Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Page 4

  The jacket was the first thing to go. Under it, I had a smartly crisp, white blouse. Before this, though, I’d go for the slacks. Chills went down my spine as I slid them down my legs. I had nothing on my legs, just a pair of stocking footies under the shoes. Pulling these off along with the discarded pants, I took a deep breath. Wearing nothing but blouse, bra and panties, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Say something, dammit!”

  The man sat like a statue, unmoved by my near nudity. He might as well have been watching mold grow.

  My lip began to tremor, the way it always did before I cried. Fighting the urge, I concentrated on opening the blouse, taking it off and putting it neatly over the credenza. Never mind that the pants and jacket were in a heap; clearly I wasn’t thinking straight.

  The bra and panties were pink, frilly. If Rainier had even a smattering of decency, he’d have let me leave them on while I performed the act. For a split second I entertained the idea of cheating. What if this were a mute, a mentally challenged person who wouldn’t know the difference; what if he’d never be able to report back what I did or didn’t do?

  No, Rainier would never be that sloppy.

  Defeat and dejection such as I have never known settled over me as I reached behind me for the clasp of my bra.

  Naked. I had to be naked, in my own office, in full sight of my photos, books and diplomas while I did something only whores do.

  Actually, it was worse, because I’d never collect a nickel.

  “I—I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” I prattled, smiling nervously at the man as I took my breasts one by one from their protective covering. “I hope you don’t think that . . . that . . .”

  My foolish, self-accusing words petered out, falling uselessly to the floor like my designer brassiere. Instinctively now, I crossed my hands over my crotch. It was a last stand, a stubborn rebellion doomed to failure. Looking directly ahead, focusing on the white-yellow top of his head, I tucked each of my thumbs into the waistband of the panties. Slowly, with as much dignity as I could muster, I removed my final garment and stepped from it.

  I, Doctor Emerald Tallow, PhD, was now naked in my own office, prepared to service a mute, blank eyed giant. The next line of Rainier’s note came to mind now, and I whimpered softly to myself as I repeated them to myself.

  You may swallow if you wish, or else spit the contents into your hand…

  Step by step, I closed the gap between us. For the first time I thought about his pants, and having to open them. Somehow that seemed worse than the sex.

  “If you could help with this part, I’d really appreciate it,” I pleaded, hating myself for the coy, nervous smile I was plying.

  Nothing.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I muttered as I lowered myself into position.

  Freeing the lanky giant’s cock was harder than it might seem. For one thing, I was reticent of every touch. Also, he was long enough and curled under enough that I had to risk pulling and tugging.

  At long last, after great effort, I was rewarded with a slender drooping snake in my hands. Its single eye seeming to focus on me in eager expectation.

  Tears welled in my eyes, even as juices began to collect below. It was the most exquisite mix of shame and desire. “Could I use just my hand?” I sniffed. “Would that be all right? Please, could I just use my hand?”

  You will fellate him to orgasm, Rainier weighed in, and I knew I was past the point of no return. Resting my tender breasts on his trousered legs, I applied the first tentative dab of my tongue. I’d only done this once before, briefly, while very drunk. It had ended very badly, with me never speaking to the man again. As if by magic, the stranger’s penis stirred. So there was life in the man after all. Taking a deep breath, I went for a longer lick, along the shaft where I know it is very pleasing for a man. The giant made no response, but he was swelling, so I must have been doing something right.

  This time I took the round, thickening head in my mouth, closing my lips over him. The smell was overpowering, re-enforced by the pungent, slightly acrid taste. Deciding to speed matters along, I slid my mouth forward, taking about half of him. He was huge and I had no intention of absorbing much more.

  The problem was, the terms were not mine. I had to make him come and so far, he seemed like a statue. A stiff-cocked statue to be sure, but one seeming to be otherwise responsive to the situation. Repressing the urge to gag, I took him further. Some men, I knew from my research, enjoyed using a woman’s mouth like a cunt. It was a power thing.

  The giant began to hiss. My cunt hummed in response; it was turning me on to be turning him on. Grabbing his legs, I dove deeper, needing more of him, needing to hear him cry out in pleasure.

