Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Page 15

  “Who gives a fuck?” he retorted. “We’ll leave more money.”

  “Yea, sure, but why would you want to do that?”

  Robby shook out his cock, making sure I got the last few drops of his piss on my prostrate, well-fucked body. “Because I can. She’s a slave, ain’t she? Let her be my toilet, then.”

  “Jesus,” the blonde snickered. “You gotta be way drunk, compadre.”

  One or two others took up places beside the young man. In a few moments I felt a cascade, stream after stream soaking my skin, pouring over my buttocks and back, permeating every nook and cranny.

  I’m being pissed on, I thought, trying to objectify the matter in my mind. A group of boys has just abused and violated me and now they are relieving themselves on me as if I were a toilet bowl.

  “Turn over, cunt,” one of them commanded, prodding me with the wooden paddle.

  I obeyed, rolling to my back so they could piss on my belly and breasts as well. It felt like gallons by the time they were done. The worst part of all was that now no one would touch me again. I’d be alone. Sexually starved the rest of the night.

  “Thank us for pissing on you,” demanded the blonde, having decided to stop fighting and join the group. “Thank us for honoring you with our urine.”

  “That’s a good one,” bellowed the brunette. “It’s an honor all right, huh bitch?”

  “Yes,” I replied, my voice small and needful. “Yes, sir. It is.”

  The boys left a short time later. I remained on the bed, not caring if anyone saw me or indeed if I ever even got up from the soiled, sopping wet mattress.

  “Christ,” muttered one of the guards to the other when they came in to get me. “Would you look at what those punks did?”

  Twin pairs of expensive leather shoes angled towards me.

  “Yeah,” the second grumbled. “They pissed on brand new fucking sheets.”

  I had to laugh. Neither had any problem with the fraternity brothers urinating on me, a female human being, just the fact that they soiled the linen.

  “She stinks, Tony.”

  “I know. Ain’t it a shame? She’s a real hottie. I’d get me a piece if she didn’t smell like a cesspool.”

  “How the hell do we get her up and out of here, though?”

  “We make her walk by herself. You hear that, cunt?” Tony punctuated his remark with a sound thrash to my hip with the paddle. Painfully, my head swimming I sat up.

  “We’re getting you cleaned up,” Tony said to me. “Then we’re sending you to the boss.”

  My heart raced, despite my overwhelming fatigue. I was going to see Gustav. At last. Now finally, he would have to pay attention to me.

  Chapter Nine

  After showering me, the men took me to Rainier’s office on the upper floor. I was barefoot, my squeaky clean body covered in a thin silk robe, the hem well above the knees. The outline of my pubic hair was visible as were my still swollen nipples. With each step, I felt the friction, thigh against thigh. Would I never get enough sex now? I wondered.

  “This is the slut you wanted to see,” Tony announced, drawing his attention to the man at the desk, shirtsleeves rolled up as he studied what looked to be a set of architectural plans.

  “Tony. You’re just the man I wanted to see,” said Rainier, not looking up. “If you were designing a new slave farm, would you put the branding facility next to the cages or the feeding troughs?"

  “The cages,” he said without hesitation. “And I’d do the brandings at night, so the other ones could hear everything. They’d be naked, right?”

  “Naturally.”

  “That’s perfect, boss,” he exclaimed with out thrust hands. “Picture it. With every new hiss of the iron on some slut’s ass, with every scream, they’ll feel it all on their own skin, like it was happening to them. The new ones will be that much more scared, and with the ones already marked, it’ll be like getting it done all over again.”

  “That’s excellent, Tony. A good insight. I think I’ll follow your suggestion.” Rainier inclined his head, pretending to have just noticed me. “Ah, Emerald. The star of the show. Do come in. Gentlemen, why don’t you stay for a drink?"

  Tony nodded happily and strode with the other one to the bar. I saw now that Krissy was sitting on the floor beside the couch. She was barefoot in a tight, midriff tank top and a pair of silk panties. Her legs were curled underneath her, like a cat’s. She was collared and there was a long silver chain running from it to the leg of the couch. The metal slithered seductively between her thinly covered breasts and ran over her right thigh.

