Daria: Miss Scarlett's School for Boys (Daria/Jane, Tom. R)
Title: Miss Scarlett's School for Boys
Author: a_respite
Fandom: Daria
Word Count: 3200 or so
Warnings: Dubious Consent
Rating: R for bad behavior
Summary: What would it have been like if Tom had been checking out Daria during "Jane's Addition?"
“Jane, do you know that guy?” Daria asked. The ring of microphone feedback was still stuck in her ears, which, along with a surreptitious Jack and Coke or three may have clouded her judgment, but Daria Morgendorffer had, for the last five minutes, watched her best friend and some random stranger making eyes across the room.
“I don't, Daria, but I think he'd like to get to know you. He's been staring at you for most of the set,” Jane answered, eyes still pointed at the dark-haired stranger.
“Staring at me?” Daria protested. “He's - ” Daria was cut off by the young man starting to make his way across the club.
“On his way over, apparently.” Jane finished. “Oh, look and I promised Trent I'd, er... Bye, Daria!” Daria had about a moment to get used to the idea of this random stranger chatting her up before he got to within earshot.
“Hey,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.
“Hey yourself,” Daria answered. “If you're looking for my friend, she had to -”
“No, I - I wasn't looking for your friend. My name's Tom.” Tom stuck his hand out to Daria in greeting.
“Scarlett,” Daria answered. She caught sight of Jane out of the side of her glasses while shaking Tom's hand. “I don't recognize you from school - do you go to State?”
“Nope, still in High School. Fielding. What about you?”
“Grove Hills. Andrea over there goes to Lawndale High,” Daria replied, pointing at Jane.
“Huh. Tough school. What's your concentration?” Daria had to improvise - for all she knew, this guy might know someone at Grove Hills or have a sibling there. Plus, the canned music had just been turned on following Mystik Spyral's first set.
“Concentration - that's a Fielding thing, right? My electives are all in English - creative writing and criticism. So, what are you doing here, anyway? This isn't really a Fielding Prep kind of hangout.”
“I come here sometimes; it's good to get out of one's comfort zone, see new things. Isn't that what Barthes is always talking about?”
“From your point of view, I guess it could seem that way,” Daria answered, trying not to laugh.
“Exactly. So, as long as we're getting all PoMo, have you ever seen a deconstructionist convertible?” It was getting harder and harder for Daria not to laugh in the earnest young man's face. She needed an escape.
“Sure, convertible. Let me go let Andrea know. You stay right there, okay?” Daria's about-to-explode face told Jane everything she needed to know.
“So, a real winner, huh?”
“These guys I knew back in Texas would have been closer. But sure, we'll go with winner. He asked me to see his convertible - how does a girl say no to that?” Daria allowed herself a chuckle or two.
“He has money, then?”
“Yeah, Tom's loaded, and he's a live one. Scarlett is on the move.” A wicked smile bloomed across Jane's face.
“Same place?”
“Yep. Just give me an extra hour or so this time,” Daria answered. “He looks a little shy.”
“You got it, amiga. I'll make the usual arrangements.” Daria leaned in to give Jane a kiss goodbye and headed over to her new friend.
“So, ready to show me that convertible of yours, Tom?”
“Um, sure. Hey, if you and Andrea are - ”
“Don't worry about her,” Daria cut him off. “It's - it's complicated. We have our rules, and that's really all you need to know. So, shall we?” Daria grabbed Tom's arm by the elbow, and they were off. Once Jane saw that they were gone, she walked over to the bar to borrow the telephone.
“Hi, Le Grand Hotel? Let me speak to Bobby, please. Bobby? It's Andrea. Scarlett's on the move. Suite 502? Perfect. Yes, the usual - 10 percent.”
Dega Street was quiet, except for the occasional burst of noise every time the Zon's door opened. As they approached Tom's rusted-out Pinto, Daria had a sinking feeling in her stomach that the night might not go as planned. But the more Tom kept talking, the easier it seemed things would go.
