Auction Hunters

Auction Hunters

Ch. 1

(no sex, all introductory material)

The auction was not scheduled to begin until six in the evening, sharp, but the estate was opened up at ten in the morning to potential bidders. That’s when Christie and I got there. We had a lot of searching to do and not that much time. Unfortunately, many other bidders were there as well. I could only guess at how many of them knew what sorts of things Bob had been up to and what treasures might be hidden in the crumbling old Victorian mansion.

“Okay, do the list again. What are we looking for?” I asked Christie.

“The three ledger books from the Africa expedition,” she said. “The DVD with the Williams account data, which will be marked in code. The Harrison chronometer. Any first edition copies of Poe’s work. And most of all, the 1911 eighth volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica.”

“And where will they be?”

“Anywhere but where they should be, most likely in plain sight, and certainly not locked up anywhere.”

“Good,” I told her. She smiled, happy to have gotten it right. Christie is a loyal servant, but not especially smart.

The overflow parking was on the front lawn. I groaned, seeing at least a hundred people there. Worse, I spotted at least a dozen men who certainly knew as much, or at least comparable, information about Bob’s activities.

“All bidders must remain on the premises until the auction is over or no re-entry will be permitted. If you must leave before the auction, entry will be closed at three p.m.” The employee of the auction house handed us a flier with the same information on it. “Every room in the Anderson estate is under observation by registered employees of the Garville and Harris Estate Distribution company. Once the auction begins, all items will be sold in lot sizes of a half room at a time as marked. Purchases must be carried away same day. The Packard Truck Company is on site to provide shipping as needed. Anything that is locked shall stay locked until after purchase. Anything that is unlocked may be opened, but nothing may be moved. Are there any questions?”

“No, we’re fine,” I said. We hurried in to look around.

“That’s going to be tough, not moving anything,” Christie said.

“We’ll have to make do. Let’s get started.” We spent the next several hours looking through Bob’s old clutter. Almost everything looked worthless, but I knew damn well there was plenty of good stuff hidden away, tossed in old boxes, under mattresses, or in other innocuous hiding places.

With two hours to go, we took a breather. There were refreshments and a cash bar set up outside. I was eating a sandwich when Gary Ramirez came over.

“Vern Morgan, you old hound dog,” he said, which was absurd since I was twenty years his junior.

“Gary.”

“And this must be Christie. I can see why you’re hiding her from me. You don’t want to share.”

“Oh, he shares,” she said, until I gave her the ‘shut up’ glance.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked me.

“Oh, just seeing what a prematurely departed friend had to offer the world,” I said. “And you?”

“The same.” I could only guess which valuables Gary might know about that I didn’t. I spoke quieter. “Most of these idiots don’t know what the hell is in here.”

“Ain’t that the truth, brother. Ain’t that the truth. I just know one of them is going to walk off with a Swiss bank account number stuffed in a cuckoo clock and never know it.”

“I know I’d rather lose to one of you guys than any of these ass clowns.”

“But enough about them,” Gary said, turning his eyes to Christie again. She tried to smile under his gaze. She was hot, no doubt about it. She was a semi, very semi punk girl. I let her have the pierced lower lip and the spiky hair, not too long. She’d kept her figure, so the tight pants and form fitting cut-off top flattered her. Larger tits would have been nice, but it wasn’t a bad package by any means.

“I was about to go check some more rooms,” I said. “If you’d like to take Christie home and show her a good time, now’s the time to ask.”

“Thank you, another time. My dear,” he said to her, kissing her hand before heading back.

“I’m surprised that skeevy little shit Morton isn’t around,” Christie told me. “You’d think he’d be desperate to salvage his inheritance.”

“You didn’t hear?” We both turned to see Billy Thornton, another casual friend of mine. “Morton was arrested yesterday.”

“You’re kidding. Did he off Bob?”

“That’s what the D.A. is saying, yeah. I guess he didn’t realize how much uncle Bob was in the red.”

“He should have grabbed what he could first,” Christie said.

“All I know is that he’s been skulking around the estate for the last eight weeks, but the lawyers made damn sure he didn’t take anything away with him. He only got in at all by being family. If anyone knows what’s where, it’s him. Too bad they won’t let him bid from jail!” Billy had a good laugh, and we joined him. Morton was a certain thorn in our side. Always had been. He had twice his uncle’s greed and perversion, but not a tenth of his cleverness.

