The Auction

by Claire Thompson

  Carly Abrams

  Her handwriting was clear, the slant slightly to the right, the press of her pen confident and flowing. She was beautiful, sexually responsive, obviously masochistic, possibly submissive. What else did he know about her? Damn little, other than she was willing to sell herself for a few dollars.

  Well, not a few, he conceded, though he wasn’t sure what percentage of the amount he’d bid for her actually went into her pocket, and what percentage the auction house kept for themselves. Still, it had to be enough to give up whatever you were doing for a month, enough to sell yourself to a man you’d never met. What kind of employer would allow you to take a month-long leave of absence?

  Maybe she was independently wealthy, a trust fund baby with more money than sense—overeducated and overindulged. Somehow he doubted this. More likely, she was a checkout clerk at a supermarket or the assistant manager of a hardware store—definitely not the sort of woman who moved in his social circles.

  Even if she’d finagled time off from her menial job, if she were involved with someone, especially someone dominant, how could that man allow her to sell herself the way she had? Adam barely allowed himself to acknowledge the satisfaction he felt to realize the odds were excellent that she was unattached.

  What do you care?

  “I don’t,” he said aloud, turning toward his computer screen. “Just curious.” He typed in Carly’s name to see what would come up. A few Twitter and Facebook accounts, a massage therapist in Vermont, none of them his Carly, as far as he could tell.

  He closed the browser and turned away from the screen, annoyed with himself. Who cared what the purchased piece of ass did on her own time? Carly was a toy—an expendable, temporary diversion. Nothing more.

  Adam clicked open the reports he’d saved onto his desktop, determined to focus. He was immersed in the data when the intercom buzzed. He glanced at his watch—thirty-five minutes. Certainly enough time to complete her assigned tasks, though with her ankles chained and her feet shod in high heels, it would have taken longer to get it all done.

  When he arrived upstairs, Carly was standing beside the bed, arms behind her back, breasts thrust out, legs spread, the chain taut between them. She’d knotted her hair at the nape of her neck and wispy tendrils escaped over her forehead and ears. Her lacy apron, he noticed, was wet, the fabric clinging to her thighs.

  Briefly Adam fantasized about bending her over the bed and fucking her from behind. It was in the contract—he could fuck her both vaginally and anally as often as he liked. He licked his lips at the thought of pushing her down and pressing his erection between her ass cheeks or into the snug embrace of her wet cunt. Why hadn’t he fucked her yet?

  Because she hasn’t earned it, he told himself. She had yet to properly and completely obey him. A proper slave girl only got fucked as a reward.

  Pretending to ignore her, he lifted the quilt and inspected her attention to detail. The corners were neatly tucked, the bedding smooth. The pillows were properly plumped and arranged. So far, so good.

  Looping a finger through the O ring at the center of her collar, he led Carly into the bathroom, moving slowly so she could keep up in her chains. While she waited, he inspected the shower, the mirrors, the counters and the floor. He looked into the toilet, and then lifted the seat. Taking a cotton swab from the drawer where he kept them, he ran the tip under the inner rim of the toilet bowl and lifted it for Carly to see.

  Her eyes widened in dismay. She started to say something but Adam silenced her with an upheld hand. “Not a word. I didn’t ask you a question.”

  He moved closer to her, waving the soiled swab near her face. “I was told you were trained in service. Did no one teach you to clean beneath the rim of a toilet bowl?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said breathlessly. “I thought I had—”

  “Not good enough,” he interrupted, affecting a stern expression, though in fact he was delighted with this legitimate reason to punish the girl. “Tomorrow you will do better.”

  Crouching in front of her, Adam removed the hobbling cuffs. “Step out of the shoes,” he said, taking those as well. Pointing to her cleaning outfit, he added, “Take off those things and hang them to dry.” He motioned toward one of the towel hooks near the Jacuzzi.

  “Please, Sir, may I speak?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “May I use the toilet?”

