The Auction

by Claire Thompson

  It felt good to stretch out. It had been a long day, with him wrapping up some business at his firm in order to clear the next few weeks, and then dinner with some associates before the auction that evening. Now he had his prize, but he would take his time with her.

  In his twenties and early thirties, he knew he would have been all over her, eager as a little boy in a candy store. But time and experience had taught him patience. Patience always yielded far better rewards than leaping without looking.

  He thought again about Carly’s orgasm in the car—she was very responsive but seemed to lack much control. It would be fun to teach her that control along with all the other delicious tortures he had planned. The cock box, the water chamber, the torture table… Adam’s cock throbbed with anticipation.

  Carly’s arms had begun to tremble slightly, but she maintained her position, her eyes still downcast. Adam rolled onto his side, peering down between her spread knees. She had a pretty cunt. It would look lovely clamped and spread, as he fucked her with various toys, his fingers and finally, once she’d earned it, his cock.

  The girl was worrying her lower lip again, and her arms were now shaking. Taking pity on her, Adam said, “You may lower your arms. Under the bed you’ll find a plastic bin. Inside is your coverlet and pillow. You will sleep at the foot of my bed. You will not get out of the bed without my express permission. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” She lowered her arms, hugging herself as she massaged her fatigued muscles. She reached beneath the bed and pulled out the bin. She climbed onto the bed and for a moment Adam almost told her to lie next to him—it would feel good to have someone fall asleep in his arms, resting her head on his chest. Quickly he shook the idea aside, watching as the girl lay down at his feet, stretching out beneath the light coverlet and resting her head on the pillow.

  Reaching for the lamp, he flicked it off. He had expected to stay awake for a while, his mind filled with ideas about what he was going to do to this naked slave girl lying so submissively at his feet. But his eyes closed of their own accord and he felt the tug of sleep pulling him under almost before he could mumble, “Good night, Carly.”

  “Good night, Sir.”

  Chapter 4

  After a week spent on a hard cot with chains on her ankles and wrists, sleeping at the foot of Adam’s incredibly comfortable bed had felt like sleeping in a soft, warm cocoon of pure comfort. Carly had lain awake for a while listening to the quiet, steady rumble of Adam’s snore. He, it seemed, had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Carly was glad of this, as it gave her time to think and relax in peace.

  She had planned to review the evening in her mind, going over every detail, marking what she needed to correct and improve, mulling over the rush of events since the auctioneer had slammed down his gavel. But apparently she’d been as tired as her temporary Master, because now as she opened her eyes, she saw through the large bay windows on the east side of Adam’s huge bedroom that it was morning. The play of the rising sun’s light behind the trees made them look as if they were on fire, but a green, glittering fire, tinged with gold on the edges.

  Adam stirred, mumbling something in his sleep and turning from his side to his back. Was it too early to wake him? Carly needed to pee, but remembered his rules. She didn’t want to wake him to ask permission. The trainers had drummed into her the paramount rule that a Master’s comfort must come first. Then she remembered one of the rules he’d outlined: I expect to be awakened by your mouth on my cock.

  Her mind flashed back to the night before, to kneeling on the cold marble, Adam’s cock down her throat, his fingers tangled in her hair. Though Carly had thought herself a reasonably accomplished cocksucker prior to the week’s training at the auction house, the hours she’d spent with Master Franklin’s cock in her mouth had definitely helped to hone her skills. Mistress Audrey’s constant direction, quirt in hand to provide correction, had spurred on Carly’s efforts, as eager to avoid the sting of the quirt as to please her Master.

  Where Master Franklin’s cock was long and thin, with a bent toward the left, Adam’s was shorter but thick, straight as a rod and hard as steel. He smelled good, too, like sandalwood with a splash of masculine musk that had made her cunt wet even before her lips had closed over the fat head of his shaft.

