by Naomi West
“Perfect pink nipples,” he said. “Cover up.”
I did. It was at this command that a strange feeling came over me: something about the way he was telling me what to do … it felt good. I couldn’t explain it. But having this man bark his commands at me … I don’t know. Something about him and his voice made me not want to resist.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“T-Tiffany,” I said.
He shook his head. “No, not that goddamn stupid stage name. What’s your real name.”
“… Star.”
“‘Star’,” he said, as if trying it on for size. “Well, it’s true—you’re a goddamn star; a star worth a half million fuckin’ dollars.”
I didn’t know what to say to this. I’d been so used to being flat broke all my life that the idea that something about me would inspire a man to spend so much money on me was just crazy.
“You’ll do just fine,” said the man as he turned and walked back to the other side of the room.
He put his hand on the doorknob and prepared to leave. But before he could, words blurted out of my mouth.
“Hey!” I said. “What’s your name?”
He stopped in place, standing still for a moment. Then he turned his head slightly, just enough that I could see the top half of his head, his shaved blonde hair bright in the clear light.
“Name’s Tank.”
With that, he left.
Tank … I thought, the word hanging in my mind. There was no doubt that it was a nickname, but it fit him well—he sure as hell was built like a tank.
I stood in the room for a minute longer, unsure of what to do with myself. But before too much time passed, the door that I’d come in from opened up and two girls rushed in. They took me out and led me to a small, private dressing room where they took off my teddy, replacing it with a black lace bra and panty set. Then they put in a skintight black dress with matching heels. My hair was given a onceover, and when they were done they rushed me out of there. We went outside to where a black mini-limousine was waiting for me. Without a word of explanation, the doors were shut, the driver started the engine, and we were off.
I spent the half hour or so drive thinking about how strange this all was. The back of the limo was spacious and comfortable, which was a nice change of pace from the damn cage I’d been in. I thought about Tank during the drive, unable to shake the image of him from my mind. I should’ve hated him; I should’ve been wishing he was dead—after all, he now owned me and therefore was the one thing standing between me and freedom. But I couldn’t seem to think ill of him. All I could think about was his face, rugged and beautiful at the same time And his body … damn. Those arms were unlike anything I’d ever seen before- thick, tanned, and solid.
The car hit a bump, and the image of Tank was replaced by that of Dakin. Dakin … that little fucker. It only made sense that after what he’d done to me he’d end up at that auction, trying to buy me just like he’d bought my home. I thought back to him showing up early yesterday morning, realizing that he wanted to do for free what Tank had paid a half a million for. I shuddered when I realized that if I hadn’t gotten up when I did I might very well have been Dakin’s property rather than Tank’s.
But then again, what made me think being owned by Tank would be any better? For all I knew, he wanted to tie me up and whip me with extension cords or something.
Right when the thought of that entered my head, I couldn’t help but picture it. To my shock, part of me was just fine with it …
I shook my head hard, trying to snap myself back to reality.
I needed to think about getting the hell out of this situation. Before I could come up with even a single idea, however, the limo pulled in front of a massive house. The place was huge—three stories on a large tract of land, a façade of ornate columns, a curving driveway in front, the whole area lit up with bright lights. It reminded me of what I imagined a celebrity’s home in the Hollywood Hills might look like. A huge chrome motorcycle parked out front was the only hint that someone like Tank lived here.
“Where are we?” I asked through the limo partition.
But of course, the driver said nothing. We pulled into the long curve of the driveway, coming to a stop right in front of the large set of stairs that led to the column-flanked double doors. The driver got out, opened the door, and led me to the front doors. He pressed the bell and, his job complete, he went back to his limo and drove off, leaving me alone.
The doors opened moments later, revealing Tank. I was shocked as hell to see him there. Sure, I knew that he’d bought me and his place was likely where I was headed, but this wasn’t at all where I’d imagined he’d live. I expected something like a rundown apartment above a bar. Then again, he had dropped half a million on me.
“God-fucking-damn you look good,” he said, his eyes moving up and down my body. “Come in.”
I stepped into the entry hall of the apartment, and I was blown away by how … fancy the place was. There was classical art on the walls, the floor and columns were marble, and a grand spiral staircase led to the second and third floors. It looked like a Roman palace.
“You might want to close your mouth,” said Tank. “Your jaw’s dropping a little.
Sure enough, it was. I shut my mouth and felt embarrassed.
“This is … a really nice place,” I said, feeling like I should say something nice, like I were visiting a friend’s house and not a biker who’d paid money for me.
“You sound surprised,” he said, leading me down the hallway further into the house.
“I mean, after that party, or whatever it was, and, um …” my voice trailed off.
