“You wanted to know if I was dead. You now know that I’m not.” If my tone was a little frosty, it couldn’t be helped. I’d had a rough day.
His foot didn’t move from the back of my neck, but the imprint of his heel was less severe as he withdrew some of his weight from it. There would probably be a nice bruise there by morning, but that was the least of my worries.
"Comments like that will get you a black and blue ass, Thirty-Eight."
“You don’t think I know that? Have you seen the state of my ass?”
The room went silent once more. Had I said too much? Was I being too difficult? Several excruciatingly long seconds ticked by, and in each one of them, I was wondering whether I'd get a boot in the ribs. When his hands came down to touch my face, I jumped so violently, he was lucky I didn't headbutt him.
“You’re not quite as confident as you appear to be, slave.” The Englishman then took his foot off my neck and placed a heavy, thick blindfold over my eyes. His hands were swift behind the back of my head, and in a few deft moves, I couldn’t see a thing. My adrenaline level was now at a toxic overload, but I enjoyed that kind of thing. For the first time in ages, I felt alive - electrically charged, with sparks flying alive. For me, it was that feeling that was halfway between lust and love, volatile, but thrilling nonetheless.
The Englishman carefully arranged the blindfold upon my face to his satisfaction. He took his time, almost as if he relished the feel of his hands upon me, and the soft drag of velvet against my skin was slow and incredibly erotic. Even though I hadn’t laid eyes on the man, I could feel a pull between us – a dangerous one.
"I shouldn't be here." Grabbing a fist full of my hair, he pulled me upright and ran the side of his palm down the centre of my chest. I could just see it from beneath the bottom of my blindfold. His skin was a glorious milky coffee colour - soft, warm, and silky. My lips parted in a gasp. It was involuntary, and the reaction scared me. The close proximity of his body made my skin prickle, and a thin trail of desire leaked down my leg. This was not something I had experienced before. Perhaps it was the stressful situation or just the heightened state of arousal I had been in all day, but whatever it was, it was fucking scary.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he repeated again. “You’re too inexperienced, and I don’t think you’ll fit in my world. I like slaves with a long history of service. I also prefer them to be trained by a master I know and trust.” His tone was clipped.
“Then why are you here?” My voice sounded a little thick and heavier than usual, but there was no acting involved. My body seemed to have gone into some serious kind of meltdown.
"Good question, but I'm the one that gets to do the talking around here." He flicked the point of a nipple to drive his point home, and my back arched like a bowstring.
“Again,” I whispered, before my hand came up to my mouth, having realised my mistake.
"Tut, tut, tut," he said in a disapproving tone before his hand buried itself in my elegant hair-do and began to pull out pins left, right, and centre. I hissed out loud, feeling my hair roots being tugged a little too tightly and tried my best to squirm away from him.
"You're still a complete novice at this, Thirty-Eight." He tugged my hair again viciously to drive his point home. "Haven't you learned anything in a year's service? Or was your master so taken by that pretty face and body that he went easy on you?"
The Englishman’s hand moved towards my other breast, circling the flesh there over and over, before rising up to tweak my other nipple. I swear I almost orgasmed there and then because a line of fire shot down my abdomen and rested, spitting and crackling, between my legs. Thankfully, this time I couldn’t speak, which was a good thing, as I was in enough trouble already.
"Such a responsive little thing, aren't you?" He put his fingers against my lips to silence me as if warning me to play by the rules. I was more than happy to oblige him because his lips were on my neck and I was entranced by them. His teeth nipped and scored themselves lightly upon my collarbone as his hands set about pulling out all the remaining pins in my hair. I could feel the stubble of his day-old beard rub against my cheek, and it felt delicious. The man was rough, but I didn't mind in the least. The little slivers of pain he imparted only served to fuel the furnace raging within me. I moaned out my need and wriggled against him. He laughed.
"Are you hungry, Thirty-Eight? Did the auction leave you hot and wet, and perhaps a little needy, slave?" His hands then slid gently up my thighs, leaving me in no doubt as to his meaning.
“Mmm,” I whimpered, desperate to feel his hand upon my clit. My hips bucked forward to encourage him, but no matter which way they lunged, his fingers remained elusive.
