Page 2 of Mastered By Desire

The snick of the door latch makes me jump. The door between this dressing room and the stage opens, and Betty steps through. Her shoulder-length pink hair looks brighter against the black walls.

“You look nice,” she says with a professional, appraising glance. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold. Nervous.”

“The stage lights will help with the chill. And nothing will help with nerves.” She winks. “But I promise, you’ll do great. I’ve run dozens of auctions, and I think you’ll be very happy with how it turns out.”

“Okay,” I say.

“You can leave at any point,” she reminds me.

I nod. “Yeah, I know. I want to do this, though.”

She grins. “Let’s go, then.”

I’m eager for this. It’s still a struggle to make myself move. My feet feel glued to the floor.

Move, Leah.

I want this. I need it.

Wearing only my underwear, I emerge on the stage at the corner of the club. Usually a Saint Andrew’s cross rests here, but it’s been removed for space. Betty leaves me in the center of the stage and stands at the far side. She picks up a microphone.

A bright light shines down from above, making it difficult to see the crowd of people seated in front of me. Not all of them are men, which I’m fine with. I had to fill out a form indicating my preferences and hard limits, and gender wasn’t one of them.

The stage lights warm my chilled skin.

“Tonight’s first auction is a virgin…to the auction,” Betty says with a laugh.

The people in the chairs laugh good-naturedly. I wonder if anyone could or would auction off their virginity? Well, it’s not going to be me.

“Miss L is twenty-three years old. She’s had five sexual partners, men only so far, although she is willing to be auctioned to any gender. She is willing to do everything in Column One and many things from Column Two. Most of her hard passes come in Column Three.”

I’m glad she doesn’t list everything out—the bidders have copies of everyone’s sheets, and Betty’s recap is a courtesy.

Remembering to keep my gaze forward and my shoulders back, I stand in place. If I can ignore the audience, I won’t be so terrified. The room beyond is mostly dark, but a few faint lightsilluminate the outlines of a long bar and a room populated with tables and chairs, as well as some booth seating.

“As a reminder,” Betty says into the microphone, “this process is a quiet one. No cat-calling, shouting, or speaking to the person on the auction block. If you have requests for the person to turn around or perform specific actions to help sway your decisions, text the number listed on the back of your bid card. If I believe it’s reasonable, I will pass along the instruction. If you disagree with my decision, you can either live with that disagreement, or you can get the fuck out.”

Quiet chuckles come from the people assembled. I’m the first to be auctioned tonight, but they’ve been here before, they know the routine.

“Let’s begin, then.” Betty steps to the side and gestures toward me, palm held open like she’s showing a game show audience what the contestants can win. “Starting at ten thousand.”

Ten thousand? I didn’t realize the starting bids would be so high—in fact, Betty told me they usually start at half that number. Dmitri said I would likely get a good amount to help with rent. Heck, this is more than rent. I’ll be able to breathe comfortably for an extra month.

Several bid cards go up.

“Ten point one,” Betty says.

Only a couple of the cards go down.

“Ten two.” She pauses. “Ten five.”

More cards go up and come down.

After a moment, Betty checks her phone. She walks over to me, covering her mic. “There’s been a request to remove your underwear.”

“Right,” I say, “okay.”

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