Sold to the Billionaire: A Virgin Auction Romance Read online

  But I don’t have a choice right now. I have a partial scholarship for school, but the rest I have to pay myself, and it isn’t cheap. Anything I have leftover goes toward our family. It’s just me and my mom, and together we’re able to afford our apartment. I’ve helped out since I was sixteen, and I’m not about to stop now, especially now that mom’s sick. She’s got lung cancer, from all the secondhand smoke in the casino. She’s never touched a cigarette in her life, but because she works as a blackjack dealer, she’s constantly inhaling the stuff. We both want her to quit, but it’s just not possible right now. Not unless we want to lose the apartment. So she does her chemo, and then she goes right back to what gave her the cancer in the first place.

  It royally sucks. And I wish there was something I could do. I don’t want to lose my mom. She’s my only family, and more than that, she’s my rock. I’ve gone over all the possibilities, all the options. I could quit school of course, and take another job, but mom refuses to let me. ‘If you leave, you’ll never go back’ she insists, probably because that’s what happened to her. I always feel a twinge of guilt, since she left when she got pregnant. Not that she’s ever mentioned that part. She doesn’t blame me, not at all, but I still feel responsible. I still feel the burden of making her dreams come true in a way.

  There’s always your virginity, a voice whispers at the back of my head as I ponder the problem again. You could sell that. My mind races over the idea. Getting paid thousands of dollars for one night? One hour? Could that even be a thing? If we had that much money, maybe we could pay off the apartment. That would allow mom to take the time she needs, maybe even quit for a while so she can get better. It could pay for a vacation for the two of us too. She’s always talked about going to Mexico, somewhere tropical with fruity drinks and white beaches where we could relax all day. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  It could even pay for mom to go back to school, if the amount is big enough. The thought sends giddiness soaring through my chest, because I would love to make that happen for her, more than anything in the world.

  Chapter 2

  I fend off Michelle’s suggestion to go for drinks after work, not that I’m allowed to drink yet since I’m nineteen. Instead, I head back home. I have a huge pile of studying to do, and if I don’t get started now, I won’t be ready in time for the final exams. My old Honda rattles as I drive it along our quiet neighborhood. Yet another thing that’s limping along on a prayer. I know that I have to get it fixed, but I don’t know where I can come up with the money. I feel like I’m getting pulled in a million directions at once, and I’m almost going to tear apart at this rate.

  As I pull up, I notice that mom’s car isn’t in the spot beside me. That must mean she’s working. She was supposed to be off, I think with a frown. Our apartment building is old, and it doesn’t look particularly nice, but it’s been my home as long as I can remember. It’s a mix of rented buildings and owned ones. We live on the second floor, and we have a decent view into a courtyard, which has a tree that mostly blocks people from looking into our living room. I grab my backpack and my books and spread them out onto the table. Then I open up a cupboard and pull out a box of mac and cheese. Mom’s the cook in the family, but lately she’s been too tired to make food so I resort to this a lot. Toss some frozen vegetables into the hot water, as well as some chopped ham, and I have a somewhat healthier version of mac and cheese. Michelle would say I’m ruining it, but I can’t just eat mac and cheese every night without feeling slightly bad.

  I scoop the food into a bowl and place it down beside my accounting books. Accounting definitely isn’t my passion, but I know that it’ll lead to a good job in the end, and every business needs accountants, so there should be something I can get as soon as I graduate. That’s what’s most important after all. My gaze drifts over to my guitar, which is on its stand in the corner of the dining room. I don’t have space to put it in my bedroom, so it hangs out here, along with an old keyboard I got for my birthday a few years back. If I could do anything, I would love to do music, but I don’t let myself think too much about that. It’s just too hard, and why set myself up for more pain when life’s tough enough already right now? I don’t even remember the last time I really had the time to sit down, write out some music, pick out a tune, any of that sort of thing. It stings.

  “Come on Tessa,” I mutter. “This stuff isn’t going to stick in your brain by itself.”

