A Fake_A Pretend Girlfriend Billionaire Romance

by Charlotte Byrd

  The stage is right in front of us and Lizbeth positions herself at the podium. She’s going to be the auctioneer. I peek out to get a look at the men in the room. There are many familiar faces there including Blake Garrison and Harrison Brooks. Some are young like them, but there are also plenty of old men too. I’ve never been with anyone over thirty. But the men in the audience aren’t just old. They’re really old. Fifties and sixties. Maybe even older. Grey hair and overweight. Shit. What did I expect? I mean, this is a luxury super-yacht. Not many hot men in their twenties can afford this type of party.

  Lizbeth introduces herself to the audience and goes over the rules. They are supposed to stay quiet and raise their paddles when they want to make a bid. Once she calls out a price three times and no one goes higher, then the girl goes to that bidder. They are expected to make out a check, money order, or wire transfer to her choice of bank account before they are allowed to take her to their cabin.

  I tap my fingers on the table nervously waiting for the auction to start. A few minutes later, it finally starts. Lizbeth calls out the first name. Arabella, an excited nude girl in the back, jumps up and runs in four inch heels to the stage. I keep waiting for her to trip, but she’s an expert in those things.

  When she gets to the beginning of the stage, she takes a deep breath and walks out with poise and confidence. A bright flood light hits her body as the rest of the room goes dark. Lizbeth introduces the girl by her name and height but doesn’t say anything else about her. Then she starts the bidding at ten thousand.

  Quickly the paddles start to go up. The price starts to climb. When it reaches fifty thousand, Arabella smiles from ear to ear, turns around coyly and bends over. Her legs are spread shoulder-length apart and her head bends all the way to the floor in a perfect yoga pose. The bidding continues to climb higher. It quickly reaches ninety thousand. It stays there for three counts and Lizbeth yells, “Sold for $90,000 to the gentleman in the back.”

  I can’t quench my curiosity anymore. I go to the far corner of the stage and peak out to see who bought her. The men in the back high-five an older guy who is clearly in his sixties. My heart sinks. Really? Am I really going to have to sleep with a sixty-year-old?

  But Arabella comes back to the room with her head held high. She’s over the moon by the process.

  “I made forty-grand last year cleaning hotel rooms,” she says to her friend. “Ninety grand, tax free, for one night of sex? Yes please!”

  A meek little man with glasses and a brief case walks over to her and asks her how she wants the money. While they do the paperwork, Lizbeth starts the auction again. This time, she calls Olivia. Her eyes open wide and she takes a deep breath.

  “Good luck,” I whisper. She fakes a smile and heads to the stage. She’s not as excited as Arabella. But she walks out there with her head held high. Again, Lizbeth starts the bidding at ten thousand. That appears to be the starting point. Unlike Arabella, she does not do anything but stand there with her hands on her hips. She is dressed in a bra and panties and her body looks like it’s covered in glitter under the spotlight.

  Ten thousand dollars might not be ninety, but it’s still an insane amount of money, I say to myself. I mean, I make a third of that working all year. So, even if I only get ten thousand, that’s okay. But no matter how much I try to convince myself, I still feel like I’m going to throw up at the prospect of going up there.

  Olivia’s auction goes up to eighty thousand and she’s bought by a man in his forties. When she comes back to the table, she seems satisfied by that number. I would be too. I think ten grand is worth sleeping with someone who is much younger than Arabella’s man.

  When the little man with the briefcase comes over to Olivia, she asks if she can have the money in cash. He says that they don't have that much on hand. She debates whether she should get a money order or let the money be put directly into her checking account. She’s thinking about the tax repercussions. Obviously, cash is best then she doesn't have to lose thirty percent to the government. But who the hell wants to walk around with ninety thousand in cash around New York City? Finally, she gives him her checking account number.

  I’m so engrossed in their conversation that I don't notice that Lizbeth has started the auction again. And she called my name!

  “Ellie!” Lizbeth says again and again. Olivia elbows me in the ribs. I’m so caught-off guard that I don't even have time to worry about what is about to happen.

  “She’s calling you,” Olivia says. I nod and stand up. Is this really happening? I walk over to the stage. I’m a dead woman walking.

  11

  When it’s my turn…

  The bright spotlight blinds me. I can’t see a thing in front me of me. I put on a smile and stand with my hands by my sides. Suddenly, I’m very well-aware of how much my high heeled shoes are pinching my feet. I struggle to breathe in this tight dress, which doesn't allow my legs more than an inch of movement.

  “Let’s start the auction at $10,000,” Lizbeth says into the microphone. “Can I get ten thousand?”

  “Twenty-thousand. Thirty-thousand.”

  My eyes finally adjust to the brightness of the stage. Paddles keep flying into the air as the numbers keep climbing high and higher.

  “Okay, how about eighty thousand,” Lizbeth says, clearly pleased with the way the auction is going.

  Am I really going to go for eighty thousand? That number floats around in my head as some unreachable goal.

  Somewhere near the back of the room I spot Blake Garrison and Harrison Brooks. They are sitting at the same table and raising their paddles each time the number jumps up. Please, let it be one of those two, I say to myself. At least, I already know them. And they’re my age.