“So I figured everyone wants to be different somehow, right? We all need that little thing that makes us unique. Our own semiotic, if you will.”
Daria bit her lip; Tom had nearly gotten that one right.
“So, I told Dad that I needed a car that expressed danger; that only someone who was really interested in pushing the limits would want to ride in. And what better analog for danger is there in automobiles than the Ford Pinto? Right, Scarlett?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Daria replied, nearly over-doing it expressing false interest. “Are you a dangerous man, Tom?” Daria smiled.
“Well, I - ” Daria stopped him with a soft kiss on his lips.
“Why don't you take me for a ride and show me?”
They drove around for a bit, Tom talking about Fielding, and the idiots he was forced to go to school with who would never step outside their comfort-zone long enough to go anywhere like the Zon. Daria half-listened, muttering “uh-huh” and “of course” as the situation warranted, wishing she could be anywhere but in that Pinto with that boy. After half an hour or so, she thought it might be time to press the issue.
“Tom, pull over.”
“What? I mean, we're on I-83, Scarlett, I can't just - ”
“Pull. Over,” she demanded, and so he did. After the car stopped along the shoulder, Daria took off her seatbelt and rolled over onto Tom in the driver's seat. She grabbed his face and fairly mashed it onto her own, looking for all the world as if she was trying to suck the soul right out of him. She then grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, while continuing to kiss him fervently and grinding into his lap as she straddled him. After about a minute and a half of this attention, she gasped in between kisses “Take me home.”
“Wha-?” Tom asked, his mind still in a rather libidinous haze, “won't your parents be there?”
“Not a problem,” Daria drawled, “I already told them I'd be spending the night at Andrea's. I'll just pack a little something, and then you'll find us a nice hotel.”
Mention of a hotel was apparently enough for Tom to be convinced, and the Pinto was pushed to its limits getting back to Lawndale. Daria asked Tom to wait in the Pinto a block away (making the excuse that she didn't want to be seen exiting such a wreck), told Jake (Helen was still at the office, as it was only 9:45) she'd be staying with Jane that evening, and went to her padded room to pack a few odds and ends.
Tom and Daria pulled into the parking lot of Le Grand Hotel about 10:15, which was half an hour earlier than the schedule Daria and Jane had agreed on at the Zon. This was going to take a bit more improvisation on Daria's part once they got upstairs. Daria looked over at the drivers seat, where Tom was fidgeting.
Daria cooed into Tom's ear. “It's okay, Tom. I know you're a bit nervous. Tell you what, why don't you just let me control things while we're in there. You'd like it if I took control, right?”
Tom exhaled, as if two-ton weights had just been removed from his shoulders. That was all the answer Daria needed. She smiled, grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat of Tom's Pinto, and said “Let's go, then,” and they walked to the hotel's front door.
Bobby was there to meet them, taking Tom's credit card as the three of them arrived at the front desk. He booked them into Suite 502, giving Daria a wink when Tom's head was turned. Bobby carried Daria's backpack up to their suite, holding out his hand to Tom after they got there. Twenty dollars later, and the bellhop was on his way, closing the door behind. Once the door was closed, Daria pushed Tom against it, kissing him passionately. She reached for his belt buckle, and opened it, removing his belt in the process. She heard Tom's breathing deepen and smiled. This was almost too easy. When she felt that Tom was beyond resistance, she grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him to the bedroom, where she threw him down on the king-sized bed.
“Now Tom,” she said, with a jaunty sparkle in her eyes, “I'm going to change into something a bit more comfortable. By the time I'm done, I don't want to see a stitch of clothing on your body, am I clear?” Tom nodded his head in assent.
“Good boy,” she said, tousling his hair. “I'll just be a moment, so be quick about it.”
