Auctioned Nanny

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God, she didn’t expect something like this to be so loud.

She didn’t know what she expected of this at all, honestly. What does one expect going to an auction where people bid on well, people?

“This little darling is Rebecca Redfield,” the master of ceremonies announced. “She measures 37-26-40. Little more than perfect, but I know there are those out there who like a little more than perfection, if ya know what a mean?”

She cringed at the words she was hearing.

The white brunette out on the stage was as nervous as Sonia was. The men were staring down at her, ogling her.

Officially, the services at auction were for one year of employment as a live in servant of somesort. The ad Sonia responded to says they were looking for nannies, cooks, maids. High-end buyers who wanted someone to exclusively tend to their needs.

This, though? This felt like a meat market.

Sure, she wasn’t walking around naked, but the cheesy French maid outfit they gave the brunette wasn’t much better than nudity, showing some midriff and barely even covering her panties.

Was Sonia really just selling herself? She didn’t want to resort to that. She thought this was something better than that. She had just gotten out of culinary school, and she thought her expertise would lend her well to getting a good chunk of money here.

Yet the MC didn’t even mention this brunette’s credentials. Just her measurements. Did she have any? Or did the crowd not care?

The crowd. It was made up mostly of men, of course. Some of them in their forties and fifties, a few beyond, most looking like they’ve given up in attracting a woman by more traditional means. It made her shudder a bit, thinking about working for one of them, them eyeballing her and ready to act out their ‘billionaire fucks the help’ fantasies.

Some though? Well they weren’t as bad. Twenties, early thirties, and quite a bit handsome. Mostly white guys, yeah, but her eyes drifted to a bit more colorful side of things.

A few Arabic men. They were surprisingly dashing looking as they talked things over with one another, occasionally gesturing toward the stage.

One in particular caught her eye, and she caught his. For a brief moment, they shared a gaze at one another. God, he was especially dashing, Sonia thought. He was mostly clean shaven, unlike the others in his party, but holding onto a little stubble, which he definitely made kinda sexy. Dark wavy hair bobbed on top of his head, and his body? He was wearing a suit, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t a string bean, and had some solid muscles under that jacket, as well as almost tree-trunk like legs.

She snapped her vision away from the front of the room. She wasn’t here to ogle. She was here to get ogled.

“We will start the bedding on Miss Redfield at One Hundred Thousand U.S. Dollars,” the MC called out. “Does anyone have one hundred thousand?”

One of the crypt keepers in the back shot his hand up.

“We got a hundred thousand. Better bids anyone?”

There was some shouting, all throughout. People were yelling out numbers, having a grand old time of it. Having their fun at the misfortune of the woman on the stage, who probably wasn’t there because being a live in ‘servant’ for a year was something that seemed super exciting and fun.

What on Earth had she gone and gotten herself involved with?

“Is no one going above six hundred thousand? Going once, going twice... and sold to Mr. Krieber!”

The MC pointed toward the winner. It was definitely someone closer to the crypt keeper category than the handsome category. The brunette took an audible deep breath, gathered her thoughts, and made her way toward her new employer.

“Sonia, you’re up.” That was the backstage agent, nudging her toward the stage. She wasn’t terribly enthused. Just like the brunette, she was dressed in a stupid costume, reminiscent of what she was supposed to actually do. In this case? A chef’s hat and an apron.

That was pretty much it though. Someone outside looking in would have probably thought she was buck ass naked under it, but no, she was a set of flesh colored bra and panties, and the event organizer had the foresight to actually match her flesh tone too.

She paused a moment to gather her courage. It could be worse. Black girl going out to get bid on. There were a whole lot more insensitive things they could have done with this, and being a cheesecake chef for lack a better term was definitely better than that.

Heel after heel, she walked out onto the stage, and immediately felt the weight of every eye in the room on her, ogling her body.

“This, gentlemen, is our lovely Chef Sonia Palmer, ready to heat up your thoughts and your life,” the MC continued as Sonia hit the stage. “She’s a delectable 40- 32 - 44 - so you know she knows what’s good - if you know what I mean.”

