Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Azrael
One after the other, a variety of strung-out, naked girls are paraded in front of dozens of men.
Billionaires, politicians, movie stars, and royalty pay for the services of unwilling women to treat as they wish.
Slaves, sex toys, a hole to pump full of cum and dispose of as they see fit, and not a single one of them wants to be here.
Not even the ones who smile on command; you can see it in their eyes, something akin to terror is barely masked behind whatever act they’ve been tortured to perform.
My father’s leg bounces beneath the table; he’s delighted with the next round of poor souls about to be led out like lambs to the slaughter.
Based on the schedule on the tablet, these suit his select tastes much more.
According to the auctioneer, every one of the ten girls on offer for tonight’s exclusive auction has been enhanced to perfection.
There are always ten in each category, with ten categories, giving many options for the night.
It also creates enough revenue for the proceedings to take place on a monthly basis despite my father’s insistence on expanding to fortnightly.
As of yet, I’ve convinced him the familiar faces prefer a monthly commitment; it’s much more doable in a work-life balance.
Every two weeks would bring more attention from the authorities, more security would be needed, along with more stock. More everything.
“Can you imagine this every other week?” Vector beams from ear to ear—I can imagine myself making that grin a permanent one, with my hunting knife.
“It would be virtually impossible,” I state, then take another swig of the Scotch. “Too expensive, and the logistics would be too difficult to manage.”
He scoffs, and it sets my teeth on edge. “Possibly for you to organize, but with the right man behind the job, it would be obtainable.”
My head snaps to the side, my dark eyes set on him, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead on the spot. Unfortunately, they can’t, and he isn’t. His time will come, and if the bastard continues to push me, it will be sooner than he thinks. “Are you saying I’m not man enough?”
Those beady eyes of his dance with delight. He thinks he’s riled me by questioning my manhood, but it’s his insistence on blatantly trying to overthrow my position that really ignites my fury.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who has to take unwilling women because they won’t fuck you any other way,” I say, and because Vector cannot control his emotions, he flies from his chair, sending it toppling to the ground.
The commotion causes heads to spin in our direction, and I lift my glass in salute to Vector, then throw the rest of the Scotch back.
If I showed any emotion at all, such as a smile, now would be the time to do it, but I don’t. And won’t.
“Enough! We’re in a damn whore auction,” my father declares. “Go find one to fuck.” He waves his hand toward the corridor leading into the lounges and bedrooms, and with a heavy sigh, I push out of my chair and head that way. I’d rather be in the company of whores than them anyway.
The one advantage of this place is the women they bring over from the clubs for the night. There may be a hundred women wanting anything but cock, but there’re another hundred who would willingly beg for it, and it’s those women who send a rush of anticipation through me with each step I take.
I need something to get my mind off the girls on stage, to satiate my annoyance toward Vector, and to grant me a spark of enjoyment only sex momentarily brings.
Every member of staff I encounter bows their head as I approach, and the guard on the bedroom door reserved solely for me is no different.
The moment the door closes, I loosen the tie around my neck and pour myself a Scotch from the bar. Then I grab the glass and bottle and sit in the wingback chair positioned in the middle of the room opposite the four-poster bed while placing the bottle on the table.
The lavish furnishings add to the elegance of the room, but the dark furniture and red walls remind me of a medieval setting—the opposite of my home, where I prefer modern and sleek.
I might like my whores worshipping at my feet, but it’s with a modern twist of submission as opposed to an era of forced slavery.
The door to the left opens, and the unfamiliar female auctioneer leads ten women into the room. They create a line in front of me, each of them with their heads bowed, per my instructions.
“Heads-up,” the auctioneer leading the women says.
In quick succession, like crafted perfection, their heads lift to face me.
“Undress!” she snaps out like a drill sergeant.
She knows my instructions well, but where I once loved the thrill of my submissives, boredom has started to take hold, and the thought of me needing something more than this is utterly terrifying.
I refuse to become my father, however much he’s attempted to enforce his depraved ways on me.
So far, I’ve not succumbed to it, not once.
I take another swig of my drink as the first shirt falls to the floor. Her tits are large, too large for my liking, and the way they sit on her chest makes me think they’ve been enhanced.
What the fuck?
I am not my father, for Christ’s sake.
Did she not read all my instructions?
Anger boils beneath my skin, and I grit my teeth and glare toward the auctioneer, but she remains focused on the tablet in front of her. No doubt studying my preferences after the fucking fact.
The second one is doable; my cock doesn’t twitch though.
The third, a brunette, has plump lips and long, silky hair that looks natural. “You!” I point toward her, and excitement flares in her eyes, causing my cock to stir.
This.
This is what I like.
A woman desperate to please you for her own fulfillment as much as yours.
Moving along the line, my eyes latch onto a dark-haired woman with plump red lips, and eyes begging me to fuck her. She caresses her bottom lip with her tongue, and when I nod, a flash of excitement spreads over her face.
The next one has curves of an hourglass, certainly not something my father would appreciate, which has my blood pumping.
I point to her. “On the bed, I want you”—I point to the next woman, uncaring of her appearance, she’s going to be begging me with her moans of euphoria—“to lick her pussy until she screams.”
A gasp leaves one of the women, and when my eyes land on hers, she blushes. My throat becomes dry, and my chest tightens.
What the fuck was that reaction?
I peruse every inch of her, starting at her bare feet, then inch up her slender legs and over her toned stomach before landing on her hips.
I imagine holding onto those hips so hard my knuckles whiten as I pound into her from behind, leaving behind fingerprint bruises to remind her she’s mine.
My cock jumps, and the skin around my girth becomes tighter, pushing me to widen my legs to further accommodate the swelling in my pants. Fuck yes.
Her tits are more than a handful, and her dark-pink nipples are peaked. I wonder if she likes them licked and caressed or manhandled when she’s being fucked. My fingers twitch to discover her, to experience her softness against my rough hands.
Her slender throat would look ravishing with my hand coiled around it, forcing her to gag, with spittle overflowing her plump lips.
Excitement shoots up my spine, and I fidget in a lame attempt to cover my growing arousal.
My eyes zone in on the small dimple denting her chin, and I wonder if she has any more distinctive markings I can acknowledge. Smaller ones that need searching for, perhaps?
I’d find every damn one of them and lick them until she begged me to bring her pleasure.
“You!” I point toward her, and her blue eyes go wide, shimmering with uncertainty. I have a strange urge to reassure her, but with the others here, that’s not an option I can explore.
The woman’s icy-blonde hair has a slight wave to it, and I glance at the auctioneer, wondering if she realizes what a screw-up this is, of an epic proportion.
Though, all things considered, I’m thinking she’s done me a favor.
She’s like a little porcelain doll, and I have a strange urge to protect her.
“That’ll be all,” I state.
The auctioneer nods, and everyone besides the pair on the bed and the blonde and brunette leaves the room.
Every cell in my body comes alive as the two on the bed begin eating each other’s pussies. Slurping and moaning can be heard, and I swear the blonde winces; her face flushes a deeper shade of red, and I revel in it. Does the color spread over her chest when she comes too?
“Make her fucking scream when she comes,” I growl toward the bed while my focus remains locked on the blonde.
Tonight just got very fucking interesting.