Sold as a Domme on Valentine's Day

by Juliana Conners

  My brother comes out from behind me, flashing three gold tickets at the doorman. The way he does it, it’s like it’s an FBI badge, or the holster of a gun. Wordlessly, the doorman bows, and opens one side of the double doors.

  It isn’t until we walk through the doors and I get an eyeful of the dim, fine-dining interior, that Alex answers me. When he does, it’s in a hot, almost nervous whisper. “Don’t worry about that for now. Let’s just get a seat.” With that, he takes me by the arm, and again hurries me along. “If we don’t hurry, all the good spaces up front will be taken.”

  I sigh, giving up on getting anything good out of him. Instead, I take some time to analyze my location. If Alex isn’t going to tell me what’s going on, I’ll just have to figure it out for myself.

  The first thing I notice: lots of men and women. Mostly men. All in elegant, designer clothes. Suits and gowns everywhere. And let’s not forget obnoxiously-expensive jewelry. There’s possibly a whole treasure chest’s worth of that worn by the other guests. Gold. Silver. Precious gems — it’s all here.

  The dining tables are immaculate, with candles, expensive wines and cheeses, and fruits adorning each immaculate tablecloth. Baskets of bread too, along with leather-bound menus. “What is this, some kind of special, ultra-secret Christmas Eve dinner?”

  As we reach the front of the room, I see that there are menus on the tables as well, which are being perused. Probably for other edible goodies.

  “Nope.” Jordan sounds like he’s enjoying his vow of silence when it comes to what we’re doing here.

  As we finally claim a table for ourselves and sit down, I notice we’re as close as we can get to a huge stage. It’s massive, like the kind used in theater or to host symphonies. Big enough to proudly display people and props, and then cover them with luscious curtains.

  “Dinner theater?” I hazard. I’m already exhausted from trying to figure out what’s going on. Not to mention exhausted from being dragged around.

  “I would much rather be out on the snow,” I murmur. “I would much rather be spending time with Mariah. She’d be much more entertaining than this.” Immediately, Mariah floats into my mind. Her forest-fairy eyes twinkle at me with innocence. Her mouth parts in a shy smile. But behind that shyness, there’s need. I feel it as I imagine holding her hand again. Feeling her pulse dart through me like the wings of a butterfly. She has needs I can fulfill. Just as I have needs she can fulfill.

  My cock jumps up a bit at the thought. Or, rather, the many thoughts of all the things I would like to do to Mariah. All the things I’d like to make her do to me.

  “It’s not a dinner theater,” says Alex, leaning forward to grab a piece of bread and butter, as well as my attention. “It’s much more exciting than that.”

  He doesn’t bother to spread the butter on the bread very much before putting it into his mouth. After a long day of skiing, we’re all ravenous. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He swallows lightly. “It’ll be right up your alley. Just wait and see.”

  I just want to see more of Mariah, I think. Again, my thoughts are consumed with her eyes. Her face. How much youth and inexperience radiates from both. And I imagine being the one to take that youth and inexperience, and mature it.

  I see the hint of mischief and lust in her glance. In her voice, I hear that cute little tremble all over again. It’s soft and vulnerable, like her nipples would be if I touched them. Nibbled them. Oh, Mariah, if you spend a little time with me, you’ll learn a lot that isn’t in any textbook.

  I hear myself chuckle, and feel myself grin, but I don’t try to cover either up. Instead, I envision myself with her right now. Putting my arms around her puffy, winter coat, before peeling it off. From the coat, I go to her sweater. A tight, thick-threaded thing that only makes her breasts bigger. Softer. Squishier.

  In my mind, I squeeze those big breasts of hers, before slipping my hands up under her sweater, and making her blush for real. I imagine she’s not wearing a bra. Which leaves my hands exposed to her hard, perky nipples. Tasty gum-drop knobs that I quickly get to work pinching and rubbing.

  That’s right, baby girl. In my head, she’s starting to moan. It’s a quiet uncertain moan, that quickly grows louder and more urgent under my fingers. I’ll teach you a whole lot about what a man can do for you.

