Cornbread & Caviar Read Online Free PDF

the end of the runway she turns her back to the crowd, stands wide legged, then bends over to touch her toes. Because her skirt had no length, the men ogle her exposed bottom, which reveals ruffled baby doll panties.
Shouts and howls fill the air. Some of the men nudge each other with sharp elbows. They leap from their seats, and cheers and shouts of glee fill the air. A few hold their chest, coughing as they holler, while others whistle and jeer.
With a wave of her hand, Satin hushes the crowd and starts the bidding. The platform starts to rotate.
Number one stands up with her thumb in her mouth. She pouts and makes seductive gyrations. Periodically, she slaps her rear or raises her skirt innocently. A price rings out from the crowd, then shortly afterward, number one maxes out at six thousand dollars.
Although I'm impressed, that price is only three thousand for her services. She giggles gleefully, steps off the stage, takes the hand of her sponsor, and disappears from sight.
Number one has her stuff together. I feel a twinge of jealousy; she makes cash, using what her Mama gave her. That's all good. Number one is hot, but I need to bring in more money.
Anticipation is great, and because I'm number seven, I have to watch the other girls as they strut down the walk, slapping their rears and stroking their long thighs. Mouths are opened and fingers are suckled, tongues even lap their own breasts.
While electrical excitement dances throughout the room, I realize my thighlength boots are much too small. Pacing from side to side, I try to make myself comfortable in the tight fit. I had practiced at home, but now I doubt I can actually be a seductress in front of that crowd, or any crowd. Humming nervously to myself, I try to let the music guide my scattered mind down the catwalk.
However, when Satin calls, "Number Seven," an electrical spark shoots through my heart and makes a hasty retreat through my trembling tailbone. My son's life is in danger. I have to do this. Pulling confidence from Coco's joyous expression, I step onto the catwalk with confidence, but stop midway. As soon as I glance over the crowd, my body refuses to cooperate with my mind.
Faces sneer and become frozen in disgust. A few of the men hold their noses; some throw thumbs down and some boo my efforts. It's obvious; I've diminished their enthusiasm for the game. One man even places his hand shamefully over his face then pulls it slowly downward. They're as embarrassed for me as I am for myself.
Like a frightened animal, I feel my heart leap wildly in my chest. From their gestures, I'm sure fear is etched on my face. Feeling as if my rear end belongs to a scared pup, I pull my buttocks inward. Boot-clad feet hardly move as I scoot slowly across the wooden stage dragging my whip.
Lively music vibrates in my ears with the annoying buzz of radio static. I can't feel the energy—I can't feel the rhythm. My brain simply will not register the sound. Summoning my will, I make my eyes look down at my feet. I'm actually taking baby steps, slouching, and forgetting to hold in my gut. Periodically, I step on the whip, tripping myself up.
Taking in their humiliated stares, I know things are not going well. Inexperienced, I admit I'm out of my league. Folding my arms across my breasts, I hug myself, reeling with embarrassment, the whip follows along behind me. Flitting my eyes from man to man, I realize they're old enough to be my father or grandfather.
Satin is standing rigidly behind the podium. When I hear the anger in her voice, I become paralyzed with fear. "What the hell are you doing?" She sneers, striking the podium. "Move your dumb ass,” she curses. “Pop the damn whip, damn you.”&&&&&
Seeing I am too petrified to walk, she lowers the music to start the bidding. Suddenly, the platform starts to rotate. I'd been instructed to remain still while the men look me over, but that phenomenon never occurs. The platform rotates clockwise, and I move counterclockwise;