by Measha Stone
By the time he left, she welcomed the relief of his absence. Breathing became easier and the tears that started to fall were less about him and more about the fantasy she lost. There would be no picket fence future for her. She looked at the clock on the mantel in the family room. Seven. She had two hours to get dressed and get downtown.
She may have lost the picket fence, but the new dream, the one that stood right in front of her, pulled at her. Maybe she wasn't made of sugar and spice. Maybe she was made of leather and lace.
The entrance to the club was crammed with people. Most of them stood in line outside, waiting for entrance while a group, a more diverse group, formed to the left of the entrance. She joined that group and waited patiently.
The heels she wore bit into her toes, but the discomfort was welcome. It distracted her from the extra lively bundle of nerves destroying her insides at the moment. Her long trench coat covered her outfit, but also covered her from any breeze. Humid nights in Chicago were a norm, which only made her look a bit more out of place wearing the coat. She'd packed the overnight bag Bradley had told her to bring. She'd tried several times over the course of their texting to get a reason for the bag, but he refused to even acknowledge the question. The auction was for one night, and she didn't have to leave the club with him. Although, somewhere deep in her mind, the spot that held her darkest of desires, hoped he wanted her to have the bag because they would leave the club together.
It was her turn to check in. She gave her name, tried to ignore the look the security guy gave her when he looked at his clipboard and gave her a security key. The elevator for Top Floor was ready when she walked up to it. She rode silently with two other couples. Her nerves only intensified as she reached the top and the doors slid open.
Crowds of people already formed in the main lounge area. Another man with a clipboard approached them and asked if they were buyers or on auction. She was the only one who raised her hand as being on auction. He smiled warmly and walked her over to the dressing room. She had to laugh at herself then, she would have saved herself the heated cab ride from the train station if Bradley had mentioned a dressing room. She'd bring it up with him later.
Several women strutted through Bradley's office, helping each other with makeup. She witnessed one woman attempting to get her backside tucked into a pair of leather panties. Looking down at her own outfit, she worried it wasn't up to expectations.
She hadn't had time to shop after making her decision to give the auction, and Bradley, a try, so she had to go through old Halloween costumes. Two years ago she'd dressed up as a French maid, trying to seduce Jonathan into some fun. A few minor adjustments to the costume and she managed to make something out of it for the auction. The bodice had been easy, she simply removed the white ruffled trim which left her with a black corset-like top. Yanking off the mesh filler skirt under the bottoms hadn't been so easy, she ended up having to cut most of it out, but in the end she'd done a decent job. Forgoing the stockings, she'd gone with high-heeled shoes. No kindergarten teacher look for her.
Smoothing down her skirt, she nibbled on her lower lip. What if Bradley wasn't there? What if he didn't get to the auction stage in time to bid, what if someone outbid him and she was taken by someone else? She dug through her bag looking for her purse. She'd text him. She needed to know he was there.
"Erin!" Her name was called at the door. "Erin, you're up next, hon." The man who'd shown her the dressing room waved her over. Taking a deep breath, she walked to him. Everything from then on would be different. She knew it. She was taking steps not only toward a fun night with a really hot guy, but a new beginning. A new life. A new Erin.
Several women smiled warmly at her as she walked past them toward the two steps leading up to the stage. Bright lights shone on the platform, making it difficult for her to see into the crowd. Her heart sped up with each step, her hands were cold as she stepped under the heat of the lights.
"Here we have slave number forty-seven." The auctioneer's voice filled the room. "Her first auction. Hard limits include: figging, fisting, and rape scenes." Erin moved to the spot on the stage that had been marked for the auctioned slave to stand. She still couldn't see anyone, and she wondered if they did that on purpose, adding to the thrill of being auctioned off? "Bra size thirty-four C and waist size thirty-two." Erin jerked her gaze over to the auctioneer. She had given that information on the registration form, but she hadn't thought it would be broadcast to the entire club. "We'll start the bidding at fifty dollars. Seventy-five to the man in front. Eighty over there. A hundred to the man in the back." Erin clenched and unclenched her fists while staring out into the room. Small paddles raised here and there, but she couldn't make out anything more than that. The auctioneer continued to call out numbers and the longer this went on the more her stomach twisted.
"Three thousand!" A man yelled out. Erin raised her hand to shield the lights, desperately trying to see the face that belonged to the voice.
"Three thousand and five," another bellowed.
"Four."
The paddles weren't flying anymore, now numbers flew through the room.
"She's a newbie! I want her. Five!" A man up front called out.
"Seven thousand," a new voice had boomed. Rumbling voices went through the crowd.
"Seven thousand." The auctioneer's voice stammered. "Do I hear eight? Going once, twice, sold to Mr. Bradley Sorenson. Our host and part owner of Top Floor!"
Erin released the breath she'd been holding and wanted to lean against something. The immense fear she'd been holding in that he wasn't in the crowd finally released, giving her a rush of relief. She managed to turn and walk off the stage with as much grace as her weak limbs would allow. Who knew standing still could cause so much muscle fatigue.
