Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Read online

  “No, you’re not. You know how to stop it.”

  I shifted my fingers, easing up on the clit. Gritting my teeth I rode the fine line of pleasure and denial. I no longer saw the other drivers, or even my own. His continued stream of profanity was mere background. So, too the omnipresent electronic sting of Rainier, like a fly buzzing in my ear, nipping at my soul, biting me with forbidden lust.

  “I could make you do anything, Emerald. Think about that. And no matter what it was, you’d enjoy it.”

  Lower and lower I sank, down in the seat and into deeper into moral turpitude, my cunt greedily sucking at my hand, wrestling with it, fighting for an orgasm. On and on it went. I’ve no idea how long it lasted. All I know is, eventually I heard Rainier say we’d arrived.

  “Pull yourself together, Emerald. You’ve a Kleenex in your purse. Use it to wipe your hand. Then get out. Forget the fare; the driver will be taken care of.”

  My hand was drenched. It took three tissues not one. Putting my shoes back on, I popped open the door. The driver was yelling at me about his missing fare, but I had my work cut out for me just standing upright. I was weak as a kitten. And scared. Were I stark naked, I couldn’t have felt more vulnerable on that dingy street corner.

  Eyes coveted me from every direction. Men sat on the hoods of beat up cars. Girls in leather and fishnets made hissing noises. Sirens wailed somewhere off in the distance. On the sidewalk, just in front of me, a wino was retching.

  “Rainier,” I whispered into the greasy night air. “I’m frightened.”

  “I told you I’d be with you every step of the way. Obey me and you’ll be protected.”

  “Yes,” I sighed gratefully. “I understand, sir.”

  Steeling myself, in my skintight dress, my tits and arse fully advertised, I made my way towards the marked red canopy beneath which lay a doorway with jukebox noise spilling out of it.

  It was the Rusty Nail, voted by the editors of City Vamp, the underground tongue-in-cheek newspaper as the ”Best Place for a Girl To Go if She Wants To Be Raped.” A bouncer was sitting on a stool, plenty of muscle still visible under his three hundred or so pounds of fat.

  “Hold it up there, sweetheart.” His huge hand was out, stopping me. Meanwhile, his eyes roamed up and down, putting me through paces in his mind.

  “I want to come in,” I said at last, my face beat red.

  “You gotta have your name on the list,” he winked.

  There was no list, obviously.

  “Watch yourself, little lady,” he cautioned me suddenly, tugging my arm.

  I stepped back just in time to avoid being hit by a man’s body as it hurtled out the door onto the sidewalk.

  “If I see your face again, you worthless piece of shit, I’ll deal with it permanently!” bellowed a man in a grimy tank top, with tree trunk thighs and a Mohawk hairdo who’d single-handedly tossed the man out the door. “Hey you,” he pointed, his attention shifting to me. “Get the hell out of here; we don’t need no more ho’s in here tonight. I got enough fights as it is.”

  The doorman saw the mortified look on my face and laughed. “Don’t mind him, sweet heart,” he leered at me. “Zack’s a real pussy cat underneath. Just get over here and give me a little kiss and I’ll let you in.” He had his hand on his crotch. I knew full where he wanted me to kiss.

  “No,” Zack called out from the doorway, his hands rubbing his own crotch. “Come and kiss me first.”

  “Tell them to stop fucking with you, Emerald. Tell them you belong to the Cartel and if you don’t get first class treatment tonight, they’re both going to wake up in the morning minus their testicles.”

  I bit my lip, hoping to hell Rainier knew what he was doing. After a deep breath, word for word I repeated his not-so-veiled threat.

  The two behemoths exchanged nervous glances. Whatever this “cartel” was, it packed a pretty big wallop.

  “Come on in,” the man at the door grinned. “We was just playin’ with you.”

  “Yea,” the other echoed, hopping off the stool to help. “No harm done, right?”

  “No harm done,” I nodded numbly allowing the two giants to clear the way into the smoke filled bar.

  “Get the fuck out of the way!” the Mohawked Zack screamed at a slouching biker blocking their way. “We got a lady coming through.”

  “Tell them you’re all right now. Tell them to leave you alone and not to tell anyone you’re Cartel property.”

  “Sure thing,” the doorman enthused when she’d relayed Rainier’s latest command.

