EXTRACT FOR
Going Once, Going Twice
(Author Unknown)

    "You're an auctioneer, right?" That was the question that started the descent into where I am today. 

    I am sitting in my recliner in my living room, the television providing background noise, but I pay no attention to it. My wife Erin will be home tomorrow after a four-week absence. I have a nice three-drink buzz spinning through my head. 

    I am trembling. My laptop is on my lap awaiting an email with a link, and it comes. I open the email and pause before I click on the link. It is not a test link this time, but It takes me to an up and active website owned by my employer. 

    The website is "White Wives Not Going Back," and there is the disclaimer about declaring you are over 21, and there are teasing photos on the opening page, A clothed beautiful woman wearing a clinging silk blouse, her knees up and implies the blouse is all she is wearing. Her hair is a stylish cut, and she is wearing a red masquerade mask that covers much of her nose and around her eyes, wrapping to the sides of her face. It is a large photo. Most people would not recognize her, hopefully, because this woman is my wife, Erin.

    Underneath it is smaller thumbnails, all taken from a video, starting with a sequence of her dressed in the opening shot, the in succession the thumbnails show her stripping nude. She My wife is standing sandwiched between two black men, opening her legs to display her pussy, sucking on a large black cock while holding on to the other, on her knees with that long black cock exposed, then out of sight inside her, another man on his knees in front of her with his cock in her mouth. Another position has her facing the camera in cowgirl position, a full-frontal view with a long black cock halfway inside her pussy, smiling. The following thumbnail is her riding the cock, showing only her ass and the black man on his back, the second black man standing at the head of the bed as she sucks his cock. The next one, her legs spread, the black man beside her, his cock still hard and glistening with her juices, and his fingers are spreading her pussy apart, displaying it as if it is a trophy as his thick stream of cum pours from her pussy. The last scene shows her blowing the first black lover, the second man inside her with cum from the earlier fuck gushing around his cock. I do not watch the video??"yet. I cannot.

    I turn off the computer, feeling guilty that even after viewing on the photos and not watching the video, I already have an erection. I take another drink and recall the circumstances that have led to this. I play my share in starting the journey, but Erin contributed to this eventuality as well, our situation that began a few months ago with that simple auctioneer question.

    

***

    

    "Yes, I am a licensed auctioneer," I said to the man in the dark blue suit without a tie sitting across from me in the back corner booth of Andy's Sports Bar. It was four in the afternoon and we had the place to ourselves except for a bored bartender watching a game show on the bar TV. Still, my acquaintance had guided me to the back booth as if something secretive and sinister was in play. I did not know how sinister it actually was then. 

    "I checked you out. I know you've been out of work a while. Credit is going to shit; you're not in a good place. You closed your office and moved your business home, running it out of your garage," he said. His name was Frank Benelli, a friend of a friend I had met casually a few times before. He was right; I was reduced to calling bids for a heavy equipment auctioneer for $200 per auction. Real estate had tanked, collectibles and estates had dried up, and I needed work??"any work. That didn't mean I would be easy.

    "So?" I said.

    "I can help you out??"and you can help me," he said. "But it will require extreme discretion if you know what I mean."

    "Go on," I answered, "I don't even know what we are talking about yet."

    "Discretion?" he asked again.

    "Sure. Go ahead," I said.

    "Well I'm a partner and the attorney of a private auction, our primary auctioneer moved out of the US, and I am finding a replacement, your name came up, and after some research, I think you are the man for the job."

    "What job?" I said. "I'm not doing anything illegal," I half-laughed, "unless it pays really good."

    "How about a flat retainer for you auction for us ever two weeks to a month for $80,000 a year." I sat back in the seat, trying to stay composed. I would almost kill someone for that kind of money.

    "OK, you have my attention."

    "Depending on demand and availability, we have a private auction every few weeks, and we auction services, for a variable amount of time. We have some regulars, some new people each time, but we strive to be legal, thus our need for a licensed auctioneer," Frank said.

    "What kind of services? You're not auctioning off underage girls, are you? I'll have no part of that."

    "No, no, we would not do that." He paused, "But you are close. We do auction the services of willing female participants. What they do with the winning bidder is not a part of the auction."

