Shameful Thrills

This time she moved in and licked him tentatively, from root to crown. His flesh was hot and his glans was sticky. Her tongue slithered over the dome of flesh and she tasted his musk with something like dread. She thought she’d done enough to satisfy him – but without warning his fingers stung her cheek in a slap and then, as she gasped in shock, he took advantage of her parted lips to push her mouth down firmly over his bell-end.

‘A slave shouldn’t need to be told twice,’ he growled, angling his cock and her head so that he could plunge all the way to the back of her mouth. As he filled her throat, Antonia swallowed hard, desperate not to gag on his length. Grinding his hips, he bedded his meat firmly in her. He held her there a long time, almost until her air had run out, while the crowd voiced their appreciation. Then he pulled out slowly, revelling in the glistening trails of saliva and the rush of her breath and the heave of her breasts.

‘Well,’ he said, tucking his erection nonchalantly away and pulling her round to face the crowd once more. He stood behind and above her as she knelt there panting, his hand tight in her hair to ensure that her face was visible, his legs straddling her flanks, his sheathed cock rubbing up against the back of her head. ‘I think we’ve seen all that we need to. A nice little specimen. Let’s get this sale started. I’ll set the bids off at $50 – do I have any takers?’

At that price there were plenty of takers. The bidding went in a rush and the price spiralled. But by the time it got to $800 there were only three bidders left. Antonia, blinking, focused on those faces. Her fate depended on who won this contest, and fear made her chest tight. One bidding group was a trio of three young men, all egging each other on. One was a couple sitting astride a parked Harley, both in leathers. One was a lone man, a face she recognised, and her gaze met his in terror.

He’d watched her in the display pen. He’d had eyes for none of the other lots, as far as she remembered: he’d just watched her with that same scowl that he sported now. No matter how many other people had drifted back and forth, ogling the flesh on offer, laughing or admiring or sneering, he’d always been there in the background. She’d been kneeling, her wrists roped to a peg driven into the dirt, her thighs spread either side of it. She’d looked up from under her lashes and watched him sliding his blunt fingers slowly up and down the erection outlined by his leather pants. He wore cowboy boots and an open leather waistcoat that showed the sandy hair furred across his belly and chest. His jaw was square, his hair cropped, his expression as hard as the bulge of his cock. That expression, the uncompromising harshness of it, had made her heart run fast and weak. It was as if his face epitomised the brutal greed of the crowd and the hopelessness of her captivity. She’d looked at him and known there would be no mercy.

Not that her other prospective purchasers promised any more kindness. She focused on the couple on the bike. Both were middle-aged. Her hair was peroxide blonde, his in a grey ponytail that matched his beard. There was a chrome ring through his septum, as if he were a bull. He had a whip looped at his belt and she – leaning forward to whisper into his ear – carried a riding quirt stuffed down her capacious cleavage, behind her shiny PVC corset. Antonia could only imagine how they would take turns to use those whips on her tender flesh, and she quivered with fear. She could feel her sweat trickling down her ass crack into her pussy, as if in anticipation of the pain.

But then the biker couple dropped out of the bidding.

She switched her focus to the trio, though her hearing was becoming distorted and her eyes were blurring with tears. They looked sort of normal, though they were shirtless tonight. Regular enough guys apart from a slightly exaggerated muscularity: quite young, no obvious piercings. They shared the same tattoo on their right shoulders, and she guessed from its shape that it was a military crest and that they were army. Or ex-army. But three of them – would she be able to cope?

Would they take her one at a time, or would they get what they could all at once?

She couldn’t help picturing what that might entail and she shut her eyes as if that might block out her imaginings, only to see them painted in brighter colours in her mind’s eye. Her mouth was dry with tension and she ran her tongue round the inside of her lips, trying to gather some moisture.

Then suddenly the bidding was all over and she opened her eyes to see the three men shaking their heads in disgust and gesturing dismissively. She’d been so caught up in her own sensations that she’d actually missed what the winning bid was, but she could tell that the lone man in the leathers must have won. He was striding towards the stage now. The military trio jeered and that sentiment was taken up by the crowd, a rolling wave of amused disparagement.

‘Up,’ grunted the auctioneer, pulling her to her feet.

It was cash only, up front and no waiting around, at this sale. The man in leather handed over a wad of bills, and the moment he’d counted them the auctioneer pushed Antonia down the steps into the hands of her new keeper. ‘Congratulations,’ he said with a leer.

Close to, the pores of her purchaser’s leathers were highlighted with dust. He smelled sun-baked, with a dash of bourbon.

If she’d entertained any last hopes that he would be gentler than the auctioneer, they were rudely dashed then. He gripped her rope of copper hair and pulled her head back so that she was nearly tipped off balance. Her ass tightened painfully around the plug. Then he pushed her before him through the reluctantly parting audience so fast that she stumbled and caught her feet. He didn’t seem to care that she was bumping into people and her breasts were slapping against the arms and chests of grinning bystanders. He took her straight to the back of the crowd to where the cars were parked, and there planted his rear on the hood of a 1950s Ford. ‘Knees,’ he said, shoving her to the floor between his feet.

