Auction

They descended a few steps before arriving in a room where a significant number of voices fell silent.

• I've selected the worst perverts and sex addicts for you. They're the ones who will give you your first experience. They'll give you the worst. After that, you'll find sex a delight. You'll thank me, my girl.-

As they continued forward, Wednesday felt hands caressing her buttocks, giving her a light slap as they passed.

The leash tightened abruptly, forcing Wednesday to straighten her neck. A raucous laugh erupted to her right as a clammy palm lingered on the curve of her hip, the fingers digging obscenely into her pale flesh. The air suddenly filled with a mixture of acrid scents—stale cigar, cheap cologne, and that musky, animal smell that made bile rise in her throat.

She could hear the lewd comments, the wicked promises the guests had in store for her, but she saw nothing and could say nothing; she knew it would be pointless.

They climbed onto a platform. Morticia made her stand, then tied her arms, leaving her exposed. A riding crop **** her thighs apart.

An admiring "oh" rippled through the room, which echoed like a basement room. The murmurs died away abruptly, replaced by the metallic clinking of chains tightening around Wednesday's wrists. The riding crop, icy cold against her skin, traced a cruel path between her spread thighs, forcing an involuntary shiver down her spine.

• My friends, this is my daughter, Wednesday. She has just turned 18. I am offering her virginity at auction. The highest bidder may deflower her as he pleases. Then, to celebrate her coming of age, she will be at your mercy. Be generous, and you may subject her to the worst indignities. You will teach her about sex; she's just waiting for it. Who will place the first bid to be first?

"Five thousand!"

A man, his breath thick with whiskey, shouted the first price, his voice hoarse with excitement. The riding crop slowly traced its way up Wednesday's thigh, the cold leather leaving a trail of bristling flesh in its wake.

"Six!"

Another bidder, closer this time, extended a scarred hand to pinch the young woman's calf. She flinched, the chains clanking against the iron rings as a raucous laugh erupted behind her.

"Seven thousand!"

A smooth, overly polite voice rose from the back of the room. The clammy fingers that had lingered on Wednesday's thigh withdrew abruptly, as if burned. A tense silence fell, broken only by the sharp crack of a whip against an impatient palm.

Morticia smiled, tracing a black nail along her daughter's arm, feeling the muscles tense beneath her skin.

"Ah, the Baron...

Silence fell.

• Come on, one more effort, my daughter deserves better.

"Ten thousand!"

A new cry erupted from the shadows, accompanied by the smack of a leather glove against a table. The acrid smell of tobacco and sweat thickened in the humid air. The riding crop came to rest between Wednesday's thighs, pressing just enough to send a violent shiver through her.

"Twelve."

The Baron's voice rose again, smooth as venom flowing into a glass. The murmurs died away.

This time, silence fell. No more bidding.

• Well, once, twice, three times... sold.

Morticia brought the riding crop down on Wednesday's buttocks.

The blow cracked in the damp room, followed by a stifled moan behind the gag. The skin Wednesday's milky complexion was immediately marked with a scarlet line, vibrant in the low light of the wrought-iron chandeliers. The chains clanged as she arched involuntarily, her fingers clenching convulsively around their shackles.

Morticia leaned towards Wednesday.

• Hmm, the Baron, he likes to make virgins suffer and **** them. You'll like it.

Morticia released Wednesday's wrists, a heavy step as she approached, a hand seizing her by the hair, almost dragging her across the room.

• Baron, she belongs to you. We'll wait here when you're finished, to be delivered to our other guests.