They said I’d been holed up in my dorm for far too long, being moody and studying for midterms and that I needed a break. Really, I had been scared to death about what I saw in Dublin.
I hadn’t even told them because I didn’t know what to say. I’m afraid they will say I should have called the police or done something to try to stop the man from hurting or even possibly killing the other man. I feared for my life, though, so I’m not going to do anything that would further endanger it.
I’ve been scouring the Internet for any news of the crime that had occurred but nothing had shown up. Apparently, the area I was in was one of the most dangerous in Dublin. That’s another reason I don’t want to tell my friends what had happened— I feel stupid and embarrassed for venturing off late at night and getting lost.
Some of the most dangerous mobsters in all of Ireland frequent that seedy strip of bars on Sherriff Street. From my Google research, I found countless acts of past mob violence.
Although there was no mention of this specific crime on that specific date, I’m sure it was just one of many that probably went overlooked. I don’t even want to think about what kind of cover up could have been planned.
The good news is that no one seems to be looking for me. I made it out of Ireland safely and I doubt they know where I live or have the ability to follow me to the United States.
I suppose, under the circumstances, that everything worked out as well as it could have— except of course I wish I never would have witnessed that crime. It haunts me at night, making my stomach churn and my body shake. It’s hard for me to fall asleep and sometimes even after I do I wake up with nightmares, drenched in sweat.
Tonight, though, I really want to try to forget all of that. It’s St. Patrick’s Day— a night of revelry and fun. I had given into their request that I go out with them and we had all gone back to the dorms to change before venturing forth for whatever tonight holds.
“I’m so glad you could come out tonight,” Tessa continues, winking at me. Her blue eyes are framed with green eyeshadow to match her green dress.
For once, I’ve gotten dressed up myself— wearing a dark green form fitting dress and a long gold necklace. My hair is piled on top of my head and I can’t seem to resist touching it to make sure it’s all in the same place as it started out earlier tonight when Monique did it for me.
“We know you’ve been having a difficult time lately,” Monique says.
“Yes,” I say. “I really have.”
“How is your mom doing?” she asks. “And your sister?”
Monique and Tessa think that it’s only family issues that have been bothering me. And those sure haven’t helped matters.
“They’re okay,” I say, taking another sip of my beer and realizing I’m being purposefully obscure.
It’s been a tough couple of years. First, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They managed to cure it but then it came back and now she needs even more aggressive treatment. It’s costly and her insurance doesn’t pay for all of it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do.
Then, my younger sister didn’t get a scholarship for college like I was fortunate enough to be able to do. She had worked just as hard and gotten just as good grades, but she was unlucky and didn’t get any of the many grants and scholarships for which she applied.
Our parents had saved some money for college for both of us, which I gladly would have donated to my sister, but we both donated to our mom for her cancer treatments. Now my sister is in community college and I feel guilty, as if I should be doing more for her, but I don’t know what else I can do.
Tonight, though, I don’t want to think about any of that. Nor do I want to think about the man in the alleyway in Dublin. All I want to do tonight, on St. Patrick’s Day, is drown my sorrows and forget my worries like every other college student in America.
I down the rest of my beer and say, “We need some shots up in here!” in my best Tessa impression.
“Wow,” Tessa says, laughing. “You sound just like me.”
“I know,” I admit. “I was trying to.”
“Mission halfway accomplished,” Tessa praises me. “But I would have shouted loud enough to actually get the bartender’s attention.”
I laugh and she says, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
But while she’s standing up, an elegant woman approaches our table. She’s wearing a black dress that stands out in the sea of green clothes that everyone else is wearing.
“May I refill your drinks?” she asks, gesturing to our empty beer glasses.
“Yes please,” I tell her. “And we’d also like some shots.”
I’m debating whether to get jello shots or lemon drops when Tessa says, “Jack Daniels please. In honor of our recent trip to Ireland.”
She winks at me.
I shrug.
Why not?
The woman smiles at us and says, “Of course.”
As she walks away, I say, “She doesn’t look like a waitress.”
“Yeah, I guess they’re really getting fancy up in here with their wait staff on St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa agrees.
“Doesn’t matter to me as long as they bring us our drinks,” I laugh.
“I’m so glad to see you’ve loosened up,” Monique tells me, shaking back her mane of curly hair that she’s wearing down and free tonight.
“But you haven’t really loosened up, right?” Tessa teases me. “You’re still nice and tight and virgin-y, down there?”
She points towards my lap and I break out into laughter.
“Yes, Tessa,” I tell her. “I still am, if you must know.”
“Of course I must know,” she says, her eyes widening. “I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since we were in Dublin…”
The woman returns with our drinks and Tessa stops talking while she’s at the table.
“Here you are, Ladies,” she says, with the same pleasant but rather eerie smile on her face.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I shoot a look at Monique as if to say, “That was fast,” but Tessa continues talking as soon as the woman leaves.
