Bought: Highest Bidder(10)

By: Lauren Landish


Carla nods. “He bought me in an auction.”

What in the world? “An auction?” I breathe in wonder. Carla’s boyfriend bought her? My eyes widen, and I’m not sure how to respond. What in the actual fuck?

“It’s nothing like that,” Carla says defensively. “Auctions are something by which Subs and Doms can take their experience to the next level, and these men pay dearly for the privilege to do so. As dark as it sounds, it’s benign really if you look at it from the Sub’s perspective.” Her voice is much softer now, and I can tell she’s practically pleading with me to understand. And I’m trying. I really am. “The Dom pays high dollar for a sex slave for a month, and the Sub gets to live out her fantasy of being dominated. Sometimes, they might even forge a relationship outside of the club’s perimeters if they decide they like each other enough, like what happened with me and Bruce.” She smiles sweetly and bites her lip for a moment before shrugging. “So you see, no harm, no foul. Everything is clean, consensual, and terms and conditions are outlined in the contracts. No one has to agree to accept any terms that they don’t like. Rules must be followed, or else.”

“That sounds scary as fuck,” I blurt out. “To just get sold to someone.”

Carla's shaking her head before I've even finished my thought. “There's so much paperwork, and all of your desires and fetishes are clearly marked. Everything is consensual, and the club is all about making sure everyone is safe. Seriously. It's all about living out your fantasies.”

I squirm in my seat. My heart's racing at the very thought of being bought. I won't lie to myself. If I knew it was safe...

“That’s why I’m telling you this,” Carla says, though I’m barely listening, lost in my thoughts. “Because you can get paid... if you're into that sort of thing, that is. I think you’d enjoy it. I’m pretty sure you need a good hard fuck. Or two. And I know you need the money right now.”

My ears perk up, and my heart stills in shock. Is it really that obvious? “How did you know-”

She shakes her head, dismissing my worries. “You’re new here, and these clothes are expensive. You don’t drive your car to work, though I know you have one. And when I gave you that purse, you acted as if I’d given you a five million dollar engagement ring with how scared you were of losing it.” Carla shakes her head again. “I might look like an airhead, but I’m not.” She reaches across the table and gently places her hand atop of mine. “I want to help you.”

I want to help you strikes something in me. My eyes focus on the table, and I’m absorbed by my thoughts.

All of what she’s said sounds exciting and erotic, and being dominated is something I crave more than anything else. But the reason for it is dark and twisted. Just thinking about it causes a horrific scene that used to be a constant in my night terrors to flash in front of my eyes. It’s been years, and I thought I was over this. But I’m not.

I can never get over what he did to me.

“Please stop,” I beg, my voice choked with pain as I struggle in vain. I hear my own voice pleading over and over in my head and it sends shivers down my spine. I close my eyes and try to ignore the memory. His heavy body on top of me. The smell of his foul breath as he told me to be quiet.

“I told you to be quiet, you little bitch!”

I clear my throat and breathe out deeply. I focus on remembering where I am today, and how it’s in the past. But the sound of his voice won’t go away. The memory flashes before my eyes. My body tenses remembering how I looked around for my father. How I screamed out for him to help me.

I tried to fight back, but it was useless. My heart beats rapidly at the memory, pumping cold blood through my veins. I wish I could forget.

“Dah?” Carla asks.

I jerk my hands out of hers, startled. My breathing is ragged, and anger tightens my chest.

“Is something wrong?” Carla is peering at me with concern, and I’m freaked out at how I so easily spaced in an instant.

I clear my throat and unclench my fists that I hadn’t realized were balled up. That fucking bastard. He’d taken so much from me, and hadn’t had to pay for it. When I told my father about what Uncle Tommy did, he just laughed, not believing his brother capable of such a horrible thing. He chose him over me, and he refused to take me to the hospital. “Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about what you’ve told me and how interesting it all sounds,” I lie. I’ve never told anyone other than my parents. I’m ashamed. I know I have no reason to be, but I am.