After Mr. Black pulls out of me without letting me get off, I feel angry. Really angry. Who the hell does he think he is? Why the fuck is he toying with me? He might have paid for me for the night, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m a free woman and he has no right to do this to me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask. I must’ve caught him off guard, because he doesn’t respond for a few moments. I wish my arms weren’t tied up anymore, so I could take off this damn mask.

“Excuse me?” he asks. The tone of his voice changes. It drops about an octave.

“Why didn’t you let me get off?” I ask.

“Because…this is just the beginning.”

“Or maybe it’s the end,” I say. I’m sulking. Upset. I guess this is what men refer to as blue balls, because I’m livid. My cheeks are actually burning with anger.

He leans over me. I cower away from him. Get the fuck away from me you asshole, I want to say. But when he takes the tie from my mouth and takes off my blindfold, I’m glad that I kept my mouth shut.

The lights in the room have been dimmed, making the place look like it has been lit up by candlelight. When my eyes focus on Mr. Black, I’m taken a little bit aback. I don't know what I was expecting, but for some reason I thought that he might be wearing some leather. Being tied up isn’t full on bondage, of course, but he was clearly into it and isn’t that what BDSM is about? From what I’ve seen on the internet, the dress code seems to be quite important to the community.

But Mr. Black is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. I wouldn’t be surprised if it cost a couple of grand and was by some sort of fancy designer. It’s dark-gray and the pants are tailored with a snug fit that accentuates his lean muscular legs. He is tall and broad-shouldered and I immediately try to imagine him in the nude. What does he look like under all those clothes? My eyes slowly drift up to his face.

“Are you going to untie me?” I ask.

He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

“You’re kind of a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Listen, I may have signed a contract to anything sexually, but you clearly didn’t want to finish what you started. So that part is over…for now.”

Who is this talking? Are these my words coming out of my mind? There is something about being tied up that’s making me incredibly confident. And cocky. Usually, I’m the girl who is cowering in the corner, but now I feel like I am the most powerful woman in the world.

“So, are you going to untie me?” I ask again. This time, I use an even more forceful voice.

As Mr. Black glides over to the bed - he does not walk like normal men, no, he glides - I glance into his impossibly blue-green eyes. They are a perfect compliment to his tan, sun kissed skin. Shivers run up my spine. Mr. Black looks dangerous and I like it. He takes his time untying my hands, occasionally looking over at me. When our eyes meet, it takes all of my strength not to look away. But I’m done cowering. And he’s done having the upper hand in all of this.

Once my hands are free, I rub my wrists and ask him where the bathroom is. He points me to the room on the other side of the suite. The bathroom is all tile and has a very high ceiling like the rest of the suite. I’ve been on sailboats before, but only small thirty-footers, with ancient wooden paneling and crammed interiors. I’ve never been on a boat this big. Come to think of it, it’s actually hard to believe that this is a boat at all. The yacht is so large that you can barely feel that it’s moving at all. The only indication that you have that it’s a boat at all is the 360-degree views of the blue water out of each window.

I lean over the marble vanity and look at myself in the mirror. The sheer robe with the feather trim is quite becoming. The feathers hide all of the imperfections and make me feel very luxurious and incredibly sexy. I kneel down and flip my hair a couple of times. Laying on my back for so long, made it fall flat a bit and I want to infuse it with a little bit more body.

Next, I check my eye makeup. My eyeliner is a little smeared on the right eye, giving it an unintended smoky eye look. I wipe some of it off and flash myself a smile. I’m usually not this vain. In fact, I hardly care about makeup and frilly clothes at all. But there’s something about Mr. Black and this yacht that makes me want to try.

What the hell are you doing, Ellie? I ask silently, looking at myself in the mirror. This whole scene isn’t you. If it’s anyone, it’s Caroline, but it was too much for even her. Why are you really here? There’s of course the usual answer. I owe over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in student loans. And while they won’t pay themselves, Mitch and my mom are more than happy to cover the expenses. Christ, they didn’t even want me to take out any loans. So, why did I? Pride. It’s this stubborn, middle-class pride that I must’ve inherited from my father, who also famously refuses to take any money from my mom. But at least my dad has an excuse, she’s his ex-wife.

Still, there is something to be said for paying your own way. I know that I’m not paying my own rent, but I am paying for everything else. I’ve always thought that it would really mean something if I was actually able to pay off my student loans on my own. Maybe it would mean that I’m actually a success. That I’ve actually made something of myself as a writer.