Daria grabbed her bag and walked into the suite's spacious master bath. She ran the water in the sink and picked up the telephone next to the toilet, dialing Jane's house. When the answering machine picked up, Daria was satisfied that Jane was on her way, and began to dress for the evening's entertainment. She pulled a pair of leather shorts, a leather vest, and a leather combination-style biker hat from the bag. It took a moment or two to slip the shorts on over her boots, but when she was done, she took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. “Well,” she thought “if that pantywaist appreciates semiotics so much, let's see what he makes out of this symbolism.” She left her jacket, tee shirt and skirt in the bathroom and grabbed her bag.
Tom had followed instructions quite well, and there was nothing like sitting naked for seven long minutes in a well-air conditioned room for sapping what little confidence there was straight out of a teenage boy. When he saw Daria dressed like a cartoon dominatrix, his confidence sunk even lower, so he did his best to make up for it with wit.
“Gee, Scarlett, if I'd've known, we would have taken your Harley here.” This turned out to be the wrong move.
Daria frowned, walked up to the edge of the bed where he was sitting, and smacked him hard enough across his face for his head to turn with the impact.
“You will speak only when I allow it, is that clear?” she asked him. She then stifled a wicked grin as she considered her next bit of fun. “And when you do, you will address me in a Southern accent as 'Miss Scarlett.' Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” Tom replied, bowing his head and doing his best impression of Prissy from [i]Gone With The Wind[/i]. This tickled Daria to no end, but she let it go for the sake of her performance.
“Now,” she continued. “I want to see you on the floor on your hands and knees. Move!” Tom complied, and Daria took his place at the edge of the bed.
“What wrong with my boots, Tom?” she asked.
“Er, nothing, Miss Scarlett.” This was the wrong answer. Daria pushed him over with her boot.
“They're filthy; that's what's wrong. I think they could use a good cleaning, don't you?”
Tom nodded in response.
“Excellent. Now be a good boy and give them a nice spit-shine. And if you so much as think of touching me anywhere other than those boots, you're going to wish you hadn't.”
Tom began, tentatively at first, to lick Daria's boots clean. As they were nearly knee-high jump boots, Daria was certain that this would take as much time as Jane needed to get over there, and she wouldn't have to touch him again that evening. Besides, watching the spoiled Fielding brat think he could “sow some oats” if he kept licking was amusing, to say the least. Ten minutes into the boot-licking, there was a knock on the door.
“Go answer the door, boy, will you?” Daria asked. A relieved Tom pulled his exhausted tongue back into his mouth and began to stand.
“Tom?” Daria asked, severely.
“Yes, Miss Scarlett?”
“I didn't tell you to stand up.” Defeated, Tom got back down onto hands and knees and crawled into the suite's living room to open the door for Jane. Jane walked through the door and tousled Tom’s hair (even scratched behind his ears). She stopped when she saw Daria emerge from the bedroom, dropped her bag, walked over to her, and gave her a long, deep kiss, which Daria returned greedily. The under-foot Tom was banished to the couch as Daria and Jane continued to make out like teenagers in the middle of the living room; mouths open, hands roaming freely.
Tom would certainly go to his grave saying it was a simple scratch that undid him. A harmless scratch - something any man would do unconsciously. Unfortunately for him, Jane didn't quite see it that way.
“Oh, God. That's just gross - Scarlett?”
“Mm? What happened?”
“He - he was touching himself!,” Jane exclaimed. “Watching us - just, ew.”
Daria raised slightly on her toes to kiss Jane on the cheek. “It's not his fault, Andrea. The poor boy's just all excited. He thought he brought me up here for sex, after all, right?” Daria pointedly walked over to Tom, smacking him hard across his cheek. “Answer me when you're spoken to!”
“I - er, No, Miss Scarlett.” Daria smacked him again.
“Really? You expect me to believe that you shelled out all this money on a girl you picked up at some skeezy club, for a hotel room no less, all just for conversation?”
Tom shook his head.
“Excuse me? Didn't hear you, Tom.”
“No, Miss Scarlett. You were right. I brought you up here for sex.” Daria smiled.
