Sex Slave at the Auction Page 4

  “I’ll see you later, my dear. And if I don’t get to talk you again, good luck at the auction.”

  Again, those beautiful red lips smile prettily at me.

  They hurry off to Alice, who is starting a commotion over being fisted in the ass.

  The man whose face was on the cover of TIME comes over. He doesn’t say anything to me as he feels my tits, circling my areolas with his thumbs and index fingers. His hands are gentle . . . and familiar? My tits are the only erotic parts of my anatomy that my patron from yesterday has not touched. So is he touching them now because he didn’t touch them last night?

  Yes, yes, yes, I know. Stop obsessing.

  I’m almost glad when a little bell rings – the kind that calls delegates back to a lecture session after cocktails.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the ringmaster announces, “if you would just proceed to the Auditorium, we will get the slaves ready for the auction.”

  The Auction.

  It’s here, and I’m scarcely prepared.

  I mean, of course I know it’s coming and all that, but I haven’t had time to say goodbye to Max. And it’s hitting me big time now. Max! I desperately try to catch his eye as the guests file out of the hall. My groom comes over, smirking.

  “So getting panicky now, are we?”

  “Max!” I cry in a strangled tone.

  Max raises his head from the prayer rack where he is being untied. His groom says harshly, “No talking.”

  “That goes for you too,” my groom remarks as he begins to lower me. He slyly slips two fingers into my asshole.

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “He’s going to whip that sassy mouth of yours soon. And fuck that ass until you won’t be able to sit down for a month of Sundays.”

  He unchains my ankles and my wrists, pinching my nipples as he does so.

  “Please,” I say as my feet touch the floor. “Just let me say goodbye to him. It won’t take a second. I’ll . . . I’ll suck your cock later.”

  He considers this.

  “OK. But just for a second.”

  I’ll suck anyone’s cock just to have a few more moments with Max.

  Alice gazes scornfully at me as I run into Max’s arms in full view of everyone. I don’t care. If I’m not going to be seeing Max for a month, it’s worth a beating just to be in his embrace again. I mesh my lips against his hungrily and he responds in kind.

  “I love you,” I say, my eyes shining with tears.

  “And I you,” he replies, stroking my hair.

  “OK, that’s enough,” his groom says. He roughly yanks Max away from me by the shoulder.

  My own groom seizes me by the arm. “You said one second. That’s twenty more than you promised.”

  Dickhead.

  “Don’t forget me, please,” I say as a parting shot. Very corny, I know, and Alice is rolling her eyes, but I don’t care.

  I don’t take my eyes off Max as we are forcibly led out of the display hall. But out of the corner of my vision, I glimpse Greg’s face. He is looking at me – not Alice – with a wistful expression.

  I can almost swear there’s jealousy in his eyes.

  5

  The Auction is held at the very hall with the stage that Max and I have fucked in our bizarre public display. The ringmaster and his grooms – all our former charioteers – are decked in togas and outfits that wouldn’t be far off from the set of Spartacus. They wield cattle prods and whips.

  We are kept naked at the side of the stage. Our arms are bound behind us with frayed ropes in keeping with the Roman slave auctions of old. Methinks we should have held this under the hot burning sun in the amphitheater, but maybe that’s a bit too much for most of our distinguished guests, who’d want to work on their tans in a controlled environment and not under the actual . . . you know, sun.

  “No talking,” the grooms say roughly.

  Max is five bodies away from me, his magnificent torso bound, firmly muscled and gleaming with light oils. He flashes me a comforting grin.

  Greg notices this and looks away. A fleeting pang shoots through my chest. It’s complicated how I feel about Greg. I mean, I’m with Max and Greg is engaged to Alice. We’re both technically taken. But these New Age relationships are so messed up that I can’t help but feel something for Greg too.

  He’s the only person who has been consistently kind to me. I can’t say that for Max.

  The Auction proper starts.

  We can’t see what is happening onstage but we can certainly hear the proceedings.

