Page 80 of Devour
Maybe they gave her something. Drugs, maybe. Because I can’t understand how anyone could want that. And yet… I kept watching. I couldn’t look away.
Then a man stepped forward and replaced the dildo with his cock. He started fucking her ass in earnest, their moans and groans echoing through the room as they climaxed together.
After that session, Mistress Tilly made me wear the nipple clamps every day for the next four days.
My nipples ache constantly. I still can’t eat much, but I’ve managed to keep down some bread and toast. I thought about sneaking a piece back to the dorm, but I didn’t want to draw attention.
My morning sickness hasn’t gone away, but I’ve learned to be more careful. I haven’t had another run-in with anyone in the bathroom since that morning with Livia.
We haven’t spoken since—it’s almost like the conversation never happened. But she’s no longer mean to me. I told Lana I think she’s actually a decent person deep down, but she doesn’t believe it.
“Today is our last training session together,” Mistress Tilly announces, her voice crisp. “And I have a parting gift for you all.” She claps her hands once, sharp and commanding.
Several masked women file into the room, each holding black bags. They hand one to each of us before disappearing. I reach into mine and pull out a scrap of fabric—or at least, I think it’s fabric. Thin straps attached to what barely qualifies as clothing.
It’s tiny, so revealing it couldn’t possibly cover anything. I know I’ve lost weight since arriving here, but not that much. It must be what we’re expected to wear at the auction. I shove it back into the bag.
“For my final words…” she says, smiling coldly, “be compliant. Be beautiful. Be unforgettable.”
Then she adds with a little bow,
“As we say in French… au revoir.”
As soon as we’re dismissed, I return to the dorm and tear off the nipple clamps. Relief floods me instantly as blood rushes back into the tender peaks. They were already sensitive before—now they throb painfully.
My dress rubs against them, and the friction is unbearable. I crawl under the covers and pull them up to my chin, then carefully slip out of the dress beneath the sheets. I shut my eyes, intending to take a short nap, but Lana’s voice makes them flutter open.
“There you are the girls are having a little get-together in the common area. Want to join?”
“Maybe later, I want to nap a bit.”
“Okay I will leave you it then.”
That nap turns into deep sleep. I don’t wake up again until Lucia shakes me for dinner. I eat little, then crawl right back into bed. The next morning, I woke up to a nervous wreck. It’s the auction day.
I get ready alongside the other girls. We’re taken to a dressing room, then herded into makeup stations. The artists paint our faces with practiced hands, and when I finally look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the girl staring back.
My eyes have grown sunken over the week, but the makeup hides everything. My lips are painted the color of ripe cherries. I might’ve complimented the makeup artist… if I didn’t know they were turning us into showpieces for the highest bidder.
We changed into the outfit Mistress Tilly gave us as a parting gift. I thought it looked cheap in the bag—but on my body, it’s worse. It’s not a dress. It’s a strip of transparent fabric barely sewn together.
The neckline plunges so low my breasts feel like they’ll spill out with one wrong breath, and the thin band of cloth around my hips barely counts as a skirt. My stomach is bare. My back is bare. Even the sides of my thighs are exposed.
There’s nothing dignified about it—just a silent reminder that we’re meant to be unwrapped, displayed, and sold. I feel more naked in it than I ever did without clothes.
No one speaks as we’re lined up and led down a long corridor. The walls are dark stone, different from the sterile white halls we’ve seen all week. Flickering sconces line the walls, casting eerie shadows across our faces. Each step echoes like a drumbeat in my chest.
We’re brought into a holding room. It’s silent, save for the occasional shift of movement or the sound of shallow, nervous breathing. At the far end hangs a thick, velvet curtain. Beyond it lies the stage. The auction stage.
My heart pounds so violently it drowns out every other sound. This can’t be happening. I’ve barely come to terms with being kidnapped, barely processed that I was sold—now I’mabout to be auctioned to the highest bidder like I’m nothing more than property.
The room begins to spin. Nausea surges up my throat. I bend forward, gagging, about to throw up when someone yanks me from the line—roughly, without care.
“Get yourself together,” one of the Mistresses snaps, voice sharp and cold.
I nod weakly, unable to speak, too focused on keeping my stomach from emptying onto the floor. She waits until I steady myself, then silently shoves me to the back of the line. Then I hear the voice. Muffled, but clear enough through the curtain.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen—welcome! Welcome to the Crimson Dawn Virgin Auction!”
