I need to go further.
I reach up, unhook the bra. It falls away, baring my big breasts, and the shock in the room is a pulse, a physical force that washes over me. I bring my hands up, cup them, then lift one to my mouth and suck the nipple, slow and obscene, eyes never leaving the crowd.
A man in the second row actually grunts, adjusting his pants. I almost laugh, high on my own audacity.
The auctioneer chortles too, “Three million, gentlemen. Who wants to see more?”
I’m on autopilot now, lost in the thrill, the power. I let my fingers dance over my stomach, then lower, tracing the lace band of the panties. I turn, showing my ass to the crowd, then hook my thumbs in the waistband and peel them down, inch by inch, exposing the round curve of my bottom, then the wet pink slit of my pussy.
Someone in the back yells, “Turn around!”
I do, facing the crowd, legs parted. My pussy is soaked, the lips puffy and glistening. I run a finger down the center, then lick it, slow and deliberate.
The room erupts—cheers, whistles, hands pounding the tables. The bidding hits four million and keeps going.
For a second, I lose track of everything but the heat in my body, the way every man in the room is under my spell. Even Hunter. Especially Hunter.
The auctioneer’s voice is ragged, “Seven million. Do I hear eight?”
I stand there, lush and nude with my clit poking out from between my pussy lips and my big breasts swinging, the nipples wet from my saliva. Every nerve ending is alive, and I realize:I love this. I love being the center of attention, the only thing that matters. I love the way these men want me, need me, would spend a fortune just to touch me once.
But then, Madame Veronique steps onto the stage beside me, her heels making a click that echoes like a judge’s gavel. What is she doing here, interrupting my dance? But her expression is cool, unruffled, and when she takes the microphone, her voice slices through the tension like a knife.
“Gentlemen,” she purrs, “I remind you that Daisy is a certified virgin, verified by our physician here on premises. An exceedingly rare delicacy.” She draws out the last word, savoring it.
A wave of murmurs passes through the crowd. Some of the men lean forward, and a few adjust themselves again, the anticipation in the air growing.
I flush, pulse like a hammer, but I keep my chin high. I remember Sophia’s lessons—always value yourself. Always remember that you’re beautiful.
But then Veronique turns to me, her eyes calm and cool.
“Daisy,” she says, “as a special treat tonight, please show the gentlemen your hymen.”
I freeze, heart stopping.What? No one told me I would have to?—
The music keeps playing, a steady drumbeat. My mind goes blank. I look to the wings, desperate, and see Sophia there, nodding encouragement, twirling a lock of hair around one finger.
It’s now or never.
I turn slowly, so that my back faces the crowd. Oh my god, is this really happening? But I have no choice, even if my breasts feel full, and my pussy’s literally dripping at the moment. I bend at the waist, and spread my thighs. My ass is bare, open to the room, my panties long gone. Then I reach back, hands trembling, and pull my buttocks apart, baring myself to the world.
There’s a collective exhale, a hundred breaths held and then let go all at once.
But Veronique isn’t done.
She gestures to the tech at the side of the stage, who wheels out a small, high-definition camera. “For verification,” she purrs, and the red light blinks on.
The camera zooms in, and the image appears on the screen behind me, magnified a dozen times. My pink pussy is stretched open, the soft pink lips gleaming and wet, and there, deep inside, is the unmistakable glisten of an intact hymen. The crowd erupts, not in laughter or derision, but in pure, feral male hunger.
I don’t know if I’m dying of humiliation or if I’ve just ascended into some new plane of existence.
The auctioneer’s voice is giddy, manic. “Shall we begin again, gentlemen? Eight million, to start.”
The numbers go insane. Paddles shoot up, voices overlapping in a frenzy. Nine million. Ten. The screen behind me still shows my exposed pussy, wet with fluids and pulsing with desire, and the men can’t get enough.
I feel light-headed, floating. I catch a glimpse of Hunter—his face is rigid, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something that looks a lot like violence.
The bidding rockets higher.
