The sheer exclusivity of the invitation was a coveted prize.
The Club was the trendy kind of place in the City that catered to the rich, the powerful and the famous faces of the moment. The kind of place superstars and young hopefuls adopted as their proving grounds for style, image and the latest headline in the tabloids. The crowded dance floor with the DJ’s booming club mix sent the younger, wilder generation in a hypnotic frenzy. It was a fashionable jungle of glitz and excess with animals definitely on the prowl.
Those that didn’t want that kind of fervor or to be noticed, who wanted a bit of privacy for themselves and their entourage of artificial companions, hangers-on, agents and handlers retreated to ‘the third floor. Away from the crowds of fans and rabid paparazzi, these private rooms were their own $10,000 a night versions of Vegas; what went on in those private rooms, stayed there; and no one was the wiser. The binge drinking, the million-dollar brokered deals, the carousel of drugs, the $1000 prostitutes, the private rooms were highly in demand; a private playground for the men and women who could afford the excessive price.
Although I knew of the concealed goings on under the roof of the Club, I was privy to something even more clandestine: The Fifth Floor. It didn’t matter who you were, how much money you had, who you knew, or how famous you were, entrance as well as invitations to The Fifth Floor were extremely restrictive. None were allowed unless invited by ‘the owner’ of the Club. Money didn’t matter, social status didn’t matter. Only select individuals were carefully evaluated and few were ever sent invitations. I was one of those handful few.
I arrived at the Club a little after nine. Looking stylish in my tailored Armani black suit and dark blue shirt, no tie, to the crowd already there waiting in line to come in or to catch a glimmer of their favorite movie star or musician, I must’ve looked like someone important coming out of the town car that chauffeured me here. And it came to that conclusion when the bouncer working the door, a ‘trusted’ security man who recognized me, welcomed me in without hesitation. He knew who I was and where I was going and didn’t want me to be late.
Another ‘trusted’ bouncer met me inside and escorted me through the first floor, past the turmoil of the young people on the laser lighted and strobe flashed floor, past the huge encompassing center bar pushing the legal drugs for the evening, past the booths and mini bar tables for the lucky ones who occupied them, past all that to the bank of express elevators of the elite. The left one, guarded by a pair of expensive looking security guards, was only used with a ‘chaperone’, an employee of the Club who handled the ‘private’ rooms on the third floor. The right one, which was also staunchly guarded by a pair of ex-linebackers, was remotely controlled by someone monitoring, for this was the only way up to the fourth floor where the main offices for the Club were, as well as the security checkpoint for my intended destination.
Once the doors opened to the fourth floor, I was met by a concierge where my identification was certified and my membership to the Fifth Floor was confirmed. I couldn’t help but think of the irony in the couple of minutes I was waiting. The power brokers on the third floor, not to mention the playboys and girls of the second floor thought their membership to the Club was exclusive with their dues ranging from $25K to nearly $250K a year. My membership to the Fifth Floor however was absolutely free. Not that I ever abused my position or status, but as this membership was indeed coveted and exclusive, I attended, and sometimes participated at these gatherings as often as I could.
Everything was in order by the concierge within three minutes. It never took very long. And though all of them knew I was a familiar face, security and the rules were enforced at all times; no exceptions. I was led by the ‘trusted’ concierge to the next elevator on the other side of the building, the one and only access to the fifth floor. This elevator only went in between those two floors and was again controlled remotely by the destined floor’s security. As the doors closed and the lift started to ascend slowly, I was greeted by a prerecorded message coming through the elevator’s speakers overhead. It was a message I had heard many times before.
In a faintly Russian accent, it spoke: “Privacy and anonymity are our dictum. Safe, sane and consensual is our supreme directive. Violation will result in severe penalties. The Fifth Floor is an exclusive honor for those few elites. Please, enjoy your evening.”
