Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day

by Sierra Sparks

  And not once have we broken eye contact, I think, sucking down my sugary drink. There’s a little window of tense silence now. One filled with English Gentleman’s nerves about countering that offer.

  But to my surprise, he dares to come back with one. It’s not much, but it’s a valiant effort. “2.5 million,” he says. As he speaks, his throat hums with confidence and desperation equally.

  In that moment I decide I’ll end the bidding right here and now. I suck down the rest of my strawberry swirl and triumphantly shout, “$3 million!”

  In the muddled silence — caught in Bianca’s bold and laughing eyes — I hear both Paul and Alex balk. “Holy shit,” they say. Oddly, it’s in unison.

  The other gentleman around me voice similar sentiments. But I don’t care about any of that. I care about the MC, and when she’s gonna say what she needs to say to release Bianca to me. As far as I’m concerned, the battle is over, and the war is won.

  After about a minute of silence, with no counter bid, it’s mine for the taking.

  “$3 million,” says the MC, walking like she might faint from that high of a bid on one woman, a dominant woman at that. “Do I have any other takers?” She gasps a little almost as if even that amount of money takes her breath away. “Going once, going twice…” Another dip of silence follows, but Bianca and I are already intertwined. Speaking a language that needs no words. “Sold!” Weakly, the MC gestures for my mistress to leave the stage and go to me.

  Bianca does just that, coming within arm’s reach quickly. When my hand comes to hers, I have a sensation that we’ve never parted. Never left each other’s embrace. I kiss her hand, bowing before her. In one hand, she still has her bag.

  “Lead the way, my lady,” I murmur. I make sure it’s loud enough for Paul and Alex to hear. “I am yours to command,” I add, hearing Paul mutter incredulously. He says something like, “Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s really into that shit.”

  “Good boy,” she says lifting me from my bow. “Come with me.” Briefly, I catch her scowling at my company.

  “As you wish,” I say, and let her lead me through the tables and toward the door. As we move together, I hold my head high. I put some swagger in my step, more than happy to shake my good fortune in my competition’s collective faces.

  That’s right, bitches, I think as we get closer to the doors, for this kind of thing you have to pay to play! And not with just a few hundred thousand dollars! From behind Bianca, I admire her perfect back swishing in its corset. A woman like her is worth so much more than money, but I’m the only one who understands that. And that’s the way it should be.

  Chapter 11 – Bianca

  Leading Jordan through the other tables in the Exchange Club, I allow myself to feel triumphant. Powerful.

  I purposely take my time going through the room and passing by tables, showing off my choice for a man. I hope everyone here is green with envy. Jordan seems to feel the way I do. There’s a delicious arrogance about him. A haughtiness in his chin and mouth I can’t wait to subdue. Dominate. Control.

  As Jordan and I leave the confines of the Club, after taking a tour through the last few tables, my phone buzzes. I don’t bother to look at it. I know it’s the Uber ride I've booked for my lucky man and me.

  With that knowledge, I make quicker work of the steps that’ll lead us out of the basement. I climb the stairs quickly, happy to find Jordan following eagerly. Matching my pace step by step but hanging back some. Probably as a show of obedience; tenderness to his soon-to-be mistress.

  Oh, Jordan, you’re already trying to behave for me, aren’t you? Already trying to be my best boy? I blush. Smile to myself. My incredibly wet underwear clings to my folds and massages my swollen and aching clit. Tonight, will be a night to remember for the both of us.

  I step out into the night with him in hand. My heart thunders and my entire body begins to hum but I don’t show my excitement. I force my grip to remain steady, and my steps predictable. It’s not as easy as it seems when my legs are threatening to turn to liquid.

  As we near the hired ride, Jordan asks, “May I open your door for you, miss?”

  “You may, Jordan,” I say, just as the driver looks like he’s going to get out of the car and do it for me. Sensing the same thing I do, Jordan wastes no time. He releases my hand, jogs over to the passenger side door and opens it. As if he took tips from the doorman, he bows. In a flourish, he holds out a hand and grabs my fingers.

