Chapter 13: Genetic Auction
The auctioneer’s voice, amplified and devoid of warmth, sliced through the chamber’s tense air. "Lot 437: Exclusive, perpetual rights to the genetic sequence designated 'Petrova-Prime'. Proven battlefield viability under extreme duress. Self-replication capabilities documented. Bidding opens at five billion credits."
A wave of murmurs rolled through the assembled power brokers. Anya stood rigid on the cold steel platform, the glowing neural restraints searing bands of heat into her wrists where they were locked behind her back. Naked, exposed under the harsh spotlights, she felt the gaze of the room like a physical weight. Her skin prickled. Beneath the humiliation, a treacherous current surged.
"Five point two!" barked a gaunt man in synth-silk robes.
"Five point five!" countered a woman whose cybernetic eye whirred as it zoomed in on Anya.
Each bid hammered into her. Her breath hitched. The earlier surge of adrenaline-fueled arousal from the battle – the brutal efficiency of her naked clones, the crack of ribs under her bare heel, the slick wetness between her own thighs with every kill – was a ghost haunting her present degradation. Now, the power wasn’t hers. It was being stripped away, layer by layer.
"Six billion," droned a synth-voice from a hovering proxy drone.
Dr. Thorne, standing just off the platform with his data-slate, twitched. His eyes darted to Anya, then back to his readings. "Remarkable," he muttered, almost to himself, his finger hovering over a control. "Baseline neurochemical surge correlates directly with bid increments. Dopamine, oxytocin... significant cortisol overlay, indicative of stress response co-mingling with... pleasure pathways." He sounded fascinated.
"Fuck you, Thorne," Anya hissed, the words barely audible, but the tremor in her voice was real. The glowing restraints flared brighter for a second, a sharp, punitive sting shooting up her arms. She gasped.
"Six point five!" The gaunt man slammed his paddle down.
Thrum. The low-level current from the restraints faded, replaced instantly by a different sensation. Thorne had activated the slender pleasure prod in his other hand. It wasn't a shock this time, but a focused, insistent vibration pressed directly against her exposed clit.
"Ah!" The sound escaped Anya before she could choke it back. Her hips jerked involuntarily. Wetness, sudden and undeniable, slicked her inner thighs, dripping audibly onto the steel beneath her boots. Heat flooded her face, clashing violently with the icy dread pooling in her gut. The sheer wrongness of her body's betrayal was almost more sickening than the auction itself. Her cunt clenched, empty and aching, the vibration a cruel mockery of touch.
"Subject demonstrates immediate, quantifiable physiological response to stimulus concurrent with bid acceptance," Thorne announced loudly, clinically, to the room. "Neurological engagement optimal."
"Seven billion," the woman with the cybernetic eye stated flatly, her gaze fixed not on Anya's face, but lower, on the glistening evidence of her arousal.
The auctioneer’s gavel cracked. "Sold! To House Silvax! Genetic rights to Petrova-Prime confirmed."
Before Anya could process the horror of her very blueprint being owned, the auctioneer continued, his voice utterly matter-of-fact. "Proceeding to Lot 438: Digitized neural engram capture. Full sensory memory archive of Subject Petrova-Prime. Includes all combat data, emotional states, and experiential records from activation to present moment. A unique library of resilience and… responsive conditioning."
Anya froze. Her memories? The taste of blood and ozone on the battlefield, the desperate rush of fighting naked alongside her clones, the terrifying exhilaration, the bone-deep exhaustion… Vance’s conflicted eyes on the viewscreen as he gave the order… the raw, shameful heat of her own body betraying her… They were going to sell that? Package her most intimate, terrifying, and humiliating moments?
"Bidding opens at three billion credits," the auctioneer stated.
"No," Anya whispered, the denial ripped from her throat. The vibration against her clit intensified suddenly, a buzzing insistence that made her knees buckle. She swayed, catching herself, a low moan escaping as the direct stimulation sent jolts of unwanted pleasure radiating outwards. Her pussy felt swollen, throbbing, dripping freely now. The cold air on her wet folds was its own exquisite torture.