They needn’t have warned me. Being properly educated and trained ‘safe, sane and consensual’ was indeed important in our practices. Those who didn’t follow these rules were the undisciplined, who faltered in becoming proficient in the lifestyle. I, as a Master of several teachings and instructions, knew my control and had honed my discipline into local prominence, which lead me here tonight. Tonight, I was invited to the Fifth Floor for a BDSM gathering.
The ‘Attendant’ came to me a little after one o’clock, right after I had lunch. I hadn’t met her previously, but then I was rarely greeted by the same ‘Attendant’. She informed me only that there was an event tonight and I was to participate. The ‘Attendant’ then left without saying another word. Last time I went to an ‘event’, I was a servant, before that, I served as a fixture, as well as some ornament months ago. But I was not told what I would be tonight. All I was told was to prepare in the usual manner and be ready to be picked up at five o’clock this afternoon. After leaving a message on friend’s machine, canceling our previously made plans, I immediately got to work to prepare myself for tonight.
Although I had a shower this morning, I took another one, this time I carefully took the time to thoroughly wash all over, every crevice and crack, including my breasts, my pussy, my legs, my butt, every inch and limb. I took particular care in lathering up and rinsing my long hair properly as it had been considered by some men as my best feature. Of course, I knew it was mostly a line; from sly and overt glances, I knew men really liked my ample chest and curvy, yet firm butt. However, if they only knew the truth; that I loved them watching my naked body; that I loved to flaunt it. And though I grew my hair long for that luscious mane, below my eye line, there was no hair whatsoever anywhere on my body. That I loved to be bound, spanked and held firmly they would be turned on even more. It turned me on that I could turn men on; it made me smile as I lathered my hair up with shampoo again.
Out of the shower and drying off, I was getting ready at my vanity when I started to wonder what I was going to be in service tonight. As usual, I was going to be masked, blindfolded or even hooded the entire time. I never was otherwise, unless at the discretion of ‘the owner’ of the Club or whoever owned me for the evening. I remember one time when I was being prepared for the night, before I was masked, I was painted statue white all over my body as I was to stand as decoration for one party. I was to change poses from time to time, but was ordered to be frozen in place for the entire evening. At first I thought I wouldn’t like it, but by the end of the night, I found it exhilarating. I found myself quite turned on by being on display like that, not only to mention the frequent pokes and prods by people to see if I was real (and the additional pokes and prods in very sensitive places after they found out I was real). Part of me wanted to be that way again tonight. I also thought of being a suspended fixture on the wall being held up by rope, which was purely for decorative purposes. That was fun as well, being held on one of the posts with the silken rope as the only thing holding me in place. Being a server had its perks as you were bound tightly with a serving tray tethered close to your body. You could see, but only through blinders to keep from bumping into people and tripping. You were led by an ‘Attendant’ on a leash. Each job had its pros and cons. Whatever I was to do though, I was still giddy with anticipation for tonight.
By the time my hair was dry, I put on my four inch heels and my required wrist and ankle cuffs and knelt by the door as I still had a half hour to wait. I resigned myself to meditate in preparation for tonight. Although, I felt like I was physically ready, it never hurt to be prepared mentally. The eagerness that had built up in me throughout the afternoon was still just underneath the surface. Concentrating on the meditation quelled the erotic feelings a little. It kept things calm so that I wouldn’t peak too soon. It relaxed my giddiness, but not my enthusiasm for tonight.
The knock at the door broke me out of the spell I was in. I put on a robe and answered the door blindly. I knew it was five o’clock and the ‘Attendants’ were always prompt. Without a word, she came in and I cast my eyes down. As I closed the door, I took off my robe and knelt at her feet.
I was a proud submissive who lived to serve. Volunteering at the Club’s Fifth Floor was a privilege and an honor for those in the lifestyle. I was proud to be a participant. I enjoyed being bound, being spanked, being whipped, being blindfolded, being held and cradled, but most of all in servitude to my Master or Mistress for the night. Be it ‘the owner’ or to another patron of the Fifth Floor, I happily and willingly submitted my trust, my sexuality and myself to them with no question. I knew no harm would come to me; I was very sure of that.
