Savannah's Chance

by D. A. Maddox

  “Position, bitches,” Malcolm said.

  The women sat up on their feet, legs spread, hands palm-outward on their knees.

  They were all clean-shaven down there, and so different. There was a brown-haired sub whose vagina looked like nothing more than a neat crease of flesh, and an Asian woman next to her that bloomed like pink flower petals …

  Malcolm stopped in front of the men whose cocks were only half hard.

  “Get ’em up, gents. Now. I’ll wait.”

  Immediately, they went to work, the one on the right blushing furiously, the one on the left with his eyes closed.

  “These two were only welcomed in this fall,” Malcolm explained for the benefit of the newcomers. “They’re learning. They’re coming along.”

  Holy shit, Savannah thought—or had she breathed that aloud?—as both men pumped their organs to full attention, one of them using his free hand to tickle himself under his balls as he did it.

  “That’s good, that’s right,” Malcolm said approvingly, giving his own safely-concealed package a soft squeeze. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good show. Don’t forget to stop before you squirt.”

  Standing at her shoulder now, Melody took Savannah’s hand and held it tight. Her mouth was half-open, her eyes streaming. And Savannah, kind-hearted as she liked to think of herself, could not fathom why. It wasn’t like this was happening to her, or to a family member or friend … or…

  “What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice safely low.

  “I—I don’t know … It’s just … so dirty. So…”

  Her voice trailed off, her breaths coming faster, her lips parting.

  Exactly, Savannah thought, still dizzy with her own heat. But she said, “Yeah.”

  It wasn’t the first batch of male genitalia she’d ever laid eyes on, strictly speaking. Her studies had given her access to all kinds of images from ancient times: drawn, sketched, painted, sculpted, even photographs and film from only a few generations past. She knew what a dick looked like. She’d just never had seven of them unleashed in front of her in a live performance before—and for Melody, this was all probably completely new.

  Scott sidled up to her right, and Savannah made her bravest attempt at a smile.

  Scott kissed the top of her head, hand on the back of her hair.

  Well, Mom, you always wanted me to try new things, Savannah thought, hand over her heart. Guess tonight counts as one of my overachieving moments, huh?

  “So,” Malcolm said, hands on his hips, standing centered in front of the line, facing away from them. “The stock is ready to play, and to be played with. But there’s a problem.”

  A hush settled over the back lawn of the Student Union building.

  “Every semester, people graduate. Or drop out. Or transfer or get expelled or arrested or struck by meteors, whatever. As you can see, the subs are sorely outnumbered here, sorely outnumbered. This last semester we lost six happy and willing fuck toys to the world of full and free non-transitional adulthood. It was a grievous blow. But even when the scales are balanced as equally as fate can make them, still, there are always more players than there are toys. I understand why this is—being a fuck toy is a very special calling, requiring a special kind of individual. Doesn’t make it any easier when some players are more selfish than others.”

  Here he thumbed back over his shoulder to Veronica. She was still sitting on her man couch, one hand at work between his parted knees, one bare foot being toe-jobbed by the other man’s tongue. With her hand that wasn’t busy rooting her man couch in the ass, she waved.

  “That’s why it always starts like this,” Malcolm went on, “with our new pigs paying their fair dues as a one-time-only initiation into this most hallowed of university student opportunities we refer to as The Select. Some of you—not all, I hope—will be relieved to know that your service at the Origins Fete is traditionally much lighter than what we expect of our fully committed submissives. But you will serve, or face punishment. We summoned you, but you chose to stay. Remember that.”

  Scott leaned into Savannah’s ear. He whispered, “This is going to suck, I think.”

  She whispered back, “Are you being funny?”

  “Jesus. Shit. Sorry.”

  Malcolm took five pronounced steps in their direction, and for a nearly unendurable three seconds, Savannah was sure he’d overheard. Maybe he even had, and he was using his increased proximity as a warning—but, for now, he continued with the indoctrination.

