The leather cuffs bit into my wrists holding me in place. I could barely move. My ankles were strapped down too, legs spread open, exposed. The blindfold over my eyes was thick, blocking out everything but sound, and god, the sounds were endless.
Low murmurs. A gavel striking. Men bidding like they were buying art. Except it wasn’t art they were drooling over. It was me.
I was on display, naked, bound, a number written across my thigh in red marker. They didn’t need my name. They didn’t care.
“She’s new,” a voice announced. “Virgin to the club. Untouched by our members. Unbroken.”
I heard a chuckle dark and amused, like someone already imagining what they'd do to me.
“Starting at ten grand. Who’s got the balls?”
The bids started fast.
“Ten.”
“Twelve.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty.”
A paus
