Her Troika by Trent Evans

rather she goes to someone she at least knows. Wouldn’t you?”
    “This is so fucked up. So fucked up.”
    So why are you hard as a rock?
    Thankful for the constriction of his jeans, no matter how painful they might be at that moment, he looked to her again. One of the goons turned Breanna toward him, putting both of his gloved hands into the neckline of her blouse. She flinched as he yanked down, the rip of fabric tearing across the comparative quiet of the audience, the globes of her breasts bouncing free. The blouse lay in tatters across the front of her skirt, several more rough yanks divesting her completely of the destroyed garment. Her mouth opened in a stunned O, reflecting Derek’s own thoughts.
    “Look at the tits on this one,” a man nearby said, his eyes like two hard bits of ice above the craggy topography of his whiskered face. “Someone’s going to have some fun with those.”
    Kurt’s glance shot over at the man, his eyes narrowing for a brief moment. Then he turned away once more, a new tension straightening his frame. If it were Derek’s wife, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain Kurt’s sanguine affect.
    We don’t have to worry about that since Cassandra left you, now do we?
    The goons made quick work of the skirt, one of them producing a pair of shears, cutting the black skirt away as if it were mere wrapping paper. Though he tried not to look, Derek’s eyes swept over the prominent mound huddled between smooth, sun-kissed thighs. Her sex was entirely shaved, the smooth skin almost glistening in the harsh light from above. Her legs were equal parts power and grace, something he’d always suspected considering her workout routine. He was embarrassed at how much he’d remembered, how much he’d managed to retain from even the smallest, casual snippets of conversation he’d had with her over the years.
    Throwing the torn clothing aside, the men held her as they had Shae before. Immobilized between them, she closed her eyes as the man at the lectern slammed down the gavel once more.
    Kurt laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing. “Remember what we talked about, Derek. Just be cool.”
    “I’ve got no fucking clue how to be cool about this. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
    Kurt tapped a finger at the center of the design embossed on the placard in Derek’s hand. “You’ll know what to do.”
    With a slight nod, Kurt acknowledged the man at the lectern.
    “What am I bid, this woman for a Term?” The tall man scanned the crowd with his hard, pitiless stare, gavel outstretched as if a weapon. “We open at fifty thousand.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Breanna stood still, held fast, her eyes shut tight, the men’s gloved fingers digging painfully into her arms. The air inside the building was warm, currents of it washing over her, the lights overhead beating down like a whole bank of suns.
    She could smell the cologne of one of the guards, and it sparked a memory of her first weekend at this place. Was he one of the many men who’d had her that first night? Had it been his semen sluicing across her proffered breasts? Had it been his voice ordering her to rub it into her nipples?
    The bidding opened with a flurry, the figures quickly reaching almost a hundred thousand. When it reached six figures, a collective gasp rang out from the crowd. It made her open her eyes, even though she told herself she mustn’t. As bad as the blindfold had been, the illusion of anonymity it offered her was strangely comforting. Without it, she felt utterly naked, defenseless, a helpless victim to the undercurrent of lust swirling through the crowd.
    She looked across the sea of faces, trying not to recognize any of them, yet fascinated at the number and variety of people witnessing her humiliation. There were older men, still attractive, graying at the temples and chin, with the cruel eyes that seemed honed by time and experience. A few women dotted the throng as