Sold at the Auction(21)

"Hi, I'm Ellie, can I help you?" I asked brightly. It was awkward given  that Troy's cum was currently dripping out of my ass, warm and wet, and I  prayed there wouldn't be a tell-tale stain on the back of my jeans.  Because what could it possibly be? I'd have to say I sat in something.

But a middle-aged man breezed in, looking like the butler from Ask  Jeeves, British with a pinched air, sniffling down a pointy nose.

"Madame, I work for the Club, welcome," he said with a bow. I almost  giggled, choking the sound back. A bow? The concierge was retro, his  hair was parted straight as a razor and gelled with Brylcreem, but you  know what? It was sweet and throwback, he had to be sixty at least. So I  smiled warmly.

"How can we help you?" I asked, "Is there something wrong?"

And the concierge swept into the box, gesturing to an usher behind him,  staggering beneath what looked like a giant fruit basket, at least four  feet tall.

"No, nothing wrong, we just wanted to speak with Mr. Black about his experience."

By now, Troy was completely dressed and none too happy, looking like a giant bear in the corner, glowering at Jeeves.

"What is it?" he growled. "I was busy watching the game."

I giggled a little. That was so far from the truth, we had no idea what  the score was, what was going on, anything about the match. In fact, if  you looked closely, you could see my handprints on the window, filmy  outlines that indicated our pleasure, how I'd pressed myself against the  glass, moaning as Troy pummeled me from behind. But the concierge  merely swept in, notebook in hand.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get your input for Club management,"  he said breezily, seating himself on the couch. "We're always looking to  improve customer service and your opinion is a top concern."

Troy glowered even more. Being the subject of a survey wasn't his idea  of a good time, but I was insistent, plopping on the couch, ready to  speak.         

     



 

"I can help," I said. "Be happy to."

Jeeves looked at me then.

"And Madame, you are?" he asked courteously, pen ready.

"I'm the girl Mr. Black bought at auction," I said firmly. "He bought me last night."

The pen paused for a moment, but Jeeves didn't bat an eye, his  expression smooth. Secretly, I wondered how much he was paid for his  discretion and professionalism.

"I see, thank you, Madame. Now, how can we make your experience better?" he asked brightly like nothing was wrong.

"Well, are you asking about the basketball game or my auction experience?"

Jeeves paused again, lips pursed thoughtfully.

"I was supposed to get information about your experience at Madison  Square Garden, but I'd be happy to listen to your experience with the  auction, Madame," he said politely. "Of course, I will transmit it to  management."

And I took a deep breath, glancing at Troy. Because I wanted him to hear  what had happened, how I'd been abducted, lured to the compound  thinking I was there for a party and then bound and gagged. That wasn't  the way the Club operated was it? It seemed crazy, like they were  full-on criminals just waiting to be hit by the Department of Justice,  the FBI, whoever prosecuted this kind of thing.

So I pushed forward.

"My friend Rachel and I, we thought we were going to a party," I began  slowly. "We met these guys at our hotel earlier, sitting out by the pool  and they seemed okay. So when they invited us to a private party later  that night, we said yes."

Jeeves nodded.

"Name?" he queried.

"Miles," I said. "I don't know his last name and feel dumb for not  knowing, but his name was Miles and he had two friends. I can't remember  their names now, but they seemed normal, said they were from  Sacramento, here for a buddy's birthday."

Jeeves nodded, not commenting.

"Then what happened, Madame?"

And I took a deep breath.

"We ubered to the compound. As soon as we pulled up to the curb, I knew  something was wrong because there was no club, no lights, no nothing.  But Miles and his buddies were there, and my friend Rachel kind of had a  crush on Miles, so she was out of the car in a flash, going to talk  with him. But that's where it went from bad to worse. Because Miles and  his buddies led us into a dilapidated warehouse and abducted us. I mean,  bound and gagged us, like we were animals, tying us up like cattle."

