by Holly Hart
“– I guess that makes me Twelve?” Harlan growls, his voice low and sounding supremely confident.
We couldn’t be any more different. I feel like I’m spinning, like the floor beneath my feet has turned to dust. My chest and throat clench up with panic. What’s going on? How have I become simply a number, rather than a name? Somehow, I spit out a single word.
“ Auction!?”
“Precisely,” the host says from behind his white mask. “Now, as I’m sure you both know, the use of your given name is forbidden for the night. Our guests go by the numbers. It’s – safer – that way, for all of us.”
That’s news to me.
“Now, Eleven?” The host says, turning behind him to a waitress – also masked – carrying two glasses of bubbling champagne. He presses one into my startled fingers. “Will you go with my assistant here? She’ll take care of your every need.”
My eyes widen behind my mask as far as they’ll go. Harlan didn’t say anything about us being separated! Come to think about it, he didn’t really say anything at all…
The masked waitress smiles at me, and beckons me to follow her. My feet feel like they’ve been weighed down with lead. I cast a look back at Harlan – Twelve, now, for whatever mysterious reason – with pleading eyes. I can’t seem to make my mouth work, nor force my tongue to speak.
Twelve smiles back at me. “I’ll see you soon,” his voice rumbles. Right now it sounds as if it could be an invitation as much as a threat.
But I straighten my back. Harlan – back when that was still his name – asked if I trusted him. The answer, for all tonight’s strangeness, is still yes. If this is the path I need to tread to get to the orgasm he promised me, then I’ll surely walk it.
As I leave them behind, I watch as the masked host presses something into Harlan’s hand. It looks like a key of some description. I can’t make out any more detail. Harlan places it inside his breast pocket.
I follow the masked assistant. As we turn a corner, she starts to talk. Her voice is low, husky, and completely self-assured. In short, she’s the exact opposite of me.
“Is this your first time?” she asks.
I swallow. “Is – is it that obvious?”
The masked woman laughs. “To me, maybe. But behind that mask you can be anyone you want to be. You’ll be fine. Now – have you been told what is going to happen tonight?”
I shake my head nervously. “No,” I croak.
“Perfect. That’s how it should be. We have some return guests, of course.” She lets out a peal of low laughter. “We find that once they’ve had a taste, they are hooked.”
I don’t know about that. If the cauldron of acid in my stomach is any guide, I’ve got a funny feeling – if I survive tonight – I won’t be coming back. Tonight would have to be spectacular to change my mind on that.
“The auction starts in about five minutes.”
“Auction?” I squeak. “Will somebody please explain what’s going on here?”
“Of course,” my host says and smiles. She acts like she’s been through this a hundred times before. I guess she probably has. “Every time we open our doors, we invite twelve guests. Six men, the even numbers, and six women, the odd. You’ll go up on stage one by one. The bidding does get… competitive.”
“Wait–” I choke.
Then I fall silent, as what’s about to happen to me hits home. I’m going to go up on stage like a piece of meat, and have men – hopefully, at least – competing over the right to use my body as they please.
Is this what Harlan planned for me all along?
My assistant lays her hand on the single door that lies at the end of the hallway. She starts to push, but I touch on her shoulder. She turns to me, and shoots me a questioning look. My heart is beating so fast I can barely get the words out.
“Wait–” I say again, with added urgency. “Har–, I mean, Twelve. Can he bid on me?”
I see my guide frown beneath her mask. “I… suppose,” she says haltingly. “But I don’t see why he would.”
She pushes the door open and pushes me through, leaving the second part of her sentence unspoken. After all, why would any man bid on a woman he was already with…
My guide leaves me in a room with five other women, but otherwise alone with my thoughts. Each one is clothed, like me, in an extravagant evening dress, and, like me, a mask.
As I enter the room, every mask turns in my direction. Half the women are seated in chairs around the edge of the room, the rest remain standing. There’s an edge to the room – an electric sense of tension.
Otherwise, the room remains absolutely silent.
I cast my eyes around the other participants – my colleagues in this strange, twisted game Harlan has thrown me into. The three women seated around the edges look like they’ve seen this all before. They are masked, of course, but have a – perhaps faked – sense of profound boredom about them. I wonder who they are.
Escorts, perhaps?
The remaining two aren’t nearly as relaxed. They are both pacing around the room, anxiously chewing their lips. They seem young: far younger than me, anyway. I try and guess their story. I wonder how they got here. They seem so innocent, almost virginal.
But I don’t have long to put it together…
A voice comes through the speakers in this strange, ethereal green room. “Ladies,” it says. “This is your three-minute warning.”
I think that’s going to be all that’s said. Three minutes to internally prepare myself for whatever happens next.
But of course, there is always more.
“It’s time to undress.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harlan
I’ve heard rumors of this place for years. Dreamed of it, even. It’s strange to finally be here, and with Skye by my side.
