Owned: Highest Bidder

by Willow Winters

  I couldn’t believe that a teacher who looked as sweet and unassuming as her could even be part of such a dark, sexual world like that. But then again… so am I. And now I’m hooked. This place embodies what I’ve been dreaming about after reading my romance novels.

  It took a lot of work to build up the courage for me just to go. But I finally did, and I don’t regret it at all.

  I still haven’t seen Nicole there yet in the weeks I’ve been going. And I’m not sure I will. From what I know, she’s married with kids and she doesn’t get the chance to go often anymore.

  I haven’t been able to go that much either, occupied with school and work. Only on the weekends during this past semester.

  But now that I have all this free time over the winter break, I’m going to make the most of it.

  I slip the red nightgown into my bag, feeling the adrenaline rush through my blood, and walk out of my bedroom, intent on spending a night lost in fantasy.

  Chapter 2

  Joseph

  I bring the whiskey to my lips, taking a swig and then wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  The amber liquid warms my chest with a vicious burn on the way down. I revel in the feeling. I need it just to feel at this point. My life is devoid of anything meaningful to me. I have wealth, I gave up power, and now I’m alone.

  I made the right decision though. I left the familia, taking the fall to get the heat off their backs. But now I have nothing, and no one. I’m bored, and that’s what’s pissing me off the most.

  It’s better than taking over the familia though. Even if that does make me an outcast.

  I clench and unclench my hands into fists. My knuckles are sore from boxing earlier today. I spend most of my time in the gym in my basement. It’s all I do at this point, workout and survive each day. Just like the prisoner I am. Caged within a prison of my own making.

  I don’t fit in anywhere. Like the fucking Beast in his castle. I huff a humorless laugh, swirling the whiskey in the glass before taking another swig. I can feel the warmth flowing through every bit of me, coursing through my blood and finally giving me the buzz I was after.

  I want to drown in this feeling. I need it just to sleep. The visions of what they’ve done and the blood still on my hands burn into me when I close my eyes.

  I killed them. I helped eliminate those thieving, lying murderous bastards. Not for revenge, not for a righteous vindication. Killing the Romanos was a message. One that the community and our business partners heard loud and clear.

  But someone had to take the fall for it, and I was eager to leave. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want a life of corruption and pain. It’s a ruthless lifestyle. But it's the one I was born into.

  I stare down at the worn leather journal in my lap. I’m writing every memory down as they come to me. Partly for documenting it, partly to relive it. It’s fucked up that I’m trapped by the memory of a world I was so eager to leave, but the sins of my past refuse to let me move on. And I don’t know why yet.

  I close the journal and run my finger along the stamped name on the front. Passerotto. Little sparrow.

  But that’s not my name. It’s what my mother called me. And this journal is all I have left from her, save a few dark memories.

  Joe Levi. Murderer. Villain.

  That’s the only name I go by now.

  I’m sure this wasn’t what my mother imagined this journal would be used for, but she’s buried six feet under in the cold hard dirt. I down the whiskey at the thought.

  I was raised to be ruthless and cold, brought up in an environment that breeds sick fucks, like my own father.

  They think I’m corrupt or maybe even a snitch 'cause the charges got dropped. The ones I was meant to take the fall for, but they don’t know how or why they got dropped. Some think I have more power than I do, which is helpful at times. I’m still feared, which is better than having a target on my back, but it leaves me lonely.

  The fire crackles in the large den. I stare at the logs, the fire spilling from the splits between the wood. The back of the brick firebox is black with soot.

  I enjoy their fear. I need it to continue to survive. What’s worse is that it breathes life into me.

  I didn’t have a choice.

  Lies! The voices in my head sneer at me. They hiss that I could have done more.

  They all should have died. My father, my brother.

  I shouldn’t have stopped at just the Romanos.

  I set the empty glass down and lean forward, my head in my hands and my elbows on my knees.

  I’ve done horrible things. I didn’t have to. I chose to, so I could survive. So I didn’t have to run my entire life with the threat of death hanging over my head. But I still didn’t have to do it. And now the memories haunt me.

