Sold on Christmas Eve

by Juliana Conners

  "I am," I insist, hoping he doesn't go through my library and see exactly what kind of books I've been reading.

  "You left out the part where it plays despicable filth," he continues. "You continue to lie and deceive. You will be punished again, and will have to give testimony again."

  "No," I say, surprising myself with my disobedience.

  I never defy my father. But there's no way I'm getting up in front of the congregation again and confessing my sins. I'm still embarrassed from the last time I had to do that.

  "You will not be returning to your school," Dad says. "They're the ones who required you to get this tablet for your homework, so obviously they encourage the viewing of pornography."

  "That's not true," I tell him, desperately trying to defend the one outlet I have— the one escape from home. I have barely been able to survive summer vacation due to boredom, and I was looking forward to classes starting back up again in two weeks. He can't take that away from me. He just can't. "They just suggested I get a tablet to read my textbooks on. This was on a list of a lot of recommended…"

  "I don't care," my father roars. "You're not going back there. Apparently I haven't been keeping an eye on you closely enough. I don't know where you learned about such sins, but it's my job to make sure you don't hear anything else about it."

  "Dad, please!" I beg him. "I'm nineteen years old. I don't go anywhere but church and school…"

  "Well, you'll only be going to one of those from now on," Dad says. "Your school pretended to be Christian but deceived me. They should have warned me about electronics they say are for school books, but which play porn videos. What other sins have my tuition money been going to fund?"

  "None!" I promise. "None at all. Please, Dad…"

  "Those are the new rules," he says, with a shrug. "The only thing that will keep you chaste. Give up your electronics and your schooling, and give testimony in front of the church. If not, you obviously aren't serious enough in your love of God. And those are the conditions under which you will be allowed to remain under this roof."

  He slams my door and leaves, my Fire in his hand. And I'm left a mess, tears running down my face.

  I'm tired of crying, though. I really haven't even done anything that bad compared to most people my age.

  I remember the way he said "under this roof." The only reason I've been under his roof is because he was paying for my college and one of his conditions for doing so was that I remain under his roof. He didn't even trust the uber strict Hudson College to keep me pure and chaste; he had to ensure that I was living under his watchful eye.

  I can't help but remember the ad about The Exchange Club I'd seen before this horrible mess unfolded. I even remember the phone number.

  I don't even have a phone, but I scramble out of bed and write down the number on a notepad on my desk, so I don't forget it. I need to find out what kind of great compensation they're talking about. I'll call them tomorrow when my dad is at the parsonage, planning his sermon for Sunday.

  If the compensation is good enough, I'll do whatever it entails. Anything to get me out of having to stand up in front of church and detail my deepest transgressions. Anything to give me a life of my own.

  I need to earn some tuition money. I'm determined to start school with the rest of my classmates no matter what it takes. And I just may enjoy whatever the job is— much like the girl in the book I was reading was surprised to enjoy being a porn star.

  I assume the job involves sex, or why else would the men pay so handsomely? I resolve to do it, no matter what. Who knows. Maybe I'd like to have my virginity taken by a rich, older man.

  A shiver runs down my spine as I think about it. Only after I've written down the number and resolved to call am I able to sleep into a semi- peaceful sleep.

  Chapter 7 – Adam

  When I arrived in Hudson, I realized Jane wasn't kidding when she'd called it a small town. There wasn't even a Walmart. There were a few mom and pop stores, a general store, a few chain restaurants and a local ice cream parlor. I'm a big city guy. I'm going to fucking hate it here.

  It's only my second night here but I need to escape. The apartment I'm renting is warm, and its air conditioning sucks. I'll have to just check in to the penthouse suite at the Ritz; I'm not going to slum it when I don't need to.

  The college is paying for my accommodations, and I don't want to be rude and leave a bad first impression by turning down their offer, so I'll just pretend I'm still staying here, while secretly checking into the hotel.

  But first, I have an itch that needs scratched. And I have an idea that these New York City girls are just the ones to do it.

  I take the train into New York City. In Boston I'd been to a club called The Exchange, where a gentleman could buy anything he'd like from the young ladies who worked there. I liked to buy everything.

  But Boston is a small town for those who live there and word had gotten out. I'd been warned to stop frequenting it, lest the students or their parents hear about it and get the wrong idea about me. Which would actually be the right idea about me, but what the fuck ever. I'd done what I could to help improve my reputation but it still was never enough.

  I suppose the one good thing about being an hour and a half train ride away from the great metropolis of New York City was that I could be anonymous and maintain my privacy. I doubt many people from Hudson College went into the city often and if they did, I doubt they'd have a reason to visit The Exchange.

  When I arrive, I notice that this club is even bigger and more opulent than the one in Boston. It features luxurious décor and staff that lines up to serve me as soon as I enter.

  "Mr. Masters," an older, attractive woman says, as she takes my arm and pulls me towards the back of the stage, where women are getting dressed and putting on make up. "My name is Melissa. It's nice to meet you. And it's so nice to have you here in our New York City club. We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival."

