Slave Of The Aristocracy: On The Auction Block Part 16

She began working her c.u.n.t muscles, ma.s.saging his c.o.c.k without moving her legs or hips.

He moaned again.

She couldn't tell if he was expressing pleasure or frustration so she kept on working, redoubling her efforts to squeeze him hard.

To her surprise, she was feeling considerable pleasure herself. His c.o.c.k was rubbing her in a place deep inside that no c.o.c.k had ever rubbed this hard before. When she began adding her moans to his, hers were definitely a song of pleasure.

She kept it up for a few minutes, but began growing tired. She could feel the muscles in her c.u.n.t flagging. But Dodge's moans had increased in intensity and sweat was beading on his hairline and flowing from his armpits. It didn't matter that he was exerting little physical effort; his l.u.s.t was in high gear and it was wringing the sweat out of his body.

"To h.e.l.l with this," Dodge said. He grabbed her arms, threw her off of him, pushed her onto her back, and drove himself deep between her legs. He came after only a handful of hard, fast thrusts.

She came, too. It was not unusual for her to come when Dodge was f.u.c.king her, but she seemed to feel it more deeply this time.

Afterward, she felt like she was floating on the edge of sweet oblivion; like the smallest nudge would send her drifting out of the world on clouds of happiness.

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l you were trying to accomplish, there, but it felt like a waste of time to me," Dodge said.

Flame didn't reply. Her time hadn't been wasted. She had learned what she needed to know. At the end, his moans had sounded exactly like the moans that men made when she was teasing them with her mouth, keeping them on the edge of ecstasy but not letting them step over into a climax.

She had accomplished the same thing with her c.u.n.t. That was a big step in the right direction. More training, more strength, more control, and she'd be able to carry a man all the way to heaven by c.u.n.t action alone.

And she'd be right there with him, every step of the way.

The next day, she discussed her experience with Barry. "I'm not there yet, not by a long way, but my exercises are doing some good. I can feel it. I need to find some way to step up the game. What I'm doing now isn't enough to take me all the way. Can't you think of anything that will give me more strength and more control over my c.u.n.t?"

He was desperate to help her because she hadn't sucked him off yet and his wife didn't have nearly the skill that Flame had. If he had to wait until he got home, he'd have a frustrating day followed by a half-hearted b.l.o.w.j.o.b that would leave him feeling empty and listening his wife spitting in the bathroom sink for ten minutes.

"I'll ask around. Someone has to know some trick that they haven't told me yet. I'll find out. I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that promise," Flame said and sunk to her knees in front of him.

"I'll keep it. Don't you worry," he said as she unzipped him. He meant it.

Her lips wrapped around the head of his c.o.c.k and her tongue began caressing the seam along the bottom.

G.o.d, did he mean it. G.o.d, yes!

Two days later he came through for her. He handed her a wooden box. "I had a devil of a time finding this. It's a very specialized item."

When she opened it she found a plastic cone that looked like a small version of her b.u.t.t plug and a collection of different weights with threaded dowels and holes.

"What do I do with this?"

"You insert the plastic cone into your c.u.n.t. The f.l.a.n.g.es on the end keep it from slipping all the way in. With it hanging half-way out, you're going to have to squeeze it pretty hard with your c.u.n.t muscles to keep from dropping it when you're standing. Then you can try walking around with it inserted. When you can do that, you start s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the weights into the bottom. There's an eighth-ounce, a quarter-ounce, a half-ounce, one ounce, two ounces, and four ounces. The cone weighs an eighth without any weight attached, so, if you screw all the weights together and screw them to the cone, it'll weigh a half-pound. If you can keep that slippery sucker from falling out, then you'll have one scary c.u.n.t. From what I was told, you should probably be aiming for two ounces. Three at the most."

Flame took the cone and examined it. It seemed light enough without any weights attached. She didn't think that it would be too challenging so she spread her legs and inserted it between her lower lips.

It slipped back out into her hand.

She pushed it back in and squeezed her muscles. This time it stayed inside when she removed her fingers. Retaining it was more difficult than it looked because the f.l.a.n.g.es kept her from inserting it far enough to be secure and the cone didn't offer much for her to grip.

She tried walking a few steps. As long as she kept concentrating on keeping her muscles tight, she could keep it in place. She was keenly aware of her c.u.n.t every second.

Barry smiled. "That's pretty good. You keep working at that and you'll be the star of every orgy before you know it."

Was that what she wanted? To be the most popular slave at the orgy?

People always said that you had to be careful what you wished for because wishes come true.

It wasn't long before the cuts healed and the scabs flaked off Flame's a.s.s. It was no longer raw, only criss-crossed with reddish welts.

She could sit and lie on her back comfortably again. Though, in idle moments, of which a slave has many, she would unconsciously run her fingers back and forth across her backside, feeling every ridge and groove that the cane had molded into her flesh, until that unnatural fleshscape was more deeply embedded in her tactile memory than any other part of her body.