"He'll collect you here in a moment, hon." The man in charge of the auctioned slaves said with a grin. "Bought by Bradley. Wow." His eyes flashed a bit of jealousy. "You are in for a treat, hon. A real treat."
Before Erin could question him, Bradley was at her side, a strong grip on her arm. He pulled her along with him over to a table where he signed over a check for his bid and a waiver of some sort. He pushed the paper at her and told her to read it over and sign. A listing of the rules and regulations for the night, her agreement and of course waving away the club's responsibility should she get hurt during the events of the evening.
After she put the pen down on the table, her wrists were pulled and she was spun to face him. She got a good look at his face then. Stern, strong, controlled. No grin, no playful chatter. Thick leather straps were buckled around each of her wrists. Not too tight, but firm enough that she would feel their presence. Each had a D ring that was quickly tethered together with a clamp and another chain clipped on as well. She watched him cuffing her with a sense of trepidation. Whatever was coming next, she suddenly wasn't sure she'd be ready for. What if she messed it all up completely?
She followed the chain up to the leather handle being held in Bradley's hand. "That outfit cost me a small fortune." Although his expression didn't change, she could hear the pleasure in his voice. She relaxed under his gaze.
"You said nothing a kindergarten teacher would wear."
"True enough." He turned and walked away, tugging on her leash to get her moving. She followed him through the crowd of people. All of which were focused on the stage for the next slave up for bidding. Bradley maneuvered them through a hallway to a back room.
Couples were already in the middle of their play when they entered the room. The dim lighting allowed some sense of privacy for each station. She tried to see as much as she could, take in everything around her. Moans of pleasure, and sharp cracks followed by painful screams caught her attention as he moved her through the room to the back corner. One surprised yelp gave her pause, and she stopped to look. A woman, tall and slender, stood against a wall, a rope wrapped around her neck tethering her to a metal ring just above her head. The light above her showcased the angry red w
elt crossing her abdomen, her eyes clenched awaiting the next bite of the leather braided whip the man held.
"That's a cat o'nine. I won't use that on you." Bradley whispered in her ear, tugging her forward. "At least not tonight."
Erin kept waiting for fear to overtake her, to come to her senses. The nerves that rattled her only moments before settled once his hands were on her, leading her through the crowd.
When they reached the corner of the room, she took in the area. A large green carpet with padding beneath it covered several feet of the floor. From the ceiling an oversized hook hung, and beside the carpet stood a table covered with implements. Floggers, straps, a coiled whip that looked dangerously like the one being used on the woman across the room. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked to Bradley. Needing something: comfort? encouragement?
It was then she took him in, really saw him. Gone were the jeans and blazer of two days ago. No business casual now. Here he stood over her in black cargo pants, boots, and a black tank top that showcased the tattoo she'd wondered about. Thick, black stripes, rotating around each other covered his shoulder, sliding under his shirt. Down his arm more of the tribal design that went nearly down to his wrist. His broad shoulders looked even larger with that tank. Muscles were everywhere. Hard, rippling, unyielding muscles. Even with his shirt on, she could tell his abdomen was more of the same.
Having no body shame, she hadn't even thought about being unclothed in front of him, or anyone else really for that matter. She convinced herself it would be just like changing in the locker room after gym. Except now that she stood in the room with all of those with real experience her confidence began to wane. She hadn't been to a gym in years. There weren't taut muscles on her body, only smooth curves. She never considered herself fat, even with her lack of activity she managed to keep a slender body, but not like his.
Bradley must have seen the apprehension in her expression, because he dropped the chain and was at her side. His warm lips pressed against her temple, and he rubbed her back. "You're fine. You're safe," he said.
"I know." She nodded, but didn't look at him. She meant it, too. There was no worry for her safety physical or otherwise. His presence was enough to soothe her, his touch even more so.
"What has you so nervous?" He placed a soft kiss to her earlobe.
"I've never done any of this before." She gave him one of her worries. No sense in delving into body image issues at the moment, men didn't want to hear them, and she'd never given in to them before.
A sharp slap crossed her ass, and she sucked in her breath, turning to look at him. His lips were thin, pursed together as he glared down at her. "I told you no more half-truths, didn't I?" The fierce look in his eyes made her swallow hard and she nodded. "Do you think you should change your answer?" Another nod. It was all she could manage with his stern gaze on her. "Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm new… and you look… well…" Saying a mental prayer of thanks for the dim lighting, she blurted the rest out. "I don't look like you." She tried to look away, but he caught her chin in a tight grip and dragged her face back to meet her gaze. Their noses nearly touched. With all of the sounds going on around them, the only one she focused one was the sound of his breathing. Deep and strong.
"That's a damn good thing." He kissed her cheek, then her chin, never letting go of her. "Let's go over the rules, just to be sure you understand before we start." His hand moved from her chin to the base of her neck, holding her head steady as he continued to look right into her eyes. The close proximity to him, the musky scent of him, the intense purpose in his gaze all worked to unnerve her. "You do what I say, when I say and how I say." His fingers tightened his grip, pulling her head back. "Do you understand that rule?"
"Yes," she whispered, moving her gaze to his chin. The intensity of his eyes was too much.