  My phone pings on the end table, drawing my attention and breaking the repetitive thoughts that I can never escape.

  I slowly reach for it. There are only three people it could be. I dread the ones from my familia. They can all go fuck off. But they don’t seem to get the message. I read the name on the lit screen, and relief and something else flow through me. Comfort.

  Kiersten. Or Madam Lynn, as she likes to be called nowadays.

  She reminds me of the one good thing I ever did. The whiskey pales in comparison to the warmth that memory brings to my chest.

  They left her for dead. But I helped him save her.

  It wasn’t enough for all my sins to be forgiven, for all my wrongs to be righted, but I’m proud that she’s still here, even if he isn’t.

  She’s a close friend and nothing more. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to leave this house, and it’s all because of her. She’s always talking about how she owes me; she has no idea how wrong she is. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the one who owes her.

  She wants to help me, but she can’t. I’m beyond repair, and there’s nothing I want from her. It’s a sweet gesture that she tries to fill my dark days with something.

  I rub the sleep from my eyes. It feels late in the dimly lit room with the thick drapes closed, but the darkness is just setting in beyond the walls of this house. This prison I keep myself in willingly.

  Are you coming tonight?

  I read her text message and debate on my answer.

  I have sinful fantasies, some a product of the way I was raised, but others I’ve grown to desire of my own accord. I’ve yet to give in to the impulse driving me to keep going to Club X. It’s alluring and intoxicating in its nature. The atmosphere is a heady mix of sex and power; so intense, it alone is a drug.

  Just last week I bid on a Slave at her auction in Club X. I’m not a fan of the term, I prefer pet, but neither really matters.

  I’ve never paid for sex before. It’s not about the money at the auctions, it’s about the contract. About getting exactly what I want, and ensuring the lines are clearly drawn and everything is written in black and white. Everything consensual. …even if its nature is not.

  That bid wasn’t a bid for pleasure. Although she made me curious, I didn’t want her. Her Master called her Katia, his kitten.

  I thought Isaac was humiliating her, making her go onto a stage knowing no one else would bid on her. Making her feel undesired. I know the man, and I know what he’s capable of.

  I was pissed. How could he treat her like that? She was trembling on the stage, her apprehension and fear apparent. I wanted to make him pay for what he was doing. And steal his kitten, set her free even.

  But I was wrong.

  I don’t understand them, the members of the club and the elite circles who have grown comfortable there. This lifestyle is new to me.

  But control isn’t. Sex isn’t.

  Power is in my blood.

  My phone pings again. I don’t want to read it. She always convinces me to go. Maybe it’s because I feel for her and what she’s going through, but I’m not interested in playing games and trying to fit in where I don’t belong.

>   I toss the journal and pen onto the end table and rise from my seat, feeling my muscles groan with a pain I find pleasurable. I take a peek at my phone in my hand when the reminder ding goes off.

  Kiersten's text reads:

  She’s going to be there.

  I stare at it, thinking about the one thing that’s interested me in the last three years of living in this void. I ran into her when I left the last auction. Literally. I ran straight into her small, delicate frame and nearly knocked her over. I wasn’t paying attention. It was my fault entirely.

  But she took the blame.

  Kneeling, improperly, and apologizing in a hushed voice.

  She was perfectly imperfect. In need of a Master. But not yet accepting of one. She’s still learning. Kiersten caught on to my interest when I started coming to the club more often.

  I’ve been watching her. I needed to observe her.

  She has desires I’m not sure I can fill. The way she craves pain is something that feeds a monster lurking inside of me. A depraved beast I’ve tried to keep chained.

  I should stay far away from her. But she piques my curiosity, and she’s made me truly desire her. Or at least I crave hearing those soft moans and forcing them from her lips myself.

  I’ve watched her closely this past month. I’m not sure she’s noticed. No one pays her much attention since she’s still finding her limits. She’s not eager for a partner either. She sticks with the trainers and stays in the shadows and corners, keeping out of sight.