  “And look at this lovely twenty-six-year-old redhead. Her name is Annalise and she’s . . . where are you from again, Missy? Montpellier, France. An extremely exotic French miss. And would you be able to serve as a French maid? She says ‘yes’, ladies and gentlemen! Think of all the macarons she will serve you with those pretty tits bared and those luscious red nipples covered with a whisk of whipped cream.”

  Oh yeah, I can let my imagination run wild on that.

  “Let’s start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars.”

  I gasp. They are starting the bids that high?

  “Fifty thousand dollars. Do I hear sixty thousand dollars? Yes, that gentleman over there in the white dinner jacket.”

  I strain to remember who the gentleman in the white dinner jacket is. I think he’s one of the Fortune 500 CEOs.

  “Do I hear eighty thousand? Eighty thousand from the lady in the second row.”

  OK. No clue who that is. She can be a spouse to one of the billionaires. I have no orientation to guide me now.

  “A hundred thousand! Do I hear a hundred and fifty thousand?”

  What if no one bids for me? My stomach begins to roil at the unpleasant thought of being humiliated onstage. After all, my patron from last night has already sampled me. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m worth it.

  Would Russell put in a pity bid for me?

  “Two hundred thousand! Do I hear two hundred and fifty thousand for this delectable French filly? Look at this ass, ladies and gentlemen. She’s a petite European Size 6 if I have ever seen one. Two hundred thousand from the lady in the black and red dress!”

  Breathe, I tell myself. Be calm. Focus on Max’s beautiful face.

  “Do I hear three hundred thousand? Come on, three hundred thousand for this beautiful French lass. How many languages do you speak, cheri?”

  A soft “three” comes out.

  “She speaks three languages!”

  So she speaks three languages. My mind whirls. How can I compete with that?

  “So do I hear three hundred thousand for this lass who will charm you with three different tongues? No?”

  The grooms move to the men in the lines. They begin to stroke and pump their cocks for maximal leverage. Max’s cock rises at a bat with his groom’s ministrations. His cheeks flush furiously.

  “Three hundred thousand! Do I hear four hundred thousand? Remember, all this goes to charity, ladies and gentlemen. Everything is for a good cause.”

  My groom comes up to me. He has a bucket of ice.

  “Three hundred thousand. Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the Panama hat!”

  Three hundred thousand. OK, I think I’m going woozy.

  My groom takes a chip of ice in one hand and starts to massage my nipples with it.

  “To make them stand up,” he says.

  My hairs are all standing up, if that’s the effect he’s seeking.

  Once he has achieved the maximal amount of erection with my nipples, he says in a conspiratorial tone. “I haven’t forgotten your offer.”

  Oh yes. I color. I wonder if I can get out of it.

  He says, “I’m not going to be able to touch you after this, so you’re going to do it now.”

  Now?

  I say desperately, “But I’m supposed to be preparing for the auction.”

  “You’re not going on until a certain time.”

  He drags me away by the arm as Max and Greg look on
in concern. But there’s nothing they can do, of course. My groom posits me in a dark alcove that is bordered by curtains on either side.

  “Kneel,” he commands as he lifts his Roman tunic. He is wearing nothing underneath, in keeping with the ancient Roman tradition.

  I get down on my knees. His cock is ready and diamond hard, and he shoves it into my mouth before I can open it fully. I gag as he thrusts it down my throat. I try to push him away, but he grabs my hair.

  “Suck it.”

  The auction winds on. As I lick, suck and let him fellate my mouth and throat – well, as deep as he can possibly go without choking me, I keep tally of the final bids.

  Four hundred and fifty thousand for a guy with sandy hair and huge testicles. I think he’s from Laguna Beach or something – some rich kid slumming as a slave.

  “Now lick my head,” my groom says, withdrawing his shaft to let the tip of my tongue roam all over it.

  I taste his head. He has pre-cum dripping from his eyelet, and I lick it off and swallow it, just as he wants me to. Out there, someone pays two hundred thousand for the thin guy with a tight ass – his name is Steve something. Five hundred thousand (half a million dollars!) for the girl with the huge tits . . . and I mean watermelon huge. At the Display, the guests were bouncing her tits up and down as though they were water balloons.

