The Auction: A Dark Romance: Chapter 18

‘What am I getting punished for?’ Blakely frets.

I lead her over to the corner and pull her closer to me so my mouth hits her ear, murmuring so no one else can hear me, ‘You didn’t have permission to look at me.’

‘I-I didn’t. I watched the stage,’ she claims.

‘You just did. I told you to look to your left. I didn’t permit you to look away. And I definitely didn’t tell you to try and cover up your glistening pussy,’ I inform her.

She whispers, ‘Riggs—’

I tug on her hair, and she gasps. ‘Who am I?’

‘Sir.’

‘Are you trying to get rule fourteen enforced?’ I question, then study her.

Fear enters her eyes. ‘No.’

I arch my eyebrows.

‘No, Sir,’ she says, correcting herself.

‘I need your full submission, pet,’ I remind her.

‘You have it. I-I promise.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, who?’ I ask, hating myself for not training her the last ten days. What the fuck was I thinking? How could I have frozen like this? She’s not ready. She can’t even consistently address me as required, and that’s the easier thing to do.

And she hasn’t learned how to hold her orgasms. I had to interfere with her masturbation. And I can only do that so much before I get called out on it.

Blakely lifts her chin. ‘Yes, Sir.’

My cock hardens. Her defiant confidence, even when she’s scared, which there’s no doubt she is, turns me on. But the defiance is also the thing that will get her a one-way ticket to the club’s secret residence.

The board gave me more privacy than normal. I expected them to have me on the open stage, but instead, they chose other Doms. I shouldn’t be surprised. Whenever you think you know what will happen on nights like these, the board throws a curve ball at you.

They assigned me to room seven. It’s another stage, although Blakely won’t know unless I tell her. It has a mirrored glass wall, with room for at least a hundred to observe. The seating outside the room has raised levels, so anyone viewing has a clear view. The room is also completely soundproof, but the microphone will pick up everything.

My mind’s been reeling since I learned I was in room seven. The club has a strict no-electronics policy. There’s no photos, video, or audio documentation allowed.

The only exception is room seven.

Every breath my pet takes will be mine forever. Within minutes of our session ending, the club will put our recording in a secure portal.

I couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. Blakely will think we’re alone. It’ll help calm her nerves unless I find it useful to reveal it to her in our session. Tomorrow, I can chop up pieces of our session and use them to further irritate Hugh.

It’s perfect. And I’ve never felt so hard with anticipation. There’s no one I’ve wanted to break more than my pet. Staying away from her all these days only made my ache deepen, and nothing will be sweeter than tonight. My determination to have her fully submit and make sure she leaves with me only grows.

I reiterate, ‘I need your full submission from here on out, pet. Every rule must be followed. There’s no room for deviation. Understand?’

The anxiety increases in her blues. Her pouty red lips part to speak, but she shuts them and swallows hard. Then she states, ‘I’m trying, Sir.’

I place my hand on her cheek, tracing her lips with my thumb, happy she added her Sir. Maybe we are getting somewhere. I reply, ‘Don’t try. Fully trust me.’

‘I do,’ she claims. Then adds, ‘Sir.’ She glances at my lips, then locks her gaze on my eyes. Then she glances at my mouth again.

My chest tightens. She’s a temptress, even if she doesn’t know it. Her constant desire to kiss me never wavers. I don’t normally care to kiss any of my subs. But Blakley… I take a few deep breaths, trying to strengthen my resolve to avoid her mouth.

She gives me another silent, desperate plea and moves her face closer to mine, but I step back. I wind the leash around my fist a few times and order, ‘Time for your punishment, pet. Do not look at anyone as we move through the club.’

Anxiety flares across her expression, mixing with defiance. I pin my most challenging gaze on her. She internally fights her desire to defy me. It’s so obvious, my cock twitches.

‘What’s it going to be, pet? Rule fourteen or submission?’ I taunt.

