by M. K. Moore
Christmas Auction
An Owned Short Story
M.K. Moore
Flirty Filth Publishing
Christmas Auction
By MK Moore
© MK Moore 2018 Flirty Filth Publishing.
All Rights Reserved
By the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as an advertisement. Trademark names are used editorially with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
This book is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend some. The suggested reading audience is 18 years or older. I consider this book as Erotic Adult Romance.
ASIN:
Cover created by Elisa Leigh
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Other books by MK Moore
About the Author
Dedicated to those that love the Beasts. There is more Beauty in that than you can ever imagine.
Helena Milton is bored. Rich with everything she ever wanted at her fingertips, she isn’t like other rich girls. Overweight, with a great personality. She has no friends and no prospects for a husband. She enters the Reno, Nevada Christmas Auction looking to alleviate some of her boredom.
Kiernan O’Toole has been through hell and back. Surgery after surgery and he still looks like the monster he has always been. He finds himself at the auction out of sheer frustration. He wasn’t looking for a trophy wife, just someone who could handle his bad attitude and all of his appetites.
Love was never supposed to be on the table.
Life was never supposed to be bearable for these two.
No one ever looks down on you more than yourself.
Item number 467 and paddle number 1268 will burn your Kindle from the inside out.
This safe, steamy, over the top novella is full of all the insta-everything you can handle.
1
Helena Milton
“Item number 467 is up for bid.” Oh yeah, that’s me. I am 467.
I cringe as the auctioneer calls my number again. Even though this was totally my idea, I regret it immensely. I step forward as Bertha, the ancient Madame, instructed me to do. She used to run a brothel in Vegas. No one messes with Bertha. I learned a little about her while she was zipping me into this dress if you can even call it that. The skin-tight red leather with matching boots I have on makes me look like an encased sausage. It creaks and groans as I try to walk in what I hope is a sexy way. I have absolutely no idea what I am doing, but I know that I look nauseating.
At least the look is topped off by a jaunty, festive Santa hat. That's right. This morning after Christmas breakfast and presents with my family, I hopped a plane to Reno, Nevada to participate in an auction. Christmas is my favorite holiday and instead of spending it with my family, I'm surrounded by vapid bitches.
“Item 467 is a recent University of Georgia graduate. She majored in business and works for a Fortune 500 company. She is fluent in French, Spanish, Italian, Russian and Vietnamese. 467 is twenty-one years old, 5’4, 248 pounds. She has brown hair and blue eyes. She’s never been married and has no children. This one is a rare treat in this day and age, gents. She is a certified virgin,” Martin Lancaster of the Lancaster Brothers Auction House says. He’s making me feel like livestock, I guess in a way I kind of am. He is dressed like a ringmaster from the circus. It’s kind of ridiculous. I almost expect him to shout “step right up and feast your eyes on The Fat Lady.” At least I don’t have a beard.
I hear several gasps from both the audience and the girls behind me. I had to see a doctor this afternoon. It was the most humiliating experience of my life. He told me that out of the five hundred girls that have been on the auction block this year, I was the only virgin. Fuck, he was a dick. He began my examination and STD tests by telling me he wasn't sure why I was even here. In the end, he said that my cherry was going to be my saving grace. It will be worth more than my ugly face and fat body combined. Yeah, he was a class act and I am pretty sure he was drunk. I am not sure what I was expecting from an auction that operates out of a seedy hotel in Reno, Nevada. What was I thinking? That’s the very last fucking time I drink two bottles of wine and go cruising the internet for a husband.
After Mr. Lancaster finishes listing my attributes, he calls out, “shall we start the bidding at ten thousand dollars?” God, that is embarrassingly low, but I honestly didn’t expect anything more.
The last girl started at a quarter of a million dollars and sold for two million dollars. She was beyond gorgeous.
I guess I should start with why someone like me would even try to do something like this, besides being drunk. I am not pretty, or fashionable. I’ve been told I have a great personality, which as you know is the kiss of death for any girl bigger than a size twelve. Which I definitely am.
This auction isn’t about the man winning a date with me and all the money going to some charity. This is about me becoming the wife of whoever bids the highest for me. Furthermore, I would have the cushion of whatever money was bid minus twenty percent as long as the marriage lasts at least five years. Now, there are background checks and other things in play to keep me safe, but for the most part, it's me and him till death do us part.
I keep imagining an old man bidding on me because he needs a nurse. How freaking embarrassing would that be?
So back to my reasoning, I'm bored as fuck with my life. Beyond bored. I don't need the money. I am a billionaire in my own right and heiress to the Fortune 500 box store Milton's. I'm currently the Vice-president of marketing and I share joint CEO status with my twin brother, Henry. Henry got all the good looks. His wife, Nya, is a famous lingerie model. Well, she was. When my brother met her, he went into what I like to call an “alpha rage.” Let’s just say she no longer models in her underwear.
