To distract myself, I look around at the other slaves waiting by the side of the stage, and we all smile our hellos to each other. Tonight there are three women, including me, and three guys up for auction. While Leroy announces the auction, explaining the rules and talking about the charity angle, the clipboard girl chains us all together at the ankle and wrist with heavy iron handcuffs that weigh my arms down by my sides and bite into the flesh of my leg—my first taste of pain this evening. Just the knowledge that it’s too late to back out now is thrilling. The six of us are led up onto the stage to cheers and whoops from the audience. I am last in the chain. I exchange a glance with my fellow slaves; like me, they’re all glassy-eyed and breathing hard, nervous yet exhilarated at the same time, each of us hoping to be chosen by a strict, disciplined master.
Leroy casts an admiring glance at us before beginning his auctioneer patter. He starts at the opposite end of the chain. It looks like I’ll be up last. That’s fine by me; I love standing here, pussy throbbing, nipples on display for all to see. The longer I stand here, the more excited I’ll be when I’m finally released. And it gives whoever buys me time to think up lots of new and exciting things to do with me.
“Lot one is André,” says Leroy, describing a well-built guy in his late thirties. “A real bear of a man, but he loves nothing more than being dominated by a skinny guy.”
He doesn’t get any further into his pitch when two guys start a bidding war. One of the guys bidding has one hand on his dick and the other in the air, forcing the price higher and higher. The other one, not to be outdone, is holding up a riding crop, tilting its tip ever so slightly whenever he wants to indicate a higher bid. After a few minutes, the two men talk to each other in low, urgent voices. Riding-crop guy takes to the stage and whispers something in Leroy’s ear. Leroy nods and then announces that the two guys are going to pool their resources and share André for the evening. At the knowledge that he’s going to have two cruel masters, not just one, André’s face breaks into a smile, and his dick begins to bulge beneath his leather pants. They raise $12,000 for the charity, and everyone’s cheers raise the roof of this little club. Clipboard girl releases André from his shackles, and this big, burly man immediately bows his head in meek submission. He avoids eye contact with his masters as one of them puts a dog collar around his neck and leads him to a dark corner. The last thing I see is André’s generous flesh wobbling as a riding crop is brought down sharply on his buttocks. The sound of leather slapping skin and André’s deep growl of pleasure are too much for some people to resist, and a few members of the crowd who don’t want to miss out wander away from the auction to look. For the first time I begin to panic. What if I’m left up here, and everyone has gone away to watch the successful slaves? And another, more terrible thought: What if no one wants me? I am so psyched up for being someone’s slave tonight. If it doesn’t happen, what will I do with all this wild sexual energy that’s pulsing through my body, making me feel more alive than I ever have before, turning my pussy into a hot, pulsing wetness that craves stimulation? What will I do if it doesn’t happen?
Actually, I needn’t have worried. The rest of the auction passes in a blur, as one by one all the slaves are snapped up. I’m disappointed when a tall, blond guy I liked the look of picks another girl, because I wouldn’t have minded being his slave. Behind his cold blue eyes there was a Germanic hardness that I wanted to experience. The other girl squeals with delight when a curvy young woman in a red catsuit slashed at the crotch pays $8,000 to buy her. I’m not disappointed. I like to be dominated by women—some of the best sex I’ve ever had has been with powerful mistresses who knew just how to bite a nipple and torture a clit—but tonight I want to play with a man. I want to feel overpowered by the size and bulk of a fit male body. I want the contrast of his hairy roughness and the smooth vulnerability of my own skin. And most of all, tonight I’m in the mood for cock, a rock-hard fat cock that fucks me ruthlessly. While I’m losing myself in the fantasy of the perfect master with his perfect dick, rich-looking, glamorous women in their forties spend more thousands on the remaining two guys.
And then it’s my turn. I quiver with excitement and spread my legs, showing any potential buyers what an eager little slut I am, sticking my nipples out. The more I tease and tantalize the audience, the more wanton my behavior now, the crueler my punishment will be.