  Her eyes watched me with amusement and contempt, as I stood nervously in the doorway in my little robe. I would have given anything to trade places with her. She was so sexy, and obviously Rainier cared enough for her to chain her practically at his own feet.

  “Sit down, Emerald, please,” Rainier offered magnanimously, hand outstretched to the overstuffed brown leather sofa. I swallowed hard. I would be sitting directly above the chained Kristine. My one-time patient, now my rival for her master’s attention. Or should I say, as she had ‘our master.’

  I was about to sit when Rainier stopped me. “Emerald, would you be so kind as to remove your robe first?” he asked not unkindly. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a rule about clothed girls on my furniture.”

  Tony laughed from the bar. “Clothed girls on the furniture,” he toasted. “That’s a good one, boss.”

  I lowered my eyes. The silk slipped all too easily from my shoulders. The material caressed my skin as it slid to the floor. I have never been entirely comfortable with my body and had often avoided sexual situations in the past. Now that I had no choice, however, it seemed easier. Besides, there must be something desirable about me if so many men wanted to own me. Naked now and still very much aroused, I sat down.

  “Place your hands beside you,” he commanded. “On either side. Palms up.”

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

  “You may cross your legs, Emerald, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  I declined, opting to keep them side-by-side.

  “Krissy, get up and lick Emerald’s nipples,” he said abruptly, pronouncing the words with an ease only a professional slaver could manage.

  Krissy rose to her knees with a rattle of chain. She was so beautiful, her silk cupped breasts swaying provocatively as she leaned forward, so sweetly, so obediently to rasp her tongue across each of my pink buds.

  The pleasure was unbearable; the sin was unspeakable.

  “Jerry would like to have you for the club, Emerald,” said Gustav.

  I stiffened. Would he give me away? Did he have the power? Was I even his to give yet? We had our bet, and I hadn’t conceded. Alarm raced through me, but I could not respond. I couldn’t even move. I was paralyzed on account of what Krissy’s skillful mouth was doing. Licking, dabbing, sucking, nibbling, making my breasts so hot and swollen. With three men watching, two at least, leering with lust, wanting her and me and having the power to take us both. Two sluts, one set of underwear between them, one in chains, the other held by something stronger than steel.

  My own desires. That’s what held me. My imagination, my dread fascination with what could happen to me. What if Gustav did give me to the club? My arse would be tattooed to begin with. With the company mark, and maybe something extra, too, like the girl whose arse would forever indicate she was a ‘slut.’ From there my life would be all about pleasing men. I’d have quotas. A number of dicks to suck a night, a number of times to lay and spread and to be called for lap dances. Every customer would be my master and I would have to learn to beg for everything. Each scrap of food, every sip of water. If I were good, if I used my cunt and arse well, if I moaned and writhed pleasingly, I might be able to graduate to photo shoots or movies.

  Then I could be up by five and lie on my back in a filthy warehouse for ten hours straight with someone’s penis or penises inside me under burning hot lights, or else
travel to some exotic locale where I could crawl on my belly in the desert wearing the latest swimwear or pose on some rocky cliff in forty mile an hour winds in ice cold rain in a lace teddy effecting the appropriate fuck-me look for the camera men, all of whom are wearing parkas.

  At Girly Girl calendar shoots, at least according to what Trixi told me, the models are treated like pets. They sit up and beg for treats in exchange for good poses and must allow themselves to be touched and manipulated sexually to achieve the best results.

  “Cut,” the cameraman will routinely cry. “I’m not getting shit here. Somebody sex this one up for me.” And sure enough, in they’ll come with a paddle or a dildo or maybe a stiff cock and a cupped hand.

  If I were lucky, I might make it into the new on-line division of Girls, Limited, where girls are locked in little rooms, stocked with all the latest toys. They watch a computer screen that tells them when a customer is locked on. Whatever the customer tells her to do to herself, the girl has to do.

