More Than Friends

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: MORE THAN FRIENDS

Copyright © EVANGELINE ANDERSON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Prologue

"Our second slave girl of the night is sent to us compliments of Ms. Gretta DeVille, and you know she only sends the very best, so let´s start the evening off right. What am I bid for this pretty young thing? Tight little ass, long silky hair and just look at those tits-fit just right in the palm of your hand! Come on, gentlemen, you know you want a piece of this. Let´s start the bidding at one thousand dollars. One-thousand-one-thousand-one-thousand-and-who´ll-give-me-two?"

Emily Cline was pushed out into the center of the large wooden stage as the auctioneer continued speed talking, listing her physical attributes at the top of his lungs. She stumbled in the spiked black heels that were strapped to her feet and would have fallen if he hadn´t stuck out a hand to catch her. Instead of holding her steady, he twirled her roughly, showing the crowd of yelling, leather-clad men the way her short black leather skirt rode up her thighs, revealing the lacy tops of her garters. Dizzy, Emily tried to stand up straight and regain her composure when the auctioneer released her. But inside she was a mass of confusion as the bids began to come pouring in.

Oh God! This isn´t really happening, is it? No, it can´t be. It has to be some kind of really vivid nightmare. It´s like that horrible dream I had in tenth grade when Jeremy Norlow gave me that pill he said would make me feel like I was floating but instead I kept thinking I was stepping off the edge of a cliff.

It had been a good ten years since the mysterious pill incident and high school was long behind her but Emily had the same sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The feeling that she had stepped off the edge of the cliff and there was no net down below to catch her when she hit bottom.

She looked down at herself, at her neat teacup-sized breasts that were currently pushed up and out by the bizarre corset-like contraption the wardrobe mistress had forced her into. They were spilling out the top of it like ripe fruit and her nipples, barely covered by the black lacy edge of the constricting device, were so hard they felt like diamonds at the tips of her breasts.

The black leather skirt she was wearing seemed more designed to showcase the wispy black garters and panties she had on than to conceal them. There was a zipper in the back of it that ran from the bottom edge right up to the waistline as though the skirt had been made especially to show off her ass. The five-inch stiletto hooker heels she was wearing were so high they made her totter everywhere, using mincing little steps like a geisha. Although no self-respecting geisha would be caught dead dressed like she was now.

"Five thousand!" A male voice in the crowd was shouting but the spotlight shining in her eyes blinded Emily and she couldn´t see anything but a vague, blurry sea of faces. Faces she knew represented some of the wealthiest men in Houston. Not that she cared-she just wanted to go home, didn´t she? Her head was certain she did, but her heart wasn´t so sure. It was pounding against her ribs as if it wanted to get out and the silky black panties that barely covered the soft mound of her sex felt hot and slippery between her legs. The conflicting sensations of sheer terror and heart-racing lust were horribly confusing. This isn´t me! Emily told herself. This isn´t what I want. Is it?

Oh God, how had she gotten herself into this? Being auctioned off like a piece of meat wasn´t her idea of a good time. But everything had happened so fast it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where she´d gone wrong, how she´d ended up on the auction block in the first place. Who was going to buy her? And what would they do with her when they did? Emily had never felt so vulnerable, so helpless and frightened. With a trembling hand she pushed her tousled tawny brown curls out of her eyes and took as deep a breath as the corset she was wearing would allow. Calm, have to keep calm, she told herself.

"Five-thousand-and-who´ll-make-it-six?" the auctioneer barked. "Come on now, it´s not much to pay for fifteen minutes on the stage with this lovely little slave. Ya´ll know the rules-there are no rules! Because tonight at the Rustler´s Roundup, anything goes! And remember, it´s for a good cause."

That´s right, a good cause. Suddenly her muddled mind took her back to the beginning, the night before when her employer, Gretta DeVille of the Stanhope DeVilles, had informed her that she would need Emily to attend a charity auction on Friday night.

Some auction, Emily thought as the bidding reached ten thousand dollars and the men in leather cheered and hooted like animals. If only she had known that she was going to be the item up for bidding she never would have agreed to go. But she had been blissfully ignorant of her eventual fate. If only she had listened to her best friend Zach´s warning...