Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Read online

  I folded my arms, affecting a pout. “I’m not dancing.”

  Jerry pursed his lips, allowing my insolence to hang in the air. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around and closed the door behind him. We were alone in the room. I took a step back, my buttocks pressing against the make up table.

  “You think you’re special, don’t you, Emerald?”

  I shook my head. His tone was dark, foreboding.

  “You think you’re Rainier’s little pet,” he continued, his hands moving to his belt buckle. “Because he brought you here himself. Well I’ve got news for you. He brings them all.”

  My eyes were glued to the swell in his pants. Undoing the snap, he began to work the zipper down.

  “Get over here and suck me, Emerald,” he commanded harshly, pulling his stiff rod from the opening in his underwear. “And you better do an extra good job or you’ll be going on stage with a whole batch of fresh welts.”

  I went to him, putting myself in position without protest. The cock was bulbous, salty. As I worked my mouth up and down in the way I’d learned, he put his hands over my head and told me in detail what to expect this evening. The dancing, as it turned out would be just the beginning, a kind of light tease leading up to the main event. There was this fraternity group visiting from one of the rich, private colleges. They’d paid extra to have a few girls all to themselves.

  With no limits, as he’d put it.

  “They’re not so imaginative at that age,” he explained, rubbing his hands over my hair like a pet dog. “Pretty much all you need to do is spread. On the other hand, they can go all night without so much as a piss break, which means you’ll be plenty sore by morning.”

  What about Gustav? I wanted to say. Wouldn’t he take me home? Wouldn’t he come for me?

  Jerry clamped his hand behind my neck as he got ready to come. He was taking no chances on my spitting him out. I wouldn’t have anyway, not as far down the road of slavery as I’d gone. The emission was thick and voluminous. Twice I nearly gagged as he insisted on forcing himself to the very back of my throat. I was so weak, I would have fallen if he’d let go of me. Over and over, my nipples rubbed on the coarse material of his trouser legs. From between my cunt lips I could feel the familiar drip, the lonely wail of need.

  “Not bed,” he said, pulling me up by the hair when he was finished with me. “Now all we need to do is get that pussy to the right temperature for dancing. Simmering,” he winked, picking up where Krissy had left off. “Not boiling.”

  Jerry was quite good at his job. He made me say things, made me humiliate myself unspeakably, and all with the tip of a single finger. I was his cunt, his slave, his slut and I would have done anything, anything for an orgasm. I begged him for release, but all he offered me was submission, a bottomless pit of degradation.

  “You’re not so special now, are you, slut?” he prodded, thrusting my head to the floor.

  “No master,” I wailed. “I deserve to crawl like Trixi, to be whipped, too.”

  I wanted to kiss his shoes, but he forced me lower. “The floor, cunt,” he commanded sadistically. “Lick the floor and tell me you love it.”

  “I do,” I moaned piteously, my tongue dabbing the yellowed linoleum. “I do.”

  By the time I got to the stage I was as horny as I was terrified. According to Jerry this was the Girly Girl secret: over-stimulation to the point where the women exude sex from their very pores, attracting every male in a ten-mile radius. If the men objected to my amateurish moves, it didn’t show. Probably it added to the allure: a woman being made to behave like a stripper when she really wasn’t.

  Besides, what really mattered were my eyes. A look, a soft heat that telegraphed complete openness and receptivity to male dominance. As for the availability of my body, this was a given. In the Girly Girl clubs, females strip themselves completely naked, unlike in many other venues. They are also frequently whipped and made to perform oral sex on stage, as you’ve already seen. Rainier pays a hefty amount of graft to insure cooperation from local officials on this score. While prostitution is not technically legal, it is easily supported in a male dominated society. City councilmen are frequently sent “gifts” of female favors. It was rumored the mayor kept a concubine trained by Girls Limited, a pretty blonde slave named Sassy whom he kept in a condominium in the suburbs.