  “Consider us ancient fucking history,” Zack added with a fresh grin.

  “Now what?” I whispered fiercely, looking about the room full of leather jacketed toughs.

  “Now’s the part where you help me, Emerald. Tell me what you see.”

  I described as best I could the bar full of bikers, the leather-clad babes, the bearded, pot-bellied toughs and black-booted thugs.

  “Pick out a loner, Emerald. Don’t think about it, just do it. You’ve already seen the one. You’re scared of him. You’re repulsed. But you’re drawn to him, too.”

  My eyes darted to and fro. Three times I passed him over, but at last I came back. Could Rainier be reading my mind on top of everything else? A deep sense of resignation filled me, a wicked knowledge that I would soon surrender to what I most reviled.

  “I see him,” I whispered. “Sir.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  My mouth went dry. The man leaning over the bar was a baldheaded ape, in black leather pants, chains hanging from his belt. On the back of his head was a tattoo, a disgustingly racist symbol. More tattoos, crude, prison drawn, most likely, lined his hairy, exposed arms. The back of the white T-shirt bulged from well-defined muscles. Using as much detail as I could stomach, I tried to convey what I saw.

  “He’ll do nicely. Go up to him and say hi.”

  My silver heels clicked over the wooden floor, the sound drowned by the din of the Rusty Nail. Hands on all sides of me pressed, along with male hips. The way to the bar was a gauntlet now as more and more of them vied for a piece of the action.

  “They’re. . . touching me.”

  “Yes, Emerald, that’s why you’re here.”

  I was never so happy to make it to a brass rail. “Excuse me?” I muttered to the man at the bar. “I was wondering if . . .”

  The huge man slid his arm across and grabbed me by my ear. Tugging just hard enough to hurt, lowering my head to a side ways position, he induced me to immediate silence.

  “What the fuck is your problem, bitch? Where’s your old man?”

  “My . . . old man?”

  “Tell him your old man sent you out for a little rumble; to teach you some humility.”

  te words brought a wicked grin as soon as they came out of my mouth.

  I don’t understand,” I blurted, forgetting the biker could hear me as I talked to Rainier.

  What’s to understand, slut?” The man must have thought I was talking to him. “The only thing you need to worry about,” he crooned, pulling a pair of silver handcuffs from his belt, “is making me real happy, so’s I give your old man a good report on you. And I will report, too, babe; fucking pass or fail, right on your perky ass.”

  “Bikers sometimes order their women to fuck strangers, Emerald. It’s a kind of discipline. It’s also a way for a gang member to show his power and generosity to other gangs. This one here will use you sexually then return you to your old man. The severity of the markings will indicate how pleasing you were.”

  “Markings . . . on my . . . arse?”

  “You’re just an object to men like this, Emerald. Chattel. They’ll apply the belt, even the whip to insure your compliance.”

  The biker grabbed my hands and slapped on the cuffs. The steel was cold and it bit hard. “How about if you shut the fuck up and save your little mouth for sucking my wang?”

  “Please,” I wheedled. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
>
  A brazen crew-cutted blonde in a short black skirt and mesh shirt over huge, bare breasts sidled up now and put herself on the biker’s arm. I noted the single handcuff on her left wrist as well as the elaborate wheel tattoo on her right breast. It was the same design as on Rainier’s ring. Clearly, the purposes of these things went far beyond jewelry.

  “A mistake?” the girl mocked looking up at the biker. “Listen to that mouth. Losing your touch, are you, Mongo?”

  The biker shoved the girl back and growled at me. “Submit, bitch.”

  “This is your cue, Emerald.”

  “But what do I do?” I asked my invisible tormentor.

  “Either run and hope to God you get away or else stay and let him know you’ll be a good girl.”

  “How?” I cried, not caring that the biker and his girl would think me insane for talking to myself. “How do I show him I’ll be good?”

  “You get on your knees and rub your face over his crotch. Kiss him where he’s hard. If that doesn’t work, you put your head to his feet and beg for mercy.”

  Tears clouded my eyes. I was clearly trapped. Whatever form of protection Rainier was offering, it did not appear designed to prevent my imminent humiliation. Yielding to the inevitable, I bent my knees, lowering myself, inch by inch. The wood was harsh on my bare knees. The bikers towered over me now. I feared they’d crush me any minute.