She takes a deep breath and asserts, ‘I’m going home with you, Sir.’

Her answer couldn’t be more perfect. I praise, ‘Good girl.’ I slide my hand around her waist, tighten the leash in my other, and command, ‘Lower your head.’

She obeys, strolling next to me, but her defiance is still there. It burns through her veins. I’m sure of it. I’ve known her forever, and maybe it’s what is making this more impactful for me.

I steer her through the club, knowing all eyes are on us. They usually are, as the board often puts me in positions to teach the other Doms. But tonight is different. Blakely is different. She stands out as more innocent than the other subs. And I can tell from the other Doms’ expressions, they all know I haven’t broken her yet. They’re practically drooling to watch it happen, and the crowd following us to see what room I’m in grows larger.

I open the door to room seven, guide my pet inside, and shut the door. There’s soft music playing, intentionally designed to help ease the transition into playtime.

Pride sweeps through me as I observe Blakely. She keeps her head bowed and hands folded. The only physical sign of her nerves is her thumb slightly tapping her hand. ‘You may look up and see your surroundings.’

She slowly lifts her head, her eyes growing wider as she takes it all in.

I move my palm over her ass cheek, stroking it over the silk, trying to steady my heart from racing too fast. I’ve never been inside room seven, only observed others. Every Dom I know wants the assignment, yet few ever get it. And it’s only used on nights like these.

It’s like the board knew I needed this room for more reasons than one.

I study my pet as she takes in every inch of the medieval space. Even the mirror fits the decor. Worn, golden-brown hues start at the corners and eventually fade away. Cobblestone brick lines the floor and runs up a chimney. A real wood fireplace crackles, with logs stacked next to it. A wooden cage sits in the corner. Metal spikes are on the floor, ceiling, and bars, so the person inside can’t move without getting poked. Heavy metal chains hang from the ceiling with thick cuffs attached to the ends. Tools hang on both sides of the fireplace, most of which I would never use on my pet. They’re meant to draw blood, and I’m not into that type of sadism. Yet I’m not telling her that.

The heat from the fireplace contrasts with the cold room. Goose bumps pop out on Blakely’s skin, but I assume it’s more from nerves, especially since she’s staring at the sharp blades.

I assess the space again, take off my shirt, then sit on an oversized chair. I demand, ‘Pet, turn and take off your dress. And don’t forget the rules.’

She swallows hard, faces me, and says, ‘Yes, Sir.’ She slowly removes her dress and holds it in her hand.

‘Toss it on the ground.’

She drops it and waits.

I curl my finger in the air. ‘Crawl.’

Her head jerks backward. She utters, ‘Crawl?’

I scowl at her.

She takes a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Sir.’ She glances at the ceiling, then drops on all fours. She moves a foot on the cobblestone.

‘Ass in the air, face closer to the ground,’ I demand.

She glares at me.

I add, ‘I expect to hear your gratitude.’

She lets out a pissed-off breath and utters, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ She lowers her face and raises her ass.

‘Louder and like you mean it.’

She shuts her eyes for a minute, then repeats, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ She slinks over to me, her leash scraping on the cobblestones.

‘Kneel,’ I order.

She assumes the position and waits.

I caress her cheek and move my face in front of hers. I lift her chin up and ask, ‘Who do you hate most in this world?’

Surprise fills her expression. She freezes.

‘I asked you a question. I want an honest answer,’ I assert.

Her voice turns flat. She admits, ‘My father.’

I arch my eyebrows.

She clears her throat. ‘Sir. My father, Sir.’

‘Why do you hate your father?’

Her face hardens. She blinks hard.

I wrap the leash around her chin, so there’s no slack, and gently tug.

Flames from the fire dance in her blues. She gasps, and I demand, ‘Tell me.’

The sad truth comes out. She confesses, ‘He’s never loved me. I’m just someone he wants for show-and-tell.’

‘What else don’t you like about your father?’

