Sold!..To The Highest Bidder

by Reese Gabriel

  His cock seemed to be growing again. Pushing hard against me, he came to an abrupt halt. “I’m gonna shoot this load so far up your butt,” he promised. “Your eyes’ll be swimming in the stuff.”

  “Let’s throw a little monkey wrench in the works, shall we, Emerald? Kindly inform Mongo you’re Cartel property. Tell him if he ejaculates inside you, he’ll be pissing blood for the next month.”

  “Mongo,” I cried. “Don’t come, please. You have to stop. I—I’m—“

  “Say the words.”

  “I belong to the Cartel. You can’t ejaculate inside me, or my old man says you’ll be pissing blood for a month.”

  “The Cartel?!” The cock whipped out of me so fast I had to steady myself or fall into that foul-smelling pit. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you say that before? Christ, I’m a dead man!”

  He was falling all over himself to get collected and out the door.

  “But Mongo, the handcuffs!” I reminded him.

  “Take ‘em off yourself, you crazy, cock sucking bitch!”

  The door slammed shut behind him. Now what?

  “It appears you have a dilemma, Emerald.”

  “Rainier, please get me out of here!”

  “I’m a bit tied up. Or should I say, Kristine is a bit tied up. To my four-poster bed actually. I’d put her on the line, but I have her rather efficiently gagged. Have you ever seen a penis gag, Emerald? It’s a clever piece of hardware. Not only does it silence a girl, it improves her fellatio skills besides. Kristine loves hers; she’s to the point now where she comes and asks for it. Although, I still intend to employ it as punishment, to keep her from certain other oral activities.”

  “Rainier, aren’t you listening? Anyone could walk in,” I practically shrieked, “Don’t you realize they’d take one look at me and want to fuck?”

  “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  I swallowed hard. What was I here for? How had I sunk to this point? Whatever happened now, I probably deserved it. “Rainier,” I tried again, my tone more subdued, respectful. “Please, I need help.”

  “Two men will be in shortly. They will not speak to you. They will release you and take you home. You’ll be safe with them. They represent the Cartel; one of my subsidiary organizations.”

  I waited for the other shoe to drop. “Is that…it?”

  “Are you expecting more?”

  “I . . . no.”

  It was a lie. I’d expected to be told the men would be having sex with me. Truth be told, I was almost hoping for it. My arousal had passed the point of all control.

  “I am entering Kristine now. She’s quite a treasure, really. Eager, tight and wet.”

  I pictured the beautiful teenaged girl, spread eagled and naked, her mouth silenced by the cock-shaped gag, her eyes wide and expectant as her mentor—her master—cleaved her opening with his erection. Was Rainier a large man? As a lover, would he be gentle or forceful? I shuddered, imagining me in the girl’s place. For a split second, I felt a wave of jealousy. Why wasn’t it me tied in that bed, being ravished? Why was it always games between us, with Rainier fucking me only by proxy?

  The bathroom door swung open. I clenched my buttocks instinctively, utilizing my only defense. Hard soled shoes clicked on the tiles, two sets, just as Rainier had promised.

  “They’re here,” I whispered, my voice containing a silent plea for more information.

  “Excellent.”

  Well-manicured hands worked at the chains and locks. One of the men had some sort of tool with which he opened the handcuffs. The other was there to help me straighten up. His hands were large and firm and I felt safe in his arms. The embrace was short lived, however. Their main intention, it seemed, was to help me put on the long coat one of them had over his arm. It was elegant and clearly female, designed to cover my semi-nakedness.

  “Thank you,” I smiled looking into each set of eyes. They looked like policemen, with square jaws, short hair and blue suits. Neither looked much over twenty-five.

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  The faces remained expressionless. I was not a person to them, just a job.

  The one man pulled something from his pocket. It was a pair of latex gloves. One by one, he put them on, snapping each in place over his wrist. The other pulled a small kit from his pocket containing small metal tools and some sort of vial of what I thought might be antiseptic. After setting the kit down on the sink, he came behind me and pinioned my arms.

