“Very well.” The man at the lectern nodded, and two hulking men strode to the dock. Their black gloves startled Derek, and the entire space grew dead silent, rapt at the sight before them. The pair of men held Shae by the upper arms as if she might flee at any moment.
“Shae Elise Broughton, do you enter into service to the Trust by your choice, free of any coercion?”
She flinched slightly, then firmed her chin. “I do.”
The man at the lectern snapped his gaze to Shae’s husband. “Stanton Edward Broughton, do you release your wife into service to the Trust by your will, free of any coercion?”
“I do.” Stanton’s hands clenched into fists behind his back. “Take good care of her.”
The slight difference in wording between the two questions wasn’t lost on Derek, though he had no clue what that might signify. There were so many questions swirling in his mind now, his head was spinning.
“It is done then.” The gavel came down twice, the sound so jarring, Derek jerked in his seat. A startled woman behind them laughed nervously. “The session pronounces Shae Elise Broughton, henceforth referred to as ‘S’, as under the service and protection of the Trust for a period of no less than six months from this date.”
The crowd gasped.
“What?” Derek turned to Kurt. “I mean, what does …?”
Kurt winced. “Usually it’s a month or two, at most. This is …unusual.”
Stanton looked back at the crowd, the fingers of his clenched fists white, then strode to the dock, shouldering aside one of the mountainous men holding his wife. He leaned close, whispering to Shae, then brushed his lips across her cheek.
Tears coursed down her face, their tracks glistening in the harsh overhead lights. She seemed to sag in the grip of the two men, as without another glance back at her, Stanton stalked off into the crowd.
Several men stood and made their way closer to the front, and the viewers stirred, the energy of the crowd transforming.
“Strip her.” There were eager male sounds from the group who’d drawn closer. The man at the lectern swept the gathered men with a basilisk gaze. “There will be
no
touching. She’ll be displayed for review in the pens afterward. You can get your fill then.”
The two silent, gloved monsters divested the woman of her rich dress with lightning speed, her breasts wobbling in the clutch of a black lace brassiere. One man held her by the shoulders in an iron grip, while the other knelt and assisted her out of her silk hold-ups. The bra was unsnapped and it fluttered to the floor, the kneeling man snatching the panties down the thighs in a rough motion that had her body shuddering.
Both standing once more, the foreboding men flanked the nude, trembling woman, her head hanging down, a red flush suffusing her upper chest. She was well formed, looking to be in her late twenties, but was perhaps overripe, an exaggerated roundness to her belly, thighs a trifle too lush. Her breasts were buoyant, their paleness contrasting against the rosy nipples standing upright despite the warmth of the space. Regardless of whether or not he found this whole thing irretrievably fucked up (he did), Derek found her quite interesting indeed, and despite the surreal nature of the proceedings, he found himself leaning forward in anticipation, his cock an iron hard bar of need between his legs.
Who knew forced exhibitionism appealed this much to you? Perv.
Looking around him though at the people nearby, he realized he was in good company. Kurt sat silent, stroking the stubble at his chin, a glint in his eyes as he stared at the display up front.
“Have I a bid, then?” The man at the lectern pointed the handle of the gavel at the audience. “Starts at fifty thousand.”
“Fifty … Jesus H.” Derek leaned toward Kurt. “They aren’t talking about house credits or fake money are they?”
Kurt shook his head. “The real deal. This is just getting started. You’ll see.”
The bids came in fast, each bidder holding up what looked like a varnished wood fan or placard. It seemed as if half the people in the audience placed bids, but as the tally approached six figures, only a handful of bidders, three men, and surprisingly, one woman, remained.
“Bidding is at ninety seven thousand. Do I have one hundred?” The gavel waved at the men holding Shae, who turned her around, jostling her between them as if she weighed nothing at all.
Several whistles could be heard as the crowd got a look at the woman’s ass.
“What the fuck, Kurt? Is that what I think it is?” Derek’s head shook, and he rubbed the palm of his hand over his lips. This was something else indeed.
“This isn’t her first time up for a term,” Kurt whispered. “In fact, I think that’s how they met. You’ll have to ask him sometime.”
“Yeah, okay dick.” Derek scowled at his friend. “I’ll just ask the dude why his wife has a letter branded on her ass.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll bet he’d love to talk about it with you.” Kurt elbowed Derek in the ribs. “Later though. Pay attention to this. It’s important.”
The men held her tight between them, the woman’s bottom rippling and shaking as she struggled against the grip of their pitiless hands. Her ass was broad, well fleshed and soft, and like the rest of her, it was, despite being slightly overripe, very attractive. Looking upon it, Derek’s thoughts were decidedly impure. But his eye kept being drawn back to the letter B emblazoned on the woman’s left buttock. Perhaps two or three inches tall, the scarring of the brand had faded quite a bit, and the mark itself was paler than he would have expected, but it was clearly visible, burned indelibly into the vulnerable flesh.
“I’ve got a bid of one twenty five, but on one condition.” A tall man, with avid, sparkling blue eyes stepped forward, his placard held high. “I want to see if my money’s well spent.”
The man at the lectern narrowed his eyes, then nodded toward the two figures holding Shae. They forced her to bend until her upper body was perpendicular with the floor, her breasts swinging below her. Her grunts were muffled from her position. One of the men slapped a big-gloved palm onto her ass, his fingers easing apart her cleft.
The sex was wet, swollen, and aside from the dark curls atop her mound, bare. The dark anus cringed within the valley of the buttocks, the woman yelping as the big palm patted the sex with a moist sound.
“I bid one twenty five then,” the young man said, smiling, his gaze firing.
“Apparently met specifications?” Derek cringed at his snark. This was not a snark-worthy situation. This was run outta here as fast as your legs can carry you, shit.
