Accidental Slave (5 page)

“Good evening, gentlemen.” The maitre d’ offered an unctuous smile. He glanced at his clipboard and then back at them. “Mr. Pearson, Mr. Marshall, a pleasure to have you with us this evening. The bidding will begin shortly. Since you’ve both participated before, I won’t bore you with a recitation of the rules. Just a reminder, this is only a game. While the contracts are binding in a fictional sense, of course they’re just for fun.”

“Sure.” Fred beamed at the maitre d’, who was always keen to stress the auction was not a cover for prostitution, though technically, Cole supposed, it was, or certainly could be. He himself hadn't had actual intercourse with either of the prior girls he’d won, but he knew he could have, if he’d wanted to. Still, the BDSM play had taken place in the privacy of his own home, with a willing participant.

When the maitre d’ walked away, Fred nudged Cole. “Who does he think he’s fooling, anyway? If the authorities knew what really went on in this private club, they’d shut it down in a New York minute, and he knows it. Though he’s right about one thing—it sure is fun.”

The lights dimmed and the room quieted as a spotlight was trained on the small stage in the center of the room. The auctioneer, a tall, narrow-shouldered man in his sixties with a full head of silver hair, stepped onto the stage and hammered his gavel importantly against the podium.

“Gentlemen. Welcome to House of Usher. You all know the rules. Bidding by hand signal only. Bidding starts at five hundred.” While he was talking, a man was escorting a very scantily clad young woman up the stairs beside the dais. He gave her a little shove onto the stage.

The girl looked to be about twenty-five. She was olive-skinned with sloe eyes and black curly hair that fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a gold bra and matching panties, along with high-heeled leather boots, also dyed gold. She looked like something out of a Sixties’ science fiction movie.

The auctioneer turned to her with a smile and a slight bow. “Our first lovely slave girl of the evening is Slave T. She likes very tight bondage, sensual spanking and service.”

“Does that mean she’ll wash my car?” Fred whispered.

“Shut up.”

The bidding began and was quickly up to twelve thousand dollars in play money. The gavel struck once, twice and she was sold to a large, beefy man with red hair and an even redder face.

He held out his hand and she took it as she stepped carefully down the portable stairs in her boots.

A succession of six more women followed, all reasonably attractive, though none sparked much interest in Cole, who had his sights set on Slave E. Fred bid on two of the girls, but he, too, was holding out for his chosen submissive — Slave M.

“Next up, a newcomer to our fine establishment.” The auctioneer glanced down at his notes on the podium and back up at the audience. “Slave E. loves all types of heavy bondage and discipline, the more intense the better. Please welcome her and let’s begin the bidding at five hundred.”

Slave E. did not immediately appear. Cole’s heart had begun to pound the moment he heard her name. Where was she? She should have been waiting by the side of the stage for her turn.

What was going on?

Heads were swiveling toward the back of the room. The blond man in the tuxedo was leading the lovely woman he’d entered with to the stage. As they passed Cole’s table he heard,

“Come on. It’s for a worthy cause. It’s all in good fun. Look, they’ve already called your name, so go on up and just stand there for a minute or two. Do it for the team.”

The team? What team? What worthy cause? Cole didn’t have time to ponder these questions for too long. Once the young woman finally made it to the stage, her designer gown shimmering over curves even more lovely than those depicted in her dossier, her dark hair wild around her face, the bidding began in earnest.

Cole had twenty thousand dollars of play money. He waited until the bidding got to a ten thousand and then raised his hand.

“Ten thousand, five hundred.” the auctioneer pointed toward him with a nod.

Another hand went up and the auctioneer acknowledged him, raising the price to eleven thousand.

In short order the bidding had ratcheted to fifteen thousand. Shit! He had to have this girl, even if she was drunk and a mess and hooked up with some asshole. “Fred, lend me money if I need it, okay? I’ll get you cash.”

“You kidding? You’d go higher than twenty thousand? Look at her. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but she’s fucking wasted, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know where she is. You really want some strung-out chick?”

“Yes. I want her. You’ll lend me play money if I need it?”

“Sure. What the hell. As long as I have what I need to bid on Slave M., I don’t mind.”

