Indicate the sexual activities you consent to participate in (check all that apply).
Oh. My. God.
I’m actually doing this.
I stare at the questionnaire on my cell phone, thinking there’s no way in hell I can do this!
Then I quickly remind myself… There’s no way in hell I can avoid doing this!
I have the insinuated you owe us money and we’ll break kneecaps to ensure we’re paid evidence burned into my brain to back this up, in the form of a typed note that more blatantly declares: “You have until Christmas Day, 9 pm.”
That’s it. That’s all. No exceptions and no negotiations. No phone number for me to beg and plead for additional time. ‘Cause five days isn’t going to cut it for me. Not when it comes to the amount of cash I’m required to hand over to save said kneecaps. And they’re not just mine…
A part of me wants to scream. A part of me wants to strangle my older sister Ria for… Well. For a lot of things, in addition to this hellacious debt she’s incurred, for which I’ve dutifully assumed responsibility.
And then there’s this teeny, tiny, absurdly naughty part of me that forces me to shift my mental attention from the horror note that is a ticking time bomb, back to the questionnaire that’s staring me in the face.
This is no arbitrary sex questionnaire. This is the crucial final phase of the interview process for the Kinky Kris Kringle Christmas Auction. A highly exclusive, private, invitation-only affair I accidentally stumbled upon while inadvertently ripping open a “Personal and Confidential” envelope on my boss’s desk.
I’d been too wrapped up in thoughts of Ria’s tearful confession of getting in over her head with a loan shark—for her boyfriend’s sake, god-fucking-damn it—to concentrate on the mail I was sorting through for Jameson Richards, my incredibly gorgeous, billionaire boss.
Honestly, it was the first time in the four years I’d worked for The Richards Corp. that anything other than him had distracted me. In this particular instance, the derailment had come from Ria’s confession and my subsequent, admittedly idiotic assertion that I’d take care of everything for her, just as Mom always did for her sister. Even after my aunt’s car “mysteriously” blew up in the deserted parking lot of her diner job.
Jesus.
I really wasn’t into history repeating itself. Or for it to be more destructive, given Aunt Lindy had, thankfully, been inside the restaurant during the explosion and no one else had been in the near vicinity, since it was after-hours, and she was one of the last two employees to lock up and leave.
As soon as Ria had told me she was in trouble, I’d thought of how rocked to the core Aunt Lindy—and my mom—had been that night. And for sometime thereafter.
I’d been sixteen that year and the terror had stuck with me as well. Thus, I’d immediately taken matters into my own hands with Ria, hoping like hell to nip this all in the bud. I had the better-paying job, after all. With a retirement plan and medical insurance and… Whatever.
None of that matters, because my savings account is only padded so much. And Ria’s ex owes infinitely more. Meaning “the bud” has fully bloomed. And I’m fully fucked.
Especially considering the ex has been exonerated by way of Ria taking over the financial burden. Which now falls on the shoulders of yours truly, because I’ve stepped in.
I recognize the sucker I am.
But currently… There’s a bit more to this story.
I tap the pad of my index finger against my chin as I peruse the list of what I will and what I won’t do for cold, hard cash.
The incentive here is two-fold. The first being that the less inhibited I am (or, at least appear to be), the higher the reserve will be set on me and the more money I’ll earn. The more open I am to anything and everything which someone purchasing me for the evening might be into, the greater my chances are that the bid will stretch into the hefty six-figure range.
For one night.
I can clear Ria and myself with this one depraved evening. I might even have a few bucks left over to spend at a day spa, thoroughly cleansing my body, mind and spirit.
The contradictory portion of this endeavor is that I just might get an erotic thrill out of dirtying up my body, mind and spirit.
From what I’ve gleaned from a deep dive on the Internet—which, considering the risqué content, I’m guessing led me to a shadowy corner of the dark web—this particular holiday auction is only for the top one percent. The filthy rich who like decadent indulgences the Average Joe can’t afford.