"Look at me." When she didn't immediately comply, he gave her a little shake. "I gave you one rule, and already you're breaking it." His voice hardened. She found his eyes again. "Good. You don't hide from me. Ever. If I tell you to look at me, you look at me, not my nose, not my chin, here right here." He pointed to his eyes that were dark and rounded. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes." She tried to nod, but his grip on her neck kept her immobile.
"When we are here, or at my house, whenever I have you naked and at my service, you will address me as sir. When you answer a question it will be yes sir or no sir. Do you understand that rule?" Her cheeks warmed under his breath. She should be scared, she should feel some sort of trepidation, but nothing other than nervous arousal swept through her.
"Yes, sir."
He smiled. "Very good." Two words that sent another shiver through her. "I told you I'm not easy. What are your safe words? Tell me."
"I'll say mercy if I need you to slow, and red if I need you to stop."
"Good. Don't be afraid to use them. I'll be angry if you don't use them when needed, but never if you use them appropriately. Do you understand that?" His constant clarification that she comprehended his rules left little room for any misunderstandings, making things clear and precise. The way she liked them.
"Yes, sir." His smiled widened, forming deep creases on the side of his mouth. The pleasure of his approval rocketed through her, giving her a sense of joy.
His hand released her neck, and trailed along her collarbone, pushing away the neckline of her dress until he reached her throat. His fingers wrapped around her neck, but with no pressure. She instinctively took deeper breaths and tried to pull away from his hand. "Pulling away already?" His lips curled, something different, something more than just pleasure, something animalistic. He released her and took a step back, making a show of looking her up and down. "I'd like to see what I bought. I hope you weren't too in love with this outfit. As fucking hot as it makes you look, I'm going to tear it off your body."
She didn't give a shit about the dress. Not sure if she was supposed to respond or not, she kept silent. He picked up the leash again and pulled her over to the mat, placing her in the center, and moving her shoulders until she faced the rest of the room. She let him manhandle her into position until he was satisfied. In the end, her feet were spread apart, her hands were pulled over her head, and her leash tethered to the hook. She wasn't going anywhere. Nor did she want to. The more he pushed, pulled, and moved her, the more his warm hands touched her, and she loved his touch. She could feel the heat of him through her clothing, and wished he'd hurry up and get her dress off, so she could feel him bare on bare.
"Keep your feet where I put them." He left her to dig through the bag sitting on the table with the rest of the implements. When he returned, he held up a pair of medical scissors so she could see them clearly. "Hold still. They won't cut you, but we don't need any bad pinches." He placed the opened sheers over the seam of the neckline, then looked back at her, giving a devastatingly devilish grin. "At least not yet."
The urge to giggle over the look on his face and the prospect of what he was going to do her nearly distracted her from the first rip of fabric. After snipping a piece of her dress, he took hold of the top and ripped it down her body. He looked at her breasts, hidden beneath the purple satin bra and grinned again. She almost twisted away when the shears slid against her bare skin, the cool metal awakening her senses. One quick snip, and her bra fell away, her heavy breasts bouncing in their newfound freedom.
His groan of approval was payment enough for losing one of her favorite bras. It hadn't even occurred to her to ask him to spare it. Nor did it occur to her to stop him from his next movements. With quick, calculated snips and tears, her skirt and panties found the same fate as her tops.
"Ah, there we go." He tossed the scissors onto the table, the clank of them landing lost in the background along with all of the other sights and sounds. She sucked in her breath when his warm hands clasped over her breasts, kneading them, and squeezing them. "I knew you'd have nice tits." Her nipples rolled beneath his palms. His eyes weren't on
her face. They were occupied with her breasts. When he dug his nails into her flesh, she hissed and threw her head back, clenching her eyes at the pain. "Open your eyes, Erin! Now!" Two hard slaps to her breasts got her attention, and she opened her eyes, biting her lip from the burn spreading through her chest.
Again his hands roamed over her chest, pinching here and there. Each time, she jumped a little, but kept her eyes on him, even when he seemed to be occupied elsewhere. When his hand traveled down to her belly, and then further still, she wanted to close them again, to concentrate on feeling his hands on her, but he wouldn't allow it.
He brought his gaze back to her, locking their eyes together as his hand slid down over her mound, and his fingers slipped between her lips. "Is this good, right here?" he asked her when she remained silent. She could see her own chest, pink with dark scratch marks traveling down them, heaving with her breath. "I asked a question." A sharp pain shot through her clit when he pinched.
"Yes, sir!" she yelled out.
"Yes, what?" He kept his lips just far enough away that she could smell the mint on his breath, but not reach out for a kiss.
"Yes, that feels good." Her toes curled into the mat at the added pressure he put on her clit.
"Are you wet?" he asked, and she wanted to growl. He knew the answer.
"Yes, sir." She leaned her head against her outstretched arm and focused on his fingers. More movement, more pressure. He circled her clit, building up her orgasm, letting it grow until it was near painful.
"Another rule, but I think you know this one. You can't come unless you ask and I give permission. Don't come without it. You do not want that to happen." A dark promise lingered in his warning.