The Playboy's Proposition (19 page)
“A fantasy that left you dripping wet. I’m giving you the
chance to make that fantasy a reality. How much better will it be for you when
it’s real?”
“You’re confusing me. You’re not listening. It wasn’t
supposed to be real.”
Michael sighed, his growing frustration apparent. “I’m not
confusing you. I’m making perfectly logical sense and you’re refusing to accept
it. I feel like I’m back at the porn shop, or the restaurant with you foolishly
refusing to let Hoyte touch your tits. You have no argument to make that has any
sense to it. You’re holding on to old, rigid sexual values, and you won’t let
go.”
He leaned toward me, “You won’t allow me to help you let go.
Those old values don’t apply to us. There’s nothing wrong with wanting new
things, with being excited by it. We don’t need their rules. We can make our
own.”
I sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say. I was confused.
How had he managed to turn this around? How was he managing to convince me that
I was the wrong one in this argument? Everything he said made perfect sense.
I thought of my lone remaining objection, that I didn’t want
to be sold to someone who I wasn’t attracted to, who might be an undesirable
partner in one way or another. I guessed how Michael would respond to that. He
would say that I wasn’t being picky about who was in the crowd watching me
tonight, or about who was bidding on me. I’d be forced to concede, again.
Maybe he was right. Again. Damn. I felt myself deflating, my
outrage fading away.
I looked at Michael. He knew I was surrendering. I could
tell by the expression on his face. Argument made. Sub convinced. Pleased with
himself.
He said, “It’s okay, Sweet. It’s hard getting past
convention. I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault.”
Gee, that was big of him. Was some of my outrage returning?
I thought it might be. And then I knew. I knew why my anger wouldn’t leave
completely, why I couldn’t surrender. I knew the point I needed to make. What
he must account for.
I said, “Fine. I concede. You make a convincing argument.
You always do. You’re probably right and I’m not letting go of old-fashioned
values as quickly as you’d like.”
He nodded.
I said, “So I’ll plead guilty to that. But you’re guilty,
too, Michael. You lied to me. Flat out lied.”
He said, “I only said what you needed to hear so you could
do what you wanted to do all along.”
“That’s bullshit. You lied and manipulated me into doing
what you wanted.”
“You make it sound worse than what it is. I only said what
was necessary. For you. Yes, for myself too, in a way. But mostly it was for you.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you make all these
arguments about convention when you first told me about the auction today? You
could have been honest then, you probably could have convinced me using the
same arguments you used just now. You didn’t have to lie.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re wrong. You never would have
agreed. You had to stand on the auction block, feel it for yourself. It was the
only way.”
“In your opinion, it was the only way. In my opinion, you
lied to me and manipulated me. And I don’t know what to do with that right
now.”
At an impasse, we sat in silence. Minutes ticked by.
Michael broke the silence first. “Let’s put this whole
opinion thing aside for a bit. Right now, a decision needs to be made about
what’s going to happen next. Pretty soon, the organizers will knock on that
door and expect us to go meet with the winning bidder. What do you want to do?”
It was an easy question to answer. “You’ll tell them a
mistake has been made, or that I’m sick, whatever, and I won’t be going through
with it after all.”
“Even though this is for charity? They’ll lose the money
that was bid for you, and I’m guessing you brought a good price.”
I smiled tightly. “No problem. You’ll insist on paying the
winning bid yourself.”
His jaw twitched. “You’re going to make to me look like an
ass.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not. It’s going to look like I can’t control my own
sub. Which, apparently, I can’t.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
Michael rubbed his temples. “What’s too damned bad is that
your stubbornness is ruining what could have been the sexiest night of your
life. Why won’t you listen to me? Would you at least consider a compromise?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ll listen, but I’m not promising
anything.”
“Hear me all the way out. We’ll go meet with the winning
bidder. If you don’t like him, if you can’t imagine having anything to do with
him, I’ll call it off right there and pay the bid. I’ll think of some excuse to
try to save face.”
He continued, “But if you see the winner and you think you
could go through with it -- and I’m not suggesting sex. Like I told you, sex
isn’t allowed. But if you think you could let him see you naked, or watch me
touch you, whatever, basically what you’ve already done tonight in front of far
more people, you’ll at least try to follow through on spending an hour with
him.”