  Do these people have money to burn?

  (Oh yeah, that’s right. They do.)

  My groom slides his schlong in and out of my mouth with increasing persistence.

  “I’m going to come into your mouth,” he says, breathing heavily. “And I want you to swallow every drop of it. Understood?”

  I nod, shaking his cock with my jaw.

  “Faster,” he pants, fucking my mouth with accelerated vigor.

  I constrict my buccal muscles to help him along. After a few more forceful strokes, he comes with a groan, shooting his seed deep into the back of my throat. I swallow his semen as soon as it splatters my pharynx. The cum is thick, hot and sour, and I lap at it as though it’s sustenance itself.

  Don’t get me wrong. I hate this guy. But I need to finish him off so that I can get back to the auction. I need to know what is to become of Max and Greg.

  He wipes my mouth as he tucks his now flaccid cock back in.

  “OK, baby, you’ve earned it. Now let’s get you back.”

  With the taste of his semen still swirling in my mouth, I hasten back to the side of the stage in time to see Alice being shepherded in.

  “Why am I up so early?” she demands, her nipples all puckered by the ice and standing invitingly. “I should be last.”

  “Change of sequencing,” her groom snaps.

  Good for him. He’s taking no flak from Ms. Uptight and Prissy Ass.

  Alice goes onstage, led by her groom, to raucous applause and cheers. Seems like a lot of folks are looking forward to her entrance. I inwardly grimace.

  I catch snippets of her introduction.

  “ . . . Stanford graduate . . . ”

  “ . . . class valedictorian . . . ”

  Oh, so she was a valedictorian. Big deal. Education is so overrated.

  “ . . . crowned prom queen . . . ”

  “ . . . represented the state at the Grand Nationals for swimming . . . ”

  Really, her resume is getting longer than my face. Why don’t they insert the bit where she seduced her under-aged younger brother against his will (OK, that was wishful thinking, it wasn’t exactly against his will, but I’ll bet she started it) and permanently damaged him?

  “How much do I hear for this beautiful, voluptuous goddess, whom I daresay is Venus incarnate?”

  Oh, so she’s Venus incarnate, is she now? I’m willing to bet Venus was never this bratty, even if she was a handful. Or maybe it’s because she never went through adolescence, having stepped out of a seashell in full adult bloom, or something.

  Even I am not prepared for the bid that comes in.

  “One million dollars.”

  Our collective jaws drop.

  One million dollars? I could have sworn that was Russell’s voice.

  The ringmaster affirms it. “One million dollars from our organizer up front. Do I hear one million one hundred thousand?”

  Dead silence. One million dollars must be considered a big deal at an auction like this. Unless . . . . no one else is willing to pay that much for Alice.

  My inner nymph lights up with glee.

  Anyway, it is just as I suspected. Russell would never let his precious favorite offspring go to anyone else. He put her into this to teach her a lesson, but ultimately, his bizarre love for her bears out.

  “One million dollars going once, going, twice . . . sold to the gentleman up front!”

  Cheers and applause. Russell’s gesture is not lost on the audience. I wonder what the near future bodes for Max. He’s looking apprehensive. Very fetching, no doubt, with his blond curls and glistening blond pubic hair. But apprehensive. I can only imagine what is going on inside his head. Is he wondering the same thing I’m wondering? Will his parents bid for him or send him to the dogs?

  It seems that his entire answer to their love and affection lies in that one upcoming bid. My poor darling Max.

  My groom hauls my arm. “You’re up next.”

  I am? Wait, I’m not ready. Why am I going up so soon after Alice when the memory of her large bid is still fresh in everyone’s minds? How am I going to compete with that?

  I stumble onto the stage. The air-conditioning is immediately chilly and the spotlight is harsh on my face and body. Here I am – a naked piece of meat for everyone’s evaluation.

