The Red(19)

He seemed to have enough ideas of his own.

It was near midnight when she returned to the gallery. She was eager to see Malcolm again, and even more eager to see what artwork she'd earn from his collection. At least she told herself all she cared about was earning the art, earning money for The Red. That she enjoyed earning the money was beside the point. And yet, her step was quick and she'd spent half the day checking the clock.

It was time.

She went to the red door that led to the back room, took a steadying breath, and pushed it open. At once she was seized by rough male hands and dragged into the room. The door slammed behind her and she was pushed against it, her back to it. She tried to scream but a hand covered her mouth.

"Quiet, girl."

The words came from Malcolm, though he did not look as he did when she'd last seen him. He'd grown a short beard and mustache, which made him look older, even slightly sinister. He held a rope in one hand. So it was to be role play? Very well. She'd given him carte blanche. Anything meant anything. She shouldn't be shocked or afraid. But she was afraid. She was.

They weren't alone.

With Malcolm's hand over her mouth she glanced around the room wildly in her panic. Four men in suits stood waiting by a wooden box in the center of the room. All four men wore masquerade masks-one black, one gray, one red, one gold. They were cyphers in their masks, anonymous. Only Malcolm was unmasked.

"Is there a problem with the girl?" one of the men called out, the one in the red mask. His tone was imperious.

"Not at all," Malcolm said. "I've got her."

"Let's see her then," the man in the black mask said. He sounded bored, impatient. "We haven't got all night."




 

 

Who were these men? She couldn't ask because Malcolm had ordered her into silence and his hand still covered her mouth.

"Coming," Malcolm said. "You won't be disappointed."

He spun her without warning, turning her back to him. He put his mouth at her ear and whispered, "Do not fight me, girl. Put on a good show. I want a high price for you."

A good show …  He'd told her last time she existed to entertain him. So be it. She nodded and said nothing, though her heart still raced with terror. Would he let all these men fuck her? No. She knew he wouldn't.

Or did she?

He took her by the arms and pulled her away from the door. He walked behind her, steering her to the center of the room where the four masked men waited. She tried to study their faces but only one lamp was lit, and they were all in shadows. Only the colors of their masks could be clearly seen. She looked at the floor instead.

"On the box," Malcolm ordered and she stepped up onto the low wooden platform. Malcolm bent and pulled her shoes from her feet, tossing them into the shadows. He stood and mounted the platform behind her.

"Let's have a look," the man in the gold mask said and the other masked men nodded their heads in agreement.

Behind her, Malcolm dragged the straps of her purple summer dress down her arms. She wore no bra and she had to force herself not to fight him as he pushed her dress down and let it pool at her feet. In an instant he had a small sharp knife out and he used the blade to cut her panties off her hips and those he tossed into the shadows with her shoes.

She was naked, completely naked, and standing in front of four strange men. Malcolm produced a rope from his jacket pocket and used it to tie her hands in front of her. Then he reached high and she looked up. He'd hung a metal hook from a ceiling beam. With a swift and easy motion that showed he'd done this sort of thing a thousand times before, Malcolm hoisted her hands over her head and secured the ropes on her wrists to the hook.

There was no escape.

Mona wiggled her hands and the men chuckled at the sight of her struggles.

"Here we are, gentlemen," Malcolm said. "Tonight's best lot. Take your time. Bid high. She's worth it."

"I'll be the judge of that," the man in the red mask said as he stepped up onto the wooden platform. Malcolm stood behind her, holding her hair in his hand. Mona panted in fear and anticipation. The red-masked man placed his hand on her quivering stomach and stroked her side and hips.

"Very smooth skin," he said.

"The smoothest you'll find on the market," Malcolm said.

The red-masked man took a hard handful of her thigh and gripped it, slapped it. The men watching laughed again. 

"The breasts are particularly fine," Malcolm said. "As you see."

"I see," the red-masked man said.

"I don't," said another man.

"Then come see for yourself," Malcolm ordered.

The man in the red mask stepped off the platform and the man in the gold mask stepped on. Without hesitation he groped her right breast with a large strong hand. Mona cried out more in shock than pain. With her hands tied so high, her breasts were exposed and she couldn't cover them in any way. It was stunning to be touched so intimately by a stranger. He lifted the breast as if to weigh it in his palm, then he pulled the nipple, twisting it a little, teasing and testing it.