  When the price reaches ninety-thousand, everyone else who was in the running drops off. It’s just these two. And they keep going. Am I really going to go for one hundred thousand dollars? That kind of money doesn’t even seem real.

  “Now, just to let those of you know who are still in the running, we do have one very exclusive bidder. He is currently not in the room, but he does a proxy who is bidding for him. He is, of course, watching what’s going on here and communicating with his proxy,” Lizbeth says.

  What? A secret bidder? Who is not in the room? What the hell is that? Who the hell is that?

  “Now, how about we go up to $110,000?”

  I look over and Blake and Brooks hold up their paddles. They are determined. Stay in this boys, I pray.

  “My bidder would like to offer $150,000,” the proxy bidder in the back yells out.

  “Okay then. How about $150,000?”

  The guys pause for a second. Please, bid, please bid, I say to myself over and over. I’m trying to compel them with my mind. Finally, Brooks raises his paddle. But Blake doesn’t. It’s too much money.

  “$250,000,” the proxy in the back yells out. Lizbeth looks absolutely shocked. But she quickly catches herself and pulls herself back together. She is a professional after all. “$250,000 going once.”

  I stare at Brooks I try to push up his paddle with my mind but he shakes his head.

  “$250,000 going twice.”

  Please, Brooks. Please do this for me, I want to scream out. You can’t let me go away with this mystery bidder.

  “Ellie is sold for $250,000 to Mr. Black.”

  Mr. Black. That’s the mystery bidder. I’ve heard that name before. It was whispered in hushed tones at the cocktail party. And now he bought me. Of all people. For $250,000. Now, that’s an insane amount of money.

  The rest of the auction is blur. The man with the suitcase comes over and I pull out my wallet to give him my checking account info. We wait, he transfers the $250,000 into my account. The bank calls to confirm. He talks to someone else on the phone. Finally, the money is mine. I log into my account on my phone and there it is. All $250,000 of it. What the hell? Is this really happening. Is this money real? It’s all so hard to believe.

  When th
e money transfer is complete, another woman comes up to me. She’s dressed in a short black latex dress and high heels. Her breasts are propped up so high they are basically spilling over her dress.

  “I will escort you to Mr. Black’s suite,” she says. “Please follow me.”

  I want to make some conversation with her, but I can’t physically open my mouth. I feel numb all over. I follow her all the way to the other end of the yacht. The rooms get more and more glamorous and ostentatious the further along we go. There’s a large library to one side, filled with gorgeous leather-bound books. I suddenly have an unstoppable urge to run away and lock myself in the library.

  No, you have to be professional. You just got paid more money than you would probably see in your whole life. It’s more than enough to pay off my four years of tuition, the taxes on the money and have some left over for a bit of fun. It’s the fun part that I try to focus on to keep myself going. I could buy a ticket to anywhere in the world and spend a month there. Or go to many different places. I can go to Europe for a few months. Or I can go traveling around South America. This is all going to be worth it, Ellie, I say to myself.

  When we reach the last door on the left, my beautiful escort opens it and lets us in. I walk through the double doors into a gigantic double room suite. There’s a large king sized bed at the far end, in another room, through the open sliding doors. The room where we enter is a beautiful carpeted area with a large wooden desk, couch, and chairs. I think this is what people used to refer to as the sitting room back in the day. Both rooms have floor to ceiling windows with a million lights streaming in. Out on the water, the stars are so bright, they almost hurt your eyes.

  “Mr. Black will be here shortly, but first I have to get you ready,” my escort says.

  “Get me ready? What do you mean?”

  “He is very particular. He wants things just so,” she says. She walks over to the closet and opens it. Inside, I see a bunch of perfect suits and one sheer gown with feathers along the edges. She pulls out the gown and holds it up front of me.

  “Please take off your dress,” she says.

  I’m caught off guard. I mean, I knew that he bought me for the night, but dictating what I wear, somehow seems wrong. But my escort continues to wait. Finally, I decide to undress. With great effort, I pull off my dress. My stomach has all of these lines on it from the dress poking into me while I sat. I put my arms in front of it to block her from seeing.

  “Please take off your bra and panties as well,” she says.

  My bra and panties as well? This is going too far! But then again, I am going to have sex with him. Did I really not think that for $250,000 I wouldn’t be expected to take off my bra and panties?

  Once I take off my bra, I kneel down to take off my shoes. At least, there’s one good thing about this. I can finally take off these pinching things.

  “Please, keep your heels on,” she says.

  Dammit, I mutter to myself. I peel off my panties and drop them on the chair along with my dress and bra. My escort takes the gown off the coat hanger and helps me into it. There is no front. It’s just a long sheer robe. A dressing gown. It’s entirely see-through.

  “Now, go and lie down on the bed,” my escort says.

  “On top of the sheets?” I ask. She nods. I find a spot in the middle, propping myself up with the pillows.

  She comes over and opens the drawer on the end table. She pulls out a long strap with a cuff at the end.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mr. Black would like you tied up,” she explains. Tied up? My mind begins to race. No, no, no, I can’t be tried up.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s very sexy. He isn’t going to do anything to hurt you…unless you want him to.”