“Our final lot, an exquisite white slave,” announces Leroy, pacing the stage as he assesses my selling points. “Tight little tits that are already bound, shoes that mean she can’t run away—this one’s going to be a great little plaything for someone. And look at her,” he continues, flicking an exposed nipple and watching my cheeks flush a deep red with pleasure. “She’s ready for it. She can take whatever you throw at her. She wants it.” The sound of his rich, mellifluous voice combined with the electric shock of his finger on my nipple brings me sharply back into the moment. The first drop of juice escapes from between my pussy lips. “So,” asks Leroy. “Who’s going to give me $100 to take this horny little bitch off my hands?”
The bids begin at $100 and immediately climb to $2,000, then $3,000. Because of the spotlight trained on me and shining right into my eyes—and feeling deliciously warm on my trembling tits—I can’t see every person who’s bidding. I quite like the look of a silver haired man in the front row. He looks like he might be the kind of person I trade with at the bank, and people with that kind of money are always the most deviant fuckers out there. I should know. I’m one of them. A pretty, mild-looking girl who can’t be more than about twenty shakes her head sadly when my price tag rises above $6,000. Despite my desire for cock, I’d quite liked the look of her. The quiet ones are always the strictest mistresses. I love being objectified like this, I love the fact that I am property. I, who hire and fire and have all the power and money my profession affords me, am suddenly helpless. Leroy is also taking bids from someone else I can’t see, so I don’t know if the bidder is male or female, young or old. I part my legs farther, my micro-miniskirt showing just a hint of glistening pussy, and my price tag doubles to $13,000, the highest price of the evening so far.
“Do I hear $14,000?” asks Leroy to the mystery bidder lurking in the audience. “Lot six, going for $14,000. At $14,000, lot six. Going, going, gone.” He bangs his gavel down on the podium with such force that it sounds like the crack of a whip. I stare as hard as I can into the blackness, straining my eyes until they water, eager to meet my master or mistress, but no one is forthcoming. I look to Leroy.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, addressing the spectators. “I’m afraid I’ve bent the rules a little, but this is for our favorite charity and I hope that you will forgive me. I was the mystery bidder. I’m afraid I couldn’t resist a few hours bossing this little slut around. Any objections?”
It’s a good-natured crowd, and perhaps because of the charity angle no one has a problem with Leroy’s blatant abuse of power. As people drift around the club to watch the new slaves and masters get acquainted, I’m left onstage with Leroy, and the knowledge that he’s just paid fourteen grand to own my body. The closer he gets, the bigger and stronger he seems. I avert my eyes. I know the rules: I can’t speak until he talks to me. I’m so keen to submit to his will that my whole body has turned to a hot liquid. I’m his. He owns me for the next four hours. What will he do to me? The thrill of knowing I have no control over what happens to me for the rest of the night is the purest exhilaration I have ever felt.
Now that it’s just the two of us, Leroy’s normally soft voice has acquired a hard edge. He pulls me over to him by the chains that bind my wrists and ankles, and snarls into my ear. “Okay, this is how it is,” he says. “I own you now. So I control your pleasure. I can do whatever I want to you, but you are not allowed to take any gratification from my acts or to come until I give my permission. You may not deny any request of mine. And you may not speak unless I say so or ask a direct question. Is that clear?”
I bite my lip and nod, trying to control my breathing. The good thing about my eyes being downcast is that I can focus on Leroy’s crotch. I wonder if it’s as lean and mean as the rest of him. What will he do with it? Where will he fuck me? My mouth? My ass? My pussy? All three are crying out for a harsh pounding from a merciless cock.
“Good,” he says as I nod. “Because I’ve paid good money for you. I hope you won’t disappoint me.”
“No, Master,” I say, and then gasp sharply as he delivers a slap to one of my tits. I watch as pink fingerprints appear on the tender pale flesh around my nipples. As the rush of his touch subsides, the other nipple begins to engorge and darken, eager to receive a similar punishment, but he will not satisfy my longing.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” he snarls. I shake my head, and he marches me over to a corner of the room where there is a three-walled cage with various hooks and chains hanging from its bars. Leroy tugs the chains that still hang from the handcuffs on my ankles and wrists and attaches them to four little hooks so that I’m splayed like a starfish. My legs are as far apart as they can possibly go, and it’s uncomfortable from the moment I assume the position. I wonder how much more discomfort I can take. My arms are yanked half out of their sockets, causing my breasts to rise so that my nipples are tightly constricted. They now bulge out through the holes in my bra. My skirt rides up around my waist so that my pussy is out there for the world to see.
