The Auction (7 page)

Leaving her yet again, Adam came back with a black pair of clover clamps, which he held so she could see. Pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger, he opened one of the clips and let the rubber-tipped metal pincher close over the distended nipple.

Gripping the other nipple, Adam closed the second pincher over the hard nubbin. Carly winced and let out a breath as she struggled to adjust to the pulse of pain in her breasts. Her nipples throbbed in unison in the tight grip of the clover clamps. A tug on the chain between them made her moan in pain as it caused the clips to tighten even more against her sensitive nipples.

Letting the chain drop, Adam pushed at the ankle cuffs that secured her to the bar overhead, forcing her legs wider to fully expose her cunt. In spite of her predicament and her pain, or partially because of them, she felt her labia swelling in anticipation of his touch. She flashed back to the night before, to the sensual, dominant way he’d taken her over in the car, wresting a powerful orgasm from her that had left her stunned.

The sudden, sharp smack to her spread labia pulled a scream of startled surprise from Carly’s lips. This was followed by a moan as Adam licked his finger and pushed it inside her, curling it in a way that sent a shudder of need through Carly’s frame as he grazed her clit with his palm.

The rope, the clamps, the stroke of his fingers all combined into a powerful erotic sensation that made Carly begin to pant. From her position, she could see no higher than Adam’s crotch, where his erection bobbed so close to her face that if she strained she could have licked the shaft. Not that she dared.

“Go on, slave. Recite the rules.”

The rules, the rules. What rules? Jesus god, that feels so good. He smells so good. My nipples hurt.

Another smack against Carly’s spread cunt, harder than the first, ripped through her nerve endings, making her gasp in pain.

The rules! Say them!

“I will not sit on any furniture,” she began haltingly, and then remembered the rest, “without express permission or direction, oh!” He was doing that amazing thing again with his hand that he’d done in the car.

Concentrate, concentrate
.

Taking a deep breath, she willed her brain to reconnect, her vocal chords to function, her mouth to form the words.

“I will ask…” She groaned and gasped as he stroked her toward orgasm. A sharp slap elicited another cry.

“Focus,” Adam admonished from above.

“I will ask,” Carly continued breathlessly, “for permission to eat, oh, oooo…” His fingers were doing an erotic dance over her labia and sliding into her wetness. The pain in her nipples had eased to a dull throb. “Drink, sleep, use the toilet, shower, speak and, oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

“And what, Carly? And what? Tell me.”

The blood was rushing in her ears and pounding in her temples.
And what? What was next? Oh god, oh fuck, oh god…
His palm ground against her clit, his fingers moving inside her like a cock. He was standing close, so close his erection brushed against her body. She could smell his musk and her own desire, the scents mingling like an aphrodisiac in the air.

A rush of pleasure so fierce it could have been pain hurtled through her body, making her jerk and writhe in her bonds. “Oh, oh, god, oh, please, I—”

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice throaty and low. “Tell me.”

Carly’s head lifted, her muscles contorting in her effort to close her legs against the onslaught of Adam’s relentless fingers. She tried to override the intense sensations that had caused her brain to short-circuit. It was too much, too much. If she could just remember the rest of the rule maybe he would stop, and she could catch her breath, somehow regain some semblance of composure, say the words he demanded from her.

Her body still in the throes of ecstasy, she finally managed to get her brain to spew out the words, hoping she’d remember the ending before she fainted from his touch:
I will ask permission to eat, drink, sleep, use the toilet, shower, speak and…
“To orgasm!” she shouted, jerking in her restraints.

Finally his hand fell away. She hung upside down, trembling, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, her cunt throbbing. Adam knelt down in front of her, his mouth lifted in a sardonic grin, his eyebrows lifted.

Oh, shit.

“What just happened, Carly?”

He was going to make her say it, adding insult to her injury.

Carly closed her eyes, but forced herself to speak. “I came without permission, Sir.”

“That’s right, Carly. You did. What happens to slave girls who break the rules?”

“They get punished, Sir.”

He nodded. “They do.”