"Pleasure has to be earned in my world, little one, and you are a long way from earning anything by the looks of things." I think I frowned sulkily at his words, in the manner of a three-year-old. My body was on a knife-edge to orgasm, and any kind of relief was continually being denied.
“How do I earn it?” I whispered. My hips were still moving beneath his hand, but all I got for my troubles was the merest flutter of his fingertips against my labia. It wasn’t enough.
“You earn it by being obedient and answering my questions.” Another barely there graze over my lips sent my body into flurries of paroxysms. The spasms twisted my insides painfully and did nothing to settle the ache between my legs.
“So ask me questions and dish out orders,” I complained grumpily.
Before I knew what was happening, he had me face down, flat on the floor, one hand around my neck pinning me down, while the other was crashing into my backside. The man wasn't holding back, and in less than ten seconds he made sure I was sorry for my outburst.
“Forgive me, Sir,” I screamed through the blistering handprints. “Please give me another chance.” If he heard me, he made no notion of it. His hand continued to rain down until he had reduced me to tears. It didn’t take long. My ass was already red raw to the touch, and the current assault of his spanks was more than it could bear. It wasn’t until I was hiccupping in a fit of hysterics than his hand eventually slowed, finally petering out to a stop. When he had finished, he began to massage my ass, kneading the abraded flesh left and right, and I couldn’t make out whether the action was painful or arousing. In the end, I figured it was a bit of both.
"I'm sorry, Sir," I whispered when I was sure he could hear me. There was a distinct pause, and I had a horrible feeling I had angered him.
"Don't call me Sir. You haven't earned that right. Very few girls do. At the moment I'm no one to you, and you're even less important to me." He grabbed hold of my tousled hair, now thankfully free of pins, and tugged it brutally. "Do you understand?"
“Yes,” I bleated. “Yes.” Sniffling, I tried to pull myself together. God, I hoped this monster didn’t buy me. If he did, my six months were going to be the most miserable on Earth. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Open your legs.” The command was barked out, and I immediately obeyed. All fight had fled from my body for the moment. Damn everyone and their advice, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was protect my poor backside.
"Wider." Struggling upon the carpeted floor, I pushed my legs as wide apart as they would go. It wasn't until they were wobbling with the strain of doing so that my monster seemed appeased.
“Very nice, Thirty-Eight. Very nice, indeed.” For a long time, there was no movement, so I guessed he was just staring at me. The silence was unnerving, but I tried my hardest to remain still. When I felt his hands descend upon my backside, my body jumped up, but it quickly settled down when no further spanks were forthcoming.
Slowly, very slowly, the monster parted my ass cheeks open wide. I knew he was close because I could feel his warm breath tickle my sex, but there was no contact from him. It was maddening. Each breath tickled my skin and made me clench, my clit pulsing with need, but little wisps of air weren't nearly enough. They were a miserable kind of torment, nothing more, nothing less.
I didn't dare move, though. The monster had proven himself a worthy adversary, and I didn't want to mess with him.
After a few minutes had passed, just when I thought I could stand no more, he put two of his fingers inside me. Letting out a sob of misery and anguish, I cautioned myself not to move and wondered how long I would have to withstand the man's horrible teasing. The answer was quite a while. He was quite content to push them back and forwards inside me, over and over again. When he eventually spoke to me, I was close to sobbing. I didn't know whether I wanted to beg him to stop or continue. Actually – I did know but was too scared to do so.
"Fuck. You are so wet, so exquisitely ripe and lush. You've blossomed like a bright red lily under my fingers, Thirty-Eight. I think I could probably do this to you all evening, and never get bored of looking at that amazing cunt. That alone would be reason enough to buy you. Would you like that, slave?" My wail of misery was long and hard. In response, he patted my ass consolingly, though it did nothing to appease me.
“You enjoy pain, don’t you, Thirty-Eight? Just a nod or shake of the head will suffice.” I nodded my head, although I was a little reluctant to do so. His idea of pain and mine varied considerably, judging by what I’d seen so far, and it had been a very long day.
“Up on all fours, slave. It’s time to test that theory.” There was another tap on my ass, urging me to do his bidding, so I did as ordered. “Crawl over to the bench and then lay on it with your back facing downwards. Think you can do that?”