  Adam toyed for a moment with the idea of denying her, but decided against it. That sort of play could wait for the water chamber. “Yes, but be quick about it.” He headed toward the bedroom, turning back at the bathroom door. “I’ll be waiting for you in the dungeon. I’m looking forward to trying out my new candles. The wax burns especially hot.”

  Chapter 6

  Carly hung the wet things on a hook. She sat on the toilet, glad he wasn’t watching her this time, as she had to move her bowels as well as pee. A tumble of emotions was churning through her, leaving her almost breathless with confusion.

  She’d been so sure she’d done a spectacular cleaning job and had been looking forward to his approval. The bed was flawlessly made, every surface in the bathroom sparkled, the towels were neatly folded and all the cleaning supplies were stored where she’d found them. Finally, she had thought, I’ve done something he won’t be able to find fault with!

  And then he had. Frustration with herself, anger with Adam for no doubt setting her up, chagrin that she hadn’t seen it coming—these feelings warred with the constant sexual excitement and anticipation that had settled over her like a net since the moment she’d stood on the auction stage, her eyes locking with the man who had ended up taking her home.

  Carly wiped herself and flushed, quickly washing her hands in the sink she already regarded as “hers” after just one day. One day! She hadn’t even been in Adam’s house for twenty-four hours, and already he’d packed more into the experience than she’d had in a month of Sundays. Would she really be able to endure another twenty-nine days of this kind of constant stimulation? Would Adam? It was the weekend, after all, she reminded herself. It was possible he would work during the week, and what would she do while he was gone?

  Stop anticipating.

  The trainers had tried to teach the girls about living in the moment, about accepting what was given them by their Masters, and not attempting to anticipate or control events. “Your place and your duty are to serve your Master,” Mistress Audrey had told them when they first began the training and many more times over the course of the week. “You do this by obeying, to the letter, his every dictate and command. It isn’t about your pleasure or your pain. It’s about what pleases him. Remember that, and you will be a good slave. Forget it at your peril.”

  Carly hurried out of the room toward the dungeon stairs, her stomach in a nervous flutter of anticipation. Adam stood near a leather recliner. Beside the recliner was a table upon which sat three large, fat candles, the wicks already lit. In addition to the candles were what looked like two very large pairs of scissors, but instead of pointed tips, each end was covered in an oval of dark pink rubber. The ovals fit flat against one another when the scissors were closed. There was also a vibrating wand, its large, round head already shiny with lubricant. Finally there was a black sleep mask.

  Adam pointed to the recliner. “Sit here and I’ll strap you in.”

  Carly saw no straps, but did as she was told. Adam pressed a lever on the side of the chair, causing it to slide back so her body was now parallel to the floor. At the same time, the foot rest section of the chair split apart, forcing Carly’s legs wide open. Reaching beneath the chair, Adam lifted leather straps over each of Carly’s ankles, securing them. He did the same at her thighs.

  “Arms over your head,” he ordered, pulling additional straps from the top of the recliner, which he used to bind her wrists together overhead. He picked up a pair of the ominous scissors. “Do you know what these are?”

  “No, Sir,” Carly whispered, though she was afr
aid she could guess.

  “They’re labia clamps. You’ll be wearing these throughout the punishment. While not especially painful, they do leave a lovely mark.” He reached between her legs, gripping her left outer labia in sure fingers. He opened the first pair of scissors and closed the rubber ovals tight over her flesh.

  When Carly winced, Adam smiled cruelly. “Just think of it as erotic discomfort,” he said, as he looped a strap through the scissors handle and secured it to the chair. “That might it make it easier to bear.”

  He did the same thing on the other side, forcing her cunt wide open, her labia caught in the tight, rubber grip of the clamps. He was right—the clamps didn’t precisely hurt, but the pressure was intense, and the position fully exposed her already throbbing clit. Even the slightest movement exerted an additional pull on her labia that she realized could cause the so-called erotic discomfort to rapidly edge into pain.