The auction room itself is neatly organized. It’s carpeted in a rich, thick cream, and six maroon wingback armchairs are arranged in two rows of three. At the front of the room is a small wooden lectern. Five of the six armchairs are occupied by men dressed just like me, and the sixth is empty – waiting for its occupant.
Me.
The place is simple, but then, it doesn’t need to be anything more. The focus is to be the women who are about to come through that door. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I am here.
And I know one last thing. The competition is going to be fierce. It doesn’t matter what other women are revealed, I know that Skye is the night’s greatest prize.
I’ve brought Skye here for one reason and one reason only. My problem is control, and so is hers. This is how we solve it.
I need to limit my need for dominance. Restrict it to the bedroom, not let it consume the rest of my life. But Skye – Skye needs to accept that winning the prize she so desperately wants will take risking everything she holds dear.
A door opens, and the night’s masked host steps through. The auction room immediately fills with a buzz of excitement. Even I can’t resist it.
Tonight is going to be the first night of the rest of my life – a life with Skye by my side. By the time it’s finally over, she’ll be a different woman.
And what will I be?
I’ll be a completely different man.
I take my seat.
“Gentlemen,” the host says, clearing his throat, “so good of you to join us tonight. Your contributions – as always – are very much appreciated.”
Damn right.
I’ve paid my membership fees to this place for years, just waiting to find the perfect woman. Those are the rules. You can come as often as you want – but you can only ever invite the same woman.
What happens if she leaves you? Asks for a divorce, or decides she’s done lying on her back in exchange for cash?
You’re shit out of luck.
So I’ve waited, and waited – praying that the perfect woman would one day walk into my life. Now, at long last, Skye has come.
Of course, I think wryly, a
s I cast my eyes around the room, some of the men here aren’t quite so principled. They hire hookers – the best of the best, of course – escorts, they are called.
To me, though, they’ll always be hookers.
The host continues. “As always, it’s wonderful to see so many familiar…”
He pauses for effect.
“… Masks.”
There is a smattering of polite laughter, but the tension in the room doesn’t fade. We all know why we’re here.
“As you know, this illustrious club was founded on the principle that by bringing together the finest men in New York, we also bring together the finest women.”
It’s true. Only New York’s richest, most famous, and – most of all – powerful men are even invited to apply for membership. This place is an inner sanctum of success. It’s a place where men like me can give into their deepest, darkest desires in total, utter privacy.
It’s a place where we can sample and share the wives, girlfriends and hangers on of the best men in New York.
That means we sample the best women this planet has to offer.
Well, I say we. In fact, I’ve never been here before.
You could even say that I’m a club… virgin.
The host claps his hands together. “Shall we begin?”
He walks to his lectern, pauses for a second, and then picks up a tiny silver hand bell. He rings it, and it tinkles sweetly. Somehow it seems like the strangest, most innocent, of sounds to kick off a night of such debauchery.
I relax back into my chair and wait for the games to begin. The side door opens, and a woman – clad only in thousand-dollar lingerie – steps through. I hold my breath, hoping against all hope that it’s Skye.
But it’s not. I’m forced to wait, and my desire builds.
The girl is nervous. That much is plain. She’s young – can’t be much over eighteen years old, and flat out gorgeous. But judging by the way she’s acting, hunching her shoulders, crossing her arms and chewing anxiously at the inside of her lip, she’s not used to this kind of attention.
I’d put money on her being a virgin. A real one, unlike me.
“This is One. She’s a new member.”
The host – now auctioneer – turns to One, and smiles indulgently. From beneath her mask, the young girl smiles weakly back at him.
“Will you give us a twirl, my dear? Show these men what they are bidding on…”
It’s hard to make out, but I think the girl briefly squeezes her eyes shut beneath her mask, a diamond studded, indulgent affair. I wonder which of these men brought her. I wonder what she was promised in order to come.
Money, perhaps?
Marriage?
People’s sexual motives have always fascinated me. Given the field she entered, I imagine that Skye is the same.
The young girl completes her twirl. Her underwear hides little, disappearing at the back into a thong. I won’t deny that I give her an appreciative glance. But there’s no joy in it, not like there would have been just a couple of weeks ago.
For all her – obvious – assets, this girl’s a pale imitation of Skye’s perfection.
“Marvelous,” the host claps. Strangely, One seems to straighten her back at the praise.
He cocks his head at the girl, appraising her, and then nods, as if decided.
He turned back to the crowd. “We’ll start the bidding at, say, a million?”
The crowd is entirely unfazed by the auctioneer’s starting price. I don’t hear so much as a rustle. To the men in this room, a million dollars is nothing. Even for a single night with one single woman. Of course, I’ve never heard anyone publicly admit that they are a member of this most secret of clubs.
But I’ve heard the rumors.
I heard the rumor of the record-breaking battle that stretched to almost seventy million dollars – one girl, one night, a fee worth more than the GDP of most small countries, and all paid directly to the girl under auction, of course.
Although I didn’t tell Skye that bit.
Five of the men – all of them, in fact, except me – raise their auction paddles.
“One point five?”
Five paddles.