I was shaking my head during all this.
He held up a hand. “Every sub is asked whether she wants to
be alone with the winner or if she wants her dominant to be present. All you
have to do is tell them you want me to be there. I’ve always seen myself with
you anyway. I want to make sure you’re safe, and that I can control what
happens.”
He said, “We can take it slow. We’ll only go further if you
want to. I promise.”
I wasn’t much listening to this. I mean, I heard what he
said, but I wasn’t actually considering it, at least not the second option.
The first option, though, where I would call it off after
meeting the winner, that option had serious merit. Especially the part where
Michael gets knocked down a peg or two and has to beg off the bargain and pay
the bid. It would serve him right.
He didn’t need to know that the second part of his
compromise was never a consideration.
It wasn’t an honest thing to do. I could tell him no, that I
wanted to go home now. But I felt like that was letting him off easy. He hadn’t
been honest with me, so didn’t that give me the right to be a smidgen less than
truthful with him?
I knew it was petty of me. I didn’t care.
I said, “I’m still mad at you for lying to me, and we’ll
have to deal with that later. But okay, for now, I’m willing to accept your
compromise.”
He blew out a loud breath then smiled. “I’m relieved.”
He stood up and held out his arms to me. I grudgingly stood
up and walked into his embrace. He pulled me in tightly.
He said softly, “I know you can turn this night around.
Think of how you felt standing on that stage. You were incredible. You can feel
that way again, so easily. Just let it happen.”
I didn’t say anything. If only he hadn’t lied to me, then
maybe I could have let it happen. But not now. Too late.
A knock on the door saved me further regret.
There was the sound of a key in a lock coming from the door
across from the one we used on entering. The door opened and revealed a very
surprised young woman.
“Oh!” she said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was
still in here. I clean up the rooms ... you know.”
Michael gave her a blinding smile. “It’s okay. We were just
leaving.”
She blushed. “Um, you wouldn’t be Michael Weston, would you?
It’s just, they’ve been looking for someone named that.”
“I am.”
“Oh good!”
She stuck her head out the door and called out, “Hey, you
guys, I found them. They’re in here.”
She walked on into the room then stood aside to let us
leave. Michael gave her a pat on the cheek as he passed, and the girl giggled.
I ground my teeth together.
Three people greeted us in the hall, two smiling young women
and an older man who was holding a clipboard and looking stressed. All of them
were dressed in formal wear. They said they were part of the organizing
committee, and that it was time for us to meet with the winning bidder. Were we
ready to go now?
Michael said we were. The two women took the lead, while the
older man stayed beside us as we walked down a hallway identical to the others
I had seen in the building. There was an elevator at the end of the hall. We
all went inside and one of the women pushed the button for the second floor.
Michael made chitchat. He talked about how this was my first
ball, and how excited I was to meet the winning bidder. The young women smiled
at me and said they knew how I felt, that they had once been in the newbie
auction themselves.
This sort of chatter continued when we left the elevator and
headed down more corridors. How many hallways did this place have, anyway?
Michael asked them how the experience had been and they each
gushed about me being lucky and so forth. He tried to get them to tell us who
had won me, but the older man with the clipboard gave them a threatening look
and warned them to obey the rules. The women tittered and winked at me.
I supposed that meant I wouldn’t be disappointed. At least
that’s how Michael took it. He gave me a smile and a nod, then told them how
important the charities were to me, and how I really wanted to contribute my
share.
I was growing more livid by the moment. It was obvious that
Michael was trying to manipulate the situation, trying to make it impossible
for me to say no when I met the winning bidder. The more he talked about how
perfect this night would be for me, the more I wanted to turn around and leave
him standing there.
I might have, too, if I thought I could find my way out of
the maze-like place.
I followed along, biting my tongue and awaiting the moment
when I would tell these people I wasn’t going through with it.
Finally we stopped before a numbered door. One of the women
opened it and waved us inside. I was surprised at what I found there.
Unlike the other rooms I had been in, this room was a large,
fully decorated sitting room, complete with cushy sofas and chairs, lovely
tables and a stocked bar at the far end. The lighting was soft and inviting,
the pictures all peaceful landscapes, the carpeting plush. It smelled like
honeysuckle.
And there wasn’t a whip, chain, hook or rack in sight. No
bed either.
