Undulate: Chapter 17

‘Lot number four,’ the auctioneer announces.

Ben, my handler for the night, leads me to the front of the stage. I’ve played around with him a few times before. He’s a blonde former rugby player who’s built like a brick shithouse and really knows how to give it to a girl. By day, he’s a sweetie, but by night he rocks a thuggish demeanour the members go crazy for. I’m already so lightheaded with arousal and anticipation, and so disoriented by the blindfold that I could collapse, so I’m glad he has a firm handle on me.

Music is playing slowly, seductively. The air is heavy with the scent of Baies candles, and I can sense the anticipation in the crowd’s murmurs. They’ve been building over the past three lots. Rafe has already wangled his winning bid for Belle and taken her off, probably caveman-style over his shoulder, judging by the audience’s whoops and claps.

‘Lot number four is an absolute stunner, as you can see,’ the auctioneer says. ‘She prefers men, the more the merrier, and she’s very adventurous. You can really have some fun with this one.’

Ben stands behind me and tugs me back against him as he reaches around and pinches both my nipples for the audience. He toys with them, rubs them, and I moan, as much at the pleasure of his touch as at the knowledge that everyone is watching us.

That Zach is watching us.

Fuck, I hope this little tableau is lighting a fire under his arse.

Ben’s hardness presses between the cheeks of my bottom, making me hungry for the next stage of the evening. Then he’s sliding one hand down over my stomach, between my bound hands, and pushing under my thong to where I’m fucking soaking. He parts my folds with confident fingers, and my head drops back to rest on his shoulder in pleasure.

‘Let’s start the bidding at ten thousand,’ the auctioneer says as Ben removes his fingers and I whimper before he jams them in my mouth for me to suck clean.

Ten grand. Shit, that’s a lot of money. But then he’s saying twenty, and thirty, and do I have forty thousand, and fifty thousand pounds, thank you sir, and the amount spirals up and up. And as it does, Ben whispers leg up, darlin’, and I raise one knee and drape it over his arm while his other arm holds me upright around the waist.

Then he’s tugging my thong to one side and showing the audience my wares as if I’m a prize cow, nothing but livestock to be inspected and assessed and valued on the allure of my flesh, and the wave of arousal that floods me is headier, more potent than I’ve ever known.

As Ben holds me like that, his fingers drag through the folds of my pussy, rendering me incapable of following what now sounds like a frenzied bidding war. I’m drowning in the adrenalin rush of the casual, entitled way he’s manhandling me and the knowledge that, right in front of me, several men are outbidding each other in a testosterone-fuelled show of wealth and desire and the need for ownership.

The need to take Ben’s place.

To be the one to touch me like this.

To be the one I submit to.

To be the one to own me and break me. For tonight, anyway.

And then the mallet’s crashing down and Ben lowers my leg as the auctioneer cries, ‘Sold to bidder number thirteen for seventy-five thousand pounds.’

My legs are seriously shaky as Ben helps me down off the stage. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for weeks now, and if bloody Zach hadn’t pulled all the stunts he’s pulled this past week and told me he intended to bid for me then my anticipation right now would be pure. Untarnished.

But it’s not.

It’s laced with the darker, more dangerous element of hope that it’s he who’s won me.

I don’t know why. The whole point of a scenario like this is the anonymity. It’s hotter, surely, if a random, faceless guy wins me and does what he wants with me. But by God do I know how much pent-up energy that man is holding onto, and there’s nothing I want more than for him to absorb himself in this taboo fantasy and unleash himself upon me like a fucking animal.

Wounded, heartbroken Zach slays me, but I know feral, unleashed Zach will be able to plumb depths of me I can’t even imagine.

Whether it’s Zach or someone else who just dropped seventy-five grand for me, my owner for the night means business.

Ben grips me by the upper arm and frog-marches me away from the stage. We push through bodies, brush against skin, and my nerves build. I feel deliciously vulnerable, intimidated, in my blindfold and unstable heels and scanty underwear. My senses are heightened, my nerve endings singing.

We stop.

‘She’s all yours, sir,’ Ben says, releasing my arm.

