Highest Bidder Collection

by Lauren Landish

  I wait for his next command, my chest heaving with desire, wanting badly to be used by him.

  He lets me lick the servings off his fingers, and I find myself wanting it so much that I grab his hand forcefully, greedily sucking his fingers, imagining it’s his dick that I’m sucking.

  My heart skips a beat as Isaac lets out a chuckle at my behavior.

  Fuck. I instantly freeze, the lust-filled haze vanishing as I’m snapped out of the fantasy.

  I shouldn’t have done that. I lower my hands to my thighs where they belong. He didn’t give me permission to take control like that. I know better. I’ll be better. It was a stupid mistake.

  I stare into his eyes as I slowly pull away, his finger licked clean and waiting for his admonishment or a smack or some kind of punishment.

  I know better.

  I wait a moment, my breathing coming in shorter and shorter.

  “I’m sorry, Master.” I clear my throat slightly, sitting back on the balls of my feet and awaiting the consequences of my action.

  “I don’t mind your enthusiasm, kitten. I’ll allow it.”

  A breath I didn’t know I was holding leaves me, and I can feel my body sag slightly.

  “You must really enjoy strawberries, kitten,” he says, his deep voice filled with amusement.

  “No, it’s you,” I say, the words slipping past my lips without my consent. I blush after I speak, realizing it’s all true. I’m so caught up in pleasing him, I’d made an error in my strict obedience. Isaac doesn’t respond and just looks at me, his green eyes so intense that I’m forced to look away. I shiver slightly, never remembering him looking at me like that before.

  “Let me show you to your room, kitten,” he says, adjusting his cock as he stands. “Come,” he commands.

  I’m quick to rise and obediently follow him through the opulent house, taking in everything in a sort of detached awe. The house is large, simple with modern features, yet elegant. I like it. It looks like something out of a magazine.

  We pass a large den as we go down the hallway and then take a spiral staircase up to the second floor. The wide hallway has dark hardwood floors, and simple black and white scenic paintings that line the wall. At the end of the hallway are two large double doors, which I assume lead to the master suite. Isaac leads me nearly to the double doors, but stops at a single door that’s closest to it.

  “This is your room,” he informs me, gesturing at the door and then to the double doors. “That one is mine. Both my doors and yours shall remain open at all times. Understood?”

  Biting my lower lip, I nod. “Yes, Master.”

  Isaac stares at me, his striking green eyes causing goosebumps to rise on my arms. “If you need me during the night, you’re to kneel at my bedside and call my name until I wake. Though I’m sure I’ll hear you the moment you walk in.”

  I’m shocked. My old Master would never allow me such freedom. I was never allowed to go anywhere without his consent or without him present. Ever. Even with him present, the chain was always there, making each step difficult and painful.

  Letting his words sink in, Isaac turns and opens the door to my room, motioning me inside. The memory of the chain, the comparison of then and now completely vanishes as the door swiftly opens and reveals what lies beyond it.

  My breath catches in my throat and my lips part in surprise as I step in the room, with a push from Isaac. It’s not what I was anticipating. It’s a normal bedroom. No chains or sex swings or glass cabinet filled with toys and tools for punishment. Just a normal room. It’s quite lavish with a fancy white plush rug underneath the queen-size bed with matching comforter, grey and white paint on the walls in stripes, and gossamer silk curtains adorning the windows. Their softness reminds me of butterflies. This is just so… normal. My breathing comes in faster. I feel completely at a loss. I look over my shoulder at Isaac, feeling somewhat betrayed. Although it’s my own fault. I don’t know what to expect from him. I am his Slave, yet this is where he’s keeping me.

  “You can roam wherever you’d like in the house,” Isaac says, his eyes focusing on my face as I nod. “But when I go to bed, I want you in this room.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you like your new room, kitten?” Isaac asks, still staring at me intently. He seems to be waiting for me to question all this. And I want to, but I don’t want to seem disobedient. I don’t want to tell him that I feel like I’m not worthy.

  “I love it,” I say and quickly add, “Thank you.” In a way, it reminds me a lot of my living room with light colors that brighten my mood. There are even small copper birds on the ends of the curtain rods that I hadn’t noticed at first glance. The whole room is just gorgeous. Quirky and cozy, yet spacious and luxurious.

  “If it’s missing anything, you’ll let me know,” Isaac says as more of a command than a statement.

  “I will, Master,” I answer quickly.

  A slight smile plays across Isaac’s full lips. “Good.” He glances at the silver Rolex watch on his wrist and then looks back at me. “It’s late, but it’s time for your first lesson.”

  A chill goes down my spine at the intense look in his eyes. Excitement. Eagerness. Lust.

  “I want to whip you,” he says, slowly closing the door with his back to me, his voice low and filled with passion. “Every night I want you crawling into bed, your ass red and tender.”

  My breath quickens as my sore pussy begins to clench around nothing, and I close my eyes as images of being whipped by him fill my mind, my lips parting with desire.

  Isaac steps in closer and I nearly fall to my knees, turned on by his closeness. “It’s a reminder that you’re mine. Your body belongs to me. Do you understand?” His voice is hoarse and coated with lust.

  “Yes, Master,” I sigh obediently, trembling from the heat radiating from his body.

  “Whichever hole I want to use, you’ll make available to me,” he says, the tone of his deep voice making my clit throb. “And you’ll be satisfied once I’ve cum.”

  If he means this to be a lesson by the way of torturing me with this dirty talk, then he’s definitely succeeding. I can hardly breathe, my sore pussy soaking wet.

  His eyes never leave my face. “If I’ve decided you’ve earned your pleasure, I’ll make sure you cum as well. If not, you better not fucking touch yourself.” His words come out quicker, his eyes holding a threat. As he talks, he walks the length of the room and I follow his steps. “Denial will be your punishment, and taking your own pleasure will only result in a whipping meant to cause more than just a sting. Do you understand?”

  “You own my pleasure, Master,” I manage to say as if in a trance, feeling weak in the knees and wanting him to end my torment. I want him to use my body for his pleasure. Right now.

  A satisfied grin plays across his chiseled jawline. “Good girl.”

  He sits on the edge of the bed and then motions at me. “Tonight I want to use my hand.”

  Obediently I crawl onto the bed as he pats his lap. My breath quickening, I lower my body, lying in the end of the bed and across his lap, my hips digging into his thigh and my ass perfectly seated for the spanking. He moves his right leg over both of mine and lays his forearm across the length of my back, pushing my hair out of the way, so his heavy arm is laying across my naked back. “Put your hands behind your back and grip your wrists,” he orders.

  I do as I’m told, struggling to stay still as my clit throbs. My cheek lays flat against the bed and I stare straight ahead at the mirror sitting on top of a vanity across the room.

  I want this so badly. After him talking to me in that dark, forceful way, I’m eager for his touch.

  The sight in the mirror makes me even more turned on. Him still in his suit, the power radiating from his broad shoulders and perfect stature. But there’s a heat in his eyes as the roam the length of my body that makes me feel like the powerful one.

  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 clear it once again feels like she can see through me. She licks her lower lip and lays her he
ad 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.”