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"Great," I reply.
Maureen leaves, and the woman asks, "Is there anything you're not willing to do?"
My stomach flips.What exactly am I getting myself involved in now?
Anything is better than what my father might have in mind.
"Can you expand on your question?" I inquire.
She eyes me over. "Are you unclear on the charity auction specifics?"
I lift my chin. "Yes. Could you review them with me, please?"
She assesses me again, then answers, "Whatever Dom bids the highest, wins. He'll supply your secret living arrangements for a month. Assuming you agree to their contract."
Secret living arrangements?
A month?
Contract?
And what does she mean by win?
Her voice drops. "Honey, you look like you have more questions than before I spoke."
I clear my throat. "Sorry. I'm... I'm new to this."
She smiles and nods. "Yes, they all are. That's the point. You don't bring any bad habits the Doms have to correct for their tastes."
Dom? What is a Dom?
She steps closer. "Have you chosen your charity?"
"My charity?" I utter.
"Yes. The Dom writes a check for the amount he bids to whatever charity you direct."
A bleached-blonde woman cuts in, "It's how this isn't prostitution. It's for a good cause."
Prostitution?
Oh God. The man who bids on me will want to sleep with me.
"You get to negotiate though. So contracts are only signed after all parties agree to the terms. If you can't agree, then you're still free to go after the auction is over," the blonde adds.
"Number one, you're up," a man calls out.
A brunette wearing a white, barely there lace teddy and silver collar steps through the curtain. The room erupts in cheers, and an auctioneer states over a microphone, "Linda's ready to allow her Dom to get dirty. She's open to all activities, including multiple partners of either sex, public humiliation, and being recorded."
The bidding starts, and the woman with the clipboard nudges me and orders, "Put your shoes on."
I glance at my stilettos and realize I'm still gripping them for dear life. I relax my fingers and step into them.
"Wait until you see the shoes these Doms buy their subs," she states.
I continue processing all the information. My inner voice tells me to leave, but then it screams that anything a Dom wants to do to me isn't as scary as having to go back and live under my father's control.
Plus, I get to negotiate. It buys me time, and I can figure out my next steps after I don't sign whatever contract this bidder puts in front of me.