  When Mariah’s moans grow loud enough in my mind to become a cry, I imagine yanking up her sweater, and putting my mouth on her nipples. First one, then the other; then both at the same time, as I squish her smooth, round breasts together. Oh, yeah baby, I think, if you enjoy that, that’s just the tip of what I have to give you!

  Just as she’s about to say my name and beg me to fuck her on a table like this, in front of other people, Darla — the memory of her — crashes my fantasy. She doesn’t do or say anything, except smile cruelly. In her eyes, there’s contempt.

  “Quit fooling yourself, Paul,” it seems to say. “You’re just into her because you need a distraction.” Even without her here, I can hear Darla’s icy tone.

  In an instant, whatever joy I was feeling escapes me. Maybe I am just looking for a distraction. Maybe my infatuation has nothing to do with Mariah, after all. Perhaps I’m just trying to get that bitch out of my fucking head. I sigh, noticing there’s some movement on stage. And we see how well that’s working, don’t we?

  But, as Darla’s image and phantom words fade, Mariah’s face and body reemerge. They are brighter and sweeter than ever. And again, I hunger to touch her. Caress her clothes and the skin under them.

  What can I say? I think, smiling to myself, I’m already smitten with you, girl. Just holding your hand got me addicted to you. In my head, I imagine playing with her auburn curls. The ones on the top and bottom. If only you had agreed to hang out, I could start corrupting you. I’ll take that innocent little girl inside you and turn her into a sexy, hungry wildcat. One who is gladly and obediently under my control.

  For the second time, just as I’m beginning to imagine taking Mariah and bending her over the nearest piece of furniture and fucking her in her ass or pussy, my fantasy is interrupted. But not by Darla.

  There’s motion on stage now. A young woman has appeared. And, like most people, she’s dressed nicely. In a tuxedo, white gloves, and a fedora. Seductively, like she’s taking the black-gloved hand of a lady, she picks up a mic from a stand.

  “Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” she says in a voice I can only describe as being on par with a freshly-pressed rose, “We will be starting the bidding shortly, but on behalf of The Exchange Club, please allow me to extend my sincerest welcome to members and invited guests.”

  A small storm of prim-and-proper clapping sounds erupt. “Welcome. We’re glad to have you. We hope you enjoy your night with us.”

  With that, the gentlewoman tips her fedora, puts the mic back in its stand, and elegantly exits the stage.

  Only when she’s gone, do I snap my head over to look at Alex. “Bidding?” I hate to admit it, but my heart is racing. And unfortunately, not from my Mariah-induced fantasies. “What does she mean, ‘bidding’? What’s going on here?” I glance at Jordan, which I immediately regret.

  “Surprise!” Jordan shoves a piece of bread in his mouth like it’s buttered popcorn. “This is how we’re gonna make you forget about your nasty ex, yo.” He takes a bite of crust, obviously enjoying my confusion. “This is an exclusive club, you get me?” He leans in, chewing slowly. “This place is for people with power and money, like us. A place where we can buy anything we want from a woman.”

  Alex, compelled to be the voice of reason, offers his additions. “We thought it would be a good way to put Darla in your past. To give you an experience that is, well, customizable.”

  I groan at that word. It shouldn’t be used anywhere near a woman. Maybe a blender, but not a woman. “I don’t need or want to buy a woman, or to customize my experience with her.”

  I straighten my shoulders, not sure what I feel more pissed about — the fa
ct that there are people in this world who see women that way, or the fact that my brother and his stupid friend have apparently lumped me in with them. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping I don’t pass out from their combined idiocy. “In case you don’t know, women throw themselves at me, okay? I don’t need to flash cash to get them to do what I want.”

  Alex holds up his hands defensively. “I’m aware of that, but these women are top shelf.” I growl, hating his use of another adjective that should be used to describe an appliance. “They are aware of their value and willing to do whatever is purchased from them for the right price.” He leans in, putting a hand on my arm. “Darla was out of control. These women are different. They won’t give you any trouble, which is what you need after the hell she’s caused you, brother.”

  I look away from him. I act like I’m getting up to leave. “I’m not going to buy a woman.” I pause, looking at them both like they ought to be ashamed of themselves. “For any price, or any reason. Do I make myself clear?”

