Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Read online

  “Emerald, I would like you to be ready in twenty minutes, if you please.”

  I gulped. Twenty minutes? For a girl—a woman—to get ready for a date? That was impossible. Oh, God, I thought as I peeled out of my sex soaked clothes, I’d just said date, as if this relationship with Rainier was some sort of courtship.

  Hah! He and his twenty minutes could be damned!

  As much as I told myself I didn’t care, though, I found myself scurrying, working madly to meet his constraints. How I hated him! With each passing encounter, with every fresh minute I spent with him, he only grew more insufferable.

  Exactly nineteen minutes later, exhausted and out of breath, I presented myself for inspection. My nipples were taut, my breasts well revealed in the tight bra. Below this, tingles ran up and down my unstockinged legs, well above the short hemline, clear to my naked cunt. Twice during the shower I’d had to hold off the impulse to masturbate.

  “I prefer your hair down,” he said, ignoring my otherwise stellar preparations.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I thought up would be better.”

  Getting it to stay up, as a matter of fact, had been a minor miracle. I’d been darned proud of my effort, too. But now, under his stolid gaze, the only thing I could think of was how I’d displeased the man already and how much I couldn’t bear to do that again.

  “Allow me.” He rose to his feet to rearrange my hair. He was dangerously close to the back of my neck, not to mention my stinging derriere. I’d been fortunate that the hem just covered the lowest of the welts from Randy’s whip. As it was, I wouldn’t be doing a lot of bending over tonight.

  Rainier’s breath singed my ear as he leaned over me, his capable, powerful hands manipulating the pins and ribbons. In a matter of seconds, he’d removed them, allowing my hair to cascade down my neck, spilling over to the small of my back. The dress was backless, and the touch of my own soft, tresses caressing that bare spot made me feel warm and needy all over.

  “That’s much better,” he said softly.

  “Yes,” I whispered, my neck craning instinctively to be closer to the sound of his voice. It felt like what Randy had done, only more powerful. It occurred to me now that the whole time I’d been in that hotel, submitting for the strong detective, it was really Rainier I’d wanted.

  “Gustav,” I breathed, speaking his voice soft as a feather, my lips parted in invitation as I fell against his powerful torso. “Oh, Gustav.”

  Rainier seized my hair, bowing my neck in such a way as to deny me my kiss. “Not yet, my dear,” he teased. “Not yet.”

  I moaned softly as he touched a finger to my lower lip and ran it down my chin to the hollow between my breasts.

  “Not yet,” he repeated as I lifted my arms up to him, my eyes begging.

  “Come,” he announced, releasing me, his tone all business. “We’ve a reservation waiting for us.”

  I hesitated and was rewarded with a playful blow to my buttocks with the cupped palm of his hand. For a moment I froze, a wave of near orgasm passing through me. The reaction shamed me as much as it tickled him.

  As we left the apartment, I had no concern whatsoever where we would go or what we would eat. I didn’t even care if I ever came home again or what my name was. I was with him; that was all that mattered. I wanted him, and until I had him I would hang on his every word, melt at his every touch.

  No textbook or class lecture had ever prepared me for these feelings. I felt so alive, so feminine. The entire world seemed lit by my passion for this one man. Every sound, every smell, pointed to him and me, together. With every step, I dreamed and oozed sex. In the elevator, I imagined him pushing the emergency stop button, sealing the two of us in that tiny, stifling space. He’d look at me with those eyes, and I’d know I was cornered. Game over.

  Without him saying a word, I would reach for the hem of my dress and pull it over my head. Naked then, save for the mockery of a bra and the shoes he’d made me wear, I would go to him, attentive to his every move so as to know how to offer myself. Would he want me down on my knees, so he could fill my insolent mouth, teaching me what it was for? Or would he bend me over, making me hold the brass handrails while he took his pleasure with one or both furrows, each more than willing to receive me?

  “You look good with whip marks, Emerald,” he would say as he pressed his throbbing penis into my waiting hole. “I shall see to it you have them at all times.”

  “Yes,” I would reply, on the perilous brink of orgasm already. “Yes, master.”

