Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day

by Sierra Sparks

  I suppose the one good thing about being an hour and a half train ride away from the great metropolis of New York City was that I could be anonymous and maintain my privacy. I doubt many people from Hudson College went into the city often and if they did, I doubt they'd have a reason to visit The Exchange.

  When I arrive, I notice that this club is even bigger and more opulent than the one in Boston. It features luxurious décor and staff that lines up to serve me as soon as I enter.

  "Mr. Masters," an older, attractive woman says, as she takes my arm and pulls me towards the back of the stage, where women are getting dressed and putting on make up. "My name is Melissa. It's nice to meet you. And it's so nice to have you here in our New York City club. We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival."

  And my money, I think. She's probably the "madam" of this club— an older woman who knows the ropes and shows the younger women around, while ensuring that the clientele is happy. She's probably heard what a big spender I am.

  "Please let us know if there's a certain woman who catches your eye," she says. "We want to make sure that she's prepared to sell everything you might want to buy."

  These clubs escape prostitution laws by letting the girls sell different things: anything from a coffee date to practically a week of being chained up as someone's sex slave is for sale. Of course, they don't put it into those exact words when they're up on the auction block. They use different colored bracelets to signify the different levels of "companionship" each girl is selling.

  As I look at the girls in different stage of undress— some are completely naked— one does, in fact, catch my eye. She's talking to another woman, and she doesn't look like she belongs here. She's wearing a long black skirt and a flowery hippy type blouse.

  Her green eyes look innocent, and I want to see them peering up at me as I shove my cock in her mouth. Her long, luxurious hair is piled high on top her head. It's curly and red and I want to slowly unravel it between my fingers and then mess it up while I fuck her until she's sweaty and exhausted.

  "That one," I tell her, pointing at the girl. "I'd like her."

  Melissa looks a big surprised, blinking and then pointing as well.

  "That one there?"

  "Yes," I tell her.

  "I'll be… very blunt with you, Mr. Masters," she says, shaking her head. "She is brand new, and we're having difficulty ascertaining whether she'd be suitable material for our club."

  "She's suitable," I tell her. "She suits me. I want her."

  She clears her throat. Why are women always clearing their throats around me?

  "Okay," she says. "I'll make it happen. Why don't you go to the bar to get a drink and make yourself comfortable?"

  "That's alright," I tell her. "I'll take a seat. And I'll be waiting to buy that girl right there."

  I take one last look at her long legs and high hips before heading to the front of the auditorium. She's just my type: curvy and full-figured, with some athletic tone to her as well. And she looks like such an innocent little thing, like she was dropped as a cherubic angel from Heaven.

  I can't wait to corrupt her. To possess her. To satisfy her until she's screaming my name and wishing she was mine for good.

  But I only ever see anyone once. So I'll have to disappoint her, by giving her the fucking of her life and then leaving her to deal with life without me and my huge cock.

  Chapter 8 – Sarah

  I stand on stage in a silver sequined dress, trying my best not to shiver. But I'm cold, and I'm nervous, a bad combination that makes it hard to fulfill that goal.

  I had called the number I'd written down and the woman who answered— Melissa— told me she couldn't talk to me until I sent her my picture as well as a signed confidentiality agreement to not talk about anything we might discuss should she choose to call me back.

  Geez.

  What exactly was I trying to sign up for? The Secret Service?

  I'd had to ask her to only call me between certain hours, which would be when my dad was working at the parsonage. She called me back almost immediately after I'd sent her the requested items, though.

  She told me to show up today— this Friday night— and to bring my nicest dress. She said I'd only have to go to dinner with one of the men at the club.

  I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. I didn't know what I'd talk about at dinner with a stranger. I would rather feel the pleasure of a man's hands on my lonely body. I felt like having sex for my very first time, not talking about things I have no idea about.

  Here were men willing to pay for my company; I'd expect them to want to buy my virginity. But it appeared I couldn't even get them to want to have sex with me, even though they hadn't heard about my tyrannical father. So for this reason, I felt a bit upset.

  But I was also glad I wouldn't be selling myself into prostitution. That didn't seem like a great way to get ahead in the world. I had my future business to think about.

  Now, I look out into the audience and wonder what I'm doing here. I'm clearly out of place. When I first arrived, Melissa had taken one look at my clothes and said I probably wouldn't be a good fit.

  "But I brought the dress," I told her, holding up the floral print dress I wore to church on Sundays.

  It was my nicest dress, and even though I'd thought about trying to buy the equivalent of a Prom dress at the general store before leaving town, I hadn't wanted to risk my dad finding out and stopping me. I also brought a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and some other necessities.

  I'm hoping I make enough tonight to get a hotel room and then I can keep working, saving up enough money to make payments towards my tuition while I figure out how to get student loans without my parents' signature. I really couldn't stand for this club to reject me and send me back to Hudson, where my dad would probably kick me out for running away, when I never even wanted to be there in the first place.

  I'd been embarrassed enough in my hometown. The last thing I needed was to be known as an unsuccessful runaway.