“…I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to losing it,” she says. “You know, like, how you want to do it and when?”
“Inquiring minds definitely want to know,” Monique agrees.
I quickly take a shot of my whiskey before answering.
“Maybe tonight,” I say, with a shrug and a grin.
“Really?” They both squeal.
“I don’t know. I’m down to try something new and different— if the guy is half decent. Could be a long shot in here though.”
I look around the bar but all I see are a bunch of young immature guys. None of them seem very attractive.
It’s too bad. I would love to escape into a real life fantasy of losing my virginity to a stranger. When I haven’t been down and depressed this past week, I’ve been thinking about it to cheer me up, and the idea sounds appealing.
Suddenly, the mysterious woman is back at our table.
“Ladies,” she says. “This dive bar isn’t the place for stunning women such as yourselves.”
“It’s like you read our minds,” Tessa says, aghast.
Maybe she was just listening in to our conversation, I want to tell her.
But why?
“How would you like to go to an exclusive club that caters to billionaires, movie stars, rock stars and other celebrities?” she says.
“About the same as we’d like to win the lottery,” Monique immediately says.
I smile despite the craziness of this situation. Why is this woman offering to take us to such a club?
I look back and forth at Tessa and Monique as if to ask them this question but they just shrug like, “Let’s go with this.”
Why not? I wonder again.
I don’t really have a good answer to my own question.
If my goal is to lose my virginity, the club that this woman mentioned sounds
like it has much better prospects than the bar that we’re in right now.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I nod, surprising both my friends and myself with my eagerness to try something new. I didn’t even bring my Kindle, let alone a purse big enough to fit it, tonight.
I’m carrying a clutch that matches my green dress in both style and sophistication. And, of course, I’m wearing the orange leather jacket that got me through the rainy, cold, crazy night last week in Dublin.
Thinking about that night makes me shiver. I obviously haven’t had enough green beer or whiskey to drown out the memory.
“But first I’m going to need more alcohol.”
Chapter 6 – Jade
I wanted this St. Patrick’s Day to be different and special. But I don’t know if I’ve gone a little too far.
I’m standing on an auction stage at a club called The Exchange, and rich men are bidding on me. I never in a million years would have thought I’d be up here. Yet here I am.
The stunning woman from the bar told us her name was Vivian and explained once we arrived that at this club men pay a very high price for what they want— and we are exactly the kind of women they want.
“What exactly do they buy?” We had asked her, aghast.
“Whatever you’re willing to sell,” she says. “And the price will rise accordingly.”
“Whatever we’re willing to sell,” I’d repeated, marveling at the thought of it. “Such as…?”
“You name it, they’ll buy it,” she says. “Dinner. Your company. A date with you. Anything you want. The Exchange is a well-known yet secret club, with locations all over the country. Men know exactly what they’re getting when they come here. They pay for whatever they want. And the girls who are auctioning themselves are in charge of deciding what exactly they’re willing to sell.”
“Let’s go for it,” I’d announced.
“Are you sure, Jade?” Tessa had asked. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I told her, nearly glaring at her.
I guess she finds me incapable of making my own decisions. Or at least any fun ones. But that was the old Jade.
The new Jade is on a mission to have fun and lose my virginity. I may as well get paid along the way.
It sounds like these men have money to burn and I want some of it to help with my sister’s college expenses. She doesn’t even have money to buy textbooks and has to study at the library or borrow from her friends.
I had promised myself that I would do what it takes should the opportunity arise to help her—and here is just such an opportunity. It’s also an opportunity to do something else I’ve been wanting to do— meet a man to whom I can lose my virginity.
“Well, if you’re down I’m down,” Tessa had agreed.
“And you both know I’m always down for anything,” Monique had added.
So here I am. On the stage. Going first. I’ve really become a lot more bold. I guess something about last week’s experience has changed me. Hardened me. But I also feel that I needed to be hardened.
“Let’s start off the bidding for the lovely Jade,” the auctioneer says.
He begins to read off a card that Vivian had prepared based on a brief interview of me earlier.
She had told me that the guys can bid on whatever they wanted and it was up to me to accept or reject their offers.
“Jade is nineteen years old and a student at Boston University. She enjoys reading and music. This is her first time here tonight at our exclusive club.”
“A thousand dollars to take her out for a drink,” shouts a man from the back row, and I try hard not to let my mouth fall to the floor.
A thousand dollars just for that? I think.
And here I’ve been letting guys buy me drinks for free during the two times I’ve gone out.
I actually feel stupid for a minute. But then I remember that those guys weren’t filthy rich.
“Do you accept?” the auctioneer asks me.
“Yes,” I nod, squinting into the crowd.
I can’t really get a good look at the guy in the back but I’d let Frankenstein take me out for a drink if it yielded me a thousand dollars.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars to take her to dinner,” says a man sitting up closer, near the front row.
I take a deep breath. He’s rather rotund and sweaty looking. I really hope he doesn’t win.