  I take a bite of macaroni and open up to the first chapter. Most of it is pretty straightforward. It’s a lot of addition and subtraction, and a lot of terminology. Things only start to get complicated towards the end of the book, but I know that if I review it a few times, it’ll make sense. I start to write down a few notes, but it’s slow going through the textbook. It doesn’t help that my mind is continually distracted. As much as I know I should be focusing on my schoolwork, there’s a part of me that wants to see if what Michelle says is true. I can’t stop thinking about a potential windfall that can dig us out of our situation for good.

  Finally I give up. It’s an hour in, and I’ve only done maybe ten pages. I should just look it up and get it over with so I can get back to what’s important. I go into my room, jump onto my bed, and open up my laptop. It whirs to life, but it takes a few minutes for the thing to fully load. It’s an old one that my mom bought secondhand off one of her coworkers. We both use it, so I’m careful to set up private browsing before I do my searches. Last thing I need is for my mom to accidentally come across me googling about selling my virginity.

  My first search is fruitless. It’s all just porn sites and escort pages. I have to give it a few tries before I manage to narrow it down to something that actually seems right. I expect something sort of sleazy and cheap, but it isn’t. It’s tasteful and dark and sleek, and I almost feel like maybe I’m buying a luxury handbag or something. There aren’t any pictures of naked women splashed across the front either, and if not for the name ‘Honey Foxes-for those Sugar Daddies looking for a little sweet honey of their own.’ I would have thought I went to the wrong site. It certainly seems upscale enough to attract expensive clients. I click around, and eventually find an application.

  My hands hover over the keyboard. Am I really about to do this? Am I going to sell my virginity to some rich guy on the internet? At first, I thought the idea of it was absurd. It seems sort of dirty in my mind. But the more I thought about it, the more I came around to the idea. After all, it’s just a business transaction. I have something that people are willing to pay thousands for. I don’t want to keep my virginity. In fact, I’d be happy to be rid of it at last. I could even learn a thing or two out of the whole experience and maybe get that confidence I need to approach a cute guy finally, all the better. And the money… the money would really help my mom and I. I’m not exaggerating when I say it would change our life. It’d be like killing two birds with one stone. So what was I waiting for? I should do this!

  Now that I’m all pepped up, I look at the first question. Name. Hm. Should I use a fake name? Would they be able to pay me if I didn’t? I frown at the screen. How the heck does this work anyways? I couldn’t find an explanation anywhere on the site. I guess they didn’t want to give that information out in case someone reported them but it is a bit shady perhaps. I pause for a moment, and finally I type Tessa Olsen. That’s reasonably close. The next bit of information is about my measurements. I know my height, but it takes me a few minutes to dig up the measuring tape from my mom’s sewing kit to get my measurements. I fill out as much as I can, until I get to the very end. What brought you to our site? It asks.

  I debate for a few minutes on whether I should send some kind of coded answer or not. The whole thing, with the mysterious website, the lack of pictures, it all feels very veiled and mysterious. Finally I figure that the worse that can happen is they laugh and throw my application out. If I try to be clever, they might not understand what I want. So I type out ‘I’m a virgin who’s looking for a man who can s
how me what pleasure means.’ I blush even as I type it out the words. But it’s true. I want someone who’ll make me his plaything, who will take what they want from me, because I sure as heck don’t know how to do it. I want to submit, to do whatever he wants, to be dominated in every way. I shift on my bed, my pussy getting wet and slick at the thought. My hand absentmindedly circles my hardened nipples, sending out tendrils of pleasure through me as I peruse the final questions regarding my health.

  The last part of the application requires a photo or two (swimsuit preferred). I haven’t taken one of myself in years. The first one is easy. I assume they want a face shot, something to make sure I’m attractive to a buyer. I swipe on a bit of mascara on my long lashes, position my phone in front of me, and take a selfie. It looks okay. My pink lips are plump, and I’ve got a pretty good smile. My room looks a bit messy though. I decide to delete that picture and go into the bathroom. There’s a patch of wall behind me that doesn’t have anything taken up by it, and decent lighting. Carefully I snap another one. Good enough.

