Sold: Highest Bidder

by Willow Winters

  I watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers along my spine, sending a tingle of need and want flowing through me.

  “I want my hand to sting when I’m done with you.” His dick hardens beneath me and I feel it pulsing against me. I whimper from the teasing torture he’s putting me through.

  He sets his hand flat against my ass and lowers his lips to my ear, his piercing green finding mine in the mirror. “I’ll let you watch tonight. And if you’re good, I’ll let you ride my face and then fuck yourself on my dick. But if you make one sound, one movement, you’ll get none of that, and you’ll go right to bed once I’ve rubbed the cream on your ass so you can at least sit tomorrow.”

  I want so badly to breathe, to blink, to move. But his dirty words and dark promises keep my gaze straight ahead, locked into his trance.

  “Yes, Master.”

  I count the smacks along my ass in my head, each one making me wetter and wetter, anticipating the reward for being such a good girl for him. My body jolts and after only eleven, my thighs are soaked.

  At fifteen, the tears start to leak from the corner of my eyes and he starts fingering me, playing with my pussy between the blows.

  At twenty-one, he picks up the pace, eager to end it, I think.

  I was such a good girl for him.

  He whispers it as he fucks me. Good girl.

  I pass out in his arms, sated and exhausted, and I think… I think he whispers it again as he kisses my hair and then leaves me alone in the room.

  Chapter 19

  Isaac

  I sigh heavily, hearing the words of my mother and that abusive prick. Worthless.

  That’s the word she loved to use.

  “Why are you up?” she asks, and my mother’s voice is flat and hoarse. She’s at the small kitchen table wearing nothing but a ripped nightshirt and a hot pink bra underneath.

  Memories of what life used to be like flash before my eyes. The laughter and pancakes. Mom used to cook. Back before everything changed.

  Now the fridge is always empty and the linoleum floor is always dirty from whatever she did last night with him. I’ll clean it all up after school. It’ll be okay. I can fix this.

  Her eyes are so red as she rocks at the table. I know she’s high. I’m old enough to know. I think my teacher knows. Mrs. Klintsova keeps asking me questions. But I don’t tell them anything. I don’t want her to get in trouble. She just needs help. I can help my mom. I love her.

  She must know that.

  “I never should’ve kept you. I knew your father was going to leave me.”

  I stare at my mother, not understanding. Dad died overseas. “He died at war.” The words come out before I can stop myself, and I wish they hadn't. Mom lunges from the table, her ripped night shirt exposing the bright bra underneath. She smacks me hard across the face, gripping my shoulders and yelling into my ear.

  “You’re just like him!” She keeps shaking me, and I let her. She just needs to get it out of her system. I know she’s hurting. I wish someone would help her. Tears roll down my cheeks and that only makes my mom angrier, but I can’t help it.

  It all hurts. I just want my mom back.

  I stare at the ceiling, not moving. These memories come to me often, and they only remind me of the fucked up past that made me who I am. But I’m fine with that. I’ve grown to realize I can live with knowing who I really am.

  I’m not worthless to Katia. I can do so much for her. She’ll put her faith in me, she’ll give me control, and I’ll give her everything she needs.

  It’s important that she has privacy, a place that she feels at home. I know this, but I hate it. I want her tied to my bed so I can take her easily in the morning.

  I roll onto my back, the sheets and thick comforter pulling with me. The dim light of the moon spilling through the slit in the curtains and casting shadows across my bedroom floor.

  She’s doing so well. She’ll adjust soon. She’s going to realize this isn’t what she anticipated.

  She thinks she knows what a Master is, what’s required of a Slave… she has no fucking idea.

  I can faintly hear the crickets from outside as a smile creeps up to my lips.

  Just as quickly as it comes, it vanishes. A shrill cry from her room makes me leap from the bed.

  My heart races as my feet slam against the hardwood floors on my way to her.

  Her small frame is twisting under the sheets, fighting them as a strangled scream is torn from her throat.

