Read Online Naughty Bits Part IV: The Highest Bid by Joey W. Hill - Free Book Online Page B

provide further instruction, an extension of the note. When she complied, his hands went to her thighs. He guided another strap around each, cinched and buckled them, testing the hold with a functional slide of his fingers beneath, though the proximity of his fingers to her wet cunt, the bullet forced more firmly against her from the spread-legged position, kept her breathing erratic. He attached similar straps to her wrists and guided them to her sides. A sound of metal snapping, and her wrists were clipped to the thigh straps.
    She had so many things going on in her stomach and chest now. Anticipation, anxiety, restlessness. Arousal. Her nipples were beaded tight. As she shifted her thighs, she knew her folded cloak was absorbing the moisture that kept gathering on her labia, evidence of her readiness for her Master. How far would they drive?
    She’d nursed this fantasy for a long time, so it was easy to revisit it, twine past imaginings with present ones in the swirling darkness created by the blindfold. The fantasy had started to build itself in her mind as soon as she’d begun the preparations, and now it continued in that vein, taking on a life of its own.
    She knew some of her potential bidders, the way she knew the soldier. They’d all come to the parties the Training Mistress had planned to show off her offerings. The slaves were the servers on those nights, the estate where they trained full of powerful men and women. Glittering chandeliers, lots of dark, polished woods and marble floors, cold and hard where they’d kneel in proscribed positions until they were called to serve drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
    Whenever she dared a glance through her lashes, she would see the soldier’s dark brown eyes latched on her. His gaze would flicker, an admonishment as if he could already command her as her Master, and her eyes would dart back toward the floor. She wanted to slide across the hard stone and kneel at his feet then and there. But her fate was not hers to decide.
    One night, though, he’d answered her wish. While kneeling, waiting to be called to serve again, she’d seen his polished shoe by her knee. He and another Master spoke over her head, talking of general things. His time in Afghanistan, what he thought of the oil situation. He was smart, her Master, speaking of what he knew without elaboration or boast, while being careful of subjects that related to his service, not meant to be revealed casually. When he shifted, the toe of his shoe was nearly beneath her knee. If she leaned forward even from a breath, she might press against it. Before she could do that, he did something different.
    Her hands were flat on the floor, spaced six inches out from her knee. When he placed his shoe over her fingers, her instinct was to draw back before he accidentally stepped on her, broke bones. She was supposed to protect the assets of the Training House, and she was one of them. Broken fingers would earn her punishment for her carelessness. But she found herself quelling the instinct, holding still, and then she was caught up in a wondrous bliss.
    He didn’t put his weight on them. He had his shoe over her fingers, as light and gentle as if he’d covered them with his hand, which said he knew what he was doing, that he was touching her in an incidental way not prohibited during this phase of the evaluation process. It was a test, and she hoped she’d passed it. He put more pressure on it, enough to flatten her fingers, hold them more firmly to the ground, still not causing pain, though, and she forgot to breathe. She wanted to put her forehead to the ground, kneel fully to him, and maybe dare to turn her head, touch her mouth to his shoe. But she didn’t.
    Madison surfaced slowly from the image, though her current state and surroundings helped her stay caught up in its spell. Tonight was all about her fate. This was the turning point. Like the rituals prevalent in so many secret societies, where a new initiate