Naughty Bits Part IV: The Highest Bid

by Joey W. Hill

  "Lift your hips so I can fold it beneath you."

  She obeyed, and she was sitting naked next to him, in nothing but collar, tether and thong. And plug, but she supposed in its current position it couldn't count as outerwear. She was grateful for the cushion of the cloak, because those stripes still hurt.

  "Open your legs."

  He didn't have Logan's commanding delivery, but she didn't sense that was his intent. He was a servant of the auction, here to provide further instruction, an extension of the note. When she complied, his hands went to her thighs. He guided another strap around each, cinched and buckled them, testing the hold with a functional slide of his fingers beneath, though the proximity of his fingers to her wet cunt, the bullet forced more firmly against her from the spread-legged position, kept her breathing erratic. He attached similar straps to her wrists and guided them to her sides. A sound of metal snapping, and her wrists were clipped to the thigh straps.

  She had so many things going on in her stomach and chest now. Anticipation, anxiety, restlessness. Arousal. Her nipples were beaded tight. As she shifted her thighs, she knew her folded cloak was absorbing the moisture that kept gathering on her labia, evidence of her readiness for her Master. How far would they drive?

  She'd nursed this fantasy for a long time, so it was easy to revisit it, twine past imaginings with present ones in the swirling darkness created by the blindfold. The fantasy had started to build itself in her mind as soon as she'd begun the preparations, and now it continued in that vein, taking on a life of its own.

  She knew some of her potential bidders, the way she knew the soldier. They'd all come to the parties the Training Mistress had planned to show off her offerings. The slaves were the servers on those nights, the estate where they trained full of powerful men and women. Glittering chandeliers, lots of dark, polished woods and marble floors, cold and hard where they'd kneel in proscribed positions until they were called to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

  Whenever she dared a glance through her lashes, she would see the soldier's dark brown eyes latched on her. His gaze would flicker, an admonishment as if he could already command her as her Master, and her eyes would dart back toward the floor. She wanted to slide across the hard stone and kneel at his feet then and there. But her fate was not hers to decide.

  One night, though, he'd answered her wish. While kneeling, waiting to be called to serve again, she'd seen his polished shoe by her knee. He and another Master spoke over her head, talking of general things. His time in Afghanistan, what he thought of the oil situation. He was smart, her Master, speaking of what he knew without elaboration or boast, while being careful of subjects that related to his service, not meant to be revealed casually. When he shifted, the toe of his shoe was nearly beneath her knee. If she leaned forward even from a breath, she might press against it. Before she could do that, he did something different.

  Her hands were flat on the floor, spaced six inches out from her knee. When he placed his shoe over her fingers, her instinct was to draw back before he accidentally stepped on her, broke bones. She was supposed to protect the assets of the Training House, and she was one of them. Broken fingers would earn her punishment for her carelessness. But she found herself quelling the instinct, holding still, and then she was caught up in a wondrous bliss.

  He didn't put his weight on them. He had his shoe over her fingers, as light and gentle as if he'd covered them with his hand, which said he knew what he was doing, that he was touching her in an incidental way not prohibited during this phase of the evaluation process. It was a test, and she hoped she'd passed it. He put more pressure on it, enough to flatten her fingers, hold them more firmly to the ground, still not causing pain, though, and she forgot to breathe. She wanted to put her forehead to the ground, kneel fully to him, and maybe dare to turn her head, touch her mouth to his shoe. But she didn't.

  Madison surfaced slowly from the image, though her current state and surroundings helped her stay caught up in its spell. Tonight was all about her fate. This was the turning point. Like the rituals prevalent in so many secret societies, where a new initiate stepped from the outer circle into the inner one, only the circle she was stepping into was essentially a circle of two. What she was leaving outside was all the others, all the wrong fit, the life she'd had.

  She shivered, caught between the fears that overlapped between fantasy and reality. Troy's hand closed briefly over hers on the seat, strong and warm. He would try to comfort her, even if it wasn't allowed. But it would be noticed.

  "We'll be arriving at the auction house shortly." Shale spoke sharply, and he withdrew. Her tone was capable of making a man's testicles shrink back into his body. "Remember your training."