  Cautiously, Carly lifted her head, looking at the sleeping man above her. His dark hair, which had been neatly combed back the night before, was tousled, curling against his neck and flopping forward over his eyes. He looked younger in sleep, thick eyelashes brushing his cheeks, his mouth slack. She found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss that mouth...

  Stop it, she admonished herself. He’s not your lover.

  He stirred again, turning his head from the sunlight now streaming in through the window and throwing one arm over his face. He was going to wake soon—she needed to act now, to obey the first rule of the morning.

  Pushing aside her coverlet, Carly scooted up alongside the sleeping man and plucked at the sheets that covered his body. She drew them down only far enough to expose his cock and balls, taking a few seconds to admire his morning erection before lowering herself to taste him.

  She licked the soft, spongy head of his cock and down the shaft. A long, thick vein on the underside of his cock stood in relief beneath the taut skin. She ran her tongue along it, feeling the throbbing pulse of his blood. Reaching for his balls, she caught the furred sac in a light embrace with her fingers, enjoying the heft and warmth of them. With a last glance at his face, which was still in sleepy repose, she lowered her mouth over his cock, tasting the light, salty tang as she licked her way downward.

  Adam’s hand came to rest on the back of her head, though otherwise he remained still. Carly went to work, intent on making him come quickly, her bladder urging her on. Still, she knew from her training and her own life experience that it wouldn’t do to make him feel rushed. Your discomfort is secondary to your Master’s pleasure. Master Franklin’s words echoed in her head, reminding her to slow down. She alternated between a deep-throated suckle and feather-light tongue teasing that made him shudder and arch upward for more.

  The hand resting on the back of her head came alive suddenly, his fingers twisting in her hair and pulling hard as he pressed her downward onto his shaft. Sudden hot bursts of his creamy come spurted at the back of her throat, sliding down before she even had a chance to swallow. He thrust against her with a primal grunt and then held her in place for several seconds, his cock still hard and hot in her mouth, the head lodged in her throat making it difficult to breathe.

  Finally he let her go, his fingers uncoiling from her hair, his muscles going slack against the bed. Cautiously Carly lifted her head, letting his spent shaft fall from her mouth. Adam’s eyes were closed, his lips lightly parted. His chest was rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm.

  Shit, had he fallen asleep again? What was she supposed to do now? She really had to pee. Did she dare wake him?

  Carly stared at the sleeping man for several long moments, trying to figure out what to do. Finally she sidled up beside him and whispered, “Please, Sir. May I use the toilet?”

  There was no response, save for the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

  Carly bit her lower lip, wondering if she should ask again, or just lie down and be quiet until he woke. It wouldn’t do to piss him off first thing in the morning. Did she dare slip quietly out of the bed, pee, and then hurry back, with him none the wiser?

  But what if her movement woke him? Or worse, he woke up while she was in the bathroom! She couldn’t risk it. With a sigh, she started to lie down beside him, then caught herself and scooted back down to the foot of the bed. Just as her head touched her pillow, Adam said, “Yes. You may use the toilet and then come back for your mark.”

  Carly lifted her head to look at him. Adam had hoisted himself onto his elbows, his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. He’d been testing her! Thank god she hadn’t given in to her achi
ng bladder.

  Quickly she slipped from the bed and hurried to the bathroom. After peeing, she washed her hands and face, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, the curls tangled and disheveled, but she didn’t even bother to try and do anything, knowing it would be useless until she showered. Her face looked pale in the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, and she wished she could put on a little makeup before heading back into the bedroom. Where were her things, anyway? Still down in the front hall?

  In the mirror Carly saw Adam watching her from the bed and quickly rubbed a hand towel over her face before scurrying back to him. As she reentered the bedroom, he pointed toward the night table. “Open the bottom drawer. There you will find the whip I will use each morning to mark you. This mark is a reminder of my ownership of you during your stay here.”

