by Marni Mann
She walked over and lifted the bottle of champagne off the table, pouring some into her glass. “Can I get you something else to drink? I didn’t realize you weren’t a fan of the bubbly.”
Her nipples were less than a foot from my face, poking through the thin fabric of her shirt, like they were trying to reach for my teeth.
Jesus, fuck.
I stood, shifting the waist of my jeans to hide how hard I was. With my other hand, I picked up the champagne and downed it. “Nah, it’s fine. Where’s your bathroom at?”
I couldn’t think about anything besides shooting my load all over those perfect tits. With the kind of need pulsing through me, it wasn’t safe for me to be around her. It wouldn’t be safe until I got off and calmed down a little.
“Third door on the left.”
I took in more of her island scent as I moved around her and headed for the hallway. A few paces before I reached the bathroom, I heard a moan. The sound came from the only door on the right. As I got closer, I recognized the voice.
It was the stripper.
I leaned my shoulder into the doorframe and slowly peeked in. The stripper was lying on a bed, her knees bent, her toes digging into the mattress. She was naked, and one of her fingers was deep inside her pussy.
“Yesss,” she hissed. “Oh God, yes.”
There was just enough light to see the wetness on her hand and on the inside of her thighs. It was fucking hot—and she was hot. But she wasn’t the person I wanted to see on that bed.
“Beard, I’m so sorry,” Layla whispered from behind me. “She knew you were coming over, and—”
I turned around, my hands automatically grabbing Layla’s waist. I expected her to take a step back, to wiggle out of my grip. She didn’t do either.
“Go join her.”
“What?”
“Go join her,” I growled.
“But this isn’t—”
“What you planned for? I know. But I just stared at your girlfriend pounding her finger into her pussy, and the first thought that came to my mind was, I wish it were Layla on that bed, and I wish that finger were my cock.”
I saw the effect of my words on her face. It was the reason I dipped my head down to speak, so she could feel my breath on her ear.
“Fuck those plans, Layla. Fuck whatever you hoped would happen. We’re here, and this is what’s happening. Go join her.” I moved my mouth even closer. “Now.”
More heat rose over her cheeks, but there was so much hunger in her eyes, too.
“Since the last time you were here, she’s been talking about you a lot,” she said. “She likes you.”
I ran a hand over my beard.
This shit was tricky.
I knew the stripper liked cock. I’d felt that from the moment I met her. But I didn’t know if I should call that out.
“She likes you better,” I answered.
Her head tilted back just slightly, showing me the sexiness of her neck, and she laughed. “That is true.”
When her head straightened, she glanced down. My stare stayed on her mouth. Those fucking lips were so seductive.
“But…she likes you. And she wants you to touch her.”
My hands returned to her waist, all my fingers now clutching the hell out of her. It was so hard to keep them there. They wanted to be on her tits, brushing my thumbs over her nipples, squeezing just the very ends.
“She’s not the one I want to touch.”
“Beard—”
“I know. You don’t have to say it.”
“No, you don’t know.” She scrunched my T-shirt into her palm and used it to pull me closer. “I’m here again, and I shouldn’t be—for several reasons.”
“Whatever those reasons are, they don’t matter.”
“They do.” She looked around my shoulder to take a quick glance at the stripper. “I love her.”
“I’m not asking you to stop.” I took my hands off her hips, hoping it would help her think. “And I’m not saying we won’t do business together anymore. I’ve told you, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
She let go of my shirt and lifted one of my hands. She then traced around my wrist, down my finger, and across my nail. Her touch was so gentle. I wasn’t used to that. I was used to spanking ass and thrusting into tight holes.
But soft?
Shit.
I’d forgotten what that felt like.
“What do you want me to do with it?”
Her eyes told me she knew I was asking about my finger, the same one she was tickling.
I watched her think about my question. Hell, I could even see the war inside her head.
“I want you to touch her with it.”
“Where?”
I knew where. I just needed to hear her say it. Then, later tonight, when I got in the shower and fisted my cock, I’d hear her repeating it over and over in my mind.
“Between her legs.”
“Layla—”
“It’s for me, Beard.” She squeezed my knuckle, circling around it like it was the tightest cunt. “Every second this is on her, you’ll be doing it for me. But I want her to be the one feeling it.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to watch.”
I didn’t want to be inside the stripper’s cunt before I got inside Layla’s. I was only going to do this because she had asked so nicely, because I knew it would turn her on. And because I hoped, whenever Layla looked at her girlfriend’s pussy, she’d see my hand and want it for herself.
But that wasn’t enough.
If I was going to do this for her, I needed something in return.
“Only if you touch your pussy for me.”
I stared at her while she considered my demand. Conflict filled her face again. She was used to being in control—at work, at home. And then there was me, a mix of both, telling her what the fuck to do.
“Layla, if I’m going to touch your girlfriend’s cunt, then you’re going to touch your pussy for me, and I’m going to watch every inch of that finger slide in and out of it. Now, go lie on that bed with her.”
“Okay.”
