Authors: Lyla Sinclair
Too Innocent III:
Bought and Bound
By Lyla Sinclair
Copyright Lyla Sinclair 2011
Copyright 2011 Lyla Sinclair
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or in part by any means without written permission from the author at
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
“Where the hell are we, Eric?”
I’d awakened when the car stopped. We were parked in front of a warehouse. I’d thought we were going to Eric’s house after dinner.
When he didn’t reply right away, I asked, “You don’t live around here, do you?” although I was pretty sure he didn’t. There was no way an “uptown boy” like Eric would live in an area like this. I looked around again. It was dark out and all these deserted-looking warehouses gave me the creeps.
He laughed. “Yeah, right. This is my ‘hood.’” He sounded flip, but he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in what seemed like a nervous gesture. But that couldn’t be right. Eric was never nervous.
“So why are we in the warehouse district on a Saturday night?” I noticed my last words were a little slurry. My tongue still felt numb from the four glasses of wine he’d bought me with dinner. I was a lightweight. Couldn’t hold my liquor. But if anyone had a reason to drink, I did.
The last threads of my life were unraveling and I was helpless to stop it. All I could do was try to take my mind off my problems for the night by answering what I thought was a booty call from Eric.
“That’s not the question you should be asking, Tanya,” Eric replied. “You should ask,
‘What’s in it for me to be at a warehouse on a Saturday night?’”
Just because my wits were dulled didn’t mean I couldn’t recognize a con job when I heard it.
“Eric, have you and Alexis cooked up another one of your kinky scenarios? Because I was serious when I said I didn’t want to see her anymore.”
If I hadn’t had the wine, I would have been hesitant to even mention Alexis’ name.
Although they’d tricked me into their little “parties,” both times, I was embarrassed about how my body had reacted to their demands. And I still got wet remembering the way they’d dominated and controlled me and made me do things I’d never imagined.
“I swear Alexis isn’t here, and I haven’t cooked up anything except a way to save your ass.”
“Save it from what?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve lost your job, run out of severance pay and you’re about to be homeless.”
I didn’t like hearing it spelled out so bluntly, but he was right. My company had downsized because of the economy, and I hadn’t been able to find another job. But worse, I was about to lose the one thing I had left that mattered to me—my home, built by my grandfather. It was nothing fancy, but it was my last connection to my family.
“Why would you still have a mortgage on a house that old anyway?” Eric asked as he tossed his perfectly highlighted hair from his eyes with a head flick and checked himself out in his visor mirror.
I took in a deep breath. “We had to take out a mortgage when my mom got sick…to pay hospital bills.”
For all the good it did.
“It sucks that you still have to pay them even if the patient dies.” That was probably a pretty astute observation for a guy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Eric went back to his drumming. Now he was making
nervous, despite the booze. He checked his car’s digital clock. He and I hadn’t spent that much time together, but I’d never seen him even a little anxious before.
“Okay,” he said, turning his body sideways in the bucket seat. “I have a solution to all our problems and it may sound crazy at first, but you need to hear me out.”
What in the world was he up to now? And what did he mean by “our” problems? There was no “our.” But what the hell? “Um…okay go ahead.”
“How much do you need to pay off your house?”
“Twenty thousand.” It might as well have been twenty million.
“There’s a way for you to get fifty.”
I started to open my mouth, but Eric put his hand up to stop me.
“Look, there’s this…well…’club.’ It’s one of the ways multi-billionaires keep from being bored out of their skulls since they don’t really
to do anything. Anyway, they like to play this game where they hold an auction. If they win the bid, the woman they bid on is their slave for an erotic three-day weekend.”
I blinked several times and shook my head, trying to clear the alcohol haze. Was I in a wine-induced hallucination or was Eric really suggesting what I thought he was suggesting?
He saw the look on my face and talked faster. “It’s fifty-thousand dollars for three days.
Even if you paid your house off completely with the money, you’d have months to find a new job.”
“But what kind of freaks—?”
“It’s usually some kind of domination scenario, which we both already know gets you hot
“With a stranger? Eric—” The thought of being alone with a man I’d never met before—at his mercy…
“Listen, I have it all worked out. I know one of the bidders. You’re his type. I showed him your picture and he’s going to buy you.”
you… And here’s the best part. He’s a voyeur. He just wants to tell you what to do and get off watching you do it. Maybe some Peeping Tom role-play or something. He’s got this OCD thing. He won’t even touch you.”
“You’re saying he’d pay me fifty thousand dollars to
have sex with him?”
“Yeah, as long as you go along with the game. Fifty thou’ to him is like fifty cents to a normal person. He inherited billions.”
“If you know who’s going to ‘buy’ me…” I noticed I was talking like I was actually going to do this. “Why do we have to go through with the auction?”
“It’s part of the fun for them. Feeing like they’re in the white slave trade…and the excitement of bidding.”
I’d never thought about what people did for excitement once they didn’t have to worry about survival anymore. I wondered how many safaris and yachting adventures rich men went on before they signed up for the white slave fantasy league.
A thought struck me. “Wait, Eric, what’s in this for you?”
“I get a finder’s fee.”
“I thought your family had money.”
“’Family’ being the operative word. I’ve run out of money this month.”
“It’s only the tenth. How could you run out of money?”
“My grandfather’s trust fund doesn’t kick in until I’m thirty, if you can believe that. The uncle I’m supposed to inherit from is still alive as are my parents…and my parents won’t bail me out anymore. They’re on this kick about making me a responsible member of society.”
“That’s working out great,” I said sarcastically. “What about the money from your job?”