  “Katia!” I yell, grabbing her hip to pin her in place and her wrists with my other hand. I still both of her wrists above her head, holding her down with a good bit more strength than I thought I’d need.

  “Katia, wake up!” I scream at her, so loud that I feel the wretched soreness in my throat. I imagine hers is worse. The screams haven’t stopped, and she’s only fighting harder.

  Tears are leaking down her face, although her eyes are closed tightly.

  She may think this is play, or a fantasy come to life. But for me this is real. I know she needs someone to heal her, and I so badly want to be her Master. I want to take those terrors away from her, to replace them with the pain and pleasure she needs.

  My Katia. My kitten.

  “Kitten,” I lower my head to the crook of her neck, bringing my body closer to hers and forcing her head to stop thrashing. I keep my voice low and soothing as her screams turn to sobs. “I’m here, kitten, you’re safe.”

  I press my body against hers, my hip on her hip and gently stroke her side.

  “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m here,” I gently murmur into her ear.

  I can’t describe the rush of relief, pride, and satisfaction that washes through me as she settles her body and her breathing calms. Her struggle dies, and her fear vanishes.

  A sense of ownership, and worthiness. I kiss her neck, my lips leaving open-mouth kisses along her skin, prickled with goosebumps.

  “You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re with me,” I almost say, your Master. I almost speak words that I know are true. But she doesn’t. Not yet.

  My resolve strengthens as I pull away from her and gently run my thumb along her jaw, wiping away the residual tears.

  My poor kitten.

  Her eyes slowly open and sorrow and disappointment shine clearly in them, even with the dim light in the room.

  “I-” she starts to speak, but I press my finger to her lips.

  “Come, kitten. I want you in my room with me,” I say easily, scooping her small body up in my arms and carefully balancing her as I climb off the bed and walk swiftly to my room.

  Katia nestles her head under my chin, her arms wrapped around my neck. She buries her face in my chest, and I know she’s ashamed more than anything.

  “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispers as I lower her into the bed.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask her, hating that she would think having a night terror is something she needs to apologize for.

  “I use a blanket. I brought it with me, but I was tired. It was my laziness, Master. I’m sorry.” Her voice is choked. “I won’t do it again.

  “A blanket?” I ask her. This sparks an interest. She’s never mentioned a blanket before.

  “I like the weight on my ankle when I sleep.”

  It takes me a moment to register what she means. “Like the shackle.” My blood goes cold, and I pull her closer to me. My poor kitten.

  “Yes, I’m sorry-” I cut her off before she can once again apologize when she shouldn’t be.

  “You’re my responsibility, so it’s my fault. Not yours. “

  Her breath hitches and her body tenses.

  “You’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow I’ll fix this.” I kiss her hair gently, at odds with the strength in my voice. It’s an effort to soften my tone as I say, “Sleep, kitten.”

  Her wide eyes look up at me with slight wonder and disbelief. So pale, so clea
r it once again feels like she can see through me. She licks her lower lip and lays her head down on my forearm, but she doesn’t close her eyes.

  After a moment she tilts her body some to look at my face.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asks me softly. “Master?” she tacks on my title at the end, and we both know she shouldn’t have. She should have started with it. She looks frightened for a moment, that she let the question slip without respectfully addressing me, but I haven’t the energy to care.

  My mind is reeling with the revelation of what she’s just told me. And how I need to find a solution to this problem.

  “Why do I want to be a Master?” I ask her.

  “Why are you trying to help me?”

  She still doesn’t realize that being her Master dictates that I have to help her. Her welfare in every way is my responsibility. The room fills with the soft sounds of our breathing and the chirps of the crickets and other soft sounds of the night.

  Why do I want to be a Master?

  I‘ve thought about that a lot over the years. Especially when the nights are cold and lonely and a simple, quick fuck holds no interest. I don’t have an answer, but I want to give her one.