  I can’t deny that she tempts me to possess her, to teach her proper techniques. I tap my fingers on the wooden end table rhythmically as I consider going tonight.

  I picture the curve of her ass as she practices her poses, the way her lips part with lust when she touches herself discreetly. She may think no one’s noticed her, but I have. And I want her.

  I text Kiersten back, I’ll be there.

  Chapter 3

  Lilly

  I walk up to the doors of Club X, the huge mansion-like structure looming in the background, its red ambient lighting illuminating the front of the building and casting a glow on its esteemed guests that are waiting to be admitted. A cool breeze blows through the area. My skin pricks as the air softly caresses my flesh, crackling with electricity, and the dark-suited bodyguard at the door recognizes me.

  His eyes trail the skimpy outfit I’m wearing, the red silk short nightgown I changed into before getting out of my Honda. I feel almost naked under his gaze, but at the same time incredibly sexy; he makes me feel wanted. Although the attraction is firmly one-sided.

  I should be used to this now, but I still get nervous with anticipation. I know that in a few moments, men far more powerful than him will be looking at me, and it makes me feel anxious. Unconsciously, I trail my finger along my bracelet. It’s rubber without any metal rings, meaning I’m still just learning. I haven’t yet chosen a membership bracelet that will indicate what I want in a partner, Dominant or Master, or someone who enjoys the more painful side of BDSM. I’m afraid to admit that I’m still a virgin, although there’s a bracelet for that. I would rather have a Submissive or Slave bracelet, although I’m not sure which one yet. The lines are blurred for me still. And I’m not sure how much control I’m really willing to give up. The fantasy of being completely at someone else’s mercy makes me weak with desire. But the reality has an entirely different effect. I think the aspects of pleasure and pain are what intrigue me most. I haven’t felt the sting of a whip yet. But I really want to. I crave it like a sweet-toothed freak fiending for their next Twinkie. I just haven’t asked for it. It’s as easy as letting a trainer know that I’m ready. But I haven’t taken the plunge yet.

  Deep down, I know that actually committing to it is going to take a lot. So right now, I’m just observing. It’s all just research for my book. Or so I tell myself.

  I’m admitted through the doors by the dark-gazed bodyguard, and as I step into the club I have to suck in a breath. I’ve been here a lot, at least half a dozen times, but I’m still floored every single time I walk in. Club X is beyond beautiful with thick lush carpet, extravagant furniture, gorgeous ambient lighting and soft, tantalizing music that makes my blood heat.

  But the thing that gets me the most is the very air that surrounds the people.

  The men who walk the floors of the club radiate power and wealth beyond imagine, and the women who follow them are too beautiful for words. I watch as a masked man pulls his timid partner along by a gleaming silver chain, his eyes filled with determination and swirling with lust. I keep my gaze safely away, knowing it’s not my place to look a Master or Dominant directly in his eyes unless I want to draw his ire. I’m supposed to be Submissive, and acting anything otherwise will get me in trouble. Even if I’m only here to watch. I can’t ruin the fantasy that Club X provides so perfectly.

  I shiver as the atmosphere of the club seems to wrap around my body, my nipples pebbling. I love this place. It’s even better than reading my books, and that says a lot.

  My lungs fill with a deep, steadying breath, as I try to get control over my emotions. It’s almost as if I’ve taken a hit of a powerful drug and I’m getting high. That’s what this place does to you. It gets you high on lust, power... sex.

  I lean against the bar just past the foyer and breathe in deeply, cooling my heated blood.

  I know I want to go to the dungeon, but first, I think I need a drink. It's dark down there, and I’m not sure I can handle it without at first numbing a part of myself. I need to free my inhibitions.

  As I wait for the bartender, I glance across the large hall. The stage on the back wall is dark tonight, with the curtains closed, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I look forward to the shows, since not only are they exhilarating, they’re a great learning experience. I order a shot of tequila, making sure to keep my gaze in a safe place. Within seconds, the shot glass is placed in front of me by a beautiful bar vixen with long dark hair, wearing the same professional uniform the other employees have on. There’s no mixing up who’s working here, and who’s here for play.

