Auctioned

by Lulu Pratt

  I squirmed at the offer. “I can make my own way in the world, thanks. Like I said, I’m not an escort — I don’t wanna be bought off, even if it’s with a job. That’s still kind of a payment.”

  Tate rolled his eyes and in a sudden, unexpected move, placed his hands on the small of my back and tugged me close.

  We were pressed almost up against one another, our faces so close I could taste the mint on his breath. My mouth dropped open in shock and, all right, a little pleasure. His hands were so firm and large, I could just picture him tossing me onto the bed…

  “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, and I understand your objections, they’re fair. But Kiki, look at me. Can you really say there’s nothing between us? If you can, I’ll let you go and never touch you again.”

  His eyes stared deep into my own, challenging me with their every tiny flicker to my lips.

  “There’s… nothing between us,” I stammered out in short breaths, my face turning beet red. “Nothing.”

  We both knew it was a lie the moment I said it. Even the most casual passerby couldn’t deny that we had chemistry. Plus, my body was telling on me in every way possible — I was sure my pupils had gone large, I could feel sweat on my palms, and my heart was racing in my chest. Surely he could feel the wild pulse coursing in my back. I was a horrible fibber.

  “So you do like me,” he said with a smirk. “Thought so.”

  I groaned. “Don’t look so smug.”

  “Can’t help myself. Even if you won’t go on a date with me, it’s rewarding to know that this thing between us isn’t one-sided. I’ll take that as a win.”

  “Whatever keeps you going,” I replied, though I knew excitement was seeping into my voice.

  He was so close, exactly how I’d pictured it when I’d been, y’know, stimulating myself in the Jeep. Try as I might to play cool and casual, this larger-than-life man had somehow wormed his way into my brain, and until I could figure out a way to dislodge him… yeah, I’d succumb to a little flirting.

  Tate’s face turned earnest, his mouth growing hard.

  “Kiki, I want to become the kind of man who gets a girl like you, even if it’s just for one date. Unless you tell me that you really, earnestly want me gone from your life forever, I’m gonna keep trying until you decide to give me a chance. Okay?”

  I hadn’t thought I could blush any harder, but I was sorely mistaken. When I’d first told Tate no, it was because there was no way I’d sleep with him before Friday. But now, having heard myself list out all the reasons it was a bad idea, I remembered that screwing Tate was actually ill-advised far beyond this short time frame. He might’ve been handsome as all get out, but he was in every other sense a mistake.

  “And what if that day doesn’t come?” I asked, the question becoming serious. “The day when I agree to a date?”

  “Then hey, at least I’ll be less of a tool. Kind of a win-win.”

  My last inch of willpower slipped away, and I rewarded him with a grin.

  “Okay, Tate. Prove me wrong. Be the sort of guy I’d go out with.”

  “It’d be my pleasure,” he replied.

  He slipped me a small peck on the cheek, and then released me from his grip.

  “See you around, Kiki.”

  With that, Tate began to whistle a tune and strolled away from me into the maze of his casino.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tate

  HOLY shit.

  My encounter with Kiki had left me sweating. I’d never met a girl who could play such hard ball with me, and I was finding that I liked it. I thought her feistiness would start to wear — there certainly were easier catches in the sea, and I could speed dial any one of them and have them at Dazzlers in moments — but it was only becoming more intriguing. Kiki had morals, a dictum by which she lived her life. She was… different.

  And beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.

  Speaking of which — I had a burgeoning erection that was threatening to turn my pants into camping grounds. I needed to take care of my arousal and fast, before some wandering tourist tweeted a picture of my unfortunate situation.

  I cast about for some kind of private hidey-hole. There were plenty of secret spots in Dazzlers, but they weren’t private, per se. They were more like gathering locations for other wealthy, flamboyant people. No, I needed alone time, and a public bathroom wouldn’t do.

  The answer came upon me all at once, and I grinned. It was perfect.