    "You're kidding me?" I said. "You are pimping out women and pricing them by auction?"

    Frank's face became dark and severe. "In a manner of speaking, but everyone involved is aware going in what is going to happen, and everyone is willing for the event to occur."

    "My God, you are," I said.

    "Free adults with consent," Frank said. "You might say we are more like a temporary dating service; we connect people of like mind. You would be well paid for your service."

    Frank had me, he knew I could not turn down the money, but I was running it over in my mind how I would explain this to Erin. I would think of something.

    "OK, I'm in," I said. "How does it work?"

    

***

    

    "It is pretty basic," Frank said. "We have a rather large group of men with, let us say, private and special interests. You know, professional businessmen, wealthy, looking for things to excite them. Many of these men have high profile lives, social and public obligations to customers, clients, and family, so their other activities need remain in the shadows."

    "I think I understand," I said.

    "On the other hand, we have women who also seek excitement, young women seeking adventure, something new, and married women too, looking for something exciting to spark up their marriage."

    "Cheating, in other words," I said.

    "No, not at all. As I said, everyone is on board, and that includes husbands of the participating wives. There are some substantial sums of money involved in these transactions sometimes."

    "Let me get this straight," I said. "You have married women auctioning their 'services' to wealthy men with their husband's consent?"

    "Precisely."

    "Why would they not just go get them a sugar baby and be a sugar daddy."

    "Discretion. These clients want to keep their everyday life, but they want to walk on the wild side a little, have some fun, and go back to their everyday life until the desire strikes them again. Money is not an issue for them??"they are paying for discretion, and we go to great pains to ensure that. Only two people in our group have the real names, addresses, contact info of the participants. Each person is assigned a different name when they participate."

    "I want a percentage," I said.

    "What?"

    "Say 5% of the final auction price," I said. "Plus the retainer salary."

    Frank laughed. "You certainly have some balls, but I like that. There's some good money for you at 2% frankly. I think you are the right man for the job. Done." He extended his hand, and we shook. "There will be legal documents that put all this in specific legal terms that you must sign, but it is just a formality."

    "Great," I said, "When do I start?"

    "Tonight," Frank said. He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a folded check. I opened it, and it was made out to me and endorsed from the Acme Specialized Services company. It was made out for $13,333.

    "First two month's salary," he said. "You are an independent contractor and responsible for the government for your taxes."

    "Unique name," I laughed, "Like in a Roadrunner cartoon."

    "It doesn't stand out," Frank said. He wrote down an address. It was one of the fancy downtown hotels. "Private floor. You will need to introduce yourself at the concierge desk; they will have your name and give you a card to let you take the elevator to the private floor. Coat and tie please, tux if you have one, and for certain in the future. We are making exceptions tonight due to our loss of our first auctioneer."

    "Not a problem," I said. But there was a small problem, explaining this to my wife, Erin.

    

***

    

    "You are going to do what?" Erin screamed. I had described the outline Frank gave me about the auction. It defied much of what she believed about female equality. Her reaction was what I expected.

    "Yes, it is a job, and we need the money, badly," I said. "This is how we dig our way out of this debt hole in which we are stuck. Besides, he assured me that it is all legal."

    "Legal shit, like that Epstein guy that hung himself in his cell. Everything was supposed to be legal there too."

    "I specifically asked about that just to be sure," I said. "Legal, he assured me. Look, I am not participating, all I am doing is calling bids, just like I would do for a machinery auction."

    "But these are humans, women, auctioned."

    "Everyone involved has no issue with it, so why is it anyone else's business. Theirs is a big game if they want to play it, they can," I said. 

    "But is like you are pimping them," she said.

    "I'm only calling bids. What the woman does with the man when they get alone that is their adult business, isn't it? The man is paying for time with her. Isn't that basically what you do when you are working for someone? An employer pays for your work??"and your time to perform that work," I said. "I gave it a lot of thought, and I have no problem with it, and it pays well. We are deep in debt, remember."

    Erin seemed to soften her shock. "Well we do need the money, and it is enough to make the interest payments, whittle down the principal a little each month and still have dined out now and then. It will be a nice change from the scrimping as we have."

    "I'll know more after tonight," I said. "If it even hints of degrading of the women, I'll quit. I promise."