Cheering, whooping. It wasn’t behavior she expected out of millionaires and billionaires. All the same though, they were still men. Men who had come to put themselves in power over a woman for a long period of time.

It took a certain level of skeeviness to be someone who participated in such a thing, instead of simply using a housekeeping agency or something.

She didn’t want to be here, but she had to be. She didn’t have friends or family she could rely on financially, and the spectre of student loans made making it on her own something that was risky if not impossible.

It was one year. Out of optimistically, what, seventy? Her grandparents lived nice and long and if it wasn’t for... well... things happening, her parents would have been there too.

To be free of that monkey of debt would make this worth it.

Even if the man she ended up working for was the biggest creep on the planet.

Surveying the audience again, odds were really good for her getting a creep, and that she wouldn’t get all that much money for her services. After all, she was the only black girl here, and she knew how these types thought.

White, Skinny, Blonde, Huge tits, that’s what mattered. All of those things she didn’t have.

Except maybe the breast part, maybe, her thickness of body giving her a little boost there, but it still wasn’t crazy huge and somewhat fake looking like she expected most of these perverts to go for.

Perhaps she would luck out, and that charming Arabic man would have a sudden financial interest in her?

“We’re all about equality here, gentlemen,” the MC snidely said. “So we’re starting at one hundred thousand dollars again.”

To Sonia’s surprise, there was some interest. Someone took the offer, and then raised the demand higher. More barking of orders, numbers, and going up fast.

She was a bit overwhelmed. She heard a half-million, way more than she really ever needed to pay her debts.

In the chaos, she noticed the men yelling out for her. One was some chubby white dude who looked like he desperately wanted to be a cowboy, complete with the boots and bolo tie.

The other?

The Arabic man who had captured her attention earlier.

“Half a million for her, Rahal? Really?” The white dude said. “Your first bid ever at one of these and you’re throwing that much money at her?”

“I am not here to have my decisions criticized.”

The white dude laughed, and apparently took that defense as an insult. “Fine then. SIx hundred thousand. She’s mine, Rahal.”

“Seven-fifty,” the man called Rahal immediately snapped back.

“Making this interesting, huh? Eight hundred.”

“Nine hundred,” Rahal said back without even waiting for a moment to pass.

Sonia watched in shock as the number on her head was growing higher and higher, way past the brunette who was before her.

For the fat man though, this wasn’t about her. It was about some weird sense of pride he had. “One million then.”

A million? She would be a damned millionaire after all this, even if only technically? Seriously?

Her eyes were wide as she looked at the fat man who was about to win her.

“I’ma take her Rahal. Put her to work nice and hard too. Maybe keep her wearing what she’s wearing now, even less,” he said, smiling and laughing.

‘Rahal’ wasn’t shaken. “Two million,” he called out.

The fat man looked his way. “You’re not supposed to jump that far up, Rahal, do you even know how an auction works?”

“No, Frank. It’s not about the auction. It’s about sparing a woman the pain of having to deal with you.”

“What, are you going to spend yourself into the poor house just for your principles now?”

Rahal stood up, and stared down his opponent. “This? This is nothing to me and my family. We have enough money to buy and sell even you, Frank. Test me. I dare you.”

The battle of rich man bravado ended at that moment, with ‘Frank’ finally backing down from the challenge. The man was willing to throw two million dollars at her out of pure spite, and he backed down when this Rahal guy said he wasn’t going to win this fight.

How rich was this Rahal guy? Absurd numbers flew through Sonia’s head.

“Well then,” the MC said. “Anyone beating two million?”

“Um...” Someone started to speak up.

“Three million,” Rahal said, not a beat missed.

“Nevermind.”

“Okay then. Once. Twice. Sold, to the very determined Sheikh Azar Rahal.”

Azar was his first name, huh, the thought passed Sonia’s mind.

Wait, did he said Sheikh Azar Rahal? Like, he was some sort of Middle Eastern prince or king?

It wasn’t long before Azar was approaching the stage, and taking her hand into his. “Come with me. Let us get you away from here for dignity’s sake, and we also have much to talk about.”