Highest Bidder

by Le Carre, Georgia

  “Turn to the side,” the voice instructed.

  I turned.

  “Face the back.”

  I faced the back.

  “Lie on the bench, please.”

  My heart was racing when I lay down on the cold wood that seemed more like an altar than a table.

  “Legs,” the auctioneer commanded.

  I closed my eyes tightly and opened my legs. Part of me felt as if I was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. I was not lying on a table while strange men looked between my legs.

  “Stand up.”

  I stood.

  “The auction will begin now.”

  My head remained down even as the auction started, and I couldn’t lift it up. It felt as heavy as lead so I gave up, shut my eyes, and managed to stop myself from running off the stage.

  “Starting at fifteen thousand,” the auctioneer bellowed.

  I dug my nails into my palms.

  “I have twenty thousand!” he called out.

  Hearing this, I began to breathe easier. Even if that was where it ended, it would be alright. Twenty thousand was better than returning with nothing. The relief was short-lived because I was suddenly overcome with guilt. What the hell was I doing? I had come this far and subjected myself to this humiliation, if I put more effort into it I could make more for myself and my mother. If I was already going to go through this nightmare, then why not go all the way to obtain as much as I could? I unfisted my hands slowly, so that I could attempt to do some sort of pose, or at least spin around slowly, but just then, the next increment was announced.

  “I see thirty thousand,” the auctioneer called.

  “Forty-thousand.”

  I blinked in shock. Unlike the other girls whose value from what I had heard backstage, had skyrocketed in increments of five, and then twenty thousand, it was obvious I wasn’t putting in as much effort to invite the same kind of fortune to myself.

  “Fifty thousand.”

  I froze on the spot. At first, I was sure that I had heard incorrectly but then the announcer bellowed again.

  “Do I hear sixty?”

  This time my head shot up in shock.

  “Seventy thousand pounds!” he called and my heart began to race. Was this real?

  “Eighty thousand!”

  I focused on steadying my breathing.

  “Ninety thousand pounds! Do I hear a hundred?”

  This had to be a dream. It was all going to stop any moment now.

  “A hundred thousand,” the announcer called.

  I wobbled on my feet ever so slightly.

  Light murmurs began to break out backstage as I moved my eyes across the mirrors in the hopeless search of whomever was driving this bid.

  I saw a flash of light, and the announcer bellowed. “One hundred and ten thousand.”

  Another flash went up in the opposite corner of the room.

  “One hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” the announcer roared, and fear gripped me.

  What was going on? It couldn’t be my body? Was this person insane?

  “One hundred and eighty thousand pounds!” he bellowed out.

  My hand came to my mouth in shock.

  A stunning silence erupted across the room, and soon the announcer began his final call.

  “One hundred and eighty thousand,” he repeated. “Going once ... Going twice—”

  “Two hundred thousand,” the other person flashed back.

  “One million pounds!” someone roared from behind one of the mirrors. That person hadn’t even been in the running all this while. He had come from nowhere with his crazy offer.

  The announcer found his voice, “Uh ... One million pounds?” When there was no take back, he went on. “Going once …” His voice sounded like a warning to which ever idiot had just blurted out that amount.

  “Going twice,” he called out once more.

  Silence.

  “Sold to Buyer Twenty-five for one million pounds!” he crowed triumphantly.

  Freya

  The auctioneer’s voice was still ringing in my ears as I pulled on my negligee and got off the stage. I trembled with shock and incredulity. Was it real? Did someone actually buy me for one million pounds?

  The woman I had instinctively distrusted came up to me. She was unsmiling. “Come. I will take you to your buyer.” Without waiting for my reply, she began to walk away.

  Every other girl had been allowed to return to the dressing room, but I ... I was being requested immediately. Breathing normally, was now a foregone luxury.

  “W-where are we going?” I finally found my voice enough to ask as I ran along to keep up with her long, almost angry strides. Why she was mad at me was beyond me.

  She glanced back with a bitter smile. “Your buyer wants you now. Apparently, he can’t wait. He must have really liked you.” Her eyes ran down my nearly naked body.

  I didn’t miss the puzzled raise of her brows. I didn’t blame her. Something had to have gone wrong somewhere, for somebody to be willing to pay that kind of money for one night with a virgin. Sure, virgins weren’t growing on trees and I’m incredibly and unbelievably grateful, but one million?

  I spotted a man awaiting us at the end of the corridor, and my chest tightened at the sight of him in a dark suit. Was he the buyer? But he didn’t have the look of anyone important. And he looked nearly as young as me. Unless he was the heir to some conglomerate? Only heirs could waste this much money without batting an eye.

  I could barely hear anything beyond the drumming of my heart in my ears when I arrived, close enough to see his face.

  The woman with me, said, “Here she is.” Without another word, she turned around and left.

  I turned to look at her departing back.

  “Freya?” the man called, politely.

  I turned. “Are you the one who bought me?” I asked, even though, I already knew it could not be him. The woman would not have dared behave in such a rude way if he was the buyer.