‘Stick around, will you?’ a voice asks him. It’s Zach.

It’s, like, definitely Zach.

I think.

‘Safeword?’ the same voice asks.

I smile. ‘Spreadsheet.’ I’d give anything to see Mr Stern Nerdy Sex God’s face if my identification efforts are on point. Unfortunately, my chances of getting to use his favourite word are nil. There’s no way anything this guy has planned for me could take me beyond my comfort zone.

He clears his throat. ‘Spreadsheet. Very well.’

I stand and await further instructions. He skims warm palms over my shoulders. They skate lightly, far too lightly, over my bare breasts. My aching nipples. They explore the indents of my waist and the curves of my hip. His fingers brush mine as they dip behind my bound hands and between my legs and run over the lace of my thong, leaving a trail of desire in their wake before one hand snakes around to my bottom, slapping it not painfully but soundly and following up with a caress.

I’m reminded that Zach spanked me last week in here. Only once, but it was one of the first things he did to me.

Anticipation zings through my entire body in the most incredible way.

What will he do with me tonight?

To me?

He’s untying my hands. Off comes the coarse cotton binding they used on me, and he rubs my wrists briskly but not unkindly between his thumbs and fingers. ‘Get on your knees,’ he says in my ear, and said knees nearly buckle at the thinly held control in his tone as much as at the command itself.

Someone—probably Ben—holds my elbow to steady me as I sink to the floor. Ouch. It’s hard. I lift my hands to gauge the distance between me and my new owner, my palms brushing up his thighs before grazing his unmistakable erection through his trousers.

But before I can attempt unzipping him, he’s clanking his belt buckle open and dragging down the zip and shoving his trousers down before his hand finds my neck beneath my hair and grips it, hard, his thumb dragging over my jaw.

And then, miracle of miracles, I’m hit with that male, musky scent I love, and he sweeps the tip of his dick over my lips.

Oh, Jesus.

His crown is wide and blunt and smooth, and it paints my mouth with its moisture. I instantly begin to salivate. My hands dart up, one cupping what feel like painfully tight balls while the other wraps around the base of his shaft. Over the music, I hear him moan. The hand on my neck grips tighter, tangling my hair in its fingers as he pulls me in towards him.

I know this is Zach’s beautiful dick. I just know it. His shaft is thick, rigid, and satiny under my fingers. My tongue swirls over the exposed, flared crown, circling it before I move my attention to its sensitive underside and lave him there.

God, I love doing this. I adore the sheer filth of being on my knees while a lust-crazed guy shoves his painfully hard cock down my throat and fucks my mouth. I get off on being a vessel for his needs. On the knowledge that my warm, wet mouth and agile tongue and fingers are driving him to the brink of insanity. That his entire consciousness is focused on me and my movements and how I’ll work him with my mouth next.

I’m still far too wound up after my on-stage antics. I press my body against his legs, grinding my nipples against my forearms as I suck. My clit’s throbbing. I adjust my stance, closing the gap between my knees so I can squeeze my thighs together to relieve the ache.

He’s close, too. Both his hands are on my jaw now, gripping tightly, controlling the pace as he drives in and out of my mouth, over and over again. I’m an old hand at this, but as his thrusts grow deeper, more brutal, more desperate, my eyes stream and my entire focus diverts to tamping down my gag reflex, to withstanding the instinct to pull away and instead to lean in. To take all of him.

Because this is a seventy-five-grand blowjob.

The reminder that he’s paid for this service, he’s paid for me, has my whore kink taking over and me clenching everywhere, because that’s what it feels like.

A client putting his whore through the wringer.

Milking every last drop of value from her.

I double down, taking him in deeper and swallowing around his length as best I can, and by God is he close. His movements are jerky, fevered, and I’d put money on his legs being jelly right now.

He speeds up his thrusts before going rigid, and I hear a strangled fuck, Mads, fuck that makes me want to punch the fucking air because I was right.

It’s Zach.

God, it’s Zach’s dick I’m sucking, and I knew it, and I’ve wanted this for weeks now. I’ve wanted him to let me in, and let me do this for him, and let go, and let rip. Exactly like this.

