Her Troika (The Complete Story) (Dominion Trust Book 2) by Trent Evans Page B

the hands forced her still lower, jackknifing her helplessly until she was bent nearly double, she knew the swollen folds of her pussy were displayed for all to see, the secret opening to her bottom as exposed as it was possible to be. Nothing could be hidden, and though she cried out inwardly at the humiliation of it, that same mischievous inner woman sank down into the delicious mortification, finding pleasure in the helplessness, the exhibition of her privates in the most callous of ways. She was nothing but a cunt to these men, and the knowledge that every cock in the house wanted to plunder her filled her with a sort of twisted sense of power, a kind of soaring freedom in accepting her own surrender.
    She heard claps and whistles from the crowd, the sounds making her struggle, which only encouraged them. The gavel came down, making her jerk.
    “Unless you’re bidding, I suggest you show some manners,” the man at the lectern growled
    She almost burst out in demented laughter at that.
    We’re trying to sell a woman here! What’s wrong with you heathens?
    More bids came, and a hand smacked her ass, not hard, but enough to give her bottom a crowd-pleasing wobble.
    Then a finger played at her folds, spreading her. She gasped, and tried to straighten, but the implacable hands held her fast. It was impossible not to fight it now, as the finger slipped between the lips of her pussy, sounding the depth of her sex. There was more scattered clapping, the crowd murmuring, and she grunted with the effort, twisting in vain against those hands.
    “Enough,” the man at the lectern intoned. “Stand her up.”
    Handling her as if a rag doll, she once more found herself staring out at the strange faces, the eyes that never met hers, that drank in the contours of her vulnerable, naked flesh. There were avid, lust-filled gazes, cruel eyes that say only the female as object, even disinterested ones —absurdly, this was almost an affront to her, this disregard for her humiliation.
    Then as bidding continued, she saw them.
    Kurt … and Derek?
    She remembered how she’d mentioned in an offhand way how nice Derek seemed, how she wished Kurt would have him over sometime. Of course, she couldn’t very well tell her husband how much she liked his lean, rangy frame, or the way his jeans hugged the contours of his compact, muscular ass.
    Somehow, she knew though that Kurt was well enough able to read between the lines. He knew Breanna’s needs, knew the men she was drawn to, and after last weekend, he’d made it clear that he intended to explore all of her needs, no matter how dark, repressed, or taboo. Whether she liked it or not.
    Though the knowledge that Kurt was every bit a man of his word had the butterflies fluttering in her belly, and the visions of her dirtiest, most depraved fantasies coming to life had her truly worried, she also knew that he would always watch out for her, never (quite) give her more than she could handle.
    How is he supposed to know how much you can handle, when you don’t even know deep those urges go?
    Her eyes met her husband’s and though she was on the ragged edge of panic, the reality of this whole process so much more intense than her fantasies had prepared her for, the strength she saw in his gaze stiffened her resolve. Derek’s handsome eyes held uncertainty, and something else she dared not hope was … lust.
    No way in hell are you getting that lucky.
    But the fact that Derek was still there, and hadn’t fled the building in disgust, gave her hope. Perhaps her plan wasn’t as outlandish as she’d feared?
    As twisted as it would sound to someone who didn’t understand, Kurt had done all of this for her. The least she could do was to be brave, endure, and meet the next few minutes with grace.
    “Do I have further bids?” The man’s voice sent chills down her spine. It was definitely one of the voices from her first weekend here. “Price stands at one hundred twenty seven thousand.”
    The