Falling for Sir

by Cat Kelly

  The newcomer moved around the room, eyes downcast, head slightly bowed. Everywhere she went, men stopped her, stroked her arms, tapped her on the ass, slipped a hand between her thighs to see if she was wet yet. Some touched her dark brown hair, petting it, snagging fingers in the unruly curls.

  He wished she would look up so he could see the color of her eyes, but she kept her gaze pinned to the floor now after her brief lapse. If her eyes were brown with flecks of green and gold then he'd know she was the strange woman who haunted his dreams lately. Somehow he had to make her look up.

  * * * *

  Marianne felt flushed from head to toe, perspiration giving her skin a thin sheen. Her first instinct had been to flee the room, no matter how stupid she might look running in ridiculously high heels and her underwear. But after the first few pairs of hands had caressed her, the panic faded away. She was not Marianne tonight; she was Claudia, a fictional creature with no past, no hang-ups, no worries.

  The men examined and discussed her in the same way that she'd watched her brothers purr and pant over a refurbished, '65 Ford Mustang convertible at a classic car show. To be examined and judged like this was not so hard to take as she'd feared, but guilt still lurked in the shadows, warning her that she shouldn't be enjoying this. She had a Masters in Interior Architecture, for Christ's sake.

  Currently she was being examined by two men. One stood behind her, stroking her ass, while the other was in front, his hand down her panties. He was tall, handsome, with a chiseled jaw and dark eyes simmering through his mask.

  "Do you like our new girl?" Sylvie asked.

  "Oh, yes."

  Sylvie swept a hand under Marianne's loose hair to hold her by the back of her neck. It was a casual gesture, made to remind her to keep her head bowed, her gaze on the ground. "She's pretty. I know you gentlemen like the fuller figure and the waxed vulva is appealing. Have you felt her satiny nipples?"

  To stand still at that point went against everything she'd ever trained herself to do, think and feel. Goose pimples covered her arms and a silent scream fluttered up and down her throat. But she was more alive, more present in the moment than she'd ever been. Her thoughts, which had a tendency to tie themselves in complicated knots and leave her stymied, were swallowed up by the rush of new sensations.

  The man standing before her now pulled his hand out of her panties and shoved it up under her bra quite roughly to pinch her aching points. Marianne bit down on a startled gasp as he squeezed her breast. The band of her bra dug into her back, the elastic stretching to accommodate his large, forceful hand.

  "Lovely tits," he muttered, pushing the rounded flesh up under her chin. "Good for binding, eh? I think she'd like that."

  "Yes. Large teardrops," Sylvie dispassionately observed. "Certainly more than a mouthful."

  "Pillows a man can sink his cock between."

  "Open your mouth, Claudia. Let the gentleman see how you would take his semen if he came between your breasts."

  Marianne obeyed, her face hot, her pulse surprisingly steady. While the man still squeezed her breast under her bra, pushing it higher and higher, Sylvie used her free hand to flick spitefully at the other exposed nipple, her long, glossy nail gleaming in the candlelight.

  "Keep your mouth open. I didn't say you could close it, did I?"

  She struggled again, wanting to swallow but resisting the urge to defy the bitch Sylvie.

  The man behind her suddenly smacked her hard on the ass cheek. Marianne teetered forward on her high heels, but kept her footing somehow. She heard his hard laughter and then he smacked her other cheek with more force. Her ass throbbed and she stumbled again. This time his friend stepped aside, pulling his hand out of her bra at the same moment she toppled forward. Marianne would have gone down on her knees if not for the hands that shot out to grip her elbows, saving her from the embarrassment of a tumble.

  He came from nowhere, it seemed. Startled, she raised her lashes, even though it was forbidden, and looked into his eyes. They were warm and dark velvety blue, rippling gently and full of life hidden beneath, like a calm ocean under summer moonlight. Marianne caught her breath. "Thank you."

  Oops. Two rules broken in a matter of seconds. She just knew she'd screw up somehow!

