Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
The auctioneer gave me a final glare, and then he turned around. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I suspect whoever purchases her will have the great pleasure of whipping her frequently. Let’s recommence at five million, five hundred thousand. Who’ll give me that, for the privilege of giving young Sophia the discipline she needs, in whatever way you see fit?”
That sum was bid, and the bids rose rapidly from there, punctuated by the auctioneer’s explicit commentary.
“Her tight little cunt, such a hidden treasure,” he continued, making me wish I had never learned the naughty French words that slid like poison into my ears. “And that anus, so ready to be explored.”
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I struggled to suppress the turmoil inside me. How could I feel anything other than disgust? And yet, as the numbers climbed higher—five million, six million—I couldn’t deny a flicker of perverse pride that such a value was being placed on me. It was a grotesque validation, one that made my stomach churn with self-loathing.
“Seven million,” came a voice from the crowd.
I thought of that huge image of my own face, projected on the enormous screen above. I wondered about the man who had seen my wide eyes staring into the audience and decided to offer that much money. Was it Delacroix? Had he bid yet? Would he? Malleus and his colleagues had felt certain Delacroix would have eyes only for my auburn hair, my little breasts, my slim hips, and the tender cleft between my thighs.
“Seven million two hundred thousand,” the auctioneer declared, his voice triumphant. The bidding war raged on, each number further cementing my fate. A part of me wished desperately to be anywhere else, while another, darker part reveled in the attention as well as the magnitude of the stakes involved.
“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” the auctioneer purred. “She’s worth every centime for her unexplored potential. Think of opening that virgin flower on your cock, gentlemen. She comes with a certification that only her mouth has been used by the penis. May I have seven million five hundred thousand?”
A pause followed, and I wondered whether my fate had been decided. Had Delacroix placed that last bid? Malleus had said that in the event anyone else purchased me, the Guard would extract me quickly. I would go back to headquarters, probably to work as an analyst—and Malleus would take me as his nupta. I wouldn’t save the world, but I also wouldn’t have to risk my life, or give my body up for a villainous magnate’s depraved, degrading sexual pleasure. A spark of hope mingled with the terror of the unknown.
“Ah,” the auctioneer said suddenly. “Monsieur Delacroix. I had a feeling you would not remain silent. Seven million five hundred thousand. Thank you.”
Another pause.
“Going once,” the auctioneer said, the flat tone of his voice suggesting that he didn’t expect another bid. “Going twice.”
I swallowed hard. I peered out into the audience, not having to feign my panicked wish to make out Delacroix’s face. Malleus had refused to let me see a picture, even.
“Sophia,” he had said in his gravelly voice, “we must do everything we can to make your reactions authentic.”
The auctioneer spoke again, the word that made my tummy flip. “Sold to Monsieur Anton Delacroix. I hope you enjoy breaking in this lovely young whore, monsieur.”
A round of appreciative applause rippled through the audience. Heat rose into my scalp at the thought of all of them imagining a rich man deflowering me, ripping through the virgin barrier of my pussy as I cried out under his hard, thrusting manhood.
I knew I should focus on the specifics of the mission, on the minute training Malleus had drilled into me. But it seemed impossible not to feel the gravity of my situation, not to fear that the duality of my existence might be laid bare for all to witness. As the spotlight shifted away and the auctioneer moved on to the next girl, I exhaled slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control over my roiling emotions.
The room grew quieter, the hum of anticipation settling as the next lot was introduced. I remained in my cage, waiting for the inevitable, my mind a storm of conflicted thoughts, my body still trembling from the intensity of the experience.
Five minutes after the last girl was sold—for a mere six million euros, I noted—the cage door swung open with a grating creak, startling me. I had fixed my attention on the left wing, from which other successful bidders had emerged to claim their new human property. The man who had opened the cage door, though, must have come from the right.
I instinctively drew back, my heart pounding in my chest, sure it must be Delacroix. It wasn’t, though: I had never seen Delacroix, but I recognized the man who greeted my gaze. The towering figure who loomed before me was miles Marcus Blackthorne. The unexpectedness of his presence sent a jolt through me, mingling surprise with a thrill of something else, perhaps the interest I had felt about Marcus. Malleus had told me to look out for him, the Guard field agent who had been in deep cover in Delacroix’s chateau for more than a year.