A few minutes later, the auctioneer pointed toward Cole with a smile and rapped his gavel.

“Sold to the gentleman at table six for $21,500.”

~*~

Gary’s heart was smashing painfully in his chest. Thank God she hadn’t fallen down on the stage. It had been a gamble, slipping another dose of the GHB into her Champagne. He hadn't wanted to do it, but she’d started to become more lucid, and with her lucidity, the questions became more coherent and persistent. Once she’d drunk the spiked wine, however, she became once again docile and compliant. Too bad he couldn’t use it on her at work.

Though if things went according to plan, her days at work were numbered.

He breathed a sigh of relief as her auction ended, and moved quickly to escort her down the few stairs toward the man at table number six. “She’s all yours, buddy.” He pushed Elizabeth toward the high bidder. She sank down on the chair offered by the man, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.

The next slave girl was being brought to the dais, and Gary was eager to get out of there, now that he’d done his damage. What happened to Elizabeth from here on in was her problem. If she remembered anything about his part in it, and he had his doubts, based on what he’d read of the drug’s side effects, it would be his word against hers.

The man held out his hand. “Cole Pearson.” Instead of shaking it, Gary thrust Elizabeth’s shawl into it. The guy looked confused. He asked, “And you are?”

“John Hunter. So congratulations and all that. I really have to be—”

The guy interrupted him. “What’s wrong with her? Is she drunk? Is she sick? She looks like she’s going to pass out.”

Gary glanced at Elizabeth. Her head was lolling on her neck, though she was still conscious.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. She had a few too many. I tried to warn her, but she’s a disobedient little slut. You can keep her a few days if you want, to make up for it. She should be fine by the morning.”

The man scowled at him. “What’s her name? Her real name?”

“Elizabeth. Listen, do me a favor. Take a whole bunch of pictures of her with her cell phone, you know, once you have her naked and tied up and whatnot. She loves to look at them at them later, okay? Her cell’s in her purse.” He pointed toward the small, beaded bag that hung from Elizabeth’s right wrist. “Deal? You keep her an extra few days, in exchange for the pics. Oh, and if she says she has to leave, to get to work or whatever, it’s just a ploy. She’s unemployed. She likes to pretend, like I said in the dossier. So just ignore her and do whatever you want to her.

You have my permission as her, uh, Master.”

After tonight, Elizabeth’s career was dead—figuratively he’d bared her breast and presented her for the sword. Now he’d leave her to fall on it herself. Then he’d assume his rightful position as Executive Vice-President in Charge of Marketing at Wallace & Pratt.

The Pearson dude started to say something else. Gary held up his hand and cut him off.

“Everything you need to know’s in her dossier. Sorry, gotta go. Have fun.” Gary turned, forcing his way through the crowd near the stage, leaving the bitch to her fate.

Cole took out his cell phone and called his driver. “Harry. Meet me downstairs in five minutes. I’m going to need some help. The young lady I’m escorting is, uh, indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Fred snorted. “She’s faced, is what she is. I’m surprised you bid on her, what with your lecturing about how alcohol has no place in the scene.”

“It doesn’t. And on closer inspection, I’m not sure she’s drunk. She seems drugged to me. I don’t like this, Fred. Not one bit.”

“So why are you bothering with her? Why’d you let that bastard leave without her? She’s his responsibility, not yours.”

Cole looked at the lovely girl. She was slumped in the seat, her head resting against her shoulder, her eyes closed. How could he possibly leave her with that asshole who clearly didn’t care for her at all—abandoning her when she was in this condition, to the highest bidder.

“He obviously doesn’t see it that way,” Cole snapped. “I’m going to take her home and let her sleep it off. I’d like to know what she has to say about all this, once she sobers up.”

The auctioneer announced, “Gentlemen, next up is the lovely Slave M. Who will start the bidding?”

“Oh,
my
girl.” Fred turned excitedly toward the dais. “And look,
she’s
sober.” He grinned and then glanced again at Elizabeth, who hadn't moved. The grin faded to a frown. “Maybe you better get her to an emergency room. Check her purse, why don’t you? See if she has an insurance card.”

Cole knelt next to Elizabeth. “Hey. Hey, wake up. Can you hear me?”