  She wasn't sure to whom Shale was speaking, until she continued. "You don't speak or respond unless ordered to do so. You submit to anything required, whether pain or pleasure. Be a credit to your training. Understand?"

  "Yes, Mistress."

  "When you are purchased, you will be turned over to your new Master or Mistress. From that moment on, you obey him or her only. You are no longer part of the Training House. Your absolute obedience and loyalty belong to your Master or Mistress."

  The car came to a rolling stop. This time, Troy left the cape off. He guided her out of the car with a supporting hand on her elbow and a tug on the leash firm enough that it pulled against the collar. She inhaled oil, metal. Maybe a parking area? As they moved forward, her wearing nothing but the thong and her collar, she felt the touch of open air. She had to trust she was in an isolated place, right? Oddly, though, it mattered even less to her now, as if she was being pulled deeper into the spell. This was the auction site, where other slaves dressed just the same would be on display, paraded across the same open area. She was probably being looked at even now.

  A few minutes later, she sensed they'd entered a pavilion area, the air changing as curtains were pulled back, and sounds reflecting the echoing note they had when captured in an enclosed space. She stiffened as she heard voices, felt more air movement, as if her immediate surroundings contained people. Something like this would be held someplace private, unexpected, out of the way. Maybe a warehouse. As she was led further inside, though she was blindfolded, that darkness seemed to get even darker. Dim, murky. A place where people could move in shadows. A place of dark secrets and sinful desires. The oil and metal smell outside was replaced by an exotic incense, one that teased her nose, made her feel dizzier. Despite her wrists being pinioned to her sides, she stretched out her fingers and found she was able to grasp a tiny inch of the slacks Troy was wearing, a tight hold on that small piece of him.

  "Remember Alice?" he murmured, and gave her hip a single, reassuring caress.

  The reminder and touch helped. She didn't want to get him in trouble, so she released him and followed his lead, a little steadier. Brighter, artificial light touched the edges of the blindfold, and she was taken up a set of steps, walked across planks. She was on a makeshift stage. The noise of people grew louder, the air movement denser, as if they were packed more closely around that display area. She was naked, in front of a group of strangers, here to assess her for purchase. Her pulse hammered up hard in her throat. Had she lost her mind? If her hands hadn't been bound, she would have ripped the blindfold away, tried to find that cloak.

  She'd come to a stop, balked against Troy's hold. There were too many people around, too many voices. She turned, bumped into Troy, pulled against the bindings. She'd freak out if someone she didn't know did touch her. If that happened, she wouldn't know if anything he'd told her could be trusted. She wasn't ready for this. She'd lost her mind. All she had to do was say Alice. Right?

  "I was very clear when I spoke to the Training Mistress. She's too shy for these coarse surroundings. That's why I paid for a private holding room for her."

  The soldier's voice. Stern and commanding, a far harsher tone than he'd used in her presence before, but still very much him. As she lunged in his direction,
the collar brought her up short, the tether suddenly wrapped up against Troy's fist, resting on her collar bone.

  "Well, she seems to have made her choice." Shale's voice was amused, but cool. "We were taking her to the back for your private viewing, sir. The backroom access is through the stage."

  "Which gives everyone a chance to see her," the soldier said, his voice like ice. "Driving her price up even higher."

  Shale made a polite but noncommittal noise. The soldier placed a hand on Madison's bare shoulder. With a simple shift, he took her away from Troy and she was against him. He was wearing a uniform, and the wool scratched her bare flesh. She burrowed against him anyway, and his arm slid around her waist, hand palming her buttock. When he squeezed, the marks of the switch throbbed and the plug was nudged by his knuckles. The mix of pleasure and discomfort made her breath catch.

  "I'll examine her thoroughly in the back. When the auction starts, you can communicate her bids to me via intercom. I will match and exceed them. No one will touch her except by my say-so."

  "As you wish, sir." Shale's voice was as satisfied as any commissioned employee of the Training Mistress's would be, knowing she was going to get top dollar for her efforts.