  “When I was younger, I tried very hard to help someone.” My heart hurts as I think back to when I was younger. When I first felt needed, and failed so miserably. “It only hurt me when I tried to help her. She hurt me. I gave up. I stopped trying, but I still wanted to love her.” I think I did love her. I don’t think I ever stopped. How can you stop loving your mother? I was only a child. I think it’s ingrained in our DNA to forgive and continue to love them.

  Katia moves her small hand from my chest, cupping it and putting it under her head. I trail my finger down her cheek as I continue my story.

  “One day she needed me badly,” I take in a deep breath, the vision of that night flashing before my eyes. “But I didn’t.”

  “So now you try to help others?”

  “No,” I respond quickly. I don’t, not really. I’m not interested in many people. But something about Katia called to me. It’s still forcing me close to her. Wanting to give her more and more.

  “Oh, I don’t understand.”

  I grunt a response. I don’t understand either. I was just thinking out loud. I don’t even know why I said anything.

  “Who was she?”

  “My mother,” I answer simply.

  “What happened?” she asks, and I run a hand down my face. The vision of her lying cold and lifeless on the ground haunts me in that moment.

  “Go to sleep, kitten.” I shouldn’t have said anything. I shake my head slightly; none of my past means anything. It has no relevance to Katia and her night terrors. The exhaustion from the day is clouding my judgment.

  “I just...” Katia starts to say something, but her voice trails off. The worry is evident in her voice. It shouldn’t be there at all.

  I shouldn’t have opened my fucking mouth. I regret saying anything.

  “This conversation is over. I’m a Master because I take pleasure in it.” My voice is strong and she should more than understand that I mean what I say. “That’s the end of this conversation.”

  “But-” Katia starts to question me, eagerness to learn more in her voice. She doesn’t use my title, and I’ve had it. My kitten is a playful one, curious and wanting to please me and learn more about me. But she should know better.

  I grip her hip in one hand and flip her forcefully onto her back, pressing my body against hers and pinning her wrist above her head.

  She gasps from the force and my rough hold on her.

  “Did you question me?” I ask, my eyes narrows, my voice low and full of a threat.

  “I’m sorry, Master.” Her words come out quickly, full of fear. Her body is tense and still.

  “Did. You. Question me?” I repeat louder, my dick hardening simply from the feel of her soft body beneath mine.

  “I did and I’m so sorry, Master.” Her pale blue eyes tell me everything. She’s truly repentant. But she needs to be punished.

  “On your knees,” I hiss in the crook of her neck, my hot breath sending a chill down her body. I release her and sit on the balls of my feet, waiting for her to get into position.

  She does so quickly and obediently.

  I have to lean over to the nightstand and turn on the light. Her pussy and ass are sore, I'm sure of that. As I click it on and move back behind her, I gentle a hand on her ass. It’s still bright red. Her upper thighs are virtually untouched, which leaves possibilities. I don’t have the cream in this room for aftercare though.

  Fuck. I clench my jaw. I hate being so limited. I spread her pussy lips to see how swollen and red she is.

  Denial it is.

  “You will not cum, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Master,” she says, her voice clear, yet low and full of agony.

  “This is a gentle punishment. Do not push me again.”

  “I won’t Master.”

  I shove my fingers into her tight cunt, stroking along her G-spot before she’s even able to finish. I’m quick and rough, watching how her body moves roughly with the force from me finger fucking her.

  Her soft moans and her thighs trembling only make me want to fuck her more. But this is a punishment. Not a reward.

  As soon as her pussy tightens and her upper body shifts and twists, trying to avoid the inevitable, I know she’s close. Katia pleads in a whisper, “Master,” as I pull away from her. I watch as she stays on all fours, letting the intensity of her impending orgasm fade. Her eyes are closed tightly, and her breathing is coming in pants.

  I could do this for hours, but I don’t fucking want to.

  I’m hard as fuck, but I’m irritated. I ignore my own needs. We’ll both suffer tonight.