Her lip trembles. She whispers, ‘Why are you asking me this?’

‘The next time you ask me a question without seeking permission first, you’ll be in the cage. Understand?’ I warn.

Her eyes dart to the cage, then back to me.

‘Well? Understand?’ I push.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Last time I’m asking. What else don’t you like about your father?’

She clenches her jaw, and I give her a moment. She reveals, ‘He’s selfish, a liar, and cruel.’

‘How is he cruel?’

She blinks, and a tear slides down her cheek.

I soften my voice. ‘Tell me, pet.’

Her voice cracks. ‘He’ll do anything to have full control over me.’

I wait.

She adds, ‘Sir.’

I lean closer to her lips, and my mouth waters. She glances at it, and I assert, ‘You don’t like giving up control, do you, pet?’

She clenches her jaw, then admits, ‘No, Sir.’

My adrenaline kicks in. I tug her head back farther, taunting, ‘But you agreed to let me have it.’

She fires daggers at me with her glare.

I trace her collar, demanding, ‘Tell me why you agreed to let me have it.’

She whispers, ‘You know why.’

‘Sir,’ I remind her, then pinch her nipple.

She gasps, shuddering, her blue orbs widening.

I lean into her ear and pinch her again but don’t release the pressure on her nipple. I murmur, ‘Is it all for your pussy? Or is there another reason?’

Her body trembles. Defiance grows on her expression, lighting up every deviant desire I have within me.

I demand, ‘I want an answer, pet.’

She stays quiet, continuing to focus her glare on me.

I rise, sliding my hands under her armpits and moving her to her feet.

‘What—’

‘I will not tolerate your defiance.’

‘Riggs—’

‘Who?’ I bark.

‘Sir!’ she grits through her teeth.

I move her across the room until she’s standing on a metal square, facing the mirror. There’s one metal bar at shoulder height, longer than her arms stretch. I order, ‘Stretch out your arms.’

She obeys.

I attach a brown cowhide strap around her biceps. Then I add the same ones to her wrists. I walk around and cross my arms, studying her.

A deep flush fills her cheeks, almost matching the color of her lip stain. Questions swirl in her blues, mixing with fear, a desire to resist my authority, and something I saw the day we were in the shower and I lost control. And her leash hangs between her breasts, twinkling from the glow of the fire.

I’ve never witnessed anything so majestic.

I remind myself there can be no mistakes tonight. She’s naive to everything in my world. It’s another part of her reality that’s testing me, causing me to debate what route to take for her punishment.

There’s a masochistic part of Blakely, something I’ve barely tapped into and want to explore. Her pain, while different from Aria’s, runs just as deep. Yet my gut tells me Blakely’s masochism doesn’t exceed or even meet Aria’s.

My pet needs mental pain, maybe more than physical. I’ve witnessed the clues. I know it well, more than most Doms could ever begin to understand. And I trust in my ability to deliver it to her.

‘Why did you agree to let me have total control over you? To own you and do whatever I please?’ I push.

The room continues to flicker from the fire, and the longer I debate, the more Blakely’s expression changes. The fear begins to subside, morphing into an insubordinate stare.

I chuckle inside. Her reaction is predictable. My lips twitch, and I warn, ‘Last chance. Why did you hand over all the control of your body and mind?’

Her eyes turn to slits.

I drag my knuckles over her cheek, and she moves her face.

‘Wrong move, pet,’ I state, then lift a hook from the bar and lock her collar to it.

She inhales deeply, jerks her head, but it goes nowhere. A new, beautiful look of terror crosses her face.

‘It’s time for your punishment,’ I inform her, then go to the wall and study the shelf. I choose a gold, hands-free vibrator. It’s egg-shaped with two tentacles. I slip the remote into my pocket and return to Blakely, placing it over her clit and then securing the tentacles against her labia. Once I’m confident it’s secure, I hit the button on the side of the contraption that’s restraining her.