  The condo, by the way, was for his pleasure, not his. Sassy’s home was a dog cage. He sent men round to ‘check on her’ regularly. At one time she’d been a high priced fashion model and great delight was taken in making her pose prior to being used. She’d been well trained, having had a brief but stellar career making movies for Rainier. Trixi had starred in one herself, a home video called “The Savaged Housewife,” in which a pretty newlywed is kidnapped and enslaved by a motorcycle gang.

  I’d asked her how she found acting.

  “Who was acting?” she laughed ironically.

  Thinking of Trixi’s ordeal helped me now, along with Jerry, who guided me in my dancing with looks and gestures. A frown told me if I was being too aloof, a cock tease. An incline of the head indicated when I was to display myself more lewdly, placing my body in such a way as to be touched by as many men as possible. The frat boys, who were taking up most of the space in front of the stage, were in rare form. One of them had me lie on my back, my heels dug in so as to raise my buttocks in the air while he poured beer over my crotch. A number of the boys lapped up the flavored liquid from my belly and cunt, accompanied by hoots and hollers.

  Twice I came under the assault of strange tongues. I’d been warned against getting lost in my own pleasure, however, and that I must not flag in my efforts to please the men. Careful count was kept of the girls’ mistakes, I was told, and afterwards, there was each night a ‘reckoning’ after the customers left. There was punishment at stake, and also certain other things, such as whether or not a girl was fed that night or whether she’d be privileged to sleep in one of the beds in the adjoining apartments or if she’d be chained in the basement or storage room.

  “Sit up, cunt,” slurred one of the young men. “I got something for your tits.”

  I assumed he would pour beer on them, but to my horror I saw he had clothespins, two of them. I was sobbing already as he made me put my hands in my sopping wet, sticky hair. Helplessly, I knelt as he attached the terrible things to my nipples, one by one. I whimpered and cried, begging for him to take them off, but Jerry came up and slapped me hard in the arse, compelling me back to my feet for more dancing. Clad only in my high heels, I swayed my hips, closing my eyes as Krissy had recommended. I danced my pain, my arousal. My burgeoning slavery. My body was a swaying vessel, burning hot, soiled and needy, begging for release, seeking cock, seeking Rainier, and barring him, any man at all.

  “Fuck this appetizer shit,” yelled one of them. “Let’s get to the main course.”

  Apparently my performance had been more successful than anticipated. After a brief exchange between Jerry and a couple of the frat boys, it was arranged that I would be taken with them at once for their “bonus entertainment.”

  “They said they just want you,” Jerry told me, releasing the cruel wooden clamps from my nipples. “Guess you’ll be getting more of an initiation than I thought.”

  He winked at me as he handed me the clothespins. “Take these along. You’ll need ‘em.”

  There were ten of the college kids. In sweaters, jeans and khakis. They were athletes to be sure, and as the door to the private room was closed behind me, I saw that every one of them had a hard-on.

  The room itself was decorated in red. Red velvet wall covering, red rugs and lots of mirrors. There was one bed, heart-shaped, along with a couple of armchairs and in the corner some kind of rack device with chains hanging from it. Next to it, on the wall hung a row of paddles and whips.

  “Take your shoes off,” grinned the leader, a tall blond with a buzz cut. “Make yourself at home.”

  The rug tickled my bare feet. I felt ashame
d, stinking of beer, nude, an object of pure lust and contempt for these men ten years my junior. I’d let them do so much already, I thought. How could I set any limit now?

  Jerry’s words came to mind now. No limits, he’d said. No mercy.

  “We should introduce ourselves,” said a bulky brunette to the redhead, his muscles rippling under a red sweater.

  “Good idea,” the other nodded, opening his trousers. “Don’t be rude, little girly girl. Say hello to it.”

  “Hello,” I mouthed piteously to the throbbing member.

  “Mine, too,” the darker one added.

  I acknowledged the second shaft, equally hard, equally ready, I was quite sure to penetrate me.

  “Lambda Chi forever!” the blond shouted, unzipping his own fly. The others lined up to his left and right, backs straight, like mock soldiers. Ten penises stood at attention, their single eyes glaring at me.

  “Give ‘em a kiss,” the blonde winked. “Don’t be shy.”