  Desperate, having no alternative, I impressed my cheek to the leather pants, gently at first, then with more vigor. The hulking Mongo rewarded me with a thick swelling that I could now adore. It thrilled me more than a little that I was actually turning him on with my servile performance.

  Aiming for maximum contact and preserving minimal pride, I moved myself over his pocketed erection, using my face as a cock toy, a minor stimulatory device.

  “My grandmother could do better,” the blonde snorted.

  I heard the sound of skin cracking on skin. Mongo must have slapped her arse pretty hard. “Your grandma does do better, you fucking cunt. I had her last night, so I should know.”

  Raucous male laughter filled the room.

  “Sweet Tits, are you back-talking Mongo here?” This demand came from a new voice also male.

  “But, Master,” the blonde offered hastily. “I thought you and Mongo’s gang were at war.”

  “That was yesterday’s news, bitch. We just signed a peace treaty.” Something whistled through the air, fast and vicious. The blonde, Sweet Tits, squealed and seconds later she was down at Mongo’s feet alongside me.

  “Forgive me, Master Mongo,” she cried earnestly, pressing her lips to his dust- covered leather boot.

  “You, too,” Mongo pointed at me. “Get down.”

  Placing my cuffed hands on the floor, palms down, I joined the blonde girl, taking the open place at his left boot. I was fairly certain Sweet Tits had just been lashed with a whip. On her thighs, probably. Below the hem of her skirt.

  “You’re doing well so far, Emerald. You’re a natural.”

  As always, Rainier seemed aware of my moves even before I was. Did he have eyes everywhere? I’ll admit, it gave me peace of mind to think he did. Without his support, I was unsure I’d ever leave this bar alive, let alone with my spirit intact.

  The boot tasted dry and unpleasant. My mouth felt like cotton against its grit-covered roughness. My nose, meanwhile, was assaulted with the smell of dirt and leather. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sweet Tits, eagerly attending to her own labors. She seemed experienced at this, but if her nervousness was any indication, we were both in for a long night.

  “Get up, sluts,” lashed Mongo with his tongue. “Time to meet your maker.”

  “The maker is a penis, Emerald. You are going to be penetrated now.”

  Rainier’s superfluous commentary was a penetration in itself. A voice of arousal and violation with perpetual access to my inner ear, my soul.

  “Good,” I whispered for benefit of my invisible audience. “If I don’t get fucked soon, I’ll go out of my mind.”

  “Hey, this bitch is talking to herself. She’s crazy,” Sweet Tits declared.

  Mongo put his hands in both our hair. Pulling our necks back. “Shut up, both you bitches.”

  “Here, Mongo, pass me my slut. I’ll deal with her.”

  Sweet Tits was thrown now to a large, dark-skinned man who apparently was the leader of the gang that owned her. I, on the other hand, got to stay with the talking mountain of a man.

  “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, huh?” Mongo asked rhetorically, lifting me to my feet and dragging me through the crowd.

  I had to run to keep up with him. His hand was down at his waist now, which meant I was bent over quite painfully. On the way, I lost one shoe then the other. By the time we reached the men’s room, I was whimpering and panting.

  “In!” he growled thrusting me through the swinging door. There was a young guy inside who took one look at Mongo and me and ran straight out.

  Mongo just laughed as he hauled me over to the urinal. It hadn’t been flushed and the stench made me want to throw up. “No,” I begged. “Please don’t. . .”

  “Relax, cunt.” He slapped my arse hard enough to make me stumble. It was his hand on my head that held me up. “I ain’t gonna make you drink it; I just need something to hold you still.”

  He took a short length of chain, one of the many hanging on his belt. Pulling it between the links of my cuffs, he wrapped the other end round the pipe just below the flush valve. With a padlock—apparently he came equipped with his own torture kit—he secured me in place. It was ingenious as a method of humiliation. As far as I stretched my arms, I was still bent over the ceramic bowl, my arse conveniently positioned for various forms of mayhem.

  “That’s better,” Mongo crooned, yanking my dress up to my waist. “Oh, yeah,” he whistled, seeing the lack of panties. “Now that’s what I call a cooperative little pussy.”