One of the women said, “The winner specifically requested
this room.”
The older man said, “Yes, well, we were pleased to oblige
him. It was a sizable bid.”
Michael grinned. “Aren’t you glad to hear that, Sweet?
You’ll be helping a lot of people. I know that makes you happy.”
I gave him a saccharine smile. “It does make me happy ...
Master.” I wasn’t lying. It would definitely make me happy to force Michael to
match that sizable donation.
The older man checked his watch. He pored over his
clipboard. Sighed. Then said to one of the women, “Go see if he’s coming.”
To us he said, “He should be here any minute.”
I couldn’t wait. Truly. I couldn’t wait.
Michael’s hand squeezed my waist. Apparently, he couldn’t
wait either.
The woman came back into the room. “Here he is,” she said,
and stepped to one side, out of the way.
And, indeed, there he was, strolling in through the door
like he owned the place.
Which he did.
It was Gibson Reeves.
Sometimes life is a stingy bitch and won’t give you a single
thing you want. And sometimes, life opens up and showers you with riches you
never dared dream of getting.
In my life, I knew the stingy bitch all too well, but only
had a passing acquaintance with the bountiful version. Until that night.
That night, when Gibson Reeves walked through the door, I
believed my life was truly charmed. Blessed.
He was perfect.
I looked at Michael. He stood utterly still, every muscle in
his face tense. When I saw his nostrils flare, it was all I could do to keep a
straight face.
A little voice inside me told me I was being mean. The big
voice inside me said it served Michael right. After everything he had done to
get me here, after the lying and then trying to make it impossible for me to
refuse ... well, he had it coming, as they say.
The older man said, as if he were introducing a king,
“Michael, Sweet, this is the winning bidder, Gibson Reeves.”
Gibson nodded in his typical cool fashion and said, “We
already know one another.”
“Oh,” said the older man. “Then we can move this along.”
Michael gave me a meaningful look and said, “Actually,
Sweet, I want to make sure you’re feeling okay.” He turned to the others. “She
was complaining earlier of a headache.”
I smiled and said, “I feel fine, thanks.”
Michael glared at me. His hand closed tightly on my wrist.
“Don’t feel like you have to be brave. I know everyone here will understand if
you can’t ...”
“Oh no,” I interrupted. “Not being brave. Headache’s long
gone. Never felt better.”
With a quick little yank, I jerked my wrist out of his
grasp, smiling all the while.
The older man was pleased. “Good. Now, do you wish to
negotiate any scenes while we’re still here, or since you already know each
other ...”
He let the sentence hang. I gave him the answer he wanted.
“We can do it ourselves and let you get back to work. No problem.”
The man returned my smile. “In that case, all that remains
is to ask you, young lady, if you will require the presence of your master.”
I looked squarely at Michael. His eyes were like slits.
I turned back to the man and said, “I’ll be fine alone.
Thank you.”
Michael couldn’t hold back. “I don’t know if that’s a good
idea. You’re still new to all this. You said earlier that you were nervous
about it.”
I said, sweetly enough to earn my nickname, “Oh, I was. But
I didn’t know Gibson was the winner. I’ll be fine with him. Alone.”
There was nothing Michael could do, short of pulling a
full-blown scene. His pride wouldn’t let him do that, though. He gave me one
last scathing look then allowed the organizers to usher him toward the door.
I said, “Master, wait a moment please.”
He turned in an instant, his expression charged with hope.
I said, “I need my handbag. You have it clipped on your
pants there. If you don’t mind.”
I smiled at his glower. I smiled when he yanked my bag off
the clip. And I really smiled big when he threw it at me and I caught it as
easily as if he had thrown me an air kiss.
He turned and headed out the door.
The older man trailed behind him and told him there was a
waiting area if Michael wanted to stay there for the hour, or he was welcome to
return to the party and Mr. Reeves could return Sweet to him there.
Michael replied that he was going to wait in the hall
outside the door. The man said that wasn’t allowed. Michael said he didn’t care
what was allowed. The older man stopped just outside the door, flummoxed by
this sudden obstinacy.
Gibson, who had been standing casually to one side,
patiently observing the scene, said, “Go to the party, Weston. I’ll find you
when we’re done.”
And he pushed the door closed and flipped the lock.