  Hastily she returned her gaze to the carpet. They would never invite her back for a party, if she didn't behave herself. Earlier she wasn't sure she'd want that anyway, but perhaps this is what she'd needed all along. Not the conventional date with boys who thought they did her a favor—but sex with men who didn't pretend, or feel the need to lie about what they wanted from her and the limitations of what they could offer. Men who understood, without her having to explain, that she had desires too—not necessarily the white-bread variety. She wouldn't be there otherwise, would she?

  The man holding her arms was a foot taller than Marianne and he smelled delicious. There was kindness in his gesture of catching her. She wanted to look at his face again, but resisted, remembering Sylvie's eager wrath.

  Her pulse thumped rapidly and when this stranger's hands swept down her arms to her tied wrists she knew he would feel that mad rhythm stirring her blood. Slowly he ran his fingers over her binding ribbons, caressed the knots and bows at her wrist, then uncurled her hands to feel her palms.Her panties were still lowered unevenly around her thighs and she felt the dampness between her labia, knew that if she parted her thighs he would see her state of arousal. But he didn't touch her there.

  He raised his hands to her breasts and she held her breath again as he moved his thumbs across her exposed nipples. A heated jolt of need raced through her, sent like a message from his thumbs to her pussy. His fingernails were manicured and he wore a diamond pinkie ring. There was a little black hair on the back of his hands. Not enough to be distracting, but just a hint. His hands were square, large. A heavy gold watch gleamed at his wrist.

  "Breathe," he whispered.

  So she did, exhaling in a rush, then swallowing the spicy scent of his cologne. His hands stroked upward to her shoulders and then her neck. Again, he would feel her pulse skipping erratically. His caress moved back down, over her gently heaving breasts to her stomach. Marianne parted her legs, expecting his fingers there. Wanting them.

  But he stepped back.

  "Very nice," he murmured.

  Turning, he walked away.

  Oh, she wanted him back. Her pussy ached for his firm fingers. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy; her nipples were rock-hard. She wasn't sure if it was a culmination of all the fondling and petting she'd received, or whether it was just because of him, but she was left with a throbbing need to be held, kissed and suckled. And fucked.

  Hey, you, she wanted to shout, come back here.

  The man stopped and turned his head, glancing back at her over his shoulder. It was almost as if she'd spoken and he heard. He frowned and she looked quickly at her feet. Damn girl, can't you play the part for even half an hour?

  Sylvie gestured that she should step up onto the small platform beside the fire. "Time for the auction to commence, Claudia. We always start with the new girl in the room."

  She wished she could sit, for her knees were ready to buckle and her ankle hurt where she'd twisted it in those high heels, but she had to stand still and wait for the bidding. With her hands tied behind her back she couldn't pull her panties up and Sylvie didn't help her. She struggled up onto the sales podium, completely exposed below the waist and with her breasts poking out above her bra cups. Some men drew up chairs to sit before her, others moved around the room, still conversing, or flirting with the other women. Since she couldn't look up she had no idea where her blue-eyed savior had gone or if he was even watching now.

  Very nice? What the fuck did that mean?

  Sylvie called for silence. "We will start the bidding at one hundred tokens. I can assure you she is a fresh piece, well worth it. You have all seen and felt the exquisiteness of her body."

  Marianne bit her tongue, feeling a slow flush hea
ting her face. She must be glowing as pink as her leather mask. No one had ever called her body "exquisite" before. It was far from perfect in her eyes.

  Apparently these men thought differently.

  "Five hundred tokens," a voice called out from the chairs in front of her. "And I'll give that hungry pussy a good serving of cream."

  Someone laughed, but Sylvie called for order again, banging a small wooden gavel against an ornately carved lectern that ironically looked as if it belonged in a church. She didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor.

  "I'll raise that—one thousand," shouted another man.

  "Two thousand, five hundred."

  "Three thousand."

