Her's To Take

"Fifty!"

"Fifty and half!"

"Fifty-five!"

For heaven's sake I was being priced like a common commodity.

What sort of a father would have his daughter auctioned to raise money to pay up his debt?

Mine had got me auctioned, to raise some money for his debts to the casino, and he had merely invited me to his so-called birthday party, but the birthday party now turned into a sales game, to this very extent of having me auctioned.

I wanted to flee from the hall, but he had earlier asked me to stand there, on the podium, where everyone can see me, described me, my features, and what have you, and then made it clear that I would be given out to the highest bidder.

When on earth did, I become such an asset, that I would be sold off to the league of old gamblers and Italian mafias who had gathered in the hall, that celebrate the new age of my father who was heavily in debt.

Gosh!

I had my eyes on the doors.

I wished the light would go off, and if ever it would be that gracious, I would flee from the hall, and from the city, to wherever I was sure my father and his mafia cartel would never find me.

"Fifty-five and half!"

Is that my worth?

This was a big-time trafficking here.

Maybe we were probably back to the nineteenth century, where such trade was a common game. Maybe we were back in the days of Habbakuk and his harlot wife whom he bought with money when she strolled into the hands of the lords who got her auctioned.

"Fifty-seven!"

I knew the man who just yelled fifty-seven.

He had always had his eyes on me, but I don't like him because he was fat, and he was same age with my father who got me auctioned.

Everyone turned to him. He seemed to be the highest bidder with the fifty-seven he yelled, but my father seemed not to be satisfied with the fifty-seven.

He needed more.

That little amount wouldn't pay up his debt.

"Sixty!"

Another man from the back had his hand in the air.

Of all the bidders, he had bid the most, but he was old.

Yeah, I have my choices here.

If I was going to be given out to the highest bidder, then I pray to be given to a young person, not these old fellows who would have my life messed in their closets.

"There is a fixed price for her, but you guys are bidding below the fixed price." My father said from his conner.

"What's the fixed price?"

The fat guy seemed to be ready to take me home at all cost, but I kept imagining what life would be with that man as my master.

Life with him would be hell, but slaves have no choice when they are sold to a new master.

I call myself a slave because if I could be sold off this way, then I had been a mere slave to my father, not a daughter.

"Two hundred million dollars." My father said.

That was nearly the complete price of his debt.

"The highest bidder would pick her, but at that price." He said with a stern look on his face.

I hated him for his words. I hated him for being such a bloody gambler who would sell off his daughter for a debt he accumulated from his gambling addiction.

I wished he would choke on his words and just perish this very moment, but trust me, devils don't perish that easily.

They live longer than you can imagine, just to keep wreaking havoc on the innocent.

"But that's too much for a lady her age and worth." The fat guy said with some trace of hate in his voice.

Yeah!

He doesn't have the money. None of them has the money, so, finally, he would ask me to leave the podium, and with that, I would buy the time to escape for good.

"Keep quiet if you don't have the money!" father yelled.

He was strict, even at sells point.

But I wonder why he felt no shame in selling off his daughter, if being strict was a way of showing off some pride.

Why wasn't he careful with the casino when he was getting himself into the mess that led him into having me auctioned?

I hate him!

"If that's what you say, let's see who buys your slut for that huge amount. Remember you are indebted to the casino. Sell her for sixty and pay some debt." The fat guy said with his hand spread as though he was a savior who had come to save my father the stress of dying in debts.

My father shrugged and relaxed on the seat he set next to me at the podium.

"Let the bidding continue, and let the rich do their thing."

Father has a way of mocking those who thought they would mock him and go away with their mess, and his way of retorting to them was quite hurtful.

The fat guy felt the blow.

I saw it in his eyes. It was hot on him.

"Seventy-seven." The old man at the back who bided sixty the other time said.

Why on earth is this old man so interested in buying me off like a bread at the storehouse?

What does he need me for?

I can't just tell, but I remained quiet. By the way, I was just a vessel in the hands of my father, who wants money in exchange of me.

"Give her to him! Is he not the highest bidder now? Or don't you want to sell your thing!" a fellow screamed from the other corner. He was another thing old man like the one who had been on top of the bidding.

"You might be selling her cheaper than this if you don't sell her for seventy. She doesn't worth more than that!"

