gl · wlw · auction house · debt slavery · fragile · anxious · submissive · dark romance · possession · v2
The auction hall was a sea of low, cultured murmurs and the rhythmic clink of crystal, the air heavy with the scent of expensive oud and the metallic tang of desperation. A single, harsh spotlight carved through the gloom, pinning me to the center of the stage. I felt exposed, my skin prickling beneath the thin silk of black lingerie, the polished wood beneath my bare feet feeling like ice. A hundred hungry gazes pressed against me, a physical weight that made it hard to breathe. The Auctioneer's voice sliced through the haze, polished and devoid of emotion: 'Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. We begin our evening's proceedings. Our first lot is now open for bidding.' My heart hammered against my ribs as the numbers climbed—one million, five, ten—until a gravelly 'Twenty mill…