Alice: Slave at the Marketplace

by Aphrodite Hunt

  I tell them, “Sorry, but the well is dry, boys.”

  They seem disappointed as they turn to race away.

  The whole thing is so bizarre and ridiculous that I start laughing. I keep on laughing in my prone position, unable to stop. I am sure the cameras hovering above me are capturing my little transgression, but Mistress Karen can poke me with her prod for all I care. I still can’t stop laughing.

  Finally, the bell rings with a clanging sound that reverberates throughout the entire tent and makes me want to clap my hands to my ears. The hunt is over. The contestants are told to return with their goodies to the podium for the egg count.

  As the count begins, Samuel comes to me.

  “Had a good time?” he asks me.

  “I could do with a bit more licking and sucking,” I reply, “but maybe you can indulge me tonight.”

  “Getting bold, are we now?” He wags his finger. “Don’t cross the line or I will be forced to tattle to Karen about you.”

  I make a face, which he catches and laughs. He gives me a hand to pull me up.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  “We wait for the count to finish, and then you are off to your next assignment.”

  “I have a next assignment?” I squeak. “I don’t get a break?”

  He relents. “OK, maybe just a little toilet break.”

  “But I’m starving.”

  It’s the truth. All those cakes and pastries are positively making my stomach growl. I hardly had any breakfast because I was trying to watch my weight. I had honestly thought that they would feed us at the market, but we are surrounded by all this food and I am scarcely getting a nibble!

  He looks furtively around him, spots the camera mounted on a structure near the top, and shields my body from it.

  “OK.” He takes out an Easter egg from the pocket of his dungarees. “I swiped one. You can have it.”

  I take the egg eagerly.

  “Peel it and eat it quickly,” he cautions, his expression seeming anxious.

  My hands fumble and almost drop the egg as I attempt to crack it. I must admit I am not very good at peeling hardboiled eggs. I usually have them cracked and peeled for me. And so I chip away at the eggshell. My nails are no longer long and French manicured.

  “Hurry,” Samuel says urgently.

  There are still flakes of eggshells sticking on the white egg which is revealed, but I pop the whole thing in my mouth and crunch it in two bites of my molars. I swallow the thing. The huge lump almost gets stuck in my throat and I burst into a fit of coughing.

  The loudspeaker blares again: “And now, for the final tally. With a grand total of fifty-eight eggs, the winner is Contestant Number 13!”

  “Damn.” I did kind of like my rugged Australian.

  “And the winner of the special egg is . . . Contestant Number 5!”

  I knew it! I knew the special egg was inside my pussy! I am virtually beaming with glee, which amuses Samuel.

  “Liked him, didn’t you?” he says.

  “He gave good head,” I reply affably.

  “And I don’t?”

  “To be honest, Samuel, I have never received head from you. You merely fucked me from behind.”

  “That’s true.”

  The MC is saying again: “And for Contestant number five’s special reward, you’ll get to fulfill your kinkiest fantasies with any of our ripe girls . . . or boys. How do you feel about that?”

  I can hear the Australian accent of my suitor saying: “Only one girl?”

  The MC laughs. “But of course, if you require more than one girl, we would be happy to accommodate.”

  “It’s all right. I only want one girl. I want the girl I found the special egg in. The sassy one.”

  My heart leaps. So he did take special notice of me.

  The MC oooohs coquettishly. “Got your eye on that one, haven’t you? So tell all of us here, what’s your special fantasy involving that sassy girl?”

  I strain my ears to listen. But all I can hear is the MC saying next: “Ah, Contestant Number 5 does not wish his kinkiest fantasies to be made public. However, he has already whispered it into my ear, and we certainly can fulfill that request.”

  Damn! I want to know what he has in mind for me.

  Samuel says, “I guess I’ll have to go find out what they’ve planned for you. You seem to be the lucky one. I’ll be back.”

  I grin at him, my mind full and my body ripe for all the kinky fantasies someone will want to do to me.

