Gina's faint hope that the winner might be reasonable was damaged when he looked her over like some kind of pretty pet, and her eyes narrowed, expressing the frown her gagged mouth could not. At the tug of the leash, she slid gingerly forward off the stool. The drag of the leather against her slippery skin made her moan, and when she gained her precarious footing to follow Pretty Boy's lead, she left behind a lovely streak of gleaming wetness on the empty barstoll for the winner and his friends to see.