She found it interesting that Mr. Dodge hadn't scheduled a single dinner party during her convalescence. She didn't believe that he had inconvenienced himself out of any consideration for her welfare. She could easily have been made to perform. Her act didn't require much sitting. And if she suffered some extra pain during the evening, that wouldn't cause any permanent damage so it would be no problem for Mr. Dodge.

Rather, she believed that Mr. Dodge had wisely paused his entertainments to take the temperature of his insertion into polite society. He'd been inviting a lot of people to his parties and had received few return invitations. That was not a good sign. It was time for him to find out if people appreciated his company or if he were merely being exploited.

He hadn't asked Flame for advice; he made his own decision to wait for return invitations before hosting another round of parties. She applauded him for his keen strategy.

And it worked.

His parties were popular, to no small degree because a slave who had the unique feature of being the former wife of a lord was offered as entertainment. So it was gratifying but not surprising when the knights and baronets who had attended his dinners began extending more frequent reciprocal invitations to him and his wife.

During this brief hiatus, Mrs. Dodge continued to treat Flame with considerable contempt she was never slow to deliver a swift kick but she also asked her advice about fashion and comportment. She never failed to follow Flame's advice to the letter.

After attending a fair number of dinner parties and some other events a couple of b.a.l.l.s, a concert, and a stage play the Dodges resumed hosting dinners for two or three couples at a time.

Flame noted that Drake wasn't completely excluded, but he was on the guest list far less often. Mr. Dodge had begun inviting a better cla.s.s of knights and baronets. He was on one of the lowest rungs of the social ladder, but he was already climbing to the next one.

She was setting the table for Mr. and Mrs. Dodge's dinner one Thursday evening when Mrs. Dodge came into the dining room and said, "You're going to be loaned out on Sat.u.r.day."

Flame paused in laying out Mr. Dodge's place setting. Her heart skipped a beat. She had become well enough known for her solo entertainments that wives should have been asking to borrow her for some time. But this was the first time that it had happened. It seemed that the wives of aristocrats weren't eager to be in a commoner's debt.

The fork in her hand hovered over the table as she looked up at her owner's wife. "Yes, ma'am."

"I believe you know Lady Hoffman."

Flame put the fork into place with careful deliberation before speaking. "Yes, ma'am."

"Their driver will pick you up at five tomorrow. Be waiting."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was no clock in the kennel so she had no way to tell the time. But that was her problem, not Mrs. Dodge's.

To ensure that she wouldn't miss the car, she began waiting at the kennel door early by her estimate, some time between three and four. She was wearing her housedress and carrying a plastic bag with makeup and a set of erotic red underwear.

The household that borrowed a slave was expected to supply the clothing that they wanted the slave to wear for the entertainment, if any were required, but Flame thought that it would be safest to bring a minimal set of her own just in case.

She waited for more than an hour. It gave her a long time to think about Linda.

Her thoughts broke her heart. She wasn't deluded she knew that Linda couldn't be friends with a slave. Automatically losing all her friends was part of the deal when she had decided to enslave herself it was as certain as losing her husband. She had understood and accepted that before she mounted the stage to give herself to the auctioneer.

But she had hoped that some of her former friends might still care about her. Linda had been her closest friend. If anybody had any sympathetic feelings for her, it should be Linda.

It had been ten weeks since Mrs. Dodge had borrowed Sapphire. Linda had had ample opportunity to borrow Flame back before now.

Flame had counted the weeks. She had expected to be borrowed within three weeks. A month at most. When six weeks pa.s.sed without Linda requesting the favor that Mrs. Dodge owed, Flame had begun to feel safe. After two months had pa.s.sed, she had been sure that Linda still cared enough for her that she didn't want to see her old friend wantonly ravished by a gang of gentlemen who still remembered her as Lady Irene Fortson.

But now the call had come. Linda had taken her time, but had finally decided to toss her helpless body to the wolves.

Flame had no right to complain. When she had climbed onto the block, she had told the whole world, in the most certain and public way possible, that this was what she wanted.

But she dearly wished that Linda had cared enough to let someone else do the tossing.

Flame spent too long waiting and feeling sorry for herself. By the time the Hoffman car arrived, she was fighting to hold back her tears. That wouldn't do. No gentleman wanted to be entertained by a melancholy slave.

As she was being driven down Norbit Hill, she told herself that it was time to toughen up. She was a l.u.s.ty slave, not a forlorn lady. She forced herself to stop thinking about Linda and focused her attention on the imminent entertainment.

She had no idea what was coming so imagined the worst possible case that she would be asked to entertain a large number of men alone. Sapphire once said that she had entertained eight men by herself. Maybe Linda No, not Linda. The hostess. She had to maintain the right mindset. Maybe the hostess expected her to exceed Sapphire's feat. Maybe she would be asked to entertain ten gentlemen or a dozen by herself.

She was becoming known for her performance in which she transformed herself from a lady into a slave. How could she adapt that to accommodating a dozen men?