  Her head spun. As the bidding continued it occurred to her that they were enjoying the process of haggling over her, as much as she'd enjoyed being crudely assessed. Maybe it appealed to some primitive caveman instinct.

  The bidding crept upward.

  Sylvie, snapping on one surgical glove, stepped up onto the podium with her, told her to turn around and then slipped Marianne's panties all the way to her ankles. "Bend over and spread your legs," she said mechanically.

  Marianne, still somewhat confused by the rush of bidding for her fairly average body, was confused. "What?"

  Sylvie's face struggled to emote anger, but her voice was flint-like enough to purvey the right impression without frown lines. "How dare you question? Do as you're told."

  Oh, yeah. She'd forgotten her role for a few seconds. Again.

  Behind her the audience was quiet, watching as Sylvie directed her with angry commands. "Bend. Over."

  "No need to get testy," Marianne muttered, eyeing the other woman's long bony fingers in that surgical glove. "I'm the one with her ass bare and her hands tied."

  Sylvie glared at her for a moment and then addressed the audience. "As you see, gentleman, our lovely novice Claudia is in need of some firm handling. I hope you're up to it."

  A few men laughed gruffly and someone exclaimed. "It's good to see a new girl submissive with some spirited fire to make her taming that much more satisfying."

  "Spank her, Sylvie," another shouted.

  "Oh, I will," the living corpse replied, showing the crowd —and Marianne—a long object like a white horse's tail. Attached to one end was something shaped like an elongated pacifier.

  "Where is that going?" Marianne demanded.

  "You're about to find out. Bend over, Claudia. The gentlemen are eager to bid."

  For the second time that evening, she flirted with the idea of making her escape, but with her panties around her ankles it would be even more awkward. Besides, there remained the issue of her pounding arousal that grew in faster waves as the men behind her began to chant for a spanking. She was there now. May as well get on with it.

  Finally, she obeyed Sylvie's command, bending over at the waist and letting blood rush to her head. The audience calmed slightly, but she could still hear their excitable rustling and fidgeting— the occasional chink of ice in crystal, the flick of a lighter, the soft push of expensive suits against leather chairs.

  "Spread," Sylvie barked down at her and spittle rained down on her bare spine.

  Again she obeyed, parting her teetering feet as far as she could with the lace panties still hampering her ankles. Warm air touched her moist pussy and then she heard a clank as Sylvie moved something closer. In the next moment she knew it was a bright lamp for its heated spotlight shone down on her exposed ass and cunt. After a moment, she felt something much cooler and wet oozed between her cheeks, then Sylvie's long gloved finger working carefully into her anus. "Don't hold your breath. You'll feel a pinch."

  Just like a visit to the gynecologist. Well, almost.

  Marianne closed her eyes. The finger pushed into her ass and then moved in and out, stretching, measuring. She tried to breathe steadily but when a second finger was added she gasped out loud, tipping forward, wishing she had free hands to place on the podium and steady herself. For what seemed an endless moment, Sylvie held her two fingers inside Marianne's ass while, with her bare hand, she rubbed and fondled her vulnerable sex. When the waves began to pile up and Marianne's pulse reached a gallop, Sylvie withdrew the second hand from her pussy, leaving it wet and no doubt visibly roused. She could hear the sound of men approaching the podium and when Marianne twisted her head and looked around her leg, she saw they came to lick her dew from Sylvie's fingers, battling playfully with one another to sample her taste. Just as the waves had rescinded again, Sylvie pulled her fingers from Marianne's anus and snapped off the glove. A second later the crowd fell silent as a cold, metallic object, about the thickness of a fountain pen lid was forced an inch and a half inside that prepped valley. She knew what it was, of course—the tail her commandant had shown to the audience previously. Although she tried to relax her muscles, there was a quick burn, causing a low moan to escape her lips. Sylvie's hands now eased her thighs further apart and she felt the feather-like strands of the tail dangling from her ass, strands of it sticking to her wet cunt. Sylvie jostled the tail back and forth, moving the plug in her anus too. Marianne groaned again, her tied arms aching from the odd angle, her entire body swaying on those impossibly high heels.