Holy crap.
I desperately needed to gloat.
I said in a rush, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Gibson said, “Back there, the door on the right.”
I practically ran to get there.
When I was safe behind the closed door, I stood in front of
the mirror and said a quiet, but vehement, “Yes!” to myself.
My heart pounded. Sitting down on a pretty little stool that
was situated in front of a vanity mirror, I mentally relived my victory.
How perfect had that been? I didn’t normally get into the
whole “vengeance is mine” thing, but tonight, it was precisely what I needed.
To see Michael so angry, so on the verge of losing it ... it
was splendid. Simply splendid.
I fussed in the mirror for a few minutes, adding some lip
gloss and smoothing my hair. There was a high color in my cheeks and forehead.
The color of winning.
And to think that I had believed the best revenge was to
refuse to go through with the sale. No, the best had been Gibson’s appearance
in the doorway. The best had been going through with the sale after ...
Wait a minute. In the mirror, I watched my eyes widen. What
had I done? I had let myself be sold to Gibson Reeves. Oh ... my ... God.
Was I insane?
The color of winning fled from my face, chased away in
disgrace by the consequences of my impetuous decision to revenge myself on
Michael.
There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of quotes out
there cautioning people about the price of revenge. Why hadn’t just one, a
single one, popped into my head and warned me before I agreed to be with
Gibson? “Revenge is a dish best served cold” would have been an apt one. Where
were all the good quotes when you needed them?
Great. I was blaming dead philosophers for this fiasco. I
needed to get a grip. What was I going to do?
If this had happened a little over a week ago, it wouldn’t
be a problem. I was still attracted to Gibson then, and would have been excited
to be with him, to be bought by him. Everything would have been different.
Ugh. Was I blaming time now?
Well, I decided, I was going to have to toughen up and face
what I had done. I would march out there and tell Gibson I’d made a mistake,
that I didn’t want to do this thing. I would leave, go find Michael, tell him
... tell him what?
That I was wrong. Wrong.
I couldn’t do it.
Michael lied to me. More than once. We had made a
compromise. I was supposed to be able to choose freely, but he tried to set me
up on the way to this meeting, tried to make it impossible for me to refuse the
winner. A broken promise is the same as a lie.
I couldn’t tell Michael I was wrong.
Maybe I would sit in the bathroom for the whole hour and
Gibson wouldn’t notice until it was too late.
Stupid.
Well, hell.
I couldn’t see any way out; I was going to have to go
through with this thing. Even though I didn’t like him and thought he was a
selfish and cold person, I was going to have to spend an hour doing ... stuff
with him.
Of course, I reminded myself, I had no idea what that stuff
might be. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal. I probably wouldn’t like a lot of
the people in that crowd tonight, but that hadn’t stopped me from getting naked
in front of them. Kamun, for instance. Seeing him in among the spectators
hadn’t fazed me much. I simply didn’t focus on him.
Maybe I could be naked with Gibson and simply not focus on
him.
I was startled by a knock on the door.
Gibson asked, “Are you okay in there?”
“Fine,” I answered quickly. “Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
“Mm-hmm. Thanks.”
Okay, I thought. This was it. I had to quit putting it off
and get out there. I had made my bed and now I was going to have to lie in it.
I mentally rolled my eyes. Great, no helpful quotes when I needed them, but
cliches galore when it was time to twist the knife. And there was another one.
I sighed and stood up. I told myself to find my pride. I
could do this. I might not like Gibson, but he wasn’t some horrific ogre
either. I could do it.
Gibson was standing at the bar when I walked out of the
bathroom. He gave me a pleasant smile and asked if I wanted a drink. I declined
and took a seat on the sofa. Gibson joined me there.
I kept my legs together as tightly as I could, but it was
hard to be demure when your dress has a mile-long slit that only leaves a few
inches of fabric below your crotch. I crossed my hands in my lap.
Gibson asked, “Feeling shy now?”
“A little.”
“You weren’t shy on the stage tonight.”
I shot him a hard look. “That was different.”
He smiled placidly. “You’re right. It was.”
I had to look away. Be casual, I told myself. “I didn’t see
you place a bid.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. I entered my bid after you left.”
“Oh. Of course.” I paused. “I didn’t notice you in the
crowd.”