  Next up, the swimsuit photo. I can understand why they need one, but a part of me is wary about having one of those floating around. I’ve heard lots of stories about naked pictures coming back and biting someone in the ass. But if I don’t, who knows if they’ll even consider me. So I go back into my room and dig through my dresser. As I suspected, I don’t have a swimsuit, much less a sexy one. I sit back on my heels, stumped. Underwear is pretty much like a swimsuit, I think. I definitely have some of that. I pull out my underwear. It’s pretty basic stuff, most of it bought during a Victoria’s Secret sale, which means of course, that none of it matches. Leopard print, lace, polka dots; I have it all, in a rainbow of colors. I try to pair some stuff together, but in the end I decide to go simple. I pull out a black thong to go with the black bra I’m wearing and head into the bathroom to put it all on.

  Nobody would mistake me for an angel, that’s for sure, but I think I look pretty good. The cups don’t have padding, not that I need any of it. The creamy orbs sit high on my chest, pink areolas almost peeking out of the demi-cups. My waist is small, at least compared to my wide hips. The thong disappears between my ass cheeks, and I take a picture at an angle to show it off and hide my face. Hopefully the picture will do the trick. It’s just so they have an idea of what I look like. That’s what I assume. I go back with my phone and connect it to the laptop so that I can upload the picture, upload it, then, before I can change my mind, I press ‘Submit’.

  ******

  When I wake up the next morning, I’m not thinking about my application. My head is fuzzy with accounting terms, and surely they’d take a few days? So it comes as a shock when I open up my emails and there’s one from the Honey Foxes already waiting for me. I hesitate, as if by not opening the email, they might not have rejected me yet. Last night before falling asleep I kept dreaming about all the things that I could do for us if my virginity really did sell for as much as they promised. Our cars, our apartment, our schooling, every last bit of it. I might honestly float away with that much weight off my chest at last.

  I take a shower and get ready for the day, letting my hopes stay alive a little longer. Finally, once I have the leftover mac and cheese heated in front of me for breakfast, I open up the email.

  Thank you for your application. We are reviewing it now, and we should be in touch soon!

  We at Honey Foxes are dedicated to providing a safe, happy, and respectful environment for both parties. As one of Las Vegas’ premier services to providing fun and enjoyment to the most discerning clients around the world, the Honey Foxes name is one that you can trust.

  Great. I worked myself all up for nothing. I hate it when they do that. It happened all the time when I applied for jobs too. There’d be an email, I’d get all excited, and all it said was that they got my application. I guess it’s nice to know that the computer didn’t glitch, but still. I’m just about to put my phone down again when I get another ding. Honey Foxes again. This one I open up right away.

  We are pleased to let you know that we have accepted your application.

  There’s a number below that, asking me to call. I don’t bother with the rest of the email. Instead I hit the number. It rings twice before someone picks up.

  “Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice, and it sounds completely ordinary. For some reason I was expecting something… more theatrical? But I suppose they would reserve that for the clients, not the Honey Foxes applying.

  “Um, hi. My name is Tessa, and I applied yesterday? I got an email today asking me to call?” I’m completely out of my depth here, and it shows in every word. Think of this as just a regular old job interview, I order myself, straightening up my spine. “You said I was accepted and to make arrangements to come by the office.”

  “Okay, let me just pull up your file Tessa,” the woman says cheerfully. She hums as she types. “Yup, okay. I have you right here. When do you think you can show up? Do you think you can make today?”

  “Today?” I yelp. “I mean, that’s pretty soon.”

  “We’re very excited to have you. You look like a stellar applicant, and there are more than a few clients who really enjoy what you can bring to the table. We can get you all ready to for tonight even if you’re able to come in in the next few hours.”

  At first I’m puzzled, because I didn’t think that I looked quite that good, but then I remember my virginity. Of course.

  “I’ve got a few things to do this morning, but I’ll be free this afternoon,” I tell her. After all, I do need to study, especially since I didn’t do very much at all last night.

