Sharon
Once again, Sharon felt a pang of insecurity, followed closely by a tiny glimmer of hope. Certainly, with competition like that, she wouldn’t have anything to worry about, right?
She continued to stand there, dumbfounded by the turn of events that had put her in this room. The sassy girl in lace assessed her defeated posture.
“Well, Virgin, better get those jeans off,” the redhead said.
“I don’t have… sexy… underwear like you guys though,” Sharon stammered, still in shock that that had become an issue.
Without asking, the redhead walked right up to Sharon, pulled on the hem of her purple NYU sweatshirt and lifted it right up. Sharon felt naked, exposed and sloppy as the girl assessed her body.
“Jesus, girl,” she said, full of sass, condemnation and very probably cocaine. “You’ve got a body, but what is that bra?”
“It’s comfortable” Sharon said defensively of her plain nude bra.
The redhead pulled the sweatshirt right off over Sharon’s head. She cupped Sharon’s right breast.
Sharon shifted uncomfortably under the girl’s touch.
“Yeah, you’re a little bigger than they usually bring in,” she told Sharon. “Let’s see what we got.” She crossed the room to the racks of trashy lingerie that hung there.
Sharon was a little hurt. Sure, she was a bit fuller-figured, but she was also barely over five feet tall. It wasn’t like her weight had a lot of places to go. And her mom had always told her she had an hourglass figure. Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?
“Yeah, it doesn’t look like anything’s gonna fit you,” the redhead said as she tested the elastic on a thong that looked like it was made of black dental floss.
“I’m fine in my own underwear,” Sharon said, a little defiantly. She wriggled out of her dirty jeans and stood in just a pair of cotton undies, her apparently unsatisfactory bra, and white socks poking out of the tops of her sport shoes.
“Oh, honey,” the other sell-back said with a blatantly judging look. “You can not wear those shoes. Everyone will really know you’re a virgin then.”
Bitch, Sharon thought but didn’t say out loud. Reluctantly, she removed her shoes and socks. She folded all her clothes and put them in a neat little pile.
“I’m not getting naked,” the crying girl stated, crossing angry arms over her modest chest.
The redhead shrugged. “They’ll get you naked then.” she warned coldly.
The room was chilly. Cold air nipped at Sharon’s bare body and raised goosebumps all down her arms. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t believe she was here, that she was going along with this, that she was about to walk out in front of a bunch of men in her laundry-day panties when she had barely gotten undressed in front of boys she actually liked before. She wouldn’t think further than that, she couldn’t. Her hope for salvation, although wholly unjustified, hadn’t quite died.
The lock on the door clicked and pushed open. A line of girls, mostly dressed like the two sell-backs and sporting flat, dead eyes, marched into the room in a line, their hands neatly bound in front of them with trimmed white zip ties.
Several men entered the room, holding a handful of fresh ties, wielding scissors and nasty grins. Both the sell-backs held their hands in front of them obediently as the men zipped their forearms together. Sharon shook nervously as they tied hers, wincing as the rough plastic dug into her raw skin.
She watched the crying girl as she obliviously stared through the now-open door. Still clothed, the crying girl stuck out in the room filled with bare bodies. Sharon knew she was planning to make a break for it and she braced herself as the girl leapt towards the door.
“Not so fast, bitch.” the taller man snagged her by her arm and whipped her back. He tossed her roughly to the ground, straddled her midsection and pinned her down.
The girl let out a whimpering cry of pain.
“Why are you still dressed?” the man asked in a taunting voice. Once he’d forced her arms together and bound them so tight her puckered skin turned pink, he began cutting off her clothes with the scissors.
She groaned in protest, trying to kick out, as he tore her outfit to ribbons. When he finished, scraps of clothing hung off her body like toilet paper off a vandalized tree. Her face was red and her breathing ragged, but she seemed to have accepted her defeat.
Sharon admired her gusto—useless as it was.
“Alright, ladies,” The men addressed the dozen or so girls packed into the tiny room. “The show’s about to start! Good luck to all of you. This is going to be one hell of a night! We’ll come get you when you’re up for bidding.”
The man left and slammed the door behind them. The lock clicked again and Sharon felt the air crush out of her lungs.
She was trapped.