“Excellent, now we're getting somewhere.” She sat down next to Tom. Jane took a seat in a nearby desk chair. “You brought me up here for sex. But, as you've probably figured out by now, I like sex with girls. You have figured that out, right, Tom?”
“Yes, Miss Scarlett.”
“Good. Now, if little virgin Tom is going to get his cherry popped, we're going to have to make some changes. Andrea?” Daria turned to her friend and drawled, “do you have anything that could help?”
Jane smiled brightly. “Why yes, I do!” she said, and grabbed her bag where it sat by the door. From it, she pulled a bright yellow sun dress, a matching bra and knickers set, and the falsies Dr. Shar had given Daria a few months earlier. Tom's mouth opened in shock.
“Wait just a minute,” he said. “You two set me up!” Daria and Jane just laughed. Then Daria stood up and smacked Tom again on what was becoming an increasingly sore cheek.
“God! Don't you remember the simplest things? I told you Andrea and I had our rules, and you should let me run things, right? Well, these are the rules: she gets to watch. If you don't like it, there's the door!” Daria pointed forcefully at the exit. Tom, however, remained still.
“Good,” Daria said. “Now, go into the bedroom and put these on. Then you're going to give us a little dance to get us in the mood. Clear?” Tom grabbed the costume from Jane and did as he was told.
Daria and Jane did their best to control their snickers after the bedroom door closed. Jane pulled her father's Nikon D-1 from her bag while Daria looked on.
“Dad didn't like it because the resolution on these things is lousy,” Jane explained. “For anything over eight-by-ten, there's just no clarity. But for this, we should be just fine.”
Tom's eyes widened when he saw Jane holding the camera. Daria noticed this and walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek.
“Don't worry,” she said, out of character, “There's no film in there - it's just a prop.” She then swatted his rear forcefully and sat back down on the couch. “Now dance; and make it good, if you want sex, that is.”
Tom did his best, but legacy prep-school boys really aren't known for their dancing. Nonetheless, Daria and Jane enjoyed the show; Jane snapping many pictures with her father's camera. Tom wiggled and shimmied the best he could, while Daria sent whistles and cat-calls of encouragement. Ten minutes later, having gotten bored, Daria decided to move on.
“Very nice, Tom,” she said, clapping slowly. “I think we'll make a girl out of you, yet. Why don't you take those knickers off and go into the bedroom. If you can lie on your back and hold on to your ankles by the time I get in there, I'll make you feel something you've never felt before.
Jane and Daria were familiar with their roles, and when they walked into the bedroom, like clockwork, Daria picked Tom's belt up from where she left it near the bathroom and tossed it to Jane. She pulled the belt as tight as she could around Tom's ankles and wrists, tying the belt off in a knot to prevent his escape. She then snapped five or six more pictures of Tom as he lie there, while Daria rifled through his wallet.
“Hundred eighty-five. Not a bad haul,” Daria said. “Too bad the credit cards can all be traced.” She then walked over to Tom and kissed his forehead. “Now, you be a good boy and tell Daddy that you need a thousand dollars cash in a week, because you knocked up some guttersnipe and she wants to be the next Mrs Tom. Bring it to the Zon where you met us next Thursday, okay? Otherwise, all those digital pictures Andrea took will be sent to everyone who registered an AOL account with a Fielding dot edu email address, okay?”
There were tears rolling down Tom's cheek as he nodded acceptance. Jane grabbed the falsies from inside the brassiere (the clothes they'd leave with Tom, but those falsies would be expensive to replace). Daria kissed his forehead again, and then went to the bathroom to get changed, smiling. They'd owe Bobby a hundred, but the one-eighty-five they scored in cash was all theirs. She and Jane packed up and grabbed each others' hands as they walked towards the suite's front door.
Daria made it to the living room when she heard Tom call for her.
“Miss Scarlett?” Tom asked, still in the Southern accent. Daria was amused, so she ducked her head back in the bedroom to see what he wanted. What she heard next chilled her straight to the bone.
