads on country-western songs. She could do a high, whiny, off-key nasal singing voice that sounded much like the typical country singer, as long as the song wasnít musically too complicated. She did the lead on the opening song, which was a fairly recent Bobby Gentry song,Fancy, about a girl turned out by her mother at the age of eighteen to make something better of herself.

"Hereís your last chance, Fancy, donít let me down.

God forgive me for what I do,

but if you want out girl itís up to you.

Now get on out, you better start sleepiní uptown."

"Iím pretty sure everybodyís heard House of the Rising Sun by the Animals," Dayna told the class as she took over the lead. "Most people donít know that they didnít write it; the original version is at least a century old, and itís a womanís song, not a manís. There are several versions of the original, and this is the one I happen to like:"

"So mothers you go telling all your daughters

Not to do what I have done.

To live a life of sin, shame and strife

In the House of the Rising Sun.

There is a house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun.

Itís been the ruin of many a good girl

And oh God, you know Iím one."

It got considerably grittier after that Ė Dayna belted out an old-time blues song by Memphis Minnie, Hustliní Woman Blues, and more by Lucille Bogan, a 1920s black prostitute turned blues singer. She did Tricks Ainít Walkiní No More, and followed it with Shave íEm Dry, which opened with the lines, "I got nipples on my titties big as the end of my thumb. I got something ítween my legsíll make a dead man cum." And it got worse from there.

By that time, the class was pretty well stunned with Dayna and Sandyís intense blues playing Ė and the language in the Lucille Bogan songs Ė but she sealed an "A" for the semester for both girls with another Lucille Bogan song, Bull Dyke Blues, which contained not a great deal about prostitution but did include the refrain, "Cominí a time women ainít gonna need no man."

It would not be the last time Dayna and Sandy performed any of those songs, although the Lucille Bogan pieces were only used for selected crowds, which didnít include kiddie shows.


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