  "That will not do," Melissa had said. "Here, see if Natalyia has anything you can wear. You look to be about the same size. But in the meantime, I'm going to go talk to the owners to see if you're even suitable for this club."

  "What does that mean?" I asked her, but she was already gone.

  "She means you're a little too Little House on the Prairie," said someone else, and I turned around to see a tall, skinny brunette looking down her nose at me.

  "Oh, leave her be," said another woman, a curvy blonde who winked at me. "We were all new here once. I'm Natalyia, and I do have a dress you can borrow."

  "Thank you," I'd told her, sincerely relieved.

  "Now burn that one and never even think of wearing it again," the first girl said.

  "Stop it, Belinda," Nataylia said, but she was laughing a bit and so was I.

  A few minutes later, Melissa came back and said, "Sarah, you've been saved."

  "The Powers That Be are into the wholesome image now?" Belinda asked, looking at me with a hint of jealousy.

  "No, surprisingly, a client wants her to stay," Melissa answered. "Perhaps other gentlemen will share his taste and we'll start a bidding war."

  "Hrmph," Belinda says, turning positively green with envy.

  Yes, I thought, having never been the object of envy before.

  "It's always good to have some fresh blood in here," Melissa responded and then walked away.

  "Good for the club because it brings in more money for them," Belinda grumbled. "But not for us lowly workers, who have to compete for scraps."

  "Oh please," Natalyia told her, as she handed me the beautiful gown I'm wearing right now. "You can't call a quarter of a million dollars scraps."

  "A quarter of a—?" I almost choke, unable to believe the figure she'd just quoted.

  But just then yet another woman walked by, clapping her fingers and saying, "Stage in fifteen minutes, Ladies."

  "Woah, I'd better
get ready," I said, grabbing the dress and hoping I could squeeze into it— it looked a size or two too small for me even though Natalyia and I looked to be about the same size. I assumed that tighter was better around here.

  "Here," Natalyia said, handing me some make up. "Put this on while you're at it. You're a pretty girl naturally, but these guys expect make up."

  I froze, not only stunned that she— such a pretty girl— had called me one, but also at the thought of wearing make up. My religion forbids it and my dad would kill me. But I had to laugh, since that was hardly the biggest transgression I was committing tonight.

  "Great," I told her. "Thanks."

  Then I'd hurried to get ready, for what would undoubtedly be an adventure like none I'd ever had before. And now I'm standing up here ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  "Here we have Sarah Grace," says the man serving as the auctioneer, using my full name. "She's a rather sheltered girl from a small town, and she's here for the first time tonight."

  I'd watched some other girls who had gone before me, so I knew how the process worked. Melissa had given me a bracelet she said meant I'd only have to have dinner with the guy who purchased my company.

  Easy enough, I tell myself now. Just dinner. Just relax.

  I take a deep breath and look out at the strangers in the audience. I wonder if anyone at all will bid on me. I look rather plain compared to these other girls and I don't even think I put my make up on right.

  "Ten thousand dollars," says a guy in the front row.

  Woah.

  My stomach jumps up into my throat as I wonder if I heard him right. Ten thousand dollars, just for dinner?

  "Twenty thousand," says someone else, in the middle of the crowd.

  "Thirty thousand," says another guy, and then the first guy counters with, "Fifty thousand."

  Okay. I definitely heard right. This is crazy. But here I am standing up and doing it, so I guess I have to admit I’m pretty crazy, too.

  Chapter 9 – Sarah

  I look more closely at the guy who is currently winning the bidding war, and my stomach drops back down and then ties itself in knots. He's frumpy, bald and pimply. I guess it won't kill me to have dinner with him but I certainly wouldn't look forward to it. I guess I could fake myself through an engaging conversation, for that much money.

  "One hundred thousand dollars," says someone else, a little further back.

  Thank God for whomever is outbidding this ugly guy, I think, and I squint to make out the latest bidder— who must be a big spender. He's gorgeous. He has dark brown hair and matching eyes, framed by thick glasses that make him look studious.

  Even from here, I can tell there's some gray specks in his hair but they just make him look even more distinguished. He's tall and broad shouldered, with a muscular chest and strong arms that look like he can pick me up and swing me over his shoulders.

  Yes, please win, I think. I'd gladly have dinner with him, and a hundred thousand dollars would be enough to pay for my tuition outright. I'm beginning to be very glad I came tonight.

  But the bidding isn't over. The first man says, "Two hundred thousand" and the new guy quickly says, "Three hundred."

  Someone from behind me on the stage— probably jealous Belinda— lets out a whisper and says, "For dinner?"

  That's my question exactly, but I don't ask it out loud. I just go with it and decide not to press my luck by asking questions.

  The man in the front row says, "Three fifty."

  A silence falls over the audience and I'm hoping and praying this man doesn't win. I want the hot older guy. A dinner with him would give me lots of fodder for my fantasies.

  To my delight, he raises his auction card again but this time he says, "Half a million dollars, but she has to change her bracelet."

  Some people in the audience gasp, but then a hush falls over the crowd. I look around in confusion and finally Melissa approaches me.

  "This gentleman is very interested in you," she explains. "But he is asking if you are willing to do more, for more money."