She couldn’t understand why he was being so rough or why he sounded so angry, when there was no resistance left in her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked up at him through the crazy shadows. From this angle he was only a black silhouette against a blazing compound light.

‘I noticed you seem to like the taste of a strange dick.’

That was so unfair. What choice had she had? ‘Please, you don’t have to …’

‘Shut up.’ He yanked down his zipper, his haste undisguised. His cock was big and ruddy and smooth-looking, and its slitted mouth was already weeping with eagerness.

Antonia took a deep breath and opened her mouth obediently to accept it.

‘No. Kiss it.’

She blinked.

‘Kiss it, you dirty slut. I paid a shitload of money to have you, and you belong to this dick from now on. It owns you. Whatever it wants, you give it. Whatever it likes doing, you like too. In fact you love it. So kiss the cock, fuck-slave.’

He angled his erection to her lips and she kissed it, mouth to mouth, tasting his pre-come with the tip of her tongue. A kiss seals a pact: it comes with a signature, it vows obedience. The softly pursed rose of her lips met his flesh in token of her submission.

‘Fuck yes,’ he murmured. Then he dragged her up by the hair and dropped her face-down on to the hood of his auto. Antonia caught a glimpse, in passing, of a silent semicircle of watchers: clearly some of the crowd had followed them back here to see how it would pan out. Her breasts squashed against the warm metal and her feet scrambled for solid purchase on the desert ground. A big rough hand cupped her sex to haul her rump up.

‘Spread them,’ he ordered, and slapped her upthrust ass hard, once on each cheek. Stiff-legged and with her arms trapped at her sides, she could only obey. She didn’t have time to even catch her breath before his cock seared into her sex, slippery in her juices but pressed tight against the mass of the plug in her other hole.

She cried out.

‘Good ’n’ tight,’ he grunted.

He started to thrust, settling into long smooth powerful strokes that made no allowance for the rubbery length already occupying her and constricting the space available. His hand on her hair did not let go – in fact it tightened, stretching her throat and forcing her back to arch. With every thrust, the wall of his belly prodded the butt-plug deeper into her, and she felt like she was being impaled from her ass all the way up her spine and out the top of her head. Her clit was grinding against the car’s hood ornament. She could feel herself falling apart.

‘What are you?’ he snarled in her ear, his spit spraying through his teeth with his effort.

‘Your slave!’ She could no longer see anything of the real world: light and dark flashed in her field of vision.

‘Yes – my slave – my hole – my piece of ass. Sold, bought, paid for. Mine. Now and for ever.’ The pounding was a terrible thing and she was disintegrating beneath it with every blow. ‘Now tell me how much you fucking love it!’

She broke out in a shriek, as he hammered her orgasm into her like it was a nine-inch nail. And as her last incoherent cries died away he pulled out, took a grip on the evil nub protruding from her ass and drew the butt-plug out from her clenching and dilating anus. She heard the wet sound it made as the seal with the lube broke. For a moment she was empty – emptier than she had been in her whole life, it felt like – and then he filled her all over again, driving his hot hard meat deep into her rear passage to shoot his load inside her.

Antonia was still in the grip of her orgasm and these new thrusts lifted her up and threw her over the top again into a second climax. As he pumped his seed into her, she felt her ass open like a desert rose under his bitter rain.

She was still sobbing with release when he laid his hand on her back and stroked down her spine, gentling her as he stooped and nuzzled his lips to her cheek.

‘Toni … You OK there?’

‘Yes. Jesus. Fucking yes.’ Her aftershocks ripped out of her as a peal of giggling hiccups. She knew she was making no sense. Her mind felt like a puddle sloshing wildly round inside her head. ‘Ray. That was … Oh, fuck!’

* * *

They were sitting contentedly together with a group of people watching a rather beautiful blonde get the words ‘cum-slut’ tattooed across her shaven mound, when the auctioneer found them.

‘Toni. Ray.’ He bumped knuckles with Ray’s lazily proffered fist, but his attention was on her. ‘Was that all right, Toni?’

‘It was amazing, Jonas,’ she said warmly, leaning into Ray and rubbing her cheek against his bare shoulder. ‘It was … intense! And you were great.’

His grin lit up his face. ‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Although,’ said Ray, ‘I don’t actually remember telling you it was OK to stick your dick in my wife’s mouth.’

Jonas shrugged. ‘Hey. Improvisation.’

Toni giggled. She’d been finding it hard not to for the last half-hour: she was still buzzing on the endorphins. ‘It worked for me.’

Ray brushed her cheek with his knuckles. ‘Hey, you were so into the zone …’

‘Damn right,’ said Jonas. ‘That was a fine show. You’re something special, Toni.’ He pulled out a sheaf of papers and held out one to Ray. ‘This is your receipt, by the way.’

‘Receipt?’

‘For your kind donation to the club’s annual fundraiser.’

‘Our pleasure.’