The auction is starting.
Chapter 8
Dahlia
Just relax and everything will be fine, I tell myself as I step into a room backstage to prepare for the auction.
There's a group of scantily-clad girls already getting ready, and some of them are naked, looking through a rack of skimpy outfits to find which one suits them best. None of them appear to be nervous like I am, or at least they’re very good at hiding it.
If they can be cool and collected under pressure, so can I.
I suck in a deep breath, my palms moist with perspiration, my heart racing, and try to calm my nerves. I have to get a hold of myself. I don’t want to walk out on stage and wind up fainting because I’ve worked myself up into a tizzy. I can do this. I just have to keep telling myself how much I need this experience.
Trying to ignore my anxiety, I make my way over to an unattended clothing rack near the rear of the room. I begin sifting through outfits, looking for one that best matches my personality. After a moment of searching, I let out a huff of frustration. I don’t see anything that I think looks better than what I already have on. But I have to find something. And quick. The auction is only minutes away.
Just try on something. Anything. I’m sure it will look okay.
I’m about to snatch a red dress off the rack when the sound of clicking heels causes me to turn around. She walks toward me with confidence; a woman in charge of her destiny. Her blonde hair is styled elegantly, her makeup flawlessly dramatic. She struts toward me as if she owns the place, her scarlet red dress clinging to her impressive curves with each step.
Madam Lynn. It has to be.
She stops in front of me, her face brightening into a friendly smile, and extends her hand. “Miss Days, what a pleasure it is to meet you.” She shakes her head as if in wonder. “The picture in the email you sent doesn’t do you justice. You are far, far more beautiful in person.” She speaks with a polish that sounds very professional, something you wouldn’t expect from a woman who profits from sex and submission for a living.
My cheeks become rosy at her compliment. “Thank you, Madam Lynn,” I say, taking her hand and shaking it. Her hands are soft and warm like her personality. I’m surprised that this woman seems so down-to-earth, considering the awesome wealth that makes up her club. I originally pictured a snobby woman with her nose stuck so far up in the air that she wouldn’t know what down was, even if she fell flat on her face.
Madam Lynn flashes me another warm smile filled with straight, sparkling white teeth. “You are very much welcome.”
I finger my newbie Sub bracelet nervously, wondering why she’s here to greet me personally. Had I done something wrong, like unknowingly violated a rule while on my tour with Bruce and Carla? It would be just my luck.
Seeing my worried expression, Madam Lynn waves away my concern. “You’re fine, dear. This is simply protocol. I check on all my girls before every auction to make sure everything's running smoothly, and no one is having second thoughts.” She pauses and peers at me with concern. “You aren’t having those… are you?”
Of course I am. But I’m not telling you that. “No, I’m good,” I blurt out almost immediately. I cringe at how fraudulent I sound and wait for a response.
Madam Lynn simply smiles, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Good to hear. I think you’re going to make a fabulous Submissive, and will make a very lucky Dom super happy.”
Her words fill me with a confidence that I haven’t felt all night, and I’m grateful for her encouragement. “Thank you, Madam Lynn,” I say respectfully.
Madam Lynn nods. “Mmmhmm.” She begins to turn away, but then stops. “Miss Days?”
“Yes?”
She points to a skimpy gold sheer number on the tail end of the rack. “Might I suggest that one for you? I think it will look good on you, and serve to enhance your beauty. It fits your personality perfectly. I’d stick around to see you try it on, but I need to go check on the other ladies before time runs out.” She winks at me in parting. “Good luck at the auction.”
I watch as she glides off and begins talking to other women in the room before my eyes fall on the dress she picked for me. It looks okay enough, but I won’t see what it really is like until I try it on. I take it off the rack and examine it. Gold and sparkly. There are large gaps in the material, and it’s more revealing than what I have on. Blushing, I undress behind the rack, hiding from the other women, and then slip into it, enjoying the feel of the soft material against my skin. I walk over to a large mirror and then suck in a sharp breath when I see myself. The gold material sparkles against the light, enhancing my figure and tanned skin in ways I didn’t think possible, making me look utterly gorgeous.
Madam Lynn was right. This looks perfect on me. It’s flattering in all the right ways. It’s sheer, but the metallic color hides my body well, compared to the other women in the room. I look around at them all crowding around the vanities and chatting away. It’s almost like what I’d imagine a strip club could be. Or a burlesque show. My heart pounds harder in my chest, and I pace my breathing as I calm myself down.
I’ll have to remember to thank her after the auction. And also ask if I can keep this dress.
“Please check over the pamphlet one more time and make sure everything is accurate,” a heavyset woman with greying hair pulled into a bun says behind me, startling me.
I’ve read this pamphlet over and over. The sheer amount of paperwork I’ve had to fill out and read is exhausting. My stomach churns as I remember the psychological section. There was a box for me to write in. I was supposed to disclose my problem. I didn’t. I suck in a sharp breath as a lump grows in my throat.
I reach out and take the pamphlet, trying to catch my breath. I need to get a hold of myself. I open it up and read through the small description of me, and the list of kinks and fetishes I’m willing to try.
As I look through the rest of the pamphlet, I begin to feel like a prostitute. I try to push the thought from my mind as I take a seat at one of the chairs lining the wall, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m selling out. Cheapening myself. Just because there’s a written contract involved, how is this any different than selling myself for sex?
I can end up being a rich guy’s perverted fuck toy and nothing more and hating myself after the contract is over.
The thought makes me sick. It’s because of my money troubles that I’m thinking like this. And I have to be honest with myself--the money is tempting, and would solve so many problems in my life so easily. I want to cry for thinking about myself that way. But that’s not what this is for me. This is much more than just some easy money. And if this turns out to be anything less than what I want for myself, I’ll walk away from it all. The money doesn’t matter. I need more from this. I need the fantasy. My body heats, and my pussy pulses with need.
I can’t back out now. I have to go through with this. Carla’s gone through this same process, and look how happy she is with Bruce. She’s a successful career woman by day, and a perfect Submissive by night. Looking at her, you would never guess she's leading a double life. Using her as an example, I really should have nothing to worry about. I have to believe that this will help heal me, even if the man who buys me doesn’t know about my problems. He gets off on his sexual fantasies, I get the money and continue with the therapy that will help me. It’s mutually beneficial for the both of us. A win-win.