SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER

He valued my virginity at money, even though it was priceless.

I didn't believe it could be done. Being a billionaire, Drey Black didn't need to purchase females. But he purchased me at the virgin auction, and all of a sudden I was the alpha male's property.

But he made it nice for me.

I dressed in his clothing.

ate the most delicious meal.

and rested on a large, plush bed.

However, everything has a cost. and my virginity was desired by the a billionaire!

*********************************

Ellie

"El, you really can't wear that," my buddy Monica remarked.

I turned to face her again, a bit irritated.

"Why not?" With a sorrowful tone, I asked. I put on a fantastic pair of dark denim trousers and combined them with a crushed velvet scoop-neck long sleeve blouse. "It seems fine to me."

Monica laughed hysterically.

El, really, we're spending the week in Vegas. It's very hot, and we're going partying at this establishment that has no name at all. She said, "You can't wear what you usually wear. Please take it off."

I considered giving up completely, planting my foot, and getting stuck in. However, my buddy Monica is the one with style sense; she always looks stunning and knows just how to dress for every situation. In contrast, I had something of a frumpy appearance, was sometimes bewildered and befuddled, and had round, unfashionably curly brown hair. As a result of my friendship with Monica, I did indeed get invitations to fancy events, but I didn't resemble any of the slender minnies there.

In all honesty, I found it astounding that Monica and I could even be friends given how different we are. I'm little and round, an A student, and she's swan-like, graceful, and slender with a modeling portfolio. We thus have very different hobbies and life trajectories. However, we have been friends since we were five years old and have supported each other repeatedly through good times and bad. Consider the divorce of Monica's parents from the previous year. I served as her confidante, therapist, and anchor throughout her time of emotional drifting. If our circumstances were different, I'm certain she would act in the same way for me. Thus, while it may seem that we are very different from one another, our relationship is really far deeper than our respective appearances or personalities would imply.

Furthermore, my friend's fashion advice was even more crucial because of the way my physique evolved. For where the underweight mouse fashioned like a broomstick Ellie of two years earlier was no more, there was a woman's physique, like to Venus de Milo. I can hardly squeeze into any form of jeans because of my large ass, protruding boobs, and wide hips. To be honest, I had a hard time fitting into my jeans tonight; I had to frantically bounce up and down a few times before they finally fit, and the button seemed like it was about to come off.

I let out another sigh.

I pointed with extended hands and repeated, pitifully, "I don't have anything else." "Look at my suitcase-there's nothing else, nothing, nada." Additionally, the inside seemed unimpressive when the purple travel case was opened. Nothing too risqué or high couture, just a few additional colorful blouses and some grey pants to break things up.

Monica gave a grimace.

You didn't pack a dress, really? Something a little more cunning? Glancing over the contents of my luggage, she questioned.

I gave a headshake.

I told her, "Nope, you know I don't wear dresses that often." "I lean more tomboyish."

Rach made another expression.

She underlined, "Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you got a body now that's definitely not tomboyish anymore." "You're going to have to wear something of mine then, come on." After that, she started going through her belongings and opening the closet, which was filled with a million flashy, bright outfits-some even had sequins and pom-poms.

"No, Rach, please," I begged. We weren't even close in size, even if I wore some of my friend's clothes. At five one and a size zero, my blonde pal was your average little vixen. I was maybe up to a size fourteen now, however. Depending on what I'd eaten at breakfast or, sometimes, supper the night before, I may have been sixteen. I could never fit into any of Monica's clothes; I would shred them at the seams like a juicy tomato about to burst.

However, my pal seemed unfazed.

She pulled a frock out of the wardrobe and said cheerfully, "How about this one?"

I let out a moan. The colors were trippy, with oranges blending into purples and large patches of green sporadically. It was awful.

"No, Rach," I firmly said. "Definitely not, the mere sight of it gives me a headache."

Her nose wrinkled pertly as she sniffed.

"El, just so you know, this dress is from Missoni, a well-known Italian fashion business that is well-known for its outrageous patterns."

Even so, I shook my head.

I shook my head and replied, "I've never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it's like an acid trip." "I am unable to."

With a big sigh, Monica put it back up.

Then, how about this one? she enquired.

I halted, momentarily taken aback. Really, the dress wasn't really a dress. It resembled a band of fabric across the breast worn with a skirt, with the smallest bit of material-enough to cover your belly button-connecting the two vertically.

"What's that?" Horrified, I asked.

"You've never seen cutouts before, what?" My acquaintance gave me the grand dame sneer. She gushed, "This is an Azzedine Alaia; I adore his work." "He knows a woman's body so well, it's so sultry."