  The coat was still open which meant the gloved man had easy access to my female opening under the short dress.

  “Oh,” I exclaimed, squirming helplessly. “What are you doing?”

  The gloved man seized my pussy and began probing. I’ve no idea the purpose of this, though from his face I couldn’t imagine he was gaining any pleasure from the act. After a few moments manipulating me, I began responding. Leaning back against the other man, I felt my breath quicken. My head was on his neck.

  Twice I was brought to orgasm, though in neither instance was there joy for either of the two men. It was a strangely humiliating, yet thrilling, experience. Being reduced to a panting, moaning sexual object in a men’s room, in the company of two suited males, completely disinterested. To this day I am not sure if there was any hygienic purpose, or if it was all part of Rainier’s master plan to drive me mad with lust.

  “My tits,” I pleaded arching my back to proffer them. “Touch them, please?”

  The man had no interest. When I’d quieted down from my second release he went to the kit, bringing back a silver rod-like device and the antiseptic. In a matter of seconds it slid up my rectum, and I was poked internally with the rod, and then wiped down. Scoured, actually.

  The bizarre cleansing continued awhile and then the man stepped back and took off the gloves. After disposing of them in the trash he came back and buttoned my coat, carefully avoiding any semblance of eye contact.

  “Rainier?” I whispered, sorely missing my trusty guide in this journey of degradation. “Are you there?”

  Silence.

  I watched the gloved man zip up the kit and hand it to the other.

  “May I have a chance to use the bathroom?” I asked meekly as they began hustling me to the door.

  One of the stalls was opened for me. I was allowed to sit down, though the door was left open. One of the men watched me as I squatted to pee. My face flushed red. I had never gone in front of anyone, not since I was a tiny child. At last the first drops came and then a cascade, a noisy splashing sound that I’m quite sure both men could hear quite well.

  To my astonishment, the man guarding me lifted me from the seat when I was done and held me by the upper arms. Using some kind of cleaning wipe that he had in a package he proceeded to sponge clean my vaginal area. He had no gloves now and the touch felt far more intimate than before.

  I closed my eyes against the renewed feelings of heat. Damn it, I thought as they took me out of the bathroom, was I going to be moved to near orgasm every time a man touched me now?

  The Rusty Nail was quiet now. Only a few of the bikers were left. A girl in a red skirt, her legs spread obscenely to reveal a shaved pussy, was sitting at the end of the bar. She gave me a look; the kind one girl gives another when she thinks she’s a little higher on the slut pecking order.

  I ignored her. The only one I was looking for—or rather hoping not to see—was Mongo. I didn’t think I’d be able to look him in the eye. Not only because of how he’d degraded me, but also on account of the trick Rainier had played on him, encouraging him to fuck me, then scaring him off.

  I’d learned a lot about Gustav Rainier tonight, I realized as I was led to the waiting limousine. Number one, he was every bit as dangerous as I’d feared. If fearsome looking bikers cringed at the mere name of his organization, what would it be like to deal with the man’s wrath? I’d also learned that Rainier was a man who’d stoop to any level to win. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to conquer me, no matter w
hat the cost.

  The limo was black with tinted windows. One of the men took the driver’s seat while the other held open the back door for me. It was the man who’d held my arms as I was caressed with the glove. My heart beat a little faster as he got in next to me and closed the door.

  I had a feeling the evening wasn’t over. Like I said, Rainier was a man who got what he wanted. And right now, he wanted me. For some reason the notion filled me with a perverse warmth. I knew it was part of his re-conditioning of me, but I couldn’t help it. There was something biological making me respond. Could what Rainier had told me really be true, namely that women really were most aroused by the strongest men—the ones able to best protect and dominate them? Could it be in my heart I wanted to submit, in fact, and had only been waiting for the right man?