The auction began as scheduled. Worse, we found out that four independent auctioneers would be going through the mansion simultaneously. There was no way to guarantee we’d be present when out best bets came up for sale.

“Alright, Christie. Time to prove your value. You’re signed in as a bidder, and you know what’s what. You go with group two and see what you can get. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” she said eagerly. It was hard to believe, as she bounded off, that the first four years I knew her she was a kidnapped runaway and an unwilling, naked captive in my basement. She was one in a million.

I went with the first group and just hoped that between the two of us we’d get something useful. The first likely batch I spotted was in a guest bedroom. I suspected a ledger book could be behind a wall painting on the far side of the room. Unfortunately, there were three other men there, probably with the same thought. I bid, but they just got too high for the risk to be worthwhile.

The second chance was down in the basement near the garage. Among the boxes and crates I hoped to find the chronometer. It was valuable enough on its own, but I suspected there were bank numbers hidden inside. Apparently I was alone in this belief, but when some of the others saw me bidding up the batch they tried to match me. But their confidence was low, so I got the batch. It might well be a large pile of old junk, but such was the risk.

The third and fourth batches I tried for fell through. Some other guys got them. I did manage to win the bid on one of Bob’s cars. It was an old ’67 Porsche, so that was good. I had a feeling about the trunk.

I met up with Christie at nine. She’d managed one successful bid in a guest bedroom. The furnishings and everything else from that half of the room were mine now.

“Alright, let’s arrange delivery and get out of here,” I said. The trucking company representative was efficient and helpful, and by ten we were leaving, with the truck not far behind. It was another hour to get home, and more yet for the truckers to unload everything into my own basement. It was nearly midnight when we were finally done with all that.

“Shall we start to look?” Christie asked.

“I’m going to open some of the larger boxes now. We can make a detailed search tomorrow. Go make us some drinks.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, heading upstairs. I found that there were a variety of locked wooden crates of various sizes. I just wanted to get them opened, but I didn’t see any keys included in the batch. So I had to settle for a crowbar.

After a short time of yanking open boxes I heard a sound. Now, hearing a noise in the basement late at night can be unsettling. I froze and listened. At first there was nothing, but I soon heard it again. There was some sound coming from the largest box there. Christie came back down at that moment.

“There’s something moving in the big crate,” I said. She nearly dropped the drinks, but soon came over.

“Could someone be in there?” she whispered.

“Bob had his moments,” I said. “Let’s see.” I jammed the crowbar under the lid. It was a tough lock to snap, that was for sure. We opened the lid up, trying to see into the shadows from the lamp off to the side of the room. Christie gasped. Still groggy, blindfolded, gagged, stark naked, and with her hands and feet bound was a sweaty, fairly bad smelling woman, locked in the box until now.

Ch. 2

“Holy shit! Holy shit does she stink!” Christie gasped. I was surprised, but only because I couldn’t believe any of Bob’s kidnap victims would still be around. He’d died eight weeks ago. But then there was Morton to consider. Morton, with access to the estate right up until yesterday. And now Morton sitting in jail for murder, unlikely to tell any further tales.

The woman was fairly chunky, and no great beauty. She wasn’t old, probably in her thirties somewhere. She had wide hips and belly, large floppy tits, and matted, greasy blonde hair. She was moving her head about, looking blindly around, but slowly.

“I think we woke her,” Christie said. “She must have been drugged today.”

“Hey! Hey, did we wake you?” I asked loudly to the woman. I held her face and pointed it to me. “Can you hear me?” When I touched her she jerked and screamed, trying to look around frantically.

“I don’t think she can hear you. Her ears must be plugged,” Christy said.

I looked closely at the woman and couldn’t believe what I saw. I ran my fingers down her body, from her neck, over her tits, and down to her special center. “I don’t believe this,” I said. “Do you know who this is?”

Christie stared hard. “Should I?”

“You met her a couple times. It’s Annie Walker! Bob kidnapped Annie Walker!”

“No way! No fucking way!” Christie said, smiling. She looked at the terrified, shaking woman and her smile turned to anger. “Annie Walker! You fat fucking bitch!” she shouted, lunging at the woman. Before I could stop her she had her hands around Annie’s throat, desperately squeezing the life out of her.