  And then again, as we entered the car, my buttocks sliding across the leather seat, I pictured him shoving me down, holding my hands over my head and pushing my legs apart with his knee.

  “Don’t disappoint me,” he’d warn as he tore at the fastenings of his clothes, his eyes never leaving mine. “Remember, you’re mine, to punish as I wish.”

  “Yes,” I would say, as I do again and again in my fantasies. “Master.”

  In reality, the limo ride was silent, the two of us sitting on opposite rows of seats, facing one another. He passed the time reading the paper, checking on some investments he intended to trade first thing Monday morning. I pretended to be as indifferent as he was, but inside I screamed for attention. Anything, even a cold slap on the face would be better than being ignored, I thought bitterly.

  What was wrong with me? I wondered. Why didn’t he want me? How much more available could I be? In a short dress, no panties, glued to the leather seat, desperately trying, and failing to keep myself decent. . .wasn’t I sexy enough? Why didn’t he just want to throw me down and have his way with me?

  Of course, you’ve probably guessed that this cold shoulder routine was part of his training as well. Indeed, his every word, his every motion was calculated towards that end. I’ve been over these events a thousand times in my mind; believe me, I know. It was scripted, every bit of it, with nothing left to chance. Imagine it as a kind of hunting. The prey is stalked, run down, exhausted, confused. The time of attack is plotted for optimum effect, and even then, after the dart, bullet or arrow is delivered, there is still more waiting as the creature is allowed to wind down to total collapse.

  Or in my case, the complete capitulation of my will. I don’t know how I could fall for his trap so easily. Being allowed to think I was winning a battle here or there or gaining some small advantage when all along it was about making me his pet, a sleek little creature, dependent, obedient, and—worst of all—blissfully happy.

  “Do you ever take a break,” I pouted, arms folded as he answered his third cell phone call.

  Rainier regarded me for a brief, disinterested moment. “If you’d like,” he offered magnanimously, “you may caress me with your mouth while we ride.”

  My mouth went dry, my eyes bugging as he gestured to his crotch. “No, thank you,” I spit as acerbically as possible. “I’m sure I can amuse myself.”

  The rest of the journey I stared at my feet, the daintily painted nails, utterly exposed in the open-toed shoes he’d picked for me. My cheeks were surely as pink as the polish and I prayed he would not guess how close I had come to taking him up on his offer to perform fellatio on him.

  It would have been a most humiliating act, of course. I would have had to crouch or kneel on the carpet between the seats. My lipstick would have been ruined. I’d have had a penis in my mouth as the car sped down the expressway, a penis belonging to a coldly indifferent man, a man on the cell phone talking business the whole time.

  “That sound? Oh, just ignore it,” he’d reassure his caller in Taiwan or Sydney. That’s just a girl sucking me off. Her name? Em something. Emily? Emma? She’s a doctor. A psychologist, would you believe it? The body’s hot enough, but she’s a total prig. The belt? Yes, she would do well with a beating. She was whipped earlier today, by a police detective. Would you believe she begged him to fuck her afterwards? Pretty much forced him to, actually. A slut? Oh, I know it. She deserves what she gets. Sex slavery? Yes, that’s the
best thing for her, the sooner the better, I say.”

  I shook my head to clear it. That wasn’t Rainier’s voice I was hearing; it was mine. A specter, deep in my head, judging, condemning. It all stems back to the paternal relationship, I reminded myself, back to the . . .

  My thoughts were abruptly halted by the mention of Krissy’s name. Kristine, as he’d called her. Kristine Wiley.

  “The piece is a little like Britney, yes. Or that new one, Marissa somebody,” he was saying now. Rainier paused to listen before giving himself over to a deep laugh. “Yes, I’ve had that fantasy about taming some celebrity American brat myself. Sorry to say this one’s not famous. She’s already broken as well, but I suppose he could always pretend. The ass is tight, I assure you. It’ll take quite a licking. What? Yes, I know, meat like that is a penny a pound over there,” he sighed.