  “That’s perfect,” she says cheerily. “Here’s the address.”

  I pull out a pen and scrawl it down on the margins of my notebook.

  “We’ll see you soon Tessa! I can’t wait. I think this is going to be very beneficial for both of us.”

  Once I hang up, I immediately google the place. I figured that maybe they’d be way out in the desert, where nobody can see what’s going on, but it’s actually close to the strip. I can’t believe it. There’s what looks like a nail salon, and a Subway from the street view. I double check the address. I definitely have it right. I look closer on my screen and it looks like there’s a plain door sandwiched between the two. Maybe it leads to the upper floors? There are windows, but the blinds are drawn, and I don’t see anything on the windows like you’d expect a business to do. There’s a small parking lot on the side. Not quite what I expected.

  I put my phone down. I guess I’ll find out exactly what I’ve gotten myself into when I get there. Surprisingly, I’m able to get some work done, enough that by one, I’m actually finished with my review. The woman on the phone told me that there was no need to get ready, that they would take care of everything, so I decide to head out. I grab my phone and my purse, write my mom a note saying that I’m hanging out with Michelle for the day, and go. A part of me thinks that maybe I should let her know about what I’m doing, but so far, everything seems above board. I decide that if I feel uncomfy when I get there, I’ll leave, no harm done.

  The drive isn’t too bad, and I’m there with at least half an hour to spare. Part of me thinks that maybe I should pick up lunch, but the other part of me is too nervous. I rub my palms against my jeans. Screw it. I’m just going to get more worked up the longer I stay here, I think, and get out of my car. There are a few other cars in the lot, vans and SUVs and sedans, nothing special. I go around to the front where I saw the door from earlier. As soon as I step in, I’m greeted with another door, this one locked. There’s a keypad and a buzzer on one wall.

  “Hello? It’s Tessa Olsen,” I say as I press the button.

  “Welcome Tessa. Come on up,” the voice says, and there’s a buzz as the door unlocks.

  I quickly pull open the door and head up a long flight of stairs. The second floor is utterly plain. There’s a leather sofa with a fake plant in one corner, and a woman sitting behind a reception desk. A s
ingle door lies to her right. She smiles and stands when she sees me, extending her hand.

  “Hi Tessa,” she says, pumping my hand up and down. “Welcome to Honey Foxes. I can see you’re a little confused. This is the service entrance actually.”

  “Service entrance?”

  “Yup. For when we need office deliveries and such. We like to keep our privacy around here, so it’s best if we have a separate entrance.” She winks at me. “If you want to head through the door, I’ve arranged for someone to meet you on the other side.”

  I head through the door, and I end up in a sort of storage room. There’s a whole bunch of stuff here, reams of paper, stationery, big cardboard boxes taped up, everything I would expect to see I guess. The door on the far side opens and a second woman beckons to me. Her jet black hair is cut into a sharp bob, and she’s wearing a silk blouse and grey pencil skirt. In her hands is a clipboard. She looks very professional, and it sets me a bit more at ease. I follow after her to a long hallway.

  “Welcome to Honey Foxes,” she says. “I’m Miranda I take care of all our Honey’s, as we like to say. You must have so many questions Tessa.”

  “A few,” I say hesitantly.

  “Well, don’t worry. We can go over all of it.”

  Miranda’s walking fast on these killer heels, and I almost have to jog to keep up with her long legs. She looks gorgeous, like an Amazon. She ushers me into an office, offers me a drink, and gets right down to it. The terms are surprisingly simple. The contract lasts for a week, although most of the time, meetings with clients are wrapped up earlier than that. Auctions are held every Friday evening, since most clients are seeking companionship to enhance their weekend plans (Miranda’s words, not mine). Payment is simple, 25% upfront into my account as soon as the auction closes, and the rest once the week finishes. There is a three tier split, with almost 50% percent given over to me if the auction price clears $500,000. My eyes grow as wide as saucers when I see that number. My mind spins with possibilities over what we could do with $250,000 in the bank.