The Auction

by Claire Thompson

  Though she’d only been with Adam a few days, she already felt a kind of loyalty toward him that came to the fore now that there were witnesses. She wanted to make him proud, and even more importantly, she wanted to prove to herself that she could obey and serve him as the trained slave she professed to be. Silently she promised herself that no matter what was asked of her tonight, she would submit with all the grace and obedience she possessed.

  “Carly handles erotic pain well,” Adam was saying. “She is meticulous in doing her chores. She’s eager to please.”

  “But…?” James said, his eyes twinkling. He was probably in his early sixties, Carly guessed, with a thick mane of silver hair brushed back from a high forehead, the lines radiating from corners of his eyes and the brackets around his mouth suggesting a man who laughed often. He wasn’t precisely handsome—his deep set eyes were too close on either side of a nose that was too big for his face, but there was a kindness and peace in his expression that made him attractive. “I hear a definite but in that statement.”

  Adam laughed. “Orgasm control. She’s definitely lacking in that area, right, Carly?”

  Carly felt the heat move over her skin and knew she was blushing. “Yes, Sir,” she admitted, stealing a glance at Amy, who no doubt could climax from a puff of air on her cunt, or withstand hours of sexual stimulation until given permission by her Master to let herself go.

  Amy was beautiful by any reckoning, despite being over sixty. Her hair was also silver, and cut short around a pixie face. She had large, doe-like eyes a rich shade of golden-brown, and a full mouth, also bracketed by smile lines. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, which she was doing now.

  “Remember our first year, James?” Amy said, as she looked over at Carly. “I had the control of a three-year-old and the patience of a gnat.” James grinned and nodded, stroking her head. Amy turned to look at Adam. “Carly’s had, what, a few days with you?”

  Adam looked sheepish. “That about sums it up. Though she is a trained professional,” he added with a small frown.

  “Nevertheless,” Amy continued, smiling toward Carly, who returned a grateful glance, “it takes time to get used to a new Master. I’d say she’s doing pretty well, wouldn’t you agree, James?”

  “I would indeed.” Turning to Adam, James said, “I brought along my new bullwhip.” He pointed toward a hard leather case he had set down beside the couch. “Amy got it for me, or should I say for herself”—he grinned, winking at his wife—“when we were in Australia. It’s made from kangaroo hide and packs a powerful wallop, right, slave girl?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Amy grinned back at him.

  “Maybe we can test out your claim of Carly’s ability to handle pain. What do you think, Adam?”

  “I think it’s an excellent idea,” Adam replied. He turned to Carly. “That is, if it’s all right with you. Have you experienced a bullwhip before?”

  “No, Sir,” Carly replied. “But I’ve watched demonstrations.” She liked the way Adam was around his friends. Something in his demeanor was gentler and more solicitous of her. It was like a bridge between their stolen, unspoken kisses in the night, and the stern taskmaster he presented during the day.

  Which of the Adams was the real one?

  She turned to James. “I think I could handle it, Sir.” She’d never been with someone skilled enough to use a bullwhip and was aware it took special training and technique. Somehow she knew James would have that skill, and she realized she already trusted the man completely, though she’d only known him for an hour. This would be her chance to prove her obedience and masochistic grace. She made a silent promise not to let Adam, or herself, down.

  James rose from the couch. “I think you could too.” He reached for the case and set it on the couch, undoing the clasps and opening the lid. He withdrew a short-handled bullwhip of dark brown leather, its plaited thong easily six feet long and tapering to a wicked-looking cracker at its end.

  “We wouldn’t want Amy to feel left out,” he said, reaching a hand down to his wife. “How about we’ll string up the girls side-by-side? That suit you, my darling slave girl?”

  “Oh, yes,” Amy breathed, her eyes shining as she took the offered hand.

  Amy wore a silky dress that clung to her small, narrow frame. She slipped out of it without a trace of self-consciousness. While no doubt not as pert as they once were, her small breasts were still pretty, the nipples pierced with golden hoops. She had a thatch of silver pubic hair between her legs, neatly trimmed and shaved into the shape of a heart. As she turned, Carly saw she had a tattoo just above her small ass. The design was a silver chain entwined with small pink roses, the words James’ Girl written in black lettering just below it.