“If I get you that money sooner, can we do this again some time?”
Author: a_respite
Fandom: Daria
Word Count: 3200 or so
Warnings: Dubious Consent
Rating: R for bad behavior
Summary: What would it have been like if Tom had been checking out Daria during "Jane's Addition?"
“Jane, do you know that guy?” Daria asked. The ring of microphone feedback was still stuck in her ears, which, along with a surreptitious Jack and Coke or three may have clouded her judgment, but Daria Morgendorffer had, for the last five minutes, watched her best friend and some random stranger making eyes across the room.
“I don't, Daria, but I think he'd like to get to know you. He's been staring at you for most of the set,” Jane answered, eyes still pointed at the dark-haired stranger.
“Staring at me?” Daria protested. “He's - ” Daria was cut off by the young man starting to make his way across the club.
“On his way over, apparently.” Jane finished. “Oh, look and I promised Trent I'd, er... Bye, Daria!” Daria had about a moment to get used to the idea of this random stranger chatting her up before he got to within earshot.
“Hey,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.
“Hey yourself,” Daria answered. “If you're looking for my friend, she had to -”
“No, I - I wasn't looking for your friend. My name's Tom.” Tom stuck his hand out to Daria in greeting.
“Scarlett,” Daria answered. She caught sight of Jane out of the side of her glasses while shaking Tom's hand. “I don't recognize you from school - do you go to State?”
“Nope, still in High School. Fielding. What about you?”
“Grove Hills. Andrea over there goes to Lawndale High,” Daria replied, pointing at Jane.
“Huh. Tough school. What's your concentration?” Daria had to improvise - for all she knew, this guy might know someone at Grove Hills or have a sibling there. Plus, the canned music had just been turned on following Mystik Spyral's first set.
“Concentration - that's a Fielding thing, right? My electives are all in English - creative writing and criticism. So, what are you doing here, anyway? This isn't really a Fielding Prep kind of hangout.”
“I come here sometimes; it's good to get out of one's comfort zone, see new things. Isn't that what Barthes is always talking about?”
“From your point of view, I guess it could seem that way,” Daria answered, trying not to laugh.
“Exactly. So, as long as we're getting all PoMo, have you ever seen a deconstructionist convertible?” It was getting harder and harder for Daria not to laugh in the earnest young man's face. She needed an escape.
“Sure, convertible. Let me go let Andrea know. You stay right there, okay?” Daria's about-to-explode face told Jane everything she needed to know.
“So, a real winner, huh?”
“These guys I knew back in Texas would have been closer. But sure, we'll go with winner. He asked me to see his convertible - how does a girl say no to that?” Daria allowed herself a chuckle or two.
“He has money, then?”
“Yeah, Tom's loaded, and he's a live one. Scarlett is on the move.” A wicked smile bloomed across Jane's face.
“Same place?”
“Yep. Just give me an extra hour or so this time,” Daria answered. “He looks a little shy.”
“You got it, amiga. I'll make the usual arrangements.” Daria leaned in to give Jane a kiss goodbye and headed over to her new friend.
“So, ready to show me that convertible of yours, Tom?”
“Um, sure. Hey, if you and Andrea are - ”
“Don't worry about her,” Daria cut him off. “It's - it's complicated. We have our rules, and that's really all you need to know. So, shall we?” Daria grabbed Tom's arm by the elbow, and they were off. Once Jane saw that they were gone, she walked over to the bar to borrow the telephone.
“Hi, Le Grand Hotel? Let me speak to Bobby, please. Bobby? It's Andrea. Scarlett's on the move. Suite 502? Perfect. Yes, the usual - 10 percent.”
Dega Street was quiet, except for the occasional burst of noise every time the Zon's door opened. As they approached Tom's rusted-out Pinto, Daria had a sinking feeling in her stomach that the night might not go as planned. But the more Tom kept talking, the easier it seemed things would go.