“Do you submit yourself for tonight?” she asked.
Not raising my head, I answered, “Yes, Miss.”
“Rise,” she softly commanded and I complied. Even from my downward gaze, I saw she then unfolded a bundle of purple cloth and draped it on her arm. “Hands behind your back and turn around.”
I obeyed. As I faced the door to my apartment, the ‘Attendant’ brought my wrists together. She took a padlock and locked them through the metal rings on my cuffs. After they were fastened taut, she then placed a cloak on my body. It felt like velvet, soft and fantastic on my bare clean skin. It was big enough so it would close in front down to my ankles to hide my nudity, but the thought that I was going to walk out into the City with nothing underneath excited me.
“You will not be harmed in any way you do not to. You will be kept safe at all times. And you will be kept in sane practices,” she said reminding me of the Fifth Floor’s policy on submissives and slaves. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied thoughtfully.
A brief moment of acknowledgement, she then commanded, “Face me, slave.”
She emphasized the last word to make sure I knew my place and what my status was for the rest of the evening. I turned with my eyes still downcast. She crouched down and attached a short chain to my ankle cuffs. It couldn’t have been more than eight inches. I would have to hobble with short steps, careful to keep my balance, careful not to trip, but be sure to keep up with the ‘Attendant’ as she walked.
Without so much a word she stood up straight and held out something in her hands to make sure I saw it: A hood. It didn’t surprise me. I had always gone to the Fifth Floor blinded in some way. However, I saw that the hood would gag me with a snap-on gag, and that the flaps would close over my ears silencing my hearing, so I would be deprived of pretty much all my senses except for touch. And it was touch that gave me the greatest erotic sensation. Whoever owned me for the evening was to determine whether I stay blind, deaf and mute for the evening. Not that it mattered. I lived to serve. As I wished to be, I was a slave.
With silent compliance, I bowed slightly, keeping my balance and lowered my head to the ‘Attendant’. She slipped the hood on. It was snug, but comfortable. She fixed it so my ears were at the flaps, a little of my hair was pulled through the opening in the back and my lower jaw was comfortable. She then put on the encompassing gag in my mouth and I felt the snap onto my hood.
Everything was dark and silent, and I was enjoying every minute of it.
In the inner foyer off the elevator doors on the Fifth Floor was yet another checkpoint. I’ve heard of this small room referred to by some members as ‘the vault’ as the main door to the inner chamber, guarded by another pair of ex-linebacker looking men, looked like a steel door to a bank vault, only smaller. A ‘trusted’ concierge met me and asked for my invitation. I handed it to her and she placed it on some kind of computer scanner. An acknowledgment computer beep later, she bowed slightly at me.
“Welcome, Sir,” she said with reverence. “Enjoy your evening.”
As I thanked her with a slight nod, I heard a slight thump coming from the steel door as it unlocked. Slowly it lurched open as the linebacker guards stepped aside. I gave them a nod of thanks as well as I passed them, but it looked as if their grimaces were permanently etched onto their faces.
As soon I walked into the room, I was immediately greeted by another ‘Attendant’, an employee of the Fifth Floor.
“Would you care for a drink, Sir?” she asked as she then indicated to the servant she had on her leash.
The young bound sub wore blinders and, except for a simple harness that left nothing to the imagination, was nude. The harness itself was merely leather straps that crisscrossed firmly at her midsection, around her waist and tethered over her shoulders to steadily hold up the tray of drinks she had in front of her. She couldn’t hold them in the regular way like a waitress, because her arms were held in place bound squarely by the harness. So much so that she strained a little with her breasts sticking out as they did.
“A martini,” I replied.
“Yes, Sir!” the ‘Attendant’ chirped as she searched through the assortment on the sub’s tray.