  “All that being said, each of you will submit your name to our special lottery. We draw two winners, one male, one female. Those two unfortunate assholes, and only them, will receive an experience in humiliation, submission, pain, and pleasure they will never forget. And that, piggies, is how we keep the balance at our little parties.”

  He turned, made as though to walk away.

  The pigs regarded each other as the cheers and catcalls fell down on them again from the balcony and as the Doms with the water hoses withdrew from the mud pit. Savannah, still clutching at her pendant, did a bit of mental math: thirty initiates, split pretty evenly between female and male, and two winners, all amounted to a less than seven percent chance of it being her—but twice that amount that it could be either her or Scott.

  This is a nightmare, she thought, surveying the kneeling men with their tent spike organs and the women on the soles of their feet with their legs at full spread. Rusty was behind one of the subs—the very one he’d led out on a leash just a few minutes ago. He’d been listening from that position the whole time, maybe, with his arm snaked around her waist, his middle finger teasing her clitoris. Her face and her chest were splotchy with red. She heaved in breath, heaved it back out; she was visibly dripping … but her arms never moved, and her hands stayed dutifully on her knees, turned palms-up, fingers twitching. He nibbled on her neck.

  The redheaded Domme, Ginger, moved in front of one of the former half-boners, raising her black skirt up from the front. The tentative young sub lifted trembling hands to her waist, to her panties, looking up between her legs with an expression of absolute supplication and servitude.

  Then, Malcolm stopped. “Almost forgot!” he said, his voice jovial and booming once more. He came back to his former position, centered in front of the sub line. He wagged a finger at the men and women who’d already started playing. They desisted at once. Ginger looked decidedly disgruntled.

  “What now?” Melody fairly moaned, her small voice dangerously only half-stifled in her panic. But if anyone other than Savannah heard her, no one said anything about it.

  “There is one way to exempt yourself from the lottery, if you feel so inclined. Taking advantage of this special clause in our unspoken but binding contract will also fast-track you to full Select membership tonight. Do I have your attention?”

  Scott was staring at his feet, unimpressed, and Savannah could understand why. Unless she was wrong, he didn’t want permanent membership in this group any more than she did. One night of this, Savannah felt, would be all she could stand, if she could stand that much. And so, no, whatever clause this was held no interest for her.

  “Present yourself in front of me right now, on your knees, as a willing submissive, and tonight you will enjoy the full benefits and torments of that role without ever having to stand in the Pen, without ever needing to hope you win the lottery.”

  Again, an absolute hush fell.

  Is he joking? Savannah thought, silly as the thought was. Of course, he wasn’t joking. But that was … well, it was simply awful, almost evil. By doing this, he’d call out everyone who wanted to be a sub, and the only people left in the lottery would be those who didn’t want to be one—or … or those who weren’t sure, at any rate.

  Melody let go of Savannah’s hand.

  Savannah tried to take it again, but Melody wrenched free before she could fully grasp it.

  She moved forward: one step, two steps, three. Savannah might have actually lunged for her, tackled her, b
ut Scott took her by the shoulders and held her back. By then, Malcolm had already noted the girl, the freshman, the little locker room lamb who had no fucking idea what she was doing right now.

  As if you do, Savannah, her inner voice said to her. Let her go. It’s already over.

  “Come on, then,” Malcolm said, smiling reassurance. Waving her to him.

  With her head bowed, shaking all over, Melody came to him.

  “Closer,” Malcolm said.

  She stood right in front of him now. If her head had been upturned, she’d be staring at his chest.

  “What’s your name?”

  “P-Pig,” she said, sobbing.

  Laughter from the balcony.

  “Your real name, honey. If you do this, you’re a pig no longer. You’re a submissive. That’s a whole different thing.”

  “Melody,” she quietly said, still shivering but steadier in her voice.

  “Melody, are you sure?” he said, running his hand through her golden hair in long, slow strokes. “You have to be sure. You can still say no. You can go to the Pen, same as everyone else.”

  Almost inaudible: “Yes.”

