Good. Heather would be safe. From the others. And me.
A man in his mid-thirties motioned towards the group standing in the lounge. As he beckoned each person in different directions, nervous energy stirred the room. Lily clapped her hands, then hurried in the direction the leader pointed. Another woman bit her fingernails. I had once been as eager for the night’s headlining activity as the others. The climax of the evening before the night would near the morning, and the masks would recede. The return to our reality.
I motioned at my men, a few scattered at the top of the voyeurist balcony, and gave them orders. One to scout the balcony, two to roam freely, and myself to observe the auction. It was overkill to use so many top of the line guards,protectors, at an event like this. But it was the least I could do since the Afterglow accepted me and my past. Or, it was the least I could do to protect the others against Eric.
I was doing them a service, really.
No announcement was needed; everyone headed towards the theater. The slaves, property, submissives, and others, willing to be sold for one night’s profit, exited to the left. The bargainers, the owners, the masters greedy to get a taste of another’s property, exited to the right. The left door led to a dressing room behind the stage, and the right to the seats leading down to the stage.
It was part of the show. But everyone, including me, had been guilty of being sucked into the allure.
Nearly a hundred men and women of the Las Vegas community took the seats, continuing with quiet conversations as the host, the self-appointed auctioneer, waited on stage. I stood in the back, leaning against the wall.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and all those under the umbrellaandoutside of it,” the host’s voice called through the theater. Everyone clapped. He needed no microphone. “Welcome to the annual slave auction.” He held his hands together, a slight breath before the next words. “The following people have given consent, expressly and freely stated under contract, to be sold. Proceeds will go to the North Las Vegas Center for Domestic Abuse Victims under an anonymous donation, but you all know that.” The man winked. Many years ago, it had been my suggestion that the group donate what it could to the Center. The Afterglow needed to help those victims after losing so many of its own members, just like them, to Eric.
“We have some fresh meat tonight.” The host beamed, his teeth like a beacon aimed at the audience. “And let me tell you, is itfresh.” A few appreciative grunts sounded, and one woman cooed. “And some regular favorites. And it’s all for a good cause, and good fun. I give you, the slave auction!”
Cheers erupted from the audience, including a few drunken hoots. The first woman, older but with a sweet face, walked across the stage in ballet point boots. A padlock kept the straps of the shoes in place, a matching collar around her neck.
“Tristanna is the property of Sir Edmond. She considers herself an expert in service, including, but not limited to, household and pleasure affairs.” Tristanna stopped next to the host and curtseyed, her eyes continually bowed. “Do we have fifty?”
Tristanna was sold for two hundred. It was the price of one night’s play, with the rules of her master. Her master proudly beamed as Tristanna joined her bidder, a direct representation of how Sir Edmond had trained her. The bond the two of them had was beyond my scope of experience. I had seen the depths, shown a woman what she was capable of, but to have that bond, to believe and trust that the other would not run when you showed your true self, that was something I did not know.
“And next, we have Nick, boy of Mistress Jessica.” A thin, sinewy man in boxer briefs pranced across the stage, the opposite of Tristanna’s subdued state. I should take part in an auction like this, use it to my advantage, find a willing submissive to be the final puzzle piece in my design. I could bargain with the slave’s owner, find the right price. But it wouldn’t be right to use someone from the Afterglow. I needed someone disposable.
Heather’s gleaming eyes forced their way into my mind: the desire as she watched the master and slave, the closer she got to them, her lips opened, widened, as if to drink them in. The cautious movements of her own hand feeling her neck, imagining a collar there. I had watched her, that curiosity, the instinctual pull that drew her near. She wanted to submit, to surrender everything she had, totrustin another person to protect and discipline her. She would have been perfect. A quick negotiation and some indulgence on my end, and she could take the place of her sister. Distract Eric. Be a gift. Nothing more. And if Heather didn’t make it out, no one would miss her. Not even her sister.
Which was why it was better for Heather to leave. I knew better. And Heather, as foolish as she may have been, as hungry as she was to do anything to find her sister, she deserved more.
Perhaps I would let her sister go. But not the others.
In reality, that wasn’t an option. With the final day drawing near, all I needed was the final piece to my design. I zoned out on the display of submissives, each bought and sold for varying prices, each serving their partner’s purpose. None of them fit. And I knew them too well. I would need an outsider, someone I didn’t feel anything for. Better to do it with someone with greed in their hearts, hatred in their very soul, someone who didn’t deserve life itself.
“And last, but certainly not least, our prize of the evening, our fresh meat, Heather Maben.”
Like a razor, my eyes raced towards the brunette crossing the stage. A hoodie was zipped over Lily’s sheer dress. Heather waved at the audience. A polite clap sounded through the room.
“She has no owner, no master, and no experience with our kind, but wants to play. Badly.” A few chuckles sounded.
Idiot. Fucking idiot. She had declined my offer. That stubborn, resilient woman.
I would relish in teaching her a lesson.
She had walked into the trap. On her own. Perhaps she did deserve the consequences. But not tonight.
Then I heard the numbers being called.
“Do we have fifty?”
“Fifty,” a voice called.
Not tonight? Why not tonight?
“A hundred,” another called.
“Five hundred,” a loud voice called from the front seats. A hush silenced the room. It was the dominant who always wore a top hat. He had been one of the members harassing Heather. Though our acquaintance was minimal, he was well off—not better than me, but willing to throw money around to prove it.
Fuck tonight.