  And my money, I think. She's probably the "madam" of this club— an older woman who knows the ropes and shows the younger women around, while ensuring that the clientele is happy. She's probably heard what a big spender I am.

  "Please let us know if there's a certain woman who catches your eye," she says. "We want to make sure that she's prepared to sell everything you might want to buy."

  These clubs escape prostitution laws by letting the girls sell different things: anything from a coffee date to practically a week of being chained up as someone's sex slave is for sale. Of course, they don't put it into those exact words when they're up on the auction block. They use different colored bracelets to signify the different levels of "companionship" each girl is selling.

  As I look at the girls in different stage of undress— some are completely naked— one does, in fact, catch my eye. She's talking to another woman, and she doesn't look like she belongs here. She's wearing a long black skirt and a flowery hippy type blouse.

  Her green eyes look innocent, and I want to see them peering up at me as I shove my cock in her mouth. Her long, luxurious hair is piled high on top her head. It's curly and red and I want to slowly unravel it between my fingers and then mess it up while I fuck her until she's sweaty and exhausted.

  "That one," I tell her, pointing at the girl. "I'd like her."

  Melissa looks a big surprised, blinking and then pointing as well.

  "That one there?"

  "Yes," I tell her.

  "I'll be… very blunt with you, Mr. Masters," she says, shaking her head. "She is brand new, and we're having difficulty ascertaining whether she'd be suitable material for our club."

  "She's suitable," I tell her. "She suits me. I want her."

  She clears her throat. Why are women always clearing their throats around me?

  "Okay," she says. "I'll make it happen. Why don't you go to the bar to get a drink and make yourself comfortable?"

  "That's alright," I tell her. "I'll take a seat. And I'll be waiting to buy that girl rig
ht there."

  I take one last look at her long legs and high hips before heading to the front of the auditorium. She's just my type: curvy and full-figured, with some athletic tone to her as well. And she looks like such an innocent little thing, like she was dropped as a cherubic angel from Heaven.

  I can't wait to corrupt her. To possess her. To satisfy her until she's screaming my name and wishing she was mine for good.

  But I only ever see anyone once. So I'll have to disappoint her, by giving her the fucking of her life and then leaving her to deal with life without me and my huge cock.

  Chapter 8 – Sarah

  I stand on stage in a silver sequined dress, trying my best not to shiver. But I'm cold, and I'm nervous, a bad combination that makes it hard to fulfill that goal.

  I had called the number I'd written down and the woman who answered— Melissa— told me she couldn't talk to me until I sent her my picture as well as a signed confidentiality agreement to not talk about anything we might discuss should she choose to call me back.

  Geez.

  What exactly was I trying to sign up for? The Secret Service?

  I'd had to ask her to only call me between certain hours, which would be when my dad was working at the parsonage. She called me back almost immediately after I'd sent her the requested items, though.

  She told me to show up today— this Friday night— and to bring my nicest dress. She said I'd only have to go to dinner with one of the men at the club.

  I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. I didn't know what I'd talk about at dinner with a stranger. I would rather feel the pleasure of a man's hands on my lonely body. I felt like having sex for my very first time, not talking about things I have no idea about.

  Here were men willing to pay for my company; I'd expect them to want to buy my virginity. But it appeared I couldn't even get them to want to have sex with me, even though they hadn't heard about my tyrannical father. So for this reason, I felt a bit upset.

  But I was also glad I wouldn't be selling myself into prostitution. That didn't seem like a great way to get ahead in the world. I had my future business to think about.

  Now, I look out into the audience and wonder what I'm doing here. I'm clearly out of place. When I first arrived, Melissa had taken one look at my clothes and said I probably wouldn't be a good fit.

  "But I brought the dress," I told her, holding up the floral print dress I wore to church on Sundays.

  It was my nicest dress, and even though I'd thought about trying to buy the equivalent of a Prom dress at the general store before leaving town, I hadn't wanted to risk my dad finding out and stopping me. I also brought a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and some other necessities.

  I'm hoping I make enough tonight to get a hotel room and then I can keep working, saving up enough money to make payments towards my tuition while I figure out how to get student loans without my parents' signature. I really couldn't stand for this club to reject me and send me back to Hudson, where my dad would probably kick me out for running away, when I never even wanted to be there in the first place.

  I'd been embarrassed enough in my hometown. The last thing I needed was to be known as an unsuccessful runaway.

  "That will not do," Melissa had said. "Here, see if Natalyia has anything you can wear. You look to be about the same size. But in the meantime I'm going to go talk to the owners to see if you're even suitable for this club."

  "What does that mean?" I asked her, but she was already gone.

  "She means you're a little too Little House on the Prairie," said someone else, and I turned around to see a tall, skinny brunette looking down her nose at me.

  "Oh, leave her be," said another woman, a curvy blonde who winked at me. "We were all new here once. I'm Natalyia, and I do have a dress you can borrow."

  "Thank you," I'd told her, sincerely relieved.

  "Now burn that one and never even think of wearing it again," the first girl said.

  "Stop it, Belinda," Nataylia said, but she was laughing a bit and so was I.