  I had to go to them on my knees, sliding from one to another as I applied my lips to the bulbous helmets. Each cock throbbed beneath my touch, the lust and thrill of the act greatly magnified by the knowledge that each would possess me, probably multiple times before the night was done.

  “Again,” the blonde ordered when I was done. “Slower this time. Touch your tits for inspiration.”

  I placed trembling hands over my own breasts. How I wished they were a man’s hands. Mauling, possessing. There was pre-cum on the tip of the blonde’s penis as my moved my dry lips toward him a second time.

  “Lick it up,” he grinned.

  I did so, utilizing the tip of my tongue.

  “Jesus,” he muttered to one of his buddies. “I wish I could get Ashley to do this.”

  “Or Sabrina. That bitch is so friggin’ stuck up, it’s not funny. I’d like to grab her one day, with her little belly shirt and sarong and drag her into the men’s room so she can do me.”

  I moved to the penis of the current speaker, the one plotting his revenge on poor Sabrina, whoever she was.

  “Oh, yeah,” he hissed as I licked at his underside. “I’m gonna do it to her. If they can do it to all these girls, why not her?”

  “Absolutely, bro,” the blond bellowed. “And I’m gonna make a few changes with Ashley, too. No more headaches, and no more of her dissing my homies either. The very next time she gets all high and mighty with you guys, I’m gonna loan her to you for twenty four hours. That’ll teach her a little respect.”

  “Dude!” somebody else cried. “Ashley’s hot, you can count me in!”

  “I’m getting a crop for Monica!”

  I moved to the next one, then another. They all had ideas by now, ways to right the wrongs against a host of cold fish girl friends and haughty dick teasing class mates. These girls were in for a surprise, to be sure. And who was to say it wasn’t what they really wanted, with their blatant displays of their sex and their endless taunting of the boys, like red flags in front of reluctant bulls.

  The boys were salty, acridly delicious, though each was unique. None, of course, were like Rainier. I could confidently pick him out from a line-up of a hundred. Was this a sign, I thought with dismay mixed with pleasure, that the man was already my true master, just as Krissy had predicted?

  The answer was yes, although as I came closer and closer to the prospect of what I secretly yearned for, I was terrified. For in accepting one man, I would have to accept all. Jerry, whom I’d already called by that name, and Randy, too. And now, these boys. These awakening men.

  “Deep throat him,” said the blonde casually when I came to a dark-skinned boy with a huge member, second to last in line. “His girl just broke up with him, he needs the encouragement.”

  Relaxing my throat muscles, I did as I was told. Like a good slut, the perfect little owned she-bitch, I took him to the hilt.

  “Jesus,” someone muttered. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of her.”

  “Me, too,” said several others at once.

  “No,” the blond spoke up. “First we paddle her arse, then we fuck her.”

  Hands immediately clamped on my arms. I was suctioned to the dark-skinned shaft. Greedily I held on long as I could till they hauled me over to the rack, securing me in place. There were overhead straps for my wrists and two more for my ankles. When they finished attaching them, I was spread eagle, unable to close my legs or protect my breasts.

  “Look at me,” the blonde ordered.

  I made eye contact, seeing in the pale blue of his iris a foreshadowing of the misery to be inflicted on me. Seeing my fear he grinned.

  “Beg me to let you go,” he coached.

  I repeated the formula only to be slapped in the face. “Shut up,” he growled. “Whore.”

  “How’s this for a paddle, bitch?” sneered a short, stocky kid with a razor thin mustache as he waved what looked like a canoe paddle in my face.

  “Consider it your own personal pledge week!” the blond laughed.

  I cried out as the paddle impacted on my sore buttocks. The wood was merciless, delivering a hot sting that reverberated throughout my body. They took turns beating me with it while others manipulated my helpless body. I was made to keep count as the device slammed over and over into my heated flesh. With each fresh blow, I was thrust forward, into the hands of other boys who were busy doing things to my tits and cunt. I moaned openly as someone bit my nipple. Another hand tweaked the hairs of my crotch.