Elizabeth stirred and opened bleary, unfocused eyes. “What? Bryan? Is it time to go?”

“It’s Cole. And yes, it’s time to go. Let me help you stand. There’s a good girl.” He put her arm over his shoulders and slipped his own around her waist, hoisting her into a standing position. Fred tore his focus from the stage long enough to say, “Good luck, buddy. Hope you’re happy with your prize. With any luck she won’t drop dead before you get her home.” He shook his head and turned back to the bidding.

Cole knew Fred was right. It was beyond stupid to take this drunk or drugged young woman home. She clearly didn’t know where she was or what was going on. It was hardly a consensual arrangement. And yet the thought of abandoning her to the son of a bitch she’d come in with was more than Cole could stomach.

Not only that, he wanted her. Not drugged, of course. But her face had captivated him from the moment he’d seen her dossier the week before. He’d dreamed of kissing those lush, full lips, of draping her naked body over his knees and smoothing the soft, creamy flesh as he prepared it for her spanking….

Though his arm was firmly around her, Elizabeth stumbled and fell heavily against him.

Somehow he got her out of the club and down the hall. In the elevator she revived a little, smiling up at him. “Do I know you? I think I’d like to know you. Oh my God, you’re Pierce Bronson, aren’t you? What happened to Bryan?”

Cole smiled, despite his concern for the girl. At least she was talking, if not exactly lucidly.

Her voice was perfect, just what he’d have chosen for her if he was designing the ideal woman—

low and smoky, its cadence pleasing.

“I’m Cole. Cole Pearson. I’m taking you home so you can get some rest.”

“Okay.” A beatific smile lit her face as she closed her eyes again and sagged in his arms. He wondered if Fred was right. Maybe he should take her to an emergency room. He envisioned the hours waiting to be seen, the hassle of explaining who she was and who he was, and all the associated mess going to a hospital emergency room late on a Friday night would invariably entail. No, better to take her home, tuck her into a warm bed and pray whatever drugs were in her system worked their way out by morning.

Harry was waiting in the front of the building, the back passenger door of the Lexus open.

He moved toward them, helping Cole settle the woman in the back seat. He was far too discreet to ask questions. “Home, sir?”

“Yes.” Cole climbed in beside Elizabeth. Though it was after midnight, there was still plenty of traffic to maneuver through. However, they weren’t far from Cole’s Fifth Avenue apartment and in twenty minutes Harry had them in the underground parking lot.

“Stop by the elevators,” Cole instructed. “I’ll take her up while you park the car. That’s all for tonight, Harry. Thanks.”

“Certainly, sir,” Harry, who enjoyed formality, tipped the driver’s cap he insisted on wearing toward Cole. “I hope she’s feeling better.”

“Me too, Harry. Me too.”

~*~

It was after two but Cole was wide awake. He was sitting in the dark, staring out at the New York City skyline that lit the sky, but all he saw was her. She’d passed out completely when he laid her on the bed. He thought about just leaving her as she was after removing her high heels, but decided she’d be more comfortable out of that very expensive-looking evening gown.

Was that really the only reason he’d stripped her to her panties? Well, maybe not, but after all, he had bought and paid for her at the auction, and received nothing so far for his money.

Presumably in the morning when she awoke and, hopefully, came to her senses, she be stripping for him anyway. She’d allowed herself to be auctioned off—she must know being naked was part of the deal, sex or no sex.

He hadn't been prepared for how truly lovely she was beneath the sheath of her gown. He’d told himself he wouldn’t take off her bra, but she wasn’t wearing one. Her perfect breasts were soft and round, tipped with enticing red nipples that rose in the cool air. He resisted the urge to flick one with his thumb—it didn’t seem right while she was dead to the world.

Carefully he rolled the sexy thigh-high stockings down smooth, shapely legs, admiring her slender ankles and pretty feet. She remained limp and inert beneath his touch.

He pulled down the covers beneath her and lifted them over her. “Elizabeth?” He leaned close to her face. She didn’t move. He took her pulse, which was strong, and listened to her breathe for a while as he gazed at her. He left the room, returning a moment later with one his nightshirts, which he placed at the end of the bed for her.