The bodice had been easy. She’d removed the white ruffled trim, leaving her with a black, corset-like top. Yanking off the mesh filler skirt under the bottoms hadn't been as easy. She ended up having to cut most of it out, but in the end, she felt good about it. 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 here? What if he didn't get to the auction stage in time to bid? What if someone else outbid him? She dug through her bag looking for her purse. She'd text him.
"Erin!" Her name was called from the door. "Erin, you're up next, hon." The man who had 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 marked for the auctioned slave to stand. She still couldn't see anyone and wondered if they’d done that on purpose, adding to the thrill.
"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. 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 belonging to the voice.
"Three thousand and five," another bellowed.
"Four."
The paddles weren't flying anymore, only numbers.
"She's a newbie! I want her. Five!" a man in the front called out.
"Seven thousand," a new voice had boomed. Rumbling voices went through the crowd.
"Seven thousand," the auctioneer stammered. "Do I hear eight? Going once, twice, sold to Mr. Bradley Sorenson. Our host and one of the owners of Top Floor!"
Erin released a heavy breath. He was there. Relief flooded her.
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 with 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 to a table where he signed over a check for his bid and a waiver of some sort. He pushed the paper toward her, telling 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.
After she put the pen down on the table, her wrists were gathered and she was spun to face him. Stern, strong, controlled. No grin, no playful chatter. Thick leather straps were buckled around each of her wrists. Not too tight, but firm enough to 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 cuff her with a sense of trepidation. Whatever was coming next, she suddenly wasn't sure she was ready for. What if she messed it all up?
She followed the chain up to the leather handle 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 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 above her head. The light overhead showcased the angry red welt crossing her abdomen. Her eyes were clenched, awaiting the next bite of the leather braided whip.
"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. 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. The tank accentuated his broad shoulders. Muscles everywhere. Hard, rippling, unyielding muscles. Even with his shirt on, she could tell his abdomen was more of the same.
Being preoccupied with other anxieties for the night, she hadn't given much thought about being unclothed in front of him…or anyone else for that matter. She’d convinced herself it would be like changing in the locker room after gym. Except now that she stood in the room surrounding by 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 stay slender, but not like him.
Seeing the apprehension in her expression, Bradley 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, though. 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?" Her throat dried at the fierceness displayed in his eyes. 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 out the rest. "I don't look like you." She tried to look away, but he caught her chin in a tight grip a
nd dragged her face back to meet her gaze. Their noses nearly touched. Her focus drew to 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, 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, his musky scent, and the intense purpose in his gaze, all worked to unnerve her. "You do what I say, when I say and how I say." His grip tightened, 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 you already broke 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 dark eyes. "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?" 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." Those two words sent another shiver through her. "I told you I'm not easy. What are your safewords? 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?" 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 without pressure. She instinctively took deeper breaths and tried to escape his hand.
"Pulling away already?" His lips curled, something different, something more than 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 led 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 towed over her head, and her leash was 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 open sheers over the seam of the neckline, then looked back at her, giving a devastatingly devilish grin. "At least not yet."
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 awakened 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.
"Ah, there we go." He tossed the scissors onto the table, the clank of them landing lost in the background along with all the other sights and sounds. She sucked in her breath as his warm hands clasped over her breasts, kneading and squeezing them. "I knew you'd have nice tits." Her nipples rolled beneath his palms.
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 farther, 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 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 I give permission. Don't come without it." A dark promise lingered in his warning.
Just when she edged to her limit and was going to ask for permission, he yanked his hand away and delivered three quick slaps to her pussy. She jumped up, bringing her feet together to protect the sensitive area. Realizing what she'd done, she quickly walked her feet apart again. But it was too late.
"What did you just do?" he asked, turning his back to her and going to the table. When he turned around, a thick leather flogger was in his hands. "Erin, what did you do?"
"I closed my legs," she whimpered.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" He cupped his ear while waiting for her to answer.
She took a deep breath. "I closed my legs, Sir."
"Yes, you did." He ran the black leather falls of the flogger through his hand. "And I said not to move your feet. So, we are back to breaking the first rule I gave you. Isn't that right?" He stalked toward her. Although she had broken the rule, the excitement in his eyes told her he was almost pleased with her. He wanted to punish her, and she'd given him the perfect reason.
Her legs trembled as he made his way back to her side. Balancing the flogger over his shoulder, he reached down and found her clit again. She moaned, the instant pleasure of his fingers overwhelming. His unoccupied hand wrapped around her neck, pulling her face to his. His tongue darted out and licked her lips. The sensations of his fingers and the warmth of his tongue mingled together. Not a single coherent thought would form in her mind with his eyes on her in such a way. It was too much. Stimulation intensified everywhere.
"Are you close?" His whispered question drew her attention away from the pressure building in her clit again. "Do you want to come?" That simple question drove her closer to the edge she wanted to jump over. How could words so easily affect her?
"Yes, Sir." She licked her dry lips. His dark eyebrows raised, and he gave her an evil grin, one that should have sent fear trickling through her. Instead, her arousal heightened.
His fingers moved fast, rubbing harder and harder. When she was about to beg for permission, they were gone. She wanted to pout, but she managed to keep herself together. She'd take what he gave her. She'd ride out this experiment of hers, and she'd do it with as much grace as she could muster.
He stepped back from her, drawing the flogger from his shoulder. Her toes curled and uncurled into the carpet beneath her, and she fisted and unclenched her hands, moving the blood through her body, keeping herself alert for what came next. Her breasts still burned from the deep scratches of his nails.
He circled her, a beast toying with its prey. Even if she wanted to turn to look at him, she didn't have the strength. She caught his gaze as he passed her. After the second circle, he stopped a few feet in front of her. Too far for his hand to touch her, but close enough for the flogger. Lightly, he swung it back and forth, letting the falls slap her pussy. It didn't hurt. Quite the opposite. The ache began to grow again, and soon, she found herself wanting the next impact.
"Nice and soft, right?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir." She nodded, keeping her eyes on his arm when he swung it back. A solid hit landed directly on her clit, and she cried out. It came unexpected. She managed to keep her feet planted to the floor, but only barely. Another hit. The stinging burn shot through her body, rippling into her core. And there it ignited and spread.
He continued to bring the flogger up through her legs, landing on her pussy. The longer it went on, the more she wanted. Soon enough, the comfortable, arousing burn turned to hot white sting, and she did scream out.
"Fuck!" she yelled after a particularly harsh blow. He didn't stop, only raised his eyebrow before striking twice more.
WINDY CITY: The complete series Page 62
