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She opened her eyes. "A little, under the left eye. Like candlelight."
He tightened it, and she was back in total darkness again, shaking like a leaf. They were going to take her to the auction, take her out of the house. That worry of being paraded down her stoop was back, trying to pull her out of her fantasy, and she resented it. It was dispelled like magic when a cloak was settled over her shoulders, smoothed by a pair of smaller hands. She recognized Shale's jasmine lotion, remembered her touch from the club, dancing with her arms around Madison, teasing the men.
Troy put his hand on Madison's lower back, clasping the tether now under the cloak and curved around her hip. In that manner, she was guided out the door, halted briefly as it was locked and secured; then they took her to the car.
It was an SUV, because Troy helped her up the step into the backseat. He sat next to her as Shale went up front to drive. Once the doors were closed and the engine started, Troy unfastened the cape down the front, slid it off her shoulders. She assumed the windows were tinted dark. Knowing she was a slave going to auction, stripped down to mostly full nudity and being transported that way amid an oblivious public, made her inexplicably hotter and more anxious.
"Lift your hips so I can fold it beneath you."
She obeyed, and she was sitting naked next to him, in nothing but collar, tether and thong. And plug, but she supposed in its current position it couldn't count as outerwear. She was grateful for the cushion of the cloak, because those stripes still hurt.
"Open your legs."
He didn't have Logan's commanding delivery, but she didn't sense that was his intent. He was a servant of the auction, here to provide further instruction, an extension of the note. When she complied, his hands went to her thighs. He guided another strap around each, cinched and buckled them, testing the hold with a functional slide of his fingers beneath, though the proximity of his fingers to her wet cunt, the bullet forced more firmly against her from the spread-legged position, kept her breathing erratic. He attached similar straps to her wrists and guided them to her sides. A sound of metal snapping, and her wrists were clipped to the thigh straps.
She had so many things going on in her stomach and chest now. Anticipation, anxiety, restlessness. Arousal. Her nipples were beaded tight. As she shifted her thighs, she knew her folded cloak was absorbing the moisture that kept gathering on her labia, evidence of her readiness for her Master. How far would they drive?
She'd nursed this fantasy for a long time, so it was easy to revisit it, twine past imaginings with present ones in the swirling darkness created by the blindfold. The fantasy had started to build itself in her mind as soon as she'd begun the preparations, and now it continued in that vein, taking on a life of its own.
She knew some of her potential bidders, the way she knew the soldier. They'd all come to the parties the Training Mistress had planned to show off her offerings. The slaves were the servers on those nights, the estate where they trained full of powerful men and women. Glittering chandeliers, lots of dark, polished woods and marble floors, cold and hard where they'd kneel in proscribed positions until they were called to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
Whenever she dared a glance through her lashes, she would see the soldier's dark brown eyes latched on her. His gaze would flicker, an admonishment as if he could already command her as her Master, and her eyes would dart back toward the floor. She wanted to slide across the hard stone and kneel at his feet then and there. But her fate was not hers to decide.
One night, though, he'd answered her wish. While kneeling, waiting to be called to serve again, she'd seen his polished shoe by her knee. He and another Master spoke over her head, talking of general things. His time in Afghanistan, what he thought of the oil situation. He was smart, her Master, speaking of what he knew without elaboration or boast, while being careful of subjects that related to his service, not meant to be revealed casually. When he shifted, the toe of his shoe was nearly beneath her knee. If she leaned forward even from a breath, she might press against it. Before she could do that, he did something different.
Her hands were flat on the floor, spaced six inches out from her knee. When he placed his shoe over her fingers, her instinct was to draw back before he accidentally stepped on her, broke bones. She was supposed to protect the assets of the Training House, and she was one of them. Broken fingers would earn her punishment for her carelessness. But she found herself quelling the instinct, holding still, and then she was caught up in a wondrous bliss.
