The auction was fake.
What does that mean? What does?—
I can't finish the thought. My brain's moving too fast, skipping like a scratched CD over the same three seconds of panic.
Forty-four thousand dollars. Total Power Exchange. Forced confession. Using my own writing against me.
Little sex fantasies.
She laughed at me. She actually laughed.
"I'm so stupid," I whisper to the empty room. "I'm so fucking stupid."
My voice sounds small. Pathetic.
I should've checked CNC. I should've checked everything. Fifty thousand dollars would've?—
Would've what? Made you less of a whore?
I press my palms against my eyes. Hard enough to see stars.
"This is fine. This is totally fine. You made your choice. You signed the forms. You let three strangers touch you and you almost came in front of them like some kind of?—"
Something catches my eye.
Small. Dark. Mounted in the corner where the wall meets the ceiling.
A camera.
My stomach drops.
There's another one. Above the door. And another behind the velvet chair. And?—
Oh god.
They're everywhere.
Four. Five. Six cameras that I can see, which means there are probably more I can't.
People are watching me right now.
Right now, while I'm standing here in this silk robe talking to myself like a crazy person, someone is watching.
Multiple someones.
My breath comes faster. Shallow. My vision tunnels at the edges.
Were they watching during the preparation? Were they watching while those men bathed me? While they touched me? While I almost?—
Of course they were watching. That's the whole point. You're the product. They need to see the product.
Heat floods through me. Shame so thick I can taste it.
But underneath the shame, something else.
Something worse.
I'm wet.