  “Sing, cunt,” laughed a boy. “Sing it loud.”

  Again and again the paddle struck home, the pain mingling with the pleasure of what was being done to me sexually. I could scarcely tell the difference now, nor would I know what to do without it. If I were let go, I would crawl to them, to any man at all, to beg for attention, of whatever kind. I’d become the therapist’s worst nightmare. A pain slut. A woman so low in self-esteem, she lived through being tortured.

  But it was more; I saw that now that I was free of my psychological biases. There was something spiritual here. A need; natural, biological and profound. I was finding my place in the order of things, through subjugation to the male gender. Or what else could it mean that any man or men, even this crude and callow assortment of boys could rouse in me the most profound passions?

  “Say ‘I’m a slut,’” teased a drooling bespectacled boy as he returned the almost forgotten nipple clamps to their rightful place on my body.

  “I—I’m a slut,” I moaned, thrashing my head against the agony, the swell of pleasure as the wood pinched and bit and claimed me.

  “Louder!” My arse received the firmest blow yet, enough to make my soft, nude body quiver and shake against the straps.

  “I’m a slut!” I screamed, believing it, getting off myself on the admission.

  “Take the slut down,” the blonde chortled victoriously. “It’s time to play.”

  They had no need to bind me to the bed. There were hands enough to restrain me, molding and posing my body for maximum penetration. At first they took me one at a time, on my back, opting for one of the two more obvious holes. As the others grew impatient, they put me on all fours so one could plow my mouth while the other rutted my sex channel. My arse was not to be neglected either as they lathered themselves with my sex juice and took turns buggering me mercilessly. Even when my cunt was unoccupied, I was still prone to an endless succession of spasms. I could no longer tell where one orgasm left off and the other began.

  Sweat collected in layer upon layer over my skin and with it the oozing semen of the never-ending procession of male organs. Not only was jism leaking from me, but some of them were choosing to come on me directly as well, demanding I stick out my tongue as they spurted on my face, or requiring me to hold my breasts as a target.

  Each of them came at least twice, and many of them came back for thirds. I denied them nothing, and there was no need to discipline me for lack of obedience. Any more punishment I received, to my behind or breasts was strictly for thei
r pleasure, administered with cupped hands or one of the many smaller paddles that seemed to be lying everywhere about the room.

  The blond was the most merciless. Before ramming himself into me from behind, he fed a thick plastic shaft deep into my rectum. That way he could have me doubly, he said. As he thrust in and out, his hands were everywhere upon me, especially on my pin-bitten breasts. Each time he twisted the raw flesh I screamed, opening myself even more to the twin penises, real and artificial. Meanwhile, his mouth kept up a barrage of insults, slang and obscenities spit onto my skin, his drool splashing on my bare back.

  Unable to resist, I gave myself over to the most soul shattering orgasm of all. When he finally released me I collapsed in a heap on the bed, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. The boys were congratulating one another on their virility, commenting on the desirability of various parts of me.

  “This place is something else,” I heard the brunette speculate as he guzzled a beer. “I mean, these are some hot chicks. What do you think they get paid to do this shit?”

  The blond guffawed. “Man, haven’t you heard? They don’t get paid shit.”

  “Yea, yea, I know it’s not much, but. . .”

  “No, dude, I’m serious. They don’t get paid at all. Theses girls are owned by the club.”

  “You mean they’re slaves?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Yep. The head honcho owns them all. Rumor has it he sells girls on the black market every day. To brothels in third world shit holes, and to rich Arab dudes, too.”

  The brunette came up beside me. I could see his beady eyes looking down on me. “So this bitch is a slave?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Hot damn,” he muttered, unzipping his fly. “In that case…”

  His voice trailed off, replaced by a warm trickle, liquid and salty over my cheeks and lips. I turned my head away in shame, avoiding the spray as best I could. It was hot on me and fragrant. Tears choked my eyes. I had just gone down on the scale of respect, so far below a whore now it wasn’t even funny.

  “Robby, man,” groaned one of the others. “That’s disgusting. Who’s gonna clean this shit up. It’s all over the bed.”