That’s not what your cock thinks. Kidding yourself again.
“Little young isn’t he?” Derek thought the guy looked twenty at the most. “She’s gotta have eight or nine years on him, at least.”
“You see that a lot at these auctions,” Kurt said, with a wry grin. “Rich kids get sent out by their parents for a new plaything. Sometimes it’s the fucking
parents
buying a girl for their kid.”
“You’re shitting me with this, right?”
Kurt’s hand swept the scene before them. “Does it look like I’m shitting you? You’re in fantasyland here now. Why don’t you try and enjoy it?”
The men turned Shae back around again, holding her up tightly by the shoulders once more, her hair hanging down into her blushing face. The young man who’d placed the bid made his way up to the dock, standing quite close to the woman, his body language bespeaking the circling raptor.
“Do I have another?” The man at the lectern raised his gavel. “Anyone?”
“One hundred fifty thousand,” a clear, feminine voice pronounced. Down toward the front, a woman stood, her placard raised in a slim hand. Her black hair was streaked with gray, yet her figure was slender and fit, the off-white dress she wore fitting neatly to a lithe body.
The young bidder turned, color high at either cheek, his jaw clenched. He glared at the woman, glanced back at Shae, then sullenly retreated through the crowd.
“Who is that?” Derek shifted in his chair, his cock throbbing painfully now. “I didn’t know women could … “
Derek felt the flush at his own cheeks at the realization. He’d just automatically assumed that women were a commodity here, taking a backseat to the men — no matter how outlandish such a thing was on its face. That the notion
didn’t
bother him was disturbing in itself, and it was something he knew he’d never be able admit to anyone.
Kurt turned in his chair, looking back over his shoulder, then back at Derek. “The kid never had a chance. Ella Haas has more money than God. Though now that I think of it, I’m wondering why she’s bidding at all.”
“Women not allowed to?”
Kurt waved his hand. “Oh no, the Trust likes anyone’s money, regardless of their plumbing. It’s just that — didn’t think Gareth would allow something like that. Keeps Ella on a very short leash, if you get my drift.”
Derek didn’t really, but looking up at the trembling Shae, surrounded by men, he thought he could probably make an educated guess.
The gavel came down. “Sold, to the Haas household. See the treasurer to arrange payment.” The lectern man waved the gavel toward the pens. “Display her for one hour, no restrictions. Then let Mrs. Haas collect her winnings.”
There was a smattering of quiet chuckling through the crowd as Shae was led away, stumbling, her short legs unable to keep up with the long strides of the two monsters dragging her along.
Derek felt Kurt tense, noticing his friend sit up straighter in his chair, still watching the events up front.
“We have one other item on the agenda tonight,” the man at the lectern said, raising his voice. “Another unusual case. Before we proceed though, let me ask our gracious host Mr. Kurt Erickson to stand and be recognized. Kurt, please.”
Derek felt pinned to his seat as every eye in the place turned to them, Kurt rising smoothly, clasping his hands in front of him.
“Mr. Erickson is the owner of this wonderful property and was instrumental in putting in place the upgraded facility we enjoy today. The Trust is eternally grateful to him.”
“If they only knew the real you, Kurt.” Derek hid his smirk with a hand as the crowd applauded. “They’d be throwing shit at you.”
Kurt for his part, was just barely able to keep from smiling, though he did kick Derek’s chair in response.
“Mr. Erickson has not only graciously granted us use of this facility tonight, but he’s gone another step further in his service to the Trust.” The man at the lectern looked toward the row of stalls along the left side of the space, and Kurt turned.
Then Derek remembered what they’d talked about earlier.
No fucking way. This is not happening.
He turned his head slowly, not wanting to see it, and yet needing to see it.
Breanna.
She was led out from the crowd of bystanders by two more of the black-suited goons, their huge size dwarfing her despite her tall stature at nearly six feet. Cuffs bound her wrists at the small of her back. Her blouse pulled tight over the breasts that haunted his shame-filled dreams, their curves something he’d only ever dared to see in his fantasies. Her black skirt clasped her hips as his hands longed to do in those fevered nighttime visions. Her high heels moved along the floor in small, mincing steps, the short chain hobble at her ankles preventing anything more.
She resembled nothing so much as a condemned prisoner.
“Kurt, you don’t mean she’s going to … like the other one?” Derek looked from Kurt to Breanna, now being led into the dock, the wooden gate enclosing her within.
Kurt looked down at him with a wink. “I told you she was going up for a term, didn’t I?”
“Do you have any requests, Mr. Erickson?” The man at the lectern cleared his throat. “Though it’s unusual to allow it, the session is inclined to grant you some accommodation, considering your generosity.”
Kurt glanced down at Derek, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments, a grave seriousness in his friend’s expression that he’d not seen thus far. Then he looked up once more, scanning the crowd. “No special considerations, sir. She is one for the Trust now.”
“Very well. Gentleman? Relieve her of her clothing.”
What the fuck?
Derek shot up, not caring a whit that several nearby heads turned their way. “Dude, what in God’s name are you doing? She’s your
wife
.”
The corner of Kurt’s mouth quirked. “She’s my slave, Derek. You understand the distinction, don’t you?”
“Apparently, not.” Derek extended a hand toward the front. “Whatever she is to you, selling her off like a — like a piece of meat? Seriously? Have you lost your goddamned mind?”
Kurt turned to him, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about? This was agreed upon — by her. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense right now, but if you stick to your word, you’ll see soon enough.”
“So she agreed to be bought by just any random stranger here? I find that pretty fucking far from likely.”
The guards struggled with the cuffs at Breanna’s back, discussing something amongst themselves. Her beautiful blue eyes, wide with fear looked from one person to another, as if from some quarter assistance might be found. She found none.