“So I figured everyone wants to be different somehow, right? We all need that little thing that makes us unique. Our own semiotic, if you will.”
Daria bit her lip; Tom had nearly gotten that one right.
“So, I told Dad that I needed a car that expressed danger; that only someone who was really interested in pushing the limits would want to ride in. And what better analog for danger is there in automobiles than the Ford Pinto? Right, Scarlett?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Daria replied, nearly over-doing it expressing false interest. “Are you a dangerous man, Tom?” Daria smiled.
“Well, I - ” Daria stopped him with a soft kiss on his lips.
“Why don't you take me for a ride and show me?”
They drove around for a bit, Tom talking about Fielding, and the idiots he was forced to go to school with who would never step outside their comfort-zone long enough to go anywhere like the Zon. Daria half-listened, muttering “uh-huh” and “of course” as the situation warranted, wishing she could be anywhere but in that Pinto with that boy. After half an hour or so, she thought it might be time to press the issue.
“Tom, pull over.”
“What? I mean, we're on I-83, Scarlett, I can't just - ”
“Pull. Over,” she demanded, and so he did. After the car stopped along the shoulder, Daria took off her seatbelt and rolled over onto Tom in the driver's seat. She grabbed his face and fairly mashed it onto her own, looking for all the world as if she was trying to suck the soul right out of him. She then grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, while continuing to kiss him fervently and grinding into his lap as she straddled him. After about a minute and a half of this attention, she gasped in between kisses “Take me home.”
“Wha-?” Tom asked, his mind still in a rather libidinous haze, “won't your parents be there?”
“Not a problem,” Daria drawled, “I already told them I'd be spending the night at Andrea's. I'll just pack a little something, and then you'll find us a nice hotel.”
Mention of a hotel was apparently enough for Tom to be convinced, and the Pinto was pushed to its limits getting back to Lawndale. Daria asked Tom to wait in the Pinto a block away (making the excuse that she didn't want to be seen exiting such a wreck), told Jake (Helen was still at the office, as it was only 9:45) she'd be staying with Jane that evening, and went to her padded room to pack a few odds and ends.
Tom and Daria pulled into the parking lot of Le Grand Hotel about 10:15, which was half an hour earlier than the schedule Daria and Jane had agreed on at the Zon. This was going to take a bit more improvisation on Daria's part once they got upstairs. Daria looked over at the drivers seat, where Tom was fidgeting.
Daria cooed into Tom's ear. “It's okay, Tom. I know you're a bit nervous. Tell you what, why don't you just let me control things while we're in there. You'd like it if I took control, right?”
Tom exhaled, as if two-ton weights had just been removed from his shoulders. That was all the answer Daria needed. She smiled, grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat of Tom's Pinto, and said “Let's go, then,” and they walked to the hotel's front door.
Bobby was there to meet them, taking Tom's credit card as the three of them arrived at the front desk. He booked them into Suite 502, giving Daria a wink when Tom's head was turned. Bobby carried Daria's backpack up to their suite, holding out his hand to Tom after they got there. Twenty dollars later, and the bellhop was on his way, closing the door behind. Once the door was closed, Daria pushed Tom against it, kissing him passionately. She reached for his belt buckle, and opened it, removing his belt in the process. She heard Tom's breathing deepen and smiled. This was almost too easy. When she felt that Tom was beyond resistance, she grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him to the bedroom, where she threw him down on the king-sized bed.
“Now Tom,” she said, with a jaunty sparkle in her eyes, “I'm going to change into something a bit more comfortable. By the time I'm done, I don't want to see a stitch of clothing on your body, am I clear?” Tom nodded his head in assent.
“Good boy,” she said, tousling his hair. “I'll just be a moment, so be quick about it.”
