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Auctioned Off
You are still groggy as you are led onto the catwalk. Bright lights shine in your eyes, leaving the audience shrouded in darkness. You shade your eyes and blink, revealing a sea of male faces leering up at you.
You’re cold. They’ve dressed you in a sheer chiffon tunic that clings to your body and provides no warmth. Conscious of the effect of your erect nipples poking through the diaphanous fabric, you raise an arm to cover your chest. A man beside you quickly grabs your wrist and pulls it back down to your side. You look at him fearfully. He’s bald, broad and powerful, his muscles barely contained under his Italian suit. You decide not to antagonize him.
This is bad, very bad. It’s hard to think of a positive way to spin the fact that you’ve been abducted from the street, drugged, stripped and washed, then thrown in front of a crowd of evil men. You suppose it’s possible you’re just on America’s Next Top Model, but you doubt it.
There’s a slender man in a tuxedo. He speaks into a microphone with the smooth tones of a used-car salesman.
“Okay gentlemen, as you can see, we’ve saved the best till last.” He consults his clipboard. “Hmm, she’s so new, we don’t even have her name yet. Well, it doesn’t matter — if you are the winning bidder you can call her whatever you like!”
You tremble as your worst fear is confirmed. They mean to sell you at auction! Your mind races, wondering what your new owner will expect of you.
“Beautiful, isn’t she? Do a little spin for us, darling.”
You hesitate, partly out of defiance, but mostly because you are not yet recovered enough to think clearly. You can still feel the needle sting in your bicep where they injected you. The immediate effect of the cocktail of drugs was to render you unconscious, but the lingering effect seems to be one of ensuring your compliance, or at least suppressing resistance.
Impatient, the brute beside you grabs your shoulders and twists you around so that your back is to the audience. Then you feel the skirt of your tunic lifted, exposing your bare ass for all to see. There are appreciative murmurs from the crowd. The auctioneer steps over and gives you a sharp smack on your left buttock, causing you to jump. There’s laughter, but with a sinister undertone.
“Nice huh?” he asks. “Imagine that ass jiggling as you give it to her from behind! Remember, we supply you with enough drugs to keep her willing. Of course, you don’t need to use them if you enjoy a challenge…”
Oh shit. You’re going to be a sex slave. Hopefully this means you won’t have to vacuum and clean toilets, but still, there’s an obvious downside here.
“Five thousand!” shouts out someone eagerly.
The auctioneer shakes his head. “Turn her around again, Ivan,” he instructs your guard.
You are roughly twisted to face the crowd again, your eyes downcast, feeling a blush on your face. The auctioneer runs his fingertips down your cheek and neck and you turn your head away from him in revulsion. His fingers trace lower, then he gently cups your breast. “Look at her. She’s something special, this one. Starting bids at twenty thousand, I’m afraid. You know she’ll be worth it!”
“Twenty thousand!”
He grins and steps back from you, but not before giving your tit a firm squeeze. “And we’re off, gentlemen! Do I hear higher?”
“Twenty-five!”
“Thirty!”
You seem to have stimulated quite the bidding frenzy. It’s flattering if you think about it. As the bids climb higher and higher you look around the room nervously, trying to identify your potential owners. You hope at least that the winner is good looking.
“Fifty thousand!” shouts someone, and there’s a loud cheer from around the room. The bidding stops.
“Ah yes,” says the auctioneer. “We’ve reached that magic number. Ivan, if you please…”
Your brutish guard grins and moves behind you as you look around in confusion. You quickly discover what he intends to do. His arms wrap around you and his hands grip each side of the plunging V-neck of your tunic. You start to struggle but he acts quickly, tearing the delicate garment apart at the front. He tugs the scraps free and tosses them aside, leaving you completely naked. Your hand moves to cover your mound, but Ivan quickly pulls it away.
There’s a hush as the assembled men inspect every inch of your exposed flesh and you feel goose-bumps rising over your entire body.
The auctioneer walks up to you and attempts to slip his hand between your legs. You recoil.
“Hold her, Ivan,” he says calmly. Your wriggle as your elbows are drawn behind your back and the big Russian holds you firmly in place. Again the auctioneer forces his hand between your legs. You feel his fingers prying your delicate folds apart as he rubs back and forth.
“She’s wet already!” he announces.
It’s a lie.
You are powerless as he molests you and you blush furiously in humiliation. You are horrified to sense your clitoris hardening in involuntary response to the stimulation, and when you feel a fingertip enter you, you gasp. He leans in to whisper into your ear, but he’s holding the microphone so that everyone can hear. “Oh, yes, there’s no problem getting you in the mood. She’s a horny little slut, this one. Oh yes, gentlemen, she’s wet and ready alright!”
It’s no longer a lie.
“Sixty thousand!”
“Seventy!”
“Seventy five!”
The bidding increments get smaller despite the auctioneer’s best efforts, until finally the room appears to have settled on your true worth.
“No advance on ninety-three, gentlemen? Still a bargain in my opinion. No? Going once at ninety three, going twice…”
Your eyes seek out the winning bidder. His friends are patting him on the back. He’s a disgusting specimen, rat-featured with greasy hair. Your heart sinks and you feel sick.
“One hundred thousand!” shouts a new voice.
Saved at the last second! You try to locate the new bidder, as does everyone else in the room. His voice sounds familiar — very familiar.
“A new record!” cries the auctioneer in delight. “One hundred thousand! This gentleman clearly knows a quality piece of ass when he sees it! Anyone else? Any advance on a hundred thousand?”
The losing bidder looks for a moment like he might consider it, but then turns around and walks out in disgust. There are no other takers.
“Going three times… Sold! You won’t be disappointed sir, you won’t be disappointed!” The auctioneer sniffs your juices on his finger and gives your new owner a wink. “Come forward sir, and sample your winnings!”
A man in a hoodie pushes his way through the crowd, then starts climbing the steps to the catwalk. There’s a spotlight behind him, so his face is shrouded in darkness. You squint, trying to make out his features. Then he steps up to you and pulls the hood back.
You gasp and smile in relief. Incredibly, it’s Ralph. He’s not one of them. He’s here to rescue you!
He frowns and shakes his head slightly, and you take it as a signal to play along. These are dangerous men. You quickly understand that if they think something’s not right, there could be trouble. Your smile abruptly fades and you hope nobody noticed it.
The auctioneer did notice, however. “Well, gentlemen, she seems to like the look of her new owner. Maybe you won’t be needing those drugs, eh sir?”
Ralph ignores him. Instead he circles you, pretending to inspect the merchandise. “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of here soon,” he whispers.
Your heart is pounding and you are overwhelmed by a rush of warm feelings for this man. You have so many questions. How did he find you? Where did he get the money? You bite your tongue, knowing that the answers will have to wait.
“We’ve debited your account, sir. Perhaps you’d like to try her out?” suggests the auctioneer.
“I’ll take this one to go,” replies Ralph.
The room goes quiet.
“I said, perhaps you’d like to try her out,” repeats the auctioneer firmly.
“And I said, I’ll be taking her now.”
There’s an angry murmur. Ivan straightens up, becoming even more imposing, if that were actually possible. The auctioneer moves closer. “Sir, you came late. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the rules here. The losing bidders have earned a show. You’ll take her for a spin, so to speak, or everyone gets to have a turn.”
Your stomach lurches. The prospect of being raped by this entire room of men is horrific. You look at Ralph in panic.
You can see in his eyes that he knows you’re both in trouble. His eyes dart around the room, perhaps gauging whether it’s possible to run for it, but you know that’s not on the cards.
He leans in and whispers, “Perhaps they’d be happy with just a blowjob?”
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