“Two?”
Five paddles.
“Three?”
Three paddles.
I look at the two men who dropped out of the race with interest. I try and guess at their motives. Was it the money that was an issue? Or did they truly not value this girl at more than two million dollars?
It’s hard to say.
I squint at the girl, who seems to be growing into her public display as the bids rise, but honestly I can’t put a price on her. I’ve been too spoiled by Skye’s beauty. Every other girl seems like little more than an empty shadow.
“Shall we jump to five million, then?”
Two paddles.
“Six.”
Two paddles.
“Eight?”
This time there is only one paddle raised. A murmur of interest briefly fills the room, and there’s a rustle as the assorted guests look around to see whether the other bidder has dropped out.
“Sir?” The auctioneer asks, doing his best to tempt the man back into the race. But the man simply shakes his head.
The masked auctioneer smiles and announces, “Going, going, gone. Sold to the man in the gold mask.”
I can’t see the winner’s face, but I see him make a fist, and punch the air. I wonder what it feels like, to have spent eight million dollars on buying a woman’s attentions for the night.
Maybe even – in this case – buying a woman’s virginity…
I do the math inside my head. If they are together for six hours, that’s three hundred and sixty minutes – more than twenty-two thousand dollars per minute.
Not a bad rate.
“Will you stick around, sir? Perhaps another girl might take your fancy… two, as they say, is better than one.”
The masked winner stands. He’s a tall man, beyond six feet, with broad shoulders and light brown hair. He looks like he could be a movie star.
“Not tonight,” he growls in a deep, low voice that I’m sure I recognize. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”
He holds out his hand for the girl – his prize – who suddenly looks nervous again. But he shoots her a smile, and she brightens up quickly. I’m not surprised.
Apart from me – of course – he’s by far one of the most attractive men in the room.
As the winner leads his prize out of the auction room, the auctioneer reaches for his bell once more. It tinkles, and the circus starts again. I straighten up in my armchair, taking a sip of the forgotten champagne. I was so caught up in the spectacle I’ve only just realized how thirsty I really am.
I hold my breath as the second girl walks in. This one, however, has clearly been here before. She’s long legged, even taller in her heels. Like Skye, she’s got gorgeous red hair. Unlike my girl, though, hers towers above her head in a loose bun.
“Ah,” the auctioneer smiles. “A returning favorite – shall we start the bidding at five?”
“Make it ten,” a man in the armchair beside me grunts. He’s a larger individual. His belly strains against his black tuxedo jacket.
The auctioneer inclines his head. “Very bold,” he simpers, “but as you wish. Ten it is.”
Without hesitation, three paddles fly into the air. The auctioneer casts me a strange, curious glance, but quickly moves on. Ever the professional.
I wonder what he thinks of me. I have to admit, if I wasn’t here with Skye, and I’d never even met her, then I might well be bidding for the tall redhead at the front of the room.
“Fifteen.”
After this sudden jump, only two paddles remain. I’m not surprised. Fifteen million dollars is a hell of a sum, even for me. It’s an even bigger jump. I lean forward with interest, wondering how high this one will go.
“Eighteen?”
Two paddles.
The fat man grow
ls again. I glance at him, sure I know him. He has a hard frame to hide. I think he’s the CEO of some technology firm based uptown. He’s not richer than me, but it is close enough. Still, I shiver. If I was the tall redhead, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go to bed with him – no matter how rich he might be.
“Twenty-five,” the fat man says.
The room suddenly goes still. It’s one hell of a bid. I can’t help but respect the man’s balls – though I wouldn’t want to get anywhere close to them…
“Twenty-five it is,” the auctioneer says. “Do I see any bids?”
The fat man’s paddle goes up. It’s the only one that does.
“Going, going, gone…”
The redhead walks over to the fat man immediately, deepening my suspicion that she’s done this dance before. She sits down on his lap, and I notice that he makes no move to stand up.
“Will you stay for another round, sir?”
“Yes,” the fat man replies. “Also, get my girl a drink.”
“Certainly, sir,” the auctioneer complies, and points at a waiter I hadn’t noticed standing at the back of the room. The man quickly springs into action.
The bell tinkles again.
I hold my breath, again.
And this time, it really is Skye who walks through. Her footsteps are slow, awkward and nervous. When she sees the room of men arrayed in front of her, she almost physically cringes.
But I don’t see her anxiety, or awkwardness. I see the most beautiful girl in the world, the only one I’ve felt anything for since Ashley. The only one I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I do hear the almost audible intake of breath around the room. I see the fat man next to me straighten up with interest, and the tall redhead on his lap pout with dismay, even jealousy.
She has Competition.
“My, my…” the auctioneer whispers. Even he can’t tear his eyes away from Skye’s perfect, beautiful, freckled body.
He gives his head a half shake and smiles at the room. “After Eleven has given us a twirl,” he glances meaningfully at Skye who stares back at him open-mouthed, “shall we start the bidding at – say – ten again? I think we all agree that she’s worth it.”