Daria grabbed her bag and walked into the suite's spacious master bath. She ran the water in the sink and picked up the telephone next to the toilet, dialing Jane's house. When the answering machine picked up, Daria was satisfied that Jane was on her way, and began to dress for the evening's entertainment. She pulled a pair of leather shorts, a leather vest, and a leather combination-style biker hat from the bag. It took a moment or two to slip the shorts on over her boots, but when she was done, she took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. “Well,” she thought “if that pantywaist appreciates semiotics so much, let's see what he makes out of this symbolism.” She left her jacket, tee shirt and skirt in the bathroom and grabbed her bag.
Tom had followed instructions quite well, and there was nothing like sitting naked for seven long minutes in a well-air conditioned room for sapping what little confidence there was straight out of a teenage boy. When he saw Daria dressed like a cartoon dominatrix, his confidence sunk even lower, so he did his best to make up for it with wit.
“Gee, Scarlett, if I'd've known, we would have taken your Harley here.” This turned out to be the wrong move.
Daria frowned, walked up to the edge of the bed where he was sitting, and smacked him hard enough across his face for his head to turn with the impact.
“You will speak only when I allow it, is that clear?” she asked him. She then stifled a wicked grin as she considered her next bit of fun. “And when you do, you will address me in a Southern accent as 'Miss Scarlett.' Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” Tom replied, bowing his head and doing his best impression of Prissy from [i]Gone With The Wind[/i]. This tickled Daria to no end, but she let it go for the sake of her performance.
“Now,” she continued. “I want to see you on the floor on your hands and knees. Move!” Tom complied, and Daria took his place at the edge of the bed.
“What wrong with my boots, Tom?” she asked.
“Er, nothing, Miss Scarlett.” This was the wrong answer. Daria pushed him over with her boot.
“They're filthy; that's what's wrong. I think they could use a good cleaning, don't you?”
Tom nodded in response.
“Excellent. Now be a good boy and give them a nice spit-shine. And if you so much as think of touching me anywhere other than those boots, you're going to wish you hadn't.”
Tom began, tentatively at first, to lick Daria's boots clean. As they were nearly knee-high jump boots, Daria was certain that this would take as much time as Jane needed to get over there, and she wouldn't have to touch him again that evening. Besides, watching the spoiled Fielding brat think he could “sow some oats” if he kept licking was amusing, to say the least. Ten minutes into the boot-licking, there was a knock on the door.
“Go answer the door, boy, will you?” Daria asked. A relieved Tom pulled his exhausted tongue back into his mouth and began to stand.
“Tom?” Daria asked, severely.
“Yes, Miss Scarlett?”
“I didn't tell you to stand up.” Defeated, Tom got back down onto hands and knees and crawled into the suite's living room to open the door for Jane. Jane walked through the door and tousled Tom’s hair (even scratched behind his ears). She stopped when she saw Daria emerge from the bedroom, dropped her bag, walked over to her, and gave her a long, deep kiss, which Daria returned greedily. The under-foot Tom was banished to the couch as Daria and Jane continued to make out like teenagers in the middle of the living room; mouths open, hands roaming freely.
Tom would certainly go to his grave saying it was a simple scratch that undid him. A harmless scratch - something any man would do unconsciously. Unfortunately for him, Jane didn't quite see it that way.
“Oh, God. That's just gross - Scarlett?”
“Mm? What happened?”
“He - he was touching himself!,” Jane exclaimed. “Watching us - just, ew.”
Daria raised slightly on her toes to kiss Jane on the cheek. “It's not his fault, Andrea. The poor boy's just all excited. He thought he brought me up here for sex, after all, right?” Daria pointedly walked over to Tom, smacking him hard across his cheek. “Answer me when you're spoken to!”
“I - er, No, Miss Scarlett.” Daria smacked him again.
“Really? You expect me to believe that you shelled out all this money on a girl you picked up at some skeezy club, for a hotel room no less, all just for conversation?”
Tom shook his head.
“Excuse me? Didn't hear you, Tom.”
“No, Miss Scarlett. You were right. I brought you up here for sex.” Daria smiled.