  “No!” boomed a voice, deep and rumbled, as if from afar. “Not yet. First dance.”

  The giant was pushing me off him, rejecting my servile efforts. “I—I don’t understand,” I looked up at him meekly.

  The truth was I did understand. He wanted me to arouse him with my body. He wanted a show. “That isn’t possible,” I shook my head vigorously.

  The giant frowned at me and moved to get up.

  “Wait, please!” I cried, pressing myself against him to hold him down. “I’ll try. I will.”

  Now what? Stand in front of him and…perform. I’d seen strippers before; I had a number of them as patients. But seeing and doing were two different things. Closing my eyes, I yielded to a deep sigh. Somewhere within me, something must have come. I was aware, without actually seeing, that I was touching myself, moving and swaying. It was hard and awkward and I felt ashamed. Was I pretty enough? What if I couldn’t turn him on?

  Would the giant go back to Rainier and say I wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t do it for him, as a woman? I couldn’t bear that, truly I couldn’t. I was a woman, dammit, more woman than Rainier could handle; I’d show him, I’d make him sorry he ever tried to beat me down.

  “Enough!” the man bellowed in some kind of foreign accent. “Suck now.”

  He was pointing to his rock hard cock, angled straight up at me. Gratefully, beyond all reason, I fell upon it. This time, I set no limit but took him all the way. He was groaning in pleasure. Encouraged I doubled my efforts and in a matter of moments was rewarded with a warm, pulsing spray. I’d meant to spit, but it all happened so fast.

  Before I knew what had happened, I was drinking him down, taking his sperm down my throat into my belly.

  I could feel the inner eyes upon me, the disbelief that would come from the prostitutes I knew over what I’d done. Swallowing had symbolism. Intimacy and servitude. The giant went on shuddering and then, when he was finished with me, he pulled his cock from between his lips and stood up. Stepping over me, he went to the door and walked out. Without a word, he left me, crumpled on my carpet, degraded beyond all measure. And the worst part of it was I’d come perilously close to begging him to stay so he could quell the fire between my legs by fucking me.

  I must have lain like this for longer than I’d realized. There was a knock on the door; it was my ten o’clock appointment. “Just a moment,” I called, my voice raspy. “I’ll be right there.”

  ***

  I had the rest of the day to calm my nerves. It wasn’t long enough, though, not by a long shot. My eleven o’clock appointment was a nightmare and my two o’clock actually came out and asked if I was all right. All right? I’d just committed an intimate act with a stranger, a man whom I found repulsive. How could I look at anyone sitting on that couch in the same way again? How could I look at myself in the mirror? Was I right?! That was a laugh.

  The most disturbing part was that it wasn’t only disgust that I felt. I was also deeply aroused. It was as if Rainier had had me through the stranger; in fact I could still feel his invisible presence somehow on me and in me. Palpable. Dangerous. I couldn’t even look at my phone without thinking of him, couldn’t hear a knock on the office door. And always, always, the longer the silence, the more I wondered
.

  What would he do next? What would he have me do?

  A million times in my mind, even as I dispensed my usual advice and counsel, I was thinking what I would say to him. I was angry, of course. He’d get a piece of my mind. A bet was one thing. But he was playing mind games. In fact, he’d violated the one rule I’d laid down. He’d interfered with my work. And I’d tell him this, to his face.

  I couldn’t wait for my last appointment to be over. I wanted to go him at once. First, though I would have to change my clothes. It wasn’t that my outfit was dirty; I simply couldn’t let him see me in the same clothes I’d had on while giving a blowjob to the man he’d sent. I have a small shower in my bathroom and I generally keep a change of clothes for emergencies. The thin blouse and skirt were not my first choice. They were too sexy, far too revealing. Unfortunately, they were my only option.

  Turning the water to full blast, I let the hot, steamy spray assault my tender flesh. From experience I know that rape victims frequently report a feeling of dirtiness afterwards and require numerous, intense showers to restore even a minimal sense of normalcy. I hadn’t been raped, but I felt violated. Unlike the victims I counseled, however, I had no recourse. Everything I’d done was voluntary in the eyes of the law.

