A single, centered spotlight shone down onto each person being auctioned as they were presented on the stage. None of them ever saw their patron until after they were purchased. Bidding always started at €500,000 per year and went up based on the intended length of service. Contracts were explicitly stated when the person was introduced and usually ranged from six months to two years.
I liked the efficiency of The Brokerage, because they did the legwork for me, and, the girls I had acquired seemed grateful. My only purchases to date had been for professional aides. Never anything physical. I had considered it a couple of times, but I didn't want the headache of an emotional attachment. I don't have time for that in my life.
The first individual tonight was a surprise. She was easily 50, and almost twice the age of any other person I had ever seen offered. “Blue” was beautiful, yes, but there was something else about her. She was majestic, also. Her CV was exhaustive. She had managed entire estates, large numbers of staff, and had also eagerly joined as a third during erotic encounters. Almost no limit to her skillset as a dominatrix, a house manager, an assistant, and a voluntary whore. Blue would even service houseguests at parties. She had been with The Brokerage the longest, and she was the most expensive in their stable, with her starting rate beginning at $2 million per year. I didn't bid but I was awestruck, particularly when the bidding capped at €14 million for each of the two years she offered.
I whistled low, impressed.
The fourth was a housekeeper and a sissy girl. A transgender, male to female, drop-dead gorgeous French maid. She went to a Shah, no doubt, as they often did, for €1,800,000.
By the 11th woman, I was bored, ready to leave, when the last offer of the evening was finally announced.
Out walked a very young, very nubile woman who could not have been more than 18 or 19. My dick twitched, surprising me. I had never been interested in a virgin before, but this one knew four languages, had studied in six different countries during high school, had finished a degree at MIT before she was 18, and had served two U.S. presidents, one in office and the other on the campaign trail. Obviously, smart. She was wearing a sheer black gown, cinched at the neck and wrists, which fell delicately over pert breasts, shapely hips, a full ass, and runner’s legs. I took a sharp intake of breath and wondered why she was there. Then the announcer said she was royalty. Sixteen generations of a royal line preceded her, and she was a direct descendent, eligible as third in line, for the throne in her country. I gasped; very glad I had stayed.
I looked at her dark hair and almond skin and wondered if she was Middle Eastern or European. My mind raced as I scanned my memory; I knew all the heads of state and most dignitaries in every major country. I knew all their children, if not in person, then by name. This one did not ring a bell.
She stepped forward, a certified virgin, completely comfortable in her nudity; completely comfortable showing us her body. She raised her arms and turned, cutting her eyes to the side as a small grin lifted her lips, just at each corner. She knew that somewhere, behind these windows, was someone who would introduce her to her womanhood.
It immediately pissed me the fuck off.
I didn't want anyone looking at her. I didn't want anyone touching her.
I hit my red buzzer before the bidding was even open, which meant I was tripling the opening bid. I immediately hit it again, twice more, so that I could start the bid at three times the €6 million opening bid. That meant I had started the bidding off at €18 million, hopeful to knock the others out of the running before the race started.
“A-1” as she was called, with arms still raised over her head, twisted her hips ever so slightly and bent her knees as she moved provocatively downward, her fingers snapping to some imaginary music. She moved again, seductively this time, arching her back as she rose.
I growled and hit my buzzer twice more. Bidding had just begun and it was now €20 million. Additional bids came in quickly, rapid-fire, one after the other, faster than they could be announced. It jumped to €22 million, then €24, followed immediately by €25 million. I hit the buzzer again, three more times, €28, then €32 – somebody else was hitting their buzzer rapid-fire, too.
I stood up and paced, hit the button again, and then again. Now it was €35 million. She must've heard the sum because she looked over her shoulder and let her eyes move over the tinted windows. When she stopped, she seemed to be staring right at me. I was pulled from my trace when she threw her head back, laughing, as she ran her hands down over her breasts, then waist, hips, and thighs. All the way down to her knees, causing her ass to jut out toward me. She threw her dark hair back in a wild flip and rose, spinning around and touching her hard nipples.
