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Chelsea nods. “I know.”
“Now the most important part of the contract, Chelsea, is the length. It will be for exactly thirty days, you understand. If you obey all the rules, if you complete your contract, you know what you get, right?”
“Half the money bid on me,” Chelsea says, and I nod.
“It’s kept in an escrow account. Your buyer cannot take it back unless you violate the contract.”
“And if he... I don’t know, fires me?” Chelsea asks, putting it in terms of employment. I get it. A lot of first-time girls do. “What happens?”
“Then the club investigates. If you didn’t violate the contract, you will receive every last cent.”
“And if he violates any term of the contract, the same goes. And if you’d rather end it early, you can do so. The money, however, won’t be delivered.”
“And the men... they like this?” Chelsea asks, and I chuckle, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Honey, even if you’re a bit scared... the thought of what lies just beyond a signed piece of paper turns you on, doesn’t it?” I ask, and she nods. “How do you think they feel? You’re going to have every eye in the room on you tonight. These men will lust for you, yearn for you, and all you have to do is be strong enough, brave enough, to allow yourself to learn what you like, what you want. They will give it to you willingly.”
I step back, and she’s practically breathless, her large eyes dark with desire. “If anything is concerning, I am a phone call away. Always,” I reassure her.
Chelsea nods, biting her lip again, but this time, not in fear but in eagerness.
“Thank you, Madam Lynn.”
I pat her on the shoulder, grateful to offer her this. I’m almost certain I know who will leave with her tonight, and I can only imagine how pleased she will be. Hearts break from time to time, but I don’t want these women to ever regret doing this. I leave her with the parting, “Enjoy the night.”
I do a quick check with the other girls in the backstage area, from the other girl who’s also a first-time auctionee but who’s been an active ‘playtime’ member of Club X for nearly a year, to the girl who’s amassed a staggering fortune from offering herself for auction three to six times a year. We even have a repeatauctionee, a girl who was like me long ago, re-auctioning herself every month, only to be repeatedly ‘bought’ by her Dom... who I suspect has a ring to match her collar in the not too distant future.
GABRIEL
Present
Everything in her home is soft and feminine, and there’s a warmth and luxury in every detail. When I vanished that unfortunate night, I left her enough to never work a day in her life. I left her with security, with enough cash to never want, let alone worry.
And yet, her home is humble in comparison to her means. I went through the background check, her accounting and every detail available. My Kiersten was always sharp. She knew what she wanted and what it would take to get it. She didn’t have to compromise on a one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise.
As I open the drawer to a vintage armoire, it occurs to me that she’s certainly spent a pretty penny on her home, but even more so on the club.
The knowledge that she’s never left the scene makes my throat tighten. My grip is at odds with the dainty glass knob as a possessiveness that I’ve long controlled threatens to take over.
One truth keeps me steady. Kiersten could have fucked a hundred men in the years we’ve been apart and I would still be her first. I would still be the man who held her hand as she explored every boundary she dared whisper in confidence. She would still be mine. Her first in every way.
As if an answer to the insecurity and uncertainty that riddles the back of my mind, a picture stares back at me as I open up the second drawer.
A black and white of us. I remember the day I held her back to my front, my hand laid over hers on the railing on the rooftop in New York City. I gifted her a night of five-star dining and luxury she’d never imagined. And in return, that night, she told me she loved me.
My fingertips barely graze the photo.
As the door shuts, the nostalgia vanishes as well.
How do I go back to her?That thought has kept me up countless nights.
She was perfect for me and I for her. If only that night years ago had ended differently.
17 years ago, May
I never imaginedlife could be this fucking good. The cap of the whiskey bottle twists off too easily, and the auburn liquid pours into the crystal tumbler with a familiar sound.
My little whore’s whimpers still linger in the penthouse. As I swirl the glass, staring down at the liquor, I remember what the men agreed on tonight. The million-dollar deals made over cards and reckless bets.