The answer probably should have been yes, but with a blindfold over my eyes and no sense of direction since he’d taken me down to the floor I had no clue of my bearings.
“No. Can you guide me? I can’t see a thing beneath this blindfold.” I might have been babbling, but I didn’t want him to think I was deliberately disobeying his orders. The man scared me in the worst way.
“Of course. What was I thinking? Follow me, Thirty-Eight.”
I followed his dark brown, expensive-looking Italian leather shoes all the way back to the bench. My monster wore a beige suit, unlike most of the others in the auction, and even though I could only see a small portion of it, the thing screamed sartorial elegance for the fashion elite. All of the men I'd seen in the auction today were loaded or worked for someone who had money, but this man could bathe in the stuff. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did, and with utmost certainty. My sixth sense was good like that. It was one of the reasons I'd made it past five years in this job. A lot of my fellow operatives hadn't.
When the bench loomed into view, I carefully hoisted myself up upon it and lay down as instructed. Assuming he would want me in restraints, I let my arms dangle towards the ground as before. This did not please my monster at all.
“I’m not going to cuff you, slave. That’s part of the challenge. I want you to keep your hands folded across your stomach. They must remain there at all times until I instruct you to stand up, or you will have failed this interview. Am I clear?”
"Yes," I whispered. I wasn't half so sure of myself now. We'd just had the pain talk, so that meant bad things were about to happen. The only thing I needed to know, was what sort of bad things? I was damned if I was going to ask him, though. The Englishmen fed off people's fear, and I wasn't going to give him mine just yet.
"Open your legs wide, slave." I had a bad feeling about this, but there was nothing else for it, so I did as he asked. "Beautiful," he rasped, and then said, "wider." Straining them wide as I had before, he ran a finger down the inside of my thigh, and I trembled in anticipation. I think this pleased him, for he let out a soft sigh of pleasure.
“The female form is exquisite, Thirty-Eight. I swear I could stare at it all day, and never get bored.” There was a pause as he thought about that. “Well, perhaps not the same woman all day long, variety being the spice of life and all that.” I smiled wryly. This man, apart from the accent, had all the hallmarks of Dumortier. There was a still a chance he worked for him, and though it was slim, I intended to play my part.
"Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you next?" A finger pressed into my clit, making my stomach clench over and over, but the contact was fleeting. As soon as his hand left me, I felt bereft, and I groaned out my disappointment.
“No,” I said, throatily. “Surprise me.”
His hand slapped me hard on my thigh in response. “Quite the little temptress, aren’t you? Do you think there’s a man alive who could tame you?”
“Possibly,” I growled as his fingers moved back between my legs, “but I haven’t met him yet.” Another unwise comment from me, but I couldn’t resist.
"Is that so?" The Englishman then pinched my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger excruciatingly hard, and I yelped, my hips rising sharply up off the bench. He pressed me back down again.
"Listen carefully and tell me what you hear, Thirty-Eight." My monster then stood up, and I heard the creak of his shoes as he did so. There was the sound of metal clinking and then a woosh of air. It took me a few seconds to realise that what I'd just heard was the unbuckling and removal of a belt.
“You’ve removed your belt,” I said, and the fear that had always been lurking around this man, came back full throttle.
"Well done, slave. You have good ears. It's a nice, thick, brown leather one with a good snap." He cracked the thing in the air for good measure, and the sound made me want to close my legs tightly together and run as quickly as I could from the room. Staying put required a good deal of willpower, but somehow I managed it.
"So what do you think I'm going to do with it?" Excitement laced his sexy, upper-class drawl, and I could only imagine the delights in store for me. There was one thing I knew for sure, though.
“Are you going to hit me with it?” It was either that or strangle me, and neither option particularly appealed.
“I am – but where?” His fingers began to caress my clit again. A feeling of intense dread began to crawl along every nerve ending in my body. This was not going to be good.
A knock then sounded on the door, signalling that five minutes was all that remained with my monster. While I should have been relieved, five minutes with a crazy man wielding a belt seemed like an incredibly long time.