“Do you accept?” the auctioneer asks me.
I nod, a bit more hesitant this time.
“Fifty thousand to take her to dinner,” shouts someone else.
I look around but can’t place him at first. Then I notice he’s at the bar. And he’s frigging gorgeous.
He’s so tall he seems to tower over everyone else in the place. He has a head full of wavy dark brown hair, as well as a beard and a mustache. I’m not usually attracted to facial hair but on him it looks amazing— as does the rest of him.
He’s only wearing a white tee shirt whereas most of the men here are wearing suits. The curve of his bulging muscle peeks out from under the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo.
Tattoos are another thing I don’t normally go for but I’d go for anything on him. In fact, the tattoo makes me think he’s kind of dangerous and strong, and I immediately feel my panties dampen.
Please win, I mentally urge him. Please, please, please. Make my St. Patrick’s Day wish come true.
I stare into his gorgeous blue eyes and he is staring back into mine. I know he can tell what I’m thinking and I hope he acts on it.
I could stare at him all day but I’m jolted back to reality when another man from the audience shouts out, “One hundred thousand dollars for a hand job.”
Shocked, I look at him, expecting to see some gross old man. Instead, he’s just a regular looking— and even semi-attractive— guy. I suppose anything really does go on at this club, and no one even thinks anything of it.
“Do you accept?” the auctioneer asks me.
I look back at the man behind the bar.
Please beat this bid, I will him.
“Yes,” I tell the auctioneer.
“Five hundred thousand dollars to let me eat her sweet pussy,” he says loudly, staring straight back at me.
Now I’m dripping wet. I can’t believe his audacity. But I have to admit I love it.
I also can’t believe I’m going to be getting so much money. This will pay for a good chunk of my mom’s treatment.
“I accept,” I tell the auctioneer, before he even asks me.
“No fair,” the guy in the front protests, sweating even more profusely. “That’s way too high of a jump. Everyone is bidding so much so quickly.”
“Robert,” the auctioneer chastises him. “You know the rules. Which are that there are no rules.”
This is the strangest auction ever— even if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re auctioning me off. I’ve never been to any auctions of any kind before, but I know enough to know that this isn’t exactly normal.
“Well why is she so special?” the guy in front demands. “Why are they bidding up so high that no one can compete?”
“If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave,” the auctioneer scolds him. “The market bears what the market can bear. This girl is obviously worth a lot or people would not be bidding this high and you would not be complaining. And it’s not my fault if some of you have more money than others.”
“Oh, shut your self-righteous pie hole,” the man— apparently named Robert— says, and several men let out a laugh or a gasp. “Seven hundred thousand dollars if she’ll suck my cock.”
Now more of them gasp.
“Now Robert…” the auctioneer begins.
“I’m good for it,” he says. “I just closed on the Wilson Estate.”
“Fine,” the auctioneer says.
“Do you accept?” he asks me. He raises his eyebrows at me as he does it, as if to silently add, I wouldn’t.
“What happens if I
don’t accept?” I whisper under my breath.
“Then the last offer stands unless someone increases the offer currently on the floor,” he says. “So you can accept Robert’s offer of seven hundred thousand dollars or Gavin’s offer for five hundred thousand.”
Gavin, I think. So that’s his name.
While seven hundred thousand dollars sounds great, there’s no way I want to be bought by Robert and have to go down on him. I’d much rather get five hundred thousand dollars to let Gavin pleasure me.
“Is she a virgin?” calls out the man in the back.
I look at Gavin, willing him to save me. He winks at me, as if he is accepting my request. And I blink at him as if to tell him that the answer is yes.
I am a virgin. And I want him to change that.
“I’m sorry, Dan, but I’ll have to check the rules on this one,” the auctioneer says. “There’s no information on the card, and there’s a standing offer on the floor…”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars to sleep with her,” the man calls out, without waiting for a final answer.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. That’s a lot of money, and from what I can make out of the man in the back he appears to be a better option than Robert in the front row. But I don’t want either of them. I want Gavin.
“A million dollars to make her my sex slave for one night,” he says. “Just give me one night.”
He looks at me, as if saying it directly to me.
“That’s all I’ll need,” he adds.
“Now, Jade,” the auctioneer begins explaining. “I know this has gotten confusing because there are so many offers being thrown out. And at this point it doesn’t even make a lot of sense, because your options are either to stick with the five hundred thousand dollars Gavin offered for the… oral sex for your benefit…”
He looks flustered when finding the appropriate euphemisms, which I find funny considering his line of work.
“…or you can go all the way up to the one million dollar offer for the… uh, sex slave for the night offer,” he continues. “Or I suppose, technically, that you can accept any of the standing offers in between those two that were made by Gavin, or we’ll see if anyone wants to top that very generous, yet also demanding at the same time, offer…”
Sold as a Domme on Valentine's Day Page 44