My daily routine is old. I get up, go to work, where all of my employees think I’m a bitch so that just makes me want to get up every day. Then I come home, eat food I have no business eating and watch trashy tv. Every single day. There are few deviations. I have no friends outside of my siblings and my sainted mother. I am the queen of the losers and I am done with that. I want to be everything to someone. God, I am pathetic.
I vaguely hear the auctioneer calling out numbers before I start paying attention again.
“Two point six million, yes, three million over there. Do I hear four? Yes, four. Five? I hear five. Do I hear six?”
What the actual fuck is happening right now?
I watch two paddles duke it out. The stage lights are blinding me, so I can't see who is wielding them. The battle ends when the auctioneer reaches ten.
As in ten million dollars. Whoa.
I let that s
ink in. What the actual fuck? Who in their right mind would pay that much for me?
“Item number 467, sold for ten million dollars, to paddle 1268. I am being told that this is our highest bid ever. 467, Helena, come on down and meet your new husband.” Now he sounds like the announcer on the Price is Right. I’m almost expecting to hear that I’ve won a new car. I start to giggle. When I’m nervous I giggle. It’s the worst kind of coping mechanism that I can think of. I think I might be in shock. Like panic-inducing shock right now. I hear more than one girl behind me shouting. Only a few of those snooty bitches can clearly be heard though. That sobers me right up. I can’t stand bullies. I wish my sister, Erin, was here. She’d kick these bitches asses from here to Vegas. But stupid me, I didn’t tell my family I was doing this. They would have stopped me.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” a girl behind me exclaims.
“But she's so fat,” another says.
“Her?”
On and on they chime in when they should be keeping their mouths shut.
“Kiernan O'Toole, come and meet your bride,” the auctioneer says in a sing-song voice.
“Oh, never mind. Good luck, girl,” the loudest girl says as I walk past her. I want to deck her, but I keep my cool. Next, those cunts start laughing. Laughing. I have so many questions.
To begin with who the fucking fuck is Kiernan O'Toole and why would he warrant such a reaction?
2
Kiernan O’Toole
467 is mine. I will do anything, pay any amount to make sure that happens. When I came here with my buddy, Nikos, I had every intention on just choosing anyone, as terrible as that sounds. However, when the line of women being auctioned walked out, she immediately caught my attention. I can tell that she’s the kind of girl that is so beautiful but doesn’t know it. Her body turns me on more than I can say. The second she hesitantly steps forward her soul speaks to mine. The red dress she has on does nothing for her. It’s ill-fitting, but I can see the curves that she is rocking plain as day. Her sensuous tits would make a Roman sculptor weep with joy at the thought of sculpting her. Her long reddish brown hair is curled and looks so soft. I imagine it wrapped around my fist as I take her from behind.
She makes my fucking cock hard as a rock, which it hasn’t been for quite some time. Her beautiful face somehow looks innocent and worldly at the same time. She appears to be a million miles away, but her wistful smile is what seals her fate. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. I listen to Martin list her accolades but she could be a hooker and I’d still have to own her. My interest is even more peaked when he says she is a virgin. I squeeze the glass that I am holding until it breaks in my hand. I manage to keep the primal growl that is growing deep within me at bay.
I am the ugliest bastard Atlanta has ever seen and I don’t give two fucks about it. I make no apologies for the man that I am.
Growing up poor in Atlanta was hard as fuck, but I pulled myself and my family out of the trailer park we lived in. Atlanta will always be home, but never again will I have to set foot in that drug riddled tin nightmare again. My scholarship to the University of Georgia changed not only my life but that of my parents and my two little sisters as well. I made my money in pharmaceuticals. I recently sold my company for one hundred billion dollars. My company created a pill that treats two kinds of cancer. It is my highest achievement to date.
I raise my paddle each time an amount of money is called. Soon, it’s just down to me and Kent, the certifying doctor used by the auction house. He’s a drunk and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near these women, but I’ll be damned if he gets his hands on my girl again.
I outbid that drunk fuck soon enough.
I almost feel bad that Helena has no idea who I am. Not enough to warn her or stop her though.
Standing, I straighten my tux, adjust my cock, and move forward to claim my bride. She is standing next to Martin and his brother Peter. I don’t like that one fucking bit. They are staring at her tits. Her eyes are on mine as I walk closer and closer to them. I have to give her props, she doesn’t flinch as she takes in the horror show that is my scarred face.