  I cut through the crowds who reeked of cologne and, beneath that, raw body odor and made my way to the side of the lobby, past a few bars and baubles.

  In short time, I was at the “lower office” section of Dazzlers, where we housed a few essential staff members. Staff members like, for instance, Jack.

  This wasn’t going to be my finest hour as a boss, it’s true. But in my defense, he was a dirtbag. Would anyone disagree? He ran the casino like his personal stardom. Hell, he’d been about to fire Kiki over her smart mouth. Surely a little revenge wouldn’t be amiss…

  “Jack?” I said, opening the door to his office.

  Sure enough, he was seated at his plain Ikea desk. The whole room had about as much personality as he did, which is to say, none. Everything was corporate and in varying shades of gray. There were no pictures, no books, nothing. He was a blank canvas of a person.

  Jack sat up stick-straight. “Can I help you with something, sir? It’s a surprise — I mean, a pleasure — to see you here, sir.”

  “Get out,” I ordered him. “I need your office for five minutes.”

  His eyes bulged. You could see him actively try to contain his questions, to do what he always did — that is, blindly follow orders. After a split second, he nodded an uncertain assent.

  “Okay… I suppose it must be important.”

  My hand covered my bulging crotch. “It is.”

  Jack scooted back from his chair, shot me a greasy smile and then slithered past me and out the door.

  “Text me when you’re done!” he said before moving into the hallway.

  Perfect. Sometimes, it’s nice to have a bunch of patsies at your beck and call.

  I slammed the door shut and turned the metal lock. I could wait no longer.

  In seconds flat, I’d tugged down my pants and my underwear, whipping out my hard cock. It was throbbing with thoughts of Kiki — her knowing green eyes, those arched brows, and her voluptuous tits. For someone so small, she packed quite a punch with those curves.

  Taking a deep breath, I began to pleasure myself, stroking my hand up and down the length of my dick, the enjoyment made all the finer knowing I was utilizing my employee’s office as a personal masturbation den.

  “Oh, Kiki,” I groaned, tilting my head back against the wall and thrusting my hips out, picturing what it would be like to ravage her core, penetrating her ever deeper until we reached one glorious communion.

  I tilted my head down and spat on my member, lubing it up so that I could tug even faster. Even after only a few seconds of attention to my needy dick, I knew I was near orgasm. Kiki had done a damn number on me.

  I stumbled to Jack’s desk, flopping back in the chair without ceasing my strokes. My back arched as the pace of my motions increased. Oh God, I was so fucking close, I just needed a few more mental images to push me over the edge.

  Kiki. I thought of her, legs spread wide on the desk before me, playing with her clit and daring me to not to come.

  That did it.

  I ejaculated all over the bottom of Jack’s desk, covering his bland gray furniture in a sticky white film which dripped onto the carpet.

  “Fuck,” I said through jagged breaths.

  It was the hottest jack-off session I’d had in a long time, maybe ever. And all because of Kiki.

  I stood up from the chair perfunctorily, wiping my brow and zipping up my pants. I didn’t bother to clean off Jack’s desk. I was sure he’d tidy it up without ask
ing any questions. I know, Kiki told me to stop expecting service workers to do my dirty work, but really, the man deserved to wipe up some semen every now and then. It’d keep him from getting too big for his britches.

  Feeling like a satiated panther, I strode out of his office and shot Jack a quick text.

  The room’s all yours. Enjoy!

  CHAPTER 15

  Tate

  A WEEK FLEW by in the blink of the eye.

  For the first time since I was a little boy, I’d shown up at Dazzlers every day, with the excuse of one business meeting or another or just to do a walk through. In reality, I was preoccupied with trying to casually pass by Kiki’s section and see what she was doing.