“I was in Vegas last weekend and—“
“Shit, Eric, I’m struggling to keep my house and you’re blowing your month’s salary on craps?”
“High stakes poker.”
My family had always been so careful with money, out of necessity. I couldn’t imagine living Eric’s lifestyle. And he seemed convinced he should be able to live like a ne’er-do-well playboy. His grandfather was right to hold off on the trust fund. Maybe a few more years would mature his grandson enough to be responsible with the money.
“Come on Miranda. When will you get another opportunity like this?”
“Eric, you know I’m not very…
“You don’t have to be. You just do what you’re told, and we both know you’re good at that.”
I looked out the window, embarrassed that Eric was aware of the kinds of depraved sexual activities that turned me on. But if it weren’t for him and Alexis, I wouldn’t have even known about my little perversions.
“Hey,” he said. I turned, and he flashed his most charming boyish smile. It was effective, even though I knew he was playing me. “What else are you going to do this weekend that will earn you fifty thousand dollars?”
That was a good question. And I only had a few weeks left before foreclosure, so even if I got a job next week, I wouldn’t have enough money to make the back payments by the deadline.
I dropped my shoulders, feeling defeated. This seemed like my only option. “Fuck,” I said.
“You’re sure about your friend?”
“Yeah, he was really excited about your picture.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Follow me, and follow instructions.”
large white room. It was shaped like a hexagon, with strange metal sheets on five of the walls.
The sixth wall held the door I’d come in through. When it slammed shut, the echo reverberated in my ears.
Since I was wearing only my bra and panties, I was glad I’d thought tonight had been a booty call. At least I had on the nice underwear—pink bra and matching pink lace bikinis.
The concrete was cold under my bare feet, though. The master of auction wouldn’t let me keep my heels on, which I though was ridiculous, since I was so short without them. Who would want to pay this kind of money for only five feet worth of “slave”?
I glanced around the blank room, not nearly as nervous as I should have been. But maybe that was because of the champagne Eric had given me in the holding room. How many glasses had I drunk for courage? The auctioneer’s hand skimmed my back as he led me to the center of the room. It tickled. I giggled.
Obviously, too many.
He pointed to an “X” on the floor and told me to stand there. Then he walked away and stood in front of the door. He pushed a button on a wall control panel and all five of the metal sheets slid up simultaneously, exposing what appeared to be two-way mirrors.
“Gentlemen, we are ready to begin, he said into his headset. As you can see, we have a lovely specimen here—medium brown hair, brown eyes, measuring only five feet, one-half inch tall in her bare feet.”
I heard several dings and the rectangular yellow lights below each window came on, almost in unison. Eric had told me the lights meant a bidder was interested and planning to bid. The auctioneer would hear the various bids through his earpiece and, when a bidder was finished, his light would go off.
The lights had come on when they heard my height. Did that mean being small was a plus with these guys?
The better to control you, my dear.
I shook the thought away and focused on the fact that Eric’s weird non-touching friend had promised to buy me.
The bidding started at seventy thousand. Fifty for me. Twenty for Eric. Anything more, the auction house kept. My head spun as the auctioneer called out bid after bid. Eighty thousand.
Ninety. One hundred thousand.
I couldn’t imagine having that much money to blow on a few days’ worth of entertainment.
Then I remembered
was the entertainment. The thought passed through my mind that I should try to get out of this now, but the champagne had me too lethargic to really do anything about it.
As the price went higher, bidders started dropping out, one-by-one. It was a relief to think this was almost over. When the auction was down to two bidders, the auctioneer pressed several buttons on the wall panel and the metal shades came down to cover all the windows, except for the two belonging to the remaining bidders. The price was up to one hundred forty thousand. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would pay that kind of money for me.
“All right, gentlemen. Time for a better look.” The auctioneer took something out of his pocket and quickly made three snips. My ruined bra fell to the floor.
“What are you—?”
He snipped the sides of my panties and they fell away. I stood naked, frozen in shock. This couldn’t be me—shy good-girl, Tanya Marin, standing naked in front of strange men I couldn’t even see. Maybe I was still asleep in Eric’s car and this was all a weird dream.
“As you can see, she has perfect, petite breasts and an exquisite derriere.” He motioned toward me with the flair of a Price is Right model, never actually touching me. “But I think the most intoxicating aspect of this particular slave is her face. Note the large round eyes.” He did touch me this time when he turned my face toward one window, then the other. His icy fingers sent a chill down my spine. “So innocent… Imagine yourself using her for your pleasure as those eyes plead with you to—”
My breathing quickened at the possibility that Eric’s OCD friend wouldn’t buy me.
be telling the truth, for once, Eric!
“Oh, we have a bid of one hundred fifty thousand from bidder four. Bidder two?” A sly smile broke out across the auctioneer’s face as he put a finger to his earpiece. “The bid is
from bidder two.”
Two hundred thousand? For me?
The light went out under bidder four’s window. “We have a winner then! Bidder two for two hundred thousand.” The auctioneer looked quite pleased with himself. He led me out the door to a large restroom-slash-dressing area. He pointed to some miniscule garments hanging on wall hooks. “Put those on when you get finished in here,” he said. “Don’t dawdle.”
There wasn’t much to the clothing. A pink and black bra top with bottoms that consisted of a thin piece of elastic below my waist attached to pants made of see-through netting to “cover” my private parts.
When I opened the door, I found the auctioneer standing there, looking impatient.
“Isn’t there more to this outfit?” I asked. “I can’t go anywhere looking like this.”