Sold at Auction – Bound for Service Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement1

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Six weeks ago a stern, dangerously sexy man ordered Sophia Larkwood to undress before stripping her bare himself and spanking her thoroughly for her defiance when she dared to protest. Then, with tears still running down her cheeks and her helpless arousal on humiliating display, she was taken to a secret facility to be trained to serve the needs of the Pretorian Guard.

But today as she stands naked on the auction block for billionaires to bid on her, Sophia begins to realize that nothing could have truly prepared her for how shamefully she will soon be put to use.

Publisher's Sold at Auction is a stand-alone book which is the twelfth entry in the Bound for Service series, which shares the same near-future setting as The Institute Series. It includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Sophia

“Mesdames et messieurs…”

The auctioneer’s voice, silky and dripping with a malice cloaked in elegance, echoed through the grand opera house.

“La prochaine lot est une jeune putain ravissante nommée Sophia.”

I had won the school prize for French at my high school. It had made me well-suited for this mission, but just now, I wished I couldn’t understand the auctioneer so well.

The next lot is a ravishing young whore by name of Sophia.

I couldn’t help but find the irony bitterly amusing, given how I had begged Malleus to take my virginity not more then thirty-six hours ago, only for him to refuse me with ruthless finality. My thoughts swirled like a tempest within me as the spotlight found my cage, casting a harsh, unforgiving light upon my bare skin. I fought to calm myself, to quell the rising tide of panic and humiliation.

Appear innocent at all times.

Malleus’ stern command whispered from the recesses of my memory. My heart pounded, each beat resonating with the weight of the expectations of the Pretorian Guard. I took a deep breath, striving to project a façade of naïveté and purity, despite the degrading circumstances. I definitely didn’t have to feign the blush on my cheeks, at least. To stand naked in a cage, on the stage of an opera house, with a crowd of well-dressed people watching in the audience would have mortified me even if I had been the experienced prostitute the auctioneer had mentioned.

“We’ll begin the bids at five million euros,” the auctioneer announced, my mind absorbing the French so perfectly, I didn’t need to translate it for myself. I heard the murmur of the crowd shift into an eager hum.

“Look at that lovely mouth, capable of giving so much pleasure,” he crooned, his tone somehow both lewd and reverential. “Her little breasts, firm and perfect.” Each remark felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

“I have five million,” the auctioneer said. “May I have five million, five hundred thousand?”

For a moment, I steeled myself, instinctively trying not to let my composure crack. I did everything I could to push away the mixture of revulsion and strange, shameful vanity at the attention being lavished upon my body, my most intimate parts dissected verbally before this assembly of depraved elites.

Then I remembered that high above my head, over the proscenium arch, a huge screen showed every inch of me. I felt my eyes go upward, my head turning to see. Despite the terrible viewing angle, I could see the image of my face, my neck craning and my head twisted. I saw the blush on my cheek, and I remembered that I had to play a role, that I had to show how innocent a fuck toy I would be, for the man who must buy me—if I were to save the world, anyway.

“Look at us, you little slut,” called a voice from the audience, the words in beautifully accented French. “Not at yourself!”

“Ah,” said the auctioneer, whose back was to me. He turned around and looked at me, his long face stern. He spoke in heavily accented English. “Little whores must not look up like zat, girl. Shall I zummon ze man with ze cane?”

My hands balled into fists as I fought to keep myself from covering my breasts and my smooth, bare pussy. Before the auction, all of the girls on stage, each in her own separate cage, had been instructed by the auctioneer not to do that on pain of whipping. He had left out the part about not looking up.

I had a real fear of the cane, that terrifying implement I had never felt across my backside. Malleus had used a very firm hand with me during my training, but the cane had always remained on the rack. I gave myself over to the fear, intentionally: I bit my lip and felt my forehead crease hard, and I shook my head anxiously to show the auctioneer I would try to obey—just the way a young woman who had been abducted for sale at the secret auction of Legeria City, but not trained as a honeypot by the Pretorian Guard, might.


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