  “Get down on your knees, Melody.”

  She dropped to them, arms hugging her chest, her body rocking in place.

  “In your own words, tell me what you are—and from the moment you rise up, you will be that thing, that precious identity you’ve always hidden in your mind and in your heart.”

  Melody, don’t, Savannah begged her from afar.

  But she did. Savannah couldn’t make out the words anymore, not from here. But she spoke for half a minute at least, and at the end, she was no longer weeping. Her trembling, too, had somewhat abated.

  Guarding his volume, Scott muttered, “My God, this is so fucked up.”

  Malcolm reached down, almost eye level with Melody, and took her hands. “Up,” he said. “Stand up. Come on, girl. You can do it.”

  With his help, she did.

  “Kiss my skull,” he said, pointing to the badge on his vest.

  She obeyed.

  From the balcony, clapping—no voices, just clapping. It was a welcoming sound, almost respectful.

  Melody dissolved into him, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him hard. Malcolm hugged her in return, running his hand over her back, soothing her, cooing kindness into her ear. Then, still holding her, he addressed the sub line behind him:

  “Nathan, Maxwell…”

  Two of the young, naked male subs sprang to their feet and came to him at once, one at either side, cocks bobbing.

  Malcolm eased her off of him, then. Holding her by the upper arms, he turned Melody to face the pigs and the balcony. Then he let go of her arms and gathered her hair into a fist. He didn’t pull it, didn’t hurt her, just … secured her there by holding it tight.

  He nodded to the subs. “Strip her.”

  Savannah gasped. Scott made no sound. It seemed, in the moment before it happened, the only sound was Melody’s breathing, and it filled the entire world.

  Melody blinked. Her mouth opened and closed several times but spoke no words.

  Nathan and Maxwell didn’t hesitate. With one at either shoulder strap, they sheared the purity robe from her like tissue paper. With his free hand, ignoring the double knot Melody had tied tight, Malcolm wrenched off her panties and tossed them, ruined, to the side.

  Nathan pulled her right hand from her breasts: big, pink nipples, the tips at maximum protrusion like pencil erasers. Maxwell eased her left hand from her sex: its blonde and furry thatch was the best and only cover she still had.

  The subs kept hold of either wrist. She couldn’t even lower her head from the shame, not with Malcolm’s hand gripping her hair. She could only stand in place, displayed, eyes wide as she took in all the people who were taking in her.

  Again, to the sub line: “Missy, Courtney…”

  They hustled over, naked and giggling.

  “Lift her. Spread her, face down.”

  Melody managed a squeal when they went for her ankles. Malcolm released her hair, and the girls did as they’d been told. Straight off the ground they lifted her. With the boys still holding her by the wrists and arms, she might have been lying on an invisible bed, face down.

  “Rotate,” Malcolm said, “let the boring-ass Neutrals on the balcony see that mint-condition freshman cunny of hers.”

  And just like that Savannah found herself staring right at the gaping pussy lips of the girl she’d tried to comfort in the locker room. Melody was making actual mewling sounds now, her legs bucking, her arms trying to draw in—all futile, all pointless. But at no time did she ask anyone to stop.

  The kids on the balcony were fairly losing their shit over all this. They jumped up and down, men and women both, drinking, celebrating, calling her name, staring.

  Until Malcolm blocked their view. He strode right into the small V space between her legs. “I’m going to make you come right now,” he said, massaging her shoulders, her back, working lower, lower. “Later, you’ll return the favor for me—and whoever.” He cupped her breasts and kneaded them, flicked her tightened nipple tips, ran his hands over her ribcage. “The one thing I won’t do—what no one will do, unless you ask for it, is fuck you. But if you do ask, and ask sweetly, I’ll fuck you like you won’t believe.”

  They were all watching Melody. No one was watching her, Savannah, nor Scott.

  And that thing under the front of Scott’s shirttail was no cucumber.

  Savannah took a step back, leading Scott with her, letting the others close ranks in front of them.

  “What?” he asked her.