Giving it to me, she then bowed slightly and then tugged on the leash she held. I hadn’t noticed before but the little chain she held wasn’t attached to the sub’s collar, but to her breasts by way of what looked like tightly clipped nipple clamps. From the slight moan the tray sub gave through her ball gag, I assumed it was a firm tug to start moving again. The tray sub must’ve had a lot of practice as I assumed it took careful movements to walk without spilling the drinks on her tray. One wrong jostle and what a mess it would’ve made. Although there was a baroque chamber music being piped into the room, I could still hear the jingle of the ankle hobble chain the tray sub wore as she walked away with the ‘Attendant’.
Sipping my drink, I looked around the room. The usual suspects were here from what I could tell. Thirty or so familiar faces, men and women, all Doms, formally dressed in $1000 suits like mine or in designer slinky dresses, who frequently attended these gatherings. I knew some of them, in and out of the Club. Meeting eyes with one, we raised our drinking glasses in silent greeting to each other. Not that we socialized much, but as who we were, being cordial was the norm.
The gathering was some kind of charity, as there was a treasure chest sub in the corner; a submissive tightly bound from head to toe with rope, with a cuffed donation box on her unbound hands. But it wasn’t until I started wandering the room I realized what kind of charity event this was themed.
It was a slave auction.
I had been to many before. They were setup in various ways, but this one I found particularly interesting. The subs on the auction block were on display like pieces of art at an exhibition. Both men and women were posed and in various ways bound in a very artistic, elaborate kind of bondage. I started to peruse through the promenade of erotic living art. I thoroughly marveled at the quite imaginative presentations. Each sub on display had their lot numbers displayed on them prominently as many of the patrons were ‘inspecting’ the products carefully.
The first I came upon were a pair of subs in full pony gear, one male and one female. In addition to the standard pony harnesses they wore, they also wore elaborate multi-colored feathered headdresses with bit gags in their mouths and ornate jeweled blinders over their eyes. The ponies clopped their feet every so often and bobbed their heads as they whinnied playing the part flawlessly. The male pony was obviously sexually charged as he tried in vain to bump his groin into the female. His frustrated grunt sounded as blinded he didn’t realize the pony girl had a chastity belt firmly on. Both were secure on a pole and were marked as they could be sold separately or as a pair.
There was a woman at another display, blindfolded of course, but also wore an open spider-web like harness of thick purple silk rope wrapped tightly on her body. Also, she was suspended in a Japanese style kind of suspension, a bit precarious looking, but she looked comfortable, despite having her legs wide open on display. There was another woman who was no more than a ball as she was in a fetal position, tied up in long straps of leather like a package.
The male subs were also displayed prominently as well. One man, a very muscular, tan bodybuilder type, was a favored one amongst the Dominatrix. He was oiled up, in nothing but a ripped loincloth that barely covered his groin and was chained down heavily with cuffs and a collar weighing heavy on him. He looked like it took some effort to remain standing as his muscles strained a bit, but to a man of his size it looked like no problem at all.
No doubt their preferences dictated the kind of bondage each sub’s display. I found that rather comforting. After all, I was a firm believer in giving a sub whatever they wanted. Aesthetically pleasing, as well as arousing, all the displays were very well done and erotic. Looking at the female subs in their bondage was quite effective in stimulating me sexually. I even got caught up in the spirit of things as I found myself ‘inspecting’ the female merchandise, not as thoroughly as the other patrons, but more than just a glance and squeeze.
I looked at more of the ‘lots’ amused and getting ideas for the future, when I came to her. The display of ‘lot 49’, as she was marked, was very simple. She was on a cylindrical platform that had a rectangular metal frame holding her arms up. She knelt and had leather straps encircling each of her legs to make sure she stayed that way. Her hands were above her head cuffed at the wrists and were bound together, held to a chain that hung from the top of the metal frame. A velvet purple looking cloth was draped at her knees, not for comfort as she wasn’t kneeling on it, but more for artistic sake. She was hooded, oblivious with sights or the sounds around her, but not to the patrons feeling up her body, closely scrutinizing her as she writhed slightly to the examination.