  I was seated just a few inches from my escort. Unable to help myself, I stole glances at his crotch, again and again, only to turn my head away each time in fear and disgust. He was muscular, I could tell. He was strong and vital. If he wanted, he could easily force me. Did he smell my arousal? I wondered. If so, would he do anything about it?

  The car hummed silently in the thin, late night traffic. My mind was drifting; I was somewhere far away. A million questions raged. Where would they take me? Did they plan to fuck me? Would I meet their expectations? They’d had lots of women, surely, with much more experience. Suppose I failed to please them? Would they beat me, whip me? I would try hard, certainly, to avoid that. I would be good for them, servile. I’d use my lips, my cunt. My tits. My arse. Uneasily I shifted on the seat. Was I soaking through the dress?

  It was with a mixture of relief and disappointment that I saw the car turn onto my own street. So the ride was going to end quietly after all. The limo stopped directly under the awning. The doorman stood dutifully waiting to let me in. My eyes were on the guard’s. Should I get up? Should I speak?

  Seconds ticked by, the engine in park. At last, I moved to rise. “Thanks again,” I blurted awkwardly. “For . . .everything.”

  A hand pushed down on my shoulder. Another seized my wrist. “I don’t understand,” I shook my head, my posterior firmly back in place on the seat.

  The only sound was the man’s zipper opening. Stupefied, I glared at the huge cock unfurling from his underwear. In a few seconds it looked as if it topped off at nearly ten inches!

  “You—you want me to suck you?” I offered helpfully.

  He shook his head as he guided me onto my knees in front of him.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But if it’s not a blow job you want. . .”

  He put my hand on his cock. It was thick and pulsing, red and purple veins standing in ridges along the shaft of it. A hand job; he wanted me to caress him. Eagerly, I circled the width of it with two fingers. He was huge, bigger even than the man in my office whom I’d blown on the leather sofa. Mr. Jones.

  Much thicker as well. Taking my time, I rubbed up and down the length of it, very gently.

  “Is that good?” I asked, my eyes looking deferentially into his.

  He frowned, motioning for me to go faster. I obliged, though the power of the thing frightened me. It was silky smooth, but rock hard underneath. I could only imagine what it would be like to have the thing between my legs or in my mouth or arse.

  The fact that he could have these things from me made me more diligent somehow. More attentive. Pleasing him became my world. I searched his face for tiny signs I was doing it right--some twitching of the lips, some movement in the eyes. There was none, even as I caressed the sensitive underside, along the vein I knew drove all men wild.

  If only I could kiss him, I thought, suck him a little, I knew I could make him happy. “May I?” I begged softly. “May I touch you?” My head moved forward, eyes closed as though permission were already obtained. My inner thighs burned. It was all I could do to keep from rubbing my legs together till I orgasmed.

  “Please,” I repeated again, wondering, hoping, fearing Rainier was still listening.

  Pain gripped the back of my head. My eyes popped open. He was pulling back my head and now he was taking my hand off his cock to replace it with his own.

  “You’re hurting me,” I protested.

  The man grit his teeth and began to stroke himself hard. His eyes were keen and sharp like a predator’s. Pushing down my head, he put it in direct line of sight with the tip of the thing. He was going to come on me. I shrieked as the jism burst forth like a geyser. His aim was perfect, dousing my cheeks and nose, my lips and even my eyelids. It was hot and assaultive and when he was done he didn’t bother to comfort or clean me.

  Reaching across, he opened the rear door and proceeded to push me out, his hand shoving my rear end hard. I was propelled out onto the street. I heard the door shut behind me and then the limo took off. They’d left me, in the middle of the night, covered in come in front of my own building. . . . like a tawdry whore, a spectacle for anyone to see.

  The doorman, I realized in a panic; how would I get inside without his seeing me? Fishing in my bag, I searched for a tissue to clean up with. It was then I heard the voice in my ear, almost forgotten and yet somehow closer to my soul than anything I’d ever known.

  “Leave it, Emerald. Walk inside now, just as you are.”