  Carly reached for the handle of the drawer and pulled it open. Coiled inside was a braided single tail whip with knots every couple of inches, the leather tapering to thin strips of tassled nylon that Carly knew from experience could pack a powerful sting.

  As she reached for the whip, Adam sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Present it to me,” he said.

  Kneeling up as she’d been taught the week before, Carly balanced the whip handle on her open palms and held it up to Adam.

  He took it from her and stood. “Lie over the bed, your feet on the floor, arms over your head. Not a sound.”

  Carly lifted herself as instructed and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the bite of the whip. The leather tail whistled through the air and landed with a sharp crack across her ass.

  “Ah!” Carly screamed.

  Adam pulled her upright by her hair and slapped her face. “Bad girl. I said not a sound.” Letting go of her hair, he gave her a little push in the direction of the bathroom. “We’ll deal with that transgression later. You get into the shower. I’ll bring up your bag so you have what need.”

  Carly had been permitted to pack toiletries, including her own shampoo and conditioner. She had been allowed to bring clothing for when she left the house, as well as her cell phone, though this was only to be used for emergencies, and only with permission.

  Her hand on the cheek Adam had slapped, Carly entered the bathroom again, gazing with longing at the huge sunken Jacuzzi bathtub. Maybe one day he’d let her soak in it. For now, she opened the shower stall. It was as big as her entire bathroom in the house she’d rented. There were two showerheads on the ceiling and three more on either side of the stall. The far wall was mirrored, a low tiled bench set against it. It took her a moment to figure out how to turn on the overhead spigots. While the water was warming, she walked back to the mirror over the two sinks and turned around, peering back to see the mark on her ass. A faint smudge of purple bruises from the spanking the night before mottled both cheeks. Overlaying these, a long dark red line ran in a diagonal across her right cheek. She touched the welt, moving her finger along its rise. She felt at once awed and proud as she stared at it. She had taken the mark. Next time she would do better, though. She would contain her scream, now that she knew what to expect.

  The water was steaming, and Carly reentered the stall and stood beneath the cascading water, soaking up the delicious heat. She heard Adam coming into the bathroom and a moment later he pulled open the stall door. He held out her mesh shower basket, which contained her shampoo, conditioner, soap cream bar, shaving oil and her two razors. As Carly took them, he said, “Present yourself in the bedroom for inspection when you’re done. And be quick about it. I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  Carly shampooed her hair and then squirted conditioner in, pulling it through to the ends. She soaped up her body and then took the razor she used for her underarms and labia. Using the shaving oil, she lifted one leg onto the bench, peering into the mirror as she shaved her cunt, taking care to leave the skin perfectly smooth. Taking the heavier duty razor, she shaved her legs after squirting a generous amount of the shaving oil over the skin to keep it soft. Finally she rinsed her hair and turned off the water, mindful of his admonition to hurry.

  There was a stack of thick, fluffy white towels on a shelf beside the stall. Carly wound one around her head and used a second one to dry her body. She saw Adam had placed her toiletry bag on the counter beside one of the sinks. The other sink had his razor and toothbrush set in a holder.

  As she moved to the mirror, she thought, this is my sink, and it made her smile, even though she knew that possession was extremely temporary. She’d lived only once with a man, back in her mid-twenties. They had rented a small apartment together in Brooklyn. The bathroom, which was barely large enough to turn around in, had one sink, which always seemed to be filled with the remnants of Josh’s beard after he shaved. Glancing at Adam’s sink, she was pleased to note it was spotless.

  Using mousse designed to tame curls, she sprayed some on her palm, rubbed her hands together and ran them through her hair. She hoped Adam didn’t mind wet hair, as a blow dryer always ended up turning her curls into a fright wig of frizz. She looked around for her makeup bag, but didn’t see it. She touched her cheeks, wondering if Adam had purposely held it back, deciding that he must have. At thirty-two, though her skin was clear and unwrinkled, she felt more attractive using the armor of blush, lipstick and mascara. But if her temporary Master didn’t want it, so be it.