  “He thinks you’d be a valuable asset.” Rainier sighed, breaking into my reverie. “I had to say no, of course, on account of our little wager. I told him that you were not yet mine to dispose of.”

  Krissy’s mouth was expert; she’d obviously been learning her slavery well. I was a squirming, naked mess, totally unable to think clearly anymore.

  “I assume,” he continued evenly, voice smooth as silk. “That our bet is still a live one?”

  I bit down on my lip. The wager wasn’t “live” and he knew it. I’d betrayed myself a hundred times over, and yet I clung to the shadow of my freedom, the pretense that I was still the aloof doctor.

  “Krissy, attend to Emerald’s sex; it seems to be in a bit of difficulty.”

  Krissy licked her lips and dove her young, enthusiastic head between my legs.

  “Do not allow her to come, Kristine.” Rainier rose and moved himself to the corner of his desk. The two bodyguards were still by the bar, lounging, observing. “Emerald, am I correct in assuming the wager is still on?” he prodded.

  I couldn’t take anymore. The pressure was too much. What could I tell him? If I held to my stubborn pride, he’d reject me as usual. But if he sent me away again now I would die. My life flashed in front of my eyes, the words were coming to me and I could no longer fight them back.

  “No, Gustav. It’s over. I concede.”

  Krissy continued her assault, sending needles along my thighs and belly as she lapped at my hungry pussy.

  “You no longer wish to compete for Krissy’s freedom?”

  I stiffened under the weight of betrayal. “No,” I whispered fiercely. “I yield, in everything.”

  “I see.” He cleared his throat. “This changes things somewhat. Krissy, please stop what you are doing.”

  The magical, demonic tongue retracted instantly.

  “Goodbye, Kristine,” said Rainier. “Tony, kindly release the girl. The key is in my middle drawer.”

  “Wha—at?” the girl laughed nervously, not wanting to believe her ears. Tony moved efficiently, unchaining her.

  “Tony will give you fifty thousand dollars and drive you to the airport. Get on the next plane. Don’t look back.”

  “But master. . .” she wheedled, struggling against the two men who now held her. “I belong to you. I thought we had something.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “We have nothing. Emerald is what I am interested in now. She’s the superior catch. At least for today. At any rate, I’m releasing you as a favor to her. There will be no more argument.”

  “Um, boss?” Tony raised his eyebrows, indicating the fine young body wriggling in front of him.

  “Yes,” Rainier conceded. “You may fuck her first.”

  “Thanks, boss,” both men said in unison.

  The guards had to drag the girl out kicking and screaming. I am ashamed to admit to feeling a perverse pleasure, even a kind of pride in my seeming victory over Krissy. The truth, however, was that I was the loser, though I didn’t know it. Rainier himself cynically added to this delusion by treating me with extraordinary care. For the next week it was as if I was the only girl in the world. Even when he beat me, he did so with such devotion and care that I considered myself loved, cared for, worshipped.

  Though his warnings were frequent, as I said in the beginning, I didn’t heed them. In fact, they seemed only to contribute to the drama of his delicious power over me.

  I shall sell you one day, Emerald.

  Sell me? How could he, when he was so thoroughly transfixed with my body, so enamored of my every movement? How could he let me go when he so loved chaining me up, tying me down, plumbing the depths of me for his pleasure? What other woman could do these things for him that I did? I made him laugh, I made him hard, I brought a fire to his eyes. How could these things not be forever?

  Alas, I understood nothing of the man. Anyone who’d built an empire called Girls, Limited and who boasted of the number of satisfied customers, male and female for his ‘girl relocation service’ that he did was not monogamous, not even close. I was a flavor of the week, a new toy. And before I even knew what was happening, he was bored with me, ready to move on.

  “Where are we going, sir?” I asked eagerly the morning he handed me the red dress. “Are you planning to take me out to the old barn again?”

  We’d played out there a few days earlier. The man was a wicked genius, employing the hay-strewn barn in most imaginative ways.

  “No,” he replied. “I am taking you to be auctioned.”

  “Ooh,” I giggled. “You won’t sell me will you?”