  They have no answer for me, and instead they just stare blankly at me, like they can’t believe I don’t appreciate their gift. So, I go to leave. Until I remember that Alex invited Mariah and her friend…what was her name? Jane? Here. And that stops me.

  I sit down back in my seat, newly aggravated.

  “You invited Mariah and her friend here, didn’t you?”

  Alex looks unsure whether he wants to smile or ignore me. “Why would you do that, Alex? If you knew what kind of place this was, why would you invite them here?”

  Alex just grins. “Because we knew you’d want to buy Mariah. We knew if you had her as an option, you’d go for her.”

  If my brother wasn’t sitting across from me, and if we weren’t in the middle of a high-class event, I would punch him right in his face right here and now. He knows it by the way I’m glaring, but now that Mariah has come back up, all I can think about is her. What it would be like if she showed up to this auction after all.

  “How do you know she’d even be into doing something like this?” I bring my head down, annoyed by my own desperation. “How do you know she’d go for it?

  “Because,” Alex says, “Anything can be bought for the right price.”

  When I bring my attention to my brother again, it’s not him my gaze is drawn inexplicably to. It’s Mariah. Somehow, against all odds, against everything I’d been planning for — a night tortured by thoughts of her, and having to settle for something less — she’s here. Right now. She’s just walked in. And she’s caught me staring.

  But unlike on the snow earlier, she doesn’t look away. Instead, she holds my gaze steadily. Intently.

  Until our gaze is broken by the woman from the stage as she approaches Mariah and Jane. Both women have changed out of their ski clothes, and are now in fuzzy, curvaceous sweaters, tight, form-fitting pants, and cute snow boots.

  Mariah and the woman from the stage are talking about something. Whatever it is, Mariah is looking a bit nervous, but also intense. After a moment, Mariah nods and takes Jane’s hand. They are then led by the woman up to the stage.

  Oh, my God! As I watch Mariah move toward the stage, I’m blown away by so much courage in such a small, delicate frame. She is actually doing it! I can’t believe this! Mariah’s actually getting up on stage… Hungrily, I watch her climb the steps. Which means… I don’t even have to finish the thought, before my mind is busy making a list of all the things I’m going to do to her when I buy her. Get her to eat my cock, while I give her patient but firm instruction; order her to lie completely still while I eat her little pussy, and then use my saliva to loosen her up some more, maybe play with her ass. Perhaps I’ll tie her up, so I can do what I want with her, and leave her begging me for more.

  Imagining getting to play with her small, puckering hole is enough to make me wish I could start stroking my cock covertly through my pants. Unsurprisingly, it’s already hard and fighting for freedom.

  My brother notices that I’m fucking squirming in my chair.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispers. “Now you can’t say I’ve never gotten you anything nice.”

  Chapter 8 – Mariah

  At first, the idea of going into the basement of a well-lit, but apparently super-secret building, doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Even though I know Paul and his companions are probably down there, hoping to see us, I can’t keep the anxious twist from my stomach. I’m still not sure what else we’re going to find out while we’re here.

  Thankfully, Jane steps into the basement first, and drags me with her. If not for that, I’d be frozen in place on the top step. As we descend the first couple stairs, I reach into my pants pocket and grab my phone. Just in case. I tell myself it’s just to see the time, and the fact that Mom sent a text.

  A text about how sorry she is that I’m not going to be there right on Christmas day, like I promised. She’d been so upset when I’d told her I couldn’t come, but, now is not the time to feel guilty about that. Now is the time to figure out where I am and what’s going on.

  It’s really not about the time or the text. The Exchange Club may not be what either of us bargained for. Maybe there’s not even a place down here called that. Maybe it’s just an empty basement, with guys waiting for a couple of dumb, curious girls to come check it out.

  With these blossoming horror stories in mind, I keep following my friend down the stairs. But now I’m shaking, and I’m trying not to drop my phone.

  “Don’t be scared, babe,” whispers Jane, “those guys wouldn’t have invited us just so we could be shanghaied.” Her voice is calm. Maybe even a bit playful, but I can hear an edge of concern in it all the same.