  Adam and James led the two women to the central beam from which chains and cuffs hung waiting. Carly wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or competitive with the older woman, and realized she felt a little of both. She’s had decades of training, Carly reminded herself. Just do your own personal best.

  As the men positioned and cuffed them, Amy leaned her head close to Carly and whispered with an encouraging smile, “James is wonderful with a bullwhip. Just let yourself flow with the pain—let it take you to that special place.”

  James started slowly, using a flogger at first to warm and sensitize their skin. Carly closed her eyes, reveling in the thuddy strokes of the leather, almost like an embrace as they brushed her skin. As the flogging progressed, Carly’s breath quickened to a pant. She felt her cunt moistening and opened her eyes, seeking out Adam. She couldn’t see him and realized he must be standing behind her. Amy had her eyes closed, her lips lifted in a small, serene smile.

  After a time James said, “I’ll be switching to the whip now, girls. Amy, what’s your safeword?”

  “Rose, Sir,” she replied, not a trace of breathlessness in her voice.

  “And you, Carly?”

  Carly drew in and then let out a long breath in an effort to slow her breathing. “Auction.”

  “Good. Remember, there’s no shame in using your safeword. It’s a tool, a way of communicating that can be essential, especially when folks are just getting comfortable with each other. No one will judge you if you use it. It’s not a sign of weakness.” He paused while Carly absorbed this and then added, “And if you find you can’t speak? What do you do then, Amy?”

  “Make a fist and then open and close my hand, Sir.”

  “That’s right. Same goes for you, Carly, got it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The loud cracking sound of the bullwhip made Carly jump, her gasp audible. Amy remained perfectly still beside her. When it popped again, Amy moved slightly, and Carly realized the whip had made contact. Another crack, and this time it was Carly who jumped even before her brain processed the sudden, stinging welt left by the tip of the whip on her ass.

  Over and over the whip cracked first against Amy’s ass and then Carly’s. Though she tried to steel herself, each time the tip made contact with her skin, Carly jerked and gasped. Amy remained still as a graceful statue beside her, though her head began slowly to fall back, her lips parting.

  Each cracking pop of leather against her ass left a small trail of blazing heat. Carly began to dance on her toes, her body twisting to avoid the lash, even as her mind ordered it to stay still and deal. It hurt, oh, it hurt! Carly’s heart beat fast and high in her throat. Her ass felt like it was on fire as the whip snaked again and again over her skin.

  Auction. I can say the word and they’ll stop. They won’t judge me. It’s not a sign of weakness.

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her back, and Adam’s voice near her ear, his tone soothing. “Stop fighting it, Carly. Flow with it. Flow with the pain. Embrace it. Accept it. Breathe. Take long, deep breaths. I know you can do this.”

  Carly leaned back into his touch, feeling as if he’d just pulled her back from the brink of giving up. She could do this. She was doing it. She was grateful for his words and determined to do bett
er.

  Taking as much air into her lungs as she could, Carly slowly exhaled, and then drew in another slow breath. The cracking of the bullwhip continued, but this time when it touched her skin, Carly forced herself to lean into the pain, to reach for it. It hurt as much as it had before, but somehow she was able to handle it better. Adam’s words still echoed inside her head—I know you can do this.

  Carly glanced at Amy, who remained still and serene beside her, her head back, a look of utter peace on her face. Carly let her own eyes close and dropped her head back too, as if by assuming the position, she would find the same level of serenity and acceptance.

  “Yes,” she heard Adam breathe softly behind her. “Yes, that’s it. Good girl. I’m proud of you.”

