Chapter 13: Headmaster Bought me 001

“Next up on the block... Miss Erica Bennett!”

My heart skips a beat, and once again I get those intense flutters of nerves deep in the pit of my stomach. So many things have made me feel like that since I started sleeping with Headmaster Griffin. Master Griffin, as I’m supposed to call him.

He’s my first Dom. Which I guess makes me his sub? There’s been so much to learn, ever since he first found out that I’d been lying to everyone, that I’m really a sex researcher, not a high school English teacher, and that I’ve fucked my way through the Chippewa Valley Parent Teacher Association for the sake of my book.

Oh, and he caught me fucking a student.

After that, he spanked and fucked me into submission, right there in his office, and he’s been dominating me ever since. It’s been an incredible rush.

But his latest order was to put myself on the auction block here at the final PTA charity fundraiser of the year. And this makes me a little nervous, for good reason. Out there, in the audience, are about a million guys I’ve fucked this year. And their wives.

But it’s what he wants. I take a deep breath, linger a little on the new thrill of obedience that shivers up and down my spine, and walk out on stage.

“Miss Erica Bennett!” The announcer coos. She’s one of those helmet-haired women who I think hates me for being hot. I try not to let my nervousness show. “Miss Bennett is offering dinner for two at Gaston’s.”

I totter on my high heels – another of Master Griffin’s demands – out to the center of the stage, and do an awkward little twirl. There aren’t that many lights, and I can’t help but look out into the audience. Immediately I find Master Griffin, tall, distinguished, imposing, and the sight of him calms me. He’s standing next to a man that I don’t recognize, which is weird. I recognize almost everyone else here.

They recognize me, too. I suddenly feel totally exposed, breasts straining in my tight white tube dress. Totally inappropriate, but not my choice, of course. It was his.

“We’ll start the bidding at one hundred. Do I hear one hundred?”

Too late, I wonder what happens if I don’t sell, or if I sell for some cheaper price. Aside from the crushed ego – I mean, I’ve literally fucked half the men out there – I can only imagine how displeased Griff would be.

Whoops. Master Griffin.

“One fifty!”

I guess my relief is obvious, because a little wave of laughter trickles through the crowd.

“One seventy five!”

“Two!”

“Two fifty!”

I try to remain bashful, and innocent, as per instructions, but the heat of the lights, and now the reality of men actually bidding on me, is starting to turn me on. I have no idea how visible my nipples are in this dress, or under these lights, but I bet Master Griffin does.

I bet he knew it would do this to me.

“Four hundred!”

I love these people, with their money. I try not to smile, thinking about how many wives are wondering about their husbands right now. And then I see Master Griffin, his eyes locked calmly on me, lean over and whisper to the man at his side. The man I don’t recognize. I can’t see him particularly well, but that’s at least a little bit because he’s fiddling with his fucking phone. Like he’s bored.

“One thousand.”

He doesn’t even look up from his phone as he says it, but his voice rings out over the crowd anyway. There’s a murmur of curiosity, and a few heads turn to try to get a good look at him. Looks like no one else knows who he is either.

“Do I hear eleven hundred?”

Silence. Master Griffin is making that face he makes when he tries to suppress a grin. He’s loving my confusion right now. My unease. I have no idea what’s going on.

“Sold!”

But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been sold.

There’s an explosion of applause, and quickly some young thing herds me off the stage to make way for the next charity date. My mind is reeling. I should have known this wouldn’t just be about the charity auction. I should have known Griff would have something planned. I just have no idea what.

I’m lost in thought, trying to get my bearings in a quiet corner backstage, when suddenly there’s a hand on my arm. It’s Griff. He’s smiling.

“You’ve been sold, my dear.”

“I noticed.”

“No.” Suddenly he grips my arm, and pulls me toward him. “You’ve been sold. You belong to your buyer for the evening. You are theirs. You will obey them as you obey me. Do you understand?”

Gulping, I nod.

“They know your safeword. Do not keep them waiting.”

And with that he spins me toward the side entrance, where I can see the man who bought me, still idly playing with his phone. He’s in a charcoal gray suit, and he’s sort of pretty, with styled hair and good skin.

“Did he really buy me?” I ask doubtfully.

Griff’s grip tightens. He doesn’t like questions.

“Run along.” He says, and then he pats me on the ass and pushes me forward.

The man with the phone looks up briefly, sees me coming and doesn’t wait. He’s off through the double doors, and I have to trot along to keep up and figure out where I’m supposed to be going, which is harder than it sounds in four inch heels. At least my dress is short enough that I can take longish strides.

I’m just happy I haven’t snapped an ankle by the time the man with the phone disappears through the front doors. Everyone else is still at the auction, taking advantage of the open bar and the flirtatious atmosphere, and for a moment I’m completely alone, heels clattering on the polished floor, breasts heaving, starting to sweat a little in the early summer heat.

What the hell am I doing?

I don’t have an answer, but from the way my body comes alive at the thought of Griff’s little games, I don’t really care. He has something planned. I have to obey.

I push open the double doors, and immediately the humidity sticks to me like a glaze. The pretty man with the phone is standing by a gray Mercedes with an annoyed expression on his face. He sees me emerge from the doors and, rolling his eyes, walks around to the passenger side and gets in the front seat.

Uh, I guess I’m a back seat kind of girl, then.

And I would be correct. There’s a driver, some non-descript, neckless grunt. The car is cool, elegant, obviously incredibly expensive. The only sign that either the driver or the pretty boy acknowledge my presence is that the driver starts the car as soon as I close the door.

I clear my throat as the car pulls smoothly away from the curb. No response.

“Where are we going?” I venture.

Nothing.

“So how do you know Griff?” I try once more.

I can’t see his face in the rearview mirror, but pretty boy tilts his head like he’s briefly rolling his eyes before going back to his fascinating phone.

Ok, I get it. I’m supposed to be dumb and virginal. I squirm a little in my white dress, and wish I could take my heels off, but I know Griff wouldn’t like it.

The car turns into one of those private, gated communities, where it’s not really a community because the properties are so large that each house is like an island. The security guard at the front gate seems to make a point of not looking at my face.

I admit it, I’m a little afraid. But that’s probably the point. Griff knows the fear will just heighten my arousal, make me super sensitive to everything. And it is. I am. My nipples are already getting semi-hard, and the lights up ahead are so bright that they’re fractured, which means my pupils must be dilated.