  With a last tug at her curls, Carly left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, where Adam waited in the sitting area. Wearing a yellow silk robe, he sat in a wingback chair beside a large window reading a newspaper. There was a steaming cup of coffee beside him, and the aroma made Carly’s mouth water. As she approached him, he folded the paper, setting it down on the small side table as he stood.

  “Arms behind your head, legs shoulder-width apart,” he said. Carly assumed the position, used to daily inspections from her week of slave training. Adam moved close, running his index finger under her arm. It tickled and she tried hard to stay still, resisting the urge to squirm away. He did the same under her second arm, and then reached down, cupping her mons in his large hand. He ran his fingers lightly over her labia and then stepped back.

  Reaching into his robe pocket, he extracted a small, slim flashlight and flicked it on. “Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles. Keep your legs spread wide.” Carly stared at the flashlight and swallowed. Though used to being naked in front of others, she didn’t like the idea of such an up-close and personal examination of her private parts.

  Biting her lip, she turned and bent forward, reaching for her ankles. “Wider,” Adam said, smacking her inner thigh with the flashlight. Carly obeyed, feeling awkward and exposed. She felt the heat scalding her cheeks as Adam’s fingers again moved over her labia and slid up along the cleft, lightly rimming her asshole. His finger moved over the welt he’d left on her ass and then he smacked her other cheek.

  “Good,” he said, stepping back. “You pass. Stand up and turn around.” As Carly did so, he said, “Are you hungry?”

  Carly was starving, she realized, having been too nervous the day before to eat much of anything, and she would kill for a cup of coffee. “Yes, Sir,” she replied.

  She expected Adam to lead her downstairs, but instead he appeared to be heading toward the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and shave first. You will wait on the bathmat so you can dry me when I get out. Then we’ll have some breakfast.”

  Her stomach growling, Carly cast a wistful glance at the coffee mug he’d left beside his chair and followed him into the bathroom. While Adam showered, she waited dutifully on her knees on the thick bathmat in front of the sinks. When he came out of the shower, she leaned up with a towel, drying his legs, balls and penis while he used a second towel to dry his head and torso. The act had the curious effect of making her feel almost tender toward him, but she pushed these feelings away.

  She knelt quietly at his feet while he shaved over his sink. She admired the strong curve of his calf muscles, wh
ich were covered with dark, curling hair. His thighs were powerful and his ass was firm. Why did this man have to buy a slave? He was gorgeous, wealthy and dominant. He could have had his pick of women with a snap of his fingers. He probably had to fend them off as it was, both vanilla women and those in the scene.

  Maybe that was it. He didn’t want women hurling themselves at him. He didn’t want a love affair. He didn’t want an emotional connection. He just wanted a toy—someone to use and then discard when he grew bored. No strings, no complications.

  Perfect for me too, Carly staunchly told herself, refusing to give in to the niggling suspicion that she might be lying. Just perfect.

  ~*~

  Adam stood at the stove scrambling eggs while the bread was toasting. Carly had almost slipped up, nearly sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs after he’d told her he would get the breakfast. Catching herself in time, she’d knelt instead on the small exercise pad he’d placed on the floor by the table for her. Adam felt the way he did the first morning of a vacation, with all that glorious time stretching ahead of him, everything new and waiting to be explored.

  Only this was better than a vacation. Everything he wanted to explore was right here in this kitchen, kneeling obediently behind him, waiting for whatever delightful tortures he could devise. Adam’s cock stirred at the thought. He’d pulled on a pair of khaki shorts after his shower, not bothering with underwear or a shirt. Though summer was nearing its end, it was already warm outside, climbing to eighty-four according to the thermometer affixed to the kitchen window, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

  He dumped the steaming eggs onto a plate, pulled the toast from the toaster and spread some butter over it. Refilling his cup, he carried it along with the plate to the table.