I push the front door open to an inconspicuous warehouse, like dozens of others in the area, except perhaps it’s a little nicer. No graffiti decorates its front façade; no broken windows stare out into the street like soulless eyes. But these few “bonuses” aside, it’s nothing more than a giant red brick building with a crumbling mural on its side, proclaiming the virtues of Coca-Cola and a few hanging lights, swaying in the cool New York air.

Inside though, it’s a lavish affair, with velvet curtains and intricate columns, with gilded mirrors on every vertical surface. I know the Virgin Market does that on purpose; by keeping a low profile outside, they can keep from garnering unwanted attention from the local police and the local thugs alike. They also grease the palms of a few of the men in blue to keep a close eye on the building.

I never should have mentioned the Virgin Market that night at the club. It had been a casual thought, a funny idea, a suggestion I never expected anyone to take seriously. And yet, here we are, two weeks later, ready to auction her off to the highest bidder.

Which damn well better be Apollo. Where the fuck is he, anyway? I pull out my cell phone and check for messages. Nothing. The auction is going to start in 20 minutes. He needs to get his ass down here. I unlock my phone and quickly begin tapping in a message. Where are you? We’re about to start.

They’d come and picked up Kitten early this morning to get her ready for today’s auction. She’d walked out the door with them, never looking back, not pleading with me to save her but instead going to her fate without question.

I didn’t know what they needed to ready her for. Don’t they know she’s gorgeous all the time? When she wakes up in the morning, her hair mussed and her eyes sleepy and happy; when I carry her to bed at night, ready to fuck her until she screams.

Never in her pussy, though. Oh, how I’ve wanted it. Oh, how I’ve been tempted to take her and show her every position a master can take with his slave. Torture, pure torture to stay away.

Finally, my phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. Held up at JFK. Won’t get there in time. Plane landed late. Bid for me. Will pay you back.

I stare down at my phone in horror, my stomach dropping to my knees. No, no, no, no! Apollo had been in Germany for business for the last three days and we’d known it would be a close one for him to get back in time, but I’d somehow just assumed he’d make it happen anyway. He’s not one to let anything stand in his way. 

But he also doesn’t know that I can’t bid on her. Michael had been very, very clear on that topic.

Panic flushes through me and I begin calculating in my head who I can call. Which friend of mine is close enough to make it here on time to do the bidding, and will do it without asking any questions? 

Except even as I begin flipping through my contacts, frantically trying to find someone, I realize that a) The Virgin Market would never allow it. They have to do extensive health, financial, and criminal background checks on all men who bid on the virgins. Since this is a completely voluntary process, they only get more virgins willing to put their bodies up for auction by pleasing past women who’ve gone through the process. If any woman was mistreated, that would quickly get around and they’d lose future sales. They always protect the women, which is how they’ve stayed in business.

And even if all of that wasn’t true, b) The house lights just turned down, indicating the bidding is about to start.

Fuuuuuccccckkkk…

I slowly make my way to an open seat, looking around the audience at the people present. I saw quite a few men and even a couple of women, which I found surprising / not surprising. I guess that women can want a virgin just as much as a man, right?

The stage lights come up and completely distasteful music swells through the air and I feel nausea begin to build in my throat. Kitten is about to walk on stage, believing that Apollo will be here to bid on her and save her and he won’t be and I can’t and I don’t know what the fuck to do.

And then she does. With two other women, she comes walking on stage in a white dress so tight, I’m surprised she can breathe in it. They’ve framed her face with tendrils and curls, and that combined with her makeup, she looks like an angel come to earth. I know that this is the schtick – this is what they do, how they get people to bid such high prices for these virgins – but still, my gut twists inside of me, because in so many ways, Vivian is innocent. She went into this trusting that I would follow through on my end of the bargain; that Apollo would be here.

And now he’s not.

And the bidding is about to begin.