  “Go to sleep, kitten,” I say flatly, lying on my back, but holding my arm out for her.

  She cuddles beside me and I kiss her hair. Hating that I’m leaving her in need, but she needs to be punished.

  Even after she’s fast asleep and safe in my arms, I’m wide awake, wondering if I’m a capable enough Master for her.

  Chapter 20

  Katia

  I stifle a yawn as I lower myself into the cushioned chair in the corner nook of Isaac’s large chef’s kitchen, the smell of rich coffee filling the room mixing in with smell of bacon, eggs, sausage and pancakes. My heart skips a beat as I look out through the beautiful large windows at the early sunrise, marveling at the spectacular view of the immaculate landscaped grounds. Isaac’s property is truly picturesque, and the golden halo from the morning sun makes it almost look worthy of a scenic postcard portrait. It’s a far cry from the hell that I lived in under my last Master.

  I shake my head slightly, by forehead pinched, feeling like this isn’t real. Instead of a Slave, I feel more like a pampered pet. Like I’m really his actual kitten. More than that, there’s been a shift between us. Last night, something changed. It’s only been one day and I’m already feeling like I’ve seen a side of Isaac that I’m sure he hasn’t shared with anyone. I just don’t know what to make of it.

  “You need to eat something, kitten,” Isaac says, drawing my eyes over to him where he’s standing at the coffee maker. He’s stopped manning the multiple skillets he has going on the stove to pour sugar into a cup of fresh coffee. The long silver spoon clinks against the ceramic mug as I watch him stir it.

  My heart jumps in my chest again at the sight of him. God, he’s so fucking sexy. Just like this is how Isaac should always be. He has no shirt on, his rock-hard abs on display, and his black silk pajama pants hang low on his chiseled hips, showing off his perfect V. His large cock imprint is easily visible and makes my mouth water with need. He’s not wearing any boxers and I’m just waiting for his cock to slip out of the slit in his pants.

  Isaac finishes stirring the coffee, licking the residual drops off the spoon and walks over to the table and sets it down in front of me. “I know you normally skip br
eakfast, but I want you to eat when you’re with me. I will not eat breakfast alone; do you understand?” It’s hard to focus on his words with his cock imprint in my face and I swear he has a semi hard-on. I can practically see the vein running through his shaft. “Look at me,” Isaac orders.

  I swallow back the sudden dryness in my throat and look up into his stunning green eyes.

  “You will eat,” he says as a statement. As a fact.

  I’m not hungry. I don’t do breakfast, and he knows it, but I must do as he commands. “Yes, Master,” I say, doing my best to keep my eyes on his. The way he’s looking at me, like he wants to devour me, is making it hard to concentrate. This is nothing like what I thought it would be.

  I pull the pink silk see-through robe a little tighter across my chest. It already hugs my curves. Even more, the outline of my breasts and hardened nipples are clearly evident and the outline of my mound is visible whenever I’m walking. He’s told me that he wants me to wear this every morning, so I can be accessible to him whenever he pleases. I shiver as I remember his words. I want your pussy available to me at all times.

  “Good.” A twinge of happiness goes through me as he turns away and goes back over to the stove to operate the skillets he has going. I didn’t imagine it’d be this easy to please him. I pick at the hem of the robe, and take a small sip of delicious hot coffee. I had no fucking idea what I was getting into.

  I take solace in staring at his back, admiring each ridge of his muscles, the outline of his muscular physique, the crack of his chiseled ass. The small dimples on his lower back that my fingers itch to touch. I still can’t get over the fact that he’s making breakfast for me and serving me coffee. I should be serving him like the Slave I’m supposed to be. My last Master never did anything like this for me, never even cared if I ate at all. This relationship isn’t like what I thought it would be at all, and I have to keep reminding myself that Isaac is my Master. In this moment it doesn’t quite feel that he is. But I suppose even pampered pets have Masters.