  “No, I am not. My boss did.”

  “Your boss? Who is he?”

  “Freya, I am sure that you’ve been explicitly warned about asking questions beyond those that concern your safety and overall well being. Please keep to the terms of your contract.”

  My mouth shut closed then.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  * * *

  I don’t know what I had expected. A room with satin and blood red accents perhaps. Instead, I was ushered into a cozy, well decorated space with the real fire going in a marble fireplace. There were upholstered cream armchairs, a big bed with a velvet throw, and a sheepskin rug similar to the one that my mother used to have in her dressing room in our old life. The walls were hung with modern art in silver and black frames.

  “Please wait here,” he said to me. “Do you need anything?”

  “No,” I responded.

  As he turned around to leave, I wanted to ask him what his name was, but what was the point? After tonight, I never wanted anything to do with him, or his boss again, whomever it was going to be. I did however have one question. “When will he be here?”

  “He might be a little while,” he responded. “Maybe take a nap? I’ll turn down the lights,” he said, as he left the room.

  I was alone with just shadows for company. I ignored the huge white bed, with its thick fur comforter across its foot, and headed straight for the armchair. There was a massive vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table next to it. The chair smelled faintly of expensive cigars, and brought reminders of my father in his study to me. It saddened me even more.

  The minutes ticked by and I gazed so long at the fire I lost myself in the orange flames.

  I might have even dozed off for a little while, but was jerked awake by some noise or some instinct for self-preservation. I sat up, just as I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t know what to do.

  Before I could make up my mind, the door handle turned with a click. I dared not turn around. I made no sound.


  He stood at the doorway for a moment.

  I wanted to call out, but my throat was locked and my body was frozen.

  He didn’t come to me, but headed over towards the bed.

  I heard the soft thud of his outerwear hit the bed. I listened to the small clink of what I guessed must be his watch dropping on the bedside table.

  I heard him sit on the bed and then I heard nothing else. The room was lit only by the dancing flames. I had since decided it was enough light. I did not particularly need to see what he looked like. I could guess.

  Needing for this to end as quickly as possible, even though I suspected that was a forlorn hope, I rose to my feet and turned around. “Hello,” I said, my voice quite cold.

  He didn’t respond. As I watched, he started taking off his cufflinks. He did it quickly, expertly, then he began on the buttons of his white dress shirt. In one smooth movement, he had shrugged off his shirt.

  I was ready to look away, but at the sight of the rippling of muscles across smooth olive skin, I stopped.

  What?

  I was expecting saggy, liver-spotted skin and layers of fat … not this Greek God.

  What was going on?

  He flung his shirt away and rose to his feet.

  Without even realizing it, I took three steps backwards. He turned to face me then and my eyes were widened in the dark, needing to see his face. He had to be hideous, perhaps scarred and beyond ugly, for him to have to buy a woman.

  His face however …

  Was a dream.

  Freya

  He pushed his hair away from his face and his amber eyes sparkled like a wolf’s in the orange illumination of the room.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes and for a moment, I was sure that I was hallucinating.

  “Brent?”

  “Freya,” came his mocking response.

  My heart fell into my stomach. As I gazed at him, stupefied with shock, a thousand questions flooded into my head. When I broke our gaze to clear my head, the first question finally slipped out, “You bought me?”

  His extraordinary eyes narrowed at my words. “I paid for a night with you.”

  None of this made any sense but at the same time, it was somehow as clear as day. “Is this a joke?” Needing to sit down, I just lowered myself to the floor and folded my legs underneath me. He was bloody handsome ... had always been. I hadn’t seen him in about a decade ... not since I was an eleven-year-old busybody.

  The last time I’d laid eyes on him he had an 18th century marble figurine raised in the air, ready to bring it down on the head of his younger brother whom he had in a deathly neck grip. Everything about him had been menacing then … as it was now. Nothing had changed.

  My voice was eerily quiet as I spoke, “Did you know it was me?”

  “Of course.”

  I shook my head in awe. “Did you buy me because of what happened ten years ago?”

  I watched his eyes darken with quiet rage. “Get up,” he said to me. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I don’t know why, but it surprised me and even hurt just a bit that he was going to go through with it. In a tiny corner of my heart I must have hoped he had purchased me to protect me. “Will I be getting the one million then?”

  He cocked his head. “If you keep your side of the bargain.”

  “Bargain?” I whispered.

  “You sound bitter. Is it not enough?”

  I was bitter, incredibly so. I wanted to smash the vase of flowers on top of his arrogant head. “No,” I responded, lifting my chin. “It is not.” In this moment, I felt beyond crippled by shame. I couldn’t believe that from all the people in the world, he was the one present at what would be the lowest moment of my life. “How about doubling it? Make it two million.”

  He watched me and then folded his arms across his chest. “How are you going to explain to the world where you got two million pounds from, overnight?”

  My temper went out of control. “Exactly!” I cried. “Why would you buy me for so much money?”

  He narrowed his eyes, “So your problem is that I overpaid for you.”