  “Let’s make it a gift then—the girl and the five hundred shares in exchange for first consideration on the Mossheimer deal. Of course, I’ll handle the branding. Just have the chairman’s people or yours fax me a facsimile of the mark he wants. My recommendations? Most people go with their initials. Tell him to think about tattoos, as an option, as well. There’s a lot more variety and aesthetically it’s more attractive to the eye. In this case, a monogram on the buttocks or the left hip would be splendid. Crossed whips, or an engraved ‘K’ for Kristine, assuming he wants to keep the name.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. My barely hidden cunt hummed. Whether or not this conversation was for my benefit, it was having its effect. My sweet little Krissy was being talked about like a piece of meat. Men were going to mark her and sell her, to some third person. A man who would play games with her, humiliating sex games involving celebrities. No doubt she’d be beaten, too. Taken far away, sold, beaten and fucked, never to return to her native land.

  It was all I could do to stay in my seat. How could I sit like this, knowing that even with the skimpy clothing I had, I was a hundred times better off than Krissy? If I couldn’t save her, than I should throw in my lot with her, fall right now to Rainier’s feet and beg him to enslave me, too.

  “Yes,” Gustav chuckled. “I’ll look forward to that, too. I’ve got to go, now; we’re at the club. By the way, thank you for that Polynesian piece; you were right, it’s a fine addition to my indoor jungle display, especially with the pierced cunt and nipples. Now if only I could keep the guards’ hands off.”

  Rainier was still smiling broadly as he pocketed the cell phone. “We’re here, my dear,” he reached across to pat my half bared thigh, pressed as tightly as could be managed to its mate. “Hope you brought your appetite.”

  Appetite? I felt like I was going to throw up. How could I hope to face anyone right now, let alone eat a meal? Things only got worse when I saw the name on the marquis. We were at the Girly Girl Club downtown, one of the franchised outlets of Rainier’s ‘Girls, Limited’ empire. In fact, as near as I could remember from Krissy’s account, it was the very same Girly Girl Club where she’d first gone to work for Rainier.

  “Good evening, sir,” the doormen bowed. They were huge, tuxedoed men with sharp eyes that made me afraid to look them in the face.

  “Always a pleasure to have you,” said the manager, who was waiting at the entrance.

  “At ease, Jerry,” he smiled, putting his hand on the man’s arm. “We’re just here for a good time like everybody else.”

  I was on Rainier’s other arm, my hand tucked in for dear life. I’d heard enough about this place to know it was far from female friendly. Indeed, male customers predominated, though there was a smattering of females at some of the small round tables. None were alone, though. There were several dining areas, and a number of private rooms as well as a dance floor. It seemed to be a combination restaurant, club and strip bar. The motif was eclectic. There were odd objects on the brick walls, various relics of masculinity from safaris, ski trips and boxing matches.

  The tables were still half empty, though I anticipated a Saturday night crowd would soon be arriving. My own personal choice would have been for a more secluded spot, but we were directed to a large room in the basement, the door of which was guarded by a hooded man in a leather jock strap.

  The sign above the door read, “Fetish Room.”

  The leather covered man stepped aside to let us in. The décor was chic, though trimmed with various racks and devices that left little doubt as to what kind of fetishes were involved. There was a stage on which a girl in a g-string and nothing else had been twisting her body round a brass pole. One look at Rainier and she nearly jumper to attention, her movements suddenly rivaling that of a ballerina.

  The girl was a busty redhead, with rings through both nipples. Her feet were bare and gold chains graced both her ankles. Another chain, unadorned and worn close as a collar, hung at her neck. I looked for, but did not see, whip marks on her alabaster skin.

  “I would be honored,” Jerry the manager declared, bowing a second time as the white clothed, candlelit table was presented. “To act as your server tonight.”

  “Not at all,” Rainier shook his head as he held out my chair for me. “One of the regular girls will be fine. Who’s on tonight?”

  Jerry rattled off several names. I listened for, but did not hear, Krissy’s name. Settling myself as best I could on the velvet chair in my tiny dress, I watched as Gustav seated himself, his back to the stage.

  “What about Heather?” he queried, spreading his napkin over his lap.

