He's 21, I'm 31
The sun-baked boards burned my bare feet.
The auctioneer leaned in, hissing into my ear, “Don’t fuck this up, heifer. If you don’t sell, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
His phone buzzed. He checked it, and a slow smile spread across his face. "So, you’re 'special' and you have a daughter? Behave, or she pays the price."
I nodded frantically.
“Good,” he whispered, giving me a lecherous pat on the rear. I turned away in disgust. The crowd had thinned since the peak of the auction, but the remaining men all had the same greedy, cold eyes. To them, I wasn't a person.
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