But there had to be a way, I wasn’t giving up that easily. I’d been kidnapped by three men, sure, three gross dudes whom we’d only just met, but they were hardly geniuses, I hadn’t been impressed by their intellect when we chatted earlier today by the pool. Plus, when you’re attacked you’re supposed to fight back immediately and vigorously, otherwise the chance of getting out alive only narrows. Of course, I was already deep in the trenches of some scary kidnapping scheme, but I wasn’t giving up. I couldn’t lose hope now, so breathing deep, I tested my bonds once again. There had to be a way. This was my life at stake.
And gathering my wits, I looked around the room. It wasn’t a dungeon, unless dungeons have velvet covered walls and luxurious furniture, gilded chairs with overstuffed cushions, couches a deep maroon color that you could sink into. In fact, the loveseat that I was on now was a plush purple velvet, like a giant marshmallow, except wine-colored and poofy. There was no artwork on the walls, just a couple recessed lights and a giant flat-screen TV. Hmm, that meant there had to be cable here, some kind of electricity that I could use to my benefit.
And as I struggled with my bonds, the flatscreen came to life, flickering on with an intensity that made me squint. Whoa. It wasn’t CNN or MSNBC on the screen. Instead, the camera zoomed onto a chamber of sorts, the lens adjusting and readjusting before finally coming into focus. There was a figure standing on a slightly raised dais, completely covered in a long, midnight-blue robe with a hood pulled down over their face. Then a spotlight flicked on, flaring bright on the shrouded form, and a woman’s voice sounded out, mild and a little bit robotic.
“Welcome,” the disembodied voice said. “Welcome to bidding on Article Twenty, our first parcel for the night. Article Twenty is twenty-two years old, from Little Rock, Arkansas. Handlers,” the voice continued, “please remove her hood.”
And I gasped because invisible hands pulled the cape from the form, and the material slid fluidly away to reveal the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Red hair curled around a face as sweet as an angel, the glossy tresses reaching almost to her butt, and big brown eyes looked around, a little fearful, biting her lip. Oh my god, this was Article Twenty? Why didn’t they use her name? What was going on?
But the disembodied female voice continued.
“As you can see, Article Twenty is young and healthy,” the woman spoke again. “The girl stands five foot nine, measures 36-24-36, with brown eyes and red hair. Article Twenty, remove your dress please,” the voice said mildly.
The redhead inhaled again, looking around wildly with large eyes. I wondered why she didn’t run, there were no restraints on her hands and feet, although she was barefoot. But she didn’t try to run, instead quivering in place, breathing hard, eyes wide and rolling.
Suddenly the voice came on again.
“Handlers, please help Article Twenty with her clothes,” it commanded.
And two men stepped from the shadows, dressed entirely in black, their faces shrouded with hoods. With gentle hands, they began removing the girl’s dress, undoing the buttons one by one, slowly unzipping the back until the floral material fell at her feet. The girl stood, shell-shocked, still uncomprehending.
“Handlers, please strip Article Twenty completely,” the female voice sounded out once more, disconcertingly mild. “Please remove all of her clothing.”
And the handlers did as told. Black-gloved hands went to the woman’s body, unsnapping the clasp of her bra so that the cups dropped away, revealing huge, luscious tits capped with pink nipples. The black-gloved hands also tugged at the woman’s underwear, slowly slipping it down her pale thighs until the redhead was completely nude before us, eyes still wide with fright, breasts trembling, a peek of her pink slit visible as she clutched her thighs together.
Oh god, what was going on? Why was this on TV? Why didn’t someone help this poor thing, obviously she was completely freaked out, frozen with fear. How could this be happening in the modern age, anyways? Weren’t there women’s rights, all sorts of female liberation movements specifically geared so that stuff like this didn’t happen?
But events were unspooling so fast that I watched, transfixed, in my little room as the female voice continued.
“Article Twenty, turn to the right.”
The redhead managed to respond this time, turning a semi-circle to her right.
“Left now, please,” the voice continued.