  She could still see Malcolm from the back. His hands ran the length of Melody’s bucking legs.

  Savannah said, “I’m scared, Scott.”

  “Me, too,” Scott answered.

  Malcolm reached under the new sub. He massaged her between her legs. Savannah could only imagine it, but she was sure his long fingers were at work on her slit, her clit. “Oh, this freshman cunny is all wet. You poor, neglected thing. Do you want Master Malcolm to stop?”

  Savannah could only see the top of Melody’s head, but she could hear the young woman perfectly fine now.

  “N-n-no, Master … Please, don’t stop … My gosh, my gosh … Haaaa—aaa...”

  Savannah wanted to ask Scott to touch her, here and now, while they had the cover of this ungodly spectacle to shield them from retribution and punishment. She wanted to. She didn’t dare.

  “Oh, here she comes,” Malcolm said, working her over with even greater fervor. “Here she comes, here she comes.”

  Savannah could actually hear the wetness, the fingers working, squelching, over Melody’s seeping orgasm—until she screamed. After which she shuddered, a long tremor. And then Melody lay still, held by two men up front, two women from behind, and from the middle, Malcolm.

  “Are you a dirty girl, sub-Melody?” he asked, licking her come from his glistening fingers.

  She nodded, sobbing again.

  “Say, ‘I’m a dirty girl, Master’.”

  “I’m a … dirty girl, Master.”

  “Yes, you are—yes, you are,” Malcolm agreed. “Has Master been generous with his new sub today? Is Master’s sub happy?”

  “Y-yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

  “But,” Malcolm said, evacuating the place between her legs, ambling back around up front, “you’re such a dirty thing, Melody. On the inside. We’re going to purify you—but first, we need to show you how dirty you are by making you dirty on the outside.”

  The heavy breathing again. Fresh anticipation.

  “When they throw you in it, they do it nice and easy. Soon as they let you go, just cover your face with your hands and let yourself slide. You’ll be fine, Melody. Don’t be scared.”

  Malcolm, Savannah decided, wasn’t nearly so horrible as Veronica.

  There she still sat, Veronica, her man couch looking quite pained by this time, the man servicing her godda
mned toes clearly weary, but continuing.

  Veronica gave her a finger wave and a wink.

  Savannah took Scott’s hand. “This was a mistake,” she said.

  Scott didn’t answer until after Melody had been thrown, headfirst, into the pool of mud.

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  And as two Doms met Melody on the other end of the pool to rinse her down with the garden hoses, two more prospective subs—one male, one female—stepped forth from the gathered cluster of pigs, ready to volunteer themselves.

  Chapter Eleven:

  Tawse

  “Stand with your hands on your head,” she told her. “Come on, sub. Don’t be shy. Everyone’s already seen you naked.”

  Melody rose from the mud, sopping with filth, and put her shaking hands in her hair. Scott could only see her from behind, but the two Doms in charge of her cleansing studied her up and down—the male taking a knee to do it. Neither the man nor the woman had turned the water on yet.

  Scott made himself look away, only to discover Savannah openly staring, along with everyone else. He was so hard it hurt, like the outer skin of his cock was stretched to its limit, and he didn’t even know the girl at all. He felt so bad for her, so angry on her behalf, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a rising envy for the black-garbed man and woman who forced her to stand still, dripping in mud. Delighting in the sight of her befoulment and…

  Awakening?

  “Elbows out. Give us a full target. Put your feet apart.”

  Scott thought he understood the context of the word “Origins” now, as it pertained to this particular fete. Melody had become something new tonight, something Malcolm believed she had always secretly been. The Doms were making her feel it. She was drowning in it. She obeyed their every command.

  God help him, but the idea of guiding someone down that path, of being the escort—the Dom—to the sub’s journey, made Scott heady as hell.

  “Don’t panic,” the man said, still on a knee, pointing his phone up at her. “I’m the only one here with a camera. It’s in the rules. Can’t have any of this leaking out to the public, now, can we?”