  I was nude to the touch now and thoroughly helpless. I couldn’t even close my legs, lest I lose my balance. There was nothing I could do but wait, staring into the sickening bowl, my bare feet planted on the bathroom floor, my chained hands braced on the cold metal fixture.

  “I won’t expect you to talk anymore, Emerald. Don’t worry, I won’t miss anything. There’s a camera. I’m home watching you right now. Krissy is with me. Would you like to know what she’s doing?”

  No. I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t bear it. And yet, at the same time, I needed it, needed to hear about my former patient’s ordeal, even as I suffered my own.

  Mongo’s hand swatted my vulnerable cheeks. “Look alive, cunt, I’m coming in for a landing.”

  I felt the tip of him between my thighs. Without preamble, he shoved himself to the hilt, filling my already slick canal.

  “Krissy is on her knees, Emerald. She’s gotten quite good at this; she gets a fair amount of repeat business at the club. They call her the Little Vacuum.”

  Mongo’s hands were at my hips, pinioning me. “Oh, yeah, slut, that’s it. Grind it, baby.”

  I didn’t want to respond, but there was no way to avoid it. My body had a mind of its own, and it was obeying the crude biker, not me.

  “That’s it, bitch, shove it against me.” He was slapping my thigh like a horse, controlling my motions. With the other hand, he moved to my breasts, slipping down my left shoulder strap to get a large handful of my pendulous tit. My nipple throbbed in response, pulsing in tune to my spasming cunt. I was almost there, but I couldn’t do it without Rainier’s permission.

  “I—I need to come,” I announced to anyone and everyone.

  “No, not yet. Tell Mongo you want it in the ass first.”

  “G—god, no,” I wailed.

  “Do it, Emerald.”

  In short, stabbing gasps, I begged for my own anal violation. Words I’d never formed, even in my imagination, now poured out in a public toilet for the benefit of a biker who’d chained me to a urinal.

  “You
’re a little freak,” he chuckled pulling himself out of my vagina. “You know that?”

  For the moment I was left empty. A gaping chasm opened inside me now, as I felt for the first time in my life what it truly meant to be dependant on a man for my pleasure, my happiness.

  “Mongo, I need you. . .” I panicked.

  Sausage-like fingers parted my arse cheeks. “Relax, sweet cheeks, ya got me.”

  My groan reverberated off the tile walls. I’d no idea it could feel like this. The fullness, the nastiness, the sense of being pronged, invaded. “F—fuck me,” I hissed, teeth biting into my own lips. “I need. . . I need . . .”

  What exactly did I need? It wasn’t just sex, it was the mastery, the feeling of being held, against my will, and yet with my own tacit consent and surrender.

  “Yeah, bitch,” Mongo panted, working my arse as hard as he had my cunt. “Submit to me; give me all ya got.”

  “H—how?” I cried, my mind dissolving in a submissive haze.

  It was Rainier who answered on behalf of both men.

  “Verbalize it, Emerald. The truth shall set you free.”

  My voice lowered to an intense hush, unearthly, a female confession, primordial and somehow universal. “I—I submit to you. Take me, Mongo. Take my arse. Use me. Hurt me, make me your slut. I’ll do anything—anything you say.”

  The man was like a pile driver. My words seemed to have put him into overdrive. With each phrase of his response came a fresh assault, plummeting to my secret depths. “Damned, straight, bitch. ‘Cause I’m staking a fucking claim. You hear me?” His fingers twined my damp, ruined hair, pulling back my neck. “When I’m done with you in here, you’re gonna take off that dress and you’re gonna walk out there naked. So’s everyone can see how I tamed you. Then you’re gonna go table to table and offer your services. Free fuckin’ blowjobs for everybody, on the house. Whaddaya say to that?”

  “Ask him what happens after that.”

  “Tell me more,” I begged. “Please, Mongo?”

  Mongo was huffing and puffing. From the grunts, he had to be close to orgasm. His sporadic, fantasy-driven speech reflected his state of mind well. “You go on my leash, cunt; you know the drill. The thing is, I won’t be like your current old man. See, I’m old school. A purist. No talking unless spoken to. No clothes for the first six months. Plenty of time on your back. I got a nice little mattress for you in the basement. Lots of visitors, your very own shackles.”