  Carly turned her head, drawn to the burning candles, each of which already had a pool of hot, melted wax at its center. She almost bit her lower lip when Adam lifted one of the candles, but managed to catch herself in time.

  “I find the element of surprise is most effective for this particular punishment,” Adam remarked conversationally, while Carly’s heart kicked into overdrive. He set down the candle and picked up the sleep mask. Stroking Carly’s hair away from her face, he slipped the mask over her eyes.

  The first hot drop of wax landed on her stomach. Carly jerked, drawing in a sharp breath. A succession of hot droplets scattered over her torso, startling her each time, though she tried to ready herself. A scalding drop splashed over her left nipple and Carly gasped in pain. This was quickly followed by liquid wax falling over her right nipple and then trailing in a burning line between her breasts.

  When the first drop landed on her spread cunt, Carly screamed. Her heart pounded and she felt the sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. Her skin was on fire, and as the wax cooled against her flesh, another scalding droplet landed on a different spot. With each drop of melted wax Carly jerked in pain and surprise, causing the clamps to tug painfully at her labia.

  “I can’t,” she began to gasp, barely aware she was speaking. “I can’t, please, please, oh, oh, ow! I can’t…”

  “Of course you can, silly girl,” she heard Adam say calmly over the rush of blood thundering in her ears. More wax scalded across her breasts and cunt, landing at the same time.

  Tears were streaming from the corners of Carly’s eyes, wetting the sleep mask. She couldn’t stop panting, the breath rasping in her throat. She felt a hand on her cheek, its stroke gentle. “Slow down. Slow your breathing,” Adam murmured. “Where is your discipline?”

  Carly tried to obey, aware she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Slow down,” he repeated. “That’s it. Deep breaths.”

  She felt something heavy placed on her abdomen and realized he’d balanced a candle there. “This will help you remember to slow your breathing. After all, you wouldn’t want that to spill, would you?”

  Carly shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Every inch of exposed skin from chest to cunt was on fire beneath the drying crust of cooling wax. Her labia were numb from the compression, and her clit, despite the torture, was hard and throbbing.

  She heard a thrumming and before she could identify the sound, the head of the vibrating wand covered her vulva, sending instant shockwaves of shivering pleasure through her loins.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, the word exploding from her lips before she could stop herself.

  Adam chuckled softly, gently moving the vibrating ball over her spread vulva. Carly felt the shuddering rise of a climax, not the intense, all-consuming experience she’d had at Adam’s touch, but more of a gut reaction, a manipulation of nerve endings resulting in a stimulus overload.

  “Please, Sir,” she managed to gasp, remembering the rules. “May I come?”

  Adam said nothing. The wand continued to vibrate at her sex, the candle still balanced precariously on her shaking abdomen.

  “Please,” she begged again.

  “No. Absolutely not. This is a punishment.”

  Yet still the wand buzzed at her clit. She tried in vain to twist her body away from the vibrator’s constant stimulation, but only succeeded in nearly toppling the candle. Squeezing her eyes tight and clenching her teeth, she tried desperately to stave off the rising climax that threatened to take over her body.

  She failed.

  All at once the vibrator was removed, and the candle was lifted from her body. A second later a stream of searing wax splashed against her spread cunt and Carly screamed, jerking hard in her instinctive effort to slam her legs closed against the fiery onslaught of melted wax.

  The clamps were released, sending an agonizing rush of blood to her labia, adding to the burning pain still washing over her vulva. Blindfolded and bound, not sure if he was done, not sure she could take another burning drop of wax or touch of the vibrator, Carly felt panic sliding over her like a shroud. She began to cry, jerking her head from side to side, her body taut and shaking.

  She was dimly aware of Adam’s removing the leather straps that held her down. He pulled the sleep mask from her eyes and then slid his arms beneath her, lifting her from the bondage chair and carrying her to the sofa.

