Petra
Sipping on a glass of red wine, I relax beside the pool at Leticia’s apartment complex. Wearing the skimpiest bikini, I’ve ever worn, I’m getting sun in places that’ve never seen it. Leticia says men like tanned skin, so we’re tanning for the auction that’s in two weeks.
My nerves have subsided a lot since I’ve been training. Reading all I can about this kind of thing has helped tremendously, as well. Picking up my cell, I check my social media and see I’ve gotten an email from The Dungeon of Decorum.
“Hey, Leticia, I have an email from the club. Do you think they’re telling me I can’t be in the auction?” I ask, with worry threading through my voice.
“No, silly,” she says, then swats the air as if to push away my bad vibes. “Just read it.”
My hand is shaking as I swipe the scree