"The old fellow wants her for his last son, that's why he is bidding this high, sell her!"

"Two hundred million dollars!"

The hall went silent.

FREYA

Everybody turned to him.

They were a pile of noise makers, but the young man who just walked into the hall startled them with the figures he pledged.

He was tall and handsome, and his hair was short and blonde. Clad in a tuxedo and a black glass, his mafia status was not hidden.

I knew he was one of them, with the way he uttered the price, and the manner with which he had exercised patience.

"Can you repeat what you said?" the fat guy said with his eyes on the young fellow who just stroke the big deal they were not able to hit.

"Shut up and let the rich do their thing." The young guy said and strutted up to the podium, on which I was standing with my father sitting beside me.

"I'm buying her for two hundred million dollars. I'm not prizing."

His eyes were calm, but not as calm as one would think.

There was fire in those calm eyes, and that fire was the sort that would consume me if I get handed to him.

He was brave, and probably richer than everyone in the hall.

Maybe he owns a casino.

That's the common business for the rich in our world, and he seemed to be into one of such business.

"Close the deal." He said to my father with a stern look on his handsome face.

My father stood up.

"Does anyone have anything to say?"

I knew he wanted more, but the hall was still silent.

Two hundred million dollars was head swelling for auctions like this, and for the class of people who were present.

"No one has anything to say?" his eyebrows were creased. "Deal closed."

Father turned to the man who was standing next to me, weighing me with his eyes.

"How do we the get the money, cash or cheque?"

That was what he knew best; money.

The one he would waste in casinos and come home a debtor.

"You've always known I deal only on cash." He snapped his finger, and a man in black suit walk up the podium with a black suitcase.

The bidding was over, but the men who came for the bidding were still gathered in the hall, probably waiting to see what would transpire between the man and my father.

The man who brought the suitcase to the podium opened it, and we saw packs of hundred-dollar bills which lay trapped in the suitcase.

He came prepared, and he had just gotten me without stressing his muscles.

Father took the suitcase from him and signaled my brother to come up the podium.

My brother walked up the podium with a mean face, and took the suitcase from my father. The transaction was a smooth one, because my opinion was not being considered here, rather, my father's selfish quest was all that seemed to matter at the moment.

"From now on wards, she is yours."

I wonder if my father knows this man.

There weren't acting as though they knew each other, and the man seemed to be a man of few words.

He wasn't doing the talking, and my father was neither making big talks here. He wanted it smooth, and it had just worked out, because I wasn't mad enough to fight my way out of the hall and flee for my dear life.

"Take her to the van." The man said, and the man on suit held my hand and dragged me out of the hall.

Yes.

I'm a modern-day slave, and I have been sold off to a modern-day slave merchant, who had bided the most on me.

I was sad that I wasn't given the chance to say good bye to my mom and the household before I was placed on the podium.

I didn't know my father had the plan to sell me off on his birthday, and having felt honored to be the only female in his household who was asked to attend the party, I came, only to get myself tossed into his trap.

The man in suit took me to a big car at the parking lot, opened the door and pushed me into it. He was such a harsh fellow, and I hate him.

Gosh!

I had been sold out for heaven's sake.

I had been sold to a race of rash mafias who don't know how to treat a woman right.

Why in the universe would a mere guard have me handled this way?

If the guard was this rash, what then should I expect from the boss who seemed to be less pleased with words, and better with action.

Soon, I was joined in the car by the man who bought me.

"Your name?" he posed without even looking at me.

I drew a deep breath.

I am now his property, and treating me like I'm one is not a big deal here.

"Freya." I said with a soft tone.

The driver turned on the car engine, and gradually, he glided out of the parking lot and drove into the big road.

"Freya, pretty name." He inhaled and relaxed his head on the headrest.

"What can you offer in this car, Freya?"

I didn't know what he meant by his query, but I had to say something, just not to annoy him.

"I can...I can..."

He his eyebrows creased, but before I could ride on with my stammering, it matured into a glare.

I melted to the other end of the car, wishing the door would open and cast me out into the road, so I would flee from the mean looking young man.

"Is this how good she is?" he mumbled and sat up.

His eyes were staring fixedly into mine, just like that of a lion stalking its prey.