  “Why did you even buy me in the first place?” I yelled at him and couldn’t believe it when tears filled my eyes. “And what the hell are you doing here? Is this what you do? Buying virgins? Is this what you spend your money on?” Rising to my feet, I wiped the tears off my face and turned around to walk out of the room. Just before I arrived at the door however, his words made me stop.

  “You don’t need the million?”

  I stilled, as it hit me then what I was walking away from. I’d been prepared to go through with it all, to do what was needed to be done with some grotesque, probably corpulent man, old enough to be my grandfather, but not him. Not with him. To think that he had already seen me fully naked and with my legs open wrung my heart dry.

  I turned to glance at him. “I just found out what the great Lord of Leighton spends his spare change on. I think this bit of info will probably fetch me more than what I need.”

  “Where's the proof?” he asked.

  I froze once again. Where's the proof? That had been the question, and the first words I had asked him ten years earlier.

  He began to walk towards me.

  Immediately, I backed away until I found my back against the door.

  “Don’t you need the money? Isn’t that why you came to this club?”

  I met his eyes with a glare. Turmoil brewed in the pit of my stomach, making me feel feverish. “Why do you do this? Why do you buy girls?”

  “I don’t buy girls,” he answered.

  My eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t buy girls?”

  “I don’t. I only took part in the auction because I saw you on stage. It was quite the surprise.” He smiled. “I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.”

  “Then what were you even doing here in the first place?”

  He paused and I waited for him to cook up a lie.

  “This is my club,” he said simply.

  “You’re the reclusive billionaire?” I gasped.

  He was now only a short distance away from me. The light from the fire licked the side of his face, making him appear dangerously beautiful. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to let me fuck you or not?”

  The way he said the word, throaty and full of lust, sent a jolt of pleasure to the pit of my stomach. I stared at him, enthralled by the effortless way he could mesmerize me. I had expected to be revolted tonight and look at where I was instead …

  “You really want to do this?” I breathed because I didn’t quite believe he wanted to go through with this.

  “Yes, I really want to,” he murmured softly.

  Freya

  “Let’s get this over with then,” I said, and the nonchalance in my tone when I was so close to imploding impressed even me. Holding the light gown, I pulled it over my head and flung it away. My breasts were now on full display.

  He stared hungrily at the full mounds. “You’ve truly grown up,” he commented more to himself than me. “Turn around,” he commanded in that deep, warm voice.

  I did as I was instructed, fully aware my exposed ass was only covered with a black lacy thong. I felt his warmth as he reached me, and shut my eyes to contain it all when his hand slithered around my waist.

  No one had ever touched me so intimately before. Given the setting, obviously romance wasn’t part of the agenda, but the way his warm hand moved across my skin, then flattened on my stomach to press my frame to his ... My eyes fluttered shut. His touch burned like a brand, and hot molten desire began to pool between my legs.

  I could feel his hardness through our clothes, and it quickened my breath dangerously. He towered considerably above me, so he had to lean down to bury his face in my neck as though he were breathing me in, his hand moving up from my stomach. When it arrived at my breasts, his hands covered both swollen, heavy, mounds.

  As he fondled me, my entire being began to ache … for him … for more.r />
  I needed more … I needed him to hold me, but I didn’t want to show any of this. I tried to keep still, but before I realized it, my head tipped back as he traced warm, hair curling kisses along my neck and shoulders. I tingled all over from the sheer anticipation of his lips on mine, but it never came.

  His hands began to slip away from my breasts, downward. My eyes snapped open. Angling my head, I found his gaze and the world seemed to completely stop in that moment. Our chests rose and fell. He waited … without breaking the gaze for me to say what burned on the tip of my tongue.

  “Kiss me,” I whispered.

  He turned his head away from me and his response was brief, but commanding, “No.”

  Before I could stop it, his hands slipped down and grabbed my already soaked thong. The pleasure that shot through my body at the seize was borderline painful ... but it wasn’t enough to mask the sting of his rejection. I didn’t want to feel that way about the arrogant brute, but the possessiveness and domination with which his hands travelled down to my sex took over my body and spirited my breath away. He began to circle his finger around the swollen bud, in slow precise motions at first, and then in rapid strokes.

  I writhed uncontrollably against him.

  One of my hands tangled in my own hair to somehow keep my mind intact, while the other made feeble attempts to release his hold. My moan was breathless and when he went even lower, past the ineffective barrier of my thong to slip a finger inside of me, I lost control of myself. Like an animal, my feet left the floor as I started to raise myself higher as he pushed into me. He dipped his finger in and out with maddening slowness. I wanted to scream.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “I need you to be very wet to take me inside you.”

  Soon, he had increased it to two fingers, which felt like heaven, and made me want to have more. “Brent,” I gasped, my writhing bringing my butt unabashedly against his hardness. I started to quicken at the build-up of ecstasy tearing through me, but just when my eyes were about to roll into my head, he pulled his hand away. My eyes flew open in disappointment. I spun around, barely able to catch my breath. “Why did you stop?”