Sex Slave at the Auction by Aphrodite Hunt

Author:Aphrodite Hunt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bdsm, submission, bondage, spanking, sex slave, oral sex, auction, suspension, exhibition, display
Publisher: Aphrodite Hunt

5

The Auction is held at the very hall with the stage that Max and I have fucked in our bizarre public display. The ringmaster and his grooms – all our former charioteers – are decked in togas and outfits that wouldn’t be far off from the set of Spartacus. They wield cattle prods and whips.

We are kept naked at the side of the stage. Our arms are bound behind us with frayed ropes in keeping with the Roman slave auctions of old. Methinks we should have held this under the hot burning sun in the amphitheater, but maybe that’s a bit too much for most of our distinguished guests, who’d want to work on their tans in a controlled environment and not under the actual . . . you know, sun.

“No talking,” the grooms say roughly.

Max is five bodies away from me, his magnificent torso bound, firmly muscled and gleaming with light oils. He flashes me a comforting grin.

Greg notices this and looks away. A fleeting pang shoots through my chest. It’s complicated how I feel about Greg. I mean, I’m with Max and Greg is engaged to Alice. We’re both technically taken. But these New Age relationships are so messed up that I can’t help but feel something for Greg too.

He’s the only person who has been consistently kind to me. I can’t say that for Max.

The Auction proper starts.

We can’t see what is happening onstage but we can certainly hear the proceedings.

“And look at this lovely twenty-six-year-old redhead. Her name is Annalise and she’s . . . where are you from again, Missy? Montpellier, France. An extremely exotic French miss. And would you be able to serve as a French maid? She says ‘yes’, ladies and gentlemen! Think of all the macarons she will serve you with those pretty tits bared and those luscious red nipples covered with a whisk of whipped cream.”

Oh yeah, I can let my imagination run wild on that.

“Let’s start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars.”

I gasp. They are starting the bids that high?

“Fifty thousand dollars. Do I hear sixty thousand dollars? Yes, that gentleman over there in the white dinner jacket.”

I strain to remember who the gentleman in the white dinner jacket is. I think he’s one of the Fortune 500 CEOs.

“Do I hear eighty thousand? Eighty thousand from the lady in the second row.”

OK. No clue who that is. She can be a spouse to one of the billionaires. I have no orientation to guide me now.

“A hundred thousand! Do I hear a hundred and fifty thousand?”

What if no one bids for me? My stomach begins to roil at the unpleasant thought of being humiliated onstage. After all, my patron from last night has already sampled me. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m worth it.

Would Russell put in a pity bid for me?

“Two hundred thousand! Do I hear two hundred and fifty thousand for this delectable French filly? Look at this ass, ladies and gentlemen. She’s a petite European Size 6 if I have ever seen one.

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