Paraded before the Billionaires

(BOOK FIVE OF THE INITIATION 2 SERIES)

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt

Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

WORKS BY APHRODITE HUNT

The ‘Initiation’ series

Open Your Legs for Me

Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

Thighs Wide Apart

Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

The Final Initiation

The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

The ‘Initiation 2’ series

Open Your Legs for my Family

Bend Over for my Family

Publicly Display Yourself for Me

Sex Slave at Sea

Paraded before the Billionaires

‘
The Royal Captive’ series

Prince Miro’s Capture

Prince Miro’s Submission

Prince Miro’s Enslavement

Prince Miro’s Punishment

Prince Miro’s Escape

Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3

The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6

The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

The ‘Delicate Piercings’ series

Her First Clit Ring

Her First Clit Ring 2: Menage

The ‘Undercover’ series

Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor

Undercover: Stealing from the Sexy CEO

Hot, Wet and Steamy
(individual
stories)

When He’s Inside You

My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter
(Erotic Suspense)

Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens

Dear reader, as this list is not always
comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this
point in publishing, please visit
http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/
for more stories and updates

1

The Auction.

That’s what they are preparing me –
us
– for.

I have only ever been to one auction. Back
when I was twelve, we were visiting my Aunt Ruth in Sacramento. She
took us to this place out in the rocky country where there was no
cloud in the sky and the sun beat down on our heads like God’s own
wrath, and we have to buy those little one-dollar children’s
umbrellas to shield our heads from getting baked into
stupidity.

We sat at the stalls and watched goats and
sheep being led in from the pens, one by one. The auctioneer went
on his rollercoaster spiel –

“AndwhatdoyougiveforthisfineprizeBillygoat?
Takealookatthosefinewithersladiesandgentlemen. DoIheartwohundred?
Youtherewiththecowboyhat. We’vegottwohumdred.
Who’dgivemetwofiftyforthisfinespecimenofgoathood?”

• and not understanding what’s going on the
  half of it.
  

My take home message then was:

IT’S NOT GREAT TO BE A GOAT AT AN
AUCTION.

Or any other mammal, for the matter.

So you see, I have come to associate
‘auctions’ with ‘animals’, not fine art or splendid relics from
dead people’s estates. And although I am a contracted sex slave of
my accord – prey to the whims of my masters – I still don’t
consider myself an ‘animal’.

It’s just too debasing.

I am a doormat. I admit that. But being
auctioned is beneath doormat material. It’s kitchen sink scum
material.

No, lower, if there’s anything lower than
kitchen sink scum.

*

But wait.

This is no ordinary auction. This is an
auction for
philanthropy
. Only the philanthropists here are
lecherous men and women – all billionaires and CEOs, no doubt, and
accompanied by their spouses and offspring – willing to part with
their money for a good cause.

In return for a willing sex slave who will
do anything they command, of course.

Human booty. Traded for a good cause.

It’s not just Alice and me either.

Russell has decided – in the spirit of
charity – to auction off his own son, Max, and Alice’s fiancé,
Greg. Selfless philanthropist, this. Maybe they should rechristen
him Abraham.

So there are four of us in the holding pen,
awaiting our fates in dread. We are all naked. The pen is the size
of a prison cell, surrounded at three sides by harsh brick walls
and fronted by iron bars.

We are in the dungeon of Russell Devlin’s
mansion. (See? I knew there was a dungeon, and this is the first
time I have ever been in it.) Alice is cowering in one corner of
the cell, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering.

Max is kneeling beside her, talking to her
in a low voice. She is not responding, not even looking at him. I
truly believe she hasn’t come to terms that she is now on the same
level as me – her sworn enemy, the LOWLY-OF-LOWLIES-KITCHEN
SCUM-SHE-DETESTS-MOST-IN-THE-WORLD. Max’s hand rests on her naked
curved back, and his manner is big brother comforting (even though
he’s younger than she is) and attentive.

Greg and I sit cross-legged on the floor on
the other side of the cell, watching them. Greg’s expression is
conflicted. His eyes show concern for Alice, and yet he’s a little
guarded because Alice’s little brother is at her side.

I don’t think there is any love lost between
Max and Greg.

As for me, I don’t begrudge Max’s quality
time with his sister. She was here before me, and she will probably
be here long after I’ve gone – courtesy of the
impending-breakup-that-will-break-my-heart-but-I-know-is-inevitable.
Because let’s face it – Max and I are from two different worlds.
Every day I spend with him and his family affirms that like nails
in the lid of my slowly tightening coffin.

Nevertheless, I would feel a lot more
comfortable if only I wasn’t so certain that there was something
more than healthy sibling camaraderie between Max and his
sister.

To affirm my suspicions, Alice finally turns
to her little brother and buries her face into his neck. His right
arm creeps around her and her arms go around his waist. They hold
each other like this for what seems to be an eternity. The scene
would be really tender had they both not been naked and clutching
one another like they are the only two people left in a world that
is about to terminate.

My own thoughts are a dark raincloud.