But the difference between him and a lion was that a lion had to stalk his prey before hunting it, but he just bought me off without stalking or even hunting me, yet, he seemed ready to devour me like a lion would do to his prey.

FREYA

The trip wasn't a long one, but we didn't go home to his place.

The driver had stopped at the hotel down the road, and we alighted.

We had come with a three-car convoy. I didn't know that until we stepped out of the car, because I was pushed into one of the cars earlier, and I didn't have time to look through the window and see the cars running after us.

From the three-car convoy, emerged some men in black suit, all armed with big riffles.

I had been sold to a rich and powerful mafia, but he was surprisingly younger than the big mafias I read on in books and watch in movies.

The only thing he had in common with the mafias I knew was his choice for few words.

He wasn't a good talker, and he was as mean as a tiger would be when it hunts its meal. Here, I was his meal, and he was the tiger, and as the deer that had been hunted and was to be fed on by the tiger, I ought not to see the tiger smile.

I followed them into the hotel without protesting, because I knew that asking questions wouldn't help my situation her. I had been sold, and being sold mean I no longer owned myself in any way.

Well, I never owned myself at the first place, talk less now.

The hotel seemed to be his, because the staffs who seemed to have been alerted of his presence were all doing the good job of making obeisance to him while we marched into the hotel with the armed men in suit.

The armed men dropped in number as soon as we got to the elevator; only two of them who were not wielding heavy fire arms joined me and the rich mafia who bought me.

We were lifted to the hundredth floor of the hotel. That was the climax, the peak of the massive hotel.

I had once heard of the biggest hotels in our city, and I had been to so many of them, but I guess the one he brought me to was the biggest among the hotels in our city.

The two men followed us into the big room of the hundredth floor, and stood by his sides of the sofa, while he sat down, and left me standing before him.

He crossed his legs like British nobles would do in British movies, and one of the men in suit offered him a big brown cigar that had been lit.

Most big mafias I know smoke pipes, but this one smoke big brown cigar I could bet he would never finish even within the space of a week, unless he leaves it to burn.

He slipped the cigar in-between his lips, and dragged at the tale, so hard that the lit tip turned red as the tobacco go more oxygen, then he pulled out the cigar and released the smoke.

White and strong in the air, that was the smoke, messing up my breath as they came really close to me.

"Sit." He said, and signaled his men to leave us.

The men bowed their heads and made scuttled out of the big room. The room was big with a set of couches, and other furniture and gadgets, but the only thing I loved about it was that it had massive air conditioners that dealt with the smoke of his cigar as they came more and more from his lips and nostrils.

"Would you stand there and watch me?" he raised his eyebrows, as though he had earlier informed me of what to do.

I was confused. What exactly does he mean here?

"Come."

I came closer to him, and stood before him, not sure of what to make of him, because though he was young and handsome, I still found him too rude to associate with me.

"Take off your clothes." He said as though he was talking to a common prostitute. Come on, I wasn't raised that way.

Dad was a gambler though, but he still did the good job of seeing to it that I was raised properly, like the daughter of a noble man should be raised, not like a harlot who would easily take off her clothes before a man.

I didn't move an inch.

I didn't want to do what he said, because it was such a difficult thing for me here, but his only way of making me conform was a straight punch on my belly.

"Get those clothes off you wench!" he thundered and stood up, watching me drop to the floor at the heavy, painful impact of his punch.

What a monster he was. Doesn't he know his punch had nearly sent me to hell?

I gnashed my teeth in pain and wished I was strong enough to contend with him, but I just felt the little strength I had so far melt out of me as the pain of his punch made me pant and groan as though I was dying.

The heartless mafia took off his suit and held my legs, then like the devil would do to him when he finally loses his breath on earth, he held me by my left leg, and dragged me into the room next to the big room.

The room he dragged me into was dark, so, I couldn't see what was in it as I wriggled and cried to free myself from his wicked grip, until he shut the door and turned on the light.

It was a red light. I had been dragged into his red room, and I know what comes with every red room, rough sex, torture!

My eyes went wide and my lips furrowed out of shock.

The walls spoke testimony of what was about to happen to me, and the light gave a picture of torture.

The mafia does well with torture, and tonight, I had become a fresh victim to the devil who had got me trapped in his nest, and held in his crisp.