  Instead of settling there with her in his arms, as he’d done the night before, he plopped her down on her side and stepped back, staring down at her with a frown. “Calm down,” he ordered, his tone terse. “You’d think you’d never been punished before. I did not give you permission to come. Have you no self control?” He glared at her.

  “Go down to the master bathroom. You’ll find wax removal lotion in the shower. Use it and then kneel in a corner in my bedroom until I come get you. I’m going to have lunch. I’ll decide later if and when you can eat. I’ve a good mind to call the auction house and ask for someone who’s better trained.”

  Carly watched in disbelieving horror through her tears as Adam turned on his heel and left the dungeon. Why hadn’t she stopped him before it went too far? Why hadn’t she used her safeword?

  Because, she realized, she was afraid to use it. While Adam hadn’t actually come out and said it, she understood that he expected more from her because of her supposed trained status as a professional sub girl. She’d lied on the auction application, claiming far more experience that she actually had in the scene. If Adam knew the sum total of her real training was all of a week, he’d probably send her packing that very day. She didn’t dare admit just how untrained she in fact was—she couldn’t risk it.

  If he sent her back to the auction house, she wouldn’t earn a dime of the bid price. She knew the trainers wouldn’t let her participate in another auction if she was returned in such disgrace. She’d given up her room in the rent house and her job at the club for this chance. She was doing her very best. What the hell did he want from her?

  “You bastard,” Carly whispered vehemently at the absent Adam, fury overcoming fear. You set me up. This is just some fucking game to you, but it’s all I have right now. Turning on her side, Carly curled into herself, trying to ignore the dry, annoying wax that covered the front of her body.

  She lay there for several minutes alternating between feeling horribly sorry for herself and raging at Adam Wise for being such an impossible prick of a Master. Finally she pulled herself up and forced herself to go downstairs and shower. Whether this was a game or not, Adam was the one holding all the cards.

  ~*~

  Adam bit into his roast beef sandwich as he stared unseeing at the newscast on the TV. He knew he’d been excessively harsh with Carly, but it had been her fault. She really seemed to have no orgasm control. While the man in him was gratified to think he could pull such powerful reactions from the girl, the Master in him was both surprised and annoyed at how poorly she seemed to be trained in this regard.

  Still, had he pushed her too far? He had just assumed she could tolerate the combination
of stimuli he’d thrown at her without really knowing her limits or capabilities.

  Maybe this whole purchased slave thing was a bad idea from the start. Maybe he’d follow through on his threat and send her back. But who would he choose in her place? Would slave Nina be any different or any better? What the hell was he looking for anyway? A perfectly trained automaton who took every punishment with bland stoicism and orgasmed on command with the enthusiasm of a trained seal?

  He took another bite of his sandwich and flicked off the TV. He knew what really troubled him, and he knew it was his fault.

  He’d made her cry.

  Not just the gasping cries of erotic suffering or pleasure, but actual tears, pulled from her because he hadn’t properly gauged what she could or could not tolerate.

  And what kind of Master didn’t provide aftercare, especially after such an intense scene? Purchased or not, didn’t she deserve at least that much? Yet instead of apologizing and soothing her, he’d let his anger at himself overflow onto her, and he’d blamed her for his own failure. He was no better than the bullies and posers he’d so despised at the BDSM clubs, the ones who used the guise of BDSM play to give vent to their hatred and fear of women.

  Now the girl was probably kneeling in a corner, frightened he was going to send her back, worried she’d failed him, when in fact he was the one who had failed them both.

  With a sigh, Adam started to push back from the table when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw James Sawyer on the screen. James, though older by twenty years, was a good friend and a mentor when it came to BDSM.

  James was something of a throwback, in Adam’s estimation—one of those “one-woman” men, who had married his college sweetheart some forty years ago and had remained faithful to her ever since. Every other married man Adam knew thought nothing of carrying on one or even multiple affairs, or engaged in what Adam thought of as serial monogamy, working their way through new wives as casually as if they were buying a new car. Adam avoided the whole business, having learned long ago that love was for suckers and fools.