Greg espies my face and creeps closer to me.
I can’t help staring at the dome-shaped barbells on either end of
his penile head. I vividly remember that luscious rod – embellished
thus – spearing me. The full recollection of Alice’s cruelty comes
tumbling back into my repressed psyche.

Alice.

With my boyfriend, Max.

Her brother.

I shiver.

“Don’t worry,” Greg whispers, reading my
mind, as always. “Whatever they had, they had it a long time ago
before you and I ever came onto the scene. We can’t undo it, and
neither can they. What’s important now is that they don’t revisit
whatever . . . it is.
Was
.”

I nod guardedly. I can only hope.

“Have you ever been in an auction?” I
ask.

“No.”

“Do you at least know what to expect? I mean
. . . you’ve been kinda doing this slave thing for a lot longer
than I have.”

He flinches. “I’ve heard rumors of what
really went on in those auctions. And from people who came back,
though I never really got to talk to anyone firsthand.”

Ice creeps down my spine. I blame it on the
lowered temperature of the cell. The walls and stone floor are cold
after all, even though it’s Indian summer out there.

“What happened?”

“One guy was auctioned off to the Middle
East. He never came back.”

“Why?”

Visions of a handsome male sex slave being
tortured and thrown into an eternal prison pretty much like Abu
Ghraib swarm in my fevered brain.

“I don’t know if he wanted to stay on his
own accord or if they offered him something beyond whatever he can
get here . . . but he never came back. At least, that’s what we
would like to believe. His family never raised a fuss because . . .
we believe . . . they were compensated handsomely in a separate
secret arrangement.”

I clap a hand to my mouth.

“He’s not dead or mutilated, is he?”

Suddenly, my fear rises to panic pitch
levels. My throat feels choked and an invisible collar gags me.

Greg’s eyes glaze over and there is a slight
furrowing of his brow to suggest he doesn’t know either. But he
quickly recovers.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t
think
so, but you don’t
know for sure.”

“We have it in our contracts. They’re not
supposed to hurt us.”

Yeah, I want to say, but accidents happen
all the time. What if they don’t mean to hurt us, but something
inadvertently goes wrong anyway? What happens next? When
billionaires are involved, it would have to be a cover-up with
large sums of money being exchanged.

I’m scared now. I sort of knew what I was
getting into with Russell and his family, but this is a whole
different ballgame altogether. I’m not prepared for it.

Oh help me, I think I’m
hyperventilating!

Max turns to me, concerned.

“Gina, are you OK?”

No, I’m not. I can’t breathe. I’m
claustrophobic and I need to get out of this cell. I’m clawing the
walls, raking my fingernails against the hard brick. I want to
scream but my vocal cords are frozen.

“Oh God, she’s having a panic attack,” Greg
yells. “We shouldn’t have discussed the auction.”

Both men are at my side as I restlessly
struggle against their grasps, against myself, against everything I
have put myself into. This is it. I want out. I just have to say
but the word and I can forfeit everything I have earned so far. I
can tear the contract up. I don’t have to go through with this.

“Gina?”

I can hear Max calling me from very far
away, but my vision is obscured by a pink film. I can feel their
hands grabbing my arms and my shoulders, but it’s as though it’s
happening to another person. I’m swimming through primordial goo in
some fabricated womb and it’s viscous and claustrophobic and
oxygen-depriving and terrifying.

“Breathe, Gina, breathe.”

Max wraps me tightly in his arms as though
to permeate me with his very warmth. Somehow, it works. I find my
breathing evening out and my heart rate fall. I allow myself to be
cloaked in his loving embrace.

My fugue slowly clears.

Am I being foolish?

Or am I the only realist in this room?

Max shoots a glare at Greg. “Why the hell
did you have to scare her like that?”

Greg’s face is ashen. “I didn’t know she was
going to go off the deep end.”

“My father will never let anything truly bad
happen to us. You know that.”

“Oh really? Whatever happened to – ?”

“Shut up, Greg.” Max’s chest vibrates
against mine as his voice booms forth.

Greg shuts up, but the look in his eyes as
he regards me is knowing and wary.

“Gina, it’s going to be OK.” Max’s tone
soothes, like gentle waves on a beachfront. “I’ll never let
anything bad happen to you. You know that.”

Maybe it’s not up to you, I want to say.

We are interrupted by footsteps on the stone
floor. Heathcliff, the butler who has been so kind to me, comes
into view with a large brass key.

“Good evening,” he greets us. No ‘sir’ or
‘miss’ now, I note, even though he sounds as polite and cheerful as
always. “I have come to take you to the Atrium.”

“What for?” Alice demands. Her shoulders are
tense and her firm breasts are high on her chest. How easily she
slips into command mode, even though she’s depressed. I suspect her
father put her into this to teach her humility – which she richly
deserves, of course.

I will never be able to feel too much
sympathy for someone who was born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in
her mouth . . . and who uses that spoon to shove it into the
throats of other lowlier beings.

“To prepare all of you for the auction
festivities tomorrow,” Heathcliff says pleasantly as he inserts the
key in the lock.

Festivities?

For an auction?

2

OK.

There is an agenda. A table of events.

Seriously.

It’s like the build-up to the auction.