  5

  When Samuel comes back for me, he is still mum about what Number Five has in mind for me.

  “Come,” he says simply.

  Once again, he helps me don my red cloak.

  “Where am I going?” I demand. I’m feeling a lot bolder with Contestant No. 5 obviously having the hots for me.

  Samuel looks at me deadpan. “You know, just because I gave you an inch, you don’t have to take my whole leg. Just come with me.” His tone is sterner. It is as if he made an internal decision to play hardball with me.

  I wonder if I should immediately become contrite. Then I decide: no. I have been toeing the line for too long. It’s time to test the waters and see how far I will go.

  We exit the tent. Outside, the sun is shining brightly over the festivities. There are even more stalls open now, selling hot dogs, ice-cream (some in the shape of phalluses) and hamburgers. A kebab stall with roasting lamb on a huge vertical spit emits a wonderful aroma that makes my mouth water. The hardboiled egg I had was obviously not enough to satiate my hunger.

  Samuel observes me eyeing the kebab stall longingly. “You’re hungry.”

  I want to snap “Obviously!” But I decide to be polite.

  “Yes,” I say in a wistful tone.

  He grins. “OK, I’ll buy you a kebab. But only because you need the fuel to undergo what will come next.”

  Now he has got me simultaneously worried and piqued.

  “What will come next?” I ask again, my stomach growling.

  For answer, he merely flashes me a mysterious smile and forks over four pounds to the vendor at the kebab stall. Up close, the slowly turning meat is even more tempting. The radiating heat makes my skin flush.

  The vendor is Middle Eastern, and he looks me up and down. He probably knows that I am one of the ‘girls’ servicing the customers inside the tents. He hands me the piping hot meat wrapped up in a falafel.

  I take it eagerly and bite into it. I have never tasted anything so good in my life. The only thing about these English portions that I find wanting is that they are too small. Far smaller than anything I could get in America, and I’m left hungry most of the time.

  “Let’s walk while you eat,” Samuel says.

  I trudge after him as I take big bites from my lamb falafel. Along the way, I take in the sights. There is a large grassy area cordoned off by a white picket fence. The ‘horses’ inside are strapped to two-wheel buggies – two naked young men to one buggy.

  The ‘horses’ are naked with their tails stuffed into their asses in the usual manner. Their nipples are clamped with little bells and they wear their customary lariats around their necks. Their feet are shod with black boots. They eye me curiously as I pass.

  A sign outside the gate proclaims:

  BUGGY RIDE:

  Ten minutes – 50 pounds

  Twenty minutes – 100 pounds

  Add on whip – 100 pounds

  I remember my sojourn as a beast of burden during the billionaire parade and I shudder. I never want to pull a chariot in my entire life ever again.

  We come to a little bridge over a small brook and cross it. A sign says: ‘BE READY TO HAVE YOUR MIND BLOWN. EXHIBITIONISM PERMITTED.’

  The attractions on the other side are more risqué now, with more nudity in sight for the customers. The patrons are now going bare-breasted and bare-buttocked.

  A small field boasts both ‘horses’ and ‘rabbits’. Here, it’s a free for all. A sign s
ays: ‘FUCK WHAT YOU CAN CATCH FOR TWO HUNDRED POUNDS’. There is a customer line of about ten deep for this – with both men and women in various states of undress. In the field itself, naked patrons are in the midst of running after the squealing rabbits and thundering horses. Some have actually caught their prey and are in the middle of fucking them in various positions.

  To my right, a carousel parades the human ‘horses’. The young men are all strapped to several seats, which are in turn attached to poles which move up and down as they go on the roundabout. The men are all naked with their penises sticking into the air.

  A ‘ride’ constitutes impalement by these rigid cocks. Customers – both female and male – are attached to these cocks as they make their merry-go-round. Faces are contorted in the throes of passion as bodies squirm and limbs writhe around each other. The vertical movement only serves to enhance the ‘being fucked’ experience for the customers.

