Chapter 1

1

Leah

T he 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 his share, 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.

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 lights illuminate 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.”

Deep breaths. I knew this would be a possibility. I even wondered about the most graceful way to do it, but I never settled on a good answer. So I push the panties down as far as my hands will reach while I’m standing, then let them fall to the ground.

My pussy is bare. I’m doubly glad for the full Brazilian wax I treated myself to, in preparation for tonight…but also, a bit of hair might help me feel more covered.

Awkwardly, I pick up the panties. I don’t want to just leave them on the floor.

Betty reads something else on her phone. A smirk plays on her lips. “They’re requesting we pass the panties around the room.”

Mortifying, but okay. I can handle it. It’s just underwear.

Swallowing, I say, “Sure.”

She takes the underwear from my hand and offers them to someone sitting offstage, partially in shadow. When he steps forward to take the panties, I realize who it is. Dark blond hair. Gray eyes.

Dmitri.

And he’s holding up a bid card.