And the girl turned left, as if there were viewers on her left side as well.
“All the way around now,” the voice commanded. And this time, the redhead did a three-sixty so that the camera could see all of her body, the narrow, sloping shoulders, the thin waist, the long legs and the delicate jut of her elbows. The video was so sharp, in such high resolution that I could even glimpse splatters of freckles on her chest and the tops of her arms, like sunlight kissing milk. But then the voice took a different turn.
“Article Twenty,” said that monotone. “Please turn and bend over, putting your hands on the ground.”
The girl was unmoving, looking around, shocked like a deer in headlights, unable to absorb the order.
“Handlers,” came the voice again with a tone of finality.
And this time the two handlers did more than gently remove her clothes. One grasped the redhead around her waist as the other pushed down on her back, and the redhead bent over like a feather, her long red curls dropping to the ground, a slight glimpse of pink flashing between her legs.
But the voice wasn’t done yet.
“Legs spread please.”
And the two handlers reached down and gripped one ankle each, positioning the girl’s feet until she was bent over with her legs apart. Oh my god. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The redhead’s pussy came into full view, beautiful, engorged and moistly pink. Was she aroused? How could she be, after all this, the cold voice, the directions? It was like she was a piece of meat at an auction, being inspected before she was sold, how could she be aroused in the face of so much humiliation?
But sure enough, the girl’s pussy was glistening under the bright lights, and this time the two handlers did something unexpected. They took off their gloves and two pairs of male hands appeared. Before, I hadn’t paid too much attention to the men clad in black, they were shapeless, nameless, faceless minions doing the voice’s bidding. But now things were about to get a lot more personal.
Because two pairs of male hands pulled the redhead’s white cheeks apart, baring her cunt and ass under the glare, both holes winking, visible, and so gorgeous. It was amazing to see a woman spread like this, aroused, glossy with her own cream, and I watched, transfixed, as one of the men reached his hand to her folds and pulled her labia apart, revealing that clit. Holy shit, they weren’t pulling any punches here.
“Let the bidding begin,” came the female voice musically, and my suspicions were confirmed. I’d already felt like the redhead was going to be sold in some way, shape or form. It wasn’t quite a livestock auction, but there were definitely hints. It was the way she was being displayed, like a Faberge egg in a perfect glass case, each layer dropping away until her internal jewels were revealed. And in this case, her pussy and ass were the priceless treasures, unveiled, gorgeous and glistening under the harsh overhead lights.
And evidently there was a flurry of bidding.
“Thirty thousand,” came the female voice. “Do I hear thirty-five?”
Holy shit! Someone was betting thirty thousand dollars for the beautiful redhead? That was my dad’s salary at the factory for a year, with OT included. Oh my god, what was going on?
But the two handlers weren’t stopping at merely holding the girl open and exposed. As I watched, eyes wide and mouth open, one handler dropped his finger to trail wetly between the redhead’s folds, causing her cunt to shiver and tremble, moistening at his touch.
“Oh yes,” purred the female voice. “Article Twenty is receptive to a man’s touch, she’ll be a knock-out for the right man. Now do
I hear forty thousand?” Because the silent bidders, wherever they were, had gone nuts and the price of the beautiful girl was sky rocketing. Forty thousand dollars for the woman? For how long? A night? Two nights? Twenty minutes? I shook my head, still confused at the obviously illegal scene before me.
But despite the degrading circumstances, the redhead grew more and more aroused under the handler’s touch, his finger niggling her clit, then going back and running gently up one plush lip before trailing across her asshole and running down the other. Oh shit, the redhead was creaming, her body wetly convulsing as they played her and I shivered to myself, my cunt getting hot, an intense pressure forming between my legs. Oh my god, was I turned on by all this? Watching two anonymous men tease a naked girl on screen as she was bid on by more anonymous men? Holy shit, I was really messed up in the head.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes away because the girl let out a silent gasp of ecstasy then, lifting her face to the heavens, that long red hair draped over her shoulders, breasts swaying wildly under her torso. And before my entranced eyes, her pussy contracted wildly, coming hard as the men stroked her, fondled her, making her scream with desire, eyes squeezed shut in delight, breasts shaking to and fro as her cunt creamed wildly, spasming hard, gushing with a clear juice.