  A few minutes later, Melissa came back and said, "Sarah, you've been saved."

  "The Powers That Be are into the wholesome image now?" Belinda asked, looking at me with a hint of jealousy.

  "No, surprisingly, a client wants her to stay," Melissa answered. "Perhaps other gentlemen will share his taste and we'll start a bidding war."

  "Hrmph," Belinda says, turning positively green with envy.

  Yes, I thought, having never been the object of envy before.

  "It's always good to have some fresh blood in here," Melissa responded and then walked away.

  "Good for the club because it brings in more money for them," Belinda grumbled. "But not for us lowly workers, who have to compete for scraps."

  "Oh please," Natayla told her, as she handed me the beautiful gown I'm wearing right now. "You can't call a quarter of a million dollars scraps."

  "A quarter of a—?" I almost choke, unable to believe the figure she'd just quoted.

  But just then yet another woman walked by, clapping her fingers and saying, "Stage in fifteen minutes, Ladies."

  "Woah, I'd better get ready," I said, grabbing the dress and hoping I could squeeze into it— it looked a size or two too small for me even though Natalya and I looked to be about the same size. I assumed that tighter was better around here.

  "Here," Natalya said, handing me some make up. "Put this on while you're at it. You're a pretty girl naturally, but these guys expect make up."

  I froze, not only stunned that she— such a pretty girl— had called me one, but also at the thought of wearing make up. My religion forbids it and my dad would kill me. But I had to laugh, since that was hardly the biggest transgression I was committing tonight.

  "Great," I told her. "Thanks."

  Then I'd hurried to get ready, for what would undoubtedly be an adventure like none I'd ever had before. And now I'm standing up here ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  "Here we have Sarah Grace," says the man serving as the auctioneer, using my full name. "She's a rather sheltered girl from a small town, and she's here for the first time tonight."

  I'd watched some other girls who had gone before me, so I knew how the process worked. Melissa had given me a bracelet she said meant I'd only have to have dinner with the guy who purchased my company.

  Easy enough, I tell myself now. Just dinner. Just relax.

  I take a deep breath and look out at the strangers in the audience. I wonder if anyone at all will bid on me. I look rather plain compared to these other girls and I don't even think I put my make up on right.

  "Ten thousand dollars," says a guy in the front row.

  Woah.

  My stomach jumps up into my throat as I wonder if I heard him right. Ten thousand dollars, just for dinner?

  "Twenty thousand," says someone else, in the middle of the crowd.

  "Thirty thousand," says another guy, and then the first guy counters with, "Fifty thousand."

  Okay. I definitely heard right. This is crazy. But here I am standing up and doing it, so I guess I have to admit I’m pretty crazy, too.

  Chapter 9 – Adam

  I look more closely at the guy who is currently winning the bidding war, and my stomach drops back down and then ties itself in knots. He's frumpy, bald and pimply. I guess it won't kill me to have dinner with him but I certainly wouldn't look forward to it. I guess I could fake myself through an engaging conversation, for that much money.

  "One hundred thousand dollars," says someone else, a little further back.

  Thank God for whomever is outbidding this ugly guy, I think, and I squint to make out the latest bidder— who must be a big spender. He's gorgeous. He has dark brown hair and matching eyes, framed by thick glasses that make him look studious.

  Even from here, I can tell there's some gray specks in his hair but they just make him look even more distinguished. He's tall and broad shouldered, with a mus
cular chest and strong arms that look like he can pick me up and swing me over his shoulders.

  Yes, please win, I think. I'd gladly have dinner with him, and a hundred thousand dollars would be enough to pay for my tuition outright. I'm beginning to be very glad I came tonight.

  But the bidding isn't over. The first man says, "Two hundred thousand" and the new guy quickly says, "Three hundred."

  Someone from behind me on the stage— probably jealous Belinda— lets out a whisper and says, "For dinner?"

  That's my question exactly, but I don't ask it out loud. I just go with it and decide not to press my luck by asking questions.

  The man in the front row says, "Three fifty."

  A silence falls over the audience and I'm hoping and praying this man doesn't win. I want the hot older guy. A dinner with him would give me lots of fodder for my fantasies.

  To my delight, he raises his auction card again but this time he says, "Half a million dollars, but she has to change her bracelet."

  Some people in the audience gasp, but then a hush falls over the crowd. I look around in confusion and finally Melissa approaches me.

  "This gentleman is very interested in you," she explains. "But he is asking if you are willing to do more, for more money."

  "How much more, exactly?" I ask.

  Immediately I know it doesn't even matter. I'd do anything for this man, and he probably wouldn't even have to pay me. Especially when the alternative man is the ugly man in the front row.

  "The next step up is the purple bracelet," she says. "It means oral sex."

  I pause, as if considering it, although my mind is already made up. I don't even know if it means I have to go down on him, or if he will go down on me. But I decide it doesn't matter.

  "Okay," I tell her, nodding.

  "That's a wise decision," she says, handing me a purple bracelet.

  "Hey, that's not fair!" the guy in the front row shouts.