And when this opportunity came up…I don't know, it just felt right. But more than that, it felt exciting. And besides being a stubborn, stick-in-the-mud, I’m also not the type of girl to do a lot of exciting things. For crying out loud, I never even tried pot in high school because I was too much of a wimp. I hardly took a sip of beer until I was eighteen. I’ve never let myself go in anything. I wanted to audition for the school play my senior year, but I chickened out. I wanted to go away on a study abroad semester, but again I was too much of a coward. I’m not very old, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life. Mostly, because of my own decisions. So, when this auction came about, I decided that I’ve had enough. Enough of being scared. Enough of not taking chances. Enough of not living my life to the fullest.

“Are you okay in there?” Mr. Black asks through the door. Suddenly, I realize that I’ve been in the bathroom for a very long time.

“Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.”

I look in the mirror one last time. I don't know what’s in store for me for the rest of the night, but at least I’m doing something unexpected. I’m living life on the edge. I’m jumping off a cliff without a parachute. What can be more exciting that?

I walk out of the bathroom with my head held high. I straighten out my shoulders and flash Mr. Black a mischievous smile. He’s standing in front of the large circular table in the middle of the living room suite with a Champagne bottle in one hand and two glasses in another.

“I thought that some Champagne might be in order,” he says. As I make my way over to the table, I see the large bowl of bright red strawberries.

“Those look good.”

“Yes, they are. Organic. Freshly picked from a farmer’s market.”

I’m somewhat of a lover of fruit. And if they’re actually from a farmer’s market, and they look that beautiful, they must’ve cost $10 a pound. Champagne on the other hand is something I don't really know very well. But given where we are and who Mr. Black is, I doubt that it’s from the discount aisle.

He pops the bottle and fills two glasses. Then he sits down and looks at me.

“Why don't you have a seat right here?” he asks, patting his thigh. There are plenty of places to sit all around, but I comply. I find his confidence, that’s bordering on arrogance, intoxicating.

When I sit down on his thigh and make myself comfortable, the first thing I feel is the bulge in his crotch. It’s rather big and I’m rather pleased by that fact. The size of the penis doesn’t really make much difference to me. However, it is nice to know that everything about Mr. Black is in proportion, starting with his huge yacht, his enormous suite, and ending with his gorgeous face, lean broad-shouldered body, and his substantial package. It’s good to know that all of this money and wealth isn’t just some way of compensating for certain shortcomings.

After I’m in place on his lap, Mr. Black dunks a strawberry in the glass of Champagne.

“Open wide,” he instructs. When the strawberry, covered in cold bubbles, brushes along my lower lip, shivers run up my entire body and a warm sensation starts to build somewhere in between my legs. I bite into the strawberry and marvel at the sweetness as it runs down my throat.

“Mmm-mmm,” I say, licking my lips. Before I get the chance to finish the strawberry, a small drop of Champagne falls on my collarbone. I’m about to wipe it with my hand, when Mr. Black brushes them away and presses his lips to my skin. After kissing me lightly, he then licks my skin and sucks on it with a little force. I toss my head back and close my eyes, to enjoy the moment.

“Mmm-mmm,” I say. “That’s even better.”

After kissing my collarbone and neck, he takes a sip of his champagne.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I say.

He looks at me and waits for the question.

“What’s your name?”

“I thought you knew my name.”

“Well, I know you as Mr. Black,” I say.

“That’s what you can call me,” he says and takes another sip.

Is he for real? I stare at him but my glares don't seem to faze him one bit. Suddenly, I feel like a total idiot. What am I doing here if the man won’t even tell me his real name?

“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but we don't really know each other very well. I mean, I’d like to change that. But for now, please just call me Mr. Black,” he says. The tone of his voice is more appeasing and apologetic, but I’m not satisfied.

“And one more thing,” he adds with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t forget to refer to me as Sir.”

I nod, not really knowing how to respond to him. He’s both flirting and demanding of me. A part of me is insulted. How dare he speak to me that way? Who does he think he is? But another part, knows that it’s just a game. I’m his for the night and if he wants me to call him Sir for a quarter million dollars, then why not? What’s the big deal?

“Here, I have a surprise for you,” he says and picks up a remote control even though there isn’t a television in sight. He points it at the curtains across from us. Pressing the button, the curtains swing open.