As I approached her, the patrons moved on to the next ‘lot’ for inspection. No one else was near her, which pleased me as I wanted to examine her discreetly. As I circled the platform, giving her nude body a good once over from top to bottom, she had her head down. It wasn’t until I reached out and touched her she reacted to me. I started caressing her, first going down to her hips, then sliding up going up to her forcefully hoisted arms. Through her gag, she moaned slightly. I did this two more times, letting my hands deviate from their path and explore a little from her ass to her shoulders.
It wasn’t until I started stroking her more intimate spots, she then really responded with her body undulating to my touch. First, I reached out and felt her stomach with one hand. She flinched. Not taking my hand from her bare skin, I then reached around to the small of her back, just above her ass crack. She flinched again as she blindly felt the nearness of me as I was inches from a true embrace. Tracing her spine up her body, she started to react as she arched her body following my movements. As I got to the middle of her shoulder blades, I slid my hand from her back to the front, where it joined my other as they started to cup her voluptuous breasts. Although they were big, at least a C cup from what I could judge from my handful, they didn’t feel squishy. They were firm. I had no doubt they were indeed real, not surgically enhanced. Massaging them, I got the most intense reaction thus far as she writhed more to my touch as I went from just kneading her whole breasts to pinching and playing with her areolas getting her nipples as hard as pencil erasers.
Taking my hands off her evoked a louder reaction as she then moaned louder, this time in frustration. I ignored her though as I still wasn’t done with my own personal ‘inspection’. I walked behind her and got a better view of her ass. Gripping both cheeks firmly, she immediately stopped her gyrations of disappointment. I felt the firmness and how well toned her flesh was. She responded to my touch as I started to rub from her cheeks to her hips. I even slipped a sneak into her and felt how hot and slick her slit was between her legs. No doubt she had been aroused by the predicament she was in and by all those patrons that had been feeling her up all night.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a dulcet voice from the raised platform. Turning to look at her, it was an ‘Attendant’. “Sirs and Mistresses, the auction shall begin momentarily.”
Smiling, I turned my attention back to ‘lot 49’. I knew she couldn’t hear me from the hood she wore, but I leaned in and whispered into her flap where her ear was located.
“I’m buying you tonight.”
I don’t know how long I was in that position. Nor did I know what I was. I was not told this. In what seemed like ages ago, the flaps on my hood were raised only to instruct me on how I was to be positioned. I obeyed every command. I felt the cape come off as my bare body was exposed. I felt the straps going around each of my legs to keep me kneeling, but would allow me to part my legs. I felt a choker go around my neck. I was unbound by my wrists and was told to raise my arms. Once they were as high as I could reach, the cuffs were linked again and were attached to something with a distinctive click of a padlock. I was tethered to something. I didn’t know what was going on, but I could hear voices coming from around the room. They were just audible, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I assumed they were commands for other submissives like me, but I wasn’t certain.
The flaps to my hood were reattached and once again I couldn’t hear a thing. Sightless, deaf, and voiceless, all I could do was wait position in the bondage I was arranged, by the ‘Attendants’. With my senses dulled, my body started to focus on my remaining prominent one: touch.
My sense of touch, as my whole naked body had become one big sensor, had become extremely acute as a result of my sensory deprivation. My skin could feel the coolness in the air. Not that it bothered me. As the Goosebumps on my bare skin started to form, it increased my remaining sense tenfold. So much so, I could sense the various people as they moved about in the room by the slight breezes I felt they made. No matter how far or near they were from me, I felt them move. My sense of touch had become so keen in fact that I could feel when someone came close to me when they periodically came to check if I was alright in the bondage. With the nearness of them, I felt the heat of their bodies, although I couldn’t tell anything else. I then felt the stir in the air as they walked away. But then, after another person came to check on me, I felt no one else, but the other subs in the room for the longest time.