And with a ding, a bell rang out.
“Sold!” exclaimed the female voice. “Article Twenty is sold to Bidder Three for fifty thousand dollars. Bid final.”
And I watched as the redhead, gasping, still shuddering from her orgasm was led offstage, knees wobbly, legs barely holding her up. Oh my god, the girl had been sold to some random stranger who’d paid unthinkable amounts of money for her. What was going on? Why weren’t the cops busting in? But I had no time to dwell because as my mind whirled crazily, the door banged open.
Miles stood there, a nasty scowl on his face.
“Get up,” he snarled. “You’re next.”
Of course I couldn’t get up, I was bound hand and foot. But he leaned forward and I screamed at the flash of light. With a quick snip, the knife slashed through the binds on my feet and I was free to walk. Grabbing my elbow, he hauled me up and dragged me stumbling to the door.
“You’re up next, my little prize,” he sneered again, spittle flying from his mouth to land on my face, the wet droplets sticking to my skin. “And judging from what Rachel’s told us, you’re gonna fetch a good price. A very, very high price,” he wheezed.
My cheeks colored. What had my friend told them about me? Was Rachel a part of this? Couldn’t be, she’d just met them earlier today and had been knocked out by their potion. So what was going on? What about me was making this guy’s eyes shine with greed, his mouth practically drooling with hunger? All I knew was that I was up next to be sold at auction … and I was absolutely terrified.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ellie
Miles hauled me through what seemed like endless hallways, all of them dark, shrouded with drapes, before passing through a series of ornately furnished rooms. Where were we? Some kind of underground fortress? An underground clubhouse where illicit auctions took place? Unfortunately, there was no one in any of the rooms so I couldn’t scream and save myself, although maybe everyone here was in on the scheme and it would have been pointless.
Finally, we entered a small antechamber.
“Here,” grunted Miles, thrusting a piece of cloth at me. “Put it on.”
I took it with trembling fingers, holding the cloth up. Holy shit, it was a midnight blue robe, just like the one I’d seen the redhead wear. It was full-length with long sleeves, the material shimmery, mysterious and feminine despite its shapelessness. But I shook my head stubbornly.
“No,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m not wearing this.”
My resistance was steadfast because I couldn’t go down without a fight, I had to push back at my captor, do something to make sure I got out. But unfortunately, Miles was a sick bastard and wasn’t taking no for an answer when there was so much money on the table.
“Put it on her,” he ground out coldly and immediately hands were on me, seizing the cloth from my grasp, pinning my arms backwards so that I had no choice.
“No, stop!” I shrieked. “Stop, stop!” Hopefully someone could hear me, anyone. But no such luck. My hands were wrestled in back of me, the cape thrown over my body and the hood pulled over my head so I was shrouded in midnight blue, an enchantress in a gown, ready to take the stage.
But it did nothing to quell the rebellion I felt inside. Despite the horrific circumstances, I was still steaming, gritting my teeth and the invisible hands had to hold me tight.
“Good,” snarled Miles. “No marks on her, she’s going up for auction.”
I gasped, realizing that it wasn’t some sense of decency that kept them from hitting me. It was that I was up for sale, and any imperfections on my skin would detract from my price. It was money, only money, that was keeping these goons off me.
But suddenly a light came on above the entryway and I was hustled forward.
“You better cooperate,” hissed Miles, getting in my face, his expression a twisted mask of anger and greed. “Or you’ll find out what happens when there are no buyers to protect you.”
I backed away quickly, but not before I managed to spit fully in his face, a glob of saliva trickling off his chin.
“Don’t think I’m gonna cooperate,” I hissed, just as angry. “I don’t belong to you!”
The disgusting man just wiped the spittle away with a sodden handkerchief.
“Get her out of my sight,” he ground out, and with that, I was hauled into the room I’d seen on-screen.
