Her efforts are finally rewarded as he pulls her up by her ponytail and shoves her head onto his engorged cock that has been conveniently waiting beneath his overcoat. The other girls want some, too, and they fight each other to see who can strip and grovel the fastest. The man is merciful, and allows them to take turns on his swollen, purple-headed member. To keep them in line, he flicks the whip generously over their nude, pale bodies.
The girls are sighing dreamily and it seems a match made in heaven. But now an interloper comes, or rather several. Two men dressed as police, and a masked woman, slender and auburn haired with glasses and a trench coat. The woman is directing the mock policemen, making it abundantly clear, without any words, that the sexual antics are to be broken up.
The girls are given blankets by the trench-coated woman and offered hugs. They are clearly miserable and make a comic-tragic exit. The man in a top hat, meanwhile, is escorted by the police off the opposite side of the stage. The lights darken now and the makeshift curtain descends from the ceiling.
A few moments later, the curtain opens on scene two. The woman has removed her trench coat and now wears a short, tight skirt and white blouse. She is sitting on a desk, holding a pad and a pencil. The man in the top hat is lying on a couch; it seems to be some kind of analysis session. She is badgering him, alternating between poking the man and scribbling furiously. He is waving his hands in the air. The scene is ridiculous and the audience laughs, then boos as she tries to take his whip from him.
“Let her have it!” a man cries. “She’s asking for it.”
The man stands up now, towering over the girl. He looks for encouragement from the audience to grab her. Cheers rise as he reaches for her mask. As he pulls it off, I gasp. The girl is Krissy! It occurs to me now the skit is more personal than I’d realized. The foolish psychologist character is clearly intended to be me, fighting nature by preventing girls from enslaving themselves to Rainier, the character in the hat.
Krissy winces as the man pulls her forward by her hair. She puts her hands on her head to resist, but is unable to free herself. Using his remaining hand, to great ovations, the pantomime Rainier strips her bare, shredding the blouse and yanking down the skirt. Krissy is nude underneath. She wriggles to escape, but is stilled by several firm blows to her backside with the flat of his hand. Arching her head back, she simulates the pleasure of submission.
Down goes the hand on her head, and down, too, goes the nineteen-year-old beauty to her knees. Grinning widely, showing off to the crowd, the man opens his coat wide. Krissy, her face slack with lust, assumes her rightful position on the man’s stiff cock. While she sucks him most vigorously, the other girls come out, wearing only collars and leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Without disturbing ‘Doctor’ Krissy’s kneeling oral subjugation, they remove her shoes and proceed to place on her body the same type of leather restraints they themselves are wearing.
As a finishing touch, they undo her hair, allowing it to cascade down her back. One by one now, lined up on all fours, the girls kiss the whip, which hangs uncoiled in the man’s hand. The man notices all this and lifts the whip high, looking in comic amazement as though he’d forgotten he was holding it. With pointing gestures, he indicates excitedly the possibility of whipping the kneeling Krissy.
“Do it!” someone shouts. “Teach her a lesson!”
The man puts his hand to his chest, as though shocked he’s been requested to do such a thing. They urge him on, even as he pulls himself from Krissy’s mouth shaking his head. Meanwhile, the other girls seize her by the arms and drag her to a stock that has just been rolled onstage. Her head and hands are put through the opening and she is locked in place. She’s bent over, her backside facing the seated audience. In this position, Krissy’s back, buttocks and vaginal furrow are easy targets for mayhem.
Next the top hatted man commences to walking from table to table, trying to hand the whip to various people to induce them to tame Krissy in his place. All laughingly refuse. Finally he comes to our table. Bowing low at the waist, he offers it to me. His eyes are sinister blue. His sweaty, makeup caked face mocks me. I look to Rainier and realize he’s planned this all along.
“This is your chance,” I hear him say, extending his hand graciously, “to take me up on my little wager.”
The wager. I can whip Krissy and win her freedom. Tentatively, I take the proffered handle, the sinister black braid resting heavily on my moist palm. My mouth goes dry, my head is swimming. Faces and voices are blending.
