Sold at the Auction(9)

I almost snorted at her fake cheeriness, but the thing was she hardly  seemed fake. The blonde really was smiling and bubbly, even though she  must have known what I'd just been through, that I'd just been auctioned  off to a man.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little confused. What's going on? And what's ‘Prep?'"

The blonde chortled merrily.

"It's for you to get prepped of course! We make sure our girls are in  top condition when they're handed to buyers, so of course, we take good  care of them. You must be tired and hungry," she said, taking my elbow  and guiding me down a pale blue hallway, leading me to a small, plush  waiting room. "Please, have a snack."

I gasped. There was a cornucopia of fruit and veggies, plus little  pastries, petit fours, even chocolate-covered strawberries. I looked at  the spread but there was nowhere near enough, I needed real food and not  dainty nothings.

"I'm so sorry," I hesitated, biting my lip. "But I'm really hungry.  Could I get something more substantial? Maybe a burger or some pizza?"

And Melissa's tinkling laughter sounded again.

"Sure, I'll order a salmon salad for you," she agreed. "But why don't  you make yourself comfortable for the time being, read some magazines,  have some rose-infused ice water. You must be parched," she said,  picking up a crystal pitcher with pink petals floating inside. "Let me  pour you a glass."

But when she handed me the water, I looked at it skeptically. I was  afraid to put anything in my mouth in this place, honestly, look what  had happened to Rachel. Melissa's laugh just rang out again.

"Nothing but water," she chirped merrily. "Well that, plus a little rose."

And screw it, I was so thirsty that I took a sip. Ah, the cool liquid  hit the spot, sliding down my throat as I drank more, letting the  delicious water calm my nerves, refreshing me from the inside. I could  almost feel myself decompressing, the nightmares of tonight fading  somewhat.

And Melissa nodded.

"Isn't it amazing what a little water will do?" she remarked with a  smile. "Here, why don't you take that off, and put this on," she said,  holding out a plush, terrycloth bathrobe. I needed no persuading for  this and in an instant, was out of the midnight blue cloak, the velvet  dropping in a puddle to the ground, and into the bathrobe, letting the  soft material hug my curves, like a big teddy bear giving me a hug.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "You can't imagine what I've been through, it's been really hard."

Melissa laughed gently.

"All the girls say that when they come here, but think of this as a  break," she said comfortingly. "Here's where you're gonna be primped and  pampered, made to feel like a princess before you meet your buyer. So  relax," she said merrily. "Eat, drink, read magazines or even catnap a  bit. I'll be back once your bath is ready," she said, letting herself  out, shutting the door behind her.

And despite the low music playing, the soothing strains of violins, I  heard the lock snap shut behind her. Because this was still a prison,  despite the food and drink, the rose-infused water, the luxurious  spa-like atmosphere. Even if I was in for a pampering, the underlying  truth of my situation still stood. I was a prisoner, I'd been sold, and  after all this was over, there would be a man on the other side, ready  to claim his goods, made fresh and pretty for his pleasure.

My only consolation, as embarrassing as it was to admit, was that my  buyer was the dark man. God, I hoped it was him. It had to be him. I  couldn't survive this if it wasn't him, I couldn't survive a week in  captivity, my heart, mind, and soul would break if it wasn't him. So  getting down on my knees in the small room, I did something I hadn't  done in a long time. I prayed. I prayed, pressing my forehead to my  clasped hands, eyes squeezed shut, mentally begging the gods, the  spirits, the nymphs of the world to have mercy on me, to work with me,  to offer a boon. And my thoughts were inarticulate, words passing  through my soul soundless, more a rush of feeling, of emotion, grief and  happiness mixed into one. Because I wasn't praying for my escape, or to  be free from these binds. Quite the opposite. I was praying for the  dark man to be my captor, for the man with blue eyes to make me his.         

