Page 1 of Mastered By Desire

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Leah

The belly chain is cold against my skin as Dmitri fastens the clasp, his fingertips carefully avoiding contact with me.

“There,” he says, stepping back to appraise his work.

He can’t step back too far. The dressing room is small. Its black paneled walls make it feel smaller, but it’s large enough to hold a few stools. I lean against one now, clinging to it so I don’t float away.

I want to shrink under Dmitri’s studious gaze. But I’m about to step out onto a stage where I’ll stand awkwardly while people place bids on a night with me. I should get used to the scrutiny.

Low Vice hosts an auction only once a month, usually on a Saturday. Half the funds go to the people auctioned. The rest goes to necessary club upkeep. At the end of the year, anything extra is donated to a domestic violence shelter.

This is the first time I’ve taken part. I’m a recent college graduate and poor as fuck. Whatever I earn from this will pay the other half of the rent next month. If Mick would pay hisshare, this wouldn’t be a problem. But he’s still trying to make his gaming side-gig into a full-time gig, so here we are.

Despite my patience wearing oh-so-thin.

“And Mick is cool with this?” Dmitri asks.

He’s my best friend’s older brother. Always the protector, always the voice of morality and reason.

“You can talk to him yourself if you want,” I say. “He asked to open the relationship three months ago.”

“But you haven’t hooked up with anyone yet.” Dmitri’s tone is skeptical.

I squint at him. “Is Danica talking about me with you?”

He shrugs. “I just want you to be safe and happy, so I ask a few questions from time to time.”

“And she answers you?” I say with a laugh. “That snake.”

I don’t mean it, and he knows it. Danica and Dmitri have been close to me for years. I moved in with their parents on my eighteenth birthday after my stepdad drove me out of the house. Dmitri is six years older than us, now twenty-nine. He has always played the role of protective older brother.

He still is a protector; he works as a bouncer at Low Vice, which is how I made it to this auction.

And now I’m standing in front of him in a black bra and panties, a black robe loosely draped over my body, while he makes sure my belly chain dangles at just the right angle. The pink beads attached to the chain match the collar the auction winner will be given.

“I, uh, guess I’ll let you finish getting ready.” He glances away.

That’s right. I’m supposed to lose the bra and robe before going onstage. Bidders might request the removal of my panties, too.

I’m both dreading and hoping for that.

I’ve long suspected there’s an exhibitionist side to me, but I’ve never been able to explore it. Tonight’s auction will be the closest thing to exhibitionism I’ve ever experienced.

I want to ask if Dmitri will be in the audience, but I’m pretty sure the answer is no. He wouldn’t want to watch his friend get auctioned off to someone for a night of sex. As a bouncer in a sex club, he’s pretty open-minded, but I think this would be his limit. Better not to ask. I don’t want to make things even more awkward than they are.

At least I know he isn’t judging me. I couldn’t handle that—I look up to him far too much.

Once he’s out of the room, I slip off my robe and unfasten the clasp on my bra before setting it down on top of the neat pile I made of my other clothes.

My stomach tightens with nerves. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I wish I’d been able to talk to Mick, but when I tried to bring up a new way to earn money, he snapped that he didn’t care and I should do whatever I want if it would get me off his back.

Real supportive, asshole.

I think our relationship is over. I wish I could find it in me to care, but I’m not even angry anymore.

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