“Do it,” I hear, and I think, ‘yes, this is reasonable. A brief frenzy of pain for her, for both of us and we’ll be free; Gustav Rainier will never bother us again.’ But how can I do that—how can I become one of them, inflicting pain on a sister, a helpless, constrained girl whose already had to bear more than anyone should?
And what if she likes it? says another voice. What if she enjoys the pain, and what if you do, too?
The whip is a live snake, wriggling before my mind’s eye. I thrust it from me. “I can’t do it, please don’t make me.”
My chair scrapes on the floor beneath me as I rise. I have no memory of running from the room, and yet sometime later, hours or minutes later, I found myself in the back alley, the damp night air clinging to my skin. A girl was there, a petite, hard-boiled redhead wearing a g-string and a pair of pasties.
“Smoke?” she asked in a gravelly voice.
“I don’t smoke,” I say, but I take one anyway. It’s been ten years, but the taste floods back to me like it was only yesterday.
“It’s cold out here,” I finally manage to say.
She laughs, shrugging her bare shoulders. “You get used to it.”
Chapter Seven
It was Jerry, the round faced, beady-eyed manager who came out to the alley to retrieve me. I had had a feeling he would be the one Gustav would send for me, and sure enough the first words out of his mouth were, “Mr. Rainier would like you to return to the table.”
Galvanized by the cigarette and a session of girl talk with Trixi, the bare shouldered red head, I had my answer all set. “Tell Mr. Rainier if he wants to talk to me, he’ll have to come out here himself.”
Jerry watched as I tossed the spent cigarette onto the wet, greasy concrete and ground it under the heel of my shoe. It seemed to me a gesture of great boldness, though I realized later it was sheer foolhardiness. Had it not been for express orders from Rainier, in fact, forbidding anyone to touch me, I would have been over the man’s lap, if not underneath his hard, punishing cock.
A thin smile crossed the manager’s face. Looking past me to Trixi, indicating the crushed butt, he said, “Pick it up.”
The shapely redhead plucked it up at once, offering it to her boss.
“Now throw it out.”
She turned towards the dumpster.
“Crawl,” Jerry commanded.
Trixi dropped instantly to all fours. To facilitate her movement, she stuck the butt in her mouth. Slowly, awkwardly, she traversed the hard, filthy alley. Not till she was directly underneath the stained green metal container did she stand and toss the offensive thing into the open top. To my utter astonishment, she promptly returned to hands and knees and crawled back to Jerry.
Head down, she awaited his orders.
Jerry’s eyes were on me as he snapped his fingers. “Inside, Trixi. I want you to work the Blue Room. Your quota for the next hour is two.”
Trixi leaped up and ran to the door. “Yes, sir,” she called out. “Thank you, sir.”
Jerry studied me for a moment. I was like cracked stone, trying not to crumble. “I’ll deliver your message now,” he said at last. “Miss.”
I wrapped my arms round myself, shivering. The door slammed behind the man, a final insult added to the injury he’d inflicted. It was obvious Jerry had been showing me the power he had, indicating clearly what I’d have to look forward to if I were designated ‘property of the club’ like Trixi and Jasmine. I’d seen the tell tale mark on Tr
ixi’s arse up close and wanted to retch. At the same time, though, I was aroused, more than I’d ever been in my life.
“It scared me at first,” Trixi had confessed to me. “But now it turns me on.”
Despite the damp, naked air and my utter exposure, I slipped my hand between my legs, trying to douse the building fires. It seemed I was always like this now, hot and needy. Blatantly sexual. I felt very naughty, like a real slut out here. Closing my eyes, I pressed on to what I hoped would be a tension releasing climax.
“You wanted to see me,” Rainier said loud enough to draw my attention.
I gasped, my hand still inside myself as I turned to face him. “Gustav. . . .” I croaked.
“It’s cold,” he said, handing me his jacket with surprising gentleness. “You’ll catch your death.”
The gesture overwhelmed me. “Thank you,” I smiled shyly.
“I take it” he cleared his throat, “that our little show was not to your liking?”