He didn't put his weight on them. He had his shoe over her fingers, as light and gentle as if he'd covered them with his hand, which said he knew what he was doing, that he was touching her in an incidental way not prohibited during this phase of the evaluation process. It was a test, and she hoped she'd passed it. He put more pressure on it, enough to flatten her fingers, hold them more firmly to the ground, still not causing pain, though, and she forgot to breathe. She wanted to put her forehead to the ground, kneel fully to him, and maybe dare to turn her head, touch her mouth to his shoe. But she didn't.
Madison surfaced slowly from the image, though her current state and surroundings helped her stay caught up in its spell. Tonight was all about her fate. This was the turning point. Like the rituals prevalent in so many secret societies, where a new initiate stepped from the outer circle into the inner one, only the circle she was stepping into was essentially a circle of two. What she was leaving outside was all the others, all the wrong fit, the life she'd had.
She shivered, caught between the fears that overlapped between fantasy and reality. Troy's hand closed briefly over hers on the seat, strong and warm. He would try to comfort her, even if it wasn't allowed. But it would be noticed.
"We'll be arriving at the auction house shortly." Shale spoke sharply, and he withdrew. Her tone was capable of making a man's testicles shrink back into his body. "Remember your training."
She wasn't sure to whom Shale was speaking, until she continued. "You don't speak or respond unless ordered to do so. You submit to anything required, whether pain or pleasure. Be a credit to your training. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"When you are purchased, you will be turned over to your new Master or Mistress. From that moment on, you obey him or her only. You are no longer part of the Training House. Your absolute obedience and loyalty belong to your Master or Mistress."
The car came to a rolling stop. This time, Troy left the cape off. He guided her out of the car with a supporting hand on her elbow and a tug on the leash firm enough that it pulled against the collar. She inhaled oil, metal. Maybe a parking area? As they moved forward, her wearing nothing but the thong and her collar, she felt the touch of open air. She had to trust she was in an isolated place, right? Oddly, though, it mattered even less to her now, as if she was being pulled deeper into the spell. This was the auction site, where other slaves dressed just the same would be on display, paraded across the same open area. She was probably being looked at even now.
A few minutes later, she sensed they'd entered a pavilion area, the air changing as curtains were pulled back, and sounds reflecting the echoing note they had when captured in an enclosed space. She stiffened as she heard voices, felt more air movement, as if her immediate surroundings contained people. Something like this would be held someplace private, unexpected, out of the way. Maybe a warehouse. As she was led further inside, though she was blindfolded, that darkness seemed to get even darker. Dim, murky. A place where people could move in shadows. A place of dark secrets and sinful desires. The oil and metal smell outside was replaced by an exotic incense, one that teased her nose, made her feel dizzier. Despite her wrists being pinioned to her sides, she stretched out her fingers and found she was able to grasp a tiny inch of the slacks Troy was wearing, a tight hold on that small piece of him.
"Remember Alice?" he murmured, and gave her hip a single, reassuring caress.
The reminder and touch helped. She didn't want to get him in trouble, so she released him and followed his lead, a little steadier. Brighter, artificial light touched the edges of the blindfold, and she was taken up a set of steps, walked across planks. She was on a makeshift stage. The noise of people grew louder, the air movement denser, as if they were packed more closely around that display area. She was naked, in front of a group of strangers, here to assess her for purchase. Her pulse hammered up hard in her throat. Had she lost her mind? If her hands hadn't been bound, she would have ripped the blindfold away, tried to find that cloak.
She'd come to a stop, balked against Troy's hold. There were too many people around, too many voices. She turned, bumped into Troy, pulled against the bindings. She'd freak out if someone she didn't know did touch her. If that happened, she wouldn't know if anything he'd told her could be trusted. She wasn't ready for this. She'd lost her mind. All she had to do was say Alice. Right?
"I was very clear when I spoke to the Training Mistress. She's too shy for these coarse surroundings. That's why I paid for a private holding room for her."
The soldier's voice. Stern and commanding, a far harsher tone than he'd used in her presence before, but still very much him. As she lunged in his direction,
the collar brought her up short, the tether suddenly wrapped up against Troy's fist, resting on her collar bone.
"Well, she seems to have made her choice." Shale's voice was amused, but cool. "We were taking her to the back for your private viewing, sir. The backroom access is through the stage."