This is not the same as a tawdry sex club or a sticky-surfaced strip joint, or even on-par with hiring a call girl. This is a very formal, extravagant venue, entailing a tedious selection process on the front end—via the extensive physical exams and assessments I’ve been through—as well as on the back end, where my meticulous vetting will lead to *hopefully* a bidding war amongst the wealthy and affluent gentlemen seeking the kind of lascivious fulfillment that is apparently not offered by their high-society girlfriends… Or their wives.
While I don’t condone anyone stepping out on their spouse, I can’t get caught up in that mortal coil. I don’t know for sure that will be the situation with whomever “wins” me, nor can I allow myself to find any sort of ethical issue with what I’m doing—or what they’re doing. Mine and my sister’s lives hang in the balance.
And… Of all the ways to save us, I have to say, this is the classiest.
Okay, that’s downright weird. And wrong on so many levels.
Yet also absolutely true.
So… The index finger that is drumming out a contemplative rhythm on my chin now taps every box on the exhaustive list on the tablet.
Every single fucking box.
I’m leaving nothing off the table here. I must collect every dollar I can. If that means subjecting myself to bondage, spanking, blowjobs and multiple partners (oh, Christ, multiple partners!), so be it.
I hit the Submit button, finding all the irony in that action.
I immediately reach for the glass of champagne that’s been poured for me in my “dressing room.”I’ve been scrubbed and buffed and polished to within an inch of my life, and under the silk robe I’m wearing, my breasts are ridiculously plumped up and spilling over the scalloped edges of my white-lace and sparkly-silver demi bra, with a dainty, deceptively innocent baby blue satin ribbon poised in the valley of the rounded inner swells. A matching thong, white thigh-high stockings and stunning, skyscraping white pumps, bejeweled with Swarovski crystals and mini ostrich feathers, complete the ensemble.I have no idea how many billionaires (or close-to-being billionaires) I’ll be prancing in front of, but given this is the eighth annual auction, I venture to guess it’s a successful enough event to garner global interest.Unfortunately for me, I’ve no real way to prepare myself for the evening ahead. I don’t have a clue as to what sort of kink sheiks, prodigal sons, heirs to empires or angs
I walk toward the sofa, my long legs crisscrossing one over the other. I perch myself on the arm and toe off my six-inch heels. I cross my legs and lean forward, giving a full visual of my overflowing breasts.I spare a glance at my timeclock, watching it quickly countdown, because there’s another round of women who will replace the six of us within minutes.I stand and go straight for the bolder, more daring moves. I toss my long, blown-out chestnut hair over one shoulder, place a knee on the cushion of the far end of the settee and prop an elbow on the rolled arm for support as my other arm reaches around behind me.I smack my bare ass, quite soundly, so that it echoes in this small space and hopefully resonates beyond.The sting certainly radiates throughout my entire body, and I have no doubt I’ve left a red mark on my pale cheek.This is the extreme I have to go to—and I’m more than willing to do so.I slip two fingers beneath the delicate lace of my thong and stroke my cleft. Al
How I arrived at the “auction house” earlier is precisely how I leave. Micah has blindfolded me and escorted me to what must be a service elevator, capable of descending directly to the underground parking garage without making a single stop along the way.He helps me into the back of a spacious vehicle, and we’re whisked away. I have no idea in what part of Manhattan we’re in, what building we’ve just left—or where we’re headed.There is a natural hesitancy running through my veins. All this secrecy and cloak-and-dagger mysteriousness tweaks my nerves. I grasp it’s necessary, though. I’m not supposed to be able to retell this story to anyone else, with any amount of detail. Not that I could do that, anyway, without having my ass sued off. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. What happens with the Kinky Kringles Christmas Auction stays within the institution of the Kinky Kringles Christmas Auction.Perhaps that’s the other reason I’m on pins and needles. Kinky Kringles… What the hell
