The neckline dips low enough that her breasts are on display in a way that makes the men around me straighten in their seats. The hem rides high on her thighs, showing smooth skin, long legs made longer by heels that look like they could snap if she steps wrong.
Soft blonde curls frame her face, catching the stage light like she’s glowing.
Her eyes—blue, wide. Scared.
And that’s what this crowd wants. They want scared. It excites them.
My jaw tightens as they burst into applause and whistles before quieting down into a hushed appreciation for what they see in front of them.
The host gestures toward her like he’s presenting a prize.
And, of course, he is.
She’s the grand finale. And I’m not sure she’s even aware of it.
“Take a good look,” he says, voice thick with suggestion. “This one’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”
A low sound ripples through the room—approval, hunger, anticipation.
The man at my table lets out a quiet whistle. “Jesus.”
I don’t take my eyes off her.
She stops in the center of the stage; shoulders back like she’s forcing herself not to fold. Chin lifted. Mouth soft, like she’s been told to smile, and she’s doing her best to obey.
There’s a necklace at her throat. Cheap silver. A tiny heart charm that doesn’t belong in this room.
It shouldn’t be there.
Neither should she.
The host begins describing her “attributes,” and he doesn’t bother to be polite. He knows his audience. He feeds them what they came for.
“Twenty years old,” he says. “Petite. Pretty. And as promised—fresh out of the package with a tight little pussy.”
A few men laugh. A few murmur appreciation as if they’re discussing wine.
“Clean slate,” the host continues. “Tonight, someone goes where no man has gone before.”
The crowd stirs again, eager and ugly.
“She’s been vetted,” he adds, as if that makes it respectable.
My fingers tighten around the bidder device.
The host keeps going, voice slick. “Tonight, for the very first time, she’ll be spreading those long legs for one lucky winner.”
I see a flush working over her face.
It doesn’t deter anyone. In fact, it just makes them hungrier to see her nerves, her anxiety.
The girl’s face doesn’t change, but her throat moves when she swallows. Her hands flex once at her sides, then still again, like she’s forcing her body to behave.
She’s gorgeous.
And she looks completely, painfully innocent.
I curse inwardly.
