Auction night

The invitation arrived in a plain black envelope, no return address, slipped under her apartment door like a secret.

Inside: a single heavy card, embossed in silver.

Velvet Rope Society

Saturday, 11 p.m.

One night. One rule: everything is consensual.

Bring only your desire.

Lila had heard whispers about the club—exclusive, hidden somewhere beneath the city, a place where the wealthy and the wicked gathered to buy and sell pleasure. She’d always told herself it was myth. Fantasy fodder for late-night scrolling.

But the card felt real between her fingers. And the ache it sparked low in her belly was very real.

She went.

The address led her to an unmarked steel door in an alley downtown. A man in a tailored black suit checked her name against a tablet, eyes lingering appreciatively on the dress she’d chosen—deep crimson silk that clung to every curve, slit high enough to flash thigh with each step, neckline plunging just enough to make her feel dangerously exposed.

He nodded once. The door opened.

Down a dim hallway. Velvet curtains. The low thump of music vibrating through the floor.

Then the main room.

It was larger than she expected—opulent, decadent. Crystal chandeliers casting golden light over red leather booths, a polished bar along one wall, and in the center: a raised circular stage ringed by shadowed seating.

People milled about in masks and evening wear, drinks in hand, laughter low and intimate. The air smelled of expensive perfume, whiskey, and something darker—arousal.

A woman in a sleek black gown approached her with a smile.

“First time?”

Lila nodded.

“Drink?” The woman pressed a flute of champagne into her hand. “Nerves are normal. Tonight you can watch… or you can play.”

Lila’s pulse fluttered. “Play?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled behind her mask. “The auction begins in twenty minutes. Submissives volunteer. Bidders win one night—whatever they desire, within negotiated limits. Safe word enforced. Everything recorded for security. No names required.”

She leaned closer. “You’d fetch a high price.”

Lila’s breath caught.

She should leave.

She stayed.

Twenty minutes later, the lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the stage.

The auctioneer—a tall, androgynous figure in a tailored tux—stepped forward.

“Lot One,” they announced smoothly. “A delicious newcomer. Virgin to our stage. Limits: no blood, no permanent marks, no scat. Everything else… negotiable.”

Lila’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She hadn’t signed up.

Had she?

But then the hostess was beside her again, gentle hand at her elbow, guiding her forward. Whispering, “You nodded when I asked if you wanted to play. That’s all it takes here.”

Lila stepped into the spotlight.

The room hushed.

She stood alone on the stage, crimson dress glowing under the light, mask hiding half her face. Hands clasped in front of her to hide their trembling.

The auctioneer circled her slowly.

“Gentlemen. Ladies. Couples. Let’s start the bidding at ten thousand.”

A paddle rose in the shadows.

“Twenty.”

Another.

“Fifty.”

The numbers climbed fast—seventy-five, one hundred, one-fifty.

Her skin prickled under the weight of dozens of hidden gazes. Heat pooled between her thighs.

“Two hundred thousand,” a male voice called—deep, cultured, edged with hunger.

A pause.

“Two-fifty,” came a female voice, sultry and amused.

Lila’s knees weakened.

“Three hundred,” the man countered firmly.

Silence.

Then the auctioneer smiled.

“Sold. To the couple in booth seven.”

A ripple of applause.

Lila was led off stage, legs barely working, guided through a side door into a private hallway lined with numbered rooms.

Room Seven.

The door opened.

Inside: a king bed draped in black silk. Low lighting. Mirrors on every wall. Restraints dangling from the ceiling. A table of toys—floggers, plugs, vibrators, bottles of lube—gleaming under soft light.

And them.

The couple.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, late thirties, dark hair, wearing a perfectly fitted black suit. Mask covering the upper half of his face, but his mouth was sensual, currently curved in a predatory smile.

She was stunning—mid-thirties, long raven hair, curves poured into a emerald gown that left little to the imagination. Her mask was delicate lace. Her eyes devoured Lila like she was dessert.

The woman stepped forward first, fingers trailing down Lila’s arm.

“Beautiful,” she murmured. “We’ve been looking for someone exactly like you.”

The man moved behind Lila, hands settling possessively on her hips.

“Safe word?” he asked, lips brushing her ear.

Lila swallowed. Voice barely a whisper.

“Red.”

He chuckled darkly.

“Good girl.”

The woman’s hand slid to the zipper at the back of Lila’s dress.

“Then let’s begin.”