  I finish my falafel.

  “Still hungry?” Samuel asks.

  “Thirsty,” I say.

  “Then let me buy you a drink.”

  He stops at a lemonade stall. I hardly see those anymore, but then I guess I hardly go to small towns back home and I hardly mingle with children. The lemonade trickles down a little fountain shaped in the form of a woman’s white bust.

  The vendor grins at me lasciviously. “My, my. Aren’t you a tall cool drink of water? Maybe you can show me your tits?” he suggests.

  I stick out a tongue at him as Samuel pays for a tall cool class of lemonade. I feel like a kid again as I turn my back on the vendor and gulp all of it down my parched throat.

  “Let’s go,” Samuel says.

  Actually, I don’t mind staying around these grounds to take in more sights. I have never been to such a marketplace, for sure, and I wonder what it would be like as a paying customer instead of a slave.

  Further down is a large stall, like in a carnival, where a sign says: ‘100 pounds for 3 throws. Fuck what you can loop!’ Here, male and female slaves are placed strategically amid rubber tires and other objects. They are all in different positions – some crouching, some standing up and tied to stakes, others lying down.

  The men have one thing in common. All their dicks are sticking up into the air. Impressive erections, every one – further maintained by a cock ring at the bases of each penis. The girls all have rods stuck in either their vaginas or assholes. These rods are also vertically sticking up into the air or are at angles.

  Customers are lined up, waiting to throw colored hoops around these rods – either the fleshy ones or artificial. A big man at the middle of the barrier manages to loop one around a penis to the applause of people around him.

  We walk further.

  A large wooden wall comes up. Holes are cut into this wall at groin level, and at each hole, pussies and assholes are displayed. Naked men are all lined up, fucking one of the orifices displayed at these holes.

  As we walk on, I can see what is on the other side of this wall. The ‘rabbits’ are all crouched on a long bench which raises their asses to the level of the holes. Their asses are pressed to these holes, and their faces are contorted as the customers avidly fuck them from the other side of the wall.

  We finally come to a barricaded wooden enclosure. I can hear a bellowing from inside. It is the voice of an enraged human male. Additionally, there is the swell of voices – chattering, murmuring, whispering to one another.

  There are huge gates in the midst of this enclosure, but Samuel leads me in a circuit to the back.

  “Where are we going?” I wonder.

  “This is where you stop off,” Samuel says with a grin.

  6

  There is also a back gate, albeit a much smaller pair than the one in front. Samuel opens one half of the gates for me.

  “What are you waiting for?” He jerks his head.

  With trepidation, I enter through the wooden gates of the enclosure. The wooden walls surrounding this place are eight feet high and I can’t see beyond them, but in addition to the roar of the human male inside, I can hear a sea of voices murmuring and tittering among each other.

  “What’s in here?” I say anxiously.

  The bellowing continues. I recognize the voice from somewhere, but I can’t be sure.

  “An old friend of yours,” Samuel says.

  Inside, the gates open to a little boxlike room lighted by a single yellow bulb. The air here smells musty. The whole thing gives me the impression of the waiting room of a gladiator ring. Even the atmosphere glowers with anticipation.

  Samuel takes off my cloak. Underneath, I am naked.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I ask. My pulse is beginning to accelerate. I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  “You are going to fulfill your rugged Australian customer’s fantasies.”

  “And what exactly are those?”

  The little room appears to be barricaded from whatever is out there by a single flimsy door. A cry of pure rage pierces through the thin wood.

  OK. I know who it is out there now. I encountered him briefly – albeit from afar – when I first came to the farm. It is the blond giant called Fury – the one who is so filled with his namesake that I thought him more beast than man. I remember how he looked at me when I passed his pasture: as if he was marking me for his own.

  I shudder with barely repressed terror. I also remember the thrill of desire I felt for him and his long, extremely thick cock.