  The liquid burns as it goes down my throat, but it’s a comfortable feeling. I know it will help me deal with the experience of the dungeon. Even though I’m hungry for it, the alcohol aids me in handling the intense sexual emotions that run through my body. The alcohol is nothing in comparison to how intoxicating the sights in the dungeon can be. I bite into the lime and let it wash the taste of the liquor out of my mouth, the sourness making my eyes close tightly.

  When I’m done with my drink, the fiery liquid warming my belly, I leave the bar and make my way through the halls, blending in and trying to disappear amongst the crowd.

  A few men approach me as I pass the playrooms. I swallow thickly, my heartbeat racing as I pause in my steps. I don’t look at them, but I make sure that my bracelet is in view. Once they see it, they move on. No one seems interested in someone who still doesn’t know what they want.

  With the rubber bracelet on my wrist, the only people who talk to me are Submissives waiting for their partners, or the trainers. I like it that way. It makes me want to keep the bracelet forever. It makes me feel safe. But the days are limited. The membership here is expensive. Too fucking expensive. The first month with this bracelet was on the house. Madam Lynn, the owner I think, said that I could stay to see if it suited me. But next month I have to pay up if I’m not paired up. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Or if I ever will be. But the month is almost up.

  It’s hard not to stop and stare at the sexual acts taking place in the playrooms as I pass them. The men and women going at each other with untamed depravity. Their moans and cries and grunts and groans assault my ears, the smacks of their flesh pounding against each other filling my already heated blood with sexual desire.

  I ignore it as best I can, although my breathing is coming in faster, and continue on into the darkened corridors, my pulse racing with excitement.

  There’s noth
ing in this world like the place I’m about to enter. The playrooms are an intense experience, but down here it’s far more… primal, possessive. Raw in every sense of the word. I make my way down a dim hallway to where two men dressed in dark suits wait on either side of a large iron cast door. They’re employees, guards who make sure that everything runs smoothly. And that no laws are broken. They give me a cursory glance before opening the door, the sound of its creaking making my heart jump in my chest.

  I take in a ragged breath before I walk into a dark stairwell, the only lighting being small, glowing red sconces on the wall, giving the area an almost evil feel. A few masked men pass me on my way down and their way up, their dark gazes holding secrets that chill my blood. One man even stops to look at me as if thinking that I am looking to be taken, but when he sees my bracelet, he keeps moving like the men back at the playrooms.

  They respect that I’m not ready, and not a single person has tried to push me. There are rules to the club, and they’re strictly followed. It makes me feel safe. It’s odd to think that way, given the nature of this place. But I do feel safe.

  I shudder to even think about what goes on through the heads of the Masters and Dominants when they look at me. It arouses me in a thrilling and exciting way. A way that hardens my nipples, and sends a pulsing need to my clit. I’m almost ashamed at how turned on I am by their questioning glances and piercing stares, and the sinful thoughts I know are lurking behind their eyes.

  It’s just like how I imagine things in my books. I only hope I can write about this in a way that does this place justice. A way that captures the sensual seductive side along with the other emotions coursing through my blood.

  As I get closer to my destination, a shrill scream that’s a mix of pleasure and pain rips through the stairwell. It’s followed by whimpers and moans. I pause, gripping onto the banister for support, my breath stalling in my lungs. I’ve been here many times, but I still can’t prepare myself for some of the darker things that happen in the dungeon. It’s so sexually intense that I become dizzy with desire and emotion. Thank God I’ve taken that hit of tequila. After I calm myself, I continue on until I make it to the bottom floor. The sounds of groans and seductive pleading fill my ears. It’s a place that resembles a seventeenth century English dungeon, with cages and racks on either side of the room, and lit torches along the walls. The ambiance is everything that makes this room… it's all so tempting and forbidden, mixed with danger and fright.