H is for Humiliation
This is such a huge topic for those of us who are kink-minded. It’s something that’s as controversial as it is ubiquitous. It’s one of my favorite kinks — and at the same time, I can completely understand how some people have a viscerally negative reaction to it. It tends to be a polarizing, love it or hate it kink, and I’m just fine with that.
Earlier in this challenge, I posted on embarrassment, which is sort of the unleaded version of humiliation. I’d mentioned in that post that I’d elaborate a bit on humiliation once I got to the letter H. Now, that I’m here though, I’ve realized something. This subject is too freaking big to address properly in a blog post. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve got the writing chops to properly convey what humiliation means vis-a-vis kink. Perhaps another time, when I feel sufficiently deluded that I can actually pull it off, I’ll dive in and really try to dissect/explain it.
For the purposes of this post, I think I’ll just stick with a particular form of humiliation: the auction scene.
Auction scenes are a long-time favorite in the romance and erotica genres, and for good reason — they tie directly into force fantasies, capture fantasies, slavery fantasies, and probably most universally, forced exhibitionism. Even those auction scenes that aren’t particularly explicit, have this subtle undercurrent of forbidden, even taboo, sexual energy. In much the same way that many of us can’t fully articulate exactly why we find a particular kink hot, the auction fantasy is one that I think speaks even to people who’d never consciously label themselves as kinky, per se.
There’s just … something.
We may not be able to put our finger on it, but deep inside, in that locked room within our soul that we don’t like to acknowledge even exists, we feel it. Reptilian drive? Dark atavistic id? Ancient, biological instinct? Who knows, but I suspect it lurks within most of us, at least a little. Not to get all philosophizer on you all, but I’ve always believed that we each possess a dark side, a part of us suppressed, leashed, contained.
And though we may like to kid ourselves about our evolved state, this dark side is ever present. It manifests in countless different ways, but that primal us, is always just under the surface. Some ignore it (to their peril), some of us rationalize it (to society’s peril), and some of us acknowledge it, accept it, and know that as long as we always keep what’s right foremost in mind, that primal self can be harnessed as a source of strength, even an engine for constructive action.
Whoa, that went off track, badly.
To try to return this to some semblance of sense, I’ll just circle back to the auction fantasy. It taps into so many areas of kink, that it appeals to a lot of people, but often for different reasons. Rather than try to dissect and analyze and demonstrate that the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is really a thing, I’ll just post an auction scene from one of my books, Her Troika (The Complete Story).
The set-up is that Derek has been invited to a … get-together of sorts at his best friend Kurt’s house. Only instead of wine, or barbecue, or awkward silences, he gets treated to something quite different. An auction — of grown women.
Read on, if you dare:)
* * *
The overhead lights dimmed and the tall man at the lectern gaveled down once more. “Call to order! Call to order. Trust quarterly auction. What have we for Terms?”
Some of the crowd remained standing at either side of the seats, most of them watching the proceedings avidly. The crowd at the left parted, a stocky, dark-haired man leading a shapely woman by the arm down to the fenced circle at the center of the viewing area. The man whispered something to her, and she raised her chin, acknowledging him with a quick incline of her head. He opened a section of the circular railing, swinging it wide, and the woman stepped inside.
Derek sat forward, the beat of his heart gathering into a gallop.
The woman stood at the front of the circular railing, facing the crowd, gazing straight ahead, yet at no person in particular. A woman of striking beauty, her burnished ringlets fell about her face in a fetching auburn cascade, contrasting the pale perfection of her skin. She wore a simple, yet tasteful evening gown of muted cream, the swell of her bosom, and broad beam of her hips hinting at a figure in the fullest flush of womanhood.
The man with her stepped before the lectern, his arm outstretched toward the woman standing within the circle. “A lady for term of service, Sir.”
“Mr. Broughton, who is this person standing in the dock?” The laconic delivery spoke of rote memorization — or ritual.
“Stanton Broughton,” Kurt whispered. “Big shot in metals. Got mines in Montana, South Africa, several other places.”
“Who’s she?” He was struck by the way her big eyes caught the light from overhead, sparkling with it.
“That’s his … holy shit.” Kurt chuckled softly. “I can’t believe it … ”
“My wife, Shae is being put up for a term.” Stanton snapped a glance at his wife. “Length of service shall be up to the session, Sir.”
A wave of murmurs swept through the attendees.
The man at the lectern cleared his throat, flipping a page over. “We haven’t had the wife of a Prime go up for a term in … a long while. The session would like to know why.”
Derek turned to Kurt. “A Prime? What …?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Kurt nudged Derek’s shoulder. “Keep watching.”
Stanton squared his shoulders, taking a step toward the lectern. “The reasons aren’t important. I am putting her up for a term of service. She’s agreed to it.”
The man at the lectern sighed, his microphone picking it up as almost a hum. “There are, of course, no specific prohibitions against such a thing, but the session suggests some background might be useful in determining the length of service.”
Stanton clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve decided that—”
“Stanton, please! Don’t … ”
The woman had turned toward her husband, reaching out with one hand, the other over her mouth.
He strode to her, and whispered something to her that Derek couldn’t make out. The woman nodded once, then dropped her gaze to the floor, turning once more toward the watching crowd.
Stanton returned to the lectern, arms once more clasped behind his back. “I’ve decided that she needs to learn discipline. She’s grown … soft. I’m unable to attend to her as she needs, so a Term would seem a logical choice.”
“There are other … ways.” The man at the lectern fixed Stanton with a hard gaze. “You know she will be given no leniency. No special treatment whatsoever.”
“As our laws state.” Stanton took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m aware — we’re both aware — of this.”
“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…
* * *
Two strict Doms, one brave sub, and a slave auction…
Kurt Erickson has been offered a Dom’s dream job. He picks his own hours, answers to no one, and gets to train submissive women all day. One of those submissive women happens to be his willing wife. Making Breanna’s deepest, darkest fantasy come true is the easy part. It may be trickier to persuade his best friend Derek to … buy her.
Breanna Erickson prides herself on being ready for anything. From the courtroom to the bedroom, she can handle it all. But when her strict, but loving, husband gives her the chance to live out a dream, she finds there are things no woman can be ready for.
Derek’s marriage ended because he buried dark needs that proved incompatible with a vanilla wife. He’s buried those needs, those truths, deep down, determined to never let them hurt him again. Being Kurt’s best friend has many benefits, but some of them are much more than Derek is ready for — or so he thinks.
Then one night, an auction. Only a select few women agree to a Term of Service to the shadowy organization known as the Dominion Trust. One of them is Breanna. For Kurt, thrilling, tantalizing possibilities are laid out before him. For Breanna, it’s the chance to realize a dark, erotic dream — and to heal a broken heart. And for Derek, forced to confront who he really is — and what he never realized he needed — he must take that first step.
All he has to do is bid on her …
Publisher’s Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!
This BDSM book contains the following acts or themes: Consensual sexual slavery (auctioning), pony play, D/s, total power exchange, bondage, corporal punishment, forced exhibitionism, objectification, humiliation.
MFM menage BDSM erotic romance. There is no sexual interaction between the males in this story.
120,000 words
381 pages
NOTE: This novel collects the entire Her Troika story (Parts I – V) into a single volume.
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I hope you’ll make some time to check out the other great stops in this blog challenge. Happy reading!