“On your knees, slave!” I shouted at her. The effect was instant, and I was glad to see the training hadn’t worn off. I tried not to assert Christie’s position as a slave. She was much more useful as a slavishly devoted woman rather than an actual slave. She quickly fell to her knees, put her hands behind her head, and began reciting quietly.

“Master owns me. Master controls me. Master owns me. Master controls me.” It went on. She wouldn’t move until I told her to. She was too scared to try.

Now Annie was thrashing around in her box, still bound tightly and screaming into her gag. I began pulling at the tape covering her mouth. I also uncovered her ears and removed the ear plugs. She was in not such good shape, with scars both old and new covering her skin. But she was apparently well fed and not in poor health.

“Shhh. Shhh,” I said. “Quiet now. Quiet.” I help my hand to her throat. Maybe that did it. Her jaw was quivering. “Bob Connor is dead now. Did you know that?”

“Y-yes,” she said, nodding.

“You’re not at his home anymore. Did you know that?”

“I g-guessed.”

“And Morton Sloan is in jail. He’s been keeping you alive. Did you know he was arrested?”

“No. No.”

“Yes. He is. Did he put you in the box when Bob died?”

“Yes. Please!”

“Shhh. Don’t beg yet. Are you Annie Walker?”

She nodded vigorously. “Please, let me go.”

Amazing. Simply amazing. I leaned over the Christie. “Are you going to control yourself? Shall I let you in on the fun now?”

“Yes, master. Please forgive me.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven. Get up.”

Christie was back to her old self once I said the magical forgiveness word. She began touching Annie’s body, scarcely able to believe our luck.

Annie had once stolen from us. From quite a few people. She had informed the feds about many of our activities, though not mine particularly. I had lost money because of her. Lots of it. She’d been a major problem until her disappearance, five years ago. And now Bob had her all along.

Her body was cold. That room the box had been in wasn’t very warm. But she seemed none the worse for wear. I touched her body all over. She was shaking in terror, which hardly seemed possible after five years of captivity, but then she was in a new situation. She was still blindfolded, and she didn’t seem to recognize my voice. I stuck a finger into her twat.

“Do you recognize my voice, Annie?” I asked.

She froze. Maybe she recognized something about it. “Well? Do you? Do you remember me at all? You should.”

She suddenly drew in a deep breath and screamed in terror. Then she began wailing loudly. “I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I’m really sorry!”

“Too fucking late, bitch!” I shouted at her. Christie was happily mauling Annie’s breasts by then, but I had other ideas. I grabbed her tits and lifted her up from the box and out onto the floor by them. Annie cried out as I began to untie her feet. Her hands I left bound tightly.

“Now you pay, whore,” I hissed at her. “Like you should have a long time ago.”

I got undressed in order to rape the bitch. Christie did so too. I pushed Annie back down when she tried to sit up and then rammed my cock into her hard. She cried out as I angrily thrust into her over and over. She thrashed her head back and forth, but Christie grabbed hold of her and sat down on her head, pressing her cunt to Annie’s mouth. “Give us a lick, baby doll!” she demanded, slapping Annie’s face against and again. I couldn’t see if she got it or not. I was busy getting ready to shoot a great load of cum into Annie’s dry snatch. I minute later I did. I couldn’t seem to run out. It was a grade-A cum into this rotten fat whore that had once harmed me so much.

I let Christie have a bit more fun before I tied Annie’s feet again and dumped her back into the smelly, cramped box. I didn’t bother gagging her again. No one could hear her.

“Bob might have kept you elsewhere. Where did he keep you, bitch? A room? A cell?”

“In his bedroom,” she sobbed.

“Really, that old softie. Well, a box is good enough for the likes of you. At least until I feel like rigging something else up.” Sure, like the custom dungeon I had in another part of the cellar. But she didn’t need to know that. “It’s late and I’m tired. But don’t worry, Annie whore. We’ll be back for you sometime tomorrow. Sleep well and get used to it. You’re home now.”

She was still shrieking when I closed the lid. It wouldn’t lock again, but I found a heavy item to put on it. Tied tightly as Annie was, she wasn’t going anywhere. She could cry and struggle and scream in her box. It made no difference to me.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” I said to Christie.

“Think we’ll find any treasure tomorrow, sir?” she asked.

“None as valuable as tonight,” I said. “That’s for sure. It’s the gift that will keep on giving for a very, very long time to come.”

The End.