    "OK," she said. "I know you will always do the right thing. You are a good man, and I love you. I'll not wait up. Come in quiet and tell me about it after I get home from work tomorrow," she said.

    

***

    

    I arrived at the hotel a little after nine, presented my ID at the desk, was given a key card, and when I inserted it into the slot, the elevator took off, with no lights on the elevator panel illuminated to indicate the floor. 

    Frank was waiting at the elevator. He shook my hand. "Let me give you the nickel tour." We made our way into a bar, with many conversation areas holding a couch or love seat and two chairs around a solid cast iron coffee table. There was a magnificent view of the city, with a glass wall to the outside. The room itself was curved as if there was a circular room in the center of the floor. "We took over the entire floor, and we remodeled it to our specification," Frank explained. "The bar is open to our members on weekends when we are not staging an event."

    I followed Frank through double doors to his right at the rear of the room. We entered a small amphitheater, with elevated seating around a sizeable half-circle stage in the center of the room. "This is the auction arena." He pointed to a stand to the left of the stage. "That is your station. The lights dim when the bidding starts, as there is a spotlight on the stage, so each bidding paddle has a button that lights the paddle. A lighted paddle held up is a valid bid." I nodded. One area to stage left was roped off. "For the husbands," he explained, laughing. "When we started, one husband was bidding on his wife using the man's paddle sitting beside him. He was trying to run up the bid. Now husband's bids are no longer accepted."

    Frank opened the door to the left of the stage and entered a dressing room with lights circling a series of mirrors, lockers, and showers. It was clear this was a dressing room. Through the opposite door was what he called the green room, straight chairs, a single mirror and dressing table. "This is where the women wait to go to the stage for auctioning," Frank said. 

    Turning to the right, we exited to a ramp going back up to the entrance level. Some doors were now open giving access to the bar. "Preview," Frank explained as he led me into a room buzzing with conversation. I was unprepared for what I saw. 

    

    Imagine the most elegant formal cocktail party you have ever seen, men in tuxes, women in shimmering evening dresses, all stunningly made up with perfect hair and make-up as if they were vying for a model shoot. The waitresses passed through the crowd with flutes of champagne, distinguished by uniform of black yoga pants, high heels, and white oxford shirt with square tails that extended over their butts. Most had chosen to unbutton at least three buttons, some four, exposing the expanse of flesh between their breasts, enticingly swaying as they made their way through the crowd. 

    Many of the women were dressed alike as well, long gold gossamer dresses, cut almost to the crack of their butts behind, and down to their waist in the front. They differed in the necklaces they wore, all long enough to rest between their breasts, alike only in there was a brass disc attached to the necklace with a number on it. 

    Frank introduced me to a stream of members and staff, a few who welcomed me on board, but most were distracted by the beautiful women scattered around the room in their gold dresses. 

    Most of the members were carrying a gold embossed black leather book to which they referred on occasion. I did a quick headcount, eleven women in gold dresses, 37 members, and perhaps a dozen staff moving in and out. Two bulky men in the rear of the room watched over the proceedings, visible security.

    "Excuse me a moment," Frank said. I took a drink and moved to the side of the room to observe. Each woman appeared to be holding court, with a stream of members moving from one to the other, chatting, laughing??"a comfortable setting. 

    Frank returned with a black leather book which he handed me. "This is the auctioneer's copy, and there are additional notes that the standard member books do not have," he said. I flipped it open and looked up around the room, locating the tall red-head that featured on the first page of the photos. There were three photos, one in an evening gown for a formal occasion, a second photo of the woman in a casual setting in everyday clothes, jeans, and a tank top, or shorts and a swimsuit top, a short paragraph of why she was participating, what she hoped to accomplish from being here. 

    I turned the page and on the right-hand page was a full-page nude of the woman, and she was beautiful with clothes on but magnificent nude. The left side had a series of boxes of which many were checked, each indicating a sexual preference or rejection. There was a box to check if anal play was acceptable without insertion, another with insertion. If oral included swallowing, and further down were boxes check with light pain, some bondage and discipline. There was a space to enter the number of times in which they had participated in the event before. Roughly one-third were repeats.