The stillness in the room was eerie, but I wasn’t worried. I trusted everyone on the Fifth Floor: the ‘Attendants’, the ‘Trusted’ security and concierge, and especially ‘the owner’. Although I had never met any of them personally or formally in my tenure as a submissive of the Club, I was always in a safe, sane and consensual environment.
Losing track of time in the silent dark, it was quite unexpected when something touched me without warning. However, it wasn’t much just a touch as I was being handled by my hips and butt, punched at my various parts of my skin, and outright groped by my breasts and pussy. The abrupt stimulation caught me unawares and made me recoil at the first touch. However, it was then I realized that I was being examined. Whoever was tracing me was assessing my responses to His stimuli of being touched, pinched and blatantly molested. When the person was finished, they gave me a swift slap on my butt that made me jump and I was left alone again.
Then one by one (sometimes two at a time) I started to feel other hands start to do the same thing, inspect me. I felt like a piece of fruit in a supermarket at first with the squeezing of the fleshy parts of my body, my butt cheeks and my breasts specifically. But after a while, I got used to it as I just let myself go and be examined. Some were delicate, just feeling me up and down, making my sensitive skin stimulate me with some satisfaction. Although, one or two just plain manhandled me, pinching and slapping my butt, my pussy, my breasts, my nipples, to outright sticking fingers up my vagina and asshole. Not exactly off limits with me, but one did it without so much a consideration to first lube up their digits before shoving them dry up my sensitive sphincter. Thankfully, only one person did that (although they did it three times).
I lost count of how many different hands or exactly how many people examined me as this seemed to go on and on. Still, I was getting very turned on as this continued. In fact, I felt less like a person at times and felt more like an object. Sometimes, when I played these games, I didn’t like that. But at this particular game, it felt alright that I was being treated this way.
Then, there was this one man.
He (and I knew it was a ‘He’ by the touch of His rough hands and the smell of him) came to me and just stood in front of me for the longest time. He didn’t touch me at first, but just the closeness of Him was enough to feel His body heat. He finally did touch me, but at first on my hips, not that He felt me up, pinched me, or slapped my bare skin, but He just firmly caressed me up my sides to the top of my arms then back down to my hips. He did this a couple of times gently, but didn’t go for my sensitive parts at all. By this time, with everyone else that had come up to me, I had been giving a good once over with every part of me gauged to the brink of ecstasy. It was to the point of where a mere touch was enough to arouse me. I’m sure He knew this by the way I undulated to His caressing touch.
It wasn’t until a little later He then started to fully examine me at my more ‘personal’ parts. His contact was still gentle, but there was firmness to His tracing of me. Though I had been thoroughly handled throughout this time on the Fifth Floor, there was something quite unique about His feel. The way His fingertips traced my skin felt electric. I shuddered as He fingered up my spine and then came around and cupped my breasts. He molded and played with them, massaging my whole rounded flesh with His fingers to playing with my nipples, getting them hard as He continued. When He let go, I started to wriggle and groan in disappointment. But then I felt him behind me. He hadn’t touched me yet, but I could tell by just His presence that He was behind me. And then He touched me, holding my butt cheeks firmly for a full moment. It felt wonderful. Stroking in circles on my bare flesh, He explored my most intimate spots. Still, He was gentle as He touched my slit, feeling how hot and wet it was, not only from being played with all this time, but because of His touch as well.
Swimming with lustful thoughts, I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since He started examining me, but He stopped suddenly, though He kept His fingers in place at my pussy. As I felt my face grimace in my hood that He stopped, I could feel Him move closer to me, His body near mine. His fingers moved back from my slit to caressing my butt again.
It was certain in my mind. Tonight (if it was indeed still the same day), I was going to be His; this Man was going to be my Master for my duration on the Fifth Floor.
I would serve Him in any way, as long as He made me feel like this.