  She saw me a few times and rolled her eyes and gave me a small smile, let’s not forget that, but otherwise, we didn’t engage much. I suspect she was waiting for me to show some kind of marked improvement as a person, but how do you display a thing like that? Drag some orphan kid into the middle of the casino and give him a giant check for tuition? Actually, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea…

  I seemed to have run up against a wall, and was getting frustrated. I’d never had to work this hard to win a girl, and I had no road map to her heart. Relatedly, Jack was starting to tire of my presence. I’d never been hands-on with Dazzlers, but since Kiki strutted into my life, I’d needed the cover of the casino to explain my daily appearances. Jack was less than pleased at my sudden interest in the business, especially because I was starting to reject his various proposals and suggestions for the casino. Before, I’d let him do basically whatever he wanted as he was there. Turned out, he needed more oversight than I’d believed, and for whatever it’s worth, it was a good thing I’d stepped in when I did.

  Anyhow, it’d been the most work I’d ever done in one week, and I found I rather enjoyed it. How hard could I work, I wondered, if I actually gave a damn about the project? Once again, my mind flew to fantasies of Silicon Valley and world-changing tech.

  Though, as Friday rolled around, it was hard to maintain that same level of optimism, for it was the day of — sigh — the virginity sale.

  I really, really, really, really didn’t want to go. Have I mentioned that? Because I didn’t want to. At all.

  It just felt gross. What did it mean that a woman’s virginity was so valuable, and what did it imply about her worth once she no longer had said virginity? The whole thing made me squirm.

  But Mac was a guy I needed in my corner, especially now that I’d seen up close and personal just how well Dazzlers was doing — which is to say, not fantastic. If he turned against us, it could spell serious trouble. He had either charmed or strong-armed the whole town onto his side, and we couldn’t afford to make enemies even at the best of times.

  So whether I liked it or not, and God knew I didn’t like it, I was going to the fucking sale. You can’t win every fight.

  I dressed in a suit, as I wasn’t sure what such an occasion called for. Was it business casual, or golf course chic? The invitations didn’t exactly specify, because there were no invitations. Things like this couldn’t have paper trails.

  At exactly the stroke of eleven, I was in front of the specified door in the RES casino. I figured that being late would insult Mac about as much as missing the event, and if I was gonna go, I might as well curry his favor.

  The location they’d given me was, surprisingly enough, not the penthouse. I’d assumed we’d be in the finest room in the hotel, just for appearance’s sake. Instead, it was somewhere around the thirty-fifth floor. Not hidden behind a clock or tucked in the back of a kitchen. Just a plain, no-frills door.

  I knocked three times, and a man appeared.

  “Hello, come on in,” he said, ushering me inside. I suppose I had face recognition with a certain criminal class, which wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  As soon as I entered the meeting space, I understood why we weren’t in the penthouse.

  This was a custom-designed room, apparently just for events such as these.

  It was set-up like a theater — a small entry area, with a bar and some scantily clad cocktail waitresses serving canapés. Past that were a few rows of red leather armchairs, the kind you would find in a high-end movie theater, with call buttons, swivel tables, and specialty blankets. Beyond the seating was the pièce de résistance — a wall of glass.

  I’d worked in Vegas long enough to recognize a wall like that — it was bulletproof glass. Working from there, one could presume the girl would cross into the room beyond the wall, stand under some lights, and then be put up for auction, all while feeling safe behind her cocoon of glass. She could make eyes at the men, flirt, and flounce, but they couldn’t touch her. Clever, I thought, before being immediately disgusted with my own reaction.

  “Hey, Tate, you made it,” Mac shouted from across the room, beckoning me over with one ring-covered hand.

  A sickness began to develop and molt in my stomach. I didn’t belong with these types of men. I was above this archaic trade. An unwelcome consideration flitted across my mind — what would Kiki think of this? It certainly didn’t fall under the heading of “becoming a better man.”

  “Glad to see you here,” Mac said as I joined one of the small clusters.

  He threw an arm around my shoulder. I didn’t shrug it off.