  Something began to shift inside her. She didn’t feel precisely serene, but she found she could tolerate the fiery sting. Not only tolerate it, her skin actually tingled in anticipation of the lash as she waited her turn to feel its cracking kiss. She fantasized it was Adam wielding the whip, and they were alone. Soon he would take her down and make love to her, his skin cool against her fire, his kiss soothing away the pain…

  She realized the whipping had stopped, and some kind of soothing balm was being gently stroked over her stinging, abraded skin. And then the cuffs were released, and Adam had his arm around her shoulders. He led her to the sofa, where Amy was already kneeling in front of James, who sat back, the bullwhip curled on his lap.

  “Very impressive,” James said, smiling at Carly. “Adam didn’t exaggerate your grace in handling erotic pain.”

  Carly found herself beaming back at James, a sense of pride making her feel warm and happy. James looked at Adam and asked, “What else did you have in mind for this evening?”

  “I was thinking we should give Carly a turn in the cock box. She’s quite skilled in pleasing a man with her mouth. I know she’d be honored to show you, James. Isn’t that right, slave girl?”

  The warmth and happiness that had suffused Carly a moment before shriveled into a hard ball in her stomach as she stared at the wooden chest with the glory holes drilled into the sides. She hadn’t told Adam of her fear of small spaces. Even a crowded elevator was sometimes enough to send her into panic mode. How would she cope with being placed in that narrow coffin-like structure? What if she started screaming, or worse?

  All three of them were looking at her expectantly, Amy and James smiling, Adam with his eyebrows raised, his head slightly cocked, as if looking to her for confirmation.

  I’m proud of you.

  Adam’s words played in her head as the three of them waited for her response. She couldn’t let him down. How hard could it be to lie in the box for a few minutes? She would have the distraction of the men’s cocks to suck and pleasure. Adam was right—she was good at that, and she knew it.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, pushing past the hoarseness that threatened in her voice.

  James and Adam removed the thick padding from the top of the chest. The lid was closed by clasps along one side, which they released. When they lifted the lid, Carly could see that inside it was lined with a thick quilt and there was even a small pillow for her head. She would just pretend she was in a bed in the dark. That was all. She’d keep her eyes closed and use her hands and her mouth to pleasure her Masters. It would be easy.

  No sweat.

  She could do this.

  She accepted Adam’s hand when he offered it, stepping gingerly into the narrow space. Swallowing hard over the lump that had risen suddenly in her throat, Carly lowered herself onto the soft quilt and lay back, forcing the bubbles of panic threatening to burst through her to stay down, compressed into the small ball of anxiety still twisting in her gut.

  When the lid closed, she shut her eyes. The sound of the latches closing with metallic finality caused a rush of foul tasting bile to rise in her throat. She swallowed again, willing herself to be calm. She could hear the muffled sound of masculine voices, and a moment later she felt the brush of a cock head against her cheek.

  She turned her face toward the phallus, recognizing Adam’s scent and girth as her lips closed over the shaft. There was a sound on the other side and she turned her head to find what must be James’ cock, longer and thinner than Adam’s, but just as hard. Tentatively she licked a circle around the head. He tasted clean and she took more of the shaft into her mouth, while maneuvering to reach Adam’s offered shaft with her hand.

  That’s when she made her mistake.

  She opened her eyes.

  The box was black as pitch inside and all at once it felt as if the wooden walls were closing in on her. The twisting ball of anxiety she’d kept at bay in her gut hurtled through her body, turning the blood in her veins to ice and making her feel sick and lightheaded, as if she was going to pass out.

  She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but her mouth had gone dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, her teeth chattering. Her heart was thundering in her chest and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her body was slicked with sweat, a rank vinegar smell coming from under her arms.

  Safeword. I have a safeword. Say the fucking safeword.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came. She opened and closed her hands, but of course no one could see what she was doing. Panic took over the last vestiges of conscious, rational thought, dragging Carly along in the wake of it. She began to thrash, barely aware of what she was doing, desperate to escape, sure she was about to die…

  ~*~

  Adam and James met each other’s eye when they heard the scuffling sounds coming from the cock box. Something wasn’t right. Before either could react, Amy, who had been kneeling submissively nearby, leaped to her feet. “Open the box. Something’s wrong!”