Expecting to see the wide dark ocean and a starry sky, I am genuinely taken aback by the show that’s taking place before my very eyes. Shocked, actually. There, on a bit of a raised stage, behind glass as if they are in an aquarium, are three people in various levels of undress. There are three people, two girls and a guy, who are all having sex with one another.

“You like?” Mr. Black asks.

I look at the stage and then at Mr. Black and then back at the stage. I actually don't know how to respond to this. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I get up for a closer look. There are three of them. The blonde girl is dressed in a pink bra and crotch-less panties. The brunette is on all fours and kissing the blonde’s breasts and then going down on her. The toned, bronzed blonde guy with the physique of a Greek god, kissing the brunette’s tight ass and slowly inserting his finger inside of her.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s a private show. Something to get us in the mood.”

I didn’t realize that we needed to get in the mood. Though, I hate to admit it but I am suddenly keenly aware of how aroused I am.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say.

“Yes, not many people have. It’s not exactly like watching porn, is it?” Mr. Black asks.

I shake my head. No, it’s not. It’s so much more real. There’s a real authenticity to the group. I mean, they are actually here. Right before us. Doing things to each other. I look closer at their faces to try to see if any of them look familiar.

“You didn’t meet them at the party,” Mr. Black says. “They are performers not guests.”

“Performers?” I ask.

“Yes.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “This is what they do for a living. They are hired by very exclusive private parties as performers. They only have sex with each other and they have the whole thing very choreographed and practiced so that it’s always exciting to watch.”

Sex performers? Besides strippers and escorts, I’ve never heard of this particular type of sex performance. Wow, what a world.

Mr. Black pulls over two large soft chairs, which look much more comfortable than the ones around the dining room table. He positions them right in front of the window.

“Come here,” Mr. Black pats the seat next to him. “Don’t overanalyze this. Let’s just enjoy.”

I sit down in my chair and look up at the stage. The brunette is on all fours with her tongue in the blonde’s pussy. The guy is having sex with her from behind. A few minutes later, he pulls out and goes over to the blonde. She licks him and goes down on him while the brunette uses a large vibrator on her, making her scream with pleasure.

“Are you turned on?” Mr. Black asks.

I nod, making the understatement of the century. I’ve never been this turned on. I cross and uncross my legs to try to get the warming sensation to go away, but it doesn’t. He had teased me enough, gotten me to the edge and now any thought, let alone a real life visual takes me back to full arousal.

Suddenly, I can’t keep my hands to myself anymore. I start to rub my breasts lightly and my hands run down my body without asking for my consent or permission. When I touch my clit and reach further inside of myself, I know immediately that this won’t take long.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mr. Black turns to me, pulling my hand out of me. He takes my fingers and licks them carefully, one by one, and then looks straight into my eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“This is very arousing, Sir.”

“Yes, I know,” he says with a coy smile. “But you can’t orgasm yet. Not without my permission.”

I stare at him, not entirely understanding the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“Well, do you want to have sex then?” I ask. “Sir?”

“Oh no, honey, tonight won’t be that easy.”

“I don’t understand, Sir.”

“You are mine for the night, Ellie. And that means I tell you when and where you will orgasm. Right now, we’re just building anticipation.”

I shake my head.

“Disappointed?” he asks, flashing his pearly whites at me.

“I’ve already built anticipation, Sir.”

“Oh yes, I can see that. And taste that.”

I return my eyes to the stage and try to focus on something else. But all I see before me is the thing that brings me back to the thing that apparently I can’t do. The brunette is laying on her back with the blonde on top of her on all fours. They are each eating each other out while the guy goes back and forth between getting a blow job and having sex with one and then the other. My yearning gets mixed up with anger and disappointment and, frankly, I don't know how to deal with it.

I glance over at Mr. Black. His eyes are transfixed on the stage as well. I decide that this is my chance. Maybe I can do this and be very quiet. I take my left hand, the one that’s furthest away from him, and slowly slide it under my butt. Much to my surprise, I don't even have to put it in very far. Suddenly, an overwhelming warm sensation floods my whole body and I moan from pleasure.

When I get control of my senses, I open my eyes and see Mr. Black’s eyes staring at me.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say quietly. “I just couldn’t help it.”

Mr. Black shakes his head, disapprovingly. I don't know him well enough to know whether he is secretly pleased or not.

“Well, then, Ellie,” he says slowly. “You’ve been a very bad girl. And you know what happens to bad girls?”

“No, Sir.”

“They get punished.”