[His for a Week 01.0] Bought

by EM BROWN

  “Wait!” Kimani cried. She ran to the door but found it locked. Shit. She went to the only other door, but it only led to a toilet.

  “This is not what I expected at all,” Claire said. “It must be like some kind of joke. Maybe we’ll be shown our real rooms after we go shopping.”

  “I don’t think there’s much in the way of luxury shopping in this county,” Kimani murmured as she went to try the door again. No luck. “I can’t believe we’re locked in here!”

  “Master doesn’t want us escaping,” Claire giggled.

  Kimani stayed the desire to smack some sense into the girl.

  “I wish we had something to eat, though. I’m starving.”

  Kimani dug into the purse she still held and fished out a packet of trail mix, which she offered to Claire. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

  Claire hopped off the bed. “Oh, thanks! I’ll just have a little since we’re probably going to have a sinfully decadent breakfast.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Billionaires like to wine and dine in style. I mean, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you don’t indulge in everything that you can?”

  “I don’t know about that. Gold toilets would be excessive to me.”

  Claire shrugged. “If you’ve got money to burn, why not?”

  Kimani didn’t answer. Her mind was on more pressing considerations, like how to escape if the situation warranted it. Maybe this was part of the fantasy—it obviously was for Claire—and when the week was over, they’d laugh and talk about how fun it was.

  But this guy expected sex, and when Kimani refused, what would happen? Would he be understanding and have his limo take her back to the city? Or would he be a jerk and dump her at the nearest town to fend for herself?

  Or what if he didn’t take “no” for an answer?

  Since he hadn’t received an update in a while, Sam would probably be worried by now. His cell was connected to hers through a locater app. He could trace where her phone was—unless whoever had it turned the device off or it ran out of battery.

  Remember the story. It’s going to be killer. It’s going to be worth it.

  Feeling better, Kimani took a reassuring breath. She sat down on the bed. Wow. The sheets were amazing. She had never felt anything so soft.

  The sound of footsteps made her jump to her feet. Was it Stern-Face? Could she get him to let her use a phone?

  The door opened, and in walked their bidder. Their Master.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The guy had boyish good looks with wavy golden-brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. He reminded Kimani of a young Bradley Cooper. So with looks like his, why did he need to buy women at the Scarlet Auction, she wondered?

  He put his hands on his hips. In his Kiton jeans and perfectly pressed shirt by Tom Ford, he looked impeccable—the opposite of how Kimani felt.

  Claire waved. “Hi, I’m Claire.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t say you could talk.”

  “Oh! Sorry! I mean...” Claire looked down.

  “And I don’t know any Claire. Your name’s Slut #1.” He turned to Kimani. “And you’re Slut #2.”

  Kimani felt her cheeks burn.

  “Let’s get a couple things straight here,” he continued. “You don’t talk unless I say you can. You don’t do anything—and that includes taking a piss—without my permission. Got it?”

  Claire nodded. He turned his gaze onto Kimani, waiting. She stared at him, wondering if he was serious or just acting out a role?

  The next second, her cheek was on fire and pain flared in her temple from where her head struck Claire’s.

  “Answer me, bitch!”

  She had to blink several times to get her bearing.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Surely the Silent Auction arrangement didn’t allow for violence? Even if the contract she signed acknowledged she might be, in BDSM parlance, ‘disciplined,’ assault couldn’t stand up in court, could it? But she decided not to risk the guy’s ire and answered, “Yeah, I got it.”

  He struck her again. This time Claire jumped out of the way.

  “I didn’t say you could talk, bitch.”

  This shit just got real, Kimani realized. Her heart was racing. Part of her was recalling all the moves she had learned in her self-defense class. The other part reminded her what she was here for. She wished she had turned on the broach camera or had her recording pen ready.

  She heard him unbuckle his belt.

  “Now how about some breakfast?”

  Turning, she saw that he had taken out his cock. Shit.

  “Come on, slave,” he said to Claire, waving his penis up and down. “Time to eat.”

  For the first time since the auction, Claire looked uncertain.

  “Don’t make me say it twice,” he threatened.

  Tentatively, Claire went down on her knees before him.

  “What’s the matter? Never done a blow job before?”

  Claire shook her head.

  He smiled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Go on now. Take that puppy into your mouth.”

  He pointed his cock at her. Claire parted her lips.

  “Oh, that’s good,” he groaned as he slid into her mouth.

  His hand went to the back of her head as he began thrusting his hips. She grunted as he tried to shove more of his length into her.

  “Yeah, baby,” he said. “Good slaves get rewarded. Bad slaves get punished.”

  Claire choked when he shoved a little too hard.

  “All right, all right,” he said when she began gagging uncontrollably. He turned to Kimani. “Your turn.”

  “I’m not ready yet,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What did I say about talking?”

  “Aren’t there supposed to be safe words?” she blurted, as a new worry blossomed. What if they were dealing with a psychopath?

  He shook his head. “Are all niggers as dumb as you?”

  Her ears burned at the epithet. There was no way she was taking this asshole’s cock now. For a brief moment, she had contemplated doing it for the sake of the story. Not anymore. Now she was as much pissed as she was scared.

