Her Shameful Service – Galactic Discipline Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

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Somewhere a bell sounded. A voice boomed from the loudspeakers, its accent just as refined as Baron Gravamir’s.

“If you please, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, take your seats. The auction will commence in ten minutes.”

The conversations of the crowd grew more animated, though I could catch very little of what they said. I heard Silverstar again, and felt a strange, embarrassing flare of jealousy in my chest. They had called her Silverstar, and me Wetquim. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could and pushed down the sob that threatened to emerge, even as the tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

My mind went somewhere else, not back to Kamnos, because it hurt too much to remember my home and my family, but out into the reaches of space, the other side of the galaxy where it seemed a war had begun. Then the voice on the loudspeakers returned.

“Lot one. Heartarse, a lovely, shapely Kamnian girl suitable for the bed of any lord or lady. Shall we start the bidding at thirty thousand credits?”

My heart pounding, I risked another look, desperate to know what was happening. I saw across the platform where the cages stood that a man in a company uniform had stepped onto the raised dais. His back faced us, and he gazed across a wooden rostrum like the one in the plaza of my village on Kamnos, from which the head elder would preside over village meetings. My cage was far enough to his left side that I could see around his upper body and discern a view screen on the rostrum in front of him, where I guessed he could find any necessary detail about the concubine to be sold.

“Thirty thousand, yes. Count Garsin,” he said. My stomach lurched as I realized that the auction had begun, just like that. “Thank you. May I hear thirty-one? Yes, sir… Mr. Bofton. Thank you. Thirty-one to you, my lord count. Thirty-two… Captain… Jacper, for the Imperial Navy, yes?” Then, just as smoothly, in a practiced flow of words that seemed to hypnotize me despite the creeping dread they brought, “Turn around and bend over, Heartarse. Let’s show the captain the sweet backside he’s purchasing for his officers.”

Only then did I realize that she—I couldn’t think of her by the terrible, degrading name, but of course I didn’t know her real name—must be standing in front of the dais, her body hidden from my sight. Then I saw, two cages to my left, that the agent whose gloved hand had explored my pussy to demonstrate my wantonness had just opened another girl’s cage door and stood in front of it, holding something metal in his hands.

A murmur of appreciation traveled through the crowd. I felt my cheeks grow hot and my brow furrow at the thought of the poor girl obeying the auctioneer, but my attention had gone to the young woman emerging from her cage, obviously in response to a command from the agent. To her turning around, taking her hands from her head, thrusting them awkwardly behind her back.

To the agent putting the metal thing—things, I saw now—around her wrists. Two dull metal bands, of the same material it seemed as the cages. Attached to one another, binding the girl’s hands. I swallowed hard. Knowing the cruelty of the Vionians as I already did, having the memory of the horrible punisher too vividly in my mind, I didn’t need an agent to tell me that those metal cuffs could bring the same sort of brutal, instant discipline between my legs.

Then, as the agent started to lead the girl in the direction of the dais, I noticed that another concubine stood, obviously waiting her turn. She, too, had her hands bound behind her in the metal cuffs, and she hung her head, gazing at the planks of the wooden platform. The agent placed the girl he had just taken from her cage behind this other one. He took another pair of the cuffs from a rack just to the side of the queue he had begun to form, and then he turned back towards the cages.

I had to lower my eyes immediately to keep him from noticing that I had dared to raise them. To my dismay, though, I could see the agent’s feet approaching, taking him just a little to my left, to the next cage over, carrying the cuffs in his hand.

The sight of the agent getting us, the lots for sale, out of our cages had distracted me completely from the proceedings at the rostrum. The refined, fluent voice of the auctioneer over the loudspeakers had faded into the background of my mind as I fearfully took in the quickly forming queue of young women like me, their hands restrained behind their backs as if to give as much access as possible to the most intimate parts of their bodies.

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