  Through gritted teeth, I muttered, “Hello, Mac.” To the others: “Gentlemen.”

  The other fellows nodded before looking away sheepishly. I suspected none of us were too proud to be here. I knew most of them — fellow casino owners or Vegas bigwigs. Most had wives, a few had daughters. More than anything else, it was a depressing display.

  “Well,” Mac said, gripping me tightly to his side. “Shall we get this show on the road? I’m sure we’ve all got places to be, girls to fuck.”

  The men around me laughed in unison, like a stilted mariachi band.

  “Yeah,” I replied, trying to say as little as possible to Mac, lest I accidentally explode in the process. “Let’s.”

  He let go of my shoulder and turned to the rest of the room, where some twenty or so other guys were chatting away.

  “All right, fellas, let’s everyone take your seats. For those of you who are new here—” he turned to me, and to Darian, who had also appeared and looked as uncomfortable as I felt — and winked, “one woman will be put up for auction. Using the paddles at your seats, you’ll place a bid. Should you win, all money is to be paid via wire transfer by tomorrow morning. Any questions?”

  There was general silence and the shaking of heads.

  “Good. Then get another drink and begin making your way to the theater, as I like to call it.”

  Jesus Christ, this was a sordid mess.

  Without any other option, I moved to the bar, and as Mac suggested, poured myself a shot of Ketel One. I threw it back in a single swig. A tall, gawky man next to me watched the process. He was one of perhaps three or four in the room who I didn’t immediately recognize, which was curious.

  “Your first time?” he queried in a high voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “Mine too.”

  Without asking, I took another glass and poured a second shot, this time passing it to him.

  He received it gratefully, though appeared to have some trouble swallowing the hard liquor. Perhaps he’s a virgin too, I thought. And maybe that’s why he’d like to get a girl who’s also a virgin, to feel less naïve.

  Or, on the other hand, maybe I was just trying to make up a viable excuse for him, as I had so desperately tried to on my own behalf.

  “You nervous?”

  I shrugged. “I’d just rather not be here.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “The feeling’s mutual.”

  I lifted up the bottle of vodka and poured us both a second shot, which we took together in silence. As the liquor slid down my throat, I wondered how many people were here out of real interest, and how many had been bullied into it by Mac and his compatriots.

  “Gue
ss we’d better take our seats,” the man said, a little tremor in his voice. “Wouldn’t want to miss this, right?”

  I nodded, and setting down the bottle, followed him to the large armchairs.

  Looking around me, I saw a sea of old white men. Besides the man I’d done shots with, who was maybe a few years older than me, and the newest member of the casino owners group, I was the youngest in the room by a country mile, save poor Darian who looked a little green. Maybe that’s why the town was so old-fashioned. It was run by guys who almost remembered a time before women could vote.

  After some rustling and clinking of ice, it seemed like everyone was settled in their seats and anxious for the affair to begin.

  At last, an unremarkable guy took center stage, standing a few feet to the right of the one-way glass. He didn’t have a podium or a gavel, but something about his countenance made it clear that he was the auctioneer. Perhaps it was the pince-nez glasses he wore, or the way his chin came to a long point, as though nature had forcibly stretched it downwards, or the boutonnière in his lapel. Were it not for the surroundings, I probably would’ve assumed he was a food critic, or something of that ilk.

  “Welcome,” he said in a gravelly voice. “We’ll begin the auction in a moment. Does everyone have their paddles?”

  Nods of assent around the room.

  “Good. I run a clean auction here. I ask that you engage in no poor conduct — no violence, no temper tantrums. Should you lose the bid, rest assured, there are always future sales.”

  That got a dark chuckle from the crowd.

  “Very well then.”

  He cleared his throat and angled his body to the glass, even as his eyes went somewhere above our seats, as though he were looking to a stage manager.

  The auctioneer made a signal with his right hand and said, “Maestro, if you please.”