She's fucking mine! I growled to myself.
I have never made the call. Never once have I forced the auctioneer’s hand, but I had to reach for the golden phone this time.
I knew that when you use the golden phone, you are immediately increasing the bid by ten times the current value. It effectively stops the bidding process, even if someone can match the new price.
I said one word: mine and hung up. The stage went black.
Since the bidding continued as I rang, that call cost me €430 million.
I broke out in a sweat, knowing she was worth every penny. I couldn’t help but think about how my schedule next year would need to be curtailed until I made up the difference.
I walked out of the suite, the tinted glass at my back. My butler handed me the token that would open my personal delivery room.
I strode down the hall, angry at my inability to regain my usual level of control. Taylor, the head of my security, escorted me until we reached one of the private delivery rooms where I was to wait. He ushered me in and closed the door behind me.
I paced like a wild animal who had been tempted with its first meal in years then denied it at the last minute, the scent lingering, keeping my hunger active.
After a minute I settled. I moved over to the bar and poured myself two fingers of The Macallan M. Then I went to the singular chair in the room, which faced the door, and sat down.
Chapter 2
She walked in, robe discarded, as evidenced by her bare neck and wrists. She was wearing a black, floor-length, designer, mink coat and matching Louboutin’s. After the door closed, she stopped, unsure of herself. She looked towards me, waiting, her hands clasped the coat’s collar, holding it closed at her chest.
Goddamn, she was beautiful.
My face was hidden by shadows, a deliberate design that allowed a patron privacy until they were ready to reveal themselves. She saw me sitting, facing her; saw that I was wearing a white bowtie and shawl-collared tuxedo. I was sitting relaxed, now, holding a whiskey in a Baccarat tumbler that rested on the arm of my chair. My knees were open, comfortably.
My free hand moved from the armrest of the seat and pointed to the floor between my legs, silently.
Quietly, she moved forward, stopped about three feet from me, trying to hide that she looked for my eyes, which I know she couldn’t find. Then, she silently dropped her coat.
I took a quick intake of breath. She's fucking naked. If she wasn't certified, I'd wonder how many times she’d done this for other men, but the fact that she was naked told me she was doing this very deliberately and was playing to win, from the word jump.
She stepped forward and kneeled between my legs. I could feel the heat of her body. I felt myself grow hard as she knelt there, sweetly, almost demure. She sat back on her feet, lowered her head, and placed her hands, folded, on her lap.
Her breasts were firm and ready to be plucked. They had never been touched by a man. The thought had me reeling. Her nipples were hard; she was turned on.
I asked her if she consented to be here.
“Yes sir,” she said without lifting her eyes.
“Do you have any idea how much you cost me?”
She didn't say a word, but the side of her mouth moved upward in a small grin and
I knew she knew.
“No one is to ever see you naked, except me. Do you understand?” I snarled at her.
“Yes sir,” she says.
“Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”
She grinned again, without looking up, this time more fully.
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Get your fucking coat on then.”
She scrambled backward, quickly, reached for the dropped coat, then slid it on.
But she did not get up off her knees. Keeping her eyes down, she raised herself to an upright kneel – now able to reach me she placed both hands on the tops of my thighs. The coat fell open again and her breasts peeked out, caressed by the outline of the fur where it lay open. She looked me in the eye this time. She was close enough to see my erection. Close enough, that I could smell her expensive perfume.
She held my eyes for a minute and I downed my drink, not breaking eye contact. I can't breathe!
“You are mine,” I assert, under my breath, clearly affected by her.
As if that was her cue, she stood up, moving closer still, and held the coat open a few inches so I could eye her sculpted mons, and then closed the coat, stepping back to await further instructions.
I growled again, knowing she heard me, shocked by my continued inability to refrain.
I stood up and stepped forward, lifted her from the ground and threw her over my shoulder. She yelped excitedly, and I walked us out of the room.
Ruthless Captor: A Mafia Romance (Corrupt Minds Book 3) Page 16