Each person who is bought as a mistress is locked into thirty-day contract. You get half your money up front and the other half when the thirty days are over. The buyer has to pay an additional ten percent to the house so the mistress isn’t responsible for fees. That’s what I gathered from the mountains of paperwork, non-disclosures, and extensive medical exams I had to endure to enter into the Mistress Auction. If it wasn't for all of that, I’m not sure I would be doing it. Everything seems to be done to protect everyone, and though I’m desperate, I’m not willing to risk my life. When your contract is up, you can enter into a longer Mistress agreement at a newly negotiated price with your current buyer, but if it wasn't a good fit you’re able to enter the Mistress Auction again if you like. I didn't want to be anyone’s mistress, though the perks do seem rather nice. Your every need will be met, and your only requirement is to be ready and willing when your buyer comes knocking on the door of wherever he’s put you. I want to be more than someone’s property, so I know this will be my one and only auction. When the contract’s up, I’ll be going my own way.
“Got to keep him on his toes,” Kim says, breaking into my thoughts. She gives me a wink like I should know what that means. It all seems a little silly to me, but now I know how she afforded the expensive shoes.
“What if he doesn’t bid on you?” She seems so confident, but I guess if I looked like she did I would be too.
“Oh, he will. Men love a good chase, and I love being chased. I think it’s just part of our game now, and Samantha doesn't seem to care. She keeps getting her ten percent, and we keep having a good time.” It’s then I see something like a twinkle in her eyes.
“And if someone else outbids him and wins you?”
“One thing I can tell you about the men out there is Samantha knows what she’s doing. She makes sure the girls being auctioned off are high quality, and ensures bidders are of an equally high standard”
The word ‘quality’ makes my stomach turn. It’s almost like I’m at a cattle auction or something. If the men out there are such great catches, what are they doing here?
“If these men are so good why can’t they find women on their own? I know why I’m doing this; I need the money. But I’m sure if they’re rich enough to spend fifty thousand dollars on a mistress for a month, they could easily find a woman on their own who wouldn’t cost them so much.”
“You really are quite innocent aren't you?” The way she says it doesn't seem mean or hateful, more like she’s come to a realization. “Likely most men would end up paying the same price either way. Gifts, dinners, and trying to get a woman into bed, it adds up. Here, things are simple and to the point and wrapped up rather nicely. They don’t have to worry about missing a date with you or calling you every day. They can come and go as they please, and we aren’t supposed to question that. Everyone here knows what they’re getting, and this isn't necessarily about finding love. You’re about to be bid on by some the richest and most powerful men in the world. They like discreet, and Samantha makes sure they get that.”
Adjusting the straps of the white nightie, I look into the full-length mirror. I look...sexy. Not something I ever really think when I look at myself. I’m more a jeans, shirt, and cowboy boots kind of girl. I like functional and comfortable.
My black hair hangs in waves down my back, almost to my ass. I actually forgot how long it really was because I always keep it in a ponytail and out of my face. The eye make-up Red put on me makes my silver eyes seem to shine, and whatever she put on my lips makes them look plump and full. Maybe they’re that way on their own and the lipstick makes them more noticeable. I see myself in the mirror but it doesn't feel like me.
I grew up working on our farm on the outskirts of Las Vegas, manly raising sheep and a few hogs. I wonder if whoever buys me will have me accompany them to events or if I’ll just be stored away in a condo somewhere. I know nothing about going to formal events, or even wearing heels. I could possibly kill myself in them.
I wanted to go to school, but I had to do my part since my mother passed away three years ago. I realized over time that she took so much more with her than just herself when she died. The farm has slowly been slipping through my fingers. It’s hard keeping a farm functional in the desert, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t hold on to it. My father talked me into not going to college, saying he needed all the help he could get, and once it was all settled, I could try to enroll. I just couldn't say no. He’d always bring up my mother and talk about how hard things were now that she’s gone.
I'm second guessing myself and this decision as I wonder if I'm just delaying the inevitable downfall of the family farm.