Billionaire Unloved(4)

By: J.S. Scott


As the auctioneer started to talk about the many ways I could be used and abused if I was sold to someone with darker fetishes, I broke eye contact with the dark-haired man.

There’s no kindness for me. It was obviously just a desperate thought. Nobody with a heart could sit and watch women get auctioned off like farm animals.

A moment later, I knew I was right when the man I’d hoped wasn’t looking at my body but was seeing me actually placed his own bid.

Nobody here cares about me. All they want is my body to use and abuse.

I blinked back tears as I continued to stare into the darkness at the back of the room, my body rigid even though all I wanted to do was collapse on the floor in a puddle of hopelessness.

I don’t cry. I never cry. I won’t give anybody here the satisfaction of knowing I’m terrified.

In a moment of weakness, I wished that I had mustered up the courage to somehow kill myself to avoid the humiliation that was washing over me in painful waves. Maybe I could have found a way to die, but my will to survive was stronger than my desire to sink into the oblivion of death.

I shook off the dark thought, knowing I’d never willingly give up my life, even though I felt like any hope of ever truly living had left me a long time ago.

I’ll get free. I’ll find a way.

I remembered a quote I’d read that was connected to Roosevelt: If you have reached the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

I was clinging to my knot right now, a glimmer of hope I’d never been able to let go of, and I refused to release it.

I’d been inspired by quotes and literature all my life. Since the library was available to everyone, I’d spent most of my time there absorbing as much information and inspiration I could find between the pages of books and other information provided to the public for free.

In my youth, books had been my escape, my way of leaving my painful life behind for short periods of time.

As a homeless adult, it had been a place to stay warm or to cool off, a location that had always found me a place to belong and fit in. Even if it was only for a little while.

Unfortunately, there were no fairy tales for me to fall into right now.

Sold!!!

That one word barked by the auctioneer jolted me back from my musings and into the position that was now my reality: naked, terrified, and on a stage in front of people who wanted to do me harm.

I’d just been sold like a horse at auction, and my reins were about to change hands.

My eyes darted around the room in horror, trying to find my way out.

I pushed my long brown hair back with a trembling hand. My price had gone over six figures, so even if I escaped, I knew I’d be hunted down like an escaped convict. Nobody was going to pay that much money and lose an expensive brood mare.

But I knew I’d rather make a break for freedom and be on the run than to just accept whatever my fate was going to be.

I watched as my purchaser went to the cashier to arrange payment while I was pulled down the steps and out of the bright lights that had nearly blinded me.

We came to a stop beside the man who had bought me, and disappointment nearly crushed me as I realized my new owner was the very man who had given me momentary hope.

It was the dark-haired guy from the front row who had briefly met my eyes with what I’d perceived as kindness.

As usual, I’d been so damn wrong.

I blinked as he looked up at me, his expression now filled with anger.

“Cover her and release her!” he barked at the man still holding my chain.

My restraint was removed, and I was handed a dark cover-up that I quickly donned. It was thin, like something a woman would wear to cover a bathing suit, but I gladly pulled the material down over my privates, relieved that I could cover my body.

“Let’s go,” my new nemesis growled into my ear as he took my upper arm to guide me out of the club.

His grip was insistent and firm, but not painfully so.

I moved with him, anxious to get out of a club that was sleazy enough to auction off virgins, not caring whether the women were there willingly or unwillingly.

I had a feeling that nearly every woman being sold was completely unwilling, or had been forced to be here by tragedy.

I’d met two women in the holding area who had been sold off to somebody in a third world country. They’d been tourists in the US for a holiday, normal sightseers in a country that was the land of the free. I’m sure it had rightly never crossed their minds that they’d become victims of a kidnapping, and now it was entirely possible that they might never see their home countries again.

The two travelers had people who loved them back home, and I desperately wanted to help them. But I couldn’t do it as a prisoner.

I stumbled slightly to keep up with the man who now owned me. He wasn’t moving that fast, but my feet were bare. I occasionally stepped on what I assumed were peanut shells, but I was pretty sure I didn’t really want to know if it was anything else.

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