  “Why would I want him to?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Because you will. You’ll be begging him to.”

  I understand the words that are coming out of her mouth, but I also don’t. I have no idea what she’s talking about. Why would I want him to hurt me?

  I give her my one hand and watch as she puts the leather cuff around my wrist. She then tied the strap to the bed post. Carefully, walking around the bed, she does the same thing with my left hand. I pull on my wrists. No, this isn’t a joke. Both of my hands are tied to the bed posts.

  My escort than leans over me and arranges my robe. She makes sure that the feather trim covers up my breasts and other bits and then smiles at herself when she’s done.

  “Okay, one last thing,” she says and pulls something out of her pocket. It’s a black mask.

  “He doesn't want me to see him?” I ask. My heart starts to race a mile a minute. No, I can’t have my eyes covered. This is going too far.

  “I’m sure you will later. He just doesn’t want you to see him right away.”

  She puts the mask over my eyes. Suddenly, I become a lot more keenly aware of every sound that exists in the room. Somewhere in the distance, something is buzzing. My escort exhales small shallow breaths. The bedspread makes a rustling sound while she leans over me.

  “Okay, enjoy yourself,” she says and walks out of the room.

  12

  When the mask is on…

  I wait on the bed breathing very fast for what feels like forever. My fingers nervously fidget and run along edge of my restraints. I can’t see the robe that I’m wearing, but I know it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever worn for a man. Plus, the feathers feel very soft and comfortable. It’s like I’m wrapped in luxury.

  Waiting is pure torture. There’s room in the mask for my eyes to open freely without my eyelashes touching the fabric, but all I see is blackness around me. How long do I have to wait like this? My thoughts keep going back to the amount of money that the mysterious Mr. Black paid for me. $250,000. That’s a lot of money. I wonder what kind of night he is expecting from all of this. To tell you the truth, I’m not the most exciting girl in bed. I’m actually quite boring. I don't like to do a lot and I’m not a huge fan of being on top. When I’m on top, I can never relax enough to actually orgasm.

  The door swings open. I exhale and inhale deeply, trying to compose myself. My body suddenly gets really cold and really hot at the same time. My hormones must be going nuts. I hear the footsteps approaching the bed.

  “Hello?” I ask, not able to bear the anticipation much longer.

  “Good evening,” he says after a moment. His voice is smooth, and deep, and has a kind of oak quality to it. He doesn’t sound very old, but then again, what do I know about voices?

  “Are you Mr. Black?” I ask.

  “Yes, I am,” he says slowly. “But you may call me Sir.”

  “Just sir?” I ask.

  “Yes, just sir.”

  I don’t know what he’s doing, but it sounds like he’s walking around the suite. At one point, the closet doors open and close. And the sound of his walk changes. It’s almost as if he took off his shoes.

  His footsteps are lighter, not as heavy. A moment later, I’m pretty certain that he’s either barefoot or at least in socks. I chew on my lower lip nervously, my eyes are fixed on the darkness inside the mask.

  Suddenly, something touches my lips. It’s soft. It takes me a minute to realize that it’s his finger. I listen to his easy breaths and feel his presence on top of me. Yet, the only thing that he’s touching is my lips.

  “It’s going to be fun,” he says slowly. His voice is almost smoldering now, as if a voice could be smoldering.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just a nervous habit of mine. I chew my lower lip a lot.”

  “Well, we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” he says coyly.

  I can’t see his face or his body, and yet my body is suddenly having a very strong reaction to him. I don't know if it’s his voice or him touching my lips, but my legs suddenly have these little pangs running through them. I curl my toes to try to relax, but more come. I hate to admit it, but I only feel this when I’m strongly attracted to someone. So much so that I can
’t control it. Just thinking about this, makes my whole body clench up for a moment.

  As he hovers somewhere over me, I’m not entirely sure where, but I do feel his weight to the right of me, I feel myself shrinking. My legs press together tightly and my arms pull the restraints tightly. I’m clamming up. I’m not a particularly outgoing person. I’m a writer, for crying out loud. And my shy way of being is getting the better of me.

  “Oh no, we can’t have this,” Mr. Black says quietly, brushing his fingers on my knees. They are raised up, and when he touches them, they fall back down to the bed without much effort. I feel myself melting like butter around him. He runs his fingers along the top of my legs and a little bit on my inner thighs. I begin to feel myself start to panic. A cold sweat runs downs my arm pits. I’ve never allowed a man who I wasn’t involved with romantically to touch me before. And I don't even know what he looks like. I can’t do this. I have to give him back his money and apologize. But I really, really can’t do this.

  I’m about to say this out loud, when he puts his hand gently around my neck. The feel of his skin is warm and inviting.

  “You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. He runs his fingers around my clavicle and on my chest, right before my breasts he stops. I can feel my chest move up and down and his hand moves up and down along with each breath. I’m starting to relax and shut down at the same time. The intensity of this situation is getting too much, and we haven’t even done anything yet.

  “You can relax,” he whispers into my ear. His soft breath caresses my earlobe. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you want me too.” As he says that, he presses his lips around my earlobe and kisses me lightly.