“I hung back. I don’t like being in a crush, and there was
quite a crush around you tonight.”
It had seemed to me that all the newbies had loads of people
crowding their stages, but I didn’t argue with him.
He said, “Who can blame them? You’re beautiful and Weston
has always been a good showman.”
There was something of disdain in his tone when he spoke of
Michael. I didn’t appreciate it.
Gibson stretched a long arm across the back of the sofa, his
fingertips ending an inch short of my shoulder. “When I came in here, you
seemed pleased to see me, pleased that I was the winner.”
“Um, yeah. Right.” Not for the reasons he assumed, though.
“Good. We should probably do our negotiations now, if you’re
ready.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He asked, “Do you understand about negotiating a scene? How
it works?”
“Sort of, yes,” I said, looking around the room, looking
everywhere but straight at him.
He clarified anyway, “It’s simple. I’ll say what I would
like to do with you, and you’ll say whether or not it’s agreeable to you.”
Nothing was agreeable to me. I would have to agree based on
what I thought I could go through with. I said, “I understand.”
“Good. Then we’ll begin. I want you to call me sir. Is this
acceptable to you?”
“Yes ... Sir.” Well, that was an easy one.
“Very good. I want you to look at me, in my eyes, while
we’re negotiating, please.”
“Yes, Sir.” I looked at him.
I couldn’t imagine why he wanted me to look at him. He
appeared his usual polite self. No fire, no heat of any kind. Only that damned
handsome face, calmly appraising me.
He said, “I presume nudity isn’t a problem, but it’s only
right that I make certain. I want to see you naked. Is this acceptable?”
I swallowed. Get over it, I told myself. How many people saw
you naked tonight? But that was different, a little voice whined inside me. I
told it to shut up and said, “Yes, Sir.”
He smiled.
I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Then
it occurred to me that he expected me to undress now. Okay then. I leaned
forward to stand up.
Gibson stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Not yet. For
now, until we’re done negotiating, I’m happy to settle on partial nudity. I
want you to unbutton your dress halfway, and pull one your breasts out of your
bra.”
I did as he asked, quickly, almost ferociously, wanting it
over and done with. I returned my hands to my lap and said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Very nice,” he said. “I’m going to want to touch you.
Everywhere. Is that okay?”
“Yes, Sir.” It was a tight snap of an answer.
He continued, “We aren’t allowed to have sex, but that
doesn’t mean I can’t enter you in other ways, say with my fingers. I will
probably want to put my fingers inside you. Are you okay with that?”
I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Yes, Sir.”
“I know you’re okay with light spanking. Yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How about heavier spanking, or say, a good firm paddling?”
All of these things I had done before. So I said, “Yes,
Sir.”
“Bondage. Restraints. Both of those are okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your sign said you’re an expert at fellatio. If I wanted
that, you’d be okay with it?”
This was hard. Too hard. And wasn’t a blow job close to sex?
But I didn’t say it out loud. I said, “Yes ... Sir.”
He smiled. “Well then, that should give us enough to start
with. If there’s time for more, then we can negotiate in scene. Is that okay
with you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now if you would, please stand and unbutton six
buttons on the bottom of your dress.”
I managed somehow to unbend my stiff body enough to actually
get vertical. I felt tight all over, my muscles rigid and unwilling to obey my
commands. When I went to unbutton my dress, I was surprised to see my hands
were clenched into hard fists and I wondered how long they had been that way.
I managed to undo the buttons. In the meanwhile, Gibson
moved over into the center of the sofa. He beckoned me to stand beside him.
Reaching around me with both arms, he swung my dress out behind me, then held
it there with one hand.
He patted his lap with his other hand and said, “Lie down
here, on your stomach please.”
I did. It was humiliating, being forced to lie on this man’s
lap, this man I didn’t like or respect. This seemed a heavy price to pay for my
impetuousness.
Pushing aside the bottom of my dress, Gibson revealed my
entire ass, naked except for the few elastic bands from the thong. He ran a
hand over one cheek, then the other.
I flinched.
He didn’t pay me any mind. Instead, he rubbed me harder,
squeezed me, warmed my skin.
It came without warning, the smack of his palm hitting my
ass. Smack! Hard, but not hard enough to truly hurt me. I gasped, mostly
because I hadn’t known it was coming.