Now that I was in the chamber itself, I could see that it was much more than a dais with a spotlight. There were windows all around the dais, about twelve of them, and they were one-way windows that could see me, but where I couldn’t see inside. Above each window was a light. All of the lights were off for the moment, but a shivery sensation crept over my body. Oh god, the bidders had to be in there, sizing up the goods, waiting patiently as I was led to the center.
And once I was positioned on the dais, the female voice chimed melodically.
“Welcome back to the auction,” she said, her tone still moderate and pleasant, like this was completely normal. “Here before us we have Article Twenty-One, an eighteen year-old girl. Handlers, please remove her robe.”
And with a swish, the midnight blue cloak was pulled from my body, the velvet caressing my shoulders as it left, leaving me chill on the dais. I didn’t know where to look, wasn’t sure how to stand, how to do anything. All I knew was that there were unknown men looking at me, sizing me up for purchase, and it made shivers run through my arms and legs. I crossed my arms over my chest instinctively, as if trying to protect myself, but immediately the voice came on again.
“Please let the viewers see all of Article Twenty-One,” the woman chimed as the men pulled my arms down to my sides. “Article Twenty-One is tonight’s highlight, a unique lot with something rare, that may only be offered once. ‘The Girl in Gold,’ as we’re calling her, is a virgin. Yes, bidders,” she continued. “The Girl in Gold has never been touched, never been handled intimately by a man, and is ready for your pleasure.”
I gasped. Oh my god, I was tonight’s “special”? And I was special because I was a virgin? Suddenly I realized how Rachel had betrayed me. It wasn’t anything purposeful, she must have been gossiping and confided that I was a stick in the mud because I was a virgin. Unfortunately, Miles and his goons had immediately picked up on it and realized they could get a higher price, thus the kidnapping. Oh my god.
And what was this “Girl in Gold” stuff? How had they come up with this name? Suddenly, I realized it was my dress. The beautiful golden slip was gorgeous under the spotlights, shimmering sensuously, caressing my curves just so, the hem fluttering despite the lack of a breeze in the closed chamber. And I realized what I must have looked like – creamy, sensuous, young and nubile, glimmering be
fore the men’s eyes, waiting for a taker.
But before the bidding began, the woman’s voice came on once again.
“As always, we will be showing off the goods. Handlers,” came the voice. “Please help Article Twenty-One out of her clothing.”
And the two black-clad men came towards me again, their faces hidden by masks, looking like two burglars. But I didn’t want them to touch me. As degrading as this was, I wanted to be my own woman as much as I could, fierce and independent. So I held out a hand and ground out, “I’ll do it myself.”
Both men were still for a moment, tentative, unsure. But before they could swarm, I reached behind my neck and undid the string tie, letting the golden straps slither off my chest. And because it was nothing more than a slip, immediately the top began to drop off, to fall to my feet. But I wanted control. I was going to own this in whatever small way possible, so with shivering, trembling hands, I slowly lowered the cups of the dress until both my girls were bared.
And I cursed myself then. Oh god, once upon a time I’d been thin as a pencil, looking like a boy, no one would ever be aroused. But no more. Now my breasts were creamy, pendulous, huge mountains of white topped by pink areola, the nipples stiff in the cold chamber, swaying and jiggling slightly with my movements.
And immediately several lights flashed on above the booths, blinking furiously, like angry eyes. But the woman’s voice rang out once more.
“Bidding has not started yet, we are still in the viewing phase,” she said in that modulated tone. “Please refrain from bidding until the final part of our auction. Article Twenty-One,” she continued. “Please continue to disrobe.”
I almost rebelled. I’d throw their auction right off the rails, give them something to remember the “Girl in Gold” by. I’d show them how a girl with sass and spunk behaved, even in captivity. But common sense took over. If I didn’t get sold, I’d have to stay with Miles and he’d pull no punches this time around. I’d be battered, assaulted, all sorts of terrible things once there were no prospective buyers to protect my lily white skin.
The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 101
