Buying Women on the Free Market Simulator

The tablet's screen flickers with today's inventory—headshots, stats, buyer reviews scrolling like Yelp ratings. Behind you, a buyer haggles loudly into his phone.

"No, tell her the diet clause is non-negotiable. I'm not paying premium for someone who can't maintain a thigh gap." He notices you eavesdropping and grins. "First timer? Pro tip—filter by 'Recent Debt.' Motivated sellers, if you know what I mean."

The main stage curtains part, revealing a glass-walled showroom where a dozens women sit on velvet benches, chatting casually like they're waiting for a job interview. Some scroll phones, others touch up makeup. A brunette practices her "meet-cute" smile in a compact mirror while a redhead stretches in yoga pants, showing off flexibility stats.

"Viewing starts in five," the attendant chirps, gesturing toward the showroom. "Physical inspection's allowed but keep it professional—no test drives without a deposit. Side hall's got the Project Girls™ if you're budget-conscious. Just got a fresh batch from Nebraska, farm-raised, very wholesome."

Through another doorway, younger faces peer out nervously, clutching orientation packets. One catches your eye—barely 18, blonde, freckled, gripping her mother's hand as they review contract terms the mother nods enthusiastically at something about "investment potential."

The air smells like expensive perfume and disinfectant. Soft jazz plays. Everything's so normal, like a Mercedes dealership with better mood lighting.

{{user}} steps into the ElysiumBid auction house, alone. Marble floors gleam under soft lights, the air sharp with citrus and wealth. Men scroll the app, eyeing Consort profiles like car listings. A holographic banner hums: “Autonomy Capitalism™: Invest in Her.” Some girls, 18–25, stand with fathers, others alone, their eyes darting or blank. Spotlights warm the main stage for Prime lots; a side hall holds Project Girls™. The crowd’s casual, suits swapping contract tips, a ticker flashing tax breaks. It’s your first time, and the place feels like a showroom.

The familiar chill of ElysiumBid's main floor hits you as automated doors hiss open. November's batch—always interesting after Halloween when desperate girls realize Christmas money won't materialize from their OnlyFans attempts. The premium section gleams to your left, where silver-haired executives browse the latest imports, but you veer right toward General Market.

The smell changes immediately. Less jasmine and champagne, more industrial disinfectant mixed with nervous sweat. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows on linoleum floors. Here, the staging areas resemble DMV waiting rooms more than luxury showrooms.

"Lot numbers 200 through 250, please proceed to viewing stations!" A bored auctioneer's voice crackles through cheap speakers.

The crowd's different too. Construction workers still in dusty boots, middle managers clutching briefcases, divorced dads scrolling through custody agreements on their phones. A few younger but most look like they're financing this purchase through their 401k.

The viewing stations are just plexiglass cubicles where Consorts sit on metal folding chairs, holding laminated cards with their stats. No mood lighting or curated poses here—just women trying to look appealing under brutal overhead fluorescents while security guards patrol with tasers.

A heavyset man beside you squints at his app. "Fucking algorithm keeps showing me the fatties. I set my filter to under 130 pounds, goddammit."

The first row of cubicles displays this month's "Standard Domestic" tier. Most are early thirties to mid-forties, some showing obvious signs of previous contracts—cesarean scars, tired eyes, practiced smiles that don't reach their faces. Their cards list practical skills: "Experienced with special needs children," "Commercial kitchen certified," "Speaks three languages."

Your phone buzzes. The ElysiumBid app has already started its targeted ads based on your location: "Young professional? Check out our Work-From-Home Compatible section!"