She mentally rehea.r.s.ed her act, arranging it in her mind so that she would offer her c.u.n.t first. The proper s.e.xual parts would better be able to accommodate a lot of men than her a.s.shole. Even with her sphincter well-stretched and her a.n.u.s heavily lubed, her a.s.shole could be damaged more easily than her c.u.n.t. Especially if she could keep the men from ramming against her c.l.i.t. Rear entry was much easier on the c.u.n.t than missionary, but she couldn't just bend over. That would make her a.s.shole as available as her c.u.n.t. If half a dozen men decided to use her a.s.s, either exclusively or switching between the two holes, and they each got it up three times, she would be bleeding like a slaughtered pig before the night was over.

By the time the car entered the Hoffman's rear gate, she had a solution. Lay a man on his back and ride him. That would let her control both the depth and the force. She would alter her patter. She would describe herself as a s.l.u.t who had been so desperate for s.e.x that she had enslaved herself just so that she could get into every billiard room in the county.

All her planning was for naught, thankfully. When she was escorted into the kennel, she found herself in a crowd of a dozen slaves.

She was sure that Lord Hoffman didn't keep many more slaves than her own husband not more than four.

For this entertainment, then, Linda must have borrowed every slave that she could get her hands on. She hadn't singled out Flame. In fact, she had probably borrowed Flame only after she had borrowed from everyone else that she could.

That happy thought was soon smashed to smithereens.

One of the slaves was old. Older than any pleasure slave that Flame had ever seen. At least forty-five.

She introduced herself. "I'm Thorn. I a.s.sume that you're Flame."

Flame nodded.

"Help me up here." She held out her hand.

The Hoffman's kennels were considerably larger than the Dodges', and the pleasure room was larger and better equipped in proportion.

Thorn was standing by a low table, the size and height of a coffee table, but with steel reinforcement so that it could withstand robust use.

Flame offered Thorn a hand up.

When she was standing on the table, Thorn addressed the crowd. "Slaves, your attention. I'm Thorn. I'm the director of tonight's entertainment. For those of you who've never worked with a director before, I'll just say that it is my job to create the entertainment and ensure that it is executed flawlessly. What that means is that I know exactly what each and every one of you is going to have to do tonight. You don't know yet, so you are going to have to listen to me and obey me exactly. My orders to carry the same weight as your masters' orders. If you fail to do exactly as I say, I have the authority to punish you. My punishments leave no marks and do no permanent damage but they are severe. A couple of you have worked with me before and can testify to that. If I punish you, you'll be wishing that your master had taken a cane to you instead."

Flame saw three heads nodding emphatically.

"The entertainment tonight is different from anything that you have experienced. But it is simple so none of you will have any excuse for failing to perform. Do you understand?"

All heads nodded.

"Okay. To begin with, let me introduce Flame." She gestured to the slave standing beside her. "Flame's unique history provides the motivation for the entertainment tonight. You need to be familiar with it so that you will not be surprised in front of the gentlemen." Thorn explained how Flame had been the wife of a lord and had submitted herself to slavery.

The other slaves looked at her with a combination of puzzlement and disgust.

"One of the most important aspects of Flame's history is that she will be acquainted with many of the gentlemen that we are entertaining tonight. There are twelve of you and thirty-two gentlemen. That works out to fewer than three gentlemen per slave"

This elicited happy murmurs from the slaves.

"Be quiet or I'll start putting you in restraints right now!"

The slaves shut up.

"I was saying that there are not a lot of gentlemen for the number of slaves but you can expect that all of the gentlemen will be paying particularly close attention to each one of you."

She proceeded to explain the nature of the evening's entertainment in detail.

The more Flame heard, the worse she felt.

There was no way that this was going to turn out well for her.

If Lady Linda had a hand in this, she had really screwed her ex-friend.

When the slaves were ready to leave the kennels, a black leather hood covered each slave's hair and most of her face. There were no eyeholes; the masks served as effective blindfolds.

Wide collars wrapped around their necks to cover their tattoos. The zippers that closed the hoods were securely covered by these collars and the buckles on the collars were locked by a small padlock.

Thorn had the key to the locks. The slaves' heads would not be free until she unlocked them.

The only part of the head that was left uncovered was the slaves' mouths and nostrils. Even the s.p.a.ce between the upper lip and the nose was covered by a band of black leather, as were the lower jaws.

Before being blinded by the hood, Flame had seen that each hood had a different bra.s.s letter on the forehead. Though the slaves had different bodies some shorter, some taller, some with fuller b.r.e.a.s.t.s, some more boyish, and so forth unless someone was intimately familiar with every slave's body, he would be able to identify them only by these letters.

Apart from the hoods, the slaves were naked.

When Thorn led the blind slaves into the Hoffman billiard room, each had to keep her right hand on the shoulder of the slave in front of her to guide her.

Flame, second from the last, shuffled along between two slaves that she didn't know.