I wanted to scream for help, but who am I to scream for what would never be.

He turned to me, bent towards me, grabbed my hands and jerked me up to my knees, then he held my beautiful cloth and yanked it off with just a pull, revealing my nude at a go.

I was nothing in his hand, if not a mere slave who had been sold out for games like this which I never play really well.

He carried me on his shoulder and dropped me on the bed.

The bed had four poles, each with a long chord that could be used in tying my hands and legs. I had only seen such a torture bed in movies alone, and I have read of them in books, but I never knew I had been reading and watching what would be my fate someday.

He held my right hand and tied it to the first pole with the chord, did the same to my left hand, and to my legs, leaving me defenseless.

I watched him strut to the wall, on which were all kinds of whips, dangling on the hooks on the wall.

I swallowed and winced as he chose one of them, and walked back to me. He was going to have me whipped for doing nothing, and I wouldn't even see the chance to lay a hand on the areas of my body that would get the whip.

"Tell me how much you love me, bitch." He said, nibbling with the whip.

For heaven's sake, I don't love him, and I would never love a monster in his form, but that wasn't what he cared for.

"Tell me, you pale thing, how much you love me!"

I said nothing, and thus came the first lash.

Twak on my lap.

I gnashed my teeth to hold the pain, but the second lash came, and I screamed.

"Tell me how much you love being treated like a slave ferried across the Mediterranean Sea."

He whipped again and again.

I felt my skin tear up, but that wasn't the greatest madness he had in stock.

He dropped the whip and lowered himself before my thigh, then, with his palm, he wiped the blood on my injured lap and smeared it on my pussy.

I saw the stretch on his face, but I couldn't tell if it was a smile or a frown.

I mean, such thing as he was doing right here with me shouldn't give him joy for heaven's sake.

He stuck out his tongue and ran it around my clit, on which I could guess the blood was smeared at.

Is he a cannibal?

Why would he rub my pussy with a palm he used in wiping my blood and come down sucking the same pussy with blood.

His tongue was slow in going round my vulva, but its presence on my clit gave me sensations that made me moan and wriggle over his dominion.

His fingers joined the game, and I felt my name evaporating from my brain, as though I was about losing my name, but then came one more lash.

Twak!

Maybe he doesn't know how painful that was, but the pain mixed with the sensation and gave me so much pleasure, that I sought within my mind for more of his whip.

I had never been this crazy, craving for pain had never been my thing, but I guess the pain of his whip was a pain that could make me wet his face with my squirt.

I bit my lips in pain and pleasure, and craving for more.

He put his entire mouth on my pussy, and then came the real sucking, as though he wanted to feed on it like a tiger would feed on his prey.

My eyeballs went up into my brains, and my nipples hardened in utter pleasure. He was a devil here, but his hell was full of pleasure. The pleasure that would keep any soul glued to his torture till it becomes addiction.

He paused and stuck his tongue into my pussy. Maybe he was bored washing the vulva clean with his tongue.

The presence of his tongue in me made me go wild. I couldn't hold the feeling of it wandering in my pussy like a lost boy in the Peter Pain classical series.

Gosh.

I felt it coming, but he stopped and spanked my pussy.

"You dare not cum till I ask you to."

I didn't see his face because I had been blinded by pleasure, but I heard him clearly, not just because he spoke loudly, but because even his voice added to the sensation, the rhythm of my pussy clenching and juices dripping.

He put his mouth back, and the juices left, he washed them clean, and made me wet the second time.

Never in my life had I seen a man as good as he was. His tongue seemed to have studied my pussy and knew where exactly to visit, but it stopped, and something larger and longer went into me.

With just a thrust, I felt the wave of pleasure move from my thigh to my head,

"Call me Jaxon, whore." He slapped the sides of my lap with his palms.

"Ja...xon."

"Again!"

His commands came amidst his thrusts, making me choke on words.

"Ja...xon."

He doubled his speed and his lengthy dick went deeper than anyone had ever done before.

"Again!"

"Ja...x."

I felt a rush in my body, which came as though everything in my body had suddenly gone south, and within thirty seconds, my body vibrated so hard I forgot my name.

And before my body could settle, I was already fast asleep.