“That’s an understatement.”
His hand stretched to caress my cheek. His skin was like velvet; heat coursed through me.
“What is it then, Emerald, that you do like?”
I like you, I almost said. I want you. I want . . .
“I like honesty, Gustav,” I challenged instead. “Can you give me that?”
He shook his head gravely. “I have never lied to you, nor will I ever.”
“Good.” I took a deep breath, moving to the rest of my prepared speech. “Because I’m tired of these mating games. The fact is, we are attracted to each other, as male and female. The result has been sparks, and tension and inevitable conflict. So why don’t we call off all this bet nonsense and just be real? We need to make love, Gustav, you and I. Two adults. Two strong, powerful adults. I’m willing to admit my desire, if you can admit yours. Now I know there’s been a certain power dynamic, vis a vis the business of female submission, and I’m not going to deny its appeal; in fact I think we can creatively work this into our . . .”
Rainier silenced my prattling with a kiss; deep and firm, his strong lips pressing mine, his body against me, his soul, his mind, the hardness of his cock, assaulting, claiming. I went limp in his arms. My arguments, my pretenses were at an end.
“Please,” I whispered, deliberately putting no provisos or limitations on the act ahead of time. “Take me.”
He swept me now into his arms, lifting me effortlessly off my feet. I felt like a rag doll, like a child, cradled, protected. My arms clung to his neck, my heart thumped like a rabbit’s. Where would he take me? What would he do?
Whatever it was, I would be his, and we both knew it.
The limo met us out front. The driver was stone-faced, completely discrete as he let us in. No doubt he was used to his boss having girls in the back of the car. Hot, sexy girls whose whole purpose in life was to please their master.
“Oh, Gustav,” I moaned, making the first move as soon as the door was closed behind us. He allowed me to nuzzle his neck, but he didn’t kiss me any further. One of his strongest weapons, I would soon learn, in his war against a stubborn female was her own sexual desire. By making me wait, he would exercise his power over me further still, allowing my own lust to unravel me totally.
“Not yet,” he said simply, forcing me onto my back on the seat, his hands easily pinning my wrists overhead.
“Please, make love to me,” I whined, my body bucking and squirming to reach him. “I’m ready; I’m more than ready.”
Rainier pulled a silken cord from one of the armrests. With easy, practiced motions, he bound my hands to the strap on the door handle behind my head. “No,” he countered. “You are not.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s because I said we were equals isn’t it?”
He gave no answer, occupying himself with pouring a glass of soda water from the mini bar.
“I’m thirsty,” I lied, not wanting to lose his attention. “May I have some water?”
He cast a warning glance. “Emerald, if you cannot refrain from disturbing me further with uninvited comments and questions, I shall be forced to gag you.”
A surge of heat formed in my belly and dripped between my legs. What type of gag would it be? A ball gag? Or one of those leather things shaped like a man’s erection?
“I’m sorry,” I told him, my eyes moist and doe-like, refusing to be evasive. “I will try harder.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You shall.” He slid across, lifting my legs so that they were over his lap. I was so tense that I feared the least touch would send me over the edge. I was completely vulnerable; he need only put his hands on me, under my panty-less dress on my crotch or over my swollen breasts and I would spasm out of control.
“Do you know the old saying, Emerald?” he queried now, his fingers moving over my left foot to undo the strap of my shoes.
“No,” I moaned, my head thrashing as he bared my left foot.
His hand caressed my instep. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I flexed my calf, offering my leg and all that went with it. “I—I don’t understand.”
He slapped the bottom of my foot. “Lie still, woman.”
Woman. He’d called me ‘woman’. As if I were his. One of his special females. His pets. I know I shouldn’t have felt the warmth, the pride, but I did. It was yet another sign that I had already lost my freedom.
“Yes,” I obeyed, clenching my fists as he began on my other shoe. “Yes, sir.”
“You wanted experience,” he continued. “You wished for a chance to be faced with your worst fears, to see how you would cope.”