  He was guiding her away from the noise, the light. Yes, there might be people here, but he was taking her away from that. No one was going to touch her unless he permitted it. He'd said so. She inhaled his scent. He was near, holding her leash. It was okay.

  She passed through another seemingly crowded area and then she was in blissful solitude with him, a quiet room that seemed quite a bit smaller. He unsnapped the tether, leaving her standing there without his support. She heard him moving around her, measured steps in crisp shoes. Military shoes.

  "You're as lovely as I remember. Beautiful breasts, soft skin. You were ill-behaved in front of the camera this afternoon, a shameless tease." He pinched her buttock, hard, making her jump. "I see your bottom has already been whipped for an infraction. You'll be punished by me as well. Have you ever felt the bite of a single tail, sweet slave?"

  She shook her head, and then yelped as something stung her nipple. Something electric, like a wand. She heard the crackle of the energy. "No sir."

  "Better. You will address me as Master or Sergeant Major, at all times."

  "Yes, Master." She shook as he moved the wand over her flesh, coming close enough for her to feel that tiny jolt and sting again. Under her nipple, along her hip bone, across her thigh. A thigh tracked with her moisture. His finger traced it and she bit her lip, then gave a yelp as he tugged on the chain to her nipple clamps, a firm hold that also pulled on the collar in a provocative way, reminding her she was wearing it.

  "Spread your legs."

  This was an entirely different tone from what she'd experienced before. There was no hesitation, no pause to determine what she was thinking, feeling, making sure they were going slow enough, reassuring her. But she was a trained slave. It was assumed she was ready for this, right? And though her heart was pounding rapidly and she was caught between nerves and a flight instinct, she was well aware she was responding to every word from his mouth, every touch. He'd taken her away from the stage, brought her here, just the two of them.

  She'd spread her legs as he'd commanded. Her fingers fisted in the bonds at her sides as the wand touched her labia, just under the thong, sending the kiss of pain through those sensitive nerve endings. Catching the side strap in one finger, he pulled the garment outward enough to slide the wand down in between it and the bullet, making her hips jerk in rhythm as he kept applying those electrical impulses to her clit.

  "Master . . ." She bit back a yelp as he gave her a sharper zap, a reminder she was not allowed to speak unless spoken to. But he caressed her cheek as if her outburst had pleased him.

  "The bidding is about to begin for her, sir." Shale's voice, through an intercom. "Would you like to open?"

  "Twenty-five thousand."

  "Very good, sir."

  He put pressure on her shoulder, holding her steady until her knees met the floor since she had no hands to balance her. She heard the rustle of clothing, a zipper opening, then she inhaled the intoxicating musk of his cock. "Now would be the time for you to convince me just how much you want to be mine."

  She already had her lips parted. He fed his stiff organ to her, keeping his fist wrapped around it so he gave her a provocative inch at a time, making her lick and suck and tease at his knuckles with her mouth. With the sway of her body and the fervency with which she worked her lips over the portion he gave her, she begged for more. The plug inside her, the rub of the bullet against her clit, all added to her enthusiasm, her arousal.

  "Thirty thousand."

  Another pause as more bids were taken. Every few moments, the voice came through again, Shale patiently waiting for his next counteroffer. Sometimes he paused, and Madison would renew her efforts, frantic that he might change his mind. This was her reality, fully immersed in the fantasy that had been drawn around her, made impossible to resist by the blindfold she wore, the way he'd submerged her senses in an environment that convinced her she was in an auction house, and he was one of her bidders, this stern man in uniform.

  "Fifty-six thousand." He reached down, caught one of those chains and she came off her heels as he tugged at her left nipple, pulling it up higher. She moaned against his cock as he thrust harder, his other hand fisted in her hair. "You're worth a hundred thousand for your mouth alone," he muttered. "But I have to have enough left over to feed you."

  She didn't need food. She just needed him. She teased the corona, sucking on the edges, flicking her tongue along the throbbing vein. She wanted to make him come, wanted to hear him make the winning bid in a strangled tone of near release. He chuckled harshly as if he sensed her intent, and then pulled her off of him.

