June 5, 2008

The Auction

Posted in stories tagged at 2:49 am by littlesubmissions

“Get in.”

His eyes went from her to the trunk, back to her, warily. He didn’t make eye contact, but looked carefully at her clothes again. Conservative pants suit, briefcase in her hand, dark, sensible shoes. She’d made him take his pants off, then his underwear, left him in his dress shirt and tie while she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her briefcase, hiding the leather satchel from him so he couldn’t see what else was inside. She pulled his hands behind him and cinched the cuffs down tight, the clicks ratcheting off quickly then slowing when the steel bit down on his wrists.

His stumbling steps had followed her quick and confident strides as she walked to the garage, pulled along by the tie, his erection poking against the front of his shirt. She hadn’t stopped until they reached the back of the car, where she popped open the trunk.

“Get in.”

He sat down on the edge and leaned back, falling gently into the carpeted boot. With an awkward kick he brought his legs up and curled them into the space, looking up at her. “Where we going?”

She sat the briefcase down and popped it open again, lifting out a leather hood, the eyes zippered shut. “An auction. Now shush.” She worked the hood down over his wide open eyes, pulled it down and tight, zipped it, sealed him off from the world. She worked the zipper on his mouth open, grabbed one nipple and twisted harshly. Hearing his gasp of breath, satisfied for certain he could breathe, she set his cell phone to walkie-talkie and tossed it in the trunk beside him.

The trunk lid thudded down, and light and sound left him.

He felt the car start, and stop at the end of the drive, then move out and accelerate. She turned the headset to her own phone on, and listened to his breathing as she drove aimlessly around the neighborhood, stopping and starting suddenly and listening to his gasps and moans as he thudded against the walls of the trunk.

He tried to count the turns, but quickly lost track. He didn’t think she was serious, was pretty sure it was just a mind fuck, but he wasn’t sure. He might have broken the old adage of never laying down with a woman crazier than yourself, and the thought made him hard. He rubbed himself against the rough carpet, the harsh fiber dragging across his cock and balls until another sudden stop or start would interrupt him, sending him crashing against the trunk.

She laughed, wondering if he knew she could hear his breath getting more excited, and knew that she was waiting for him to start dry humping the carpet before she found another stop sign and hit the brakes. She felt herself getting hotter, and licked her lips thinking of the main event. When she tired of the little game, she gave him one last hard bounce and then turned for their real destination.

He reflexively curled up in a ball when the cool air washed over his sweaty skin. Two tugs on his tie brought him up on his knees and he scooted forward until his legs hit the edge of the trunk. Two more tugs and he awkwardly swung his leg down, felt his foot hit concrete. A soft hand caressed his balls, then squeezed. He gasped, and the hand squeezed again. She leaned against him, placed her ear next to his mouth, and squeezed and released. Let his hot breath wash over her ear and neck and listened to his pain.

When he moaned in pleasure and pain she pulled on the tie again, helped him balance as he swung his other leg out of the trunk. Led him into the house.

The sounds of people talking filled his head, too low to be understood in the hood, but definitely there, and he wondered again if she was serious. The floor felt like the same ceramic tile they had in their kitchen, he thought. But did ceramic floors feel different from one another? He’d never paid attention, rarely walked across them barefoot anyway. How many steps was it from the kitchen door to the living room? Ten or eleven? He counted thirteen, but he was being pulled along now, her hand holding him down by his tie and dragging him along with shorter steps than usual.

He heard her voice, indistinct, from the tone she seemed to be greeting someone, or thanking them, and then he was pulled a little ways, spun around, and forced to his knees. She reached around him from behind, zipped his mouth shut as he started to speak, and worked her hands under his shirt to rake her fingernails down his chest. Her mouth right by his ear, he heard her. “Nod once if you can hear me.”

He nodded as she continued to rake her nails up and down his chest, his cock twitching.

“It’s a silent auction, the bidders aren’t allowed to touch the merchandise. Some law about prostitution or something. But they can request demonstrations, and I expect a good price from you. The hostess said it was a slow night, and you’ve already gotten some glances.”

He squirmed, whined into his gag.

“Hush, your cock is hard, you’re obviously into this. And I can use the money. Oh, I’ll cut you in, say 10%? I’m not sure what a whore usually gets, maybe we can ask those ladies.”