Reaching for the nipple clamps, he released them in tandem.

Carly screamed.

~*~

As Adam let the girl down from the bar, his impulse was to take her into his arms and suckle away the pain at her nipples. He was not an impulsive man, he reminded himself, and she was not his lover.

He could see the tears in her eyes and the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, but beyond those uncontrollable physical reactions, who knew what was real? He wanted to believe the explosive orgasm he’d seemed to pull from her was authentic, but well knew women’s ability to fake it, even supposed slave girls.

She swayed as he helped her to stand, dizzy from the blood rushing away from her head. Adam reached to steady her, and then pressed at her shoulder. “Kneel and thank me,” he ordered the purchased slave, pointing toward his bare feet. Dutifully the girl dropped to her knees. Her lips were soft as they fluttered over his skin.

“We clearly have a lot of work to do in terms of teaching you to focus,” he said to the top of her head as the girl continued to kiss his feet. “You barely got through the second rule.” Adam smiled in spite of himself as he said this. If she had been faking, she deserved an Oscar. “You’ll recite the rules for me later. Right now I have a few things to attend to. This will be an excellent time for you to do your morning chores.”

He led her downstairs to the master bedroom and retrieved the stiletto heels he had bought for whatever slave girl he brought home. Glancing now at Carly's feet, he thought the shoes might be a little big, but they would do. 

“You will wear these for all your chores,” he informed her. Reaching into the drawer he’d set aside for the other items he’d purchased in anticipation of a slave girl’s arrival, Adam pulled out the hobbling cuffs and the outfit she would wear while cleaning.

“Put this on.” He handed her the bustier and white lacey French maid’s apron, smiling as he watched her struggle into the tight-fitting outfit. The bustier forced her breast together, the top halves spilling lusciously over the bone-stayed satin. It fit tight, tighter than he knew was comfortable, but as long as she could breathe, she should be fine. The apron accentuated her slender waist, while hiding little of her smooth, bare body beneath it. She stepped into the high heels, wobbling slightly as he knelt to attach the ankle cuffs with the hobbling chain between them.

“Walk toward the bathroom and back to me,” he instructed Carly. She looked incredibly sexy in the outfit as she took careful, mincing steps toward the bathroom, her gait limited by the chain between her ankles, as was the intention. She had tied the apron’s sash in a floppy bow behind her, the loops of which hung over her shapely ass as she walked.

When she returned to him, Adam instructed Carly on how he required the bed made, watching her execute a hospital corner and smooth the sheets just so before showing her how he liked his pillows. “You’ll find fresh sheets in the linen closet,” he informed her as he pulled away her handiwork, tossing the bedding onto the floor. “I like the sheets changed every two days. Today is a changing day.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He took her to the bathroom, showing her the hamper for the soiled sheets, the linen closet and where the cleaning supplies were kept. “You will clean out the shower and the Jacuzzi if it’s been used. You will wash down the sinks and counters, make sure the towels are fresh and properly folded, clean the mirrors, scour the toilet, wipe down the baseboards and mop the floor. When you think everything is done to my satisfaction, you will press this button here.” He showed her the intercom that was set into the wall above the light switch.

“You will wait in the bedroom at attention, arms behind your back, legs spread as far as the chains will allow, until I come to you. You will accompany me during my inspection, and if your work passes muster, all to the good. If not, well…” He shrugged. “Take all the time you need,” he added. “It had better be done right.”

Adam savored the flash of fear that moved through her pretty blue eyes, his cock swelling at the thought of the delicious punishments he had already devised when she failed to satisfy him, as she invariably would.

“Are we quite clear on this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Adam left her looking through the linen closet for the bedding she would need and headed down to his study. Once seated behind his desk, he logged on to his computer and answered several emails. He started to open the feasibility study file one of his vice presidents had prepared, but instead found himself reaching for the
Erotica Auctions
contract, spreading it flat on his desk and turning to the second page to examine Carly’s signature.