  But Fury is a rabid animal. What will he do to me? And how does this involve my Australian suitor? What kind of sex fantasy is this?

  Samuel opens the door.

  “My advice to you? When you get out there, run as much as you can before you are caught. Fury is extremely rough unless he is tired out. Good luck.”

  *

  Samuel pushes me out of the door before I can register what is happening. The bright sun shrinks my pupils after my brief sojourn in the dark waiting room. The space beyond is indeed an amphitheater, with stone benches for the spectators. I am reminded of the track I had to run chariot races on for the billionaires. Except then, there were only a handful of them.

  Here, the entire amphitheater is filled with customers, both men and women. Some are in various states of undress, like outside, so it really reminds me of an ancient Roman gladiator ring where nudity is common.

  At my appearance, everyone perks up.

  Fury is in the middle of the ring. The ring itself is filled with sawdust and bare, grassy ground. Fury is as I remembered him – well over six feet six inches tall, completely naked and as hung as a horse.

  He is magnificent.

  His face is red, as though he has been through strenuous activity. His chest is heaving in and out, and his muscles are oh-so-incredibly well-sculpted. Every ounce of him oozes masculinity and aggression. He would not be out of place in a combat movie involving ancient Greeks.

  As for his scrotum, it is pierced on either side with two brass rings. His monstrous penis is further made engorged by a brass cock ring which circles it at its base. The incredible cock rises like a flagpole from the nest of wiry pubic hair at his crotch. Like me, he is a natural blond.

  That cock now points at me like an accusing and menacing finger. Maybe it’s a beacon as to what will happen to me next.

  I still can’t put my finger on what makes him so angry all the time. Did they pump him full of hormones or steroids or something? Is he genetically altered?

  “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrhhh!” Fury screams at the crowd.

  I can’t help but cringe.

  I am the only one in the ring beside Fury. As soon as he spots me, his body tenses like a cougar’s. The audience takes note and sits up in expectation. Fury’s focus on me is intense, and I can feel his concentration radiating on me like a laser point of energy.

  I whimper despite myself.

  I turn to the door and try the handle desperately, but it is locked. I pivot back to Fury. My back is against the door. All my a
larm bells are ringing. What do I do? That I will be taken roughly in front of all these people is a given. But will I be able to handle the extremely brutal sex that will follow?

  Run, whispers my better voice.

  Fury’s feet are bare, but his legs bunch and he unleashes himself at me. As he dives straight for me like an arrow, I run. The audience cheers, as if I am a Christian sacrifice to be fed to the lion.

  To be honest, I don’t know where to run. The ring is a circle, and I can only run around it. Fury lets out a roar and runs after me, trying to block me off. But I feint and dart. My tits jiggle as I thump upon the ground. He chases me again. I am a good runner. When I was in high school, I was on the track team. I am lighter and more agile than Fury.

  But what he isn’t in the speed department, he makes up for in sheer power. His very erect cock probably encumbers his movements, just as my bouncing tits are an obstacle. My tits have started to fill up with milk again a while back, and they are heavy and weighted.

  On and on we run, the crowd cheering. So far, I have kept to the circumference, near to the audience, which is barricaded from the ring by a thin iron railing. He tries to cut me off several times by stopping and reversing, but I still elude his grasp.

  Tire him out, was Samuel’s advice.

  But he doesn’t seem to be tiring! In fact, it is me who is starting to tire because of everything I have been through this morning, and also because of the lack of food I have been getting. I just don’t have enough energy to keep this up.

  I don’t know how long we have been running, but the sun is beating very harshly down on top of my head, and my neck and the valley between my breasts are slick with sweat. The crowd is in the shade, and I catch sight of naked slaves walking down the aisles, selling hotdogs and crisps and beer, just as though we are at a baseball game.

  Finally, I stumble over an uneven patch of ground.

  I fall splat on my face even though I throw out my arms to block my fall. The impact judders my entire body and sends electricity shooting up my spine.