  “May I see you to your seat, Miss Bianca?” he asks, his mouth twisting into a slightly mischievous grin. A beautiful contrast to his noble-looking eyes and nose. His swept-back blond hair comes slightly undone as if anticipating what awaits us back at the hotel.

  I hand him my bag. “You may pack this first, Jordan.”

  Obediently, he takes the bag from me. “Where would you like this placed, miss?” I can tell by the smile in his voice, he’s enjoying playing the role of servant.

  “Just there,” I say, pointing out a space in the back between two seatbelts. The place where a third person might sit.

  Without a word, Jordan places the bag where I’ve asked. Exactly. And not sloppily. Carefully, as if it holds my sacred scepter and crown.

  When the bag is secure, he turns back to me and offers his hand. Which I take, locking eyes with him.

  “Good,” I tell him. “It’s good to see you can take orders, Jordan.” As I say this, I let him lead me to my seat and help me get comfortable. I buckle my own belt though, gesturing for him to close my door and go around the car to the other side.

  Jordan complies, not once looking cocky. He looks at me as if I’m his prize. His reason to gloat. If anything, he looks devoted. Honored by the position I’ve bestowed upon him.

  Once Jordan climbs in and has buckled up, I whisper, “But those orders were simple. And not the last orders I’ll give you tonight, young man.”

  To this, Jordan nods. Nibbles his lips. Licks them with a gorgeous mix of fear and excitement.

  After taking a second to tell the driver we were buckled and ready to go back to the resort, I lean closer to Jordan and say, “How do you feel about harder, more complex orders, boy?” As my lips brush the shell of his ear, I accentuate “harder,” and “complex,” by placing my hand on his crotch then running my fingers across his balls.

  Jordan flinches under this touch but doesn’t move away. Doesn’t make any complaint.

  “Well, Bianca,” he says, cutely having to catch his breath a little, “I’ll gladly submit myself to your orders, no matter their hardness or complexity.” Both words crack in his throat, and I have to fight harder than I’ve ever fought not to giggle like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush.

  You’re the Domme, Bianca! I scold myself, feeling Jordan’s cock hardening under my hand. Don’t let him see you melting for him. You’re his boss, not his bitch. I put some pressure on his crotch. Enough to let him know I know how hard he is for me and how much he wants me.

  I rest my hand over his sizeable bulge and squeeze intermittently, loving how his shaft jerks under my touch.

  “It looks like you’ll have no trouble with anything hard,” I whisper, taking my hand away.

  “I’ll follow your orders to the letter, no matter how hard they are,” he replies, and I know he’s talking more about himself than any orders I might give. Letting me know he plans to be obedient, no matter what his dick does or wants.

  “I like that answer, Jordan.” To reward him, I place a small kiss on his smooth cheek. “Commands must be obeyed exactly in the order and in the way they’re given if new boys want to become good boys.” I add this last detail to stoke his fire. Ensure his continued attention to details. His commitment to flawless service.

  Jordan looks at me with something like surprise. Shock. “You said you haven’t had a good boy yet,” he says, bracing himself as the driver takes a wild turn. He’d been staring at my cleavage through the rearview mirror and nearly ran a red light.


  “Does that mean all your ‘new’ boys disobeyed you?” The way Jordan says, “disobeyed you” is so animated, I can’t help but laugh out loud. Chuckle. It's like he can’t imagine anyone not hanging on my every word, let alone disobeying those words.

  “You could say that, Jordan.” He looks visibly irritated at this news. “Once in my control, many of my new boys thought they could bend rules.” I gently run the tips of my fingernails down Jordan’s cheek. Taking a deep breath of his rummy cologne. “So, I bent them over my knee and then sent them on their way.” I lean closer to him. Almost close enough to kiss him on the lips. “Don’t make me do that to you, Jordan.” I pause, letting him savor the sweet warmth of my breath. “Or do, but I’d like to make things more pleasant for you since this is your first time.”

  Jordan lets out a shuddering breath. It’s addictively sweet sounding. “I would never…” He swallows loudly, but it’s a light, happy noise. “I would never do anything to make you upset with me, Bianca.” He looks me straight in the eyes and adds, “I said I would follow whatever orders you made for me, and I intend to do that, miss.”

