“You look stunning tonight, Delia. Do you still switch? I’d love to play with you again sometime.”
“That is so tempting. You don’t know how tempting, really, but I’m afraid me and my new sub are in a monogamous relationship. But maybe she’d be cool with it if you could take us both on?”
“Now, that would be fun. Remember though, I’m not just about whipping and spanking. I fuck whoever I top. Does your new playmate like dick?”
“Don’t let the hype fool you. Most lesbians like dick every now and again. It’s just what’s attached to it that turns us off. That’s why we opt for vibrating plastic instead. Besides, then we can pick the size that best suits us whereas with men you’re stuck with what you got and most men aren’t built like you, darlin’. I’ll definitely keep your offer in mind though. I’m sure we could work something out.”
They talked about fucking each other as if I wasn’t even standing there, and my jealousy was raging. I wanted to claw the bitch’s eyes out, but Kenyatta had trained me too well. I stood there obediently with my head down, watching as Kenyatta made small talk with the huge lesbian while I waited to see whether I was losing him forever or just for the evening.
“How big are those magnificent tits of yours anyway, Delia?” Kenyatta asked hefting them in both hands while still holding pen and paper.
“I’m an F-cup if you must know,” Delia replied, sticking her massive breasts out proudly.
“My God, woman, I didn’t even know they came that big.”
“I was a G-cup before I lost weight.”
“I could lose myself between those tits. Definitely call me.”
Kenyatta casually checked off lifetime membership in the middle of his playful flirtation and handed the form back to Delia as if he’d done nothing more significant than sold her a box of Girl Scout cookies. I wanted to scream, but again I remained silent as the man I loved prepared to give me away to another.
Mistress Delia, stomped back onto the stage in her size ten stiletto hip boots, carrying the contracts for the dozen or more slaves up for bid. I looked around me at the other slaves who were about to be auctioned. They ranged in age from retirees to kids just barely old enough to legally drink. Some of them were new to the scene, novice subs in search of their first master. Some of them were veterans who’d been topped by almost every dom in the scene at one time or another. Predictably, there were more gay males than females and more of the jaded old bottoms than fresh-faced newbies. They all appeared anxious and excited. A few of them even looked bored. I was perhaps the only depressed and terrified face in the crowd. I was the only one who didn’t want to be there.
“Isn’t this exciting?” a young Filipino kid asked in a voice that was annoyingly bubbly, almost giddy. I turned my back on him and lowered my head to hide the sudden burst of tears. I moved closer to Kenyatta and leaned on him as I wept, hiding my tears in his chest.
“Please, Master. Please don’t sell me. Please don’t give me away,” I whispered to him as I wept.
Kenyatta removed a handkerchief from his suit jacket and dabbed it in the tears, wiping them from my eyes then he kissed me gently on each cheek.
“No more of that. Don’t embarrass me tonight. Go out there and show them what a well-trained, disciplined slave you are.”
I could tell that he was nervous. He didn’t know what I’d do. He was afraid I’d embarrass him, get out there and fall apart, maybe start screaming and crying, fighting all the way to the stage. Or maybe he was afraid I’d run off the stage and refuse to go with whoever purchased me. That was my right, but it would be his shame. The other jealous doms who were intimidated by his comparative youth, good looks, and statuesque physique would laugh at him behind his back and gossip non-stop for years. I sucked up my tears and calmed myself. I could never embarrass him like that. I looked over at him and let him see the resolve in my face. He smiled at me and my heart felt as if it was pumping razor blades. My bottom lip trembled and my knees shook. Tears welled up in my eyes and it took everything within me to keep them from spilling out as I looked at his handsome face and that beautiful smile and the thought crossed my mind that I might never see him again or not at least until the 400 days was up. I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes to catch any tears before they could fall, then I turned toward the stage. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t make a scene. Kenyatta had trained me well and I wanted everyone to know what a great dom my master was. I was proud of him, and I wanted everyone else to be proud of him too. I wanted him to be proud of me.
Mistress Delia was back on the stage. The DJ cranked the music up a few decibels so that Delia had to raise her voice slightly to be heard. The first slave sauntered out with his head held high, strutting proud as a peacock. He was young and blonde with a slight tummy and no muscle tone. He looked like an office executive who had just left his cubicle in time to slip the leather gear out of his trunk and dash up onto the stage. I could imagine what he looked like in a shirt and tie and probably a pair of glasses that he cleaned compulsively. I knew the type. I worked with them every day and most of them needed a good spanking. The office boy bent over to show his asshole which was miraculously distended. He slipped a large butt plug in that was roughly the circumference of a soda can and the bids came fast and furious. He went for six hundred dollars.
Next a mountainous woman, almost as large as Mistress Delia, walked up onto the stage and began clipping clothes hangers all over her titanic breasts. The bidding was slow for her. She went to the first bidder for two hundred dollars.
A man that everyone in the scene new simply as “Old George” walked up on stage, and I was moved into place to follow him. Old George was well known in the scene. At fifty-seven he was one of the oldest members of the Society of “O” and by far the most jaded. It was rumored that it took vise grips on his nipples and vigorous cutting and caning to get him off. Kenyatta once confessed that he was afraid that he had experienced so much so early in life that he was dulling his senses to pleasure and pain and would wind up just like Old George when he got older. The idea terrified him. It terrified me too. The crowd was apparently just as intimidated by the depths of Old George’s masochism because he stood up there for almost a full minute without a single bid. Finally a young dom who didn’t know any better placed a mercy bid and Old George left the stage in the company of his new master for the price of fifty dollars. Then it was my turn.
Mistress Delia gestured for me to accompany her on the stage and my legs began to shake again. Every muscle locked and refused to move. The room began to rock and tilt as if I was back in my box and everything began to gray, starting to go black. The crack of a whip on my naked ass brought me back. I let out a yelp and hopped out onto the stage, turning to see Kenyatta returning the bullwhip to the amused leather dyke he’d borrowed it from.
“This beautiful sub was trained by our very own Master King. She is young and beautiful and experienced in all aspects of pain and pleasure. She enjoys spanking, caning, whipping, bondage, humiliation, and light blood play. Wow. She is quite a connoisseur for one so young. The bidding will start for this beautiful young bottom at five hundred dollars.”
The bids flew as I knew they would. I was fresh meat, and I was the first sub Kenyatta had ever placed up for bid in all the years he’d been a member. He left the stage as soon as the bidding started and walked out into the crowd. My heart pounded, afraid that he was going to leave the loft with me still on stage going to the highest bidder. Instead he took a seat in the back of the room on the enormous bed, squeezed in between the other subs and doms, some of whom were already fucking. I just stared at him. Our eyes locked across the distance, and Kenyatta smiled again as the bidding quickly went from five hundred to seven hundred to a thousand and finally to two thousand.