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Roxanne didn't know how it was that her friend, Deborah, always managed to talk her into doing the most insane things, but here she stood on a stage, participating in a charity slave auction for BDSM enthusiasts. She was glad she couldn't actually see the audience because of the blindfold covering most of her face.
Unfortunately, she'd gotten a really good look at them before she was masked and led down the main aisle of the auditorium and up onto the stage. She'd never seen so much black leather.
If Deborah had steered her wrong, she was going to get a good dose of BDSM, because Roxanne was going to choke the life out of her.
She was jolted from her fearful reflections when her number was called. The "slave master" grasped the chain that led to her manacles and tugged her to the front of the stage. She was displayed and received a flattering/terrifying number of cat calls and whistles. She would've been more flattered if she had been wearing more clothes from the neck down and less from the neck up.
"This lovely young slave has offered herself up for sale at tonight's charity. As you can see, she is not only lusciously formed, but she is unbroken, which should be of tremendous interest to all the gentlemen in the audience. We will start the bid at two hundred dollars. Do I have two hundred anyone?"
Roxanne felt a shiver skate down her spine. What in the devil did they mean by unbroken? She didn't like the sound of that at all. This was for charity, for god's sake! They were only supposed to pretend to be slaves for the night.
"Two hundred," said a deep male voice. It sounded far away, as if it might be in theback of the room.
"I have two hundred. Do I have two fifty?" asked the auctioneer.
Someone called two fifty. This one sounded closer. The bidding was fast and furious after that. She was walked up and down the stage every time it slowed down just a bit.
She didn't know whether to be more flattered or more frightened when the bid reached five hundred dollars. It sounded like an awful lot of money just for a pretend date, even if it was for charity.
"Five fifty? Do I have five fifty?"
Roxanne was just trying to decide whether she was more relieved to have it over with or more nervous to meet the person who had just paid five hundred dollars, when she heard a deep voice interrupt the proceedings.
Roxanne felt a little faint.
"One thousand! The gentleman in the back wearing the black mask has bid one thousand. Do I have one thousand fifty?"
There was a prolonged silence.
"Sold to the gentleman in the back. Sir, you may collect your slave."
Roxanne felt weak-kneed as she was led from the stage and guided carefully down the three steps to the main floor. She heard the rustle of clothing as someone new stopped close by her. The scent of Drakkar wafted past her nostrils, sending a shiver of warmth through her.
"What are you called, slave?" It was the same deep voice that she'd heard offer a thousand dollars for her services for the night.
It took her several moments to find her voice. "Roxanne," she said weakly.
"Remove your mask, Roxanne, so that I may examine my slave."
Disconcerted, Roxanne merely gaped.
She jumped, reaching up instinctively at the sharp command and pushing the blindfold off of her eyes and up her forehead. Her vision was blurred from having worn the blindfold for so long, and it was dim in this area of the auditorium, but when her vision finally cleared, she was almost sorry. The auctioneer had said 'the gentleman in the black mask', but she certainly hadn't expected the vision that greeted her gaze. He was wearing a black hood. All that she could see of his face was a pair of piercing blue eyes, so pale, she felt as if they were ice crystals cutting through her.
He studied her intently for several moments. Finally, apparently satisfied with his purchase, he took hold of the chain and led her toward the cashier. "Wait here," he said, releasing the chain and moving to the table. Extracting a wallet, he pulled out ten crisp bills, dropped them on the table, and placed his wallet in his pocket.
A representative of the auction returned with him to where she'd been left waiting. "Just a reminder. These are the rules of the auction. You cannot leave the building with your slave. We have rooms set up for your enjoyment. There is to be no genital contact or sexual intercourse while on the premises. If at any time you are uncomfortable and don't wish to continue, you will have a safety word for surcease, but it is only to be used in that instance. It cannot be used to leave. You will remain in possession of your master until he grants you permission to leave this building or until midnight. Do you both understand?"
Her "owner" nodded. Roxanne managed to say yes.
The rules made her feel better about her decision to come tonight. As long as she wouldn't be hurt and wasn't expected to have sex, she could handle it. It would benefit her favorite cause and, whatever she was expected to do, it would be worth it.
That thought produced a little upsurge of pleasure and pride. It felt good to know that she was acting, not just talking about doing something. By coming, she'd helped to raise a thousand dollars.
Those thoughts buoyed her spirits all the way to the private room.
The moment he opened the door and led her inside by the chain around her throat, her stomach tied itself into a hard knot of sheer terror. She couldn't even remember the rules, let alone remind herself that this was a game and had rules.
There was a medieval looking torture devise standing in the center of the room.