  I couldn’t bear to touch my sensitized nipples. My sex lips were swollen. The shower was hell. I nearly masturbated to relieve the tension, but such an act would only shame me further, confirming Rainier’s view, that girls were automatically aroused by male control, even male humiliation.

  A girl. I’d called myself a girl. But I was a woman. An angry, wronged woman. Finishing my ablutions, I put on the fresh clothes, the short gray skirt and clingy blouse. At least it was professional I told myself as I locked the office and headed for my car.

  It was time to draw a line in the sand. To set the boundaries I should have in the first place.

  This is the thought I held fast to as I drove to the offices of Girls, Limited. Enough was enough, I decided. He’d broken the rules, and now the bet was off. He could keep his development money and all the other girls, I just wanted Krissy back. She was like a daughter to me and I wouldn’t bear her abuse any longer. She was a lovely young girl; she should be dating and teasing, breaking boys’ hearts, not offering her body to strangers at the whim of a depraved madman.

  It was repulsive to me, that a man like Rainier could control such a creature, that he could dress her and undress her, forbid her underwear, mark her buttocks with a belt or whip for being “naughty.” What had Krissy done, anyway, to warrant punishment?

  Most likely she had displeased Gustav and had paid the price. But what was it exactly? Had she refused him some act or favor? Had she been slow to obey? Did she mouth off to him? And what about afterwards? Was she more pliant then, more obedient? Had he used her, bringing her to helpless orgasm in spite of—or even because of her punished behind?

  Furious at my own weakness, I gave in to the heat between my legs, allowing myself to squirm on the leather seat. Traffic was slowed to a crawl down the wide, office-lined street and all I could think of was what would happen if Rainier chose to do that to me. Could I refuse the whip or belt, under terms of the bet, or would I be compelled to offer up my behind, my virgin flesh for the unlashing of his wrath?

  Resisting the urge to shove my hand down under the waistband of my panties, I gripped the wheel till my knuckles were white. As it was, it didn’t matter, for just as the Girl’s Limited building came into view, I came. Untouched, unloved, I orgasmed, my juices soaking my panties, spilling onto the seat as though a man were on me. In me.

  And that man was him. Rainier. The miserable, infuriating bastard.

  I stormed through the revolving doors, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The ornate accoutrements were wasted on me. The fountains, the statues, the mammoth palm trees in the lobby. Marching straight to the front desk, I demanded to see him. An athletic looking man in a blue blazer, an earpiece in his ear, came immediately to the support of the shapely little receptionist who was very politely trying to send me away.

  “Is there a problem?” the man asked the girl, his shoulders framing the bronze wall behind the large, circular desk. In the middle of the wall I noted an absurd company logo of a woman in silhouette, profiled on her knees, reaching up to touch the circle in which she was contained. Like a prisoner. A slave.

  “I tried to tell her, sir,” the girl said meekly, “that Mr. Rainier is not available at the moment.”

  She was a brunette, pretty, with a ribbon in her hair. She wore a blue blazer herself, with the same logo on the breast pocket. The way she looked up at the guard, attentive, deferential, told me two things. Number one, he’d had her sexually. Number two, she was afraid of him.

  “Who are you?” the man asked me, his eyes scanning my sexily clad body with blatant efficiency.

  Fighting the rush of blood to my cheeks, I said my name, indicating I had urgent personal business with Rainier.

  The guard took another look at my obviously erect nipples under the blouse and touched the earpiece. He was getting some kind of message. “Come with me,” he said after a moment’s listening.

  It wasn’t an order, but it didn’t feel like a request either. I fell in step behind him, trying to keep up as he took me to the elevator. My mind was consumed with the receptionist. Did she have underwear on under her smart blue skirt suit or wasn’t it allowed her? Did Rainier make her do things the way he had me? Would he beat her if she were naughty the way he did to Krissy? Or would the guard do it for him?

