I Faked My Death — Now He Begs

A dull, dragging pain in her abdomen woke Amelia Martinez.

She tried to get up from the floor, but her body refused to move.

She was tied up, completely naked.

And—she gritted her teeth—in a humiliating, obscene position.

Her hands were bound behind her back with rough rope. Nipple clamps pinched her breasts. Her legs were spread wide in an M-shape, leaving her most intimate parts fully exposed to the air.

She could feel cold air against her bare skin and shivered.

She strained against the ropes. No use.

Darkness surrounded her—black velvet curtains hung on all sides, blocking out every bit of light.

Then she heard footsteps. Voices. Laughter, chatter.

And a smell: rot, sweat, liquor. Her stomach turned, but she couldn’t vomit. It was empty.

Where was she? How had this happened?

What about Benjamin?

She remembered drinking a glass of milk he had handed her.

Before she could figure it out, the curtain was yanked open. The sudden light made her squeeze her eyes shut.

"Wow, look at that! That cunt is the most perfect shape I've ever seen."

"And she's pregnant too. Bet she'd feel amazing."

Filthy words.

She shook with anger.

She knew her obscene state was on display. Despair sank its teeth into her.

When her eyes adjusted, she opened them.

The first thing she saw was her husband—Benjamin.

He sat in a chair, wearing a perfectly fitted suit. His handsome face was ice-cold, and his gaze was even colder.

Men sat around him, their eyes hungry and contemptuous.

Within her narrow field of vision, she saw the truth: she was locked inside a giant birdcage on a platform, her crotch facing the audience.

Her husband sat in the center, watching.

An auction hall.

When she realized that, she nearly broke down.

Seeing her eyes open, Benjamin smiled coldly. "Awake?"

Her voice trembled. "Benjamin, what are you doing? I'm carrying your child... nine months... I'm almost due."

"You know you're pregnant?" His tone was ice. "Amelia, when you were on your hands and knees begging six or seven men to fuck you, did you think about that child?"

"I didn't." She couldn't believe what he was saying. She had never done such a thing.

Benjamin smiled and pressed a remote.

Her own moans filled the auction hall.

On the big screen—the one used to display auction lots—a video played.

In it, she was naked, on all fours, her pregnant belly pressed into the mattress. A man's thick cock pistoned into her vagina from behind. Her head was tipped back, another cock in her mouth, a hand gripping her hair. Her swollen breasts were being fondled by two men, slick with semen. Another hand worked her anus.

Her body, her face, every hole was smeared with men's cum. It was obscene, absurd.

Her eyes went wide. "That's not me. I didn't. It's fake. Violet set me up."

"Set you up again." Benjamin cut her off. "Nine months ago, you climbed into my bed and said someone drugged you. I found those videos on your phone. You said Violet faked them."

"Amelia, those videos were on your phone. You liked being fucked so much you recorded yourself. Who else could have?"

The men in the auction hall laughed. Some commented that the guy fucking her pussy wasn't long enough. They'd do a better job.

Her chest ached until she couldn't breathe. He would never believe her. Never believe that Violet—the girl he'd grown up with, the one who'd saved his life—was a vicious liar.

"I didn't," she whispered. "I was drugged."

She had said it a hundred times in nine months. He never believed her.

Now his face twisted with disgust. "Drugged? Then why did Andrew show up with reporters at the perfect moment, claiming I raped you?"

"Amelia, you love your fiancé so much that you wagged your ass at me like a bitch in heat, begging me to fuck you. Just to help him."

"Shut up."

She broke down. Tears poured down her face.

Benjamin sneered, then turned to say something to the man beside him.

Soon, three doctors in white coats entered with medical bags, followed by delivery nurses.

"What are you doing?" She was nearly screaming.

Benjamin looked at her coldly. "You like to play around. A child would just get in the way." Then to the doctors: "Begin. No anesthesia. Don't want to ruin the drug's potency. Violet can't wait."

The doctor glanced at her reluctantly. "Mr. Moore, Mrs. Moore's baby is in a breech position. Without anesthesia, she may not—"

"She won't die." Benjamin's voice was flat. "Hurry up. The guests are waiting."

While they spoke, the pain in her belly had become unbearable. She could barely hear Benjamin's words.

She only caught "no anesthesia," "Violet," and "guests."

What did her labor have to do with them?

The twisting agony left no room for thought. She felt a hand reach inside her belly and stir.

The ropes bit into her flesh as she thrashed—but compared to the contractions, that was nothing.

She felt the child leaving her body. The sensation of being torn in half made her scream until her throat split.

"The head's out," the delivery nurse shouted. "Mrs. Moore, push, push."

Another contraction. Another tear. She could feel the baby sliding out of her.

She used her last ounce of strength and screamed—

"Waaa!"

The baby's cry cut through the air.

"It's a boy."

Weakly, she opened her eyes to look, but all she saw was Benjamin's disgusted face. "Send the medicine to Violet first."

She didn't understand. She reached for his pant leg. "Benjamin, what medicine?"

Benjamin's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Amelia, did you think I let you give birth to this bastard because I loved you?"

"If Violet hadn't been so frail—needing a newborn's heart as a medicinal ingredient—"

"I'd have sent you and that bastard in your womb straight to hell long ago."

"But don't worry. Plenty of people like this bastard. This auction—it's for him."