I heard a low rumble then. Sure enough, Troy, listening to this story  was growling like an angry lion about to pounce. His arms were folded  across his massive chest, brows drawn, expression dark as he listened.

"That fucker Miles," he rasped. "He's gonna pay."

And I nodded.

"Miles straight up kidnapped us and in fact, gave something to Rachel to  drink which knocked her out. Did I mention that already? Is she okay?  She was out like a light, hardly breathing, her eyes rolled up in the  back of her head," I said urgently. "Do you know if she's okay?"

Jeeves shook his head.

"Ma'am, I apologize but I'm not in a position to know," he replied politely. "Please continue with your story."

I paused. Of course, even if Jeeves knew, he wouldn't tell me, not with  one of his employers sitting in the room with us. But I wanted all the  sordid details out so that the Club knew exactly what I'd gone through,  how I'd been treated.

"And then," I said slowly. "They brought me to a room where I watched  another girl being auctioned. She had red hair and a blindfold on. She  was beautiful  …  and she was sold for fifty thousand dollars," I said  quietly.

Jeeves nodded.

"An estimable sum," he rumbled. "What next?"

"Miles grabbed me," I shrugged. "He dressed me into a cloak and I was  put up for auction. And you know what happened then," I turned to Troy  with a slow look. "You were there."

He grunted.

"So Miles told you nothing about what to expect? He didn't have you sign a consent form, take blood test, check your ID?"

I snorted, unbelieving.

"No of course not. He didn't even know my full name, much less run the  background check you're hinting at. Why, was he supposed to?"

Troy took a deep breath.

"All of our girls are prepped beforehand," he said, voice tight, blue  eyes penetrating. "Our operation is legal baby girl. In certain parts of  Nevada, what's happening is totally legal and a lot of girls want in,"  he said slowly. "It's a lot of money and so long as the females pass our  vetting process, then we pass no judgment."         

     



 

I paused for a moment.

"But why didn't I get put through the vetting process?"

The big man shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno honey, but I'm gonna find out. What happened to you is fucking  despicable, that fucker Miles is gonna get his headed pounded in. But,"  he said, his voice lowering once more. "Like I said, the Club doesn't  have to hunt girls. Quite the opposite, the girls come to us. It's the  allure of a lifestyle, of a chunk of change, of an unforgettable week  filled with sensuous play. In fact, a lot of girls ask to be auctioned  again after their initial experience."

I gasped, cheeks coloring.

"Really? There are women who go on for second and third times?"

Troy nodded, blue eyes dark.

"Sure, for a million bucks a pop, who wouldn't want two or three bites of the apple?"

I scrunched my brow, thinking.

"How many times can a girl be auctioned? Are there girls who've been  gone up on the block six, seven, ten times?" I choked. This was starting  to sound really sordid if a girl was shared by multiple men. Even if  she got paid seven figures, still, pulling a train wasn't my idea of  sexy. But then again, different strokes for different folks and Troy  merely shrugged again.

"Honey, there's no limit on the number of times a girl can be sold, so long as the Club determines she's still saleable."

I scrunched my brow. "Saleable? What does that mean?"

The big man let out a huge sigh. "Means that she's gonna get a good  price, she's not giving herself up for a song, that someone's gonna  appreciate the woman, treat her well for a week, take care of her body.  If the goods aren't up to snuff, than the Club will write her a nice  check and put her in a car."

I quivered like a hummingbird, letting it sink in.

"But why wasn't I put through the vetting procedure?" I asked again  plaintively. "What the hell happened with me and Rachel? I thought you  guys would have fail-safes to make sure everything was kosher, going in  accordance with plan."

And Troy's eyebrows beetled again, expression ominous.

"That's it exactly," he rasped. "This was a fucking hole in our  procedures and it needs to be addressed. Martin," he commanded. "Please  make an appointment with the board so that these deficiencies can be  remedied."

And the butler nodded, scribbling away.