  "Forehead to floor, ass in the air. Spread your thighs. Let me see those switch marks."

  She obeyed, whimpering. She was so close to coming it was as if she was in aftershocks already. It was hard not to move. He pulled up a chair near her and rested the flat of one shoe against her ass cheek, using her as a footrest. A struck match and she smelled the scent of a clove cigarette, a much more pleasant scent than the tobacco kind.

  "We have a competing bid of ninety-thousand, sir. I believe you have some competition."

  "One hundred and five thousand. I know my competition, and he's about tapped out. He doesn't want her as much as I do. Which will be his eternal loss."

  He shifted his foot, rocking her body slightly, almost like she was a cradle to soothe a baby, only she was the occupant being soothed by the movement as well. "I have some friends eager to meet you. You're my gift to them tonight. After I enjoy you myself. I have to be sure you're worth what I've paid for you."

  Another silence, and then the intercom crackled. "Congratulations, sir. You have the winning bid. We've completed the transfer from your account. You may take her home."

  "I'd like to see them try to stop me." The delicious threat and promise rippled along her spine. Her Master rose, trailing his fingers along that same track, down to the crease of her buttocks, probing between them, making her twitch as he dipped down beneath the thong to collect some moisture from her pussy, paint it around the rim where it was stretched around the plug. "It's good they've stretched you out there, but not too much. Some of the boys will want that pleasure tonight."

  He lifted her to her knees, caught his finger beneath the collar. "You've made this too tight, baby. Trying to please your Master." He loosened it a notch, and she realized she could breathe a little easier. "Your handler should have checked that. I'll be sure to take it out on his ass."

  She felt a twinge of sympathy for Troy, but she also wondered if she'd have the sadistic pleasure of witnessing it. The soldier gave her a sharp tug with the lead that had her stumbling to her feet, his hand grasping her arm to keep her from falling. Once she was steady, he dropped the lead and she let out a whimper as he unclamped the nipple je
welry, removing the chains that connected them to the collar so she wore just the collar and the thong. He cupped her breasts, massaged her nipples with his thumbs as the painful tingle made her shudder, bite back another whimper.

  "They're nice and swollen now. I have an oil at home that, when painted on nipples, makes them stay aroused and stiff for hours. When I rub it onto your pussy, it will keep you so worked up I'll have to gag you to stop you begging to be fucked."

  Her lips parted, that whimper turning into a pleading noise. She was almost at that point now. He stepped back, taking his hands away.

  "You'll go with the two who brought you here tonight. They'll bring you to my home."

  She didn't want him to leave her again, and she made a movement forward before she thought to restrain herself. He touched her face, telling her he wasn't displeased with her show of preference, but his voice was uncompromising.

  "You'll behave, or I'll hear of it. You're mine now. You'll be a credit to my ownership, or you'll face punishment."

  She swallowed, sinking back down to her knees to convey her obedience. As his footsteps receded, she heard two other sets approaching. Though she stayed in place as she'd been bid, she had an overpowering need to be with her Master again. Was that part of full submission, this swelling anxiety unless her Master was near?

  Troy and Shale stood over her, speaking as if indifferent to her presence, a pet patiently sitting at their feet, though Troy did pick up the tether, since she felt the tug on the collar from his direction.

  "I was surprised he bid so high," Troy said. "He's not the romantic type."

  "He's a Master." Shale's voice reflected cool amusement. "It's not romance like candy and flowers, but something that means even more. When it's the one you want to belong to you, not just the one you're owning for the moment, you'd pay anything for that."

  Her voice softened over those words. Madison suspected she'd reached out to touch some part of Troy, the one who belonged to her. The silence suggested Troy was responding to that, probably with one of those scorching looks the two of them liked to exchange.

  "It reminds me of the first day he saw her." Troy paused. "I saw this look on his face, like when he's at the club and figuring out if a new member is a sub or Dom, or just vanilla out for a lark. I was pretty sure I knew what she was, because I could feel it, like a kinship, a sub-to-sub thing. But I wanted to be sure he and I were on the same page, so I said outright, 'She's a sub, right?'"