  “You just lost your privilege to wear clothes,” he declared. “Take the dress off. Now.”

  Every nerve in her body revolted at the command, but when she didn’t move, he took a step toward her and struck her across the cheek, this time with his fist. Claire screamed.

  “I told you to take the fucking dress off!”

  Tears pressed into Kimani’s eyes as she unzipped the dress with shaky hands. The situation shouldn’t have surprised her. She had fully expected to find her owner to be no different than the man who had abused Marissa, had known there was a chance she would get physically hurt. Unlike Marissa, she wouldn’t just sit around and take it.

  However, she hadn’t anticipated being without her cellphone. She hadn’t anticipated being so far from civilization with nowhere to run. Now if she put up resistance, there was no one she could turn to and no escape. How violent would this guy get? Was he going to beat her until she took his cock?

  But he had gone back to Claire. He took her jaw and opened her mouth before sliding himself in.

  “You sure look pretty eating cock,” he cooed to her before looking up to see if Kimani was still undressing.

  With the zipper down, she slid the straps from her shoulders.

  “Take it all off, bitch.”

  Trembling the whole time, she pushed the dress past her hips and down her legs.

  “Bra and panties, too.”

  Reaching behind her, she unclasped her bra. Why hadn’t she thought to hide a weapon of some sort in her dress? Should she try to make a run for it and escape to tell the authorities? Her own experience could serve as the basis for the story. But was that enough?

  She hesitated at her boy-cut briefs and expected the asshole to bark at her again, but he was too distracted by his blow job. He was moaning and
babbling incoherently as he fucked Claire in the face. Soon he was blowing his load all over her.

  “Took care of one virginity,” he chuckled as he tugged at his semi-flaccid cock.

  He glanced at Kimani. She quickly shed her panties. Except for her heels, she was now completely naked.

  “Now about you—” he began before he was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he put his penis back in his pants and zipped up. “Hold on. I don’t have good reception downstairs. Give me a minute.”

  He took his cellphone in hand and walked out the door, closing it behind him. The lock turned.

  “You okay?” Kimani asked Claire, who was still on her knees, wiping the cum off her face with her hands. She went into the bathroom and got some tissue for Claire.

  “Y-Yeah,” Claire answered. “It—It was different from what I expected. He’s really into an alpha dominant role.”

  Kimani couldn’t believe it. “The only role that guy is into is the role of asshole.”

  She rubbed where he had punched her. She had known from Marissa’s experience that things could turn violent, but she hadn’t been prepared enough. The wisest course of action was to find a way to get herself and Claire the hell out. Who knew what else this asshole was capable of?

  But how could they escape? Where would they go? And even if they could, what recourse did they have? She didn’t know a thing about the guy. The best she could provide the police would be a sketch of what he looked like. The guy deserved to be arrested for assault, maybe even kidnapping.

  His attorneys, as well as those for the Scarlet Auction, would probably make conviction a challenge. They might even try to explain his behavior away like Claire did. There was a misunderstanding, he thought he was just acting out the part of a Master-Slave relationship in the context of consensual BDSM, he thought he was just doing what the women wanted, etc.

  And who knew what she and the other women had agreed to in signing those legal forms.

  Kimani bit her lower lip. If she wanted to see this son of a bitch put away, she needed more evidence. But how was she going to get it?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben didn’t bother changing out of his dark colored suit and indigo dress shirt. His morning meetings had run longer than anticipated, and he didn’t want to arrive much later than Jason would. He needed to be there to make sure his cousin didn’t do anything stupid with Jake and Derek.

  Ben’s jet landed at Weaverville Airport, where his rental was waiting for him. After putting his bags in the Jeep rental, he drove himself to the cabin. With its rugged landscape of heavy forestry and the Klamath Mountains, the area was beautiful. Unlike most years, the terrain was verdant with flora as a result of the heavier-than-usual rain in the spring months. Ben had put down the top of the Jeep to bask in the early summer sun, glad to be in dry and temperate Northern California instead of muggy and hot Beijing, where his parents lived.

  At the cabin, a stocky man named Vince opened the door. At 6’2”, Ben stood taller than most of his friends, save for the ones playing in the CBA, but Vince was easily a head taller than Ben. He didn’t know why, but the first thought Ben had on meeting Vince was whether or not he could take the guy out. He was confident he could. Men with Vince’s build tended to be slower and less agile.

  Jake appeared in the foyer. “Benji, glad you could make it.”

  The hairs on Ben’s neck curled. Had Jake just called him Benji?

  “Only my mom and sisters ever call me Benji.”

  “Oh, hey, no problem, brah.”

  “Where’s Jason?”

  “He and Derek are coming up together, and their driver got lost. You like bourbon? I was about to open up a bottle of Kentucky straight. It’s uncut and unfiltered.”

  Vince offered to take Ben’s bags up to his room, the last one on the left upstairs, so Ben followed Jake into the great room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the lake. Jake walked over to the bar, but Ben stopped at the threshold.

  At the left end of the room before the fireplace knelt two women. One was a blond in a tight pink faux leather dress. The other was completely naked. Both of them looked disheveled.