“Excellent, now we're getting somewhere.” She sat down next to Tom. Jane took a seat in a nearby desk chair. “You brought me up here for sex. But, as you've probably figured out by now, I like sex with girls. You have figured that out, right, Tom?”
“Yes, Miss Scarlett.”
“Good. Now, if little virgin Tom is going to get his cherry popped, we're going to have to make some changes. Andrea?” Daria turned to her friend and drawled, “do you have anything that could help?”
Jane smiled brightly. “Why yes, I do!” she said, and grabbed her bag where it sat by the door. From it, she pulled a bright yellow sun dress, a matching bra and knickers set, and the falsies Dr. Shar had given Daria a few months earlier. Tom's mouth opened in shock.
“Wait just a minute,” he said. “You two set me up!” Daria and Jane just laughed. Then Daria stood up and smacked Tom again on what was becoming an increasingly sore cheek.
“God! Don't you remember the simplest things? I told you Andrea and I had our rules, and you should let me run things, right? Well, these are the rules: she gets to watch. If you don't like it, there's the door!” Daria pointed forcefully at the exit. Tom, however, remained still.
“Good,” Daria said. “Now, go into the bedroom and put these on. Then you're going to give us a little dance to get us in the mood. Clear?” Tom grabbed the costume from Jane and did as he was told.
Daria and Jane did their best to control their snickers after the bedroom door closed. Jane pulled her father's Nikon D-1 from her bag while Daria looked on.
“Dad didn't like it because the resolution on these things is lousy,” Jane explained. “For anything over eight-by-ten, there's just no clarity. But for this, we should be just fine.”
Tom's eyes widened when he saw Jane holding the camera. Daria noticed this and walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek.
“Don't worry,” she said, out of character, “There's no film in there - it's just a prop.” She then swatted his rear forcefully and sat back down on the couch. “Now dance; and make it good, if you want sex, that is.”
Tom did his best, but legacy prep-school boys really aren't known for their dancing. Nonetheless, Daria and Jane enjoyed the show; Jane snapping many pictures with her father's camera. Tom wiggled and shimmied the best he could, while Daria sent whistles and cat-calls of encouragement. Ten minutes later, having gotten bored, Daria decided to move on.
“Very nice, Tom,” she said, clapping slowly. “I think we'll make a girl out of you, yet. Why don't you take those knickers off and go into the bedroom. If you can lie on your back and hold on to your ankles by the time I get in there, I'll make you feel something you've never felt before.
Jane and Daria were familiar with their roles, and when they walked into the bedroom, like clockwork, Daria picked Tom's belt up from where she left it near the bathroom and tossed it to Jane. She pulled the belt as tight as she could around Tom's ankles and wrists, tying the belt off in a knot to prevent his escape. She then snapped five or six more pictures of Tom as he lie there, while Daria rifled through his wallet.
“Hundred eighty-five. Not a bad haul,” Daria said. “Too bad the credit cards can all be traced.” She then walked over to Tom and kissed his forehead. “Now, you be a good boy and tell Daddy that you need a thousand dollars cash in a week, because you knocked up some guttersnipe and she wants to be the next Mrs Tom. Bring it to the Zon where you met us next Thursday, okay? Otherwise, all those digital pictures Andrea took will be sent to everyone who registered an AOL account with a Fielding dot edu email address, okay?”
There were tears rolling down Tom's cheek as he nodded acceptance. Jane grabbed the falsies from inside the brassiere (the clothes they'd leave with Tom, but those falsies would be expensive to replace). Daria kissed his forehead again, and then went to the bathroom to get changed, smiling. They'd owe Bobby a hundred, but the one-eighty-five they scored in cash was all theirs. She and Jane packed up and grabbed each others' hands as they walked towards the suite's front door.
Daria made it to the living room when she heard Tom call for her.
“Miss Scarlett?” Tom asked, still in the Southern accent. Daria was amused, so she ducked her head back in the bedroom to see what he wanted. What she heard next chilled her straight to the bone.
“If I get you that money sooner, can we do this again some time?”