I reach them, but before anyone can speak, I take her in my arms and kiss her like a savage. Her arms go around my neck. Her moan goes straight to my balls. If it weren’t for that, I don’t know how far I would have taken it, but I don’t want anyone hearing the sounds she makes as I pleasure my goddess until she can’t fucking walk. I reluctantly break the kiss but keep her close to my side. She is panting for air, and that is hot as fuck.
“Okay, so, uh, are you two ready?” Peter asks as Martin goes back to his podium.
“I am,” she says immediately. Fuck. Yes. Her sexy accent makes me even harder.
“As am I,” I reply.
“Introductions are in order, Kiernan O’Toole this is Helena Milton. Coincidentally, you are both from the Atlanta area.”
“That works out well,” she says with a loud laugh. Even that suits her.
“Nice to meet you,” she says sweetly. There is something about her sweet southern accent that makes me glad that she is fucking mine.
“Yes, very nice,” I say looking her up and down.
“Right this way. We have a minister in another room,”
“Perfect,” she says breathlessly.
“Lead the way,” I say taking her hand in mine.
“Wait,” she says, stopping, causing me to growl and practically drag her forward. “No, please. I can’t get married in this God-awful outfit, please, Kiernan.” She looks at me pleadingly. I know at this very moment that I will never be able to tell her no. I smile at her reassuringly.
“Did you bring something else to wear?” I ask. Seeing her face break out in a giant grin makes the wait worth it.
“I did. I have a few things up in my room. I didn’t expect to sell, to be honest with you.”
“Well, you did. What would you have done if I lived elsewhere?” I ask.
“I would have sent for my things,” she says shrugging.
“Peter, wait up. Helena will be changing first.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Wait for us here. Helena, lead the way,” I say. Peter nods and leans against the wall. He pulls out his phone. I watch her ass sway as she takes off down the hallway, towards the elevators.
“Most people call me Lena,” she says after pushing the button.
“I am not most people, Helena,” I say getting into the elevator.
“I am beginning to see that,” she says, hitting the sixth floor.
We ride up in a comfortable silence. The doors open and we walk to the third door on the right. I lament that it’s not enough time to watch her ass sway as she moves. At the door, she pulls a key card out of her bra. Lucky fucking key card. She opens the door and I am surprised to see the tidiest hotel room I’ve ever seen. Nothing is out of place.
“I’ll be just a moment,” she says opening the teal suitcase that sits on the king size bed.
“Sure,” I say watching her bend over to unzip the boots. Fuck, her dress creeps up her ass and I am not seeing any panties. I stand near the door with my arms crossed over my chest.
She steps out of the boots, picks them up, and tosses them into the trash can. Interesting.
I watch, fascinated as she piles her long hair on top of her head and wraps a ponytail holder around the mass of curls. A few tendrils escape and fall down her back again.
“Kiernan,” she says softly.
“Yes,” I reply. My voice has an edge to it. She turns her head to look at me.
“Can you help me with my zipper?” she asks, licking her plump lips.
“Of course,” I say, moving over to her. Her perfume is intoxicating. In the ballroom, I didn’t notice it because of all the scents in the room, but alone in this much smaller room, it’s all around me. I slide the zipper down her back, my knuckles grazing her skin. Once it’s down, she turns abruptly, before I can step back. She lets her dres
s pool at her feet.
Suddenly, she is standing naked before me. My eyes roam over all the skin bared to me. Her big tits make my mouth water. Her pale pink nipples are large and I watch as they harden. Her rounded tummy is sexy as fuck, she has the birthin’ hips my mama talks about. Fuck. Now, all I can think about is her carrying my babies. As my eyes make their way down her body. Her bare pussy is plump and I can tell from here that she is wet.
“Where are your panties?”
“I couldn’t breathe with panties and that fucking contraption on,” she says, lowering her eyes.
“I see. Thank you for showing me what's mine.” She gasps but quickly recovers.
“I am just showing you what you purchased, so you can back out if you don’t like what you see,” she says looking at the floor. How the fuck could I not like what I see? I fist my hands at my side to keep from tossing her ass on this bed and sinking balls deep into her.
“Turn for me,” I say, through clenched teeth. She does so and I step closer to her until my fully-clothed front is up against her naked back. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I put my lips to her ear.
“You, my wife, are beautiful. I don’t want to hear you talk like that ever again. All of you belongs to me, including this very wet cunt,” I say running my fingers through her wetness. She moans. Bringing them to my mouth. I suck my fingers clean. Fuck, she tastes like peaches. As if I’d expect anything less from a Georgia girl. She shivers against me.
“I am not your wife, Kiernan.”
“Not yet. Get dressed.” I say, releasing her.
She needs to be my wife, right fucking now.