  Sylvie gathered the tail and spanked it lightly against her sex. She shivered, gasped. Sylvie repeated the motion, slapping it harder each time, finally twisting the tail aside and using her other hand to slowly part the teased labia, flaunting Marianne's pulsing, wide open cunt to the entire room.

  The audience broke into applause and the bidding to enter her hot, wet haven became a tumultuous cacophony.

  It only ended when one voice silenced all the others.

  "Twenty thousand tokens."

  Chapter Three

  Mr. Woody and the Perfect Angle

  The deal done, he helped her step out of her panties and down from the podium.

  "Would you like a glass of champagne?" he asked, lifting her chin with one hand.

  He felt her swallow. "No. Thank you... Sir."

  Yes, those were definitely the eyes he'd seen in his dreams. And there was a flicker of recognition in return. At least, he thought so. The pink mask hid much of her upper face and subsequently the most revealing expressions she might have made. "Are you ready to go upstairs?" Because he definitely was. His hard on was raging, his cum ready to flow, having watched her tender pussy react to all that teasing and tormenting under the bright light. She was lovely and now she was his sub.

  "Yes, sir."

  Sweeping her up in his arms he carried her to the curved staircase.

  "Am I too heavy?" she whispered. It seemed she forgot the rules about talking.

  "No." He had one arm under her knees, the other cradling her shoulders. The ponytail hung down from her ass, brushing his knees with every step he took. He knew the plug was placed there not just inspire the bidders, but to ready her for anal penetration, if he desired it.

  And he desired it alright.

  Slowly, steadily he carried her up the stairs and they left the partiers behind. Jack could hardly believe he'd just paid that many tokens, but it didn't feel as if he could do anything else as he stood there watching her displayed on the podium. He was never generally the greedy sort and had never felt this possessive. Not even with Laura.

  Quickly he set those memories of his wife aside again. It was time to get back in the saddle, as his younger brother had teased him affectionately, and he couldn't do that if he compared every woman to Laura. He couldn't expect to find the relationship he'd known with his wife, and this was simply a place for fun and games. It was time to put his cock to good use again before it seized up and fell off.

  This woman in his arms would provide the perfect release of his pent-up sexual energy. The moment he laid eyes on her tonight he felt as if she was there just for his pleasure. As if someone had picked her out for him.

  He carried his prize across the landing to a door that stood slightly ajar. Nudging it fully open with his shoulder
, he took her inside and kicked the door shut with his foot.

  "You can put me down now," she muttered. "Don't hurt yourself."

  Was she making a comment on his age, he wondered. Evidently she was younger than him. Quite a lot younger he realized. She didn't wear much make-up and he could see freckles, which made her seem girlish. Carefully he set her on her feet. "Claudia, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Sir."

  Despite that sense of familiarity with her pouty lips, he wasn't allowed to ask her if they'd met before. Another rule. There wasn't really much they could talk about and perhaps that was for the best. After all, what could they possibly have in common other than a desire for sex? On dates—as far as he recalled—people talked awkwardly about music and movies, but undoubtedly she wouldn't know any of the music he liked and had probably never seen his favorite movies. She looked like a college student. At least he knew she was over eighteen.

  But it was small comfort since he was more than twice that and occasionally felt even older, huddled in one sheltered spot as life shot by. Only yesterday, stuck in an airport during a flight delay, he'd listened to a group of young people and not understood a single pop culture reference for twenty minutes. He had a feeling a new woman in his life after five years of marriage and four years of being a widower, would be just as complex and frustrating to get his mind and his fingers around as the rudiments of his new Iphone.

  "You gotta get out there and date again," his brother had challenged him. "Before you get so old you don't remember what a woman is. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!"

  But the idea of re-entering the dating scene, frankly, made him nauseated. He couldn't start all over again. Couldn't face it.

  This, however, was not a date. They were here for sex not conversation. Just sex.