"Three point five!"
"Four!"
Thorne adjusted the prod slightly, his eyes glued to his slate. "Engaging higher frequency band. Observing synaptic flare in the limbic system. Fascinating co-activation of fear and reward centers." He sounded like he was commenting on a particularly interesting chemical reaction. Which, to him, she supposed she was.
"Fascinating? You voyeuristic fuck!" Anya spat, straining against her restraints. The glow intensified, sending fresh arcs of pain up her nerves, momentarily overwhelming the pleasure, making her cry out.
"Five billion!" A new bidder, a reptilian alien in opulent scales, hissed.
Thorne, perhaps seeking a more 'definitive' demonstration, abruptly switched the prod from vibration to a sharp, low-voltage shock.
"GAH!" Anya arched violently, a strangled scream tearing from her. It wasn't pure pain; it was pain laced with a devastating, electric jolt of pleasure that exploded from her clit through her entire pelvis. Her vision whited out for a second. She felt her inner muscles spasm, a hot gush of fluid escaping her as she nearly came undone on the platform, restrained and displayed. Humiliation burned hotter than the restraints.
"Subject exhibits profound autonomic response to controlled electro-stimulation," Thorne droned, ignoring her tremors. "Neurological capture viability confirmed at peak arousal states."
"Six billion!" the cyber-eyed woman snapped.
"Sold! To OmniCorp Research Division! Neural engram archive secured."
The auctioneer didn't pause. He straightened his cuffs, his amplified voice cutting through Anya's ragged breathing and the dripping sound between her legs. "And finally, the primary asset. Lot 439: The original biological entity, Subject Anya Petrova. Fully functional, combat-proven physiology. Includes baseline genetic template and integrated memory engrams as previously auctioned. Sold as-is, unrestricted usage rights. Bidding opens at ten billion credits."
Anya’s blood turned to ice water. They hadn't just sold her past and her potential. They were selling her. The ababa herself. The final piece. The living, breathing, dripping commodity. The vibration at her clit had faded with the shock, leaving her hypersensitive and aching. The reality slammed into her: after the genetics, after the memories… she was next. The object on the block. Her body, already humming with traitorous arousal, clenched tight with pure terror. The gavel hovered. The chamber held its breath. The first bid was about to fall.
"Fifteen billion." The cyber-eyed woman's voice cut through the stunned silence like a vibroblade. OmniCorp’s bid hung in the air, a number too obscene to comprehend.
Anya’s knees threatened to buckle again, the cold steel beneath her boots the only anchor. Sweat beaded between her breasts, tracing paths down her toned abdomen, mingling with the slick wetness still coating her inner thighs. This wasn't valor; this was inventory. Thorne’s fucking prod had left her clit throbbing, hypersensitive, a cruel echo of battlefield arousal twisted into this sterile hell.
"Seventeen," the gaunt man countered, synth-robes rustling. House Silvax wasn't backing down. Their representative’s hollow eyes scanned Anya with chilling calculation, lingering on the restraints, the sweat, the glistening proof of her body’s betrayal.
"Twenty." OmniCorp didn't hesitate. The cyber-eye whirred, fixed on Anya’s face now, dissecting her terror.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Anya could hear her own ragged breathing, the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribs, the obscene drip of fluid hitting metal. Her pussy ached, a deep, insistent throb that warred with the icy dread freezing her spine. Twenty billion credits for her. To do what?
"Twenty-five." Silvax. Final. Definite. The gaunt man lowered his paddle, a predator claiming its prize.
The gavel cracked, the sound sharp and final. "Sold! To House Silvax! Primary asset, Subject Anya Petrova, conveyed with immediate effect." The auctioneer gestured dismissively towards the platform.
Before the echoes faded, two heavily armored Silvax guards clad in matte-black combat gear surged forward. Their movements were efficient, brutal. One seized Anya’s upper arm, metal gauntlets biting into her bicep, while the other slammed a neural collar around her throat. It clicked shut, cold and constricting, emitting a low, warning hum.