“The fact that I’m a dirty-ass biker?” he said with a smirk.
“Um, yeah. That,” I said, figuring I might as well be honest.
“Just because I like riding on my hog doesn’t mean I can’t have an appreciation for the finer things, you know.”
Just who is this guy? I asked myself.
He led me into a spacious lounge that looked out over the backyard where a long, well-lit pool stretched out into the distance, a bright, full moon hanging over it. Tank walked over to an ornate bar, fetching a bottle of champagne and two glasses from behind it. Walking back over, he popped the cork and filled the two glasses. He held out one of them to me and raised his glass for a toast.
“To your new living arrangements,” he said.
I wasn’t yet sure this was something to celebrate, but I figured that I didn’t have much say in what was going on. I toasted him and took a sip of my drink. It was crisp, fruity, and delicious.
“Sit down,” he said.
I backed up to the couch behind me and took a seat.
“Please,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on. What are you going to do with me?”
“Glad you asked,” said Tank. “Because here’s the deal: first of all, you’re my property. Don’t ever forget that. You do what I say, when I say it. No backtalk—you won’t like what happens if you try any of that shit. Second, you stay here at the house unless I give you permission otherwise. Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen —I don’t give a shit—but stay out of my room. I’m giving you partial freedom on a trial basis. You can have free rein to go around the property, but if you try and make a break for it I will find you—make no mistake. And when I do, you’re not gonna like what happens.”
I gulped hard. Something told me that a man like him had the resources to track me down if I did try to make an escape. Not like I’d get far—there was a tall fence all around the property and then there were woods beyond that.
“You may think I’m being a real hard-ass, but you’ll be thanking your lucky fuckin’ stars when you start to hear about what goes on with the other girls who got bought. That motherfucker Dakin? He keeps his girls in a goddamn cage.”
I shuddered at the thought; I knew there was a reason I’d gotten a bad vibe from him. Even before I knew he was the type to break in
to a girl’s home when she was sleeping.
“Oh,” said Tank. “And you owe me.”
“What?” I asked, wondering just what the hell he could possibly mean.
“Your little dine-and-dash stunt. I was nice enough to cover your bill.”
“Um, thank you,” I said, not really sure of how to respond to that.
“So, let’s start out our little arrangement by asking you this: what are you gonna do to pay me back?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How I see it is that right now, you’re about twenty-five bucks in the hole. And you’re flat broke. So what’re you going to do to make things square?”
I nervously sipped my champagne, as if trying to buy time.
“Umm … what would you like me to do?”
A smirk crossed Tank’s lips.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”
He started off towards the hallway but turned as he was leaving.
“Stand up and wait right there for me. I don’t want you to move a muscle.”
I gulped hard, and he was gone. I felt totally helpless, which I think was his intention. Tank had complete control of the situation, and he knew it. There wasn’t a trace of doubt or hesitation in his voice. He knew what he wanted, and he seemed certain that he was going to get it. So I stayed stone-still as he was gone. Soon, he returned, a small black box tucked under his beefy arm. He set the box down on a nearby table and clicked it open. I couldn’t quite see what was in it since that would’ve required me to turn my head.
“Good girl,” he said. “Just where I left you. Then again, I was looking forward to punishing you if you disobeyed.”
He rummaged through his case for a moment and withdrew something that looked like a big black ring. With slow, easy steps, Tank moved in front of me and held the thing up.
It was a leather bondage collar. I gasped as he showed it to me.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It’s … a collar.”
“Smart girl. Tell me what kind wears a collar.”
“An animal; a pet.”
“A pet—that’s right on the fuckin’ money.”
He extended the collar to me.
“You have my permission to move. Take this and put it on.”
I reached up and took the collar, which was surprisingly heavy. I stared at it for a moment, still unable to believe what I was holding.
“I didn’t say ‘look at it’; I said ‘put it on’.”
I nodded, unfastening the collar’s latch and placed it around my neck.
“Nice,” he said. “Very nice.”
He finished the rest of his champagne with a single swig.
“Now, if a collar is what a pet wears, and you’re wearing one right now, what does that make you?”
“A … pet.”
“Very good. And that’s what you are as long as you’re here: you’re my pet. Here to please me.”
He set his empty glass down and plopped onto the couch.
“Never really liked that champagne shit; I like the hard stuff better. So, pet—why don’t you make me a drink.”
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. Part of me still felt like he was joking.
“Um, what would you like?” I asked, deciding to play along for now.
“Whiskey. Neat,” he said, sitting back in his seat, his eyes scanning over every inch of my body.
