Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  I nod and say yes through the fabric in my mouth.

  “Well, you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  The thought of dissatisfaction causes a shiver to run down my legs. It pools somewhere in my pelvic region. After a few minutes of caressing my breasts, he finally says, “Okay, you can open your legs now.”

  My legs fly open immediately. I feel exposed and on display and incredibly sexy at the same time. I’m laying myself out as an offering to him. I’m waiting for him to claim me. The thought of him coming inside of me, sends shivers down my body. I’ve never felt this way about anyone I’ve never seen before. But right now I’m not thinking. I’m feeling. I’m existing entirely on another plane of existence - one that’s made entirely of emotions.

  He runs his hands around my thighs and around my belly button. Then he makes his way down to my thighs. He starts at the knees and goes up. I hear him lick his lips and I feel his eyes looking at my body. Admiring it. His fingers suddenly run upward, and trace a slow path in between my breasts and down to my stomach. I close my eyes under the mask and moan. His hands are so soft that his touch feels like little butterfly kisses. The whole experience is not only sexual, it’s also incredibly sensual.

  I relax against the restraints and allow myself to drift away into a fantasy. I feel him deep within me and my thighs start to move accordingly. I pretend that we have known each other forever, but this is the first time that we’re having sex. Suddenly, his touch gets more and more intense. His hands wrap around my legs and I realize how big his hands really are. Much bigger than they seemed from the touch of his fingers.

  He takes the trim of my bathrobe and runs it over my stomach. The bottom half of my body moans in ecstasy and I close my legs to try to push some of it away.

  “Oh no, we can’t have you doing this,” Mr. Black says, pushing my legs apart. My heart jumps into my throat and starts to beat extremely fast.

  Then he takes the feather trim and runs it across my clitoris. It almost screams out for more. He runs the feathers along my thighs and then around my vagina. The lips open up for more and he laughs. Then he kneels down in front of my opened thighs and blows on me.

  “Oh my God,” I mumble into the tie around my mouth.

  “Now, remember, you promised. You’re not going to orgasm without me saying so, are you?”

  “No, sir” I mumble. Though at this point, I’m actually getting very close. Usually, it takes me a long time to orgasm. I’m not naturally a very sexual person. But there’s something about Mr. Black that just makes me wet. There’s no other way, no other more delicate way, of putting it.

  After putting the feathers back to my sides, he positions himself right in front of my opened thighs. Oh my God. Here it is. He’s going to kiss me. Or stick a finger in me. He’s going to do something to release all this amazingly horrible pleasure that has been building up within me.

  But much to my surprise, I hear a quiet vibrating sound come on instead. And then it touches me. My clitoris. A sharp cry of pleasure-pain seizes through my body as the vibrating sensation spreads through me. I find myself intoxicated with this new kind of roughness. My legs open further and reach up, as my inhibitions seem to fall by the wayside.

  “That’s a good girl,” Mr. Black says. “How does this feel?”

  “Amazing,” I mumble.

  Suddenly, the vibrating sensation stops and the sound disappears.

  “Now, what did I say about calling me sir? If you don't do what I say, you don't get the pleasure that I’m wanting to give you,” he says.

  “It feels amazing, sir,” I mumble quickly. “Please don’t stop, sir. Please, sir.”

  He presses the vibrator back to me, only this time it goes into my vagina, and he starts the vibrations. The vibrations are faster this time, making me nearly choke up on my breaths.

  “You’re a very sexy girl, Ellie,” Mr. Black says. “I think you deserve something extra for being so sexy.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I mumble, floating away on pangs of pleasure.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t feel any better, suddenly, I feel his breath on my clit. He inhales deeply. And then exhales. And he presses his soft, almost liquid tongue on top of it. I feel my back arch off the bed and my body presses up to fill his mouth even more. He moans approvingly, pushing the vibrator deeper inside of me.

  “That’s it, beautiful. Show me what you’re made of,” he whispers and begins to suck on it more aggressively.

  “Oh my God. I’m getting so close, sir” I say, feeling that warm sensation running up my legs. My toes have already gone numb.

  “Tell me, when you’re about to come,” he says. I nod.

  “There, there, sir” I start to moan and I feel like I’m just about to climax.

  And suddenly, everything stops. He pulls his mouth away from me and turns off the vibrator.

  “Not now, Ellie,” he says coyly.

  Wait, what? I don't understand. My legs flop down onto the bed in disappointment.

  “You can’t come so soon, honey,” he says, running his fingers over my breasts. “The night is young. We are just getting started.”

  My mind starts to swim. I don't understand anything he’s saying. It takes me a few minutes to feel okay again. My heartbeat slowly returns to normal. My body temperature slowly drops and I start to feel cold. I’ve never felt so dissatisfied before.

  13

  When the mask come off…

  After Mr. Black pulls out of me without letting me get off, I feel angry. Really angry. Who the hell does he think he is? Why the fuck is he toying with me? He might have paid for me for the night, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m a free woman and he has no right to do this to me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask. I must’ve caught him off guard, because he doesn’t respond for a few moments. I wish my arms weren’t tied up anymore, so I could take off this damn mask.