  The ringmaster announces, “Here we have Ms. Gina Wesley. Nineteen years old and every inch as beautiful as she is innocent. For she is an innocent, folks. Her body may be ravaged by every sin known to man . . . and woman . . . ”

  Mild laughter. I can hardly see the audience, but they are a lot more voluminous than before. Three times more voluminous. All the spouses, relatives and grand-cousins of the billionaires are out there. The light is warm upon my breasts, which are pert and pointy and cherry red, thanks to the ice.

  My heartbeat is so thunderous in my ears that I actually have difficulty hearing what the ringmaster says next.

  “ . . . but she is still an innocent in spirit. This is an exact quote from her current master: ‘She believes the best in people and has no idea how ruthless they are and how much they wish to harm her’.”

  Dread runs down my spine.

  Is that true about me? That I’m really an innocent in mind and spirit?

  “That surely has to be irresistible, folks.” The ringmaster turns and strides towards me. He wears a laurel on his scalp in keeping with the Roman theme. His red cloak swirls behind him.

  He grabs my right breast and squeezes it. I gasp.

  “Beautiful tits, as you can see.”

  He pinches my buttock and whispers, “Part your legs.”

  I obey. I’m scanning the crowd. I can make out Russell and his wife up front, looking amused. I’m pretty sure they are going to offer me up to the dogs.

  The ringmaster splays my pussy lips between my parted legs and offers up my reddened and glistening clit for all to see.

  “Her pussy’s still tight. She’s only nineteen, after all, which goes for something.”

  Laughter.

  He flickers a careless finger down my clit and I shudder at the ecstasy.

  “Turn around,” he whispers.

  I show the audience my buttocks and my shackled wrists. The ringmaster grabs my left buttock and plumps it.

  “Luscious white flesh, ripe for spanking. She is a lovely submissive who will do anything you command, ladies and gentlemen. Take it from her owner.”

  Murmurs ripple through the audience.

  “Do I hear a hundred thousand for her as a starting bid?”

  A hundred thousand. I’m relieved. It’s not a bad starting bid at all.

  He turns me around ag
ain. With the spotlight in my eyes, I am dazzled. I’m aware of how I must appear. Not poised like Alice, but a frightened doe caught in someone’s headlights.

  “Five hundred thousand,” says a deep voice that booms throughout the hall.

  Unrest and turned heads. Everyone is looking towards . . . oh my God, it’s the dictator.

  6

  I can faintly make out the dictator’s black moustache and his strong beardless chin. He wears his military epaulets on a dark green uniform with more badges than I can care to count. He looks every inch the ruthless fascist military leader that he is.

  My knees go weak.

  Oh my God. I’ve heard that he is tremendously cruel. I’m talking about pogroms and the annihilation of entire communities who opposed him. I’m talking about wars with neighboring countries and blind brutal ambition.

  I’m quaking everywhere and it’s everything I can do to hold back my pee.

  “Six hundred thousand,” says the man from the cover of TIME.

  Oh lordy, I think I just found my patron from last night. I’m convinced it’s him. Yes, I am. He’s going to be my knight in shining armor! Every ounce of me starts to root for him. I fix pleading eyes on him. If you are looking at me, please save me.

  “Seven hundred thousand,” says the dictator.

  No!

  I cannot go this man who has slain thousands of people. I simply cannot! If I do, I think I will . . . go throw myself into the lake.

  I want out of my contract! This instance! I don’t care how much money I’m forfeiting!

  “Eight hundred thousand,” Russell Devlin says mildly.

  I’m shocked. Russell is bidding for me?

  His wife leans over to whisper something to him. What is she saying? Don’t waste your money on her?

  “One million dollars,” says the dictator.

  The audience audibly gasps.

  I don’t believe it. I’ve matched Alice’s bid! Why does the dictator want me so badly? Dread churns acidic in my guts. There’s no way Russell is going to match that now. I can see the psychology of it. Alice would never forgive him if he paid more for me than her.

  “One million two hundred dollars,” says the TIME man.