  I let those words sit there. Partly because I want him to marinade in his promise, but also because we’ve reached the hotel at the resort.

  As the driver cuts the engine, I undo my seatbelt and say. “Good. Then I won’t worry too much about what I ask of you,” I say, purposely putting on a harsher tone. I’m getting into Domme mode now, “but we will have a lot more to discuss in my room before we start, Jordan.”

  With that, I hop out of my seat and turn to him, my figure fitting perfectly in the open door. “Grab my bag for me. You’ll be carrying it to the room so you can think about what’s in there and what's in store for you.”

  Jordan zips out of his seat belt and seat and snatches the bag. Like a punk, he doesn’t bother to open his own door and instead scoots himself out of my open side. I move for him, but it’s only so I can take him lightly by the lapels. I do so as he comes forward, and I slam his door shut with a chunky push from one of my heels.

  I think we need to shop for a collar and leash. The thought of Jordan being held in place is a powerful aphrodisiac.

  I lead him in through the key-card activated door, and down the hallway to my room. Thankfully, the Uber driver parked where I’d been picked up earlier, which is a short distance from my room.

  Something I’m grateful for more so now than earlier, because my mind is racing with what Jordan’s reactions might be to my various tools. Particularly the ones made out of suede and outfitted with little “whips.”

  Oh, you’ll be tons of fun, Jordan. I tug on his lapels, feeling him lag a little. Obediently, he picks up his pace. Once we reach my door, I swipe my keycard over the lock and we slip into room 273.

  The motion is effortless. So far everything with Jordan has been effortless and I hope the night ahead of us will be too.

  ***

  Once we’re in the room, I start unpacking my big pink bag in front of Jordan. I slowly and deliberately take my toys out one at a time inspecting them and showing them to him as I do before placing them on the bed. He watches silently. Drinking everything up. Particularly my hips and ass, which just so happen to be presented to him every time I bend over.

  I carry on unpacking. Cuffs, restraints, cock rings, tickle slappers, nipple clamps, and prostate massagers make their way onto my makeshift altar.

  The only one I don’t set down is my favorite instrument of all. My flog, made from suede and designed for the perfect amount of pain and pleasure. Particularly for a newbie like Jordan.

  I turn to him, slapping the “tails” of the flog — also made from suede — methodically, dominantly — against my hand. As Jordan catches sight of the instrument in my hand, he trembles. Backs away slightly. But not out of fear. More like he’s a bad little boy who’s been caught peeking at something he shouldn’t and is looking forward to his punishment.

  “So, Jordan we’re going to go with traffic lights.”

  He doesn’t want to show it, but I can see he’s not sure what I mean. So, I elaborate.

  “We’re going to go by red, yellow, green — for you to tell me how much you do or don’t want, or whether there is anything off-limits.” He nods, and I continue my explanation. “Green is a go. It’s acknowledgement to me that you want and can handle what I’m giving. Yellow means you’re hitting a limit, and I need to exercise caution.” Jordan nods vigorously, absorbing my every word. My every syllable. “Red means I need to stop. That where we’ve gone is somewhere that is absolutely not okay with you and you need to be brought back to your comfort zone immediately.” I give the flog another slap against my hand, enjoying the mild sting. “As your Mistress, it’s my duty to keep you safe and well taken care of, no matter how you’re serving me, or what punishments I may be giving you. It’s my job to demand as well as protect.” Jordan nods, his eyes locked on mine, then on the flog in my hand.

  I knew you might like that, Jordan, I think, silently enjoying the rapt attention he’s giving the tool. I clear my throat and am delighted when Jordan obediently rushes his gaze in my direction. Absolutely. Unfailingly.

  “Do you want this, Jordan?” I step away from my collection of toys, so he can remember the flog is not my only tool. “Is there anything that is off the table for you?”

  Jordan shakes his head then nods, confused about which one he meant. Which one he wants, saying, “Yes, Bianca, I”—I raise my eyebrows at him — “I mean, no, there’s nothing off the table for me.” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut for a second in an effort to get his thoughts straight. “Yes, I want this, Bianca,” he finishes.