Without a word, he led her to the thing, grasped one of her wrists and secured it, then the other. His cold blue, emotionless eyes studied her face for several moments. "I am your master and I am known as Simon. You do not speak unless I give you permission to speak. You do not do anything at all without my leave. Do you understand?"
Roxanne stared up at him blankly, trying to figure out how she was supposed to ask for permission to speak if she wasn't allowed to speak to start with. And, if she wasn't supposed to speak without permission, was she supposed to answer him? And what about the safety word? Had he given her the safety word? She frowned, remembering that he had said something to her right after the man had told her about it, but she couldn't remember to save her life what he'd said.
"Uh ... how am I supposed to....?"
"I did not give you permission to speak, slave!"
Roxanne's jaw dropped. "But...."
His eyes narrowed. "If you continue to defy me, I will be forced to punish you."
Roxanne felt her eyes widen, but he seemed so absolutely serious about it, so threatening, she couldn't find her voice even to attempt to speak again.
Nodding at her silence, he knelt and secured her ankles to the post, then moved away from her to a table that held a number of objects. She had only noticed it peripherally, however, as he led her into the room. Most of her attention had been focused on the post he led her to, and she couldn't remember to save her life what was on the table.
She couldn't remember the damned safety word either.
She forgot all about trying to remember the safety word when he turned from the table with a whip looking thing in his hands, studying her, idly pulling it through his fingers.
She stared at the thing--at him--in horror as he advanced on her. When he swung it at her, she flinched all over, squeezing her eyes shut. To her surprise and relief, pain did not instantly explode inside of her. In fact, she barely felt it at all.
He moved around her, thrashing her with the thing, her buttocks, her belly, her breasts. Her skin began to warm as he continued, began to tingle with heightened sensation.
Blood engorged her nipples, making them stand erect and throb with the beat of her pulse. Blood engorged her genitals, making her sex begin to ache with the pressure. The warmth of budding desire curled inside her belly. Try though she might to regulate her breathing, she began to struggle to catch her breath.
He ceased to thrash her, moved closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body, hear his own ragged breathing. His broad hand skated lightly over her, down her back and over her buttocks, down her thighs and calves. When he moved around her and began the journey upward, her heart seemed to leap from her chest and lodge itself in her throat. He paused when he reached the tops of her thighs. She held her breath, not because she feared he would touch her, but because she was hoping he would.
Disappointment filled her when he lifted his hands and placed them on her lower belly, just above her mound. Her belly quivered, jerked reflexively as he moved his hands up her body. She held her breath again when he reached her breasts, but this time he didn't hesitate. He skated his palms over her lightly, brushing the distended tips and setting off harder waves of pleasure and desire.
She gasped, squeezing her eyes closed, hoping he would do more. Instead, he moved away and began thrashing her once more. Her skin had cooled with the light brush of his hand, the blood receding from the surface, but it surged back almost instantaneously as he began again.
She lost track of time. She began to feel as if she was on fire. Her body ached all over, wanting his touch, needing it, screaming for it. She began to moan almost incessantly with the desire coursing through her, too delirious with need even to feel self-conscious about her state or to attempt to hide it any longer.
Vaguely, she recalled that genital contact or intercourse was forbidden, but she was no longer comforted by the thought. She wanted more than what he had given her.
When he stopped thrashing her and began to skate his hands lightly over her again, she felt like she was going to die if he didn't touch her. Without any thought in her mind but that, as he reached the tops of her thighs again, hesitating, she licked her lips. "Please."
He looked up at her. As he lifted his hands to her belly, his thumb just grazed her pubic mound, so lightly it might almost have been an accident, and yet it sent an excruciating jolt of pleasure through her. He moved closer as he finished his caress of her body, so close that their labored breaths made their bodies brush lightly. His lips hovered a hair's breadth from hers. "Did I give you permission to speak, slave?"
Roxanne licked her lips, feeling them tingle with the nearness of his, desperately wanting him to close the gap and kiss her.
"Did I?" he prompted.
The heat of his body, the waves of unrequited desire coiling through her, his scent--all combined to turn her brain to pure mush. She shook her head slowly, not because she remembered she wasn't supposed to speak, but because her mouth and throat were so dry she couldn't.
From somewhere, the sound of a gong reached them.
He stiffened. After a moment, almost reluctantly, he stepped away from her, knelt to release her ankles and then stood again, releasing her wrists one at the time. "You are free, slave."
Roxanne stared at him in disbelief. He studied her for several moments, his gaze flickering over her parted lips and lingering for so long she sucked in her breath hopefully. Finally, he turned without another word and strode from the room.