  “Yes, Emerald. I said I would, and this is the day. Put your dress on, and I’ll take you to the house.”

  Still thinking it was a game, I held the sexy little cloth against the front of me, making sure he got a good taste of my imbonded charms. “You own this body,” I purred, rubbing myself against him.

  “Get dressed,” he replied, his voice cold and distant.

  I licked my lips, dropping the dress to my bare feet. “Will my master not have me first?”

  Rainier slapped my face and then my breasts. One after the other. Hard. Harder than he ever had before. Harder than anyone, in fact. Stunned, I did as he told me.

  “Find some shoes,” was all he said as I presented myself, dress on, back straight, tears in my eyes. We were in my apartment at the time. I could hardly see straight as I picked out the pumps, in matching red.

  “You’re hurting me,” I complained as he clamped my upper arm to take me downstairs.

  “If I were you, Emerald,” he retorted icily as he steered me to the door. “I’d get used to it. Most of our buyers are from the Far and Middle East and they have little patience for slow and stupid females in that part of the world. Especially arrogant western ones.”

  “But you said I was smart,” I cried as he tossed me into the back of the limo.

  Rainier made no reply except to force me face down on the seat so he could secure a gag in my mouth. We rode to the auction house in silence. It wasn’t till we reached the door and the restraint was removed from between my teeth that I began to scream. They had to pry me away from his legs. The house was large, on a remote estate far from the city, far from any nosy neighbors or passersby. It looked more like a castle, really. One man held my arms while the other held my feet to carry me inside. My shoes never made it through the massive double front doors.

  Did Gustav pick them up? I wonder. Did he keep them or throw them away? The red dress was ripped off of me in the foyer. Once I was properly nude and collared, a series of swift blows from a thin, whistling cane put an end to my noisy rebellion. Exhausted, shattered, I lay on the cold stone floor, my wounds throbbing, my heart broken.

  “You’re a slave now,” hissed the Nazi-like female guard who pried my head off the carved marble of the two story, gold-domed foyer. “Everything is changed.”

  She wore her blonde hair tight on her head and she had on black boots and tight riding pants wi
th a turtleneck of white. Twice I was compelled to kiss her boots before she released me.

  Three of her men, who also wore boots and tight pants, attached a leather collar to my throat and a leash. By means of the latter, they took me on all fours to the first of the three processing rooms. The room smelled like formaldehyde. The walls were white tile; the floor had grates in it for draining. I was scrubbed with painful brushes. They used an equally rough soap. Next they sat me on the edge of a potty chair, to which I was shackled, hand and foot. I nearly gagged as they shoved the cleaning device in my mouth—some kind of animal brush, I think it was.

  No more care was given for my response than if it were a horse or pig they were attending to. Once I was cleaned to their satisfaction they unstrapped me and lifted me to my feet. A holding number, written in some kind of ink, was scrawled across my belly and again over my left arse cheek. Hot jets of air from a blower were run over me, removing the excess water.

  Gloved male wrists clamped each of my arms holding them wide so they could dry every part of me. Even my cunt was not overlooked. Once I was dried, a new man came in to get me. This was the one with the hooknose and the foul breath. The others called him sir, so I took him to be in charge, a deputy, perhaps of the woman’s.

  “What’ll it be first, little miss?” he crooned, caressing the side of my face with the back of his hand. “A fucking or a branding?”

  I cringed at the smell, not to mention the dirt under his nails. “I think there’s been a mistake,” I offered as humbly as possible. “I am a licensed psychologist. I work directly with the municipal courts and. . .”

  The sentence was never completed. HookNose had taken his baton and worked it between my legs. “Here’s what you are now,” he snarled. “A licensed cunt. Lot Number 56-D. Fresh meat for the next auction.”

  He’d read the number off my tit. I flushed red as he moved the black stick in and out of my opening, bringing me rapidly to orgasm. It was a cascade; an unwanted, though completely irresistible giving of myself. I’d seen the pattern by now: the more I was degraded, the more my body was used against me as a sign of my helpless inferiority, the more pleasure I felt as a result.