The rules for the auction were simple. First, increments were placed at one-hundred dollars minimum, with no limit maximum, which kept things interesting. At one auction, I remember one bid went from $500 to the next bidding $10,000. Once the winning bid was accepted, a banking transaction confirmation was required. Money was wired immediately to the Club’s private account or, of course, cash was accepted. However, every patron of the Fifth Floor was readily a financial sophisticate who performed million-dollar deals before breakfast or had $25,000 in $100 dollar bills on his money clip or in her purse. Secondly, which was very strictly enforced, a patron was only allowed either one submissive or one set. Once a Dom made a winning bid for a particular ‘lot’, they were prohibited from bidding on another one. This was why there was a long exam and inspection period for the patrons. Though they had the money, they had only one selection to make. This was also the reason why there were so many ‘lots’ tonight, so the quality wouldn’t dwindle as the auction went on. The ‘lots’ left over were then blindly bid on by the patrons who wanted more subs for the evening; this meant they openly bid on a lottery, which they could not choose the sub they wanted, but got a preference choice of male or female.
I had participated in these auctions a few times before, but not one in recent memory had I had a particular ‘lot’ in mind to buy. However, from what I observed, it appeared ‘lot 49’ was quite popular with many of the patrons. It didn’t matter to me, whatever the cost, she had to be mine.
The first few ‘lots’ went on the auction block with some very hefty prices going to charity. As was with what the theme of the evening, the auction itself was conducted with formal pageantry and flair. Each sub, as they were brought on to be displayed to be bid upon, put on a little demonstration of their abilities. The pony set was brought on as they whinnied and clopped, acting like horses throughout the bidding. They were bought by a Dominatrix as a set.
The ‘gladiator’, as I had begun to think of him, was led on by an ‘Attendant’, still in heavy chains. Though he was strong, standing for all that time in those chains did start to apparently take a toll on him as he dragged himself on the block. Either out of pity or to show off his body fully, the ‘Attendant’ took off the links on him as well as the large chain-mail wrap that hung off him like a loose fitting shirt. All that was left attached was a heavy chain leash attached to a metal collar that an ‘Attendant’ held onto firmly. The ‘gladiator’, now free of his cumbersome clothing, then stretched, spreading his arms outward and arched his back slightly. Looking like the Vitruvian man, the musculature firmness of his body builder physique did not go unnoticed by the woman patrons. As if he looked like he was sculpted by Da Vinci, two women Dommes teamed up and purchased him, which was not at all against the rules.
After three more on the block, ‘lot 49’ was brought up to begin the bidding. She was led onto the risers by an ‘Attendant’ to a waiting steel frame, similar to the platform she was displayed on before, next to the auctioneer’s podium. Once there, she was prompted to raise her arms. Her wrist cuffs were still together as they were then attached to a short chain on top of the frame. Because the steel contraption was a shade taller than her, ‘lot 49’ had to stand on the balls of her feet while on display in front of the audience of patrons.
‘The owner’ himself had been playing the role of auctioneer all night. No matter which ‘lot’ was on the block, he always started bidding at the same starting price: $1000, which was merely pocket change to half the people in attendance, myself included. Bids were conducted with discretion as ‘the owner’ scanned the room for takers with slight gestures by the patrons. Different hand gestures indicated how much. As I suspected, even before I gestured for the opening bid, it had increased to $2000. Indeed, this ‘lot’ was popular as bidding jumped quickly to $5000 before I realized I was outbid. This was not at all unusual, as average winning bids ranged from $25,000 to anywhere up to $50,000. However, in this case, bidding was going fast and furious as the price continued to jig higher and higher, sometimes in increments of the standard $100 to even $2000 at a time. The Fifth Floor record bid for an evening was $61,000 and it looked like that was going to be broken at the rate this was going. At breakneck speed, I was quickly trailing as after my last bid, three more popped up after that. But with determination, I was going to win her companionship for the night.
Before I even rationalized it, I hollered out, “Seventy-five thousand dollars!”
This prompted a few gasps and some murmurs from the others patrons. An out loud bid wasn’t against the rules of the auction, but it was indeed rare.