She caved. Just like that. No fight, no counteroffer.
“Beard,” the stripper said as I followed Layla past the doorway, “come here.”
I didn’t take any clothes off as I knelt next to the stripper, and I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be the one getting touched tonight. It wasn’t time for that just yet. I simply reached down between the stripper’s legs and ran a finger over her clit.
Both women groaned.
“Move faster, Layla.”
She stood on the other side of the bed, removing her jeans and panties. Her eyes were on my hand, watching when I touched the stripper.
“I want you right here.” I used my other hand to point to the spot next to the stripper. “Now.”
Within a few seconds, Layla was on her back, her cunt staring up at me, her fingers just where I wanted them.
“I missed you, baby,” the stripper said to Layla.
She leaned over and kissed Layla, and it was so fucking sexy. To show how much I liked it, I pinched her clit and rolled it between my flesh.
“Ah,” the stripper moaned against Layla’s mouth, both of them glaring at me.
“Layla, I want you to do everything I’m doing to her. Got it?”
I spread the stripper’s legs and moved in between them, gripping her thighs to yank her closer to me. The new position gave me a better view of Layla and the way she was touching herself.
“Yes,” Layla breathed.
I slid two fingers into the stripper’s hole and rubbed my palm over her clit. She moaned instantly, guiding her hips up and down, like I was a fucking dildo.
I didn’t stop her.
Because the truth was, I didn’t give a shit about what she was doing. This was all about Layla. The stripper could ride this out on her own if she wanted. I just had to make sure Layla was doing exactly what I needed her to. That, while
she was on this bed, she was pumping that hole like my cock would. That, when she came, she would remember it. That she would see it every time she closed her eyes. And that, the next time I was with her, she would reach for my dick instead of my T-shirt.
“Just like this,” I said, adding a third finger but overlapping them so that they were shaped like a triangle. “Do it hard, Layla.”
Layla watched me as I thrust into the stripper. But, in my mind, I was plunging inside Layla instead. It helped that I didn’t move my stare from her. That we drove in with the same speed. That she was so close to me, I could almost feel her groans on my skin.
“Faster,” I demanded.
The stripper panted each time I pulled back to my nails and after every rotation against her clit. She was so fucking wet. And, as she tightened around me, I knew she was almost coming.
I just couldn’t tell if Layla was there yet.
“Layla, I want to hear you.”
The stripper’s legs spread further apart, and she began to really ride me. I didn’t even have to move my hand, but I did, meeting her in the middle, twisting my knuckles, making sure she felt the grind of my palm with each stroke.
“Rub your clit harder, Layla.”
“Oh God,” they moaned together.
“That’s it, baby,” I said.
“Yesss!” the stripper screamed. “I’m coming.”
Fuck, I loved that scream.
It sounded so hot. A little painful. It was the perfect tone.
“Layla, now, I want to hear you come. Scream for me, baby.”
The stripper squeezed Layla’s nipple. It was the sexiest thing she had done since I got on the bed. And she tugged it so hard, Layla’s tit lifted and bounced.
I slid away from the stripper and moved to the base of Layla’s legs, kneeling so close but not touching her.
“Fuck that pussy, Layla.”
Her moans told me she was getting closer.
“Fuck it like you want to come.”
And then I finally heard it. The noise I’d been waiting for.
Her scream.
I wanted to live in that sound. Wrap myself in it. Keep myself buried and never be let out.
I’d found it.
Again.
My own personal fucking prison.
The look on her face told me the pleasure had completely taken over her body. Shit, didn’t I wish I could replace that hand with my own. But, since I couldn’t, I stayed in front of her legs and watched her buck.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
Another scream.
I almost unzipped my jeans and shoved my dick inside her to see if the vibrations of her voice traveled to her cunt.
But doing that would be raping her.
I was a murderer, not a rapist.
So, I squeezed my dick over my jeans to calm the fucker down.
Layla’s stomach began to shudder, her hips popping off the mattress. “Beard. Oh my God.”
She ground out her orgasm, her movements slowing, her navel eventually stilling. When she removed her fingers, I leaned down and took them into my mouth. Our eyes locked the whole time as my lips surrounded her wet skin. Feeling her nails hit the back of my throat, I sucked every bit of juice from them.
“Get over here,” I said to the stripper.
She got on her knees and crawled closer.
“Lick it,” I told her, pointing at Layla’s pussy. “Suck up every drop of cum.”
I bent down further on the bed, so I could see the stripper’s tongue. After each lap, she swallowed.
This was fucking torture. I wanted to feel Layla’s soft lips on my mouth. I wanted her thick sauce to be running down my throat.
“More,” I barked. “Cover her whole clit. I don’t want any of it dripping onto the bed.”
“Mmm,” Layla moaned, pushing her head into the pillow, her eyes closing.
If it were my face down there, I’d quickly flick her hole, each swipe gently rising to her clit to get it ready for a second round and then gradually going back down to tease her again.
It had been so long since I ate pussy.