  “Excuse me?” he asks. The tone of his voice changes. It drops about an octave.

  “Why didn’t you let me get off?” I ask.

  “Because…this is just the beginning.”

  “Or maybe it’s the end,” I say. I’m sulking. Upset. I guess this is what men refer to as blue balls, because I’m livid. My cheeks are actually burning with anger.

  He leans over me. I cower away from him. Get the fuck away from me you asshole, I want to say. But when he takes the tie from my mouth and takes off my blindfold, I’m glad that I kept my mouth shut.

  The lights in the room have been dimmed, making the place look like it has been lit up by candlelight. When my eyes focus on Mr. Black, I’m taken a little bit aback. I don't know what I was expecting, but for some reason I thought that he might be wearing some leather. Being tied up isn’t full on bondage, of course, but he was clearly into it and isn’t that what BDSM is about? From what I’ve seen on the internet, the dress code seems to be quite important to the community.

  But Mr. Black is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. I wouldn’t be surprised if it cost a couple of grand and was by some sort of fancy designer. It’s dark-gray and the pants are tailored with a snug fit that accentuates his lean muscular legs. He is tall and broad-shouldered and I immediately try to imagine him in the nude. What does he look like under all those clothes? My eyes slowly drift up to his face.

  “Are you going to untie me?” I ask.

  He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re kind of a feisty one, aren’t you?”

  “Listen, I may have signed a contract to anything sexually, but you clearly didn’t want to finish what you started. So that part is over…for now.”

  Who is this talking? Are these my words coming out of my mind? There is something about being tied up that’s making me incredibly confident. And cocky. Usually, I’m the girl who is cowering in the corner, but now I feel like I am the most powerful woman in the world.

  “So, are you going to untie me?” I ask again. This time, I use
an even more forceful voice.

  As Mr. Black glides over to the bed - he does not walk like normal men, no, he glides - I glance into his impossibly blue-green eyes. They are a perfect compliment to his tan, sun kissed skin. Shivers run up my spine. Mr. Black looks dangerous and I like it. He takes his time untying my hands, occasionally looking over at me. When our eyes meet, it takes all of my strength not to look away. But I’m done cowering. And he’s done having the upper hand in all of this.

  Once my hands are free, I rub my wrists and ask him where the bathroom is. He points me to the room on the other side of the suite. The bathroom is all tile and has a very high ceiling like the rest of the suite. I’ve been on sailboats before, but only small thirty-footers, with ancient wooden paneling and crammed interiors. I’ve never been on a boat this big. Come to think of it, it’s actually hard to believe that this is a boat at all. The yacht is so large that you can barely feel that it’s moving at all. The only indication that you have that it’s a boat at all is the 360-degree views of the blue water out of each window.

  I lean over the marble vanity and look at myself in the mirror. The sheer robe with the feather trim is quite becoming. The feathers hide all of the imperfections and make me feel very luxurious and incredibly sexy. I kneel down and flip my hair a couple of times. Laying on my back for so long, made it fall flat a bit and I want to infuse it with a little bit more body.

  Next, I check my eye makeup. My eyeliner is a little smeared on the right eye, giving it an unintended smoky eye look. I wipe some of it off and flash myself a smile. I’m usually not this vain. In fact, I hardly care about makeup and frilly clothes at all. But there’s something about Mr. Black and this yacht that makes me want to try.

  What the hell are you doing, Ellie? I ask silently, looking at myself in the mirror. This whole scene isn’t you. If it’s anyone, it’s Caroline, but it was too much for even her. Why are you really here? There’s of course the usual answer. I owe over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in student loans. And while they won’t pay themselves, Mitch and my mom are more than happy to cover the expenses. Christ, they didn’t even want me to take out any loans. So, why did I? Pride. It’s this stubborn, middle-class pride that I must’ve inherited from my father, who also famously refuses to take any money from my mom. But at least my dad has an excuse, she’s his ex-wife.

  Still, there is something to be said for paying your own way. I know that I’m not paying my own rent, but I am paying for everything else. I’ve always thought that it would really mean something if I was actually able to pay off my student loans on my own. Maybe it would mean that I’m actually a success. That I’ve actually made something of myself as a writer.

  And when this opportunity came up…I don't know, it just felt right. But more than that, it felt exciting. And besides being a stubborn, stick-in-the-mud, I’m also not the type of girl to do a lot of exciting things. For crying out loud, I never even tried pot in high school because I was too much of a wimp. I hardly took a sip of beer until I was eighteen. I’ve never let myself go in anything. I wanted to audition for the school play my senior year, but I chickened out. I wanted to go away on a study abroad semester, but again I was too much of a coward. I’m not very old, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life. Mostly, because of my own decisions. So, when this auction came about, I decided that I’ve had enough. Enough of being scared. Enough of not taking chances. Enough of not living my life to the fullest.

  “Are you okay in there?” Mr. Black asks through the door. Suddenly, I realize that I’ve been in the bathroom for a very long time.

  “Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I look in the mirror one last time. I don't know what’s in store for me for the rest of the night, but at least I’m doing something unexpected. I’m living life on the edge. I’m jumping off a cliff without a parachute. What can be more exciting that?