‘The owner’ quelled the slight astonishment from the patrons as he inquired for anymore bids. And as much as many of the other bidders were rich million and billionaires, I knew from experience that many were miserly tightwads and couldn’t justify spending all that money for one night with a sub. With my outburst bid jumping ‘lot 49’s’ price from $17,200 to $75,000, no one else called out. Out of utter shock or simultaneous mutual silent consent, I had purchased ‘lot 49’ as my slave for the night.
Not bad spending for a day’s pay.
It was Him!
At first, I knew I was brought down from my position I was displayed in for who knows how long and led around for a bit by an ‘Attendant’. However, after I was taken down, I was strung up again, this time on my tippy-toes. Only I didn’t stay in this position long. When I was brought down again, I felt a leash being attached to my cuffs and then tugged to follow. It was different from the way the ‘Attendants’ handled me, as they usually led by attaching the leash to my collar and then held firmly at the clip to guide me with better direction. However, first, I smelled Him. I felt Him touch me slightly and He felt very different than the soft skin of the ‘Attendants’. He tugged my leash taut and I walked to keep up with Him as He led me in the direction He indicated as I was still in my high heels and the short hobble still attached on my ankles.
As far as I could tell, we were still on the Fifth Floor as I didn’t feel going to the lower levels in the elevator. I knew there was the main chamber for the Fifth Floor, but it only took a small portion of the expansive brick converted warehouse in which the Club was housed. I assumed I was being led to the ‘private rooms’, but I couldn’t be certain. Being blind for the past hours left me so disoriented, I couldn’t tell where exactly I was anymore.
Despite my limited senses, my overall giddiness was not diminished. In fact, knowing it was Him, knowing now that He wanted me, and not knowing what exactly He would do to me, excited me even more. The anticipation felt tingly all over my body, and put some butterflies in my stomach, but I wasn’t nervous for the most part.
If indeed it was Him, the one who felt me up last, He would have a gentle, but firm touch and I expected He would fully satisfy my submissive desire.
The private rooms were reserved for those who wished that their ‘encounters’ would remain within the confines and privacy of the Club, or more accurately, the Fifth Floor. There was enough space for all the patrons, but I noticed, as I led my prize down the corridor, that some were making arrangements with the ‘Attendants’ for their purchases to be ‘escorted’ to their residences. And as enticing as it was to take my sub for the night home to my personal, more familiar playroom, I didn’t want to waste any time now that I had her.
Following me obediently as I led her by a short leash, we came to the room where an ‘Attendant’ was waiting for me. Following the set protocols all subs of the Fifth Floor knew, I tugged on the leash three times and she obediently knelt. The ‘Attendant’ then read from a folder and informed me of what exactly what my limits were with her. Although many of those who volunteered at the Club were willing and dedicated submissives, even those who were extremely into heavy BDSM still had their limitations and ‘off-limits’ practices. My particular sub was very dedicated indeed with very few ‘dislikes’. Nonetheless, now privy to how she liked to be handled, it did not interfere with what I had in mind.
Tugging on her leash once, which meant, “follow,” she got to her feet and blindly followed me into the private room. Though she had absolutely no idea what she was or who she was with, I could tell by her breathing and body language that she was expecting something. She tried to hide it, but being a keen observer of human nature, I noticed she was trembling a little. Not enough to be noticed by a normal person, but to me, her mannerisms and slight fidgetiness was apparent.
I tethered her leash upon a wall hook and left her there as I got ready. I gave her a reassuring pat on the ass to make sure she was calm while I left her for a few minutes and she didn’t seem to be bothered as I left her there. Sitting at the edge of the bed and taking off my shoes and socks, I continued to watch her. Despite not being able to see her face, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen as a submissive. Though I’d dated many women who had a kink to BDSM, all of them were just in to it for a sexual enhancement, not as a lifestyle, like I was, the other patrons were and my little sub was as well. All of us knew this was part of our lives, not just a small part of it saved for the bedroom or a kinky refurbished basement.