The front of the bar lowers, moving forward until her upper body’s suspended in the air, lower than her ass. I grab a brown cowhide flogger and drag the tails over her spine, then underneath her, teasing her nipples.

Her breath hitches. A slight arch forms in her back.

I slide my hand over her ass, longer than normal, reminding myself to watch her body language. There’s a point of no return, and I don’t ever want to pass it with any sub, but especially not Blakely.

The hairs on her arms rise. I press the remote, and a faint buzz hits my ears.

She clenches her jaw, closing her eyes, taking shallow breaths.

‘Eyes stay open, locked on the mirror,’ I inform her.

She slowly obeys, meeting my gaze with a challenge so fierce I almost come in my pants.

‘Not on me. On you,’ I assert.

She gives me a final glare and refocuses.

I lean over her, kiss her shoulder, then state, ‘You’ll thank me every time the leather hits your body. When I ask you questions, you’ll answer them. You’ll get your reward when I’m confident you’re ready to submit. No coming, or we start all over. It’s up to you when this is over and your pleasure begins, understand?’

Her eyes stay focused. She swallows hard, shifts her lower body, and breathes through her nose.

I debate about increasing the speed on her vibrator but decide to hold off. I demand, ‘Answer me.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ she seethes.

‘Ah, my little pet. So angry. Is it thoughts of your daddy that make you disobey?’ I taunt, running my hand over her inner thigh.

She blinks hard.

‘I expect answers,’ I bark, then step back and administer her first flogging.

She gasps. Her back arches.

I wait, then remind her, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ I smack her again.

She scrunches her face. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

I give her five in a row, watching her in the mirror and listening to her tone change. There’s still defiance in it but less.

I caress over the red marks on her ass, demanding, ‘Tell me who you hate.’

She closes her eyes briefly, then answers, ‘My father, Sir.’

‘And what does he do to you that makes you hate him?’ I ask.

She doesn’t answer, and I add two flogs.

When she doesn’t thank me, I assert, ‘Did you forget something? Or should I go harder?’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ she quickly says.

‘What do you hate about him most?’ I increase the speed of the vibrator.

She whimpers, then grits out, ‘He tries to control me, Sir.’

I drop my pants, pushing my throbbing erection against her thigh. I kiss the bottom of her spine, making my way up until I get to her collar, stating, ‘So we’re here again. Why did you give me the authority to fully control you, pet?’

She blinks hard but can’t stop a few tears from rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.

I smack her ass with my palm, barking out, ‘Eyes on you, not me. Now thank me!’

Her eyes dart back, and she croaks out, ‘Thank you, Sir.’

I pick up the leash and graze it across her breasts, thrusting my finger inside her, murmuring in her ear, ‘I can smell your sweet scent, pet.’ I flick my tongue across her lobe and warn, ‘We can do this all night until your skin’s bruised and juices pool at your feet. It’s your choice.’

She squeezes her eyes shut and more tears fall.

‘Why did you give me control?’ I repeat, curling my finger inside her.

She moans, and tremors race through her frame.

‘You don’t have permission to come, pet,’ I remind her.

Sweat pops out, glistening all over her body. Her chest heaves, taking in short bursts of air.

‘Should I get another Dom in here?’ I threaten.

Her eyes meet mine. ‘No! Please!’

‘Why not?’

‘Ri—Sir! Please! No one else!’ she cries out.

‘Why did you give me control, Blakely,’ I shout, inhaling her driftwood and sea salt scent mixed with her arousal, feeling a craziness begin to unravel my discipline.

Tears fall everywhere. She confesses, blurting out, ‘Because I’ve always wanted you to love me!’

I freeze, not sure what I thought she’d admit but not expecting her to say that.

She shuts her eyes, sobbing, her body convulsing, maybe from an orgasm or perhaps just from her anguish of what she admitted.

And for the first time in a session, I’m too shocked to know what to do next.