“Are you comfortable?” asks Leroy, his face deadly serious. I’ve been here before. Trick questions. Say no, that’s what they want to hear, and they’ll neglect me for the rest of the night, deny me the more extreme pleasure I crave. Say yes, and he’ll get vicious, crank it up to a level that’s beyond even my depraved desires. Ah, what the fuck. I can handle it. Bring it on.
“That’s very comfortable, master,” I say, and as I do, I wince as he pulls the chains tighter so that I’m totally suspended now. The most intimate, vulnerable areas of my body—my inner thighs, my underarms, the underside of my breasts, oh, and my pussy—are all exposed, utterly vulnerable, his to pleasure or abuse, whichever he chooses. I close my eyes and wait for the first stroke of the whip, the slap of the paddle, not knowing which instrument of torture Leroy’s going to use on me first, but my whole body is alive and trembling in anticipation.
What happens instead totally unnerves me. First of all I feel warm sweet breath on my face and then a pair of soft lips is on mine. This gentle, respectful kiss shocks and thrills me more than a thousand lashes of the whip. Leroy holds still for a while and then probes my lips with his tongue, trails it across my teeth, explores the inside of my mouth while my mind races. I’m not used to this, and his soft touch is really disarming me. Then he turns his attention to my nipples, which are puffy. I yearn for his touch, his teeth on my tits, a harsh pinch, perhaps. As Leroy’s head bends to my breasts I notice them stiffen and harden in anticipation of his touch. When he does take them one-by-one in his mouth, his touch is as tender and sensitive as any I’ve known. I feel the warmth of his lips transfer itself to my pussy, which starts to pound and throb. This slow, exquisite torture is more intense than any whip or chains. Then he’s back up at my mouth, kissing me, harder this time, and it’s like he’s got a link directly to my clit. He takes my lower lip in his mouth and sucks gently at first, then more forcefully. As he becomes more aggressive and greedy, I’m finally receiving stimulation that I understand and love. This is the masterful behavior I was expecting, that I was psyched up for. As he takes my lip between his teeth and bites down hard, I arch my back, my whole body suddenly suffused with a burning fire that only some heavy fucking will quench. For the first time, I verbalize the desperate need that my body is sending to my mind but that I won’t be allowed to cry out: “I need to come. I need to come. I need to come.”
Leroy pulls away from me, and when he does, I see a spot of blood on his lower lip. I suck my own lip and realize it’s mine; he’s broken the skin. A crowd is gathering now, and I love the fact that they can all see how I’ve been marked by my master, branded as his property with a tiny cut on my lip and a red smear on my chin. He reaches into a bag at the foot of the cage and produces a tiny chrome rod that looks like a mascara wand. When he clicks a switch and the sleek little bar begins to buzz and hum, I know that it’s not makeup he’s got in mind. Standing at arm’s length, I find his very distance from me a form of torture in itself. Doesn’t he know that my body is his to use and abuse? Doesn’t he know how my flesh craves to be pressed up against his?—Leroy traces the vibe across my splayed body, tickling me under the arms and behind the knees. To giggle is totally forbidden, and I have to strain every nerve in my body and bite down into my own shoulder to suppress the uncontrollable squeals that build up inside me. As I buck and writhe, I’m so wildly turned on that I can’t obey my body’s most basic instincts.
Then, with a firmer touch, he holds the vibe to my nipples, which tingle and throb until the extreme sensation is almost unbearable. That’s when he points the silver stick between my legs, almost-but-not-quite touching my pussy lips. I’m mortified to see that a droplet of juice spills from my naked, swollen pussy and lands on the floor, where it sits like a tiny pearl. For me to take pleasure from Leroy’s abuse is forbidden. Will he notice? Of course he does. Nothing escapes this master’s attention.
“Are you aroused?” he says, accusingly. “I don’t remember giving you permission to get turned on.” I shake my head, knowing that my body has betrayed me and that it’s too late. He pushes the toy against my pussy lips. From my restrained position I can’t see my sex, but
I’m sure my pleasure must be obvious in my throbbing, pulsating pussy for all to see. Then he puts it on my clitoris. As the tension builds in my sensitive little bud, my arms and legs begin to ache, and my whole body yearns for release.