I made my way to the bar and took down the necessary items. As I assembled the drink, Tank picked up a nearby remote and pressed a button, causing a series of lights to illuminate on a nearby speaker system and raunchy rock music to start playing. The drink made, I walked back over to Tank. But before I could cover the distance, he held up his hand.
“Don’t walk like that,” he said, his low voice carrying over the music.
“Umm, like what?” I asked.
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“You’ve got a great ass and killer fuckin’ legs. I want to see you use them.”
A strange little sound escapes my lips. What did he want me to do? I’d been living with my grandma for the majority of my life; I had no idea what “be sexy” meant.
“Um, how?” I asked.
He let out a dry chuckle.
“Don’t walk like a damn linebacker. Walk like a woman. Walk with your hips.”
I moved back to the bar, as though we were rehearsing and I had been given a second chance.
“Put the drink on that tray. When I ask for something, you use that. Don’t ‘hand’ me anything.”
I gulped, feeling tense under the commands. But strangely, I didn’t feel tense because I was mad at him for telling me what to do; I felt tense because I wanted to get it right. I set the drink on the nearby silver tray and held the thing with two hands. Then, taking a deep breath, I walked over to him again. I tried what he said, focusing on my hips and ass while I walked.
“Nope,” he said. “Do it again.”
Back to the bar, and then another deep breath. I focused harder this time, even going so far as to picture my legs in my mind as I began to walk. Then, I started.
“Nope. Nope.”
I opened my mouth to finally protest, but a harsh glare and a raised palm made it clear that he didn’t want to hear a peep. I worried that tears might start forming in my eyes at any second; I just didn’t know what I was doing wrong. But strangely, even more than frustration, the need to do what he said, to please Tank, burned in me. As much as I knew that I should’ve thrown the tray on the ground and told him to screw off, even greater was the urge to walk the way he wanted, to make him happy.
Closing my eyes and picturing my ass in my mind as best I could, I started over towards him again. I tried to be as conscious of my body as I could, letting the muscles of my rear and legs do all the work. And as I did, I felt a strange sway develop in my step. My ass moved from side to side as I walked, and I felt a sexuality exude from me that I never knew I had. Opening my eyes, I saw Tank’s gaze focused on my hips as I made my way across the long lounge. A little smirk formed on his lips, and I took that as a sign that he was pleased with me.
And when I realized he was, I was pleased too. When I reached Tank, I bent over at the waist, letting my ass stick into the air. He took the glass off the tray, his eyes locked onto my rear as he sipped his whiskey.
What the hell is wrong with me? I thought. Why is turning this guy on making me feel so … hot?
I thought about my grandma’s lessons, how she’d told me how “good girls” were supposed to act. I knew she’d just wanted to protect me, but damn … did being bad always feel this good?
“Set the tray down,” said Tank.
I complied and stood before him, my hands on my hips.
“Now strip.”
I gulped hard. Walking sexy was one thing, but stripping? I couldn’t even imagine where to begin with something like that.
“Um, what do I do?” I asked.
Tank laughed again.
“You take off your clothes,” he said. “I got a little taste back at the auction. But now I want to see what I paid for.”
My face turned a deep red, and Tank chuckled once again.
“Trust me, you’ll get used to it. This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg for what I’ve got in mind for you.”
I wanted to freeze in place again, like a little rabbit under the gaze of a sharp-toothed predator. But these feelings of fear faded slightly, and I began to psych myself up.
“Just do what you did before,” he said. “Use your hips.”
He then turned the music up louder, and I realized that this was going to be the only hint I was going to get from him. I listened to the music for a few seconds, picking up on the beat. And I felt ready. I began to sway my hips from side to side, like I’d done when I walked over. I closed my eyes, letting the beat of the music dictate my motions. As the song went on, I felt the beat move into my body, taking it over. The singer screamed out nasty lyrics tha
t were thinly-veiled references to sex, and rather than feel disgusted, I tried to let myself get into the mood of sleazy fun that the song advertised.
I turned, bending over and pointing my ass at Tank, allowing him a full view. Turning back towards him, I ran my hands down the slopes of my curves as I rocked my hips from side to side. Against my control, I felt a wicked little smirk form on my face. Tank’s eyes were locked on me, and God help me, I loved the attention.
Oh, right, I thought, I gotta actually strip!
I slipped my fingers underneath the straps of my dress, working them over my shoulders. Slowly, I pulled it down. Unfortunately, my grace and skill wasn’t quite where I’d have liked them to be, and I wobbled a bit as I brought down the dress over my breasts. I saw Tank smirk as he took a sip of his whiskey. Despite my enthusiasm being higher than it had been when I started, I still felt self-conscious and awkward, and I’m sure it showed in my performance. Still, I kept at it.