Chapter 9

Across the aisle, there’s Finchby, another bad case. He runs girls downtown and they often turn up ‘for work’ with bruises.

But most of the crowd, I don’t know, although they’re a real mixed bag. All shapes, sizes and nationalities. The only thing they have in common is they’re all members of the heavy wallet club.

The bidding for Blossom grinds to a halt and the gavel goes down. Blossom’s buyer stands to claim his…. what? His goods?

There’s a pause of a minute or so while a leash is clipped to her collar and she’s led away, grinning broadly as she looks up at the final price displayed on the board.

‘Virgin’? Yeah….

And then ‘my’ girl walks onto the podium.

The photos did lie….

They don’t do her justice.

She’s tall and willowy and she moves so gracefully as she steps up.

On the podium, she stands, dressed quite conservatively compared to the little tart of a few minutes ago; just a blouse and skirt and of course, the leather collar at her throat. The blouse is a trifle low cut, but nothing that would turn a head in the streets.

She looks astonishing, and I stare, captivated, until with a shock, I release the breath I’d not realised I was holding.

Around me, there is a low murmur, a ripple through the crowd. Quite a few are interested in her, it’s hardly surprising really.

How much will it take to get this girl?

I have no idea, and I turn my attention back to her. Her expression is frozen. She’s scared, really scared, trembling as she stands there.

But you’re not letting it stop you….

“Charlotte, turn around,” instructs the auctioneer. “The clients want to see what they are bidding for.”

She slowly revolves but looks down at the floor.

Are you a sub?

Or just frightened?

“Raise your head,” shouts a voice from somewhere to one side of me. “At these prices, I want to see what I’m getting.”

Bastard….

But she lifts her head, biting her lip. Her breathing is rapid and shallow, and her skin sheened with perspiration. She looks ready to bolt.

The auctioneer takes a side-look at her, then leans in close, whispering something. She nods and straightens up, painting a smile on her face and looking over and across the room. The auctioneer, watching her, gives a satisfied nod and turns to the gathering.

“Now then, Gentlemen,” he begins, “we all know why we are here. Charlotte here is twenty-two years old and has been certified by our medical experts to be a virgin. Of course, the winning bidder will be able to test that for himself.

“As usual, all bids are final, except in the event of Charlotte herself not complying with the terms of the auction. Which is to say that she will willingly serve the winning bidder in any way he requires for a period of one week. The sale of her virginity is included in the terms.

“Recipients of the proceeds of the sale are: House takes 50%....

Fifty percent!?!

“…. Charlotte takes 50%. The winning bid will be lodged in full by the winning bidder with an intermediary attorney immediately after the close of the auction for the period of one week, after which it will be paid to the recipients.

“So, Gentlemen. Who is going to start the bidding?”

The bidding starts high. At the opening figure, her eyes widen, and she looks up at the display as it climbs rapidly in thousand-dollar steps. She’s watching the monitor, her eyes darting between the board and the floor as she tries to follow who’s bidding.

At first, there are a good twenty bidders, but half of them fall away within a minute or so as the price sky-rockets. But I don’t bid myself. I want to see what happens.

Charlotte’s gaze wanders a little, as though she's trying to catch the eye of some of the audience.

Can’t say I blame her. Steer the bidding to someone who looks halfway decent?

From the side, a note is passed to the auctioneer. He holds up his hand. “A pause please, Gentlemen. I am getting the message from several sources that for them to be willing to bid any higher, they want to be able to see more.”

He turns to her, where she stands, pale-faced, lips parted. “Charlotte, it is entirely your choice, but are you willing to undress at this stage, on the podium? It will almost certainly help you to bring a better price.”

She looks appalled. “Undress now? All the way?”

She didn’t count on this…. thought she’d have privacy at least….

“It’s up to you, Charlotte,” says the Auctioneer. “No-one is going to make you. But the better they can see what they are buying, the better your chances.”

She hesitates, then nods, starting to unbutton her blouse, looking as though she is about to burst into tears. She removes it then slips off her skirt, leaving her only in her underwear.

“C’mon,” shouts some moron from close by. “Let’s see the rest.”

My conscience stirs uneasily. I wouldn’t like to guess how many women I’ve undressed or stripped, but they were all happy about my doing it.

But this….

It isn't a cattle auction....

Or is it?

Guilt lies coiled in my gut.

Heat rises over her neck and face as she reaches around to undo her bra, then slips off her panties as well, leaving her naked.

She stands, very straight, her head held high.

And yet, somehow…. she doesn’t seem quite as nervous, or as upset, as she did before.

Is she beginning to enjoy it?

Is she an exhibitionist perhaps? Even if she doesn’t know it yet?

Naked, she stands there, head held high, straight spine and shoulders, chin up.

She is utterly beautiful; so very pale skinned, with her hair flowing over and down to her narrow waist, like a tide of flame.

And a genuine redhead….

But her eyes....

Her eyes....

Somehow now more visible, they are a brilliant, vivid green, their colour clearly visible even here at the back of the hall.

Is it fake? Is she wearing contacts?

Her waist is tight and narrow, flat-bellied and flaring out to wide hips. Her breasts are large, enough to swing a little; she needs a good bra. Her legs are long and well-toned. Everything about her is perfect.

She is utterly stunning.

How can this girl possibly be a virgin?

What price will she fetch?

The bidding resumes.

She stands there, so vulnerable and yet so brave, while the mob drool over her. I watch her face closely, her expression. She looks a little spaced out.

The mind disconnecting from an unpleasant reality?

But she doesn't look distressed. Her breathing is fast and shallow, but she’s not panic-stricken. Is she enjoying this at some level? Relishing testing her own limits?

Or is she a true sub? Revelling in the submission aspect of it all?

And of course, she is going to earn a great deal of money, so long as she keeps her nerve for the seven days of her contract.

And nothing too unpleasant happens to her....

Does she understand how dangerous this is? Even with the so-called safety procedures of the auction house.

How would I feel if that were Georgie up there?

And she's younger than Georgie….

I feel queasy, my gorge rising at the thought of what I am doing.

You're being ridiculous, a middle-aged man with virgin fantasies.

This is wrong….

Michael was right. I shouldn't be doing this.

I rise to leave, but as I stand, I realise who some of those bidding are, that I couldn't see sitting down.

Jeez…. Finchby’s bidding for her…. What the fuck’s he thinking of for her?

I know what he’s thinking of. He’ll rent her out at one of his joints. Under the contract from the Auction House, he’d be able to demand it of her. And if she baulked, her money would be forfeit.

There’s a couple of others too, but the idea of Finchby getting hold of this girl for a week, brutalising her….

I sit again, torn with indecision, then as I see the brothel-keeper raising a finger to the auctioneer, my mind made up, I raise my hand to bid.

-----

The Story Continues In 'Partners'