  James and Adam both pulled away from the chest. The latches were on James’ side, and he moved quickly, releasing them and throwing back the lid. Carly was curled inside, her eyes squeezed shut, her face pale as death, twitching and thrashing as if she were having an epileptic seizure.

  Panic gripped Adam’s innards as he stared down at the girl. Amy pushed him aside and reached down, hauling Carly to a sitting position. “Help me get her out of there,” she barked, no trace of submission in her tone. “She’s having a panic attack. Why the hell did you let her do this?”

  “I didn’t know!” Adam cried. Together he and James lifted the shaking girl from the cock box and set her on the sofa. Her face was pale, her skin clammy to the touch.

  Amy sat beside her, placing a hand on Carly’s arm. “Carly, listen to me, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re out of the box. You’re safe. It’s okay. You’re okay.” She stroked Carly’s arm. Her voice was calm and reassuring, and Adam offered a silent prayer of thanks that there was a doctor here dealing with this situation.

  Jesus! A panic attack! How the hell was he supposed to have known Carly didn’t like confined spaces? Why hadn’t she told him? Why hadn’t it been in the hard limits section of the contract? Damn it, this wasn’t his fault.

  Was it?

  “Breathe,” Amy was saying. “Slow, deep breaths. We’ll do it together. In, one, two…” She inhaled. “And out, one, two. Yes, that’s it. One, two…nice and slow. You’re safe now, Carly. You’re doing good, baby. Breathe.”

  Adam was intensely relieved to see Carly relaxing against the sofa back. Her shaking had subsided and the color had returned to her face. He glanced at James, who had pulled his jeans back on, and realized he himself was still naked, his cock flaccid. He grabbed his underwear and jeans, pulling them on.

  Bending down, he held out Amy’s dress to her, but Amy waved it away. “Not now,” she mouthed. Aloud she said, “Adam, can you get Carly a glass of water, please?”

  Glad to have something to do, Adam raced from the dungeon. He poured a glass of water in the bathroom, and grabbed his robe on the way out. When he returned to the dungeon, Carly was leaning forward on the sofa, her hands caught between her knees. There were tears on her face, but she seemed to
be breathing normally, thank god, and her eyes were focused.

  Adam handed her the glass of water, which she took, offering him a tremulous smile. Sitting on her other side, he draped his robe over her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice catching. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I should have told you. I thought I could handle it.” Another tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Carly, it’s okay,” Amy said in a firm but gentle tone, still in doctor mode. “Really it is. You had a panic attack. It can happen to anyone and it can come on suddenly. The fact you worked through it so quickly is an excellent sign. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my bag from the car and give you a quick examination, just to make sure everything’s okay with you. And then you’ll rest and take it easy. All right?”

  Carly rocked forward, hugging herself. “Oh, gosh. I’m okay, really. I’m embarrassed is all—”

  “No,” Adam interrupted. “Let her, Carly. Please.”

  Carly looked at Adam, her blue eyes wide, another tear slipping down her soft cheek.

  A mistake, he realized with sudden, stark clarity. This is all a mistake. What the hell was I thinking? You can’t buy submission, for god’s sake. This is my fault. My fault. I have to make this right. I have to stop this now.

  I have to let her go.

  Chapter 12

  There was no air in the tiny box. She could feel the pressure on all sides and knew it was a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before the weight of the water crushed the box and it came pouring in. She might be able to hold her breath for a minute, maybe longer, and then, her lungs bursting, she would have no choice but to open her mouth, her silent screams drowned in a rush of saltwater…

  “Carly! Carly, wake up. You’re dreaming. Wake up!”

  Carly felt herself being pulled upward—the blackness turning to green and then gold as she burst into the light. Gasping, she shook her head, gulping in the fresh, pure air.

  It took several more seconds to realize she wasn’t afloat in the ocean, but lying in a warm, safe bed. Adam loomed over her, his face a mask of concern. “You were talking in your sleep. Crying out. Are you okay?” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, backlit by the light streaming in from the hall.