"Move, asset." The guard’s voice was a synthesized growl through his helmet. He shoved, propelling her stumbling off the platform. The sudden movement jolted her, the collar buzzing sharply, making her gasp.
They marched her through a side archway, leaving the cold chamber for a dimmer, utilitarian corridor. The scent of ozone and lubricant replaced expensive cologne. Waiting was a figure she recognized from briefings: Kael Vorik, Silvax’s chief acquisitions handler, known for his… thoroughness. He was tall, whip-lean, with close-cropped grey hair and eyes like chips of flint. He wore a tailored dark suit, incongruous against the industrial surroundings.
"Petrova," Kael stated, his voice devoid of inflection. He circled her slowly, his gaze a physical violation, cataloging every inch of her naked, restrained form. "Impressive resilience reports. And quite… responsive." His eyes flickered down to her glistening sex. "Let's validate that investment."
He didn't ask. He stepped close, invading her space, the scent of expensive soap and something metallic clinging to him. One hand snapped out, fingers tangling brutally in her dark hair, yanking her head back. She gritted her teeth against the pain.
With his other hand, he didn't hesitate. His fingers, surprisingly cool, traced a path down her sweat-slicked stomach, past her navel, and plunged roughly between her legs. Not tentative, not curious. Owning.
"Fuck!" Anya gasped, her body arching involuntarily despite herself. His fingers were thick, calloused, shoving past her outer lips with no preamble, spreading the slick folds wide. He found her clit instantly, swollen and exposed from Thorne’s ministrations, and rubbed it hard in a tight, cruel circle.
"Already dripping," Kael observed clinically, his breath hot on her ear. He pushed further, two fingers sinking knuckle-deep into her cunt without warning. The sudden, violating penetration forced a choked cry from her throat. Her inner walls clenched instinctively, traitorously, around the intrusion. "Tight. Good. Shows the physiological data wasn't exaggerated."
He began to piston his fingers inside her, a ruthless, rhythmic invasion. His thumb ground relentlessly against her clit. Pain and rough, unwanted pleasure collided, a sickening cocktail that made her vision swim. Her hips jerked, fighting him, but the guards held her firm, the collar buzzing faintly. Sweat dripped into her eyes.
"Feel that, asset?" Kael rasped, watching her face contort. "Your body knows its purpose now. To be used." He crooked his fingers, searching, finding a spot inside that sent a jolting shockwave of sensation up her spine. "Ah, there it is. See how she clenches? Like a fucking vise."
Anya bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, trying desperately to stifle the moans threatening to escape. Every brutal thrust, every grind of his thumb, sent sparks through her overloaded nerves. Her cunt was swollen, hot, gripping his fingers with a wet, sucking sound as he pulled them almost out before driving back in. Shame burned hotter than the sensations.
"Look at her," Kael commanded the guards, a cruel smile touching his lips. "Naked, collared, restrained. Bought. And her greedy little pussy is soaking my hand." He twisted his wrist, deepening the angle. Anya cried out, her knees buckling completely this time. Only the guards' iron grip kept her upright, suspended between them, impaled on his hand.
He fucked her with his fingers hard and fast, the obscene squelching sound filling the corridor. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Bet you came watching your naked little copies crush skulls," he whispered, voice thick with malice. "Bet you soaked your cunt then too, you twisted bitch. Now look at you."
The words, the memory, the relentless assault on her body – it was too much. A dam broke. A shuddering wave of humiliating, involuntary climax ripped through her. Her back arched violently, a guttural sob escaping as her inner muscles convulsed wildly around his buried fingers, juices flooding over his hand and down her trembling thighs.
Kael held his fingers deep inside her, milking the contractions as she spasmed against him, her body betraying her utterly. He slowly withdrew, holding his glistening fingers up for inspection before wiping them casually on her hip. "Validation complete. She’s functional." He nodded to the guards. "Prep her for transport. The client awaits."