She pulled his tie off over his head, stripped his shirt back and down, pulling it off until it rested on his cuffed hands. “Oh yeah, there are prostitutes here. They gave me this little program when I signed you up, so I’d know who I might be selling you to. Some whores like to pool their money, buy a man for a weekend. All the bullshit they have to deal with in their line of work, they take out on him. They really love to torture his cock and balls, jack him off over and over until his cock hurts sooooo much he thinks he can’t take it anymore. Keep feeding him Viagra and caffeine until he gets hard again and then jerking him off while he screams himself hoarse and feels like his balls are on fire and every spasm of his dick is agony. I talked to one of them on the phone, she said they tell some of their boys that when they can’t get hard anymore, they’re going to put them to work. Taking them around to the porn store glory holes and charging a quarter a blow. I asked if she was serious of course.”

“What do you think she said? Would you like to find out? Want to be a whore’s whore?”

She laughed as he shook his head frantically, and pulled hard on his nipples. She felt herself getting wetter, and rubbed her breasts against his bare back. “Well, don’t worry, there are other bidders.”

He moaned deep in his throat, still not sure if it was real. He couldn’t be sure she wasn’t serious, the images he saw in his head terrified him, but his lust swelled up hard within at the same time. He didn’t know whether to beg her to hide him from the prostitutes or offer him to them on a platter.

“This lady, for instance, is quiet into parties, she just has trouble finding entertainment. She likes to tie her entertainment up, and let her guests all take turns beating them with her various whips and floggers. Nothing too heavy, but that constant pain adds up quickly I’m told. She says they start with the back, beating it raw and bloody. All their subject has to do stop the pain is ask. Then they move on to another body part.”

She laughed as his hips started to roll, and watched the pre-cum start to drip.

“Oh, you like the sound of that? Maybe I’ll give her a discount… Oh, I almost forgot to mention, when they run out of body parts, the poor soul goes into the piss box. Not a very imaginative name, but descriptive. You’ll have your head locked in a box with a toilet seat and the guests will all relieve themselves in it.”

She held on tightly as he started to squirm, to fight against the images forming in his head.

“And the longer you held out, the more they’re going to piss on you when that box first locks shut. She says some boys are naughty, and won’t open their mouths at first, but a generous helping of salt on all those open wounds soon cures them of that.”

He saw himself, on his back, beaten raw. Trying to hold his mouth shut, as warm piss sloshed against his lips, the salt pouring on his open wounds until his lips tore themselves apart and his mouth was filled. Choking on it as more rushed in and he screamed, spraying piss in the air, the shocked look on the guests faces, what they would do to punish him…

She could hear his breath coming faster, feel him starting to panic. Her hand reached down and started to stroke him gently. “You ok?”

He shuddered under her, then tried to nod, but finally shook his head no.

She unlaced his hood, pulled it off, kissed him carefully on the lips. “It’s all right, you’re at home.”

He blinked his eyes at the sudden light, saw their living room as they adjusted. The sound of people talking coming from the stereo, some round table talk radio thing she’s recorded on low volume, no prostitutes, no insane old women into parties…

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out in a croak.

She knelt down in front of him and hugged him. “It’s ok. Some of that was a little out there.”

They rocked back and forth for a moment, her arms pulling him tightly to her. “Do you want to stop?”

He felt her warmth against him. “No, but… it’s kind of a cock up now isn’t it? Because I flaked out?”

She smiled and kissed his collar bone. “Not really. I wrote down all the things I was going to do to you this weekend. I was going to give you the chance to outbid me on them. Of course you don’t know how much I bid, so you can’t avoid all of them…”

He turned his head and kissed her gently behind the ear. “Better get me the list. And my checkbook.”

She squeezed him tightly and stood, looking down at him on his knees, scratched and bloody, hair a mess, hands cuffed behind him pulling the muscles in his chest tight. “All right then, let the bidding begin.”

Copyright 2008 by Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


  1. Eileen said,

    Two thumbs up on this one. And a great scene idea.

  2. Vague said,

    Thank you.

  3. Silia said,

    Great story:)

  4. littlesubmissions said,

    Glad you liked.

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