"Can't we have sex instead?" I moaned. As soon as the words had left my mouth I wanted to shove them back in. What was I saying? With Nieman, I had been utterly repulsed by the idea, and yet with this man, who I had yet to even lay eyes on, I was actively encouraging him? I was going mad.
"I don't have sex with my slaves until they've proved themselves. It's a long and lengthy process, and few have the stamina or mindset to make the grade. At the moment, I still don't think you'd fit into my world – so the possibility is very unlikely I'm afraid."
"Oh woe is me," I said, sighing theatrically. "You might as well wallop me then, so I can go to my next master with a couple of satisfying bruises as a reminder of our time here." I'm sure Nieman would admire them, along with all of his shoes, at a later date.
“You’re that certain you’re getting a bid this evening, huh? I think that’s very unlikely, Thirty-Eight. You’re new, virtually untrained, and a bit of a loose cannon if our session is anything to go by. What will happen if you’re sent home this evening? Will your master accept you back?”
“No.” It was the truth. James was technically my master, but he didn’t want me. He might have taken pity on me earlier, but he saw me as nothing more than a colleague. The man had women fawning all over him, rich and talented women, so why would he even look twice at me?
“For the first time ever in one of these damn auctions, I wish I could see your eyes,” Thirty-Eight.
"They're grey, and they're not that exciting," I remarked. "You're not missing much." I felt the slow slither of a leather belt coming down between my breasts and knew that our little talk was almost over. His minutes were ticking down, and my monster would want to make use of them.
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. All eyes are exciting.
They are the windows to our soul, and I can read a person pretty accurately just by looking at them. Would I want to read you, Thirty-Eight?"
There was a sharp snap of the belt as it came down over my left breast. The edge caught my nipple, and I let out a little shriek of anguish.
“I doubt it. I’m very dull. You’d be bored within seconds,” I lied. “Besides, I already have a guy lined up who’s going to shower me in high-heeled shoes. What more could a girl want?”
The belt lashed down on my thigh with fury this time, and my head left the bench only to bang into it again, hard. Somehow I managed to keep my arms in place, but only just.
“Don’t talk about other men in my presence,” he growled menacingly, and it was then that I knew I had made a grave mistake. Still, if I had to go home with someone tonight, Nieman would be the better choice because this man scared me half to death.
“Brace yourself, Thirty-Eight. You’ve earned yourself a punishment.” I had virtually no time to prepare myself for the furious snap of the belt that landed right between my legs. It was agony in the extreme. Nothing I had done with James had been anywhere near as painful, and I screamed. Another one immediately followed in its wake, and then another. He had me sobbing in seconds, and when I'd finally managed to come to my senses, arms flailing and legs snapping themselves closed, there was only the soft sound of the door clicking shut to prove that this episode hadn't been a figment of my imagination. Tearing the blindfold from my face, I threw it at the door and mopped up my tears with the corner of my wrists.
It was safe to say this day had been a miserable failure, but at least I wouldn’t be going home with Captain Crazy. Perhaps someone up there was looking out for me after all.
Chapter Twelve
When Cassie asked me how the auction had gone, I replied with a non-committal grunt. It hadn't been a disaster, but I hadn't been a roaring success, either. I had been reasonably confident that Nieman would put a bid in for me, but I was probably being a little premature. What if he'd had several appointments? What if he'd found someone he liked more than me? Talk was cheap, and whisky costs money. A lot less sure of myself than I had been a half hour ago, I let Lisa tidy me up for the last time, while Cassie chewed the end of her cell phone off. I had no idea who she was speaking to, and I didn't want to know. After today's events my mind was reeling, and I think I was in shock. If I was honest with myself – I guess I wanted to go home. Neither Nieman or the scary monster were going to be good bedfellows, and James had probably been right when he'd said I'd bitten off more than I could chew. It took a day in the life of a sex slave for me to see sense. You can’t back out now. You’ll never get a chance at Dumortier again. The voice of reason was a sensible one, and I knew that I just needed to get a hold of myself. I could do this, I would do this, and I needed to stop overthinking things. Right now, all I needed to do was sit tight until the auction ended. Whatever happened, I had most certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty and if Sharkey didn’t like it, that was her problem.
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