  Chapter Five

  The next day was Saturday. I slept till one in the afternoon. I recalled no dreams, nor was I even aware of having crawled into bed, my mockery of a dress still hanging from my aching, soiled body. Every muscle screamed as I tried to rise. Putting the shower on as a warm a setting as I could stand, I allowed the water to permeate my skin, permeate my soul. There are ions in the pulsing spray that enliven the human nerves; I’d read this somewhere and it is the real reason a shower wakes us up in the morning.

  In my case, it was the flow of liquid to my parched senses. I felt like I’d been in a desert, or on the bottom of someone’s shoe. . . . Mongo, the motorcycle gang leader’s maybe, or that of that Mr. Jones who’d come to my office. So many humiliations to choose from!

  Had it really only been two days since I’d met Gustav Rainier? Could he have changed me so much already? Layer after layer of lather held no answers. No matter how much I scrubbed, no matter how far back I leaned to allow the water full access to my swollen breasts and my gaping cunt, I understood nothing. Who was I? What was I becoming? And why, in spite of everything I’d been through did I feel now a profound sense of loneliness without Rainier?

  It had been nearly twelve hours since he’d called. The earring receiver seemed dead, or inactive. There were no messages on my phone. No activity on the cell. What did that mean? Was he busy or had I angered him in some way? I ran through the night’s events in my mind for any evidence of disobedience or rebellion. I’d gone to the Rusty Nail, I’d approached Mongo and said everything Rainier told me to say. I’d taken his cuffs on my wrists, gone without complaint to the toilet. When he’d touched me, I was wet and ready. Even when he took me anally, I made no complaint.

  All night, I was good. And when it was time to go I’d let two strangers take me home, one of whom raped me with his fingers, and the other of whom had put me on my knees in the car so he could spurt himself on my face. Surely I’d done that right, stroking him to hardness? I’d balked at nothing, not even when—in a final act of cruelty and control—Rainier had commanded me to leave the sticky jism on my face.

  A warm, forbidden pleasure passed over me as I recalled the look on the doorman’s face. How his cheeks turned red and how he’d cleared his throat and tried to avoid eye contact.

  “Tell him good night, Emerald,” Rainier had coached in my ear.

  “Good night,” I’d smiled as naturally as possible, a large gob of the stuff hanging from the left corner of my lips.

  And that was the last I’d heard of Gustav. Now I was panicking.

  For those of you not familiar with brain washing techniques, the man was breaking down my defenses, creating in me an utter and complete dependence u
pon him for everything. The end result is a cringing slave, a girl who will eagerly crawl to her own beating, who will begged to be raped by her master. This is what I am now, and what I was even then, though I did not yet realize it.

  It was when the hot water ran out that rebellion began to swell in my breast. The cold water seemed to waken in me something of my shattered pride. What was the matter with me? Had I lost my mind? Still naked, a towel wrapped around my shivering body, I ran to the kitchen table where I’d placed the earrings. I hated the thing for all they represented and for all that Rainier had made me do through the use of them. I’d made myself his bonded slave, putting them on, allowing him to say horrible things to me.

  What kind of a demon tells a woman he is fucking her patient? Former patient, at any rate. For that matter what kind of a man ties and screws a nineteen-year old girl while in conversation with her doctor—former doctor—whom he is allowing to be raped in the bathroom of a biker bar?

  All right, not rape. I wanted it. I was wet and hot and I’d even begged. But still. . .

  The earrings shattered under the blow of the wooden kitchen mallet. For good measure I dropped the pieces down the garbage disposal. I was declaring my independence, an early victory in my month long ordeal of a bet.

  Come to think of it, why did I have to put up with this bet thing at all? The things Rainier had been telling me weren’t just cruel and unusual, they were criminal. He’d told me he was going to sell a human being—mentioning Krissy by name. And there was the whole Cartel thing that scared those bikers so much. That had organized crime written all over it. My heart was pounding in my chest as a plan began to formulate in my mind. It was a gamble, of sorts, for me and for Krissy, too, but I liked the odds a whole lot better than what Rainier was offering.