  “Okay.” I pause, drinking him in. The way he’s so submissive looking, even in his blazer and polo shirt. “Any questions for me, Jordan, before we begin? Before I have you complete your first task as my sub?”

  Jordan thinks for a moment. Stares down at his impeccably white and fancy sneakers. Then, with a deep blush starting in his cheeks, he says, “Just one question, Mistress.” I roll my tongue on the roof of my mouth, celebrating his good manners already. I didn’t even have to tell him to call me ‘Mistress’! I’ll definitely answer whatever question such a good boy has for me, I think, preparing to reward him. He’s earned that little treat at least.

  “Go on, then,” I say. “What’s your question for me?”

  Jordan keeps his eyes on mine, despite his voice growing shaky as he says, “You said you’d never had a good boy before. That they disobeyed you, and so I’m guessing that means they were never rewarded the way they would have had they behaved.” From his words, I sense the sex he desires to have. The body of mine he wishes to devour. He licks his lips. “Forgive me, Mistress, but does that mean you’re a virgin because of those not-so-good boys?”

  I cross my arms, humming thoughtfully. “I told you, as well as all the other men bidding on me tonight, Jordan: only a good boy will have the pleasure of serving me in that way.” I level my eyes with his. “Can you be that good boy for me, Jordan? If so, you might well be rewarded with something of mine I don’t give lightly. Something of mine I’ve never given.”

  “I think I can,” he says earnestly. “I want to be, Mistress.” His eyes take on a genuine pleading quality. “I’ll try my hardest, but I’ve never done this before. So, if I don’t do something the way you want, let me know.” Again, his eyes move to my flog. He shivers, tracing his gaze down the individual strips of fabric. “Give me whatever you want.” The way he’s emphasizing this, it’s clear he wants me to give him a whipping. A flogging, but he can’t say the words out loud. “Order me. I am yours to do with as you wish, Mistress.”

  I sit on the bed, scooting the toys and other implements to the far end. The flog, I set a short way away from me. It’ll be joining the action soon enough, but first, Jordan’s going to get his first order.

  “Strip,” I say. Though the word comes out of me in a deep, sultry tone, my insides shake. My heart pounds wildly i
n my chest again. Never have I been so turned on by the idea that a man will be naked in front of me. Never have I been looking forward to it as much as I am with Jordan.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Jordan murmurs, and begins to obediently remove his clothing. He begins with his blazer. His polo follows. He drags it slowly up over his head and off his arms. It’s mesmerizing, the way the pink fabric gives way to toned and smooth pecs and abs. They are defined, but not disgustingly so. Just subtly, like a surf or snowboarder might have. Jordan seems like someone who takes care of himself but not obsessively.

  He looks at me while taking off his slim, silver necklaces. I tell him to leave those on and to keep moving.

  He takes his hand away from his necklaces, puts them in the waist of his slacks, and pulls them down. His neck and cheeks flush a gentle shade of rose, telling me he’s embarrassed by me seeing him. Seeing his beautiful package hidden in Valentine's -day themed boxers.

  “Keep going,” I order gently. Despite my words being soft, they don’t lack presence. Or hunger. Both of which Jordan hears as he moves to pull off his boxers. When they’re down, and his raging hard on and soft balls are beautifully displayed for me, I smile. Give him praise. “Good. But they’re not all the way off yet, Jordan.”

  He quickly steps out of the black and red silk boxers and tosses them away from him. “I wasn’t trying to be disobedient, Mistress.” The edges of those words sound dry. Nervous. “I just wanted to make sure I was listening to you.”

  How sweet! In my head, I’m already squealing over him like a schoolgirl. Wanting to rush over and shower him with kisses. On the outside, though, I fight to keep these emotions from showing. I’m his domme right now. If I’m lucky, I might get to be his darling. But that’s not where we are now. That’s not who I get to be right now, either.

  “You’re not in trouble, Jordan. It’s good you’re listening. Let’s hope you can keep listening as I give you your next assignment, hmm?”