And then he’s erupting, coming in hot spurts from deep drives down my throat. I take it all, matching my rhythm to his as I massage his balls, swallowing down the evidence of his arousal as my ears ring with the perfection of his low, male noises of surrender. Of pleasure. He doesn’t say my name again.

I don’t think he’s capable of words.

I rest my forehead against the crisp cotton of his shirt before I help him come down, licking him clean. His hands slow in my hair; their movements go from fevered grabs to sensual slides, raking it back off my shoulders in lavish sweeps as the tension leaves his body.

We’re both suspended for a moment, he in sated bliss and I in awe at having finally got my hands—and mouth—on what I knew would be Zach’s perfect dick, before he presumably remembers why we’re here, and I’m being hauled up from behind with hands at my armpits.

I stand, knees stiff and sore from that bloody floor but the rest of me adrenalin-fuelled and aroused and ready for him to take his time with me, now I’ve taken the edge off for him.

‘Well, you’re worth every penny already,’ he says in my ear, but his voice is casually dismissive, distant rather than fond, and it makes my cunt clench. I sense him pull away, sense the loss of his warm breath on my neck, but then he’s cupping and kneading my breasts and tugging at my nipples, pinching them and rolling them so gloriously that I moan.

His mouth is back at my ear, and I’d give anything for him to drag it across my cheek and kiss me. ‘I would have paid six figures just to get my hands on these,’ he says over the din of the music and the ongoing auction and the fevered noises of people getting it on. ‘You should wear that bra every fucking day.’ He rubs my pebbled nipples hard, and I arch into his touch. I’ve only kissed Zach once, and it was far too brief, but I recognise his scent, something clean and herbal, and I know if I turned my head I could rub my cheek against his thick, glorious hair.

‘Good idea, sir,’ I say with a breathiness I’m not faking.

‘I heard you’re a bad girl,’ he says. His hands leave my breasts and slide down my sides before gripping my bottom tightly and tugging me flush against him. His cock is still out, still semi-hard, and it jolts against my stomach. ‘You like having a lot of men touching you at once.’

I stiffen. It’s never occurred to me, not once, that Zach would be willing to share, and especially not after paying through the nose to get me. Is he baiting me? Teasing me? I have no idea.

‘It’s true,’ I tell him. I turn my head a fraction and breathe him in.

He grips tighter. ‘I’m going to find out if you’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying.’ My heart rate is ratcheting up, my breasts pressing against him as my breath grows ragged. My nipples chafe deliciously against his shirt.

‘I’m going to put you on the cross and see how hard we can work you. What do you say to that?’

I swallow, desire lying thick in my throat. ‘God, yes please, sir.’

Now it’s his turn to stiffen against me. ‘Jesus fuck.’ He squeezes my bottom. ‘Do you like being spanked, too?’

‘I love it,’ I tell him. Our faces are cheek to cheek, our bodies grinding together. His dick is pressed upwards between us. Given our height difference, it’s just too high for me to grind my pelvic bone against him and find the friction I need.

‘Good,’ he growls. ‘Not that it matters, because I’ll do it anyway. That’s for later, when it’s just us. After we’ve worked you on that cross I’m going to take you downstairs so I can spank you, and watch that delectable arse turn pink, and then fuck you. Understand?’

Oh my God. It’s everything—he’s everything I’ve been hoping he’d be. Everything I need him to be. I’ve pushed my sexy, beautiful, nerdy sort-of boss too far, and he’s finally broken.

He’s going to shatter both of us tonight.

‘Yes, sir,’ I almost sob.

Maybe he’s thinking the exact same thing—that he’s finally broken me the way he wanted—because a hand leaves my bottom to grab at my hair and tilt my head back, and his mouth crashes onto mine, his lips full, his tongue demanding immediate entry. I yield, and I take as his fully-clad body presses against my almost-naked one.

As my bare breasts strain against his chest and my hands claw at his sleeves, his shoulders.

As the hand holding my arse cheek drags closer to my thong.

As his tongue swipes, and drives, and plunders.

And I melt like a good little slave girl in his arms.