It’s not his ominous words that jolt me straight to the core.It’s his voice.My gaze snaps up—and connects with his, in the reflection of the glistening windowpanes.My jaw drops. There is no preventing this, uncouth as it is. My eyes widen.He’s standing all the way across the room, but as with every single workday, I can feel his commanding presence, taking up space, filling it, heating it. I can smell the faint tinge of his imported cologne—from the Oman region, no less—mixed with his innate virility. No, the latter shouldn’t have a scent associated with it. With this man, however… It naturally exudes from him.My heart is lodged in my throat so that I can’t pull in a steady stream of air.Nor can I form a coherent sentence. Not that that’s relevant. I can’t speak around the lump clogging my esophagus to say more than one word: “You.”He gives a slight nod of his head, though his sinfully delicious, melted chocolate gaze doesn’t waver.His eyes are so rich and swoon-worthy, it’s a
His gaze holds mine again, unfalteringly. Only this time, his eyes do something I’ve never witnessed before. They smolder.So sensuously, so scorchingly, so…beseechingly.My breath catches in my throat.The tingle along my clit is now an incessant cry for him to touch me, to taste me, to take me places I’ve never gone before.Oh, Jesus, I want nothing more than to close the small gap between us and feel my curves meld to his defined sinew. Tilt my head and let his mouth crash over mine.I’d used the moniker for this evening as a play on the name of the auction. If “kinky” was what drew attention, then I’d follow that lead. Currently, however…I don’t need to present the illusion of an erotically naughty side of me. There’s no illusion at all—a wickedly wild part of me is emerging with every breath I take.I absently deposit my flute on top of the chessboard—somewhat symbolical, I’d say, though I hadn’t planned that. It was just a convenient resting spot. I tug the sash at my waist so
I force myself not to shoot a pleading look Jameson’s way. This is now his game. Like Lisa, Amber and Alex, I’m a mere pawn, completely at his disposal, to do as he wishes as he moves us around his chessboard. Or, more accurately, what I surmise will be an imaginary Twister board.While we’d left my coat on the floor in the anteroom, I’m still wearing the lingerie. I don’t make an attempt to divest myself of anything, just follow the direction given and settle myself on the luxe comforter that feels like heaven beneath me. I concentrate on this, rather than the fact that Lisa reaches for my right arm and lifts it upward and toward a post, where she collects a blue-satin-padded cuff and secures my wrist.Pretty Blonde Amber swoops in on my left and repeats the process. Of course, I’m inclined to pull on the thin chains, to test them.Yeah, they’re the real deal. I’m not freeing myself.Which begs the question: “Shouldn’t I have a safe word?”Jameson’s brow crooks, quizzically. “What do
Lisa maneuvers herself so she’s between my legs. Alex positions himself behind Amber, still kneeling on the bed and toying playfully with my nipple, the tip of her tongue flitting faintly, then fluttering more diligently, so both peaks remain taut and tingly.Alex places his hands on Amber’s ass. Lisa mutters, “Spread her wide.” Then his mouth is on Amber.“Yes…” she whispers. “Oh, God, yes… Eat my pussy. Make me come.”Lisa spreads my lower lips as well. “So pretty and pink. So swollen.” A soft moan escapes her.She holds me open with a forefinger and thumb. Her other index finger gingerly glides along my glistening flesh. She penetrates my opening with that single digit. Then adds a second. She strokes slowly. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, barely stemming a needy whimper.This distracts Amber. She steadies herself on one forearm pressed to the mattress and her other hand skates along the groove of my midsection, down to my apex. The pads of her fingers rub my clit in a circular
I open my eyes once again and Jameson has settled back in his tall chair. He crosses his legs, so casually, so nonchalantly. He sips his scotch.But a dark, seductive look is glowing in his melted brown eyes, and all I can think is… The man is plotting how he’s going to make me come… Even harder.That’s not exactly what happens next, though.He gives me a few more minutes to return to myself. To pull in breaths that aren’t skittering down my esophagus and burning my lungs. To mentally process that I have, indeed, just been the main course in a sexual feeding frenzy.Interestingly, I’m wondering if Jameson was waiting, the entire time he watched, for me to cry uncle and use my safe word. I find it nearly impossible to believe that he’d think I’d fully consent to an orgy, let people I don’t even know touch me, fuck me.Surely, studious and tightly wound me, when at work, has never given off the vibe that I would put myself up for auction and check every box on the list that designates w