I tried to focus on his words. But he was teasing me, undoing my second shoe and slipping it off. A moment later, the palm of his hand was running up the inside of my leg, moving dangerously fast to my unprotected opening. “No,” I insisted weakly. “I—I wanted to help Krissy.”
Rainier laughed as he entered my cunt and manipulated my clitoris. “If that were really your primary motivation, you’d have sought outside help.”
The remark hit me hard. Was he right? Had I been seeking something for myself all along? Experience? Danger? The risk of slavery?
“Do not come,” he warned. “Not yet.”
Rainier kept me on the edge the rest of the way to his penthouse suite. My illusions of equality were shattered long before our arrival at the forty-story tower. I had to be led upstairs; were it not for the fact that I were leaning on his arm I would have collapsed to the floor.
It was like being drunk without alcohol, like dreaming without benefit of sleep. I recall nothing of the elevator ride, nor even of my first impressions of his ten room suite. There was a roof garden, a solarium and a living room supported by tall white columns. He led me through it and straight to the bedroom. Placing me on the edge of the bed, he told me to take off my dress, but only if I was prepared for what was to come.
Prepared? How could I be prepared? On the other hand, how could I refuse? Slipping the dress overhead, I reduced myself quickly to shoes and bra—or should I say, to that sorry excuse for a bra he’d given me to wear.
“Shall I lie down?” I asked weakly.
“No.” He was standing very straight, arms crossed over his chest. “I want you to dance for me.”
My skin flushed red. “I couldn’t do that.”
“You will, Emerald, or else you’ll be punished.”
“P—punished how?” I shivered.
“The paddle, on your bare, belligerent bottom. Or maybe the cane. The cane leaves much better marks; bruises, really.”
I imagined such a device slamming itself into me, discoloring and heating my skin. Hiding the secret arousal it gave me, I rose to my feet. “I’ll dance.”
He stood as he was, compelling me to move directly in front of him.
“I don’t really know how,” I said, ashamed of my paltry swaying motions. Pleasing a mute like Mr. Jones was one thing, but an international slave trader was another matter entirely.
“Yes,” he argued. “You do. Every girl does. Just close your eyes and think about being at the club. On stage, a roomful of men around you. With hard cocks. All of them wanting you. You have to please them, and if you don’t, there’s a whip waiting. You’ll be beaten with it, your skin marked and seared. Your body isn’t yours, Emerald. It is property. It is sex. Pure, unadulterated sex. Show them your sex, Emerald. Show the men that you are property, that you are theirs. Your mouth, your legs, your cunt, your ass, your tits. That’s what you are, Emerald. A pair of breasts, a hole between your legs, miles of white skin and curves, born for the whip, the cane, born to be beaten, to be fucked.”
I was writhing in my own world, seeing the faces, the leers, feeling the smoke on my skin, the heat of fluorescent lights. I was a little cunt, a hot body, available for each and every customer, for whoever could make the cover charge and settle with management for my use.
With both hands, I pushed my tits up and out; my pressed together, underwired boobs. Lick them, my movements invited, squeeze and punish them, take and own them, along with my flanks, my curvaceous arse, the dripping bounty at the juncture of my thighs. Like a siren for cocks, attracting the stiff meat to abuse and pummel me, I displayed myself, treating Rainier as if he were a dozen, a hundred powerful, lustful men.
“Take your bra off, Emerald,” he said now, his voice a distant rumbling, a persistent hum in my soul.
I groaned deeply, my hands pawing at the silk. It wasn’t enough merely to undo the bra, to let it flow gently to my feet; it must be gone entirely, ripped away. No barriers am I to be allowed to the pleasure of a man over my body. Thus did I tear at the covering, shredding it fiercely, till my tits popped on their own accord, surrendering to the inevitable public viewing.
“Your breasts are magnificent, Emerald. I shall enjoy whipping them.”
I slithered before him, displaying my charms. Hot and weak, I pushed my tits against him, the fabric of his shirt singeing my super sensitive nipples. They had never felt more alive, these self-same mounds that he had announced he would lash and abuse for his pleasure.
Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Page 12