  "How much more, exactly?" I ask.

  Immediately I know it doesn't even matter. I'd do anything for this man, and he probably wouldn't even have to pay me. Especially when the alternative man is the ugly man in the front row.

  "The next step up is the purple bracelet," she says. "It means oral sex."

  I pause, as if considering it, although my mind is already made up. I don't even know if it means I have to go down on him, or if he will go down on me. But I decide it doesn't matter.

  "Okay," I tell her, nodding.

  "That's a wise decision," she says, handing me a purple bracelet.

  "Hey, that's not fair!" the guy in the front row shouts.

  My eyes meet Natalyia's on the stage behind me, and she looks like she's trying not to laugh. We exchange a relieved glance.

  "This man has a lot of money and I'm sure if you want to do more next time, he'll give you even more of it," Melissa says.

  The auctioneer tells the man in the front row, "This is a fair and square process," while Natalyia and I both try not to laugh again. "Sarah Grace is now wearing a purple bracelet, so anyone, including you, is free to bid on her for that color."

  "You know most of us don't have that much money," the guy huffs.

  "Alright then," says the auctioneer with a shrug. "Let's see. Anyone with a bid higher than five hundred thousand?"

  "Six hundred thousand," says the guy in the middle row, and this time when I meet Natalyia's eyes, she's raising her eyebrows and nodding her head as if to say good job.

  It looks like my fate with the hot older gentleman is not yet sealed. And it also looks as if I've started quite the bidding war.

  Chapter 10 – Adam

  As soon as I saw this Sarah Grace I knew I had to have her. And now that she's on the stage, within my reach, I'm more sure of it than ever.

  I like coming to The Exchange because I get any girl I want and they let me do depraved things that not just any girl will do. I appreciate that it's a monetary transaction and there's no chance of them getting clingy or wanting commitment. But I've never spent this much money on any girl before— and this one's not even offering sex.

  Yet.

  I'm sure I can get her to change her mind. I have that effect on women. The effect that makes them beg me for sex instead of the other way around. And I don't even care that it's more money than I'm used to paying. I'm filthy rich, and I want to dirty her up no matter what the cost.

  “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I say, not even bothering to hold up my bidding card.

  People must think I’m crazy, paying three quarters of a million dollars to have oral sex with a girl I’ve only seen once. But when you make the kind of money I do, this is nothing. Plus, I don’t plan to stop at oral sex and by the time she gets a taste of me, she won’t either.

  “Going once…” says the auctioneer, correctly guessing that no one will want to raise my bid. “Going twice, going three times… sold for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  I stand up to go pay for and collect my winnings.

  “No fair letting new guys in here to outbid everyone,” the bald guy in front grumbles loudly. Whatever. He’s just jealous. If he was as rich as me, he’d spend as much as I just spent too.

  “Here you go,” says Melissa, motioning at the girl with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Sarah, meet Adam. Adam, meet Sarah.”

  “Hi,” she says shyly, those gorgeous eyes looking up at me and then back down.

  “Hi.”

  I feel rather silly as I say it, like some dumbstruck school boy. I don’t know why she’s having this effect on me— this isn’t like me at all.

  Out of all the parts of her to notice— her gorgeous curves and the way her cleavage seeps out of that dress a lot better than it was doing in her weird-looking street clothes— I had to go and notice her eyes first. What the hell has gotten into me?


  “Right that way,” she says, pointing towards the VIP room in the back.

  She winks at me, as if to say I told you we aim to please here at the New York City branch of The Exchange, and I nod at her, in thanks.

  Soon, it’s just the girl whose name they told me was Sarah Grace and me, by ourselves in a room fit for whatever we choose to do in it. There’s a bed, a couch, a chair, a stripper pole, a bench, and, if this room is anything like the ones in Boston, a closet full of BDSM equipment as well.

  “So, which one of us is going to do the honors first?” I ask her, jokingly.

  “Ha, ha.”

  She laughs, but it’s a meek chuckle, and she looks nervous. I remember they told me she’s brand new. I feel honored to be her first client, but a little bad that she’s so anxious. I don’t know what to do with her and in the past it would have made me mad, that they foisted some new girl on me— I’m not paying money to train a lady how to act when a gentleman buys her company and her body— but for some reason, I take pity on her.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I tell her, and she looks at me skeptically, as if figuring out that she’s supposed to be playing a certain part. “What brings you to The Exchange?”

  “I like money,” she says, “and sex.”

  The last part was said a lot less convincingly than the first part, but I admire her trying. A witty girl who uses humor in an uncomfortable situation— I like it.

  “Shall we get down to it, then?” she asks.

  She gets down on her knees and crawls over to me. I’m impressed, but it also looks like something she thinks she’s supposed to be doing. Something she saw in some porn video or maybe in sex ed class or something. She does not seem like someone who would be here at The Exchange. And I have to admit I find it cute.

  When she’s on her knees directly in front of me, she squeezes my package and begins undoing my fly. I look down at her and let her do her thing. I feel that if I help her out, she’ll be offended. She wants to act like she’s a pro at this, so I decide to let her. At least for a little while.