Carly Abrams

Her handwriting was clear, the slant slightly to the right, the press of her pen confident and flowing. She was beautiful, sexually responsive, obviously masochistic, possibly submissive. What else did he know about her? Damn little, other than she was willing to sell herself for a few dollars.

Well, not a few, he conceded, though he wasn’t sure what percentage of the amount he’d bid for her actually went into her pocket, and what percentage the auction house kept for themselves. Still, it had to be enough to give up whatever you were doing for a month, enough to sell yourself to a man you’d never met. What kind of employer would allow you to take a month-long leave of absence?

Maybe she was independently wealthy, a trust fund baby with more money than sense—overeducated and overindulged. Somehow he doubted this. More likely, she was a checkout clerk at a supermarket or the assistant manager of a hardware store—definitely not the sort of woman who moved in his social circles.

Even if she’d finagled time off from her menial job, if she were involved with someone, especially someone dominant, how could that man allow her to sell herself the way she had? Adam barely allowed himself to acknowledge the satisfaction he felt to realize the odds were excellent that she was unattached.

What do you care?

“I don’t,” he said aloud, turning toward his computer screen. “Just curious.” He typed in Carly’s name to see what would come up. A few Twitter and Facebook accounts, a massage therapist in Vermont, none of them his Carly, as far as he could tell.

He closed the browser and turned away from the screen, annoyed with himself. Who cared what the purchased piece of ass did on her own time? Carly was a toy—an expendable, temporary diversion. Nothing more.

Adam clicked open the reports he’d saved onto his desktop, determined to focus. He was immersed in the data when the intercom buzzed. He glanced at his watch—thirty-five minutes. Certainly enough time to complete her assigned tasks, though with her ankles chained and her feet shod in high heels, it would have taken longer to get it all done.

When he arrived upstairs, Carly was standing beside the bed, arms behind her back, breasts thrust out, legs spread, the chain taut between them. She’d knotted her hair at the nape of her neck and wispy tendrils escaped over her forehead and ears. Her lacy apron, he noticed, was wet, the fabric clinging to her thighs.

Briefly Adam fantasized about bending her over the bed and fucking her from behind. It was in the contract—he could fuck her both vaginally and anally as often as he liked. He licked his lips at the thought of pushing her down and pressing his erection between her ass cheeks or into the snug embrace of her wet cunt. Why hadn’t he fucked her yet?

Because she hasn’t earned it
, he told himself. She had yet to properly and completely obey him. A proper slave girl only got fucked as a reward.

Pretending to ignore her, he lifted the quilt and inspected her attention to detail. The corners were neatly tucked, the bedding smooth. The pillows were properly plumped and arranged. So far, so good.

Looping a finger through the O ring at the center of her collar, he led Carly into the bathroom, moving slowly so she could keep up in her chains. While she waited, he inspected the shower, the mirrors, the counters and the floor. He looked into the toilet, and then lifted the seat. Taking a cotton swab from the drawer where he kept them, he ran the tip under the inner rim of the toilet bowl and lifted it for Carly to see.

Her eyes widened in dismay. She started to say something but Adam silenced her with an upheld hand. “Not a word. I didn’t ask you a question.”

He moved closer to her, waving the soiled swab near her face. “I was told you were trained in service. Did no one teach you to clean beneath the rim of a toilet bowl?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said breathlessly. “I thought I had—”

“Not good enough,” he interrupted, affecting a stern expression, though in fact he was delighted with this legitimate reason to punish the girl. “Tomorrow you will do better.”

Crouching in front of her, Adam removed the hobbling cuffs. “Step out of the shoes,” he said, taking those as well. Pointing to her cleaning outfit, he added, “Take off those things and hang them to dry.” He motioned toward one of the towel hooks near the Jacuzzi.

“Please, Sir, may I speak?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“May I use the toilet?”

Adam toyed for a moment with the idea of denying her, but decided against it. That sort of play could wait for the water chamber. “Yes, but be quick about it.” He headed toward the bedroom, turning back at the bathroom door. “I’ll be waiting for you in the dungeon. I’m looking forward to trying out my new candles. The wax burns especially hot.”