  “What the fuck?” Ben let drop.

  “I see you found my acquisitions,” Jake drawled as he opened the bottle of whiskey.

  Ben met the eyes of the blond. She glanced down as if not wanting to be caught looking. The other woman stared at him with what seemed like defiance and suspicion. His gaze did a quick sweep of her figure, and his groin tightened of its own accord. She had nice B-cup breasts with dark chocolate areolas, a smooth stomach that led to swollen hips and a cute patch of curls between shapely thighs.

  Her left cheek appeared a little discolored and swollen. Her hair was partially and unevenly straightened, and her mascara had spread below her eyes as if she had slept without taking her makeup off.

  Jake handed him a glass of bourbon. “You missed out, man. There were prime pickings last night.”

  Ben glanced at the women again. For women who wanted this shit, they didn’t look too happy at the moment.

  “Do you have the portfolios I requested?” Ben asked Jake.

  “Yeah, but you really want to talk business right now? You just got here.”

  “Now’s as good a time as any. Better. We don’t have to bore Jason and Derek.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  Jake went to sit at a table before the window. He gestured to the manila folders. “They’re all right here. You’ll want this guy, though. Jamaal Dixon. He’s playing in the EuroLeague right now.”

  Ben set his bourbon down on the table and leafed through the portfolios. When transacting business, he preferred not to drink. It was hard enough keeping his mind on business with two women, one of them naked, kneeling just yards from where he sat.

  “They just going to kneel there the whole time?” he asked, trying to keep his gaze off the naked one—especially her tits and pelvis.

  “That’s what slaves do,” Jake replied as he poured himself more bourbon. “Whatever I tell them to do.”

  “Why is one of them naked?”

  “Oh, that was her preference.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the young woman stiffen.

  “What about the one from UCLA?” Ben asked. “Coach saw him at an exhibition game and likes the way he plays.”

  “You’ll have to pay good money for Tyrell Jenkins. He could have been a second-round draft pick if he didn’t have that sprain late last year.”

  They talked about the merits of the different players and the salary each was likely to command. The discussion went slowly because Jake had had three shots and wasn’t too focused on business.

  “Give Tyrell a call,” Ben said.

  “I don’t know that he’d consider going off to live in China.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “No.”

  “Then feel him out.”

  “Okay, I’ll feel him out.”

  Ben waited.

  Jake stared back. “What? Now?”

  “Now.”

  Jake’s whole body seemed to curl. “Fine. Since you sound like you’re in a hurry, Benji.”

  Ben gave him a hard look. “Only people with pussies call me Benji. You got a pussy, Jake?”

  “Chill. I just forgot.”

  After Jake pulled out his cellphone and wandered back to the bar to add ice to his glass, Ben sauntered over to the women. The blond looked really young. Like she was barely legal.

  “How long have you been kneeling here?” he inquired.

  The blond didn’t answer and continued to stare at the rug that probably didn’t provide much cushioning from the shiny hardwood floor. The other woman glanced over to Jake before answering, “Three hours.”

  Three hours. Jake was a bigger asshole than he’d thought. Ben played around with heavy BDSM, but he had never made a woman kneel for three hours straight.

  “You
got a name?”

  Again, the blond remained silent.

  “Apparently, we’re Slut #1 and Slut #2,” replied the naked one.

  She said it as if it was his fault she had a name she obviously didn’t like. She didn’t like him, either. Ben sensed that right away. A porcupine was less prickly than her.

  “Tyrell didn’t pick up, but I left him a message,” Jake said as he walked over with his shot glass refilled. “No use talking to my slaves. They’re not supposed to talk without my say so.”

  Ben raised his brows. “And they signed up for this?”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “They’re getting compensated a shitload of money for their time. Plus, they get to live out their Fifty Shades of Grey fantasies.”

  “How much do they get?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I paid just over a hundred thousand for blondie and the black girl.”

  The blond’s stomach growled.

  “Are you hungry?” Ben asked.

  Jake grabbed his crotch. “I fed her this morning.”

  The prospect of food made the blond look up.

  “If they’ve been kneeling here for three hours, they’re probably hungry. Don’t you feed your slaves?”

  “Sure. I just—it wasn’t lunchtime yet.”

  Ben looked at his watch. “It’s past noon. Get them something to eat.”

  Jake stared at him in disbelief. Ben could tell he wasn’t making any friends ordering Jake about, but he wasn’t interested in being the guy’s brah.

  “You are the host,” Ben added.

  With a discontented snort, Jake walked over to the expansive Tuscan-inspired kitchen, opened up the well-stocked refrigerator and pulled out a brand-new jar of pickles. Walking back, he set the jar on the coffee table near the women.

  Ben crossed his arms. “Open it.”

  “They’re not incompetent.” Jake nodded to the blond. “Help yourself to some pickles, slut.”

  The blond reached for the jar and tried to twist the cap off. Jake had already stalked off to the bar, so Ben took the jar from the blond and twisted the cap off for her. She reached in eagerly for a pickle.

  “Just Slut #1,” Jake called from the bar. “I’m not happy with the other one.”