I’d fucked plenty. But eating was reserved for the special ones, and there hadn’t been many of those.
“I got it all,” the stripper said. Her chin was all wet from Layla, her lips red and puffy.
“You did good,” I replied, pushing myself off the bed and walking to the door.
In the archway, I turned toward the two women. I didn’t know what the hell I had started here. I didn’t know what would happen the next time I came back. I didn’t know what would be said the second I left.
I didn’t care.
Layla was satiated for the moment. Her eyes were on me. And I liked everything I saw in them.
My job here was done.
“I’ll see you both later.”
I moved out of the room and walked through the front door, never stopping once to look behind me.
Tyler
Five Years and Ten Months Ago
I finished the fourth knock and pulled my hand away from the metal door. Within a second, it burst open, a masked man on the other side. Unlike my face and Dean’s, his was entirely covered in a scarf, a small hole cut out for his nose and lips.
“Number?” he barked.
“Twenty.”
There was a shakiness in my voice. I wondered if the doorman could hear it or if the pounding in my heart just made everything feel like it was rocking.
The man held a small piece of paper, identical to the one at the previous entrance, and it appeared as though he were scanning it.
Our eyes finally locked, and his mouth parted. “Welcome to The Auction, Tye.”
Goose bumps covered my skin, the sound of his voice booming in my ears.
It was the first time my nickname had been spoken in here. Now, I was more than just a number. And, from this point on, I would have to prove my worth.
“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, yerekha. Tonight is only going to make me prouder.”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small TV remote. He made sure the face was pointed toward me. On it were three buttons, all in different colors.
“Green,” he said, his finger next to the top button, “is to bid. Red is to cancel. Black is to call for help.”
I reached for the remote, and he stopped me.
“Don’t press the black button unless it’s an emergency. We don’t fuck around with those types of calls.”
As I nodded, he set the remote on my palm, and I closed my fingers around it.
“Come on in, Tye.”
With Dean still clinging to me, I led him through the door and stopped when we were just a few feet inside. It didn’t matter how detailed the girls had been; nothing they’d said could have prepared me for this. It was unlike anything I had imagined.
Even though there weren’t any windows, the space didn’t feel like a basement at all. It was draped in reds and grays with elegant chandeliers, contemporary paintings, and a scent that just smelled like wealth. All the men and women wore scarves in varied prints. They held their remotes and sipped cocktails, standing at high-top tables or sitting on leather love seats. Bars and food stations were scattered throughout. But the focal point of the room, the place that held everyone’s attention, was the far back wall. That section was a stage, sitting several feet higher than everything else, and blocked off by a glass partition that prevented any of us from entering.
At least six women were on the stage, each of them dressed as a different animal. Some had horns. Others had ears. They all had masks on their faces, body paint covering their skin, long tails dangling by their heels.
“Meow,” Dean whispered.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Fortunately, an announcer came through the speakers, so I didn’t have to.
“Turn your eyes to the fox.” The announcer’s voice was monotone and gentle. “Item number eight-seven-three-nine-six-five is now
up for bid.” He paused while we found the woman he’d described, a spotlight turning on above her. “This is an Andy Warhol original. Perfect condition. Bidding starts at eighty-five thousand.”
There was a single beep. Not too loud but loud enough to get our attention.
“Bidding is now ninety thousand.”
After every beep, he would come back on to tell us the new price. And, the whole time, the fox held on to the wooden frame of the painting, her sly movements mimicking the animal almost exactly.
I wasn’t ready to get to work just yet. I needed a few minutes to get a feel for this place, to take a little bit of this edge off. I didn’t want a buzz, just something tasty to wet the dryness in my throat and calm the thickness in my chest. Every time I moved my hand, I would be reminded of the remote and the button I would eventually need to press. And of Mina, who I knew was somewhere in here, probably watching me, waiting for me to either succeed or fail.
“Let’s grab a drink,” I said to Dean, escorting him to the closest bar, feeling him shuffle extra fast to keep up.
“Pinot grigio,” I said to the bartender. “A reserve if you have one.”
He was tall, broad, and chiseled with brown paint covering his chest and a large white circle near the base of his neck. His mask was a deer skull, the horns extending several feet on both sides. His abs rippled as he moved. His horns bounced.
He just lifted a bottle out of an ice bath, filled a glass halfway, and then set it in front of me.
“Do you want some water, Dean?”
He stood next to me at the bar, staring down at me rather than the captivating animals on the stage.
“Dean?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like—”
“Yesss.”
He was so high.
“Water, please,” I said to the bartender, searching for his eyes. I wasn’t able to see them. There was only darkness within the holes of the skull. It gave me a chill.
He placed the glass before me, and I handed it to Dean.
“Let’s find a place to sit,” I told him, swishing some of the wine over my tongue.
Dean and I walked over to an empty love seat, and we both sat down.
“Home?”
“Not yet, Dean.”
He was still looking at me, his concentration much more intense than I had expected. Since he seemed so interested, maybe this was the right time to tell him why we were here.