  I walk out of the bathroom with my head held high. I straighten out my shoulders and flash Mr. Black a mischievous smile. He’s standing in front of the large circular table in the middle of the living room suite with a Champagne bottle in one hand and two glasses in another.

  “I thought that some Champagne might be in order,” he says. As I make my way over to the table, I see the large bowl of bright red strawberries.

  “Those look good.”

  “Yes, they are. Organic. Freshly picked from a farmer’s market.”

  I’m somewhat of a lover of fruit. And if they’re actually from a farmer’s market, and they look that beautiful, they must’ve cost $10 a pound. Champagne on the other hand is something I don't really know very well. But given where we are and who Mr. Black is, I doubt that it’s from the discount aisle.

  He pops the bottle and fills two glasses. Then he sits down and looks at me.

  “Why don't you have a seat right here?” he asks, patting his thigh. There are plenty of places to sit all around, but I comply. I find his confidence, that’s bordering on arrogance, intoxicating.

  When I sit down on his thigh and make myself comfortable, the first thing I feel is the bulge in his crotch. It’s rather big and I’m rather pleased by that fact. The size of the penis doesn’t really make much difference to me. However, it is nice to know that everything about Mr. Black is in proportion, starting with his huge yacht, his enormous suite, and ending with his gorgeous face, lean broad-shouldered body, and his substantial package. It’s good to know that all of this money and wealth isn’t just some way of compensating for certain shortcomings.

  After I’m in place on his lap, Mr. Black dunks a strawberry in the glass of Champagne.

  “Open wide,” he instructs. When the strawberry, covered in cold bubbles, brushes along my lower lip, shivers run up my entire body and a warm sensation starts to build somewhere in between my legs. I bite into the strawberry and marvel at the sweetness as it runs down my throat.

  “Mmm-mmm,” I say, licking my lips. Before I get the chance to finish the strawberry, a small drop of Champagne falls on my collarbone. I’m about to wipe it with my hand, when Mr. Black brushes them away and presses his lips to my skin. After kissing me lightly, he then licks my skin and sucks on it with a little force. I toss my head back and close my eyes, to enjoy the moment.

  “Mmm-mmm,” I say. “That’s even better.”

  After kissing my collarbone and neck, he takes a sip of his champagne.

  “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I say.

  He looks at me and waits for the question.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I thought you knew my name.”

  “Well, I know you as Mr. Black,” I say.

  “That’s what you can call me,” he says and takes another sip.

  Is he for real? I stare at him but my glares don't seem to faze him one bit. Suddenly, I feel like a total idiot. What am I doing here if the man won’t even tell me his real name?

  “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but we don't really know each other very well. I mean, I’d like to change that. But for now, please just call me Mr. Black,” he says. The tone of his voice is more appeasing and apologetic, but I’m not satisfied.

  “And one more thing,” he adds with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t forget to refer to me as Sir.”

  I nod, not really knowing how to respond to him. He’s both flirting and demanding of me. A part of me is insulted. How dare he speak to me that way? Who does he think he is? But another part, knows that it’s just a game. I’m his for the night and if he wants me to call him Sir for a quarter million dollars, then why not? What’s the big deal?

  “Here, I have a surprise for you,” he says and picks up a remote control even though there isn’t a television in sight. He points it at the curtains across from us. Pressing the button, the curtains swing open.

  Expecting to see the wide dark ocean and a starry sky, I am genuinely taken aback by the show that’s taking place before my very eyes. Shocked, actually. There, on a bit of a raised
stage, behind glass as if they are in an aquarium, are three people in various levels of undress. There are three people, two girls and a guy, who are all having sex with one another.

  “You like?” Mr. Black asks.

  I look at the stage and then at Mr. Black and then back at the stage. I actually don't know how to respond to this. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I get up for a closer look. There are three of them. The blonde girl is dressed in a pink bra and crotch-less panties. The brunette is on all fours and kissing the blonde’s breasts and then going down on her. The toned, bronzed blonde guy with the physique of a Greek god, kissing the brunette’s tight ass and slowly inserting his finger inside of her.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “It’s a private show. Something to get us in the mood.”

  I didn’t realize that we needed to get in the mood. Though, I hate to admit it but I am suddenly keenly aware of how aroused I am.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say.

  “Yes, not many people have. It’s not exactly like watching porn, is it?” Mr. Black asks.

  I shake my head. No, it’s not. It’s so much more real. There’s a real authenticity to the group. I mean, they are actually here. Right before us. Doing things to each other. I look closer at their faces to try to see if any of them look familiar.

  “You didn’t meet them at the party,” Mr. Black says. “They are performers not guests.”

  “Performers?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “This is what they do for a living. They are hired by very exclusive private parties as performers. They only have sex with each other and they have the whole thing very choreographed and practiced so that it’s always exciting to watch.”

  Sex performers? Besides strippers and escorts, I’ve never heard of this particular type of sex performance. Wow, what a world.

  Mr. Black pulls over two large soft chairs, which look much more comfortable than the ones around the dining room table. He positions them right in front of the window.