  As horrible as all this was, I thought to myself, why didn’t the girl run away? On the way out I must find a way to help her. Slip her the name of a shelter, perhaps, or at least give her my card. There are laws, after all, to protect girls from predatory males. We didn’t have to be mere sex objects, toys to be played with, possessions to be given and traded. We didn’t have to be afraid. We didn’t have to suck and strip on command. On and on it went, each idea only arousing me further than the last.

  I nearly leaped to the ceiling when the elevator beeped to signal our arrival at the top floor. I was flushed; my cheeks were red. I’d half expected the man to hand me some kind of a note in the stifling, confining elevator.

  Something like, “you will get on your knees, Emerald and fellate the bearer of this note. You will turn around, lower your pants and bend over, hands on the railing allowing him to take you, any way he wishes. You mat come or not. As always, the choice is yours.

  “Are you coming or not?” The guard was outside, giving me a cross look. Apparently I’d blanked out.

  “I—I’m sorry,” I said, hustling off the elevator. He continued to glare at me and I lowered my eyes. The action was instinct on my part, I supposed, though it was a gesture fraught, I feared, with submissive connotations.

  The guard led me through a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. They were made of a rich mahogany. Inside, there was a row of leather armchairs lining the far wall of what appeared to be yet another reception area. A beautiful blonde secretary sat at a desk, in front of another door at the rear. She stood at attention as soon as she saw us, arms at her sides, back straight as a rod, breasts thrust against the cotton of her short, clingy dress.

  “The boss wants to see this one here,” the guard said, reaching out to caress one of the secretary’s full, perfect mounds as he indicated me over his shoulder. It seemed an idle gesture, incidental on his part, though I could scarce imagine its effect on the young woman.

  “Yes, Mr. Thomas,” the girl replied, making no move to dislodge him.

  “So, buzz her in already,” the man identified as Thomas said, his voice containing a hint of impatience.

  It was amazing how much more attuned I was becoming to the nuances of men’s voices, their subtle gestures. No doubt for these girls, subject as they were to male power, quite a lot hinged on their being able to correctly interpret such little signs.

  Her manicured finger droppe
d automatically to a button on the desk. “Yes, Mr. Thomas. Sorry, Mr. Thomas.”

  The door was humming now and I knew I should go through it while the electronic lock was disengaged, but I couldn’t move. I was watching Thomas who had grabbed the girl by the upper arm and hauled her like a rag doll from behind the desk. She went instantly slack as he subjected her to a full and probing kiss. Her arms were limp at her sides as he ran his hands over her, squeezing her breasts, hips and buttocks. A little moan was heard from the blonde as he took her mouth, his tongue forcing itself rudely between her lips.

  Seductively, obediently, the girl’s body conformed to his hardness. A single leg popped into the air, calf flexed prettily, painted red toes extended back, plainly visible through her open toes shoes. She wanted to please him; it was obvious.

  Thomas released her at last. Bracing herself on the desk behind her, she did her best to keep from falling at her feet.

  “Take your fucking clothes off, Josie,” he rasped. “And you.” He turned his head long enough to eyeball me. “Get in that office, now.”

  I made a beeline for the doorknob. Josie had to hit the button again to reopen it. She’d already slid her dress over her head and was working on the plum colored bra. Gratefully, I left the outer room behind and with it the unfolding sex scene. In a matter of moments, I was quite sure, a naked Josie would be kneeling or lying down for the fearsome Mr. Thomas.

  “Doctor Tallow.” Rainier did not get up for me this time, nor was his voice filled with the solicitude of our first meeting at the restaurant. “I must admit,” he replied with unnerving calm. “Your arrival here surprises me.”

  I tensed immediately, strangely perturbed by his seeming unhappiness with me. “As did the arrival of your ‘friend’ at my office this morning,” I countered icily, attempting to re-gain the initiative. “Or had you forgotten?”

  Rainier frowned, his expressive lips thinning very slightly as he put down the silver pen he’d been writing with. “We had an agreement, Doctor Tallow. You are to be subject to my sexual protocols for the period of one month. If you are planning to come running to me whining every time I employ some minor training technique, this will end up being a most unpleasant experience for the both of us.”