     



 





CHAPTER SEVEN


Troy




I sat on a stool in the bathroom, my big form indolent, relaxed, still  dressed in a suit despite the steamy interior. Because I'd bucked all  tradition. Normally, the product is prepped and primped within an inch  of her life before she's turned over to the buyer, the girl's given the  full spa treatment, all sorts of feminine fripperies, I had no idea what  exactly. But I couldn't wait. After the auction, I'd tapped my foot  impatiently as the money transferred, as two million big ones were  direct deposited from my account into escrow. And after the screen  flashed, "Confirmed," I let out a growl.

"Are we done now?" I ground out to no one in particular. But this is the  Billionaires Club and you're never really alone, so of course a voice  piped up from nowhere, computerized, like an android answering my  question.

"Yes, sir," it said complacently. "Please feel free to return to your  quarters, the woman will be delivered to you after Prep is over."

But I shook my head furiously.

"Naw," I ground out. "I want to see her now."

The voice remained unfazed.

"If you like, there is a viewing area for buyers," intoned the computer.  "You may view your charge as she is bathed and primped, anonymously of  course."

But I shook my head, still dissatisfied.

"Naw, like I said, I want to see her now. I want to see her, to touch,  to lay eyes on her without a wall of glass between us, see those boobies  jiggle," I said. Fuck, I shook my head. I'm an alpha male but this was  getting crazy, like an obsession. And I hadn't even met the little girl  yet, not formally at least. I'd just seen that beautiful body on the  dais, watched as she played with herself, and it wasn't enough. I had to  have her.

Because fuck, I don't pay big money to view the goods through a glass  case, I wanted to touch, to fuck, to play with that little girl, feel  that steaming cunt wrapped around my dick, and the sooner the better. So  I grunted, speaking again.

"Tell you what," I ground out. "Why don't I get her clean, it can't be  that complicated right? I shower every day, I know what to do."

And the voice was silent for a moment. I almost thought it was going to  say no, that I was going to have to find management to complain, lodge  some written statement. But instead, it spoke again, unperturbed as  always.

"Yes, of course, you may join Article Twenty-One in the bath if you wish. Please depart your booth."

And the door to the console whisked open, a path of lights flickering  along the walkway. I stepped out of the booth and followed the guides,  walking for what seemed like miles on a twisted, crooked road, even  leading me up and down, climbing mountains before descending into  valleys. I was going to have to get management on this, I was here to  enjoy myself, not work up a sweat.

But finally, a doorway appeared in the wall, sliding open with a hiss,  leading to a gilded bathroom. The fucking place was cavernous, the size  of a modest apartment, there was a spa bath, a shower, two sinks, a  dressing room, a lounge, all the walls tinted a subtle gold, sprays of  flowers positioned strategically. And fuck, it was steamy too,  luxurious, a sweet fragrance greeting my senses.

"Please make yourself comfortable," the voice piped up again. "Article Twenty-One will be delivered shortly."

I grunted, seating myself on a stool.

"By the way," I called out to no one in particular. "Could you get lost for a while? I want some privacy with my new purchase."

Again, only silence. Did that mean the computer was off? Or was it on  still, and just listening? But the voice rang out once more.

"Certainly sir," it said, and with a small click it was gone with an  eerie silence. Or at least I hoped it was gone. You never knew with this  place.

But I sighed. Fuck, I didn't really care if they watched as I sampled  the girl, enjoyed that luscious female form. I'm ripped and toned with  the body of a god, and I don't mind performing for unseen eyes. And  fuck, these girls were made for fucking, so of course I was going to  fuck my charge, that's what I wanted from the brunette, those huge tits  pressed in my mouth, her cunt squeezing me tight as she bounced up and  down my cock. So if they wanted to watch, that was fine by me.

But where the hell was my charge? I looked around, rolling my eyes. Sure  the bathroom was luxurious, the tub already steaming with water, but  where the fuck was my girl? And suddenly, the door cracked open and my  purchase stepped in. She was wearing some huge terrycloth robe, the  midnight blue cloak gone, but the fuzzy fabric couldn't hide the  generous curves beneath, the luscious femaleness.