    At the bottom of the page was a total of the number of checkmarks. "That is the total you give the audience," Frank said. "If someone asks specifically about one of the checked boxes you may answer, but in general we try to discourage that and try to keep things as formal as possible." I could only nod, flipping further through the book, familiarizing myself with the bio's of each woman, surprised at the number who were married, and despite appearing otherwise most were in their late 30's and early 40's, with a couple of the more exceptional women in their 50's but certainly not looking like it. I had to do a double-take from their photos in the catalog, how they looked tonight, and their stated age. 

    "Final thirty minutes," came a recorded announcement over the speakers. 

    "This is where the rubber meets the road," he said, "let's step over here out of the way. There were can lights turned on in 11 equally spaced areas around the room, and the women arranged themselves directly under the lights, spotlighted in numerical order of their discs. The gold dresses glittered under the bright light, which also made the dresses go almost sheer, sheer enough that it was easy to see which women were shaved or not, and any tattoos or piercings. The number of tats and piercings seemed to be in proportion to age. The younger women had more.

    The men milled forward, still occasionally chatting with the woman, but occasionally asking if they might touch her, and a firm hand was extended to slide inside the dress and brush a nipple. A few of the women seemed to encourage it. One group of men backed away to the other side and watched. "Husbands," Frank explained. 

    We were standing near two of the husbands, their eyes locked on their wives under the bright lights, all but nude, casually allowing the men to touch, especially their breasts where there was a preference for natural breasts when it came to touching.

    "That your wife?" I asked the nearest husband. He had salt and pepper hair, well dressed, and his wife had long brown hair, looked to be in her early 40's, a hard body showing evidence of long hours in the gym.

    "Yes, she's mine."

    "Beautiful woman," I said. "Your idea or hers?" 

    "Mine at first, after the last kid left home, I wanted her to be sexier, for me. She tried, but there was always this resistance. When I learned of these events, she agreed to try it. The woman on the right, two numbers over, number 9, she is my wife's best friend, and they got drunk one night and have dared each other into it."

    "Wow, and now here you are? Still OK with it?"

    "Little late if I'm not," he said, "But we had the talk, you know, we'll trying anything once, so we'll see."

    "Good luck with everything," I said. 

    "Thanks."

    Frank led me away from the 11 beautiful women being groped, and we returned to the auctioneer station. I took a seat on the elevated chair and began again to flip through the book to familiarize myself with the women.

    "I know how you auctioneers are," Frank said, "I'll let you focus on your work and will come back when the auction starts. There is a 10-minute break between the auction and the preview ends," he said, "So if you need to take a leak, do it now. We like to take five minutes between ladies, enough time to give the patrons time to get a little more liquored up, but we trim that or extend it depending on how the evening is going."

    At the podium, I saw two bottles of room temperature water, and a handful of cough drops, standard tools for an auctioneer. Frank knew what he was doing.

    I noticed a code at the bottom of the profile and could not determine what it meant. A few minutes before we were to start, I asked Frank. "That's the code for the duration of the time offered," he said. 1W is for one weekend, 1WM-4 is for one weekend a month for four mounts, 4WM is for four weekends a month, WK is a week, with a number in front indicating how many weeks. Sometimes the members are bidding for someone to accompany them on an overseas trip, things like that." I nodded. "Naturally the longer the time, the higher the number of checked boxes, the more expensive. As you can see, all these women are stunning, which is one of the reasons they were invited to participate."

    "Invited?"

    Frank smiled, "We have a waiting list, actually," he said. "Some applicants will check boxes to show their willingness to do things they have never tried before just to help their chances to break into the group, and when that is known that too will up the price. The estimated price is right here," Frank said, pointed to a number beside the time designations. The page I was viewing, the first one, the redhead, started at 10.

    "Ten?"

    "Ten thousand," he said. "She gets half." She had indicated she was offering herself for two weekends.

    "I cannot believe I am doing this, or that this place exists," I said. 

    "We have four such locations around the country," he said. "Sometimes the women will apply at other clubs to travel, and some travel here to avoid bumping to anyone local at the event," he explained. 

    "How long has this been going on?" I asked.

    "For us, ten years," leaning in he smiled, "But it has been going on since the beginning of time in one way or another."