  Jerry cast me a quick look, probably to gauge my level of involvement in the organization. “Heather is, uh, on retainer at the moment. At your orders, I believe.”

  “Ah, yes,” he nodded. “Now I remember. Heather was sent away.” He looked right at me as he spelled out the details. “She was found wanting by a customer, in the oral skills area. She had a bit of an attitude about it so we dispatched her to the re-education camp for a while. How long ago was that, Jerry?”

  “Last Tuesday, sir.”

  “That long? Hmm. She’s probably a different girl by now. The camp teaches discipline, Emerald, if you’re wondering. Its methods are a bit unorthodox, but the results are consistent.”

  I smiled politely, my head filling with images of the kind of ‘methods’ a man like Rainier would use. Abuse and punishment, to be sure, along with nudity and chains; degradation enough to make a girl more than anxious to resume her place at a club like this.

  “A lot of the girls don’t know how good they have it,” he remarked, as if reading my mind. “Do they Jerry?”

  Jerry and I were looking at the redhead, observing as she rolled her sweaty body on the stage, bits of dust and grit collecting on her smooth skin.

  “No,” agreed Jerry, his concentration intent on evaluating the dancing girl, “they don’t.”

  I was filled with pity for the girl; was she dancing well enough, or would she be found wanting? Surely she was a sexual dynamo, pretty and sweet and full of moves. But what would that in itself be enough for men like these who were used to having anything from any girl they wanted?

  “We’ll try Jasmine, tonight,” Rainier exclaimed, declaring his choice of waitress as though he were ordering a wine.

  Jerry lowered his head respectfully. “I’ll send her to you at once.”

  The tall, statuesque brunette appeared as if out of nowhere. The girl trotted up and skid to a halt in front of us. She was a stunning beauty, with long shapely legs, a narrow waist and full breasts. The skimpy costume she wore left little to the imagination in viewing her assets. The pleated skirt, dark blue with orange piping came just below the crack of her arse. For a shirt she wore a white, cotton tank top, two sizes too small with the bottom cut away in thick zig zags so deep you could nearly see the bottoms of her D sized tits. Another cut had been made at the neck, allowing a generous look at her cleavage.

  With her high heels on she was nearly six feet tall. The topknot she wore seemed a perfect compliment to this sexy, Amazon look, as did the decen
tly developed biceps and triceps on her arm. Given the whole package, I found it hard to imagine such a creature would ever be dominated by any man, even someone like Rainier.

  And yet there was no mistaking the symbolism of the thick, padlocked leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. Shiny metal rings depended from each, presumably for binding. A similar device encircled her long and graceful neck.

  “Sir!” she exclaimed, trotting up, her tits flapping generously. “Where have you been?” Her tone was that of a little girl. “I missed you, sir.”

  Her over made eyes and pouting cherry lips bore down. “You forgot all about me, sir,” she wheedled, maintaining the angry child look until he good-naturedly rubbed her arse.

  “It’s business, Jasmine,” he sighed. “All business and no pleasure. That’s my trouble.”

  Jasmine licked her lips and ran her long, painted nails up her rock hard abdomen to cradle her barely covered breasts. “I’m all about pleasure,” she purred. “Choose me tonight and I’ll make you forget all your troubles.”

  “Emerald,” said Rainier, tucking his hand under the front of the girl’s miniscule skirt. “This is Jasmine. Jasmine, this is my friend, Emerald.”

  I tried to keep my eyes on her face and not on what Rainier was doing to her bared crotch.

  “Pleased to meet you, Emerald,” she beamed, seemingly oblivious to the man’s invasion of her sex. “Gee, that’s a lovely name.”

  “T—thanks,” I smiled awkwardly.

  “Jasmine was a genuine Vegas showgirl, weren’t you, sweetheart?” asked Rainier, his fingers blatantly masturbating the girl.

  Jasmine let go of her bosom. “It wasn’t any big deal,” she giggled, pulling the skirt up and out of Rainier’s way to give him easier access.

  “Not a big deal?” he countered. “You had the lead in two different revues.”