  Finally, we get down off the stairs, and onto lush carpet. And that’s when I see what I’m not expecting: the sign for an actual restaurant/lounge called The Exchange Club. It’s in big gold letters on a black plaque. A smartly dressed doorman stands at attention near the entrance.

  Jane pulls me forward toward the doors, taking out the card Alex gave us. She flashes it at the doorman. “We are guests. A guy named Alex and his friend Jordan invited us, does that sound —”

  A door opens for us, courtesy of the doorman before she can even get the full question out. “Please head inside, ladies. It’s almost 8 PM, and the gentlemen you speak of have already taken their seats.”

  My heart is pounding when I hear this information.

  “Come on.” With that, Jane hauls me through the open door of The Exchange Club. “They’re waiting for us.”

  I allow myself to be dragged along, though I can’t help but wonder what is waiting for us inside.

  I don’t have to wonder long, though. Once we step through the door, I’m surrounded by a timelessly elegant room. It’s like something out of a Victorian theater or ballroom. The ceilings are grand and tall, decorated with chandeliers and inset lights. The walls are dark and seductive. The sprawling floors are covered with the most luxurious carpets.

  Unlike a ballroom or a theater though, this room is filled with tables and chairs. Candles and champagne. Bread and hors d’oeuvres. The only thing it has in common with a Victorian-era theater is its grand stage up at the front.

  Toward the front is immediately where Jane begins to take us. Indeed, a woman in a tuxedo, bowtie, and Fedora has just made her way toward one side of the stage, preparing to exit. “Let’s go talk with her,” says Jane. “I bet she’ll know what we do as invited guests.”

  I don’t have any response to this. I’ve stopped looking at my surroundings, and started looking for Paul. I see a lot of suits and ties, but no Jaguar eyes. Not yet. And if I’m going to not regret coming here, I better find them. Quickly.

  It seems like I’m scanning forever, but finally his eyes jump out at me. Snatch me out from this big, dusky room and hold me tight. The moment his golden-brown eyes touch me, I can feel my heart melting into my toes. My hands beginning to sweat.

  His intensity seems raised. If it weren’t for all these
people around, he looks like he might just run over and grab me. Bury his lips, and maybe even his teeth, in my neck.

  I keep my gaze level, hoping to send this message through my eyes at him: I won’t resist. I’m not afraid. Come get me, Jaguar.

  Just when I see Paul beginning to stir, fidget, the woman from the stage is upon us. “Good evening, ladies,” she says, appraising us. “I assume you’re here for tonight’s auction, yes?”

  “Uh, yeah?” Jane tightens the grip on my hand, and pulls me so that I’m standing next to her. “My friend and I were invited here by a couple of good-looking guys, and all they told us was just to show up.”

  “Good!” She smiles, giving us both a once over again. This time pausing to study our curves. Something I’m not quite comfortable with. “Well, the auction is this way.” She begins to turn on her heels. “So, if you’ll just follow me…”

  “Wait!” I stop short, embarrassed by the anxiety in my voice. “Wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Patiently, slowly the woman turns her eyes back to us. “What auction? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes light up. “So, you don’t know.”

  “No. We don’t.” That’s Jane, and she sounds like she’s about to smudge the woman’s pretty lipstick, and not in a pretty way.

  “Ladies, here at The Exchange Club, we have a special practice.” A pause. “We allow wealthy gentlemen to ‘buy’ beautiful women — that’s you — for a particular price, for a particular act or activity.” Another pause, one in which she seems to be enjoying the possibilities for Jane and me. “If the gentleman wins at the bid, you are his for the night to do whatever activity or activities he has paid you for.” The woman from the stage looks meaningfully at me. “Most of these men pay handsomely, even for dinner, so it could be worth your while.”

  Handsomely? I can’t believe I’m even thinking about doing unknown things for the highest-paying gentleman, but I’m quickly realizing that this might be just the solution I need for next semester. And beyond. If I do something like this, I could pay my tuition easily. I wouldn’t have to worry about where the money is coming from. I feel a bit of a smile forming. That means I wouldn’t have to get a job! Which means I wouldn’t have to worry about my grades slipping…